Live Wire

by Bijou Hunter

  "If I was you," Minka says finally, "I'd play this thing out with Brad. Don't think about his mom or if he can handle the real you. No, instead you ought to enjoy every damn minute because you've faced death a bunch of times, and this could be your only reward. If I met a guy that I wanted like you want Brad, I'd hold onto him. I deserve good shit in life, and so does Little Maven. Leave your sins in the past where they belong."

  Watching her through my alcohol haze, I smile. "Having a girlfriend is fun."

  "Yeah, but I'm planning on having only a select few. Too many vaginas would likely make me go homicidal."

  "You, me, Harlow, and Darla."

  Minka thinks about Rafael's wife and Troy's woman. She nods at the idea of them making the grade. I keep smiling because I'm too drunk to control my mouth. If Brad were here right now, I'd likely tell him how beautiful he is and how much I like him. After saying all sorts of stupid stuff, I'd suck on his lips until we were naked. Even enticed by the naked part, I plan to keep my distance until the trip is complete and he's safely back in Houston.

  17

  ~ Brad ~

  Fiercely Mine

  The Ramsey Security team offers a private jet for the flight to New York City. They claim it belongs to a friend. I don't ask questions, though Nell does. She worries about the favors we're calling in, and what they'll cost her. Marx only laughs and says she watches too many movies. He loves the idea of these badass people with their killer contacts.

  I hate flying, and take pills for airsickness and nerves. Imagining Saskia traveling the world, I can't have her see me freaking out over turbulence or a busy airport. Lawrence warned me not to play a part, but the real Brad is a chickenshit too often. The Brad needing to woo Saskia fears nothing. I'll lie if it means I get the girl in the end.

  We arrive in the city hours later and check into the hotel. My first concern is how closely Saskia's and my rooms are situated. During the flight and arrival at the hotel, she refuses to make eye contact and keeps her distance. I'm not fooled though.

  The interviews take place in one of the hotel's conference rooms. The publicist and Mom organize everything. All I have to do is sit next to Marx and answer the same questions from each reporter.

  Saskia catches my eye. Wearing a white sweater, beige leggings, and knee-high brown boots, she's the picture of elegance. I can't look away, even when the first reporter enters. I only want to watch Saskia own the room.

  The questions are pretty standard.

  "What have you done the last ten years?"

  I keep my answer short and to the point, just as Mom instructed. She doesn't trust reporters, and Marx is dying to do most of the talking anyway. After I tell the reporters how I've been writing songs for country musicians, they immediately want to know if I'll return to acting.

  "I have no interest in being in front of the camera."

  "What do you hope to gain with your book?"

  "I wanted to confront what happened, and Marx helped me put it all together."

  Hearing his name, Marx takes over by explaining how he researched the police records and learned all he could about the cult's possible origins. While he talks out of his ass, my thoughts linger on Saskia.

  The day moves slowly but surely as one reporter after another arrives, sets up, asks their questions, and leaves. I'm on autopilot by the third interview. Mostly, I'm wondering if I can talk Saskia into having dinner with me. The city scares the shit out of me, but this place has a romantic element that I'd be a fool not to capitalize on.

  So lost in my head, I don't know many interviews we've done when I hear a name that knocks the wind out of me.

  "Let me ask you about Dennis Stein," Jackie says, and I truly focus on the reporter for the first time.

  Dennis's face flashes before me. I remember him showing me the blade he intended to use to cut symbols into my back and chest. I also replay the moment when I used a lamp to smash in his head.

  "What about him?" I ask, swallowing hard.

  "His family continues to claim he wasn't involved in a cult. In fact, they claim he was an addict you killed in a drug related dispute. How do you respond to these accusations?"

  Her words make me want to puke. Feeling cornered, I nearly lash out. What can I say though? If I deny the allegations, she'll twist my words. If I say nothing, she'll twist my silence. If I call her a bitch and storm out, she'll look like the victim.

  Marx sits dumbfounded next to me. How did we not expect a little gotcha journalism from at least one of these reporters? I see Mom itching to speak up, but she restrains herself. To my surprise, Saskia walks past my mother and into frame.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt, Ms. Pinard," Saskia says, startling the reporter and cameraman. "I'm curious if your family's history with drug addiction has biased your questions."

  "Excuse me?" Jackie demands. "Who the hell are you?"

  The room pulses with tension, and everyone seems a little startled by the change in tempo. The reporter's face is beet red now, and I have the urge to laugh. Saskia's words erase my anger. She's a damn goddess.

  "Several members in your immediate family suffer from addictions," Saskia continues, "and led to them being forcibly treated as part of their criminal sentencing. I can't help wondering if your defense of Dennis Stein is related to your family's problems."

  “'How do you know this shit?" Jackie yells, jumping to her feet.

  Once again, I watch someone larger challenge Saskia and smile at how she doesn't even flinch. The reporter looms over the redhead.

  "I did security checks on all of the reporters speaking with Mister Sloane today. Your family's history gave me pause. Your brother has been in rehab twice, leaving me to suspect you're overly sympathetic to the idea of Dennis Stein as the victim addict."

  "You investigated me?"

  "It's called Google," Saskia says in a deadpan voice. "Everything I found is easily discoverable by anyone with an internet connection."

  "And you think this protects your client from answering real questions about the murder of Dennis Stein?"

  "I think you will either deal with your bias before the interview airs or we will respond to your flawed interview afterwards by pointing out your biases."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  Saskia says nothing. Her cold eyes do all the talking.

  "This interview is over," Jackie growls, storming past the cameraman.

  Saskia casually glances at the publicist. "Was that the last interview?"

  "One more."

  "Yes. The man with the three divorces. You can call him in."

  The final interview is predictable with questions we've answered already. Thinking of Saskia challenging the reporter, I can't stop smiling. The woman is fierce, and I need her to focus on me again like she did the night we spent together.

  As soon as the interview ends, I corner Saskia in a mini-kitchen attached to the meeting room. Blocking her exit, I ask, "Are you done needing your space?"

  "I'm still working."

  Studying her face, I know Saskia is scared. I just don't know why.

  "Tonight, you're not working. We'll have dinner, and I'll reward you for a job well done."

  Saskia glares at me, but I don't care. Finally giving my fingers what they desire, I let them caress her soft cheek. A flicker of warmth passes over her face before she pushes my hand away.

  "No."

  "You can pick the food, but only if you agree now. If I have to ask again, I choose."

  Saskia tries to slide past me, but I hold my arm out and block her again.

  "I'm not negotiating," she mutters.

  "Then I guess I'm picking dinner."

  "Did you hire me to sleep with you or to keep you safe?"

  Not missing a beat, I point out, "I didn't hire you. Mom did."

  "So you don't care?"

  "I want to go on a date. I haven't been on one in years. When was your last date?"

  "A week before I took this job."

  Leaning
down, I nuzzle her hair. "You're lying."

  Saskia tips her head back and brushes my lips with hers. "I want to choose the restaurant."

  "After you mind fucked that reporter bitch, you can have whatever you want."

  I'm only granted a small kiss before she makes her escape under my arm and hurries away. Saskia offers me a quick smile over her shoulder. I share the smile and adjust my stance to hide the erection throbbing in my pants. Fierce is a good look on her, and I can't get enough.

  18

  ~ Brad ~

  Playing Games

  Hours later, Saskia appears in the hallway, wearing a gold and black checkered skirt, black tights, and a gold sweater. A picture of sophisticated beauty, she smiles at me casually. I suspect she knows my heart is racing.

  "You look gorgeous," I murmur, stepping closer until I'm leaning over her as my fingers graze her cheek.

  Our gazes lock for a long time. My fingers linger on her cheek, unwilling to give up the warm skin.

  "Stop thinking of me naked," she whispers, frowning up at me.

  Giving her a lazy smile, I imagine her perky tits cupped in my hands. "I wasn't, but now I am. Blame yourself for that."

  Saskia ducks under my arm and begins walking. "We should go to dinner. The car is waiting."

  I follow her to the elevator and step inside. Saskia glances at me, and I know where her mind has gone.

  Groaning, I shift legs. "You've got me so hard."

  "You can take care of that in the men's room at the restaurant."

  "I might just deal with it in the car. You could watch, if you like?"

  Saskia struggles not to appear indifferent. I bend over and catch a tiny smile on her beautiful face.

  "You could take the edge off in the car too, if you want."

  "I have no edge to worry about."

  "Brrr. It sure got cold in here."

  Saskia surprises me by laughing. The musical sound both makes my heart beat faster and my dick throb harder. This woman has me wrapped tightly around her finger.

  The driver waiting for us downstairs is all business. He shuts the partition between the front and back once we're inside. Saskia waits until we're blocked off before she straddles me.

  Smiling, I slide my hands up her skirt and cup the soft flesh of her ass cheeks.

  "You call this hard?" she purrs, riding my cock between our clothes.

  My lips seize hers, sucking hard at her tongue. Saskia wants to play, but my erection isn't a game. I'm nearly ready to tear through my pants.

  "It's about to get messy," I murmur before sucking her tongue into my mouth again.

  Saskia reaches down and pops the button on my black slacks. The zipper slides down next and I feel her soft warm hand stroke my cock.

  "Shit," I murmur when she pops her lips free from mine.

  "Your dirty talk needs some work," she teases, sliding off me and onto the limo floor.

  "No," I say as she takes my cock with both hands and licks her lips.

  "You're so timid for such a big man."

  Grinning, I slide my fingers into her soft hair and enjoy the first lick of her tongue across the head of my cock. When she sucks me into her mouth and consumes me the way I did with her tongue, I nearly go fucking blind.

  So worked up after all her teasing, I don't last more than two minutes of her sucking hungrily at my cock. The feel of the back of her throat tightening around the head sends me over the edge, and I let go.

  Saskia sucks wave after wave of pleasure from me until I'm spent. Yet the moment she looks up at me and teases the slit of my cock with her tongue, I'm ready to spread her out on the seat.

  "Your turn," I say, reaching for her.

  Saskia brushes away my hands and sits away from me. "No time. Besides, I'm not really in the mood."

  Eyeing her while zipping myself up, I frown. "Liar."

  "No, there truly isn't enough time," she says, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

  I gave her a little smile and lean over until my lips are at her ear. "We'll have plenty of time later."

  "Assuming I'm in the mood at that point," she murmurs simply to mess with me.

  "No worries about that, ice queen. I know a few tricks to get you wet, hot, and on all fours."

  Saskia gives me a delicious look, and I'm ready to turn the car around. Unfortunately, we arrive at the restaurant before I can demand we return.

  "I'll keep an eye out," the driver says once we step out of the car. "Keep your phone on."

  All business, Saskia gives him curt nod. I also give him a nod, but he isn't interested in me. Saskia ignores me too until I take her hand as we walk inside the posh restaurant.

  "Don't forget we're on a date," I remind her.

  Saskia licks her lips slowly. "That thought was just on the tip of my tongue."

  When I narrow my eyes at her, she actually laughs. My horny irritation amuses her greatly. Holding her gaze, I think of her under me and imagine her tits bouncing from the hard fucking. Based on the flush across her cheeks, Saskia is entertaining similar thoughts.

  Once we're seated at a table in the corner and away from the crowd, Saskia insists on sitting across from me. If she thinks that'll keep my hands at bay, she underestimates my arm length.

  "We're both only children," I say to keep the conversation light.

  "I was never lonely."

  I smile at her lie. "Me either. Did you ever have pets?"

  "No."

  "I always had them. We had a cat for a while, but Nell began suffering from allergies. Once the old man passed away, we stuck to dogs."

  "Did he pass away naturally or did you help him along?"

  Frowning, I reach for her hand. "You're so sexy when you start trouble."

  "I'll take that as the latter."

  "He died in his sleep at the ripe old age of seventeen."

  Saskia smiles and pulls her hand away. Before I can grab for it again, she places her hand on top of mine.

  "You always need to be on top," she sighs. "Let a lady have a chance."

  "Enjoy being on top here all you want, my sweet Saskia," I murmur, brushing my foot against hers. "Once we're back at the hotel, you'll be on all fours. There's no getting out of that."

  Saskia holds my gaze, and we both smile at the thought of her on the bed with her legs spread for me. She shakes off the image and leans back in the chair.

  "Were Ruth and Nell always together?" she asks, drowning my lust with the cold-water effect of talking about my mother.

  "Not when I was a baby. My dad died when I was thirteen months."

  "How did he die?"

  "Driving home from work, his truck hit a slick spot on the road, and he lost control. He survived the crash, but when he was climbing out of the truck, it began rolling. Just a fluke accident."

  "I'm sorry," she says, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

  "Thanks. Mom made sure I knew him as much as I could when I was growing up."

  "When did Ruth and Nell get together?"

  "My father left a decent life insurance policy, and their old house was paid off. Mom only worked part-time. Nell was recently divorced and moved into the house to save money. They were two women starting over. At some point, they became more. I was a kid, so I didn't notice anything change. They were both around, raising me."

  "How did you get into acting?"

  "Tell me about your mother first."

  "She was cold."

  "Cold how?"

  "She tried to abort me while in a third world country," Saskia says nonchalantly. "She told the doctor not to fuck up anything, so he ended up being so careful that I survived. When she realized the mistake, she decided pregnancy was something she could use in her job. Once I was born, she hired someone to raise me. When I was old enough, she trained me to be like her."

  Her story horrifies me nearly as much as her indifference does. "Did she tell you about the abortion?"

  "Of course. Maven didn't believe in lies unless they benef
ited her."

  "That was her name?"

  "No, her name was Elena. Maven was her code name. Mine was Little Maven."

  "What did you do when she died? You were only seventeen. Did the woman who raised you continue to care for you?"

  "No, she was dead too."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I disposed of the Maven's most loyal people and took over her business."

  The way she speaks of her past is devoid of any emotion. Our accountant is livelier when discussing taxes.

  "Why did you stop that line of work?"

  "Boredom."

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  Right now, right here, Saskia is all I can think about. Her life before I met her shouldn't matter, but it does. I want her to show me something. Pain, sadness, anger, joy, anything to reveal her humanity.

  "Nothing happened that made you want to live a different life?" I ask, hoping to see a glimmer of life in her cold eyes.

  "No. I wasn't raised to be sentimental."

  "Neither was I, but I have plenty of life changing moments."

  "I'm sorry."

  Saskia doesn't know what I want her to say, so I offer her an out. "It's not your fault your mother was a cold woman."

  "No."

  Even confused about my questions, Saskia refuses to show a hint of emotion. Her silence now feels like a lie, just as her cold eyes do. She hides everything. Not just from me, but from everyone. Saskia infected me with a nearly unbearable need. Fair or not, I need her to show me something.

  "You were meant to be here right now with me," I say.

  "Really?"

  "You nearly died before you were born. I'm sure you nearly died a number of times in your line of work. Yet here you are sitting across the table from me. It's fate."

  Saskia studies me, seeming genuinely surprised by my words. "Do you believe in that?"

  "Yes. Well I believe in God and the good in people. I believe what you felt wasn't really boredom, but the desire to do more. Now you are."

  "I'm babysitting a grown man."

  Frowning, I realize Saskia responds to uncomfortable situations by lashing out. Likely Mother Maven did the same thing. I can't imagine growing up with such a cold bitch, yet somehow I'm drawn to the cold bitch across the table.