Forced Assassin

by Sam Crescent

  “Is this really necessary?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

  “I’ve told you it is.”

  She growled in frustration and moved her hands together, the metal of cuffs chaffing her wrists. Life was so unfair at times.

  “Just out of curiosity, will I be home in time to pay the ten grand off on my house?” she asked, wondering if she’d even get it now.

  “We had sex last night and you want to know about paying your debt? I rather thought the sex would have been at the forefront of your mind.”

  Fallan smiled. He sounded a little insecure.

  “What can I say? I’m not the type of girl to remember one-night stands.”

  The van took a swerve and her arm connected with the side panel where she sat in the back. “Ouch. Either drive carefully or budge over and let me drive.” She couldn’t even rub the sore spot. Damn cuffs.

  “Stop ordering me around. I’m the one who calls the shots.”

  “Is this really necessary with the cuffs?” She thrust her wrists in the direction she guessed Bishop was driving.

  He sighed. “How many times have I told you? Yes, they are.”

  “You know, you were fucking me not long ago and all of a sudden I’m treated like the most wanted criminal in London. How many times must I tell you that all I want to do is pay off my house and deal with the fact my mum died and my life is shit?” She screamed the last bit, her anger coming forward.

  If she could have lashed out and smacked him she would have done.

  “I thought you didn’t mind fucking,” Bishop said.

  “Oh, that is just bloody great, that is—you thinking of the sex first. Typical man. I’ve got more problems than a little shag, Bishop. I’ve got to deal with my house, my life, and work. It may be easy for you with your whole secret life and messed-up career with no money issues, but to those of us who have a normal job with normal pay, it’s important to keep it. If I don’t get back home by tomorrow, I won’t have a job on Monday when I’m supposed to be back there. Not only will you and your cock keep me out of a job, but they’ll make me lose my house, and to add to that I’ll probably end up at the bottom of some dirty, disgusting river because you’ll kill me. So no, this is not about the fucking for me.”

  Fallan slammed her hands on her knees and turned to what she hoped were the rear doors. She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Her heart raced with the anger surging through her. Out of all the problems she could have, Bishop—or sex with him—wasn’t one of them. Well, he was a problem because he was currently taking her God knew where for God knew what reason. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she thought she’d end up at the bottom of some dirt-infested water. Having unprotected sex with him hardly came into it because of that.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “Would it matter if I’m not?”

  “I was expecting some hysterical woman cursing and having a go at me, not worrying about all the other problems,” he said.

  “I’m a normal girl with normal problems and I want nothing to do with the shit that goes on with what you’re dealing with. Now, please tell me, will I be able to pay the money on my house?”

  The house she’d grown up in and the one place she loved more than anything. Her parents had taken out a second mortgage and used the money to help with medical bills. They’d opted to go private. The NHS queue had been too damn long for them to get treated quickly. They’d had her quite late in life, and by the time she’d been ready to go out and enjoy the world she’d been dealing with two sick parents. Having anonymous sex with strangers had been the easiest way to seek the release she needed at the end of a hard and stressful day. But being with Bishop last night had been the first time she hadn’t used any protection, and now she wished she had, just in case he did take her home at some point. Since her mother died, she’d vowed to find that special someone to spend her life with. Her mother had asked as her dying wish for her to find someone she would love for the rest of her life and who she could spend good, quality time with. Fallan hadn’t wanted to burst her mother’s bubble by saying she doubted any man like that existed for her, so she’d agreed. The problem was, after dealing with her death and everything that went with it, Fallan couldn’t remember if she was up to date on her contraceptive jabs.

  The waste-of-time anonymous sex had stopped and with it the need to get the shot.

  Shit. But hey, that feeling of me eventually ending up in the river just won’t go away, so what the hell? Whole life’s been a mess so why ever expect anything less? Things getting worse is the order of how it’s always been. Fuck it.

  Bishop cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’ll be back in time to pay the money. I don’t know if they’ll even pay you the money because I have the package they asked you to deliver.”

  “Oh, this is just fucking great!” Her heart stuttered. She felt sick. Shivers took over her body. What the hell am I going to do now?

  “We’re here,” he said.

  “Does that mean I can take the blindfold off?”

  “Not yet.”

  Fallan listened as he pulled to a stop. There were no distinct sounds to give away where they were. She heard him lift the break handle, switch off the lights and turn off the ignition.

  “When I get you out I need to know if you’re going to try something stupid,” he said.

  “You mean besides having sex with a complete stranger I know nothing about?” she asked.

  “You wanted it as much as I did, so don’t try to play the victim.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m not the one who tied you up and put you in a car or van. Anyone ever tell you you’re not very trusting?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s told me. Now, are you going to try anything?”

  Fallan sat back against the side panel and wondered where they could be for him to need confirmation she wasn’t going to try anything. Were there likely to be people about? People in houses who would hear her scream? “When will you let me go?”

  “I’ve told you, I can’t tell you that because I don’t know.”

  “Will you ever let me go?”

  A pause. Fallan waited. The silence stretched on.

  “Okay,” she said. “Seeing as you don’t want to answer a simple question, maybe you can answer another one that isn’t so difficult. Do you intend to kill me?”

  This question she really wanted to know the answer to. Her life was in danger and he was the person either putting her in that danger or, as he’d implied, taking her away from it and keeping her safe.

  “Please,” she said. “For fuck’s sake, imagine yourself in my position. If you were me, wouldn’t you want to know if you were going to die? Whether you would ever see your home again? Whether you’d get the chance to live because all of a damn sudden you’ve realised, after being kidnapped and fucked by a stranger, you’ve been living a shitty, boring life that makes you now want to live a more exciting one?”

  Bishop sighed. “I’ve no intention of killing you. But other people may want to if what you’ve told me about this holiday weekend shit is true.”

  Fallan took a deep breath. “Well, I guess you’d better take a chance on me, because I’m not into lying, especially in this kind of situation. If I have people looking for me, like that Freddie or Frankie, or whatever the fuck his name is, I need you to sort them out so I can find some other way to stall the bank on foreclosing.” She paused for a few seconds. “Because, if you’ve got the package, they’re not exactly going to be handing me that money now, are they!”

  God, she was so angry, so bewildered, so fucking scared all at the same time. What a goddamn mess!

  She heard the door open, then slam and the unmistakable sound of gravel as he moved round the vehicle to the back. He climbed in and grasped her knees—turning her to face him? She didn’t know. Couldn’t fucking see!

  “I’m going to unlock the cuffs,” he said. “Don’t try anything.”

  Fallan s
at and waited, although she wanted to lash out, and Bishop was the best choice, the only choice to lash out at. She resisted—what good would it do?—and he guided her out. She heard him shut and lock the door, then he cupped her shoulder.

  At his touch, all the anger she felt at her situation rushed through her. She pulled out of his grip, not to run but to turn to him and blindly smack out. She didn’t know how she managed to strike him but she did, and the slap to his face stung her hand. She bunched her hands and started hitting out at him—every part of his body she could slap and kick, she did.

  “You little bitch,” he growled, hauling her to him, her blindfold slipping down in the process.

  Fallan hesitated, letting her eyes adjust to the early morning glow of the sun. A shithole of a building stood to their right. The place looked as if it was about to fall down. The roof slate bowed in the middle, and the brickwork was mouldy and grey. The front door, aged and weathered, didn’t give her confidence that it would keep intruders out. All the front windows were covered in grime except one, which had a clean circle in the centre, made by someone’s sleeve cuff or a cloth, she imagined. All in all, things were going from worse to worse.

  Abruptly, Bishop lifted her over his shoulder and carried her along a gravel path leading to the cottage, scrubby grass bordering the walkway.

  “You bastard! You’re going to kill me in there, aren’t you?”

  She thumped his back and jabbed her knees, connecting with his smooth stomach. He let out a grunt but didn’t stop in his mission to get to the cottage.

  Fallan didn’t give up and continued her beating, even though her fists connected with hard, muscled flesh and yet her thumps didn’t appear to affect him.

  “Put me down!” she yelled, suddenly and startlingly aware that no one was coming and no one would care if she died.

  He ignored her, opened the door and carried her over the threshold. Fallan held still, otherwise she’d have smacked her head on the lintel.

  The dust hit her first and she sneezed. She lifted her head to look around. Cobwebs hung from the hallway corners. Plasterwork near the ceiling was cracked, missing in places. The air smelt musty, like a disused library. Bishop closed the door then locked it, putting the key in his pocket. He let her go and she flopped down, knowing she’d allow him to take her where he wanted. Maybe where no spiders would walk over her body.

  “I thought this place would shut you up.” He chuckled.

  Behind him, Fallan squeezed his buttocks—hard—and punched his arse, hoping it hurt but knowing it wouldn’t. “Shut your face.”

  He led her into a panelled room that she assumed would have been a living room at one time. Dust coated the intricate wooden squares surrounding each wall panel as well as the floor—uncarpeted, harboured tufts of rust-coloured pile in the corners and a smattering of loose concrete. Whoever had lived here before hadn’t hired a cleaner when they’d vacated, that was for sure. Bishop guided her to the far left corner and kicked a panel. Dust from the wooden surround drifted down and landed on the toe of his boot. A section of wall slid to the right, an ancient creaking sound filling the room, and she stared at a lift door.

  About to ask what the fucking hell was going on, Fallen closed her mouth again as the lift door opened. He led her inside the clean interior then jabbed a button. A neon green triangle lit up, indicating that they were going down.

  “Who the hell are you?” she asked as the lift stopped, the door opening to a trendy basement-turned-apartment area.

  “The only people who come out here are drug dealers and squatters and they’re never allowed to stay long enough to catch on to what’s below the cottage.”

  “What happens if someone tries to buy this place up?” Fallan walked to a cream leather sofa, amazed at the contrast between the filth upstairs and the cleanliness down here. Above a mahogany bar in the corner, stocked with enough alcohol for a grand old party, an array of small monitors dotted the wall. Security camera screens?

  “Ghost rumours and the general crap appearance keeps potential buyers far away. Not many people travel out here, and, if they did and they spotted this place from the road, no one in their right mind would even want to buy it. It looks like a puff of wind would knock it down. Who the fuck would want to buy a gaff like that? Now, about that punch…”

  Bishop thrust her against the wall and pushed her hands above her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Oddly, she wasn’t afraid but she was aroused. He did things to her insides he had no business doing. He leaned into her, his cock pressing into her stomach.

  “I don’t know what you’re going to do with me, do I? I’m a woman whose life is in danger, and I’m stuck with a man who thinks I’m some bimbo who’ll have sex with him whenever he wants it because he thinks that bimbo will use it as a means of escape. What he doesn’t realise, even though I made it clear last time, is that I’ll fuck him because I want to fuck him and for no other reason…except maybe it passes the time, makes me feel better, takes me out of the situation I’m in and into another.” She’d tried to tease, make light of it, but her pulse pounded, maybe with a little fear, and, damn it, wet heat from her pussy soaked through her panties.

  “Nice try at fooling me, but any other woman would try and escape. You’ve done neither, so try again in convincing me why you seem content to just do as you’re told.”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I? I mean, I’m cuffed, I was blindfolded. I supposedly have others looking for me. Dangerous others. You seem the best of a bad lot.” Fallan didn’t know what else to say so wiggled her hips and undulated. “I was angry and I don’t know what came over me when I struck you, but I’m not sorry.” As explanations went, it was so close to the truth.

  “I should put you over my knee and spank this fine arse you’ve got.”

  He released her hands to cup her arse cheeks. Fallan hung her arms around his neck and took his lips in a kiss. Her arousal came fast and hot. She wanted his lips on her body, her cunt.

  She thrust her tongue into his mouth, tasting the mint of chewing gum and the essence of who he was. She moaned and pulled back. “You can punish me any way you want for those punches.”

  No man had dared to smack her arse but if he wanted to put her over his knee then she wouldn’t argue. She rather looked forward to feeling the sting of his palm on her backside.

  “Is that what you want? For me to strip you naked, put you over my knee and smack this arse until it’s red and stinging?”

  “Why not? You wanted to fuck it earlier and we’ve known each other longer than a few hours now,” she teased.

  He eased his hands under her dress and ran a finger along the line of her panties. “You’re wet.”

  She stared at him, toying with the hair at his nape.

  “We’ve got to stop doing this,” he said, kissing her long and deep then rearing back.

  “Why? We’re both having fun. We have nothing better to do, unless you have something else in mind.”

  Bishop growled and, picking her up, took her into the centre of the room. Fallan giggled, enjoying the feeling of being held by a strong man.

  “You’ve got some great muscles on you,” she said, taking her bound arms from around his neck.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  Fallan was too excited to even think about moving. She wanted to be fucked by him again, her pussy already dripping enough cream that he could slide into her without any trouble. He moved to a metal panel on the wall beside the bar and pressed a button. Music came to life in the large space, a sensual, slow but deeply erotic tune. Bishop got himself seated in front of her in a comfy leather chair.

  “I want you to remove your clothes,” he said.

  “I’m cuffed.”

  He quickly rose and freed her wrists, putting the cuffs and the key into his jeans pocket.

  “I want you to strip for me, but slowly and while dancing,” he said.

  “You want me to striptease?”
<
br />   “Yes. Unless you have any objections? I think it’s what you owe me for keeping you safe.”

  Fallan didn’t have any objections. Once, when she’d been alone in front of a mirror, she’d danced, swaying her hips from side to side, undressing until she’d stood naked. The experience had teased and delighted her, giving her what had been one of the biggest orgasms of her life…before Bishop.

  Smiling, she closed her eyes, allowing the soft beat of the music to flow through her. The rhythm worked and she moved her hips with every erotic beat. She licked her lips and forced herself to open her eyes and stare at him as she slowly pulled down her dress, revealing her simple, white, sheer lace bra that pushed her breasts up but covered her nipples. She turned, giving him her back, and took the dress off, twisting this way and that, her body pulsing and in time with the music. With a sweet smile she went to her knees and crawled towards him, maintaining eye contact with him.

  Placing her hands on his knees, she brought herself up, rubbing her bra-covered breasts over the fabric of his jeans. She stood, opened her legs and sat on him, rubbing her wet panties over his bulging crotch, thrusting her breasts into his face.

  “What are you doing? I asked for a slow dance,” he said, cupping her arse.

  “The dance isn’t over yet. And I believe the man watching should get a little fun in the process, don’t you?”

  Fallan kissed him then drew his head into the valley of her breasts. His stubble marked her, making lusty heat shoot to her clit. He moved his hands from her arse to her back and pressed his face harder against her. She continued her torment with her hips, cunt grinding over his hard cock. She wanted to unzip his jeans, ease it out and fuck him, but the teasing turned her on so she continued to gyrate.

  “You’re making me want you,” he said.

  “That’s the idea.”

  Fallan reached behind and unclasped her bra, allowing it to fall down her arms. She presented a nipple to his lips and he drew it inside his mouth. She let her head fall back and gasped in pleasure.