by Jasmin Quinn
“Sorry Liv. No more angry fucking.” He pushed her off his lap, shoved her to her chair. Pinned her with his pissed-off gaze.
She stared back at him, her eyes challenging as she slid her fingers between her thighs to her pussy. “Fine! I don’t need you anyway. I can do this myself.”
And she did. Hugo sat back in his chair, sipped his coffee and watched the show. He especially liked how she flung her head back, how her long hair dangled over her chest, the pure pleasure on her face. The small moans, her exposed pussy. She was pretty darn good at the masturbation stuff. Not as good as him, but she knew her way around a pussy.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest, heard her gaspy little breaths, watched as she moved faster, saw her face at the moment of rapture, then dropped his eyes to her fingers. Watched as she held herself, thumbing, then stopping, little ripples, then pressing on her clit again. And another little tremor. He closed his eyes, wished he could fuck her then and there. Then thought why not? Grabbed her while she was still coming down, pulled out his hard cock, spread her legs open and impaled her on it, chest against chest. Then he fucked her ‘til he came, ‘til she came again.
CHAPTER 36
The call came from Anto. Lunch at the Massey Club. No girls. Rusya, Anto, Hugo, Randall Scott, and yep, the venerable Anthony West. A chance to meet the errant husband. Hugo was beyond curious.
He was changing his clothes to something a little more suitable for the Club. Short sleeve polo shirt and khakis. He caught Olivia’s eye in the mirror as he buttoned the shirt. They were still cool despite the good fucking they were doing.
She was pissed at him for so many things. All of them stacking up. He was pissed at her for acting like she was the injured party. She refused to put the sapphire back on her finger. He made her. “What the fuck, Liv. You’re pissed, so we’re not engaged anymore? That’s just childish bullshit.”
“We’re not engaged, Hugo. You’re just playing at this for some reason I can’t fathom. I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”
“But your body does, right sweetheart?” He’d reached out and tweaked a nipple. She slapped at his hand. They tussled then he let her go. He wasn’t going to fuck her into compliance, so he figured he’d have to do something else. Maybe be nice. But that would have to wait until he got back from lunch.
Afterwards, he would replay all the moments over and over. Kicking himself for not savouring them more. Kicking himself for leaving her alone.
CHAPTER 37
After Hugo left, Olivia showered, then slipped on the white bikini, a pair of sunglasses and her sapphire ring and went out on the deck. She felt like a movie star. Beautiful big yacht. Huge ring. Gorgeous tan accentuated by the white bikini. Sunglasses. It was warm out. August after all, but not hot like Vegas. Maybe the water helped keep the breeze cool. She laid herself out flat on her back on the bridge deck and closed her eyes.
Hugo was all she could think of. Fucking, fucking Hugo. She wanted to hate him, but she didn’t. She wanted to pack up her bag, catch a bus back to Vegas, but she couldn’t. She wanted to slap him silly, make him love her like she loved him. She wanted to go out on this boat with him, away from everything.
She wanted to say sorry she was the way she was, but she was smart enough to know that was part of what kept his interest. If she changed, bent to his will, she worried he’d get bored. Not like her to be so caught up in a guy. Yeah, she was insecure, what woman wasn’t? And a guy like Hugo, he had it all. She wanted him to keep her, love her. Take care of her. She just didn’t know how to get him to do it.
She thought of her mother, thought of what Gwen would say about Olivia’s current situation, but nothing came to mind. Her mama never had any wisdom to offer on matters of the heart. She hoped Gwen was okay. Thought she should call her again. Thought she should call Jack. Maybe get someone to check on her. See how much more money she needed to extort from Tony.
So deep in thought, Olivia didn’t notice the man until he was almost on the bridge deck. His shadow blocked the sun and she looked up, shading her eyes so she could see him. “Hi!” she said brightly as she removed her sunglasses to get a better look.
He grinned as he stepped up to her, gazing down at her. “Looking for Hugo. Is he around?”
Olivia realized later how stupid she’d been, but in the moment, she was too relaxed, feeling too safe. Far away from Vegas and Jack Creed. Not for a minute did she think she should be cautious. “He’s not. He’s out and about this morning.”
“When do you expect him back?” The man had an accent. English or Australian. She couldn’t tell.
“Not sure. A couple of hours. After lunch for sure. I can let him know you dropped by.”
The man was fully on the deck now. Dropping to a crouch in front of her and she still didn’t clue in. Not until she saw the gun he was holding, not until he said, “No need. I’m not looking for him, Olivia. I’m looking for you.”
CHAPTER 38
I’m not looking for him, Olivia. I’m looking for you.
Olivia didn’t go quietly. “Are you going to shoot me?” she asked the Australian. She decided the fuck was too unkempt to be English, and his accent wasn’t sharp enough.
“Not if you do exactly as I say.”
“And if I don’t, then will you shoot me?” He was crouched over her on the deck, keeping the gun at his side, a little concealed, but she was still able to clearly stare down the barrel of it. She was looking up at him in all her vulnerability, itsy bitsy swimsuit, bare feet, nothing but a bullet between her and his gun.
He tangled his fingers in her hair, forcing her to her feet as he stood up. Once she was toe-to-toe with him, he leaned into her so close she could feel his breath on her lips. “We’re going to go inside, Olivia. You’re going to put on some fucking clothes, pack your bag and we’re going to leave here together. Because even if I don’t shoot you, if you draw attention to yourself, I’ll shoot whoever is looking at us.”
He kept his hand in her hair, leading her with little tugs on it, until they were inside the cabin and in the stateroom, then he gave her a shove as he let his hand loose. “Get dressed,”
She grabbed her clothes and tried to go into the bathroom but he stopped her with a shake of his head. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before or that you haven’t shown everyone. Get dressed.”
His voice was cold, deep, so deadly that it shook her to the core. “Fine,” she snapped. “You fuck,” she added under her breath and he swatted her for it. Not a slap or a punch, but just a cuff to the ear.
“Be respectful, Olivia. It will serve you better, later.”
Olivia didn’t like being swatted like she was an unruly kid. “What the fuck am I supposed to call you?” she muttered. “If not, you fuck.”
“Mack,” he said in a voice that sounded somewhat resigned. “Just call me Mack.”
She slid her bikini off and her underwear on, then her jeans. Turned her back to him as she put her bra on. The shirt she’d worn yesterday was torn, her only other one stunk, so she slid Hugo’s tee over her body.
Mack frowned, “Put on your own clothes.”
“What the fuck does it matter what I’m wearing? I don’t have any other clothes except that little red dress.” She pointed to the crumpled-up mess of material on the floor that she had pulled off her body in anger just before Hugo fucked her, just before she had that toe-curling orgasm.
It pissed her off that this Mack guy was telling her how to dress. Everything pissed her off – the whole fucking world. Why couldn’t she just have one single moment of happiness? Why did someone always have to come along and fuck it up? She was so mad, if she’d had a baseball bat, she would have fucking turned the asshole with the gun into a bloody red puddle on the floor.
Mack heaved a sigh like she was his cross to bear. “Put your meager possessions into your bag, get your fucking shoes on and let’s go before the big guy gets back.”
“Right, that’s what I want t
o do.”
He stepped up to her, leaned into her, his patience clearly fraying. “If he walks in while we’re still here, my orders are to shoot him. Dead.”
Olivia felt the blood drain from her face. Hugo, fuck, she couldn’t let that happen. She shoved everything she owned into her bag. It took less than two seconds. Then she pulled on her boots. “I’m ready.”
He slipped the gun into the back of his pants, drew his shirt over it and held her arm as he steered her from the cabin, from the boat and down the dock, to his SUV. He opened the back door, shoved her in and slid in beside her. His gun was in his pants so she figured he couldn’t easily shoot her. That gave her the courage to kick out at him, catching him in the thigh, enough to make him grunt. Then she slammed her fists into his face. Pummeling him, kicking him, even biting him as his hand got too close to her teeth. He hit her, hard, not a cuff, but a punch to the side of the head, enough to send her reeling back, enough for her to see stars as the back of her head cracked up against the side window. Enough to stun her into compliance.
Mack looked pissed, his face red, his eyes narrowed. He shoved her around so she was facing away from him and twisted her arms around her back, tying her wrists with a zip tie. Then he shoved her forward, ground her face into the seat, tried to grab her feet, but she was sufficiently recovered enough to kick out at him, getting a solid connection between her boots and his ribs. “Fuck,” he growled as he yanked her arms up so far she thought he might tear them from the socket. She screeched and he leaned on her. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to start breaking bones. Jackman said he wanted you alive, he didn’t specify how alive.”
“Fucker,” Olivia moaned.
“Mack,” he said as he yanked her boots off her feet and tied her ankles together.
After he gagged her, he covered her head with a burlap sack. He shifted to the front seat, sat a moment, recovering his breath, then started the car and pulled out of the marina parking lot.
Olivia tried to think, tried to concentrate on something other than the fucking panic that was racing through her body, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. It thought this was the exact right time to kick into the flight mode since fight mode had failed so miserably. But the only thing besides her brain racing was her breath. She was already missing Hugo. She wanted to be with him. Wanted him back so badly.
Her heart was breaking in two and even though she wanted to run, she felt more grief than fear. Because she thought she was gonna die and she didn’t want to die without marrying Hugo first.
None of it made sense. Was it Jack doing this to her? He wouldn’t though. She still had a week. Unless Gwen did something stupid. But Gwen only did little stupid things that added up to one big pile of shit. Olivia hadn’t left her alone long enough to screw up on this epic of a level.
So then what? Tony? But how would he know she was on his trail. Fuck, she still didn’t even know if he was alive. She thought of Gwen again. Tried to channel her. Gwen got in and out of more scrapes than anyone Olivia knew. Gwen always said that the way to get the upper hand was to act like whatever the plan is was the plan. Make it your plan, even if it’s their plan. And always make them think that they need you way more than you need them.
She didn’t think her mom had ever been in this exact situation. In the back seat of an SUV tied up, gagged and blindfolded; kidnapped by an Australian fuck named Mack. But who knew? If you don’t take a chance, you won’t have a chance. That was Gwen’s approach to life. She said it often enough to Olivia, but Olivia wasn’t like Gwen. Okay, well maybe a little like Gwen as she thought about all the things she’d done this week to get what she needed. The more she thought, the more she realized that she was so much like her mother it made her shudder.
That led her thoughts to the biker bar and Ruiz. Maybe this was about him. Revenge. But bikers and Mexican cartels don’t use Australians for revenge. Fuck, this was a total international disaster. Canadians, Mexicans, Russians, Japanese and Australians. She wished she was back in Vegas. It was a fucking shit show, but at least she knew her fellow Americans. She teared up, tried her best to swallow the lump in her throat. Wondered what Hugo was doing right now. Then the fucking tears came back.
CHAPTER 39
Lunch at the Massey Club. Hugo had been there before. Fucking criminal hangout, full of stuffed shirts with dirty money. Everyone thinking they were better than everyone else. The irony of his thoughts wasn’t lost on him. He felt the same – that he was too good to be there.
The host led them to a private room. Not a surprise. Randall Scott was dining with them. The meeting had to stay private to protect Scott from exposure. Anto and Hugo were the last to arrive and Hugo was glad for it. It gave him a little time to study the fuck who mistreated Olivia. Size him up, regain his composure so he didn’t throttle the bastard.
Tony looked like an older version of his picture. Older than he would have expected. Like maybe in the intervening two years, Olivia’s husband was a little down on his luck. The three men stood as Anto and Hugo approached. Everyone shook hands as introductions were made. It was all so fucking civilized.
Hugo gained some satisfaction at how average Tony was. Good looking. He didn’t think Olivia would settle for anything less, but was shorter than Hugo by at least 5 inches, making him the smallest guy at the table. Hugo figured that if it wouldn’t get him shot, he would just sit on the asshole here. But he had to be careful. The Massey Club had a no tolerance rule. You tried to fuck someone up here, you’d take the licking instead. He needed to find a way to get Tony alone. Get the bastard and Olivia together, so Olivia could fuck him over before Hugo finished him off.
His heart wasn’t in it though. What he really wanted to do was go back and tell Blondie the truth. Her debt was paid, he did it for her. Jack insisted. Then they could head out on the boat, sail away somewhere private and live happily ever after. Would it be enough for them? Definitely for a while, and then if it wasn’t, he’d take her on an adventure where she’d do something to get him good and pissed off and they’d renew the passion.
As he sat, Hugo ordered a beer, Anto a vodka. No one said anything, which was getting fucking uncomfortable. Finally, Hugo flipped open his menu and said, “What’s good?”
“Who are you again?” Anthony West asked.
The guy who’s fucking your wife. “Private contractor. Done some work for Rusya and Anto in the past. Was in town. Thought I’d drop by for a hello.”
“I see. On the job right now?”
Yeah, you stupid fuck. Trying to figure out how to sever your head from your shoulders. “Nope. My girlfriend and I are taking a little me-time. Gotta keep Blondie happy.”
“That her name, Blondie?”
“Nope.” He kept scanning the menu while everyone waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.
Randall Scott said, “What kind of contracts do you take on, Mr. Marsden?”
Hugo tried not to hate Scott because of his association with Tony West. “The kind that pay me a lot of money. A shit pile of money. I don’t work for less than a quarter mil and all that will get you is a hot dog without the mustard.”
Scott nodded, “I see.”
He didn’t. Hugo could tell. “I sometimes find missing persons, take them back to their owners, their bosses, their spouses. Sometimes they don’t want them back. I help them out with that too.” He wasn’t looking at Scott as he spoke. He was looking at Anthony. So was Anto, curiously.
“Tony,” The Russian giant rumbled. “What line of business are you in?”
CHAPTER 40
Hugo drove into the marina parking lot, groceries and a few other packages in tow. He did a little shopping, brought some food for him and Olivia, some beer. Thought maybe a few drinks and some sandwiches might help settle them down. Thought he should have bought her flowers, then decided that was too much of a cliché. Then thought he was a fucking prick for thinking that.
Lunch had been interesting. Anthony West in the flesh and
blood, fully alive and kicking. Joining them at the Massey Club, ordering a fucking martini to drink. Hugo hated him on sight. Arrogant asshole, casual prick, eyes on other woman, loose with his tongue. Sitting next to Randall Scott who had dried off from last night and must have showered too since he didn’t smell like a brewery. He was also an arrogant prick, but at least he earned his right to be one.
Hugo and Anto talked afterwards. Anto didn’t try to kill Hugo which meant that all was well on the home front. The Russian was a hard one to keep things from because he knew how to read people. Hugo wondered how Marisol accomplished it, admired the woman for being the only person in the world that could leash Anto. Hugo wondered if Anto realized what that meant, decided he did, but obviously he loved the redhead enough not to let it be a hindrance in their lives.
Not like him and Olivia, who hadn’t yet figured out how to ebb and flow with each other. They were either both ebbing or both flowing. He wasn’t Anto and she sure as fuck wasn’t Marisol. Nothing subtle, gentle or retiring about Blondie. Then he grinned. The truth was a bitch. He loved her because of who she was, from the minute she stepped into his bar in Vegas and laid her baby blues on him. He wouldn’t want her any other way.
While he’d been out and about, doing the shopping, he mused over his lunch meeting. It was a little unsatisfactory. Okay, fuck it, a whole lot. Even though he’d been able to witness the miraculous resurrection of Anthony West, Anto had been noncommittal as they parted. Said he’d make some calls, ask around. Figure out what Anthony West was about. Why he’d fake his death in the first place. Hugo suspected that Anto had a bug up his ass where West was concerned, like maybe there was more going on and Anto wanted to take a run at the fuck too.
