by Nora Haley
Viktor still seems a little awed. “You were risking life and limb for money you gave away to a friend’s widow. Are you a fucking saint or something?”
I chuckle. “Come on, man! Do I look like a saint?”
“You don’t have to look the part. That’s not what being a saint is about.”
“So no halos and shit?”
Viktor laughs and raises his beer to his lips again. “Nope, no halos and shit. But seriously, kudos to you, man.”
“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
He nods and we get back to staring into the night for a couple of minutes before Viktor picks up the conversation again. “You must have some plans for your life, though. Like... I saw you with that waitress earlier. She your girl?”
“Only met her today.”
“You’re shitting me, buddy!”
“Can’t believe it myself,” I say. “But I swear to God, today was the first time I laid eyes on her.”
“Damn.” Viktor takes another swig of his beer. “You two had some fucking chemistry.”
“Tell me about it.” I still remember quite vividly how uncomfortably tight my pants were after that kiss.
“So, assuming she’d be your girl from now on: What would you do for a living?”
I look out over the smooth surface of the pool, trying to visualize a life with her. “Honestly? I don’t know. All I know is that I would work any shitty job, as long as I could be with her.”
Viktor laughs. “You know that’s pretty much exactly what I said when I met Maria. But then I wanted to take care of her and buy her nice things and now look at me.” He grins a slightly lopsided grin.
He’s right. I would want to take care of Emily to the best of my abilities. Give her all she needs, all she wants, everything.
“That doesn’t mean it has to go the same way for you,” Viktor says. “But…” He pauses, collecting himself. “You know, I could use a partner. Especially someone like you.”
Wow. I didn’t see that coming. Was that a business proposition?
I stare at him. “Are you serious?”
Viktor shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We only met today, and...”
“You also only met your girl today and you’re sure about her, aren’t you? Not to compare apples with oranges, but you don’t strike me as a man who takes long to make up his mind. You know how it is. In our line of work we have to learn to make decisions fast. That’s why we listen to our gut and what it tells us. And my gut tells me you’re a reliable guy.”
Looking at him I can see no signs why I shouldn’t trust him. His face is open. Honest. My gut gave me the go-ahead before, when he suggested we tone it down with hitting each other. I like Viktor.
“Anyway, think about it,” Viktor says. “Here’s my number.” He hands me a business card. An actual fucking business card.
I pocket it with an amused smile. “Thanks, man, I appreciate the offer.”
“Here’s to new opportunities and unexpected new friends.” He taps his bottle against mine again and drinks deeply.
We sit in silence for a bit, then he gets up. “Time to get home to the missus. See you soon, I hope.”
He pats me on the shoulder and then he’s gone. I stay behind, staring out over the city, thinking.
I imagine how it would be to go home now and find Emily sleeping in my bed. How I would slip under the covers and shuffle closer, spooning her. How warm she would be, how soft and inviting. Maybe she’d press back against me, half asleep, pushing her ass into my crotch.
Yeah, I’d really love that.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. If she’s already off work. Maybe she is sleeping, safe and sound in her bed. I hope she is.
I dig my phone out of my pocket. I need a moment to make up my mind, then I take a picture of the infinity pool in front of me with the city lights in the background.
Wish you were here for a bit of night swimming, I type and click send.
Hope to see you real soon.
I think about it for a moment, then I add:
What are you doing tomorrow night?
When I slip the phone back in my pocket an excited shriek from the apartment makes me turn around. While I was sitting out there with Viktor the get-together in the living room has evolved into a pretty wild party. The huge window gives me a perfect view of the ongoing debauchery: Gilbert’s snorting coke off Cheryl’s tit. Shawn’s got his hand down another girl’s top and Derek and Russell drink booze straight from the bottle. Looks like it’s high time for me to go home.
On the way out I have to step over a lot of broken flower pots.
Viktor and I damaged quite a few items throughout our fight, but Gilbert didn’t seem to mind. Probably he’ll call someone tomorrow who’ll fix everything while he’s at work and when he’ll come back in the evening, this place will be as good as new.
Viktor’s right. It’s time to move on from all this.
* * *
It’s late when I come home, or perhaps already early. There’s only one thing left to do before I crawl into bed: take a shower. I’ve been looking forward to that for a while now.
I squint when I switch on the light in the bathroom. A quick glance in the mirror confirms my suspicion – I look like shit. There’s a bruise on my left cheek and cuts on my lip and my forehead. Exhaustion painted dark circles under my eyes.
I take off my boots first, then my socks. I pull my hoodie and T-shirt over my head. My torso doesn’t look any better than my face. There are bruises all over my ribs.
When I stretch, the muscles ripple under my skin. You can see that I work out a lot. I’m buff. I don’t do it to look good, that’s only a pleasant side effect. It’s also usually not something I waste any thoughts on, but today I wonder if Emily would like it. I run my hands over my bulging pecs down my hard abs. I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants, sliding them down my narrow hips, taking my shorts with them.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
I’m not a pretty boy that’s for sure. There’s nothing soft about me. There’s no part of me that hasn’t been beaten and bruised. I’m in desperate need of a shave and a good night’s sleep. Perhaps a hair-cut too. The hair on top is getting unruly. Soon I’ll look like a damn poodle if I don’t do anything about it.
I do have some good features though. My physique above all – broad shoulders, a barrel chest, slim hips, strong legs, a thick cock. My eyes are okay, too, I guess. And perhaps my lips, they’re almost sensual you could say. And my hair, for all its poodle-tendencies, is dark and thick with hardly any gray in it yet. Nothing to take for granted at my age.
I run my hand through it and decide I’ve done enough literal navel-gazing. I turn on the water and step under the shower.
An involuntary groan escapes me when the hot water hits my skin. It feels so fucking good. I lean my forehead against the cool tiles while I enjoy the patter on my back, the pleasant heat softening my muscles, washing all the tension away. I let my mind wander and naturally it doesn’t take long until my thoughts return to Emily.
My cock hardens when I remember her curves. For the first time since I met her, I allow myself to give in to the arousal. I submerge myself in it. I summon more memories of her lush body as I wrap my hand around my dick and squeeze. It twitches between my fingers, eager, filling out quickly.
I think of her tits when I give myself the first stroke. I groan again as the pleasure travels from my nerve endings up to my brain.
Her tits are magnificent. I can only imagine how they would feel in my hands, so soft. Deliciously tender. I want to bury my face in them. I want to cover them in kisses. I want to squeeze them together and use them to stroke my thick, fat cock. I want to suck on her nipples until she’s begging me to fuck her.
I want to take her hard and rough, but I also want to make sweet love to her, kiss her plush lips, feel the excited flicker of her tongue against mine while her pussy clenches around
my cock. I want to taste her, worship her, revel in the glory of her cunt, thrust my tongue inside her, suck at her clit, eat her out until she’s delirious with pleasure.
My cock pulses in my hand. My balls are heavy. I’m already close and I don’t have the energy left to drag it out. I increase the rhythm of my fist moving up and down my hard shaft. Precum mixes with the hot water.
Her name is on the tip of my tongue when I come, painting the tiles in silver ropes of cum.
Chapter Seven
Emily
I take Mackenzie’s advice to heart and wait for the cab to pull up in front of the club before I step outside. And even then I hurry, covering the short distance between the door and the car as fast as I can.
The cabbie gives me a sympathetic look when I slide into the backseat. He’s probably used to this – women running towards his car in the dead of night as if the devil is at their heels.
“Long shift, eh?” he comments as I pull the door shut behind me.
“Yap. Glad I’m finally off.”
“So where do you wanna go?”
I give him my address and he nods and starts the engine.
It’s only then that I relax a little.
Working nights, I’m used to feeling queasy about dark corners and afraid of people hiding in the shadows. There’s always the chance to get mugged – or worse. I guess you get used to the fear. You take your precautions and hope for the best.
Worrying about a particular person to show up is new for me though. The other girls complain about stalkers occasionally, about dudes that are so taken with them, they won’t leave them alone. They will send them flowers, come to the club every night and stay until closing time, even show up at unexpected places during the day – at my colleagues’ homes, the store around the corner, the park…
There’s a fine line between romantically pursuing someone and stalking them.
Staring out into the dark, deserted streets, I think of Jon and how he looked at me, his dark eyes flickering over my face, observant. He would notice when I’m uncomfortable. He would back off. I believe that with all my heart. I’m sure he’s not only physically strong but also mentally resilient. Unlike assholes with fragile egos, men like him can live with rejection.
Not that I want to turn him down.
That’d be pretty much the opposite of what I want.
Just thinking about the things I want him to do to me makes me blush. Perhaps it’s because of the kiss we shared that I can imagine them so vividly. Every time I remember how it felt to have his lips on mine and his tongue slip into my mouth, my pulse quickens and a hot flush spreads over my skin.
I’m interested in the human body from a medical point of view, so it’s fascinating to take a step back and observe my physical reactions: The heightened heart-rate, the short breath, the treacherous wetness pooling sinful and hot between my legs. I get aroused just thinking of him. It’s new and strange and somewhat incapacitating. I can’t think of anything else but him.
I recently turned twenty-three, I’m not a kid anymore, but I never had a crush on someone so much older than me. I think he’s in his mid to late thirties. A real man, not just some pretty boy I fancy who doesn’t return my interest anyway.
That’s the weirdest thing about it all – that Jon likes me too. This tough-as-nails guy wants my chubby body. At least enough to kiss me in front of frigging everybody.
I still can’t believe it really happened. A guy like him and a girl like me, that’s highly unlikely. If I had needed confirmation of the improbability of such a match the comments of my co-workers and the reactions of the customers would have given me plenty. They all treated me differently after that public display of desire. As if I had won a secret award or something. Fat girl hits jackpot.
The girls looked at me with something akin to respect. Like they wanted to say: What a catch, Emily, well done. And the guys suddenly eyed me with interest as if they were eager to detect what it is that Jon sees in me.
Which also had its upsides. At least I made enough tip the taxi ride home doesn’t seem like a decadent luxury for once. Not that ever is. Not really. But when you’re so used to saving every cent you can, almost any expense comes under intense scrutiny and you wonder if you really need this or that. But then, I definitely need to get home from work safely. And sadly Jon isn’t available to take care of that.
I wonder where he might be right now...
Just on cue my phone buzzes. A text message, and it’s from him. A photo of what looks like an infinity pool. Wish you were here for a bit of night swimming, he writes.
I consider responding that I, unfortunately, don’t have a swimsuit with me.
Or is that too cheeky? He almost certainly will tell me that bathing attire isn’t mandatory for private pools, and then I will think about skinny dipping with him and… Damn, I’m already thinking about it. I’m picturing him naked and holy shit, even the mental image is too hot to be allowed.
I don’t know if I should be sad or glad about it but the driver interrupts my filthy thoughts at this very moment by stopping the car. We’re there. I tip him generously and he waits until I’m at the door, fumbling with my keys before he starts the engine again and drives off.
Suddenly I’m terribly tired. My hands are getting clumsy. I can’t wait to fall into bed.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t hear him coming.
A hand clamps down over my mouth from behind and then I’m hauled backwards. I kick and struggle, but the man holding me is too strong. I scream, but the hand on my face stifles every sound. I try to bite it, to claw at the guy’s arm.
“Stop fighting, bitch, or I’m gonna shoot you,” my captor hisses and that shuts me up.
Fear washes over me in one huge paralyzing wave as I realize how helpless I am. I can’t do anything to stop this from happening. Like a big doll, I’m dragged to a van and thrown into its back. That’s when I get the first glimpse of my kidnapper. He’s wearing black clothes and a ski mask to disguise his identity, but I have a terrible suspicion who he might be.
He pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants and points it at me. “Give me your purse.”
I hand it to him, quickly. He checks if my phone is in there. Then the door of the van slams shut and I’m alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eight
Jon
I wake to the buzzing of my phone. No idea how late it is, but it feels too early. The light is too bright in my eyes. I squeeze them shut, grope around for the phone blindly, determined to switch it off. It doesn’t stop buzzing.
I blink.
That’s when I see it: Twenty-three missed calls from Emily. Twenty fucking three?
In a split second, I’m wide awake.
I’m out of bed and calling her back before I know it. Other people would probably assume she’s crazy, block her number and forget about her, but I know it in my gut: Something’s wrong.
It hardly rings before someone picks up.
“Hey asshole,” a guy says. “I’ve got your girl.”
There’s a little disconnect. My mind goes blank for a moment.
Then I see red.
Rage wells up inside me. A blinding-hot wave of fury. I have to take the phone away from my ear for a second to take a deep breath. I’m tempted to hurl it against the wall in a fit of anger. It’s only with great effort that I calm down enough to respond.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice rough and guttural. Every muscle in my body is tense, my heart beating like a war drum in my chest.
“Come and get her,” the asshole says. “And no cops.”
Is this guy really that stupid? What kind of trap does he think he can spring on me that will stop me from beating the shit out of him? I will tear him to pieces with my bare hands when I get to him.
I force myself to keep my calm and look for pen and paper to jot down the address he’s giving me. I have a pretty good idea who it is I’m talking to – it must be the jerk from the club I alm
ost slapped around yesterday. It’s not that I haven’t made other enemies over the years. I just can’t think of one who’d know about Emily. After all, we only met. And that boy, he’s just the type. Someone whose ego is too fragile to get over the humiliation of being called out for shitty behavior in public. Some spoiled brat who never had to pay for anything in his life.
It’s time to change that. I’m gonna teach him a lesson he won’t forget.
“And come alone,” the asshole repeats before he hangs up.
As if I’d let anyone else do that job for me! The guy has no idea who he’s dealing with. From the look of it, he didn’t bother making the most basic of inquiries or he wouldn’t think abducting my woman is something he’s going to get away with.
I pack my things and I’m off.
It’s almost two hours’ drive to the address he gave me. It must be a remote cabin, some lake house in the wilderness. He probably feels safe there. Emily sure as hell won’t though. The time on the road gives me a lot of time to imagine her huddled in a corner, scared for her life. Or worse. I forbid myself to think about it but I can’t help it. The horror of it creeps up on me, again and again.
I grit my teeth and the impulse to slam my foot on the gas and max out my faithful old Mustang’s potential. I could go much faster than speed limit, but then I’d risk getting stopped by the cops, and I can’t be delayed. Not when Emily’s in danger.
I’m under no illusions that this whole affair will get me into trouble with the law. The only question is how serious the charges will be. So I’ve got to be smart about this. Keep everything as low-key as possible. My self-given mission order is incapacitate, don’t kill.
After about one hour and forty-five minutes, my GPS tells me to leave the highway and turn right into a small dirt road. I follow it through the woods for about ten minutes until I come to the shores of a lake. I’m almost there. I stop the car and turn off the engine.
There’s a house about five to six-hundred yards from where I’m parking. It looks even fancier than I imagined. Like what you get when you tell a contemporary architect to design you a log cabin and it turns out half rustic, half modern. It’s pretty, I have to give him that, but from a practical perspective, it’s fucking dumb to use it for a kidnapping. Its huge windows give me an excellent view of everything that goes on inside.
