Dirty Debt: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Teagan Kade

  “Choices, choices,” he says, walking to the right with his hands behind his back as if he were serving dinner selections at the supermarket.

  He starts to walk back my way. No. Go back, but it’s too late. He’s seen me.

  He stands before me. “And what do we have here?”

  The Madam steps over. “Ah, yes. She’s new, this one. Fresh as a daisy.”

  “Is she housetrained?” asks the man.

  The Madam chortles. “I’m afraid not. She’ll need a firm hand.”

  The man smiles, eyes sitting on my cleavage. “I’m sure I can help in that department. Is she clean?”

  “Of course,” the Madam continues, watching me with eagle eyes.

  “I’ll take her.”

  “I’m not for sale,” I stammer.

  The Madam stoops forward and slaps me hard across the face. “Like I said.”

  It only excites the man more. “I do like the feisty ones.”

  The Madam hands him a key. “Room four, our finest. All yours.”

  The man takes my hand and pulls me up, wrenching it behind my back and pushing me forward down the hall. “Oh, we’re going to have some fun, you and me.”

  “You be good now,” the Madam warns, voice stern. She taps the cell in her pocket for effect.

  Max, where are you?

  The man pushes me into a well-furnished room lit dimly red. There’s a lingering alkaline smell to the place that makes me want to gag.

  He starts to undo his tie, approaching me as I back myself into a corner. “Don’t come any closer,” I warn.

  He laughs. “Are you going to put up a fight? I hope so.”

  He unloops his belt and folds it over in his hand, testing its give.

  I stiffen, hands against the wall, nowhere else to go.

  He unzips his pants, pulling out a flaccid, ugly cock. “I bet all those lips have tasted is sugar, but you’re slumming it now, my girl, and mark my words, by the end of this you’ll be begging for more.

  I can’t help myself, channeling Max. “I’ve seen cockroaches with bigger dicks.”

  He stops before me, cock in one hand, belt raised high in the other. “I won’t lie. This is going to hurt.”

  Before he brings it down there’s a loud bang down the hall.

  He turns. “What in hell?” but it’s not enough to distract him completely. He turns back to me, jiggling his member in his hand. “Open wide, sugar.”

  There’s more banging and commotion in the hall, shouting.

  Maybe it’s a raid. This doesn’t exactly seem like a legal establishment.

  My client stops, frustrated. “For fuck’s sake.”

  He waddles over to the door. “What’s a man to do wh—”

  Someone kicks the door down from the other side. It smashes into the Senator, driving him to the floor.

  Max walks over it, the wood splintering, the Senator unconscious below.

  “Max,” I say.

  I still think I’m dreaming it until he takes me in his arms, pressing my head against his chest. “I’m here,” he says. “But we don’t have a lot of time.”

  He takes my hand. “This way.”

  I run with him into the hall. He pauses by a fire alarm, smashing the glass with his elbow and pulling the lever inside. The alarm wails, the sprinklers turning on full. Doors open, clients and girls spilling into the hallway. I’m surprised the place has a working fire alarm at all.

  It’s chaos, but that’s clearly what Max wanted as he pulls us in the opposite direction as everyone else, towards the front of the building.

  We reach another door.

  Max pushes me behind him and kicks it once, but it seems to be fortified. “Fuck,” he says, kicking it again. He takes out a gun and fires at the lock, but the shots ricochet off.

  I take my hands off my ears, looking back down the hall.

  Max tries to kick it down once more, but the door’s not budging.

  “Max?” I call, growing nervous.

  He’s about to kick it again when it swings open. Standing there are the two men from the car. Given the look on their faces, the last person they expected to see waiting behind that door was Max.

  He seizes on it, kicking Ponytail in the head and leaping through the door, tackling the other guy to the ground and bringing the butt of the gun down on his temple. “Come on!” he yells at me.

  I run out wet into the open. There’s a full moon above, more light than usual illuminating the surroundings.

  A man walking a mutt of a dog stops when he sees me sprinting across the road. “What the fuck?” he stammers.

  Max reaches into his pocket and tosses him a cell. “Call the cops.”

  The man catches the phone. “Hey!”

  Max runs onto the road, standing in the middle of the traffic and holding the gun out. A car comes screeching to a halt. Max moves around to the driver’s door and smashes the window, pulling a man out and waving me over. “Dawn!”

  There’s a gunshot at my back. I scream and run forward, almost run over by a car travelling in the opposite direction. I step over the man Max pulled from the car and dive forward into the passenger seat. I’m barely seated before Max is inside, stepping on the gas without closing his door, the car taking off, weaving across the road as the rear windscreen shatters.

  I take hold of Max’s arm. “I thought you were…”

  He looks at me. “And leave you, there? Fuck that, and fuck Bobby Cervantes.”

  “Where are we going to go?” I’m talking too fast, shaking from the cold water.

  Max hands me a bundle in his hand. It’s my dress. I didn’t even realize he was holding it. “Found it up front. You look great what you’re wearing and all, but…”

  “Where are we going?” I repeat. “We’ve got to get out of Vegas.”

  “And let Bobby get away with that shit? Sending you to one of his fucking brothels, trying to kill me? No fucking way. Besides, he hasn’t held up his end of the bargain.”

  “But he might not be at the casino.”

  “He’s not.”

  “What?”

  “That cell I tossed to the guy on the street back there? I took it from one of the goons out in the desert, went through his messages on the way here. There’s a party tonight, hosted by Vegas’s favorite crime lord.”

  “Where?”

  “Private address at The Ridges.”

  “You know it.”

  “I do.”

  I start to squeeze my hair out over the floorboard carpet. “How are we going to get in? It’s not like we have an invitation.”

  Max turns to me and smiles. “Leave that to me.”

  Chapter 19

  Max

  I check the map on my cell and look ahead. It’s the right house alright, an ivory mansion at the very top of the street.

  Should work out well… Or not.

  It’s dark, but I see there’s a single goon on the gate.

  I press down on the gas.

  “Max?” queries Dawn, nervous.

  “Hang onto something,” I suggest, flooring it. “Tight.”

  The engine purrs. I know this is insane, completely mad, but something’s telling me it’s going to work. Like Dawn said, it’s not like we can just roll up and be waved in with open arms. No, we need a brute-force approach.

  The goon at the gate steps forward realizing I’m not slowing down. He puts a hand up, yelling something, but it’s lost over the din of the engine.

  I grip the steering wheel hard. This is an old car, built like a tank—no airbags, which is why we need all the speed we can get.

  “Max,” comes Dawn’s voice again, louder now, but I concentrate on the gate, focusing all my willpower upon it.

  Come on. Come on.

  “Max!” screams Dawn when she understands there’s no backing out.

  The goon at the gate stands there too long. He tries to jump out of the way, but we clip him on the way through. He goes bouncing off the side of the c
ar while we smash through the gates, sparks flying across the windscreen, the impact far heavier than I was expecting.

  Dawn’s still screaming as one side of the gate slides off the roof of the car and I try to wrestle the old girl across the large gravel driveway that follows, narrowly avoiding a large fountain in the center, pulling hard right to bring us around to the front of the house.

  I line the car up with the steps there.

  “Max!” shouts Dawn again.

  I floor it again and the car mounts the steps, flying through the front doors and into a marble foyer. Twin staircases surround the foyer, passing by the windows, through another set of doors and into a living room of sorts, people screaming and diving out of the way as the engine roars louder than ever in the confined space.

  I slam on the brakes, the car skidding sideways, a glass table smashing against my door, still skidding heading towards the kitchen. People clamor together in suits and fancy dresses, others in bikinis, and some in nothing at all.

  The car stops, rocking back and forth, the engine smoking and ticking. There’s brick and rock on the hood, debris from our entrance, and there’s silence save for the music that continues to beat and pulse from the DJ deck in the corner.

  I check on Dawn. She’s okay, breathing hard, but okay nonetheless.

  All I see out in the crowd is confusion. Two party guests come forward to help, thinking this is an accident, but I see another goon approaching fast from the right.

  I kick open my door and roll out, meeting him halfway and taking hold of his gun. I wrestle him to the floor and he manages to squeeze off a shot. It blows the right tire out.

  He’s strong, a real roid-head, but I head-butt him twice and pull the gun free, training it on him and waiting for the back-up, scanning the room as people scatter for the front doors.

  It’s good, this chaos. It’s all the cover we need.

  Dawn runs around behind me.

  I press the gun against the goon’s head. “Don’t be a hero. Bobby. Where is he?”

  The goon’s not ready to die. He points above us. “Last room down the hall.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Just me, brother,” comes the goon’s deep voice.

  “Bullshit,” I reply, and knock him out with the butt of the gun, taking Dawn by the hand and joining the crowd moving to the front of the house.

  The music cuts out, people shouting and screaming.

  While everyone heads outside, I take us left, up the nearest staircase. I head down the hall to the last room, kicking the door open with gun raised.

  It’s more like a small cathedral than a room, with high ceilings and stained glass windows, a bed big enough for a football team.

  I spot Bobby immediately. He’s naked, running for a set of drawers when he spots us. Two similarly naked females dash from the monstrous bed to the bathroom.

  I reach the drawers before Bobby does, swiping a jewel-encrusted gun off the top, placing it down the front of my pants.

  Bobby freezes, hands out. “Easy.”

  I keep the gun trained on him, moving to the other side of him so we can see the door. Dawn stays behind my shoulder. I can hear the two girls pining away in the bathroom. “Guy on the gate, guy downstairs. How many more can I expect?”

  “That’s it,” says Bobby, his usual bravado gone.

  “I’m not here to play games,” I state.

  “That’s all,” repeats Bobby. “I can handle myself.”

  “Sure as fuck doesn’t look like it.”

  “What do you want?” Bobby says.

  I laugh. “You guys. It’s always about business, isn’t it? Well, this time it feels very personal, and trust me, Saul’s going to hear all about it.”

  Bobby starts to inch backwards towards the door.

  I lower the gun, aiming at his knees. “You don’t want to end up like your pals in the desert, because let me tell you, they’re going nowhere fast.” I shift the gun up to aim at his crotch. “Or I could go for that baby weapon of yours there, and Jesus, it is tiny.”

  “Tell me what you want and let’s get this done,” Bobby continues.

  I shake my head. I’m so tense, every tendon spring tight, a second away from pulling the trigger. “I should end you right now for what you did to her, not to mention me. You fucked with the wrong guy this time, Bobby. I don’t care who you are.”

  “Bygones,” says Bobby. “I’m sure you understand. Now, name your fucking price.”

  “Okay.” I’m calm as I say it, but I’m a tempest inside.

  I roll up my sleeves. I walk forward casually before firing a short jab into Bobby’s gut. He goes down. I jump on top of him, placing the muzzle of the gun into his mouth. “How does that feel?”

  His eyes are saucers. He’s terrified. The big, bad crime boss is pissing himself in fear.

  “Rick,” I say. “Where is he? You tell us and you leave us the hell alone. Maybe then I won’t have to tell Saul about our misunderstanding here.

  I let the gun out enough for him to speak, feel his chest expanding and contracting like an accordion under my thighs.

  “The Slip Inn, shitty hotel off the highway. Room twelve.”

  I add the gun back to his mouth, pressing his cheek out. “You sure about that? Nod for yes.”

  He nods.

  “Do we have an understanding?”

  He nods again, sweating hard.

  “Because if I have to take out your entire operation, I will.”

  I let the gun out. “You have my word.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I know how much that’s worth.”

  “Grab that cell there,” I tell Dawn.

  She takes Bobby’s cell off the bedside drawers.

  “For safekeeping,” I say, going to pistol whip the scumbag, but I stop just in time. He flinches.

  I shake my head. “Fucking pathetic.”

  I stand. “I don’t know if you’ve been downstairs yet, but we’re going to need a new ride, too.”

  Bobby points with a trembling hand to a table by the door. “Take mine.”

  I jerk my head. “Dawn.”

  She takes the keys.

  “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

  I take her by the hand, running with her back down the stairs. The place is deserted now, the last few people heading out front.

  I expect resistance outside, but Bobby wasn’t bullshitting. There’s no one out here.

  I hit the key fob and head towards the lights.

  It’s a fucking Lamborghini.

  The scissor doors rise automatically. We both slide in.

  I hit ‘Start’ and the engine revs hard. It sounds fucking fantastic, but I don’t have time to enjoy it, stepping hard on the accelerator and getting us the fuck out of here.

  Dawn holds onto the Jesus handle as we drive over the busted front gates.

  A black SUV pulls up sideways before us, the cavalry attempting to block off the street. Goons spill from it, guns raised, but we’re in a Lamborghini.

  I blitz the accelerator and the car easily slides sideways around them, sling-shotting forward down the road.

  I keep the speed on and don’t let up until we’re far away.

  Free.

  For now.

  “You’re crazy,” says Dawn. “I mean that in the best possible way, of course.”

  I smile at her, weaving through the traffic. “Dealing with these kinds of assholes, you have to be. A sane person wouldn’t last five seconds.”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?” she smiles.

  Her hair’s damp, but it’s gorgeous. “Did I say you were sane?”

  We arrive at the Slip Inn fifteen minutes later, a dive of a motel on the outskirts of the main city. I kill the lights and drive in, but the exhaust is loud, a clear give-away.

  “There,” says Dawn, pointing.

  A man coming down the far stairs makes a break for it, running for a bobtail Harley parked down the side.

  I smi
le at Dawn and lift the door up, leaving the car running. “Fancy a jog?” I ask her.

  Chapter 20

  Dawn

  Rick’s good at running. I should know. His solution to any problem is to sprint in the opposite direction hoping it won’t catch up with him, but this time it’s going to—we are going to.

  “Come here, motherfucker,” calls Max, already closing the gap and directing him away from his bike as I struggle to keep up, the pavement hard on my bare feet.

  I can see the fear in Rick’s eyes as he turns. He’s crapping his pants.

  There’s a garden between two apartment blocks. Rick clears the gate, scrambling over the top. He leaves half of his salmon-colored shirt behind. And white loafers? Seriously?

  You never did have any fashion sense, did you, Rick?

  But Max is hot on his heels. Max doesn’t even try to jump the gate. He simply kicks it down, stampeding over the top into the gardens.

  “Make it easy on yourself,” shouts Max. “I’ve broken enough bones today.”

  Rick shows no signs of stopping.

  I almost lose sight of them as I enter the gardens, spotting them both turning the corner past a bed of roses and powering for the far corner.

  I’m out of breath, but I keep on, willing my legs to continue.

  I hear a yelp and think Max has got him, but when I round the corner I see Rick turn and head down a small alleyway.

  Max stops. Why are you stopping? I think, but when I reach his side, I realize why.

  The alley is a dead end. I’m talking a literal brick wall far too high to scale. There’s a dumpster down there, and there’s Rick, back to the wall. How fitting.

  The tables have turned. A few days ago it was me down the end of an alley like that, my life about to fall apart. Now here I am on the opposite side of the equation, about to put it right.

  Rick’s got nowhere to go. Finally, we’ve got him.

  Closer now, I can see he hasn’t wasted any time adjusting to the Vegas high life. He wears a chunky gold watch on one wrist, a necklace of similar girth hanging over the front of his shirt. The tips of his hair are bleached white. He could be an extra on Miami Vice, or a boy band member from the nineties. Either would work.