by Maya James
"Now you've cum like a woman should," he whispers into my ear as he collapses onto me.
I hook my quivering legs around him and my exhausted arms can barely hold on to his neck. I haven't forgotten how frustrated he was. There will be no soft passionate finish. He has me by the thighs when he begins to drill me, pounding my warrior parts ruthlessly.
"Fuck me, Justin! Fuck me harder!"
His grunting fills the room.
"Tell me when you're going to cum. I want it in my mouth. I want to taste you," I tell him.
A moment later he shouts that he's going to cum and he pulls out of me. I sit up, stuffing him into my mouth quickly just as he releases. There's too much to keep it contained. His cum explodes out through the corner of my lips and covers my chin; the visual excites him even more, so I open my mouth completely, letting it run down my chin as he continues to empty onto my tongue.
"Jesus H. Christ!" he shouts, convulsing uncontrollably.
I wrap my hand around his manhood and make sure to jerk him into my mouth until nothing is coming out at all.
When he's finished, Justin watches me swallow the little bit I did manage to catch. "Looks like we both went properly," he says with a wicked smirk from above me.
"I DON'T THINK I can do any more," Trisha says as she's getting tired. It's evident in her face and voice. "Can we be done for today?"
Her physical therapist checks the time and then looks her in the eye, judging her. There's a time to push, and a time not to. "Yeah," she answered. "You've done a lot this morning. We'll pick back up tomorrow."
"Thank you," Trisha breathes, relieved.
As Justin had promised, Trisha's face returned to normal within a few days after the attack as her swelling went down. I walk over to her with a proud smile. "You did great, right up until you whined like a bitch," I tease.
"Fuck you, hoe!" she replies with a big friendly smile that makes me laugh. Even her PT giggles at us.
I'm so glad she hasn't completely lost herself in this.
Her bruises have all faded from black and blue into a hideous yellow. There was some loss of hearing in her right ear, but not critical. The only real damage done was to her wrists and her trust and faith in people. Right now, the only friends she is seeing are Justin and I.
The poor thing hasn't been able to remember anything about the morning of her attack, and that's a blessing. But it frustrates her beyond words. She thinks she should remember, that it would help her if she did, but I'm not sure I can agree. It should be enough to know what happened without remembering the brutality of it.
When her PT leaves us, she stares at me, wanting to ask the same question she asks me every single day.
Have the police found him yet?
"No," I answer before she asks. "Nothing new. No one has seen or heard from him at all, and his car hasn't shown up."
Trisha nods that she understands.
"I think you might have to start thinking that you will never see Sam again, and that you're safe," I add.
There's a familiar look on her face, a mix of emotions I know all too well—furious anger and heartbreak. She knows what he did and she wants revenge but doesn't know it's been taken for her. But never underestimate the grief.
Yes, he turned out to be a piece of shit, but before that, they really had something. Losing that...it’s the same grief she would experience if he died.
Shameful guilt, that's another one mixed in there. I don't know why we do that to ourselves. She has nothing to feel guilty about—neither did I—but that doesn't stop the self-doubt a woman feels.
"Do you really believe that he'll never come back?" Trisha asks as I carry her things and we walk to the door.
"I do, yes."
We open the door and step out. "You know, you sound pretty confident about that," she says full of curiosity.
Be careful!
"Because I am confident," I reply unafraid. "He ran, took off like a coward. The police said he stopped at his Lake George home for a bit and took off from there."
I help her get into Justin's car and climb in myself. Tony shuts the door for us.
"Nothing says guilt like a runner. Sam knows he fucked up, and he knows he can't come back. He won't come back because he can't—he goes to jail if he does." I almost believe that myself.
Tony climbs into the front. The glass is up, so we can't see him, but the car shifts from side to side unmistakably.
"I guess," she says, shrugging her thick shoulders. "But if I had a couple friends that have a ton of money, ones that had gone out of their way to successfully hide that fact from everyone, friends that probably have connections—I wonder if they could make someone like Sam disappear."
It wasn't a question, but if I don't reply, she will take my silence as an answer anyway.
"Does that shit really happen?" I ask, purposefully trying to make her feel a little silly.
"I think it does," she said, not giving up too easily. "It probably happens more often than we think. And if that ever happened to me—"
Shit, here it comes!
"I would be grateful."
Wait! What?"
"You would be grateful? Not mad, or hurt?" I ask, probably more shocked than I should sound.
"He's a shit! I trusted him!" A tear quickly forms in her eye and runs down her cheek. "No, I wouldn't be mad. I don't remember getting hit, or strangled, but I do remember that it was a good night, and in the morning there was nothing I had done to deserve what he did to me. Not a fucking thing!"
I wrap my arms around her, seeing the pain oozing from her expression. Trisha puts her arms around me too, and I hear her sobs.
"Screw him, Trisha. You didn't do anything wrong and you didn't deserve any of this. You just need to think about yourself now, let him go."
Trisha slowly lets go of me. "I hate him, Charity, so if you guys took care of him—thank you."
I hear what she's saying, but I just shouldn't confirm anything for her. There may be some ups and downs along her recovery, and Panther doesn't need to be caught in a down.
"I wish we could take the credit." That isn't a lie, I really do wish we could tell her.
Trisha wipes the wetness off her cheeks and laughs. "If you did do it, that's just what you'd have to say."
That makes me laugh too.
We're heading back to my building, now it's our building. My apartment has been empty since Melissa returned home, so we insisted Trisha take it as soon as she was released from the hospital.
We told her it was because I'm taking her to therapy every day and making sure she has everything she needs, but we all know the truth. She couldn't make it on the disability checks alone and she can't work. The Grill had to fill her position; they have to say it'll be there when she returns, but we all know it won't be, and there's no way she was keeping her apartment without her job.
Justin was not having anything else happen to her. He was prepared to argue until he had his way, but fortunately he didn't have to. Trisha went along willingly, I think in part because she wanted to be near the only two people she trusts for now.
We drive silently for a few minutes.
"I'm really impressed with your therapy," I say when I feel it's safe to change the subject. "I came among much slower with my recovery from the car accident."
"Yeah—I'm one tough bitch," she jokes.
I laugh at her. "You're a determined bitch, I can't argue that."
After Tony dropped us off, I got her settled in and left her to rest.
Justin is waiting for me upstairs as I come in the door. "How's she doing?"
"Pretty good," I tell him. "Better than expected—at least better than I expected. Her therapist says she's about sixty percent normal strength and function."
He nods. "And how are you?" he asks softly.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. How are you in all this? Don't pretend you're not tired," he says as he takes my coat from me and hangs it in the closet.
&nbs
p; I smile, grateful that he knows me so well. "I am tired, baby, but it’s nothing I can't handle."
Justin brings his gorgeous face to mine, making my heart flutter. His lips graze mine almost accidentally, then press stiffly into me.
"I'm sure you can handle it," he says proudly, "but there's no arguing on this. When she's in a good spot, emotionally as well as physically—I know—I am taking you on a break. I've been talking to your parents, they're already looking forward to spending time with us soon."
It's almost annoying how perfectly he gets me.
I start the kissing this time. "That sounds wonderful, just as soon as she's good."
CHAPTER VIII
"Good morning, Sylvester," I tease as I pass the hologram.
Justin smiles despite himself. He's looking relaxed behind his desk this morning. We're flying to PA right from here this afternoon, so he came to work dressed comfortably. The girls are drooling because they've never seen him dressed down before and Jenifer has thanked me for it several times already.
I told her to keep her eyes off my man's ass, and she told me to fuck off. Ha ha.
John is here and ready, and Lena is on her way over from her office, so Justin dials in to the video call.
Mr. Roberts is already waiting and Austin signs on as Lena comes in, walking on clouds that I assume are from Terrence. We wait for a few moments for Franco, Cattie and a few others from our group—the ones that are aware of the other team that we are tracking. Not all of them are aware because we thought some of them would freak out, so it was best to keep them in the dark.
There are several chimes that signify the others joining the call.
"I think everyone is on now," Mr. Roberts says in a dignified voice. "Cattie, why don't you start us off on Mr. Lewis' status?"
"Sure," she replies eagerly. Only Justin can see her since he's keeping the rest of us off camera. "As we expected, Senator Lewis is starting off very carefully. Each month he's using nearly the same amount he always has for his habit, and he's been using most of the balance on random items, nothing significant for us, which is great."
"But how are his other accounts, especially the campaign funds?" Franco interrupts. There is genuine concern in his tone.
"Perfectly fine," Cattie answers.
"So he's being a good boy as I promised," Austin says happily.
"Do we know what he's been doing?" Mr. Roberts asks. "Even though he's well within his limits, we should still know what he's up to."
"Agreed," Franco says.
"We know exactly what he's been doing," Justin interjects. "Exactly what he always does. Every two weeks he's in AC, split between the Tropicana, the Borgata, and recently Revel as well. He's planning a trip to Vegas, something he did do occasionally before. And his online account has been very active. That's up just slightly from before, but nothing significant yet."
They're silent for a second.
"I'll have a report emailed to each of you with the details, what games he plays and for how long—how much—but I don't think we need to discuss that here," Justin adds.
"No, that's perfect," Mr. Roberts says. I don't think they expected Justin would have that much detail available.
"As I said, he's being very careful, at least for now," Cattie confirms.
"So, what about this other problem?" Mr. Roberts asks.
Lena and John perk up, this is why we are all in here with Justin. John's round face comes to life.
Justin taps away at his keys and begins a screen share on the call, opening an organizational chart. "We've had Blake Adams at the top for a bit."
I know the chart he's showing without seeing it on screen. There are several question marks next to Blake's name, other people we have to find, and one more that we have found.
"He led us to Teresa Holster and Nelson Seals. From them we found Allen Sikes, a mid-level member that brought us to two more low-level people, Ben and Earl, and finally another high-level hit, Arthur Shea."
We can hear several of them grumble on the call. They know who he is, and they know you cannot easily fuck with him. Arthur Shea already owns several senators and the current Vice President.
"This is his play for Presidential control," Mr. Roberts said flatly.
Everyone on the call goes silent.
"We have a decision to make," Justin says in a calm, simplistic voice. "It has to be a vote from all of our senior members."
"And what is that?" Austin asks.
Justin makes a face like it should be obvious. "Do we take him on and hope we get the control before he does, or are we out before it costs us too much?"
It's quiet for a moment. "Why are there question marks on the chart?" Franco asks.
"I don't believe we've found everyone yet. Arthur Shea is definitely in charge, but there could be others—and we haven't yet found who's taking care of their security," Justin tells them. "That's critical, and we're getting close."
The call doesn't last much longer. Mr. Roberts will get the word to the others so a decision is made on how to proceed.
Once it's over, John has to rush out for a call. Justin has something to show us, something that has him upset. Even without John, he asks us to look up at his wall monitor.
"Phone bills?" Lena asks.
Justin nods. There are two of them side by side.
"The same number appears on both of them," Lena notices.
"It's a burner, not reliably traceable," Justin says. "We're trying to see if we can get the tower history, at least see where its user is based out of."
"Are you going to stop playing and tell us whose bills these are and why this is important?" I demand.
He takes a breath—and that freaks me the fuck out!
"The one on the left, that's Arthur Shea's," he says.
"And the one on the right?" Lena asks.
"Sam Parker," he says completely monotone.
"Trisha's Sam?" I choke. My pulse is suddenly racing, and I literally feel the color run out of my face. "How is he connected to any of this?" I ask through a pale expression.
"I don't think he is, not directly," Justin replies.
"There's no way that's a fucking coincidence, Justin!" Lena barks and I couldn't agree with her more.
"No, it's not a coincidence," he agrees. "It was a warning or an assassination attempt."
"On who?" I ask, hearing the sudden, frigid fear in my own voice.
Justin looks at me with sorrowful eyes. "On me, Warrior. Sam got his call from that number the night we took care of him. Someone working for Author Shea knew about our personal business and tipped Sam off that we were coming—obviously hoping he would get a shot off before we did."
"But," my throat is nearly closed with fear, "who knew we were going after Sam that night?"
Lena is absolutely furious, like she might explode. "Only us—only Panther!"
SHAIN IS PREPPING THE Hawker to return to New York before we are even off the plane. The car service is putting our bags in the trunk of a town car, but I've made it clear that I'm not going anywhere until I've had a chance to check in with Trisha. My anxiety about leaving her is at its summit.
"Are you an ass?" That's what I get from Trisha. "You've taken great care of me, and I'm so grateful, but now your wonderful boyfriend is taking care of you for a week. My wrists are perfect and I'm making all my meetings. Forget about me for the week; I'll be fine, I promise."
"You promise about the meetings?" I ask.
"Girl, do I have to hang up on you?"
I think she's doing fine!
We stop and check in at the Hampton Inn, the same place he had arranged for Shain and his fiancé on Christmas Day. Of course my parents wanted us to stay with them, but Justin had insisted we not put them out. Tonight he's made all the plans; we're picking my parents up after checking in and taking them to dinner. He calls it his pre-thank you.
At my parents, it's almost a replay of Christmas. They meet us out on the walk with wide smiles and wider hugs.
Winter is still coming to a close, so their jackets are not as heavy.
The site of my Dad giving Justin a buddy-hug throws me for a loop, but I can count on Mom for distracting everyone with her over-concern for me.
"Oh my God! Justin you're right; she's worn down to nothing," she exclaims while her arms are still wrapped around me, as if she can feel a difference through my clothes.
"Leave her alone, she's fine," Dad says in my defense. "Let her go so we can get in the car. You have all week to smother her."
We're in the car when Justin asks my Dad about his business, a copier and printer sales and service company he's had forever, when I hear my father telling him it's being sold.
"What do you mean it's being sold?" I hear myself asking desperately from miles away.
Why do I feel like my childhood was just given away?
Both Mom and Dad are smiling brightly. "Just what he said," Mom says proudly. "We're selling it and retiring—finally!"
I'm stunned. "I don't know whether to be happy or angry," I say mindlessly. "Did things go bad?"
"No," Dad chuckles. "Things are great; you're grown, and your mother and I are tired of doing it. We brought it to its peak and we're getting out while it's fantastic. Last month I took the three biggest accounts the Conti brothers had and became the biggest shop in the area. They hated Donny, the older brother, hated his unethical service contracts."
Dad looks at Justin proudly while Mom hugs his arm like a schoolgirl.
"His younger brother came to me, told me he's always admired me and my business. He said that his brother is a crook but that he was the controlling owner. He said he would cut all ties with his brother if I would let him buy in with us because he wants to do business our way. Anthony was always a good guy. I asked him how serious he was and how big of an investment he was prepared to make. Long story short, he has enough backing to buy the whole damn thing. As soon as our lawyers are done, I'll have more money than I'd dreamed of retiring on, and Anthony will have the business he needs to finish crushing his brother out completely."
I'm still in shock.
