by Lola StVil
Although I’ve been at his place before, I always marvel at his high ceilings, exposed brick, and the spectacular view. The townhouse his grandfather left him is stunning. I joke that if I knew he was really that rich, I would have given myself over to him already. He laughs and says he’d give away his fortune if I’d stay the night. He’s kidding—mostly.
“You look very professional. I feel like we’re headed for a session,” he teases.
“Sorry, I have to head to work after this, so…”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m just glad I get to see you,” he says as he pulls me in and takes my breath away with his all-consuming kiss.
He says he’s going to jump into the shower and that he’ll be right back. I can’t help it; I tidy up as I wait although his place isn’t messy to begin with. I go over to the dining table and find about a dozen open files. There are pictures of hardcore looking men with tattoos and scars. They all look like they could come to life and damn near rip my throat out. I read off a few lines concerning their cases.
“Oh no, you can’t look at that. These are active cases,” he says as he enters the room and sees me poring over the files. He quickly gathers them, puts them in a box, and closes the lid.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“It’s okay. I had them out because Cash came by and he had info I needed. But I should have put them away. Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”
I take in his eight-pack abs and hard pecs. He watches me and gives a warning, “You better stop looking at me like that; I’ll never let you leave for work.” He pulls me close. I can smell the fresh soap scent on his skin. His hair is still damp from the shower. And when he lowers his head to kiss me, I want more than anything to pull that towel from around his waist.
But before I give in to my urge, I recall the faces from the file. And some of the phrases I read. A dark cloud rolls in, and I feel a cold pool of ice form in the pit of my stomach.
“What is it, baby?” he asks.
“The people in that file…are they in a gang? I’m guessing they are, right? Biker gang?”
He furrows his brows and inhales deeply in an unmistakable gesture of disapproval.
“It’s a gang?” I push.
“I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry. You get that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. I can’t talk about my clients. It’s against the law.”
“Yes, well my job is that same way. At least with active cases,” he explains. Then he starts kissing my neck and asks, “Now, where were we?”
“How dangerous is this gang?”
“I can’t talk about it,” he says again.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I get it.”
“Good,” he says. He starts to nibble my earlobe, and a current of lust runs through me; however, it’s not enough to turn my mind off.
“Are you investigating them? Is that why you’re looking at their file?”
“Mia!” he says, exasperated.
“I’m sorry. I know you can’t talk about it. But…”
“But what?” he pushes.
“I saw some stuff in that file: assault with a deadly weapon, arson, and murder.”
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did,” I reply as I lean on the edge of the dining table.
“Mia, what’s going on?”
“You’re a cop,” I reply mostly to myself.
“You knew that already,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, I know, but now…now it’s in my face. You are going to face off with these guys. You could get hurt, Jackson.” His expression softens as he reads the fear in my face.
“You’re worried about me.”
“Yes, of course I am. What happens if they attack you or if…I don’t know. There are a number of things that can go wrong. Do you guys go in with enough backup? How do you know how many of them there will be when you go to arrest them? That’s what you’re planning right, to raid them? Yeah, I know, you can’t tell me. But you can at least tell me if you will have ample backup. Are you going to be safe? I mean, how do we know that there won’t be more gang members hiding out somewhere waiting to attack and how do we—”
“Baby, just relax,” he says as he takes my hands in his.
“I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t mean to freak out on you.”
“It’s okay. It means a lot to me that you care enough to worry about me. But I will be just fine. We never go in without being ready on all fronts. I know it can be hard to take in, but this is what it means to be with me. I hope like hell you’re okay with that because I don’t want to lose you.”
“You have to be safe. I mean it. No superhero bullshit. Aaron and I…” I can’t finish my thought, but I think he already knows what I’m trying to say. He smiles warmly.
“You and Aaron are important to me too. I will do whatever I have to do in order to come back safe to both of you. I promise,” he says as he leans in and caresses my cheek.
“Okay. Thank you,” I reply as I literally try to swallow my fears away.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, but I still can’t get their faces out of my head. Especially their cold empty eyes.”
“Well, then it’s my job to make sure your mind is focused on something else.”
He places his hands around my waist, picks me up, and sits me down on top of the table. He kisses me fervently as he lays me flat on my back. He slides his hand under my skirt and slowly glides my panties down to my ankles, leaving a trail of searing heat along the way. He lightly strokes my inner thigh with his fingers then again with his lips. The tantalizing sensations shooting through me are almost more than I can take. When my breathing gets choppy, he knows I’m ready. He pulls me closer to the edge, grabs a chair, and sits at the table; that way my pussy is literally being served up to him.
His warm, silky tongue dances along the edge of my opening. He slides his mouth up and down my folds until the friction sends jolts of pleasure zooming down my spine. I gasp as he buries his face in my pussy. He skillfully moves his agile tongue in ways that make it impossible for me to keep my hips still. The suction from his mouth is so delicious that my body can’t comprehend the degree of ecstasy he’s bringing to it. In an attempt to stop from being pulled under the tidal wave of passion, I latch on to the sides of the table.
I try to close my legs so that I can manage the flood of desire coursing through me. But he won’t let me. He pins my legs open and dives even deeper inside me. He flicks the tip of my clit and coaxes it to the surface.
“Oh…please! Please!”
My cries only spur him on more. He’s on a mission: to explore every inch of my pussy until I am soaking wet and damn near pass out from pleasure. It’s going to happen. I can’t hold on anymore. His control over my body is unparalleled. He glides the flat surface of his tongue over my pulsating clit and sends me to the edge.
“Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” I groan as the frenzy grips me. Every part of my body is being made to bend to the will of this imminent orgasm. Knowing I’m on the cusp, Jackson suckles on the tip of my clit and then flicks it with his tongue at just the right angle.
“Ohmygodimcomingsohard!”
And I do; I come harder than I have ever come in my life. My body jerks uncontrollably. My vision blurs. I moan Jackson’s name as he claims my body and greedily laps up my juices.
***
I swear if I didn’t have a mortgage to pay or a kid to feed, I would have stayed on that table forever. But since I do have those things, I grab a quick shower at Jackson’s place and prepare to head to work. Before I make it out the door, he takes me in his arms and says, “Mia, you belong to me, don’t you?”
It never even occurs to me to argue. “Yes, I do.”
“Good, because I damn sure belong to you,” he says as he kisses my temple. I feel good. I’m drained and could sleep for days, but I feel good. And as I head to work, I’m grateful for everything I have in my life: my son, m
y man, and my friends.
I step into the elevator of my office building. I look at the time on my cell. I have about twenty minutes to get ready for my next client. That means I have just enough time to gossip with Argo. I won’t tell him everything, of course, but just enough to girl talk. But when I step into my office, I am frozen in shock as I look around. Every inch of my waiting room is covered with black roses.
I look over at Argo. He’s standing in the doorway of my office. “I got here ten minutes ago. The door had been pried open. There are roses in your office too.”
Before I can find words, the phone on Argo’s desk rings. I pick it up and put the phone to my ear. I speak in a soft, breathless tone.
“Hello?”
All I hear on the other end is heavy breathing.
A cold chill rushes through me.
“Gorman?”
“Hello, Mia. Been a long time…”
Gorman’s voice cuts through me like a hot knife through butter. I hear someone screaming and cursing; it takes a few seconds for me to realize that someone is me. I tell him to leave me the fuck alone. I scream it like my life depends on it—because it does. Argo grabs the phone from me and threatens Gorman. He vows to cut his balls off and feed them to him if he ever calls my office again. He then pulls the phone cord from the wall. I don’t realize I’m shaking until Argo points it out.
“Come over here. Sit down, Mimi.”
“Aaron! What if he knows where Aaron goes to school?!” I yell. I quickly dig in my purse, searching for my cell phone. I need to call the school and make sure my son’s okay.
“I can’t find it! I can’t find my damn phone!” I shriek.
“It’s okay. I got you, honey. I got you. I’m dialing now,” Argo says as he takes out his cell and calls Aaron’s school. Argo sometimes picks Aaron up, so he has the school’s main office on his cell as well as the nurse’s office. He asks to speak to Aaron and says it’s an emergency. They must have given him pushback, but Argo is unyielding.
“I need to speak with Aaron Samuels, right now!” he demands. It feels like forever before they put him on the phone. Argo puts it on speaker so we both can hear.
“Mom?” Aaron says, sounding annoyed. I’m so weak with relief my knees can barely hold me up.
“Hi, baby.”
“Mom, what is it? Mr. Ross is showing us how to turn a soda bottle into a boat and make it move like a rocket with baking soda! It’s a baking soda rocket, Mom!”
“Wow that sounds like fun,” I reply, blinking back tears once I realize he’s really okay. “Honey, did anything…silly or crazy happen to you today? Or did you see anyone that you recognize from a long time ago?”
“No, Mom, can I go now? Please?”
“Yes, honey. Go ahead.”
“Okay, bye Argo!” he says.
“Bye!” Argo replies. He hangs up, and we embrace. When the main office comes back on the line, I tell the office to make sure that Argo and I are the only people they ever allow to take out of school.
“Girl, you are still shaking. Sit down.” Argo says once I hang up.
“I can’t. I can’t be anywhere near these flowers.” I quickly walk out of the office and into the hallway. Argo follows me.
“I’m here, tell me what you need,” Argo says.
“How the hell did he find me? We’re gonna have to move again and I—”
“No! Don’t even go there. It’s not like before.”
“Yes, it is! It’s exactly the same thing!”
“No, it’s not! You have something you didn’t have three years ago: Jackson.”
“Jackson…” I mumble, mostly to myself.
“Yes, you have to tell him so he can help you.”
“No, I can’t do that.”
“What? Why the hell not? And please do not tell me you are one of those silly-ass women who are afraid to ask for help. That’s weak. You need to speak the hell up. I know I didn’t teach you to be no damn wallflower,” he demands.
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it? Why can’t you tell Jackson that Gorman is after you?”
“Do you remember what Gorman did to the last guy he saw me with?”
“Damn…” Argo says as it all comes rushing back to him. “But Jackson can handle himself. You’ve seen him. You don’t think he can take this on?”
“Yes, he can. But he shouldn’t have to.”
“So, what are you gonna do? Just pretend this didn’t happen? I’m not gonna co-sign that move. Sorry. We need to deal with this fucker!”
“Yes, and we will. We’ll go to the cops; we’ll change the locks, get video cameras for the office and my apartment, the works. Okay?”
“No, not okay. We need Jackson. You need Jackson.”
“Argo, please, I need to handle this my way. I can’t let him get involved. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“And neither do you.”
“I know. And I will tell him, once the cops find Gorman. Maybe this time they can get him and make it stick. Okay?”
Argo sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “I tell you, some men are just fucking evil. Hey, I got an aunt down in Louisiana, you say the word, and I will have roots put on him.”
I didn’t expect Argo to say that. I burst out laughing despite my terror.
“Don’t laugh. One call from me and my aunt Eula will have that man visited by pissed-off ghosts of former slaves. He’ll be in the corner tearing his eyeballs out and eating his own hair. You just say the word!”
“Okay, we’ll say that’s plan B,” I reply as I dig in my purse, once again looking for my cell phone. “Found it!” I say. I dial the police. I am determined to be proactive. I will not let Gorman fuck up my life—not this time.
“The cops are on their way,” I inform Argo.
“Good, let’s wait downstairs. It’s creepy here,” Argo says. I gladly follow along. Once we’re outside his cell rings. “Hi Jenna, I can’t talk now … What? ... High-speed chase… where? ... Okay, thanks.” He quickly hangs up and goes online.
I roll my eyes. His friend Jenna loves going online and looking at videos of crazy fights and botched bank robberies. I once saw her actually make popcorn to watch a high-speed chase on the news. Crazy.
“Doesn’t she ever get enough of Facebook Live? What is it this time? A fistfight at the checkout counter or elderly shopper pelts ‘would be’ thief with diabetic candy?” I ask. I know it’s a crazy time to be lighthearted, but I’m determined not to give in to the fear growing in the pit of my stomach.
“Oh my god, you have to see this,” Argo replies. The sound of sirens blares from the video he’s watching.
“No, I’m not into high-speed chases.”
“Yes you are—Jackson’s driving.”
***
New York City is an awful place to have a car chase. I know that even as I get in the truck and pursue Skull, the second-in-command of the God’s Wrath biker gang. He’s gotten on his bike and is now tearing down the street. The only reason I’m on his ass is the revelation I had last night.
I was studying Skull’s file, and something jumped out at me. He managed to get away from at least three major raids in the past two years. No one would be that lucky unless they had a plan B ahead of time. So, I got my hands on the floor plan of the clubhouse we were going to raid. It didn’t reveal anything, but then I sought out the original floor plan for the property. It turns out, the clubhouse used to be a hotspot during the prohibition days. That meant they could very well have tunnels under the floor. Maybe that’s how Skull kept getting away.
There was no time to test my theory, so we went ahead and executed the raid as planned. The only difference is I drove a few blocks down and searched for Skull near what I thought would be the end of the line for the tunnel. My hunch was right. I got out of my car just in time to see Skull crawl out from a small opening at the base of the bar. He got onto his awaiting motorcycle. I aimed my weapon and ordered him to get off the
bike. He glared at me while considering his actions.
“Skull, don’t do it!” I warned.
He sneered and careened down the street in a hail of exhaust and white smoke. I quickly jumped back in my car as a small crowd gathered. I was being recorded. Fucking camera phones.
I call for backup as I follow him. Skull blows through traffic lights and just misses colliding into other motorists and pedestrians. He weaves in and out of lanes, drives in the opposite direction of traffic, and, at one point, goes up onto the sidewalk, nearly mowing down a family.
“Fucking asshole!” I spit as I try to keep up with him and refrain from endangering any more civilians. We have to end this, now. Lucky for me, Skull miscalculates an upcoming turn; the bike goes right, and Skull’s body goes left. I pull over, get out of the car, and run towards him. He is injured and limping slightly, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get away.
Seriously, man?
I take off after him. I don’t mind a foot chase. It’s a lot less dangerous than chasing him in a car. There is less of a chance for collateral damage.
Skull runs down a row of narrow back alleys, desperately looking for somewhere to go. So far every back door he tries to pull open is locked. I’m on his heels, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before I catch up to him. He tries one more back door in the alley; it opens into a laundromat.
This cannot become a hostage situation. I will not let that shit happen. I fire into the air, knowing New Yorkers will not need a second prompt. Right away, people scatter out the front door and take cover. I follow Skull inside, and I’m relieved that it’s just the two of us. He fires at me, and the bullet zips just above my head. I take cover behind a row of large dryers. He takes another shot, and it lands along a row of colorful plastic chairs. I return fire, and he takes cover.
