Owner of a Lonely Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “It’s not like that,” Taos ground out, his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his Bens. “You know I’m with you. I have no interest in Miley or any of her trivial teenybop friends.”

  “Do you realize how badly you just compromised your own safety? For all we knew, Del was a bad guy coming to kill you, Taos.” Her voice got louder as they neared the sky blue door of room number thirty-six. “Some idiot who can’t be bothered to airbrush over his bike tank or at least change out his Texas plates comes to your home to hand you a fucking clown cartoon, and then you disappear! You, yes you, you corn-fed yokel.”

  Del had his hand to his chest, his mouth open. Taos stood up for his best friend. “He’s not a corn-fed yokel, Bettina.” They entered the musty room where the men had thrown their duffel bags. “Unlike me, Del actually graduated high school—”

  “Hurrah,” Bettina seethed.

  “—and he scored fourteen hundred on his SATs and he would’ve gone to college if I hadn’t of twisted his arm to join the bike repair business. He reads Shelley.”

  “Really?” Crispin raised his eyebrows.

  Bettina held out a stiff arm to dampen Crispin’s enthusiasm. When pissed, she had a way of cocking her head and knitting her brows and looking at Taos as though he had slept his way up the food chain. She’d stick her fingers in her rear jeans pockets and say things like, “Is that so? Now maybe you can explain to us why you felt the need to go completely off the reservation to meet this fine, upstanding citizen hellaway out here in Bumfuck? What’s so top secret, Taos? We’ve figured out that he’s not come to kill you, but can you give any reason why we shouldn’t kill you?”

  Her attitude was pissing off Taos. He was obviously safe and healthy. “So I didn’t ask for your fucking permission to ride to Mesquite. Big deal! I had a life before this, Bettina. I’m being asked to give up everyone I ever knew, loved, or sat next to, and once in a blue moon I’m going to want to bust out of that incredibly restrictive and tiny mold you stuck me into!”

  Bettina’s eyes flashed. “That was not part of the MOU that you signed in about a billion places, Taos! You woke up in Crispin’s house this morning—”

  “Interesting,” said Del. Taos shot him a look of ingratitude.

  “—and what does he see when he goes to feed your dog but your bike missing? What the fuck are we supposed to think, Taos? You can’t keep stirring the pot like this every time you get a wild hare to reminisce about the fucking Munsters with an old high school buddy!”

  Taos got right in her face. He was tired of being told what to do. This protected-witness crap was finally getting to him. “He’s way more than just some old high school buddy, and I can see you hacked into my fucking Facebook account!”

  “Taos,” Crispin said firmly. “You knew you were taking a risk getting ahold of Del. What was so fucking urgent that you had to see him in person?”

  Bettina butted in. “Crispin, he’s not even supposed to be talking to him over fucking MySpace, HeadSpace, or the Martha Stewart recipe forum! Do you realize you’ve blown your entire cover, Taos? You’re going to have to start over in Provo, Utah as Terrence Blowfish, ass gasket salesman.”

  Crispin actually got between them, holding out cautionary hands. “Let’s not get carried away, Bettina. Taos has built up a huge persona in Rescue. He’s invested time, effort, and money into creating a new image for himself.”

  “Rules are rules,” recited Bettina through clenched jaw. “I’m prepared to take a bullet for witnesses who walk the walk. But someone who keeps breaking the rules that exist to protect them, well, I just have to wash my hands of the whole deal.”

  “I can’t erase who I am!” Taos bellowed. “Del and I grew up together, closer than brothers! As for why he had to see me in person, he was bringing me cash that an old business associate finally repaid us, a loan I made years ago. How the hell else do you think I was intending to pay for that new house out on Mormon Mesa?”

  Bettina looked quizzically at Crispin, who shrugged, so Taos got that no one had snooped into his paperwork. She said, “The point is. Your cover is blown, and now we’re going to have to relocate you again.”

  “No.” Taos shook his head. “No, we’re not. We’re not relocating me anywhere.”

  Bettina looked up at him through slitted eyes. “Is that a threat, Taos? You’re threatening a federal marshal?”

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, Bettina. I’m not going anywhere and neither is Del.” He looked at his best friend and future business partner. He hoped Del was prepared for the sort of shit this life handed him.

  “We’re staying in Rescue because Del wants to come over to our side. He wants to be a protected witness, too.”

  It seemed that everyone held their breath for a long, long time.

  Finally Bettina looked to Del. “Okay. Let me call my partner, Park.”

  Chapter Twelve

  She thought she was ready for this. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Unaccustomed to wearing high heels, Bettina wobbled precariously. She wound up having to lean against the side of Crispin’s barn to keep her Glock steadied, ready to shoot, grip cradled in her palm.

  It wasn’t just the high heels. She hadn’t worn the thin pencil skirt since her graduation from basic training academy. Of course, she’d tried it on in private first. It still fit like a second skin, so at least she hadn’t gained weight since then. Good. She was too short to carry any additional weight.

  Then came the shoes and stockings. The heels must have been four inches tall and last worn to a wedding. Maybe her basic training graduation party. If Bettina had to go on a fancy date, which wasn’t that often, she usually chose boots with maybe two-inch heels.

  And she could barely breathe, but that was a whole other story.

  She peeked around the corner of the barn. No one. Damn. Taos is making this difficult for me. That wasn’t part of the deal. If she were normally tracking a fugitive, he’d be making a crapload of noise, running all over hell, shooting wildly into the air or at the side of the barn. Fugitives were a few channels short of cable usually. Fugitives didn’t know the meaning of the word “fear.” They didn’t know the meaning of a lot of words.

  So she had no choice but to burst around the corner in the modified Isosceles Stance, her torso squared to where she presumed the fugitive would be. Of course, no one. And of course her ankle buckled inward, causing her to wobble. Taos had all the advantages of knowing her gun was unloaded and being more familiar with Crispin’s ranch than she was.

  She eased down the side of the barn, hugging it with her butt, catching her shiny US Marshal’s raid jacket against splinters of wood.

  Another corner, another fierce stance. No one. Bettina was halfway down this barn wall when something was thrown her direction, hitting ten feet away with a plop. She jumped a foot in the air then looked around to make sure no one saw her. It was only a rock. Slight movement came from the barn roof so she backed away from the building, looking up. Taos’s blond head was visible above the roofline for a split second. Then he must have scrambled down the other side.

  Great. He was going to make this fun, was he? Too bad I don’t have any rounds in my Glock. Bettina raced around the barn just in time to see Taos leap into a haystack like he was in an action flick. How athletic could a biker be? He lifted weights and sparred in the ring, and his Muay Thai boxing probably kept him fit, but…Bettina could get him when he was mangled in a haystack.

  “Freeze!” she bellowed at the tumbling ball of sticks that rolled down the stack. Of course, because she didn’t really have bullets, Taos knew he didn’t have to freeze, and he tore off on his convenient high-top tennis shoes toward the stables.

  “Should have used paint guns. I would’ve had him a minute ago.” Bettina muttered as she took off after him. “Took off” was a very speedy phrase for her hobbling across the sandy lot. Her men had given her an unfair disadvantage. Not only was she not allowed to shoot Taos with real bullets, any ma
rshal worth her salt wouldn’t be caught in those shoes. Actually, at this rate, she would be caught in those shoes. But the rules had stipulated she keep them on.

  Rules had also stipulated that Crispin would be somewhere to help her. “Crispin!” she barked into the radio attached to her jacket lapel. “What’s your position?”

  There was no answer except crackling. She thought they’d tuned their radios to a different frequency for privacy before splitting up in opposite directions, but maybe his batteries had died. Stupider things were known to happen.

  The stables were silent. Bettina looked sideways from stall to stall. Nothing except several horses idly munching their hay. “Crispin,” she whispered into her mic.

  Now he crackled back. “Come through the stables. I’m at the other end, by the house.”

  All right. So Taos had somehow made it entirely through the stables without Crispin seeing him? This is an asinine game. Why did I agree to play it? Was this my idea? Taos had all of the advantages and none of the handicaps. She was playing in four-inch heels. Check. Her Glock was unloaded. Check. And apparently her radio was only good for telling her stupid things, like “come through the stables.”

  “Agh!” Bettina uttered a blood-curdling cry when Taos jumped out at her. She had been known for that in basic—her cries that could be heard a mile away.

  Taos had leaped sideways into the center aisle like a boogeyman. He even had his thumbs in his ears and was waggling his fingers at her while sticking out his tongue. “You can’t get me! I’m a mastermind criminal and you’re just a lady federal agent!”

  “Bullshit!” roared Bettina, pointing her barrel at him and pulling the trigger. Of course, only a tiny, feeble click sounded, and by that time Taos had taken off like a streak.

  “What’s the meaning of this, you wazzock?” Bettina barked into her mic as she staggered down the center aisle. “I’m falling arse over tit and you’re just sipping Screaming Orgasms. Where are you, anyway?”

  “Keep coming,” was all Crispin would say.

  Bettina began to get suspicious. “What’s your exact location?”

  There was a pause before Crispin answered. “I saw him go inside my house.”

  Bettina snorted. “You’re a fine fucking cop. Aren’t you supposed to be helping to apprehend him, too? I thought that was part of this plan.”

  More crackling. “He got me, Bettina. He’s got me inside.”

  What? Bettina broke into the best run she could muster. She felt like a marathon runner staggering over the finish line, but she’d only hobbled fifty yards since Crispin had set off the starting flare of the game.

  “How can Taos have you at gunpoint if your weapon isn’t loaded either?”

  But the second she said that, a chill grabbed ahold of her stomach. Could it possibly be…Nah. Taos wouldn’t turn on them. If anything, the men had switched up the rules of the game. Taos was no longer being chased. Now he was the abductor. But why? They had evidently come up with a game changer.

  Her radio crackled, but it was Taos’s voice. “Answer her, you wazzock!”

  Crispin said dejectedly, “He’s got me hostage, Bettina.”

  She frowned. “Why is it that my gun can’t shoot him, but he can take yours from you and hold you hostage? I didn’t know those were the rules. Your gun works, but mine doesn’t.”

  She got no answer.

  Bettina went around the corner of Crispin’s ranch house. She knew he expected her to go in by the back kitchen door, so she changed the game up a little by using the front door. If Crispin and Taos were in cahoots, there was no real winning this game, if there ever was. Winning wasn’t exactly the point. But showing outstanding deductive skill was. And now she was taking them by surprise.

  In fact, there were three little windows cut into Crispin’s front door. Crispin was on his knees in the living room holding his hands behind his back, clad in the sheriff’s khaki uniform she’d only seen once or twice. But the rope to bind his hands was imaginary and as far as Bettina could see no one held any gun any longer. They were just waiting for her to come in the back kitchen door.

  She burst in like a Mack truck as they’d been taught in school. She had covered the four yards of carpet in what seemed like three enormous strides. “Freeze!” She was so fast, in fact, that Taos only had time to spin about before she pressed the gun barrel to his chest.

  But she was falling. One of her ankles had given way like a sloshed figure skater, and down she went. She actually wound up grabbing at Taos to prevent her bare kneecaps from smashing against the floor. Instinctively, Taos reached out, too, gripping her by the forearms and blunting her fall. Her knees just gently touched the Navajo carpet as though she’d willingly kneeled.

  She looked down at where Crispin sat on the arm of a chair, completely free to move wherever he pleased. She’d lost already. She’d lost the game. Doesn’t that mean I’ve really won?

  Taos did have Crispin’s pistol in his grip, but it was just as useless as hers without any rounds in it. Still, to assert his authority, he bent at the knees to pluck her Glock from her limp fingers. “I’ve got you,” he declared.

  She spat, “You hardly had to put any effort in, with me disabled by these fucking shoes.” She looked to Crispin, who seemed serene and ironed-out, not the picture of someone struggling with his abductor. Bettina blew hair from her eyes. “How hard did you fight, then? Don’t you have a black belt in jiu-jitsu?”

  “Brown belt,” Crispin corrected her calmly, “and I didn’t struggle because I’m one of the bad guys who wants to kidnap you.”

  Bettina’s heart nearly stopped with a thud. “What?” she whispered. “You’re one of los malosos?”

  “That’s right,” Crispin said evenly, standing. Bettina found herself looking up at his incredibly swollen package, the crotch of his jeans just stuffed with his well-hung cock and balls. He was obviously getting off in advance on her helpless predicament, probably rubbing his hands together with glee over the plot he and Taos had been hatching. “I’m one of the cartel members dealing in the flesh trade.”

  Taos added, “And we’ve come to trade in your flesh.”

  Bettina tried to scoff. “Jeez. Who wrote your script, Pee-wee Herman?” But her insides tingled with the forbidden thrill of being kidnapped. “So what got you to turn, Crispin?”

  Crispin narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s Sheriff Marwick to you.” He had obviously never played this game before.

  But Taos had. “Slave. He didn’t need any convincing to come over to my side. Just the chance to feast upon your tender white flesh.”

  “And make some cash on the side,” said Crispin, building up his backstory.

  Bettina grasped Taos’s forearm and tried to stand. “Well, thanks, but if it’s all the same to you guys, I’d rather be going now. If I could just have my gun—”

  Suddenly the room was upside-down. The wind was completely knocked out of her as Taos bent at the knees and in one fluid motion hoisted her over his shoulder. Like she was a sack of corn! To add insult to injury, Taos slapped her several times on the rump. It wasn’t covered with her usual pair of jeans but with only the polyester air hostess’s skirt and it stung like hell. She grasped the back of Taos’s stupid white T-shirt in her claws and squirmed. Did they want her to fight? Fighting could be fun.

  Crispin took her chin in his fingers and looked her levelly in the eye. This was a new, authoritative, imperious side to him she’d never seen before. Then again, the most she’d seen Sheriff Marwick do was cuff someone for outstanding speeding tickets. Oh, and he’d ticketed a Paiute for being drunk in public.

  She was sure he’d done a lot worse when she didn’t happen to be around, but this new Sheriff Marwick was just brimming with authority. “It’s going to go a lot easier for you if you just lie still and take it.” The lewd arousal in Crispin’s eyes wasn’t very well hidden. He turned her face from side to side as though examining it for flaws. He was assessing her, that was it.
<
br />   “My ass!” snarled Bettina. “Lie here and take your abuse? Never!” She started kicking and pummeling Taos’s back, but the effect was that of a fly against marble. It excited her even more to be feigning protest.

  Soon, though, the lines became blurred. How much was she feigning, and how much was real? Taos plunked into the sturdy armchair with her still draped across his shoulder. Crispin vanished, and she was familiar with the sound of the cuffs he took off his duty belt. She put more effort into her squirming to avoid the cuffs. It soon became evident that with two men and four hands they could easily overwhelm her and crunch her arms into the correct position for cuffing.

  “Cuff her good,” Taos encouraged, running a hand up the back of her thigh. It thrilled Bettina to the very core of her pussy to be helpless yet touched in such an intimate manner. Her inner pussy lips actually fluttered at her predicament, the touch of Taos’s fingers. “We don’t want her escaping.”

  “There!” said Crispin with jubilation. “Turn her over. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Taos didn’t set her gently onto the carpet by any stretch of the imagination. No, he tossed her through the air. She landed with a thunk on her back, once again the wind knocked from her.

  Crispin—Sheriff Marwick—straddled her, putting one boot on either side of her hips. He was just one huge, looming authority figure, from his loaded duty belt weighted down with radio, Taser, and empty holster, to his short-sleeved shirt prickling with badges, pins, and sergeant’s stripes. A trickle of juice ran down between the globes of her ass, and she thought she could see his prick pulse. He was really getting off on this. “This’ll just go a lot easier for both of us if you don’t put up a fight. We need to assess your suitability so we can get top dollar for you on the open market.”

  Bettina knew that when she squirmed from side to side, her boobs jostled in their casing. She had left the top button of her button-down shirt undone. “So you’re in on this, too, sheriff? Is there no law anymore? Is there no justice?”