by HP Mallory
“Really?” I asked with an acidic laugh. “Next, I’ll bet you’re going to tell me I’m so money, but I don’t even know it?”
Jax threw his head back as he chuckled heartily. When he faced me again, there was something new in his eyes that threw me. His expression was one I hadn’t seen him show before. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like admiration. “I don’t think I need to tell you anything of the sort,” he started as the laugh died on his lips, leaving a curious smile in its wake. “You already know exactly what you are.”
“Okay so let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we?” I prodded as my traitorous stomach growled again, and I glanced down at the uneaten sandwich. “My dinner isn’t eating itself, so whatever you came to tell me, cut to it.”
“You already know as well as I do that you aren’t going to make it out of this alive,” he started. I took a deep breath at hearing his words and dropped my gaze because he was right. Whatever I’d managed to embroil myself in was heavy duty, and there really was no way out, at least as far as I could tell. And I didn’t doubt that Jax would use any and everything against me if I didn’t cooperate with him.
“And your point is?” I asked.
“I don’t want your death on my hands,” he started. “That would be a damned shame,” he added as I faced him again.
“Don’t pretend like you care about me, Jax. Please, respect me enough to treat me like I’m not an idiot.”
“It has nothing to do with caring about you,” he responded in a clipped tone.
“Then … what is it about?”
“I could use you. The Rebellion could use you,” he answered. I shifted my attention to the knots in the hardwood floors. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at him any longer. The mere thought of what he was offering made me sick to my stomach. “It’s more than that, though. I want you too. And when I want something, I don’t stop until I get it.”
I glanced up at him, my rising anger nearly stinging my throat and coloring my mood in crimson. “Save your breath, Jax! You can’t be serious!” I said with a furious laugh. “Because there is no way in hell that you will ever have me!”
“If I only wanted you sexually, I could simply take you and there would be nothing whatsoever you could do about it.”
“You’re right,” I answered with a shrug. “You certainly could.” There was no use in arguing that.
“But that’s not what I want,” he continued. Placing both of his palms against the wall, he deliberately pinned me between them. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dulcie.”
“Then let me go.”
He shook his head, saying, “Would that I could.” Sighing long and hard, his smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth. “But I’m afraid I can’t. The only other option I can do is to ask you to help me and have you do it willingly.”
“Really?” I asked with a sarcastic laugh. “You want me to help you willingly and of my own accord?” I repeated, intrigued but completely baffled. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”
“Then explain to me why I, a seasoned Regulator in the ANC, would willingly have anything to do with helping you, an importer of dangerous potions?” I demanded. “What benefit could I possibly expect to gain from that situation?”
“If you stopped butting heads with me and simply joined me, I would treat you very well,” he replied. “I wouldn’t lay a hand on you.”
“Something you’ve already failed at miserably,” I interrupted with a frown. I turned my head to the side so he could see the nasty bruise that was already coloring my cheek from the last time I had a run-in with him.
“You and I are enemies, not allies, unfortunately,” he explained with a knowing smile. “If you would only swear your allegiance to me, things like that would never happen again.” He took a deep breath. “Furthermore, I could offer you plenty of protection. When the rest of the Rebellion learns that you are my woman, no one will ever speak a mean word to you, let alone touch you. You would be respected and honored.”
“The idea of having you touch me is bad enough!” I seethed with a scowl while trying to extricate myself from his tenacious arms. Of course, I knew it was no good—he wouldn’t let me go until he said everything he intended to say.
“I will only make you this offer once,” he warned solemnly. “If you decline it, you are dead to me.”
“And your glowing offer is so hard to refuse!” I replied abrasively. “Why shouldn’t I rush to join you so I can rat out everyone I genuinely care about and watch you either kill them or do much worse? And all so I could … what?”
“All so you can avoid death and live out the rest of your days being well taken care of and having all your wishes granted.”
“You’re suddenly a genie?” I asked with a disdainful laugh.
“I would make it my sole focus to take care of you.”
“Until you get bored or sick of me and renege the offer so you can devote all your attention to the next shiny, new, sexy thing that happens to cross your path.”
Jax chuckled deeply. “If and when that time comes …” he started.
“When that time comes,” I interrupted as I glared up at him with unmasked hatred. “Let’s not sugarcoat anything.”
“When that time comes,” he repeated with a knowing smile, “I would promise you that I would continue to take care of you in the manner to which you have become accustomed. I have never and would never turn out a mistress or snub her with a cold shoulder.”
“A mistress?” I echoed as I shook my head and laughed at his unparalleled nerve. “A mistress is the last vocation I would ever strive to become! I will never be yours nor anyone’s mistress,” I seethed while my eyes flashed sparks. “So whatever offer you came to extend, consider it declined, now and forever!”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t consent to my generous proposal,” he growled, and his lips were a tight line. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to hurt you. But orders are orders, which means I have to obey them.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I tried to offer you my help to get out of this, but you’re too damned stubborn or just plain stupid to save yourself. Now, I won’t allow myself to feel bad about what happens to you next,” he replied with a poker face. “But I must admit that yours wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”
“It should have been the one you expected,” I replied defiantly.
Pulling away from me, he nodded as he reached inside his pants pocket and produced a key. “Turn around,” he ordered. I obeyed his instruction and listened as he unlocked the iron handcuffs. He pulled them off me before I immediately brought my arms forward. I couldn’t wait to stretch them out and massage the pain between my shoulders.
“You will come to regret your decision,” Jax finished as he approached the door. He glanced back at me one more time before opening it and locking it behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bram
Chicago, 1922
“Torrio’s trying to broker a deal with us,” Meg said as she threw a copy of the Chicago Tribune on top of the coffee table in front of me. She huffed, resting her hands on her hips.
“Go in there and make yourself useful, Goldie,” I said to the scantily clad blond who was previously occupying my lap. Goldie was a “bug-eyed Betty” and not very intelligent, to boot. Her one and only saving grace was her body. It could not have been more precisely modeled after the Greek sculpture of Aphrodite of Knidos.
“I thought I was already, boss,” she answered with a well-practiced pout. “Butt me?” she asked as she eyed the stray pack of cigarettes someone left on the coffee table.
“Beat it! Our patrons are lining up for your … particular skills,” I insisted as she stood up. I smacked her on her round, little arse, to which she responded by giving me a flirtatious smile. But she continued walking through the heavy damask curtain, which separated the back room from the main room, where the raucous sounds of drunken merri
ment could be heard over the jazz.
I let out a pent-up yet faux breath as I reached for the newspaper. It felt good to stretch my long legs out again on the red velvet couch, so I made myself even more comfortable.
Meg glanced at me and laughed as she shook her head. “You look as if you’re one of those dandies in a men’s fashion advertisement.”
“Do not chastise me because I possess only the most fashionable taste and style, doll.”
As far as fashions came and went, I had to admit that I preferred the styles of the 1920s to any other period I had experienced. The clothes reflected the era, as it was far less regimented and formal. Knickers were short, as were jackets. Long tailcoats were out, and pinstriped suits were very much in. And who could complain about the fedora, the bowler or the straw boater? As far as hats were concerned, the Roaring Twenties had them in spades.
Glancing down at the paper, the headline announced another murder by way of the Thompson machine gun. The Thompson machine gun, or “Tommy Gun” as it was commonly called, also went by the alias of the “Chicago Typewriter,” which is how it was best known. And death by a Chicago Typewriter meant it was a mob murder. Most probably over the bootlegging and selling of booze and the territories therein.
“A deal for what?” I asked as I looked back up at Meg. At the exact same time, a knock rapped on the back door. The doorman, George, slid the peephole open, and I heard the woman on the other side of the door whisper, “Joe sent me.”
Joe could not have sent her, because there was nobody named Joe in our employ. That was simply our code phrase, which all of our working girls knew and had to mention in order to get inside. George opened the door, his eyes first landing on the girl’s breasts before she passed him and his eyes resettled on her arse. I could only infer that he considered her a choice bit of calico. As I took her in from head to toe, I had to concur with George.
The tall and leggy brunette started to approach us. She was on her way to the main hall, where she would soon be after her next trick, but Meg intercepted her.
“Are you the new moll?” she asked as she eyed the young woman suspiciously. In general, Meg was always wary of any and everyone. It was a good way to be and a contributing factor to the success and expansion of our enterprise.
“Yes, sir, er, I mean, ma’am,” the girl corrected herself with a little, nervous giggle. Her mistake came as no surprise, given Meg’s proclivity toward dressing as masculine as she did. She preferred trousers and loose blouses to dresses and skirts. And her short, bobbed hair led many to misidentify her as a man. It happened more often than not.
“What’s your name?” Meg demanded.
“Jane,” the girl responded with an anxious smile. The dear lass could not have been a day older than twenty.
Meg nodded as she looked up at the comely girl who towered over her by at least a full head. I noticed that Jane refused to look at Meg directly in the eyes. I imagined her reason was owing more to juvenile anxiety rather than the certainty or knowledge that Meg was vampire. Although a few members of our staff were well aware of our appetite for the sanguine, it was not widely known.
In general, we found it best to keep our true nature as clandestine as the speakeasies themselves. In that pursuit, we boarded up the windows of most of our saloons, thereby giving them the outward appearance of abandonment. And each of them was especially located at the most remote, back alley as it was not good practice for any bootlegging operation to be visible from the street. The largest of our juice joints, and the one we were currently obliging, was aptly named “Anonymous.” From the street, the building façade was simply a soda and candy shop. But in the rear, the soda and candy we chose to sell was of a whole different sort.
“Welcome, Jane,” Meg said in a deep voice as she continued to evaluate the girl. As soon as their eyes locked, it took less than three seconds for the girl to fall underneath her spell.
“Thank you,” Jane responded, her eyes now as wide as her pupils.
“You may refresh me by providing my supper this evening,” Meg said with a brief nod. Then she turned and started for one of the Louis XIV armchairs beside the couch on which I was still sprawled. Meg took a seat on the plush, black velvet chair and impatiently tapped her right thigh as the dutiful girl nodded before sitting down on her lap as if she were Meg’s faithful dog.
“Has our shipment arrived yet?” I asked Meg, as soon as the thought occurred to me.
“Yes,” she answered immediately, her eyes still riveted on Jane’s.
“Tony just dropped it off about an hour or so ago, boss,” George added before returning his vacant stare to the door in front of him. In general, Meg did not approve of an audience; especially, when it happened to be the help.
“Very good,” I answered with a quick nod.
The shipment I was referring to was a relatively recent delivery of beer and whiskey that was imported from Canada. Unlike most other speakeasies, ours were all connected by a subterranean network known as the Chicago sewer. As unpleasant as it may sound, the sewer system remained the best way to distribute booze to each of our saloons. It allowed us to drop-off the cargo at any time of the day or night without the police or any other authorities becoming the wiser.
“You are quite the skirt, aren’t you?” Meg flirted as she eyed Jane and a smirk appeared on her lips.
“What about this deal with Torrio?” I remembered. I idly watched Meg pull Jane’s strap down over her shoulder until her small yet perky breast popped forth. She immediately took Jane’s nipple into her mouth as Jane stared forward unblinkingly. “You certainly did a good job of rendering her catatonic,” I added as I motioned to Jane.
“He calls it ‘sharing the wealth,’” Meg answered after detaching her mouth from Jane’s breast. She faced me with a frown as she shook her head. “He’s talking about dividing the city into territories and giving each gang a piece of the pie!”
“And you think he is secretly attempting to take us for a ride?” I asked with a shrug.
“Yes! I think he’s attempting to take us for a ride!” she railed as she shook her head. Her ample breasts strained the gossamer fabric of her chemise. Although her breasts were not allowed to display their femininity, owing to the amorphous, boyish cut of her blouse, her legs and rear certainly benefited from her tailored trousers. “He’s planning to put us out of business. I just know it,” she fretted as she tucked a loose lock of her shortly clipped hair beneath her close-fitting, cloche hat.
“Put us out of business? Horsefeathers!” I exclaimed with a big smile as I shook my head. I eagerly watched Meg return her attention to Jane. She ran her index finger down the line of Jane’s neck as the latter continued to sit there, absently staring straight ahead, saying and doing nothing.
“I could have gotten more of a reaction from a corpse,” Meg said with a frown.
“Perhaps you merely over-sedated her,” I answered. “You might not realize the amplitude of your own power.”
“Perhaps,” she responded, pausing for barely an instant before she buried her fangs into Jane’s carotid artery. Jane responded by flinching only slightly, and then she blinked a few times.
“How does she taste?” I asked.
Meg pulled away from Jane’s neck and licked the blood from her prominent fangs. “Very good,” she answered with a quick nod. “Young and fresh.” Then she brought her hand to Jane’s thigh and pushed Jane’s dress up to her waist.
“Mmm, no undergarments,” I announced with a smirk. “Must be eager.”
“Eager harlots are good for business,” Meg replied as she pushed Jane’s legs apart, ostensibly to give me a worthy show. I felt myself growing heavy inside my knickers as I watched Meg running her finger up and down Jane’s sex. Still, Jane did not respond.
“You will have to try harder,” I started. “Oh, wait, perhaps … I believe she just blinked!”
“Very funny,” Meg retorted with a frown. Sinking her fangs into Jane’s neck again, she
began lapping up her blood hungrily. Then she pushed her index finger into Jane, who again did not react at all. I, on the other hand, had grown fully erect and hungry, speaking for both my stomach and my cock.
“No one will put us out of business, kid,” I reassured her. I watched Meg pull away from Jane’s throat, a single bead of blood dripping from her lower lip.
“Says you,” Meg replied with narrowed eyes. She briefly studied Jane and then ostensibly seemed to decide she had dined long enough. She pushed Jane away and stood up, wiping her mouth with her arm which, naturally, stained her blouse. Jane stood beside the chair, still staring forward as if she could see into the very near future.
“No, that is what I know,” I responded stonily.
“Are you hungry?” Meg asked as she motioned to Jane with an unconcerned hand. “Perhaps you can get her to respond in some way.”
I merely reached out to grip Jane’s hand. Then I pulled her toward me and stared into her eyes. She glanced down at me and suddenly smiled a huge grin.
“There’s a good girl,” I crooned.
“She’s just a cheap quiff,” Meg responded as she glared at us both. “I don’t care whether you go ahead and drain her. Do your best.”
“Drain her?” I asked as I shook my head and winked at Jane who smiled back at me. “I will do nothing of the sort!”
“Boss?” Jane started.
“Come,” I answered as I reached down and unbuckled my belt. Jane giggled, unaware that blood was leaking freely from the bite marks on her neck. I unbuttoned my trousers and freed my already straining cock. “Sit on it,” I ordered, and she nodded, while a blush filled her cheeks with a rosy hue. She climbed atop my straining member, straddling me as I held my cock in place and allowed her to slowly press herself down on top of it. “Mmm, very tight,” I breathed as she began grinding herself against me. Clenching her eyes shut tightly, she moaned. I reached up and gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to bend down toward me. Then I sunk my teeth into the other side of her neck.
