by Aubrey Cara
With a shaking hand, I open the desk’s left hand drawer and pull out the pack of smokes John keeps there. It takes me three snicks of the lighter before I’m finally able to light my cigarette. Taking a long drag and letting it fill my lungs, I feel a modicum of tension leave me as I exhale.
I know I’m breaking one of Mr. Buffoon’s cardinal rules, but I could give a shit. My body, my rules. I’m done with the ass. There is no way I can take his money. It would be like living under the reign of terror. Straightening my spine, I reason I’ll just have to figure something else out. I’m not going to let him be the boss of me, and I’m going to tell him that too, just as soon as I see him.
Halfway done with my smoke I’m feeling calm again when the object of my musings strolls back into the office. He stops in his tracks the second he sees me. The look on his face, when he spots the smoke in my hand, is my only warning.
“Are you smoking?” His amber eyes snap with fire and brimstone as he rounds the corner of the desk bearing down on me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to sass ‘obviously’ when he snatches the cig out of my hand. Before I can react he smashes it into the ashtray, then easily plucks me out of my seat and shoves me down over the wide surface of the old desk.
Maybe it’s the uncomfortable feeling of cold desk and ledgers underneath me. My paralyzed brain finally comes back online with a vengeance and I kick out right before his wide hand cracks down across my ass with stinging force.
“Ahhh! What the hell are you doing?” I shriek, trying to grab at his hand in the middle of my back effectively holding me down.
“It’s called a spanking, princess. This is what happens when you break my rules,” he says with a smack, smack to my ass.
“Don’t you dare!”
“I always dare.” This statement is punctuated by three more solid vicious swipes to my rump.
“You have no right. Ahh, dammit, that hurts!” Trying to squirm out of his hold only results in getting my ass smacked hard enough that I go up on my toes. Shit, I swear under my breath gritting my teeth together as he whaps me again.
“We had an agreement, or have you forgotten?”
“I’m not taking your money!”
“Too little, too late. We,” smack, “shook,” smack, “on,” smack, “it.” SMACK.
“Ahhh! I’m unshaking. I’m unshaking!”
“Sorry princess, no take backs,” the asshole says this on a laugh.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I’m outraged when I look back at him. A huge grin splits his damn face. Meanwhile, my poor ass is throbbing. I want to reach back and rub my rump, but the brute has my wrists pinned to the small of my back.
“You know, I believe I am,” the smiling bastard says as he pulls me into a standing position, then quickly grabs my wrists again as I try to hit him. “That was a warning. Next time you’ll get the real deal, young lady.”
“Real deal?” I sputter. That felt pretty real to me.
Unbelievably he plants a kiss to the middle of my forehead, his beard scratching before he sits me back down. He cages me in, his hands braced on either side of the arms of my chair. “Now,” he says. “Be a good girl and get some work done. No more ‘smoke breaks’.” With that, he tweaks my nose before grabbing the cigarettes and lighter from the corner of the desk and leaves the room, wearing a huge grin.
What the hell just happened?
My ass tingles and throbs in a way that’s making me aware of a spreading heat. I’ve just been held down and spanked, and it turned me the hell on. Again. What is worse, I’m pretty sure Mr. Buffoon knows it, too. Oh god, why do I find that hot? I’m attracted to the man. Like, eggs-are-dropping-from-my-ovaries-like-paratroopers-from-the-sky-on-D-Day, attracted to the man. I drop my head, thumping it against the desk, then twice more for good measure. Ugh, I have horrible taste in men.
I should date his good ole pal Wyatt just to spite Hank. And why not? It’s not like the great ox is interested in me. He’s made it quite clear what a bundle of crap he thinks I am. Not that I care. He can dislike me all he wants. So what if he is the first guy to ever take an instant dislike to me? I don’t like him either. My tiddly bits like him, and my tiddly bits are stupid. At one time they liked Cody.
My tiddly bits know nothing, is the last thought I allow myself on the subject before I immerse myself back in numbers. Numbers are good. They make sense and don’t spontaneously spank people. And tonight, when the guys come over, I’m going to flirt and laugh at everything Wyatt says, because he has dimples, and I bet he doesn’t spank.
I am going to date and I’m going to date Hank’s best friend. Raising both my middle fingers to the empty doorway, I stick out my tongue in an immature act of rebellion.
Take that Hank Buchannan.
*** ***
Glancing in my rearview mirror, I do a double take. I’ve been so caught up in pointedly not thinking about getting spanked by Hank—and focusing on how the hell I’m going to get through an evening with him in my house—I hadn’t noticed the big fancy black SUV trailing behind me, until now.
I don’t exactly live in a built up area and people ‘round here have beat up Pontiacs and Fords. Not Escalades.
I’m not sure how long they’ve been following me but when I pull into my driveway they’re right behind me. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my rising anxiety. No reason to jump to conclusions. Maybe they’re lost. Yeah, because Escalades don’t come with GPS. Ugh, I have a sinking feeling a new level of hell is about to present itself to my life.
Sitting tight in my jeep, I watch from my rear view mirror as a stalky Hispanic man with a cowboy hat climbs out of the driver’s side door. Out of the passenger side door comes a huge chubby guy with thinning hair, wearing a most unfortunate combo of skinny jeans and high tops.
Steeling my spine, I swing open my door and hop out. I might as well meet them head on. Besides I need to stop them before they reach the house and my little brother.
“Can I help you?” To keep my nervousness at bay I’m clutching my keys so tight I can feel the metal cutting into my skin. I try to relax my grip a little.
“You can help me all right, beautiful girl,” the musclebound Latino cowboy says this giving me a once over that stops at my breasts and doesn’t go much higher.
Uneasy I take a step back and raise my chin in indignation when he laughs at my telling move. “We’re looking for Dylan Dawson. You know where we can find him?”
“Not here,” I say, hoping like hell Dylan doesn’t pick this moment to pop out of the house. “What do you want with him?”
“He owes…a friend of ours some money.”
“We paid that,” I huff outraged before I can stop myself.
“You didn’t pay shit, or we wouldn’t be here.” The overgrown back street boy twangs.
“Yes, I did.”
“Boss man didn’t receive no payment. Who did you pay?”
“I didn’t exactly catch any names.”
“What did they look like?” This logical question comes from cowboy Casanova who is still leering at me.
Dammit. I should have gone in despite Cody’s protests. “It was an apartment complex in Dixton. I gave my boyfriend the money and let him go in.”
“I hate to tell you beautiful girl, but your boy paid the wrong guy.”
“No, that’s not possible.” But I know when it comes to Cody it is not only possible but probable. A sick feeling fills my stomach.
Midnight Cowboy raises a brow and Mr. Chubby Boy Band snickers.
“Here,” he says handing me a black business card with gold lettering for Sugar Daddy’s Gentlemen’s Club, a strip club between Gibson and Dixton.
“What’s this?”
“You come in and see the boss, tonight. I bet he’ll be more than happy to work something out.” From his tone, it is crystal clear exactly how I can settle my brother’s debt.
I glance down the road leading up to my driveway. Hank and Wyatt are going to be here any minute.
“Boss man really isn’t an early riser. You’ll be there tonight before midnight or we come back.” The Latino cowboy gives me a patronizing wink before him and the bloated backstreet boy head back to their Escalade.
I watch them leave feeling a false sense of relief even as my gut clenches. We’ve been granted a very temporary reprieve but tonight someone is going to have to pay the piper and I know it’s going to be me. It’s always me. A weight settles on my shoulders as I trudge up to the house.
“What did those guys want?” Dylan is anxiously waiting for me. It is obvious he peeked out the window and saw me talking to those thugs, but hadn’t moved to come outside. Looking at him still covered in bruises that have turned a sickly green and brown, I can’t help but feel grateful he’d not come outside and made things any worse.
“Money. Cody double-crossed us. Whoever he paid isn’t the person you owe money to.”
All the blood drains from Dylan’s face making him look even sicklier and more beat up. Part of me wants to protect him from the truth, but it is Dylan who’s gotten us into this mess. Unfortunately, it is still going to be up to me to get us out of it. There’s nothing Dylan can do to help now.
“What are we going to do?”
“We are going to clean up the house. Some guys from work are coming over.”
“Candi, you know what I mean. Those guys—”
“Can wait until later. Don’t worry, Dylan. I’m going to take care of it.”
Pain flashes across Dylan’s face making him look so young and broken. “We’re not kids anymore. You don’t have to take care of everything yourself. I can fix this.”
But I don’t believe that, and I know he doesn’t either. He is in way over his head and we both know it. “And get yourself killed? I’m going to take care of it and everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Great,” he snarks with a sarcastic bite as he walks away. “I just love how everything is always fine.”
I grit my teeth fighting the urge to throw something heavy at the ungrateful ass’s head. Maybe things weren’t ever fine, but at least I hadn’t decided to become the world’s shittiest drug dealer.
“You know, at some point you’re going to have to let me help,” he says turning.
“At some point you’re going to have to learn how to be helpful, then.” I’m swamped with absolute remorse the second the words are out of my mouth. Dylan’s lips draw in a straight line of hurt and frustration. “I’m sorry, Dyl, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did,” he says, slinking away. He doesn’t even slam his bedroom door. I hear it quietly shut in defeat at the end of the hall and the silence that follows is deafening.
CHAPTER SIX
HANK
“You’re in an awfully chipper mood. You finally get that dead bug out of your ass?” Wyatt asks, his cocksure smile spread across his face.
We’re on our way to Candi’s house and I have to admit I am feeling chipper. Spanking Candice has really improved my mood. Hell, just the prospect of spanking Candi again makes me smile like a loon. The afternoon practically flew by and the prospect of seeing her again is not all that bad.
“I’m pretty happy myself,” he says. “Candi’s hot.”
That knocks a dent in my happy. “Yeah man, I wanted to talk to you about that. Candice is in a weird place right now. I don’t think it’s a good time for her to be dating.”
“Dude, when is it ever a bad time for a hot chick to be dating?”
“Did you just dude me?”
“It was called for. You’re being ridiculously big brother here. You got a bone for her or something?”
My grip turns to a stranglehold on the steering wheel as I give a noncommittal shrug. “She’s not really my type. I’m just looking out for her.”
“Ha! Now I know you’re full of shit. You’d have to be dead and dickless for that girl not to be your type. But if you want to play all coy that’s fine. It just narrows the playing field to numero uno.”
“I’m trying to remember, why did I bring you to Texas with me, again?”
“So you could be close to greatness.”
“Yeah, no.That’s definitely not the reason.” Truth is Wyatt’s like a brother to me. It’s not completely his fault I now want to smash his face in. I’d been dreading coming back here to Gibson and wanted someone familiar to have my back if shit goes sideways. Which, I doubt it will. Talking to my friend Ross Slater, he made things sound like they were all but wrapped up.
I’ve been doing contracted assignments for the government since my military days ended rather abruptly. I’d worked my first assignment with Slater, years ago. He’s been deep undercover for the past few years for the DEA. Now he’s posing as the owner of The Painted Hussy, a strip club a county over. He’s been working to take down a guy named Maxwell Huntington, a drug smuggler who has a side business in the flesh trade and also happens to be a strip club owner.
Slater’s back up, Phillipe Martinez, a guy who runs Club Muchachas, met and lost his shit for one of his club’s dancers. Now she’s about to go into labor with his kid any day, and Slater needs someone he can rely on. That’s why I’m here. Plus, I’m actually from here. I’m not some planted agent who might fall under suspicion. I’m just a guy who’s come home to Texas and brought his best buddy.
A best buddy who better keep his dick in his pants.
I pull into Candi’s driveway behind her Renegade and cut the engine. The house is underwhelming and has an air of decaying. The sagging roof is a patchwork of places where there obviously were leaks that they replaced a few shingles at a time. The wooden siding looks to be so worn through it’s crumbling in spots.
Before Wyatt gets out of the 4Runner, I stop him with a hand on his arm. “I mean it man. She’s—”
“A big girl, who can take care of herself. Unless you’re calling dibs.”
Fuck, for a wild moment I think about doing it just to keep Wyatt away from her. Instead, I clench my jaw and remain silent.
“Suit yourself, man,” Wyatt says getting out and grabbing the grocery bag from the back and I wonder why the hell I don’t just call dibs on Candi. I did see her first. Recalling how much I’ve seen of her, I’m getting a semi and have to redirect my thoughts.
When Candi greets us at the door I can’t help but think her smile seems forced. And when we step inside I can’t help but think she hadn’t been exaggerating. Her house isn’t much. All the furniture is old and beat up, the carpet is stained and bare in spots. The house has the kind of slightly musty smell that no amount of house cleaning will get rid of.
“Hey Dyl, come on out and meet my friends.”
A stocky young man with a shock of dark hair but the exact same eye color as Candice joins us in the kitchen right as we’re taking out the groceries. The kid looks like he’s been beat to shit.
Candice introduces us and Wyatt holds out his hand playing the diplomat per usual.
“Hey man. Hate to see the other guy.” Wyatt says in joking reference to all the kid’s bruises.
“Yeah, football accident.”
Wyatt and I exchange a quick look. Earlier Candice told us the kid had been in a car accident and the discrepancy hasn’t slid past either of us.
“Must have been a rough game.”
“Did you bring charcoal?” Candice says over brightly from the sliding glass door to the back patio. “I think we’re all out.”
“Never fear. I come prepared. You just sit back and have a beer. I’ve got the grill,” Wyatt says, trailing after Candice, like an eager puppy with charcoal in hand.
Wyatt and I had been in the Marines together. After we served we both got out around the same time. I started taking government contracts and mercenary work, or “security contracts” for the first two years I’d been out, then I’d worked for Wyatt’s
dads' logging company in northern Washington State along with Wyatt. I only did a year as a logger before I’d taken another contract that landed me in South America for longer than I ever wanted to be there.
Wyatt and I have shared an apartment since our military days. We have played each other’s wingman for nearly a decade and have even shared a few chicks on drunken occasion. I’m the big brash red-headed devil ladies love, and Wyatt looks like he should be modeling polo shirts with his dark yacht club hair that does a little flippy thing in the front and the kind of dimpled smile you see on toothpaste commercials. We’re a great team.
Never have I ever felt the need, or even the desire, to stand in Wyatt’s way of scoring some pussy. Right now I should be putting on hockey gear. I’m going to be blocking more cock tonight than the stereotypical bitchy best friend chicks inevitably show up at bars with.
But first, I’m going to find out what the hell Candice is hiding. And I know she is hiding something. I’d bet money that something has to do with Dylan looking like he got knocked down a stairwell of doorknobs.
Pulling a bottle of beer out of the pack we brought, I hand it to Candice’s brother. Nothing’s better than a little social lubricant to get a person feeling chatty. Loose lips sink ships, and Candice’s ship is about to go down.
*** ***
Wyatt is a genius and an asshole. He brought strawberries, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream for dessert. Watching Candice’s eyes roll closed as she bites into a strawberry is the most sexual thing I’ve ever done with my clothes on. Chocolate and whip cream smear on her lips and dribbles out onto her chin. She giggles and wipes it off with her fingers she then licks clean. The action kicks me right in the groin and I have to bite back a groan.
Jesus H. I want her to suck my cock with her lips covered in chocolate and cream.
My pants are becoming painfully tight and it doesn’t pass me by that Wyatt is staring at her mouth like a starving man looking at a perfectly cooked steak.
