by Raquel Belle
“Well,” he says with a nod, “down to business then.”
I nod as well. Deanna is cooperating. Now it’s licks, nips, kisses and tongue-play…nice and slow.
“You said you wanted something as soon as possible, no collateral damage, no blowback, no fallout.”
“Yeah, just one job…nobody gets hurt. I mean it—nobody. And it’s got to pay well.” I can’t help but rock my hips just a tiny bit to get her going again.
“You’re in luck, I’ve got just the thing. What do you know about Fabergé eggs?”
“Eggs?” I let out a small grunt. Deanna obviously knows what they are—I feel her teeth.
“Yes, Fabergé eggs.”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“I’ll save you the history lesson. Long story short—the Russian tsars started giving them as gifts to their wives more than a hundred years ago. They’re worth a shit ton because there’s only so many of them in the world. Some have been lost to time, most are in the hands of private collectors.”
“Keep talking,” I say. I’m enjoying what’s happening both under the table and over it.
“It looks like one of the lost ones has been found, and I happen to know someone who wants it and would rather not pay the market price.”
“Okay, but am I taking someone’s family heirloom or a poor man’s meal ticket? Anything like that?”
“I did a bit of digging and my people have pinned the seller as a front for some Russian thug you wouldn’t piss on if he was on fire. You’d be taking away money from the scum of the earth.”
“Sounds fantastic.” Deena goes slower, deeper and increases the pressure. “What’s the take?”
“If everything goes according to plan, $10million on completion. $4million for you.”
Deena almost swallows me whole. I grunt. She needs to slow down. I’m sure there’s a weird look on my face.
“Ugh, come on, Anton, I’m doing all the work here?” Deanna is going nuts down there. I’m not going to last.
“Information costs money, Morton. There are lot of people involved, lots of pieces to the puzzle, people who are looking to get paid. Forty-percent of nothing is still nothing, you could do a lot worse than $4million. It’s what I could come up with on short notice and I’m willing to fund the entire operation.”
“I don’t know,” I say. I think Deanna is trying to convince me because right then she forces my cock deep into her throat and holds me there. The pressure is too much. I can’t hold it any longer, I want to burst, but if I do, it’s game over.
***
Deanna
I’ve got Jack’s cock buried in my throat to the hilt. I’m expecting him to cum but he doesn’t, so I don’t let up, my throat is clenched around him like a vise and I’m planning to milk every last drop of him on the way out. The only problem is not being able to breathe, and I need to take in some oxygen really soon.
Finally, I pull away, but when I do, I accidentally gasp loudly when I take in a lungful of air. The tablecloth rises on the other side—I know because light streams in. Jack begins to do up his pants. I quickly turn but bump my head in the process, it makes a loud noise. The jig is definitely up. I see the man’s hand reach under his coat—there’s a gun holstered.
On my side Jack’s hands come down and grab me. He pulls me up to sit next to him. There’s a gun pointed at me and it looks like something from a science fiction movie. Anton lowers it to the table and throws a cloth napkin over it. Fuck, now I’ve done it.
“What the fuck is going on, Morton? Who the fuck is this?” he asks Jack. This is definitely his angry—but still in control—voice.
Jack puts his hands up, “Anton, I’m sorry—”
“Are you setting me up?”
“Anton—”
“Answer the question.”
“No, I’m not setting you up, look, she’s nobody. I met her yesterday and we’ve been travelling together. She was just having a bit of fun, that’s all. Now stop pointing that gun at her or I’m going to take it from you, shove it up your ass and pull the trigger till the clip’s empty.”
They stare each other down.
“Even you’re not that fast, Morton,” he says.
“Trust me,” Jack says, “everything is fine. Put the gun away.”
Anton shakes his head and carefully holsters the gun, he uses the napkin and takes care that it remains out of sight.
“Maxim nine, huh? Nice.”
He ignores the comment. There’s a long moment where no one is sure what to do, then Anton speaks. “This is the pinnacle of unprofessionalism. You know the rules, Morton. How long have we known each other?”
“Ten years,” Jack says.
“Right, ten years. I came to see an old friend to lend him a hand, and he disrespects me by getting his dick sucked under the table at a meeting. A meeting where there are only meant to be two people. I’ve known you a long time and we’ve always gotten along, maybe I could let this slide if you actually knew her, but you’re telling me that you just met her yesterday. Even you don’t know who she is. Maybe she’s playing you for a fool, Morton. Have you thought about that?”
“She’s not.” Jack looks at me.
“I’m not,” I say to Anton, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve said because I’m shit scared. This wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“You don’t know that…and more importantly, I don’t know that,” Anton says. “What’s your name?” He nods to me.
“Deanna,” I say.
“Deanna,” I swear his accent makes him sound scarier, “do you know how three people keep a secret?” I don’t say anything, I expect it’s rhetorical, but he doesn’t go on until I shake my head—no. Then he says, “When two of them are dead.”
“Enough of this shit,” Jack says, “you’re scaring the girl and you know what? I don’t even want to do the job anyway. Stealing some fucking egg. This doesn’t have to become a problem unless you make it one,” he turns to me, “come on, let’s go.”
He takes my hand and begins to stand when Anton reaches for his weapon again and calmly says, “Jack, please don’t make me…sit down please.”
Jack hesitates, I pull on his hand and then he sits, but he really doesn’t look happy. I notice it’s the first time Anton hasn’t called Jack by his last name.
“I’ve got a problem here, Morton. And it seems you want to make it your problem as well. She’s seen my face and heard our entire conversation. I haven’t survived this long by throwing caution to the wind. I have rules. I never bend them or break them, not for anyone. One of those rules is that I never leave loose ends. And she…is a loose end.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Jacks says. “Seriously Anton, who the fuck is she going to tell?”
“I don’t know, Jack,” he does it again, maybe it’s his way of letting Jack know that he means it. “But that is the definition of a loose end. The only way she’s walking away from this table is if we are all guilty together. This is your one out, looks like I’m doing you two favors today.”
“Meaning?”
“Not only are you going to do the job, she’s going to do it with you.”
“Jesus,” Jack shakes his head, “she’s a Goddamn waitress, Anton.”
“I’m sorry old friend, but you brought her in to this, not me. If you give me your word, I’ll take it, because you’ve never broken it before. But if you run, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, and so will she…for however long that ends up being. I doubt anyone wants to live like that…or die like that.” He pauses and shakes his head in regret. “Believe me, I don’t want to do it, but I will. If it’s between me and someone who’s a potential threat, I’ll choose me every time. You know that.”
Jack looks at me and breathes out a huge sigh. I don’t want this to escalate. If Jack tries to protect me right now, he’s going to kill a ten-year friendship…maybe even this man…and it’ll all be because I was stupid and did something dumb
. Neither of us will be safe again.
“I’ll do it,” I say. My voice sounds far away, like it isn’t mine, but then I look at Jack and gain some confidence. “I want to help, really, we’ll do this, right Jack?”
“You see, Morton,” Anton says calmly, “she wants to do it.”
Jack looks at me and sighs. Then he closes his eyes and turns his head to the ceiling for a long moment. When he looks back at Anton, his lips are pursed and he seems like he’s still deciding. Then he sticks his hand out and says, “You have my word.”
“Good,” Anton says, and shakes Jack’s hand. “I’ll show you everything I’ve got tomorrow morning at breakfast. 8 ‘o clock, right here. I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to it.” He stands up and half turns, then turns back, “It’s good to see you again my friend.” He’s got a slight smile on his face like he knows a secret no one else does.
Jack returns that same half smile, maybe a bit more of an embarrassed one, and nods tiredly, “You too.”
Chapter Fifteen
Deanna
We walk to the elevator together, our fingers linked. We don’t say anything. I can’t think of anything to say. The car is still coming down, so we wait patiently, hand in hand. When the doors open, Jack holds my shoulders and says, “Why don’t you go on ahead. I’ll find us some dinner and bring it up.”
“Are you angry with me?” I have to force the words out. I’m scared. I’m in way over my head here. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I think Jack sees it. He gives me a hug.
“I’m not angry, Deanna. What happened in there was as much my fault as anybody’s.” He releases me from the hug, “Go on now. I’ll be up in a little while.”
I step in and push the button.
The ride up is the loneliest in the world. When I get out I almost sprint to our door and so I can get inside the room. The adrenaline is still there…the sense of panic. I still don’t feel safe.
My mind is racing. This is such a colossal fuckup. I saw a thing in a movie once where a guy said that if you’re anxious, you should take off your shoes and your socks and make fists with your toes on the carpet.
I give it a try…it doesn’t work.
They should start using my name as a verb. Why’d you have to go and Deanna everything up? In the dictionary it would say—to be reckless, foolish and stupid. To leap without looking. To pull a Deanna.
Now I have to be involved in an actual crime. I can’t believe Jack didn’t know what a Fabergé egg is. They’ve been in so many movies. They’re worth tens of millions. This is definitely not going to be something low profile. If we get caught I could wind up going to jail…for a very, very long time.
Anton said it was stealing from a bad person, but stealing is still stealing…and someone who has a lot of money and resources isn’t going to just let you get away with it. David certainly wouldn’t tolerate anyone stealing from him. Even if there was no money to recover he’d make an example out of that person as a warning to everyone else.
Why the hell did I go down there. Jack explicitly told me not to go down and I behaved like a spoiled brat—I always have to have my way.
Should I just run?
Should I call Terry?
No, either one of those things happen and Anton will see to it that we’re dead before dawn. No…would that really happen? No, it would land on Jack. Anton might end up torturing Jack before he kills him to get my full name so that he can track me down. I could never do that to him.
Fuck.
I start pacing the length of the room, from the living area to the small dining area, back and forth…back and forth.
Jack wasn’t even angry with me. I would have been so pissed. That was weird. Why wasn’t he angry? At the end he just seemed resigned.
I start to replay things in my head.
Jack was calm the whole time. Were they speaking in code?
“Believe me, I don’t want to do it, but I will. If it’s between me and someone who’s a potential threat, I’ll choose me every time. You know that.” Was he trying to tell Jack something?
“I’m sorry old friend, but you brought her in to this, not me. If you give me your word, I’ll take it, because you’ve never broken it before.” He’s saying that I’m Jack’s problem to solve.
“The only way she’s walking away from this table is if we are all guilty together. This is your one out, looks like I’m doing you two favors today.” Is he saying that if Jack takes me out that he’s free to walk away from this job?
And Jack did say to him “I’m not setting you up, she’s nobody…”
If I’m nobody, is Jack coming back here to kill me? Is he willing to?
Would he really do that? No. He wouldn’t. He’s Jack.
But…what if?
Am I supposed to roll the dice on that? I haven’t known him a full forty-eight hours!
But I have this feeling about him.
He wouldn’t…but can I afford to be wrong?
I’m going to wear a hole in this carpet—my steps are that quick.
The only thing keeping Jack from leaving here free and clear is me! What if he’s talking to Anton right now and he’s telling him that it’s as good as done? Maybe he’s just thinking about the best way to do it.
What if I’m the dumbest bitch in the whole world and Terry was right about Jack? He knows exactly where I am, it’s not like it’s going to be a problem finding me. The room isn’t even in his name, he could walk in here, put a bullet in me, walk away and vanish.
Fuck!
I haven’t unpacked much, I start to throw whatever’s laying around of mine into my bag and then get my shoes back on. I have to get out of here.
Fuck!
Then I realize that leaving is going to be a gamble. He could be on his way up right now. He could catch me in the hallway. The fire-escape is also out…Anton’s men could be waiting for me, blocking all the exits. Should I risk it? Pick a route and try my luck?
I am so fucked!
Wait, the gun…the gun from the gas station. I run to the bags of goodies from the store and dig through them. Here we go. For defense, I’ll take the gun and go for the fire-escape.
I hadn’t gotten a look at it before, it’s a .38 revolver. Smith and Wesson. I check to see if it’s loaded and notice that my hands are shaking.
Fuck!
I stupidly eject all the cartridges into my hand before I realize I should have just looked at the other end of the cylinder. Of the six rounds, only one is spent.
I try to reload but I’m literally vibrating right now and in the shuffle all the bullets fall out of my hand. They land with the sound of raindrops on an umbrella. I get to my knees…and as I grab the first round I hear the door opening. This is it, this is how I die.
“I’m back,” he steps through.
I manage to shove one bullet in and push the cylinder closed, I don’t even know if it’s in the right chamber to fire. I leap to my feet, cock the gun and yell, “STOP RIGHT THERE!”
He looks at me with a frown, “What the fuck, Deanna?”
He takes a step forward. He’s holding a brown paper bag in his hands, no doubt the implements he’ll use to dispose of my body, who the hell knows what’s in there?
“I SAID STOP!”
“What are you—"
“WHAT’S IN THE BAG?”
“Calm d—”
“I SAID WHAT’S IN THE BAG?” I think my heart is going to burst out of my chest.
He drops the bag on the table and throws his hands out in frustration, “CHINESE!”
I don’t understand…
“Do you not like Chinese? Because I can—”
And then it hits me. I’ve just pulled a Deanna. All the adrenaline, the tension, the panic, the fear…it breaks like a dam and I start crying.
“I thought…” I can’t speak, I’m heaving, “I thought you were coming here to kill me.” I drop my hand to my side and use every bit of concentration
I have left to slowly and carefully release the hammer—it takes both hands.
I don’t know whether the tears are from joy, the fear of death, something in between…relief…I really don’t. All I know is that they are hot and they won’t stop coming. I feel so fucking exhausted. I need to sit down, but I’m still standing there, I don’t feel steady enough to move.
Jack approaches me slowly and holds me. “I would never do anything to hurt you, you need to know that. I don’t know how you made the leap from me saying I was going to get dinner to me coming up here to kill you.”
He kisses my tears and then my forehead and then once more on my lips. Then he holds me to him again.
The fear melts away. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Oh wait, I see it now, I see how you connected those dots,” he laughs.
“You do?”
“Well, since we did walk out of there in one piece, and you being the witness was the point of contention—and since we only know each other for two days—you figured it was easier for me to get rid of you than to go through with the whole thing.”
I laugh, he really does get me. “Yeah it was something like that.”
“That’s pretty smart. In your shoes, I might’ve thought the same thing.”
“Thank you! See? I wasn’t overreacting,” my voice is muffled because I’m talking against his chest as I cry it all out.
“Deanna, I told Terry that I would take fifty bullets before I’d let anything happen to you. I meant that.”
There’s nothing I can say, I squeeze him tighter in response. I shouldn’t have doubted him.
“I did tell you not to come down there though.”
“I know, I’m sorry…” I sniff, “and I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. Trust is earned, not given. I should have thought about what…would have been going through your mind—being a civilian and all—I should have come up with you and talked it out. Instead I went for a walk to think about me.”
“No, it’s not your fault.”
“Okay, how about we go half and half? We split the blame this time and learn from it?”
