by Vivien Sparx
“JACK STONE – WILD JUSTICE”
Vivien Sparx
Copyright © 2013 Vivien Sparx
All Rights Reserved.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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One.
The man shaved, standing naked before the bathroom mirror and listened to the sound of the traffic outside the hotel. He glanced at his watch. It was mid-day. He wondered for a moment how anyone could sleep in a room like this, with the constant roar of passing trucks and cars just a few feet beyond the flimsy walls.
He leaned forward to watch his own eyes in the mirror.
“This could be the place,” he told himself. “This might be the lucky break you have been waiting for.” His gaze went automatically to the tattoo on his left shoulder.
‘July 21st’
He threw the plastic razor into the bin under the tiny sink, and turned on the taps to the shower.
“Maybe this place will be where you find the answers.”
He stepped into the shower and scrubbed the dust of the Arizona desert off himself, letting the stinging needles of hot spray scald his skin and unknot tired, cramped muscles until the water began to turn cold. He reached for a towel. Still drying himself he went through and stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at the woman who lay across the tangled sheets.
She was tanned honey-brown, tall and blonde. She was wearing white lace panties. She had large firm breasts and when she rolled onto her side, the man’s eyes were drawn to the tantalizing way her breasts changed shape, and her nipples became suddenly hard. She pouted at him, and then licked her lips with the pink pointy tip of her tongue.
“I’ve been a good girl,” she said. “I haven’t even touched myself yet.”
The man’s eyes drifted across to the small square table and chair beside the bed. The woman’s handbag was open on the tabletop, and her skirt, blouse and bra were folded and draped over the back of the chair. He could smell the woman’s perfume.
He went to the hotel window and stared out at the flat ribbon of two-lane highway that ran in a straight line from horizon to horizon. Across the road was a roadside diner, and a half-mile further east was the turnoff to his destination. He could read the sign from here.
‘Windswept Arizona. Population 2389. 3 miles.’
Outside it was a hundred degrees. Shimmering heat haze rippled the air. He stared at the flat open desert and the distant blue mountain ranges, rising like rugged spires and chimneys, for a full minute. Then he followed the turnoff road with his eyes until it crested in a slight rise about a mile away – to nothing. He figured the town was somewhere beyond that rise, but he didn’t rightly know what to expect. He had never been to Arizona before in his life. Finally the man sighed and turned back to the woman waiting for him on the bed. He smiled down at her. “Are you wet?”
She nodded vigorously. “I’m more than wet. I’m aching.”
The man sat on the edge of the mattress and reached out for the soft warm skin of the woman’s thigh. She shuddered deliciously.
“What has made you wet?”
The woman sat up and her hair tumbled and shimmered down across her shoulders. She tossed her head back exposing the long smooth skin of her neck, and her eyes were wide. “What hasn’t made me wet?” she said.
She ran her eyes appreciatively over the man’s naked body. He was lean and gaunt – a tall man, broad across the chest and shoulders and tapered down to his waist. Each muscle of his abdomen stood out before the taut rack of his flanks. Her eyes drifted down to the thick muscles of his thighs, and then slowly travelled all the way back up to his face. He had sandy brown hair, but it had been bleached golden by the sun, and his face was all hard handsome angles. Not pretty handsome. Rugged handsome.
But it was his eyes that mesmerized her: those dark, dark eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets, and the man’s voice – deep and gravelly and seductive. She could listen to him talk for hours. In fact she just had.
She had picked him up hitchhiking on the side of the road earlier that morning and they had spent the last four hours driving together. But she still didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know hers. Somehow it didn’t matter, and maybe it was better this way.
“I’ve never met a man who was an experienced BDSM Master before,” the woman said, and her voice was suddenly husky. “Some of the stories you told me in the car about the submissive women you had trained and spent time with were hot.”
The man raised a questioning eyebrow. “Are you interested in the lifestyle?”
“What girl isn’t?” the woman asked seriously. “I’ve read all the books.”
The man smiled again. He eased himself down onto the bed beside the woman and his mouth meandered over her breast, his lips kneading and plucking at her firm flesh. The woman felt her body melting. She felt a sense of strange edginess, and she began to undulate her hips against his lower body.
The man’s big hand drifted down the flat taut hollow of her abdomen and lingered for a moment when his fingers touched the elastic of her panties. His mouth rose from her breast, up along the soft curve of her throat, and then he kissed her hard, thrusting and flickering his tongue possessively inside her mouth. The woman moaned. Her lips parted to the insistent demand of him and as she kissed him back with the desperate hunger of her need, her legs fell open almost instinctively. She slid her hand down until it was covering his, and urged him to continue touching her.
“Don’t stop. Please!”
The man’s hand moved lower inch by tantalizing inch until the woman could feel the pressure of his fingers against her sex through the silky sheer fabric. She moaned again. Her arms went tight around the man’s neck as her hips lifted from the mattress to meet the insistence of his touch. She could feel the teasing press of his fingers sliding the damp material into the creases and folds of her. Then suddenly his hand stopped, and the man broke the kiss. The woman’s eyes went wide in desperate alarm and confusion.
“Get up!” he said sharply. The woman flinched, blinked, and then understood. She saw the dark smoldering look in the man’s eyes. She rose to her feet and stood beside the bed in an obedient rush. The man smiled up into the woman’s face, but his smile was grim.
“Take off your panties,” he ordered. The woman didn’t hesitate. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband and the sheer white lace fell down around her ankles. She stepped out of the underwear and left it on the floor.
She closed her eyes, aroused by the erotic thrill of being naked and on display before the handsome stranger, feeling a sensation of waves ripple down her spine like surges of electricity. She swallowed hard, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw the man was looking at her with an expression that seemed to stroke her skin. She felt her nipples harden in reflex. He reached out and casually drew the fingernail of one finger across her breast, and then dragged it lightly down towards the muscles of her stomach. She sucked in a deep breath and held it. Her legs felt like they might collapse from under her.
“Do not move!” the man said harshly. He got slowly to his feet and turned the woman around. His hands on her skin felt like fire. He steered her to the hotel window and pulled back the curtains. Warm heat radiated through the glass and the room filled with bright sunlight.
“This is to repay you for the ride,” he said from behind her. Then he bent her over at the waist and she reached out for the windowsill. She was trembling now. She could f
eel the heat of his body pressed close behind her.
The man slid his hand down between the woman’s thighs and pushed her legs apart. His hand went greedily to the shaved mound of her sex. The skin there was soft and smooth and hot. He ran his fingers expertly across the swelling folds of her flesh and the dampness of her arousal was slick and slippery to his touch. The woman moaned a throaty sound of anticipation and longing, then glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide and pleading with the intensity of her desire. The man smiled. He pressed the hardness of himself against the gaped opening of her hungry body, and then reached forward and fisted one hand tightly in the tangles of her hair. He tugged hard, lifting the woman’s face so that she was looking out through the window at the passing traffic.
“I want you to be on display,” the man said. “I want everyone who looks in this window to see what your face looks like as I fill you with my shaft.”
The woman groaned, a sultry, throaty moan of passion and lust. She nodded her head, and her breathing was ragged and unsteady.
“Yes,” she said. “God, yes.”
She felt the first inch of him slide within her, and he was massively thick and burning hot. She felt herself being stretched, and her body began to thrill and shudder. There was a sudden warm rush of her arousal, molten and uncoiling in the pit of her stomach – and then he was withdrawing himself, teasing her and maddening her with frustration.
“Reach down between your legs,” the man said. “Touch yourself and tell me how wet you are.”
She did as he ordered. Her hand came away glistening with the juices of her excitement. She held her fingers up for him to see.
“Write my name on the window,” he said. “Use the juices on your fingers to tell the world who owns you.”
The woman gasped. A thundering jolt of wicked, sexy exhilaration burst over her with a force that buckled her legs. It was the most erotic, sexual moment of her life. “I don’t know your name.”
The man thrust himself all the way inside the woman with a single fluid stroke. The woman sobbed. She felt her orgasm hit instantly – overcome with a surge of pleasure that had been built up with anticipation, and driven to the very edge by the deliciously wicked way he was dominating her. She cried out – a long deep moan of blissful pleasure and the force of her release filled the darkness behind her closed eyes with an explosion of white flashing lights and dizzy relief.
“Stone,” the man said. “My name is Jack Stone.”
Two.
It was mid-afternoon before Stone checked out of the hotel and led the blonde woman back to her car.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said.
The woman turned on him, standing very close, and her eyes were sparkling and mischievous. “I was about to say the same thing to you,” she said.
She slid in behind the steering wheel and between her long, perfectly manicured fingertips was a folded square of yellow note paper. “If you’re ever passing through Phoenix…” she said. Stone took the note and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.
The woman started the car and then paused, waiting until the air-conditioning kicked in. “You never told me why you were hitchhiking, or why you were in Arizona.”
Stone nodded. “I’m looking for a girl.”
The woman arched her eyebrows. “Really?” she said, and licked her lips provocatively. “Well, whoever she is, tell her from me that she’s very lucky. I hope she’s worth the trouble.”
“She is,” Stone said. “She’s my sister.”
He watched the woman get back onto the highway and drive off into the distance. Then he walked across the road to the diner. It was still hot; the afternoon sun was beating down. He felt sweat break out on his back, clinging to his t-shirt, and the red dust of the desert powdered his boots and his jeans.
The diner was a long flat-roofed structure that sat alone on the side of the road, seemingly ragged and defeated by the heat. There was a strip of asphalt in front that had parking spaces for a dozen vehicles, and a patch of beaten earth beside the building where maybe trucks parked. There was a weary looking grey Chevy in a space near the glass front door. No other cars. There was a sign on a tall pole on top of the building, and nothing else.
Stone swung the door open and stepped inside.
The diner was like a hundred others he had eaten in over the past eighteen months. There was a counter along one wall, and a row of simple timber tables and chairs along the other. Behind the counter there was a door that led into a kitchen area. There was a through-the-wall air conditioner, humming and clattering beside an old Coca-Cola poster on the wall opposite. Stone sat alone at a table for four near the big glass windows that gave him a view out at the highway. He scraped his chair in and watched the traffic pass by.
A few minutes later a waitress in a clean blue uniform with a white apron tied around her waist came from the kitchen. She had long black hair and a friendly smile. Stone guessed she was in her mid-thirties. He liked her eyes.
“Welcome to Lilley’s diner,” the woman said. She had a southern accent. “What can I get you?”
She laid a paper place mat out on the table, put a knife and fork beside it, and then pulled a small notebook and pencil from within the pocket of her apron to write down his order.
“Are the burgers any good?” There was a plastic covered menu standing upright on the table beside a napkin dispenser, but Stone didn’t bother.
“Best burgers this side of Phoenix,” the woman smiled again. Stone liked her smile too.
He asked for a burger and a Coke.
There was someone’s discarded newspaper on the counter top. Stone unfolded the paper and read the front page. The lead article was about two local teenage girls who had been reported missing the week before. The newspaper said that police were following up leads. Stone frowned. He read the article carefully and then tore it from the newspaper and stuffed the page into his pocket.
Then his burger arrived.
It was good.
Stone was just finishing his meal when a dark blue SUV pulled off the highway and parked in front of the diner, right next to the old Chevy. Stone glanced up and looked at the vehicle with idle curiosity. The plates were Californian. The van was covered in a thin layer of brown dirt, but it looked like a new model and had heavily tinted windows. Two men got out, slamming doors and adjusting their jackets. They didn’t look tired. They didn’t look like they had been driving for hours. Stone frowned again.
Instinct was something Jack Stone had learned to trust. From his time in the military, and his years of specialized work since mustering out, it was rare that his intuition had evaded him. These two men were trouble. Maybe they weren’t the guns and violence trouble – and maybe they wouldn’t be trouble for Jack Stone. But they were definitely trouble for someone – that much he knew.
They came into the diner tucking aviator sunglasses into their jacket pockets and stomping dust off their shoes. Both men were dark haired, in their thirties. Both men were unshaved and unkempt. Stone frowned again. They dressed like businessmen – but they acted like men who were physically aware and alert.
Stone had seen the type before, and without consciously realizing it, he felt himself moving on the seat, shifting his weight and taking up the tension in his legs so that he could move in an instant. Then he casually turned away and picked up his Coke, watching the men’s reflections in the big glass windows as they approached the counter.
Then, Stone stiffened.
He was right. The men were trouble. And they were the guns and violence kind.
Unless your tailor is a genius, there is no way a man can conceal something as bulky as a handgun down the back of his jeans without the bulge showing beneath a jacket. Stone saw the bulge. The taller of the two men was carrying. He stared down at his glass of Coke and sighed. He didn’t need this shit.
Get up now, Jack. Just get up and walk away. This doesn’t need to be your fight.
At the serving counter, the me
n were talking loudly to each other, and although the conversation was cryptic, Stone could tell by the tone of their voices that something had them restless and frustrated. He kept watching from the corner of his eye. One of the men suddenly began to pace the floor, then crashed his hand down on the counter-top and kicked at a nearby chair.
“Service, for Christ’s sake!” he shouted. “Jesus, we’ll never get out of this shit-hole town.”
The waitress came through the kitchen door, wiping her hands on a washcloth, her startled expression wide-eyed and flustered. She saw the two men waiting to be served, balked for a split-second, and then she forced a smile onto her face and breathed an apology.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, gents,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“It’s about god-damned time,” the first man said. “Hustle your sexy titties and get me a burger with the works, and my associate will have a steak sandwich. Pronto.”
The waitress didn’t write down the order. She just rang up the amount on the register and handed the men their change, the smile on her face frozen and tense. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring your order to you.”
The two men turned and seemed to notice Stone sitting alone for the first time. They sneered wolfishly at each other. They came across the diner shoulder-to-shoulder, and stood over the table. Stone looked up at them slowly.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Keep calm. Keep your voice low and steady and don’t make any hurried movements. And above all else, don’t say a damned thing that might upset them. You don’t need this shit. Just keep your words civil, your tone friendly, and they’ll go away. They’re just looking to blow off steam. Don’t give them a reason, and don’t say anything to provoke them.
The taller of the two men leaned over the tabletop, and pressed his face close to Stone’s. Stone noticed the man’s eyes were bloodshot. “You’re sitting at our table.”
