Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3)

by Christina Saunders

  I yanked at the rope, but it held fast. Whatever knot Carey had taught Scarlett wasn’t the half-assed kind I knew about.

  “Fuck!” I yelled and kicked my legs out of sheer frustration, as if that would help. It didn’t. But it didn’t matter. I would rip the rope apart thread by thread if I had to, if that was the way to get to Scarlett.

  I studied the threads around my left wrist. She’d tied it just tight enough that I couldn’t shimmy out of it, but it didn’t cut off my circulation. Same for the right wrist. I scooted up the bed so my back was against the pipe headboard. Pushing back against it, I tested to see if it had any give. None. I suspected some of the pipe was original to the warehouse and ran down to the first floor and then into the ground. And, of course, I was tied to the original fucking pipes.

  She’d left enough slack between the headboard and my wrists that, after some huffing and more than a few curse words, I was able to turn myself around to face it, though now my hands were crossed and bound even more tightly.

  The silver pipes snaked around each other, but I could see areas where they were mismatched and some had been soldered together or screwed into one another. The patchwork of metal was a mixture of old and new. The original pipes weren’t going anywhere, but the ones Carey added might be susceptible to force. Problem was, I could reach only two individual pipes with my hands twisted, and both of those looked to be the permanent ones.

  “Fuck!” I seethed and yanked some more, the rope chafing my wrists. “Calm down, moron. Think, think, think.” Peering at the pipes again, I noticed one that might have been low enough to wrench free. It was short, but the solder looked tight. Still, it was worth a try. But there was no way to get to it from this angle. More huffing and cursing, and I twisted to lie on my back again so I’d have more slack.

  I scooted up and reached my right hand as far as I could toward the short pipe.

  “Yes. Fuck yes.” I was barely able to get my fingers around it, but it was something. I gripped as hard as I could and yanked. Nothing happened, except a rattling noise rose from the vibration in the permanent pipes. I pulled again and again, but at the angle, I couldn’t get enough force to wrench it free.

  I rested for a moment, sweat coating my brow. Leaning my head back, I stared at the short pipe, willing it to break off in my hand. What would I do with it once I had it? I didn’t know. But I’d definitely be better off with than without.

  Gripping it again, I pulled until I thought the tendons in my wrist might pop. No movement. Scarlett had been gone for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more. Carey had thought to put every sort of rope known to man on his walls, but nothing useful, like a clock.

  I leaned my head back and took a deep breath. My arm wasn’t going to get it done on its own. I glanced down my body. Six-four, 220 pounds. I’d been leaving out my best leverage from the force equation.

  I wrapped my fingers around the bar, and instead of trying to wrench it free, I pulled myself up, letting my full weight come to bear on that one soldered joint. My muscles burned, but I lifted until I was, for the most part, hanging off that one piece of metal. Then I kicked my legs up and back down, bouncing all my weight. My arm and abs protested, but I kept pulling and kicking.

  Metal clanged from below from my efforts and the pipes whined, but nothing gave. Until it did. With a satisfying ting, the short pipe came loose. I dropped to the bed, the metal in my hand.

  “Yes!” I roared like I’d just killed a wildebeest with my bare hands. “Kennedy Granade laying the pipe, ladies and gentlemen.”

  After the brief victory, dread swirled in my gut like a tornado. Get to Scarlett, get to Scarlett, get to Scarlett.

  I inspected my spoils. The pipe had a jagged edge from where the solder had come apart. I scooted the pipe through my fingers and went to work on the rope, holding the threads taut while I whacked at them with the rough edge. Ten minutes later, one hand was free, and I was able to untie the other.

  I dashed out of bed and swiped my .45 off the island before running down the back stairs, but when I got to the garage, both cars were gone. I flicked on the overhead fluorescents. Carey’s motorcycles glinted, speed and danger all rolled into sexy packages of steel and chrome.

  The Ducati would do.

  I snagged a helmet from the wall, turned the key, and fired up the crotch rocket. It purred like a kitten as I eased it toward the exit and hit the button to raise the garage door. A light rain fell, and I’d be soaked through in no time. But I didn’t care. I had to get to her.

  I tore off through the slick streets, heading toward downtown. I wasn’t much of a rider, but necessity made me bolder. I gunned it through the narrow streets and then out onto the four-lane highway that was the lifeline between Metairie and New Orleans. Dodging cars, I weaved in and out of traffic and eventually took over the centerline as my own.

  The rain pelted my exposed skin, but I didn’t care. The sting would be worth it once I knew she was safe in my arms. A car turned in front of me, and I barely missed colliding with it as I wrenched the bike to the right. The back wheel fishtailed on the slick pavement. I held on tight and barely straightened it out before nailing another car ahead of me. I whizzed past it, the side-view mirror grazing my upper arm.

  “Fuck!” I shouted into the rainy dark, lit only by red brake lights and the random working streetlight. I cruised off the main street and took the side roads instead. Flying through stop signs and around cars, I made good time. When I pulled up in front of the hotel, it was right at seven. If Eric was upstairs, I should have enough time to get to the room before anything happened.

  I parked under the front entrance and darted past the valet, ignoring him completely. The hotel was one of the fancier ones in the city, and the bar to the right was decked out in gold and crimson. Several ladies sat drinking, spaced out enough for any man to come and pick them up.

  Everything else passed in a blur as I jogged to the elevators and jammed my forearm into the closing doors. They pulled open for me and I stepped inside. Soaking wet and shivering, I did my best to smile at the elderly couple who rode with me. They smushed themselves into the back corner as I pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

  I gave them a small salute. They winced.

  The ride to my floor was short, and I ran down the hall until I found the set of suite doors Carey had arranged. Room 1134 was where Scarlett would be. I walked up and raised my knuckles to knock, but hesitated.

  She’d asked me trust her. No, that wasn’t true. She’d practically begged me to trust her all day, and I hadn’t. Instead, I wound up tied to a bed. That rankled, but then again, what choice had I given her? Still, I couldn’t leave her alone with a man like Eric. I pulled back to knock and then stayed my hand again.

  Fuck. If I knocked, I’d ruin her whole plan.

  I glanced over to room 1136, where Carey was set up. Though it took every tiny shred of willpower I possessed, I backed off and walked to Carey’s door. I heard voices from inside. Was Scarlett with Carey? I knocked lightly. The voices went silent.

  I stared at the suite number. It was correct. I was at the right place. I knocked again, a little louder. Silence, and no one came to the door. What the fuck? The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong.

  I eyed Scarlett’s room again. If Eric was in there, chances were slim he’d just open up for me. How would I get in? I glanced down the hall. A portly man got off the elevator with a petite blonde who clung to him almost as tightly as his shirt.

  I patted my back pocket to make sure I had my wallet and took off back downstairs.

  “Keep it, give it away, I don’t care.” Eric’s voice called from inside the hotel room.

  “Tell him that won’t work, either,” I whispered to the big-haired, brash make-upped hooker I’d picked up in the lobby. Twenty dollars well spent.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but that’s against policy, too. I’m just trying to do my job here.”

  “Perfect,” I mouthed from m
y spot flat against the wall.

  She winked and held up the champagne and glasses I’d borrowed from in front of another room down the hall.

  “Okay, I’m coming. Hang on.”

  “You’re going to want to back up for this,” I whispered, and pulled the .45 from my waistband, clicking off the safety. “Enjoy the champagne.”

  She took a few steps away from the door as I heard the bolt slide open and the handle turned. I threw my weight into the door. Eric let out a surprised cry as I rushed inside. The door shut behind me as I advanced on him. He whipped Scarlett to his front and pressed a knife to her neck.

  “One step closer and I’ll cut her.”

  Her eyes were wide, her mascara running from her tears. Other than that, she didn’t look hurt, but I couldn’t be sure. Rage boiled to my surface, and I wanted nothing more than to rip Eric’s fucking head off.

  “Stop!” He shouted. “Drop your fucking gun.”

  “It’s okay, Scarlett. It’s going to be okay.” I lowered the gun.

  “Drop it.”

  I hesitated, but I knew I wasn’t a good-enough shot to take him out without endangering Scarlett.

  “I said drop it!” Eric nicked her skin, blood pooling on the edge of the blade. He would pay for that.

  I knelt and put the gun on the floor before standing to my full height.

  “Now, back the fuck up and go into the hallway.”

  “Let her go, Eric. She doesn’t know anything.” I wanted to move closer, but I didn’t dare.

  “I said open the fucking door and step into the hall.” He crushed her to him, his arm squeezing her ribs, but she didn’t make a sound, only stared at me with imploring eyes.

  “I can’t do that. I won’t.”

  “Then you’re going to watch me cut her throat, because that’s how this is going to end, with the two of you dead.” He kissed her ear. “Sorry I’m going to have to skip the fireworks I had planned.”

  “Eric, don’t.” I took a step back.

  “Too late. First her, then you.”

  A bang came from my left and the connecting suite door burst open, shards of wood flying as the bolt and the doorjamb splintered. Two people rushed in, both in black ski masks, and aimed their guns at us. A few quiet pops, then a sting at my neck, and my vision began to blur.

  “Scarlett?” She dropped to the floor as Eric fell back onto the bed. I tried to crawl to her, but made it only a foot before my vision dimmed and I closed my eyes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Scarlett

  “Scarlett Carmichael. She’s the attorney from Stone and Porter.” A man’s voice, low and close.

  “Who’s the guy?” a woman asked.

  “Another attorney. Kennedy Granade. He’s the one with U.S. attorney brother.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Eric Stiles.”

  “Piece of shit. Take him and get his confession.”

  A scraping noise, as if something heavy was being dragged away.

  The woman made a hmm noise. “So Scarlett and Kennedy were in on it, or not?”

  I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids refused to cooperate.

  “Gorepheus says they weren’t, that they were trying to bring Rhone down.”

  “Gorepheus isn’t with us, so we afford his word the same weight as everyone else’s. Garbage.”

  “Hey, pretty girl. Wake up.” The woman’s voice whispered close to my ear and someone gripped my hair and pulled my head up. Sensation began to return to my limbs, and I realized I was tied to a chair.

  I forced my eyelids open. My vision slowly cleared to show a woman, her blond hair shaved along the sides and long on the top, with heavy piercings in her lips and brows, staring up at me. She settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, a pensive look creasing her brow. She looked about thirty years old, maybe a little more. Her black leather jacket was well worn, and spiderwebs decorated both sides of her neck in stark ink.

  The room was frigid, and the light overhead illuminated only a small circle around me. There was no way to know where I was.

  She smiled. “I’m Charlotte’s Web. You’re Scarlett. Care to tell me what you were doing with Eric Stiles, enemy of Discord?”

  My tongue was too big in my mouth, and I couldn’t make words.

  “Give her a sip of water,” she instructed.

  A shadowy figure to my left pulled my head back and held a cup to my lips. I sipped and sputtered a little before settling down and trying to focus on Charlotte’s Web again.

  “He was trying to kill me.” My voice was a croak.

  She looked me up and down. “You’re the one who looks dressed—or rather undressed—to kill. From what I can tell, you set up a rendezvous with Eric and intended to fuck him and double-cross Carey and Kennedy. You were in on the Rhone break-in and Fluffy’s murder the entire time.”

  “N-no. That’s not true.” I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t because of the man gripping my hair. “I was trying to get Eric to admit what he and Frank Rhone had done, record it, then give it to the feds. That was the plan.”

  “And you were the bait for getting him to talk?” She gave me another once-over.

  “Yes. But he knew what I was doing. He was going to hurt me, t-to—”

  “Rape you?” she filled in.

  “Yes.”

  Someone groaned next to me, but I couldn’t see who it was.

  “I want to believe you. I do. Eric’s fate is already sealed. He sought us out, asked us to perform the break-in and set up Greenwood. We were all too happy to oblige. Discord has no problem taking money from the fascists and letting them fight it out amongst themselves. But when we discovered what happened to Fluffy.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a metal set of knuckles. She slid them onto her right hand and flexed, showing me the spiders set in steel.

  I shivered. “I swear I’m telling you the truth. We—Kennedy, and Carey, and me—were trying to expose Rhone. They tried to have us killed, too.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “We heard about the shoot-out at the house on the Pontchartrain. But everyone got away unharmed. Makes it seem like you were in on it. Maybe had cold feet and warned your newfound friends instead of staying loyal to Rhone and Eric?”

  “No.” Kennedy’s voice, slurred and slow, rang out next to me.

  “Hi, handsome.” She gave him the same friendly smile she’d greeted me with. “You have something to add to our little conversation?”

  “Scarlett is inno—” He coughed and tried again. “Innocent. She’s telling the truth.”

  A scream echoed from somewhere farther inside the building.

  I shook so hard, the chair squeaked.

  “Don’t worry, pretty. That’s just Eric.”

  “Good,” Kennedy spat.

  I nodded as best I could with the man’s hand still pulling my head back.

  “He was going to kill her. He knew we were onto them. You can check it all. Did you search the hotel room? There was recording equipment. She was trying to get his confession. Have you talked to Carey?”

  “Gorepheus says you two are legit.” She stroked the knuckles against her cheek almost lovingly. “But we don’t trust anyone outside of Discord. What happened to Fluffy being the prime example why. Then again, we did find the recording equipment. Chantilly Mace is watching the footage as we speak. I suspect she’ll be the deciding vote on you two.”

  Footsteps approached, echoing through the gloom. Charlotte’s Web smiled. “Speak of the devil.”

  A brunette appeared behind Charlotte’s Web and leaned over, whispering in her ear.

  “Well, well.” She stood and thanked the brunette, who retreated back into the dark. “Looks like you two are telling the truth.” She plucked the metal knuckles off and dropped them into her pocket. “Too bad. Maybe next time. Untie them.” She waved a hand and the man holding my hair finally released me.

  Warm fingers played at my wrists and my back. The ropes fell away and
I could breathe again. I glanced to Kennedy. His eyes were fixed on me, an inscrutable look on his face—relieved, angry, happy all at war with one another.

  “You tied me up.” His expression turned to a glare.

  “It’s my job.” The burly man who’d untied me went to work on Kennedy’s hands as I rubbed my wrists.

  “Not you. Her. She tied me up.”

  The guy chuckled. “That’s your business, though I’m definitely into that kink.”

  “About that—I’m sorry. But you were being stubborn, and I had to do something to try to get us out of this mess.” I tried to stand, but my knees wobbled so I sat back down again.

  “The drugs will wear off steadily.” Charlotte’s Web stretched her arms over her head, her lean body well muscled and covered in ink wherever I saw a patch of bare skin. “I’m going to check on our guest Eric.” She turned to the man. “Take them to Gorepheus once they can walk.”

  “You’re sorry?” Kennedy continued as if Charlotte’s Web hadn’t spoken. She smirked and walked away.

  “Oh, look, everybody—Scarlett’s sorry. That’s fucking great. You left me utterly helpless and tried to seduce a murderer!”

  I winced as his voice rose. “I had to.”

  The man finished untying Kennedy. “I’ll be, um, over here. You two work it out and I’ll take you to Gorepheus.” He backed away and melted into the surrounding darkness.

  Kennedy stood, wobbled, but kept coming until he pulled me up to him and wrapped me in his arms. “Don’t ever do that to me again. Promise me.”

  “I promise I will never try and seduce an IT guy who moonlights as a hacker killer and cyberspy.”

  He growled, literally, his frustration welling up as he held me close. “You know what I mean. Promise you’ll never run away from me. Promise you’ll never leave me behind.”

  The butterflies in my stomach whirled in a chaotic dance and I snuggled against his neck, breathing him in. “I promise.”

  He put his hands on my cheeks and pressed his forehead to mine. “I love you.”