“Say goodbye to your life, James,” she purrs. Wearing a skintight metallic jumpsuit and stilettos that match the color of her platinum hair, she leans into me, her jutting hipbones bruising me. The cloying smell of her cologne sickens me. I squirm as much as I can in the tight ropes.
She smiles wickedly. “I don’t think your Olympic swimming skills are going to matter much.”
My muscles tense. My eyes flit to the gigantic fifty-foot tank of water that’s filled with hundreds of hungry piranhas. In minutes, I may be their new best friend, though it’ll be a very short-lived relationship—no pun intended. Once I take the plunge and I’m bait, Katrina will rule Hollywood. Destroy every fish in the sea until she’s controlling it all and sitting on billions while sending out her propaganda messages via infomercials that “Moore is More.” Creating a society where everyone is clamoring to be a billionaire and forsaking every important value. Love. Family. Trust. Honor. Until everyone destroys each other, and she owns and controls every bank account in the world.
“Va te faire foutre,” I say in French.
With a fling of her mane, Katrina lets out a haughty laugh. “Darling, you were always a cunning linguist. But your tongue was wasted on me.”
Was it! She was the worst Bond girl I ever had. A frigid bitch.
She turns to her evil robotic cohort Scott, who is sitting behind a console with knobs and levers. “Scotty-Botty, it’s time to do the honors.”
“Yes, ma-dame.” His words are as mechanical as the automaton he is. It sickens me to think he was created by MI6 and was once my right hand man so to speak. It’s too bad they could never figure out how to give him a heart. Katrina stole him from Her Majesty’s Secret Service and programmed him to suit her needs. To destroy me.
The psycho bitch snaps her bony fingers twice. “Chop chop!”
The bot responds. He presses down on a massive lever, instantly hoisting me into the air. In seconds, my feet no longer touch the ground.
Katrina smirks. “Your career is about to reach new heights, James.”
My eyes gaze up, then down. Already ten feet in the air, I’m headed to a dead end. It’s time to kiss my illustrious career goodbye. I’ll miss them all. M, Q, and especially Miss Moneypenny. I always had a thing for her. M’s adorable secretary. She was basically my assistant too, taking care of my every need—from booking hotel rooms with my latest hookups to getting Q to supply me with the latest hi-tech weapons and cars. An image of her flashes in my mind. She’s hardly like my Bond girls. They’re supermodel perfect like Katrina. She, on the other hand, is a girl one might call ordinary. Slightly overweight…unstylish…pretty not beautiful. Yet, it’s her big brown eyes, upturned nose, and kissable lips that fill my mind as death awaits me. My cock twitches beneath the ropes. Never having her is my only regret. I should have bent her over her desk and given her what she always wanted. At the thought of her ass in the air, my cock stiffens. At least, I’m going to die with a hard-on. As my inevitable fate awaits me, I feel stirred not shaken. If I survive this, I may change my martini of choice.
As I continue to ascend, Katrina keeps her eyes on my crotch. She scoffs. “There’s nothing like being hung over a tank of hungry piranhas.”
At least my cock will be hard to bite into. A small piece of solace.
“Do you like the view?”
“It’s killer.”
“Say goodbye, James.”
Another voice…
“Say goodbye, Kuntrina!”
Miss Moneypenny! Sometimes you shouldn’t be too careful for what you wish for. Dressed to kill in a little black dress that hugs all her luscious curves, she looks ravishing.
Katrina spins around. “What are you doing here, you sloth?”
Miss Moneypenny’s eyes clash with Katrina’s. “Not wasting my time talking to you.”
“I don’t waste my time talking to peons.”
“You’re going to be sorry you said that.” On her next breath, Miss Moneypenny charges at Katrina, tackling and knocking her to the ground. She tears at her metallic jumpsuit.
“You bitch! You’re ruining my outfit! It’s Versace! You’re going to pay a pretty penny to replace it!”
“I’m not even going to take it to a tailor,” retorts Moneypenny, straddling Katrina and holding her down while she screams and writhes.
My eyes stay riveted on her full, heart-shape arse, and I have the burning desire to spread those huggable cheeks apart. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, M always preached. Scott the Bot meanwhile hoists me higher. I’m now about twenty-five feet in the air. In a few minutes, I’m going to be fish food.
Katrina and Moneypenny continue to go at each other madly, exchanging every expletive in the dictionary. They roll about on the floor. Hissing. Gnawing. Scratching. Fisting. Clumps of hair go flying. It looks like Katrina has the upper hand, stabbing her adversary with the spiky heel of her killer stiletto. Again and again and again.
“Die, you fat bitch!” she screams.
“You die first!” rasps back Moneypenny after another blow. To my utter astonishment, she reaches into her impressive cleavage and yanks out a shiny six-inch knife. She holds it over Katrina. Katrina’s eyes flicker with terror.
“Don’t you dare kill me!” she shrieks. “I’ll give you anything you want! All the money in the world!”
Moneypenny slowly lowers the knife. “There’s only one thing I want, and it’s not your money. And besides, my name comes with it.”
The knife is millimeters from Katrina. Her face is frozen with fear. Moneypenny holds her fierce in her gaze.
“Rot in hell, bitch!”
“Noooooo!”
Katrina’s mouth never closes as Moneypenny plunges the blade into her chest. Splat! My nemesis lets out a deep groan as her right breast deflates and jelled liquid seeps out from the three-inch tear in her jumpsuit.
“Ha! I always new they were fake!” Moneypenny smiles with smug victory and then looks up at me. “Hang on, James!”
My eyes stay on her as she dashes over to the pulley that’s hoisting me. With a whoosh, she slices the cord like a swashbuckler. I fall thirty feet to the ground, but it’s a hell of a lot better than falling into a tank full of man-eating piranhas. I’ve always preferred hard surfaces.
“James, are you okay?” asks a concerned Moneypenny, squatting down beside me. Wasting no time, she cuts though the binding rope and sets me free.
Slowly, I sit up, facing her. I give her nose an affectionate flick. “I like a girl with a knife.”
She grins. But not for long. The smile on her face falls off and her eyes grow wide with terror. “James, watch out!”
I spin around like a top. Fuck. Scott the Bot, who’s programmed to kill me, is coming at me at breakneck speed.
“Die, Bond.” Two monotone syllables. A lethal laser shoots out of one arm, but I move out of harm’s way just in the nick of time. On my next breath, I reach into the breast pocket of my tuxedo and pull out my Beretta. I aim it and fire. Bang! I get the automaton right between the eyes, leaving a bullet-sized hole. And then I fire the gun two more times, aiming for his eyes. Bang! Bang! Double bullseye! His eyes pop out of their sockets, hanging on by mere springs. Deprogrammed, the bot spins around in crazy circles until he collapses onto the floor with a clang.
I rotate on my arse again and face Moneypenny. A seductive smile lights up her face. “And I like a man with a gun.”
“Miss Moneypenny—”
“My name is Zoey.”
“Zoey.” I love the way her name rolls off my tongue. All these years together and I never knew her first name. It’s as beautiful as she is. My cock rises to full attention.
Then, her face grows serious again. “Oh, James. If you died, I’d—”
Tilting up her chin, I silence her with a fierce kiss. She melts into me. It’s as if her soft lips have always belonged on mine. Her tongue finds my tongue and they dance together, swirling and twirling, as if they’ve done this forever. She
fists my hair, and her supple breasts press against my chest. I can feel her nipples harden like bullets beneath the fabric of my tux. She moans into my mouth. I want to fuck her more than I want to serve Her Majesty. I want her to be mine. She will be mine. I’ve never failed at a mission.
I break the kiss and reach for a handful of the rope.
“James, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to properly thank you for saving my life.” Q always told me actions speak louder than words. On my next heated breath, I twist the rope around her wrists, binding them together, and then attach them to a floor-to-ceiling metal pipe. Seeing her tied up like this makes my cock crazy with want. Without wasting a second, I scrunch up her little dress to her hips and rip off her scanty lace panties. I take whiff before tossing them. It’s like I’ve inhaled a drug. I can’t wait to get more. Sitting back on my calves, I spread her legs and bury my head between her thighs. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Her pussy so pink and glistening. I can’t wait to taste her. My talented tongue darts out of my hungry mouth and dips into her carnal lips. Jesus. She’s more delicious than I even imagined. I greedily lick and flick her sweet slickness.
Arching back, she moans. “Oh, Sir James.”
Her calling me sir only gets me more excited. None of my Bond girls ever called me that though I was knighted. Such respect and submission.
“How does it feel, Zoey?”
“Oh, James, I can’t find the words.”
“Well, then, let me try to enlarge your vocabulary.” My tongue moves to her clit. It licks and flicks until I feel a hard throbbing nub at the tip. Her breathing grows harsh. A symphony of pants and moans plays in my ears.
“Now, tell me, Zoey. How does that feel?”
“Oh please don’t stop! I need more!”
I love that she’s begging for me. And so polite. “Zoey, I need more specific words.” I nip her.
She gasps. “So good.”
“Please say: ‘So good, sir.’”
She does as asked and I go back to my ministrations, loving every minute of her tantalizing pussy and responsive clit. She’s dripping with want. I plunge a finger into her slit and pump her. God, she’s so wet and tight. I can’t wait to fuck her.
Her breathing grows more ragged. She begins to writhe, trying desperately to free herself from the pole. The moans become whimpers. And the whimpers become sobs. I love a damsel in distress.
“What do you want, Zoey?”
“I want to come, sir! Please!”
“You’ll come when I say you can. From now on, you’re mine. Only mine. Say it—”
“I’m yours. Only yours!”
“I own your orgasms, do you understand?”
She nods feverishly.
“Zoey, I need words.”
“Yes, I understand.”
The passion in her voice—and her submission—are all I need. I give her pussy a nice slap, and as she yelps, I kiss her clit and suck away the sting.
“Oh, James!”
“Come for me, Zoey. Don’t hold back.” I press my lips back on her divine pussy, and with the next flick of my tongue, she explodes in my face with a gush of wetness. Best of all, she screams my name. The way it’s spoken stirs me to the core. It’s time for her to get to know my other big gun.
“Lie down. Hands above your head. Then bend your knees and spread them wide.”
Silently, she does as told, and at the sight of her, I feel my cock swell, as if bigger is possible. She’s truly exceptional. Her pussy so ready, her nub a crimson rosebud and the delicate wet petals of her cleft an exquisite shade of pink. Her thighs quiver.
Our eyes connect.
“James, you’ve never even taken me to dinner.”
“No, I’ve never taken you to dinner looking like this. Let me give you something to digest.”
On my knees between her legs, I undo the clasp of my pants and zip down my fly. My hard as a rock cock springs out like a jack in the box. Her jaw drops to her chest and she gasps.
I don’t think I’ve ever had such a powerful erection. It curls to my navel. There’s even a bead of pre-cum on the tip. “Do I come up to your expectations?”
“Oh, James, so beyond! Please, James, I need you inside me!”
“My dear, I’m going to fuck you until you detonate. Blow you up into a million little pieces. I’m going to make you come so loud, so hard you’re going to scare the fish.”
“Oh James, take me. You can have me any time. Anywhere. Whatever is left of me, whatever I am, I’m yours!”
She has no idea. I lean into her, placing one hand on the cold cement to anchor myself, and the other around my enormous shaft. I rub it along her soaked folds and then I put it at her entrance. Inch by thick inch, I glide it inside her until I hit the warm, wet velvet of her womb. She clenches around me. And then I hear another scream.
“I’m not done with you, James.”
The voice is a hoarse, deranged whisper, but I’d recognize it anywhere. Katrina! She’s alive! Still inside Zoey, I crank my neck and her venomous eyes collide with mine. Zoey’s knife is in her hands. Before I can blink, a white-hot pain sears me…
Fade to black.
At the sound of my alarm, I bolt up in my bed. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m back to being me. And that I’m alive. I’ve got a giant boner and I’m shaking like a leaf. The blurred line between reality and fantasy frightens me. My dream’s as vivid as the morning light. I try to make sense of it.
It’s sending me a message. About my need for dominance. And my need for my assistant. Zoey’s under my skin and in my bloodstream. She lives in my soul and makes me feel whole.
But my gut tells me this dream is an ominous warning. An omen. A chill runs through me from my head to my toes. Things are so goddamn complicated. My fucking life is totally out of control.
Zoey
The next day, I’m feeling a lot stronger physically, so Brandon lets me spend more time up and about. I spend most of my time helping him with some lines and, like it or not, responding to the never-ending tweets about the status of Bratrina. He seems a little on edge. When I ask him why, he tells me he’s got a lot on his mind and didn’t sleep well. That makes two of us. Visions of Donatelli and my mother’s brutal death haunted me as did Brandon’s pending marriage to Katrina.
In the late afternoon, he orders me to put my laptop away and we snuggle on the couch to watch another rough-cut of an upcoming Kurt Kussler episode. Both of us relax. Halfway through it, my phone rings. Brandon puts the show on pause while I answer it.
It’s Pops! He’s back in town and wants to come over. He’s eager to talk to me.
Forty-five minutes later, he’s at the house. I hug him at the front door.
“Oh, Pops! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“How are you doing, babycakes?”
I smile and usher him in. “I’m doing better.”
“I’m taking good care of her, Detective.” Widening my smile, I cast my eyes at Brandon who’s come to join us. “I’m about to order in some sandwiches from Greenblatt’s. Would you like one?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I won’t be staying long. The missus wants me home for dinner. Boss’s orders.”
Brandon and I both laugh. “What about a beer then?” he asks.
Pops’s eyes light up. “Now, that I’ll take.”
“Me too,” I chime in.
Brandon shoots me a dirty look and waggles a reprimanding finger. “Uh-uh-uh. No beer for you. You can’t have any alcohol while you’re on your meds. Your boss’s orders. Understood?”
I make a face. “Yes, sir.” Brandon’s face lights up at the last word.
While Brandon goes to the kitchen to get the beers, Pops shrugs off his trench coat and makes himself at home, taking a seat in one of Brandon’s oversized chairs. I curl up on the couch. Someone who wastes no time, Pops gets right into it.
“So babycakes, tell me again what happened.”
I
launch into my story and tell him how I’m sure I saw Brandon’s manager Scott having coffee with Mama’s murderer. “Pops, I’m more than a hundred percent sure it was him. You know I’d never forget his face. Yeah, he looked older, but it was him. I’m absolutely positive.”
“I believe you, babycakes. The problem is we can’t find any witnesses who saw two men who matched those descriptions. The Farmer’s Market is a big open space with diverse locals and tourists who come and go. My team’s spoken to all the vendors, and at best, they’ve gotten something like, ‘That sounds like a lot of people who stop by.’”
“Maybe they caught something on a surveillance camera,” I offer. Between growing up with Pops and watching a lot of Kurt Kussler, I could practically be a detective myself.
Pops glumly shakes his head. “I wish. Unfortunately, The Farmer’s Market doesn’t have a surveillance system.”
My heart sinks. We’re still at square one. Brandon returns with two Heinekens and a Diet Coke for me. Mr. Thoughtful.
“Help yourselves,” he says, setting the bottles on the coffee table. Snatching a beer, he lowers himself on the couch next to me. His thigh brushes against mine and I can feel his warmth.
“Why is Scott lying?” I throw the question out to both Pops and Brandon after taking a swig of my soda. “Pops, you should make him take a lie detector test.”
“They’re unreliable.” He grabs a beer and takes several gulps.
Brandon plays devil’s advocate. “What makes you think he’s lying?”
What! He doesn’t believe me now? My face scrunches with anger and my voice rises an octave. “Because he is! He’s a total slimebucket. I wouldn’t believe a word that man said. I bet he even told you he’s the one who found you unconscious on the day of your accident.”
Setting his beer bottle back down on the table, Brandon blinks several times the way he does whenever he’s having a recall moment. He looks flustered…unsure. “He did. While I was in the hospital, he said he called it in. Saved my ass.”
Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) Page 3
