Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  I get back on the couch, shoving myself between her as I come face-to-face with her, guiding my cock through her wetness. The urgency builds inside me like a pulsing ache, and I grab her tiny waist. I watch her eyes go wide when I shove my cock inside her, again and again. She claws my ass, and she’s so wet that the sound of my balls slapping her pussy echoes loudly in the room. The sounds she makes—the howling, the begging—fuck, it’s hot. Then I reach down and I pinch her clit just as I feel my stomach seize with a violent tremor.

  “Fuck!”

  I cover her mouth with mine as the pressure building up in my cock finally explodes. My hips thrust into her as I moan loud enough to surprise myself. She buries her fingers in my hair, breathing hard against my lips. I watch those blue eyes break as she succumbs to the orgasm shaking through her body. She clings to my neck and kisses me as aftershocks of my orgasm rip through me, thrusting my hips.

  Goddamn, I came really hard.

  I prop myself on my elbows and I wipe away a strand of hair sticking to her forehead. Her face breaks into a wide smile.

  “That was amazing.”

  “I told you, didn’t I?”

  Her cheeks burn a dark fuchsia, and I wonder why I’m not already on my way, picking my clothes off the floor and making some excuse why I can’t stay. I’m still here, balls deep inside her. Something freezes me in place. Maybe it’s the way she’s still begging me with those eyes.

  “What’s that look?”

  Her eyes are so fucking blue.

  “I thought you’d be different.”

  I make a noise through my nose.

  “I thought you’d be an asshole.”

  I trace her plump bottom lip. An aftershock of my orgasm shakes through my body and I feel like I’m drunk on the smell of her hair. It takes me a while to respond. “Because?”

  “You’re a wise guy.”

  My stomach tightens. How did she find out?

  You practically threatened that jock by dropping Johnny’s name.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not an asshole to women, but everyone else is shit out of luck.”

  The corners of her eyes wrinkle with a smile. “Tough guy, huh?”

  My elbows sink into the couch cushions as I nuzzle her neck. When I plant a kiss on her throat, she utters a small gasp and I smile against her skin.

  “You think you’ve got me pinned down?”

  I pull back far enough so that her nose touches mine. Her shoulders lift in a shrug and she glances away shyly.

  “Maybe.”

  “What about you?” A smile staggers across my face. “Let me guess: sheltered girl who had to sneak out so that she could get some dick.”

  “Close enough.”

  I knew it.

  A tinge of regret hits me because no matter how hot the sex was, I won’t see her again. I can’t. I’m already dreading the moment I’ll have to see the puzzled disappointment in her eyes.

  She watches me, mouth half-open as if she wants to say something, and then the drowsy happiness fades from her eyes. Beatrice rolls on her side and reaches for her shirt. I pull out of her, unsticking my body from hers. Avoiding my gaze, she stands and picks up her clothes. I grab my slacks and stare at her, thrown by her behavior.

  You should be glad you don’t have to give her some excuse.

  Beatrice stands awkwardly, watching me dress. An odd expression hangs on her face. Then I button my shirt, smirking at the destroyed threads of one of the buttons.

  “All right. I have to go—”

  “I—I want—”

  She opens her mouth with an air of determination, but I take her face in my hands gently.

  “If I could see you again, I would. Sorry, hon.”

  I kiss her stunned cheek and turn around before she can plead with me. Regret settles in my guts like lead. She was an incredibly hot lay, and maybe I would’ve called her. Fuck, you don’t forget a girl who gives head like that.

  “I’ll see you soon, Jack Gallo.”

  A smile hitches on my face and my hand is on the doorknob before I realize I never gave that girl my last name.

  How did she know my last name?

  It bugs me the whole night, and I can’t figure it out.

  Do I know her?

  I think I’d remember a girl like that. I keep slipping into earlier tonight, when I was banging the shit out of that smoking-hot girl—Beatrice. Definitely the best lay I’ve had in months.

  Fucking focus.

  I push thoughts of that girl out of my head.

  The hospital is dark after midnight. They dim the hallways slightly and the rooms are blackened, and it’s quiet except for an oppressive, electrical hum that puts me on edge. All these fucking computers and equipment. I want to take a bat to them.

  I walk into the ICU, swiping the stolen badge over the wall, which unlocks the double doors. I stroll in and veer to the left, avoiding the nurse’s station. My footsteps don’t make much noise on the polished floor. Years of being a predator on the streets taught me how to keep quiet. I never thought I’d use it for this. Then I pass the room where he died and a vicious surge of energy hits my chest.

  They’re fucking animals. All of them.

  A body hits my chest as I round the corner. He bounces off me and his clipboard goes flying, and I bend over quickly to pick it up.

  Fuck.

  “Sorry.”

  I hand over the clipboard and he rips it from me. I peer at his badge. Nathan Ross. The very same Nathan Ross I’m trying to find. Frustration bleeds into hot rage as my fists tighten at my sides.

  “It’s fine,” he says in an irritated tone. “Can I help you?”

  Yeah, you can help me. You piece of shit.

  He looks young—probably the same age as me—but he looks like shit. There are cuts on his face where the retard shaves himself, and his haircut is uneven. Dark circles under his eyes indicate sleepless nights.

  “No. Have a nice day.”

  I force myself to turn on the spot and walk away from him as every inch of me seethes. Won’t have to wait that long.

  I don’t actually remember walking back to the parking garage. My eyes blink under the cover of the darkness, hands shaking. There’s no fear, just searing-hot madness. A whistle cuts through the garage and I hide behind the concrete wall next to Nathan’s car. His footsteps echo loudly and I make sure to hide under plain sight of the camera.

  Another surge of hatred burns my insides. Whistling. How the fuck can you whistle?

  A man dressed in blue scrubs walks beside me. I lunge at him like a snake, immobilizing him in seconds and smothering his mouth with my hand. He struggles violently, and my arm slides over his throat. I squeeze the vein throbbing on the side of his neck and wait until his body goes limp. I let him collapse to the floor, his head smacking against the concrete.

  There’s no point in killing him now. Then I fish in his pants for the keys to his car and I pop open the trunk. His body makes a dull sound as I throw him in there.

  The drive doesn’t soothe my nerves. I can hear him fucking around in the back, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I expect him to pass out from the heat, but even that would be too good for that rat bastard. A horrifying image of my brother immobilized on the hospital bed flashes through my head, but I shove it away. Can’t think of that now.

  The car bounces as I drive through the uneven dirt road to the junkyard. His screams rebound inside the small trunk, and finally I park his car between two mounds of crushed metal and cut the engine.

  This might be it.

  His screams lift to the air when I pop open the trunk. “What the fuck are you doing? Where am I?”

  “If you move, I’ll kill you.” I slip the sidearm out of my jacket to let him know that I’m not fucking around.

  Watery blue eyes widen with fear as he lies in the trunk of his own car, and I hear a dull roar pounding in my ears. I raise the gun to his temple.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can have my money.” H
e grabs his wallet from his pocket and tosses it to me. It lands in a cloud of dust. “Just take it!”

  Maybe I’ll play with him before I eat him.

  I grab the flimsy wallet from the ground and search through its contents. “Twenty bucks? That’s all you got? Geez, a nurse’s salary ain’t much, is it?”

  “I can get more! Please, don’t hurt me!”

  Don’t hurt me. But the asshole didn’t care about my brother, did he? He didn’t give a flying fuck about him.

  I grab the scruff of his neck and smash the heel of the gun over his face. His nose shatters and blood sprays all over his bright blue scrubs. A thrill shoots up my ribs as he clutches his face, moaning.

  “Months ago you accepted a bribe from a man in the hospital. You were told to take a walk from the ICU. Don’t fucking deny it!”

  Terrified eyes glance at me. “I—I didn’t.”

  I aim the gun at one of his knees and the cracking sound splits the sky, almost drowning out his agonized howl. Blood mushrooms around his knee and tears stream from his eyes.

  “I bet that really fucking hurts, doesn’t it?” Seized by a sudden burst of anger, I grab his blood-soaked knee and squeeze. He cries like a little bitch. “Answer me, you miserable prick!”

  “Okay!” he screams, holding out his hand. “I did—some guy gave me money—”

  My heart crashes against my ribs. “What the fuck did he look like?”

  “I don’t know! He had a suit—a black one. Thin face. Short black hair.”

  Jesus fucking Christ, this is useless. He could be describing John, for all I know, but the boss never does his own dirty work.

  His voice raises an octave. “Look, I didn’t know what was going to happen, okay? He told me to take a walk, so I did.”

  “Tell me how much they paid you for my brother’s life.”

  He shakes his head, crying silently when he hears the rage trembling my voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “How much?”

  The miserable bastard flinches at my yell. “F-five hundred.”

  My stomach sinks and I clench my eyes. Goddamn it. My chest tightens so that I can barely breathe. My brother’s life was bought for five hundred dollars. They paid off witnesses and took care of the security cameras, but why would they leave this one breadcrumb for me to find? Sloppy. Not like John at all.

  I can envision it. Several men in dark suits, silhouetted, quietly slipping into my brother’s room. Grabbing the pillow behind his head and smothering his face. Mike wouldn’t have been able to fight back in his condition. There’s something about that—I want to throw up. A line of nausea creeps into my mouth as I imagine them digging it into his face. It would have been so simple. He was paralyzed.

  “How does it feel to die for five hundred worthless dollars?”

  “HELP!”

  I cut off his screams with another crack. The bullet hits him square in the chest and his mouth bursts with blood. I fire again. Again. Again. So many fucking times. Until his body is riddled with holes and his blood pools in the trunk. I clean the gun with my shirt and then I toss it inside. Nathan’s face is frozen in twisted agony, but my rage still burns. I slam the trunk lid down as the echoes of the gunshots fade in the distance.

  I slam my fist into the car, warping the metal as my yells are swallowed by the mountain of crushed vehicles. I check my watch, my head pounding, and I grit my teeth.

  Johnny’s waiting for me at the MC.

  Where I’m going to get engaged to some bitch I’ve never even met.

  Great.

  A sickening feeling possesses me like a slow-acting poison, unlike the fear settling in my guts. I stand in this dark room, waiting for Johnny to show up as François and Tommy eye me as though I’m a fucking liability.

  I’m just waiting to die, aren’t I?

  This looks like just the place. Four walls. Suspiciously stained wooden floorboards. Two men eye-fucking me. We’re way, way out in the boonies, in biker territory where no one will give a shit even if they hear my screams.

  The door creaks, opening wide to admit a slim figure wearing a plain charcoal suit. It’s Johnny, the boss of the family. Black waves of hair speckled with gray are rolled back to reveal a handsome face. Inwardly I recoil. He’s the man who haunts my nightmares. I can’t help but battle a burgeoning swell of rage and fear whenever I see him. The nausea goes straight to my gut.

  Blood pounds in my head as I stare at him, conscious of the fact that if it weren’t for him, Mike would still be alive.

  He smooths his hands over his pinstripe suit, looking as immaculate as the devil as cold eyes scan my appearance. He glances at the men watching me.

  “Leave us.”

  I dig my fingernails into my palms as François and Tommy push themselves off the wall and exit the room. The door shuts with a sort of hollow finality and we stare at each other for a moment. Iciness grips my stomach as Johnny strides forward, close enough to do anything he wants to me. His nostrils flare.

  Is he sniffing me?

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Well, you didn’t expect me to come here sober, did you?”

  “Listen to me, you fucking moron. You’re either going to jail, or you marry one of them. End of fucking story.”

  I might just rip my fist across Johnny’s face. “I’m not going to marry some biker cunt. They put my brother in the hospital, or did you forget that?”

  The boss bares his teeth. “I forget nothing. We were at war, Jack. Now we’re not. It’s that simple.”

  Piece of shit.

  I want to scream at him that I know what he did. He’s the most ruthless boss in history—he could have silenced my brother. They found cotton fibers in his nose and lungs. He suffocated to death, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. The grief still tears at me like a hundred tiny knives cutting deep inside me.

  It should have been me. I was the fuck-up.

  The hatred boiling inside me must be plain on my face, because Johnny’s eyes narrow dangerously.

  “You have something you want to say to me?”

  I would kill you if I had a shred of proof.

  “Why the fuck don’t you just kill me?” It bursts out of my mouth before I can take it back, the question finally ripped from my throat.

  He clenches his fists. “What?”

  “I know your style, Johnny. You don’t give second chances. Why me? I’m Mike’s worthless, ex-junkie brother. Why the fuck are you doing this for me?”

  “You’re my bargaining chip for this deal.”

  I let that sink in for a moment.

  “Jesus.”

  Johnny approaches me, his face inches from mine. “I know you think I killed him. I didn’t.”

  I cross my arms, shaking my head as a painful grin stretches my face. “Sure.”

  I go flying as he shoves my chest. My back hits the wall and his fist slams into the space right beside my head.

  “I had nothing to do with it!”

  Earnest black eyes bore into mine. I study the creases in his face, feel his breath blowing hard over my face. I wish I could believe him.

  “Fine.”

  “Câlisse de tabarnak.” He starts to turn away, then his snarling face screams at me again. “You’re going to marry one of those girls, or you’ll get your fucking death wish.”

  The sound of his screaming vibrates in my ears, almost painful. The airport heist fucked everything up. The CSIS went ape shit, even though the MC screwed us over and took the cash. Everyone needed alibis—everyone had one. Except for me. Anyway, nothing really mattered once Mike died. My brother was everything. Dead and gone. I couldn’t deal with it. I expected Johnny to send someone to pop me, but he never did. I’m his only loose end. The only way to avoid jail is to marry the girl who’s giving me an alibi. Spousal privilege. She can’t testify against her husband.

  Just kill me and get it over with.

  It makes my stomach turn to think about marrying one of those fucking cunts. The
y beat my brother—hurt him so badly that he’d never walk again. They’re accessories to his murder.

  “Why the fuck are we making peace with these dogs?”

  “I want my money,” Johnny says baldly. “They’re giving back most of the money from the heist, and I want things to calm down.”

  So that’s it? They get to beat the shit out of Mike and everything is fucking hunky-dory?

  “What about my brother?”

  “They paid for hurting him. An eye for an eye.”

  They did. I saw the biker’s body that Tommy tortured. It wasn’t enough for me. Call me sick, but I wanted more.

  “The new president knows we have the means to wipe them out, if we wanted. He wants peace, and frankly, so do I.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair and steps away from me. “Let’s go. I don’t have all fucking day.”

  Die or marry some biker bitch. It’s not really a choice, is it? If I go to jail, it won’t be long before someone shanks me in prison. Johnny’s willingness to do right by my brother would end the moment I posed a threat to him.

  “This is fucking ridiculous.”

  Resigned, I follow Johnny outside the room back into the clubhouse, where a dozen or so bikers are waiting for us. The bloody struggle that started after we killed their president ended up with a more moderate, less reactionary leadership.

  “They’re just going to hand off one of their women to me?”

  He gives me a look, warning me to silence. “They’re desperate.”

  They must be to give one of their women to a guy who fucks around and gives no shits about it. The new president stands in the middle of the clubhouse, which looks significantly less shabby than the last time we came here. Gone are the stripper poles and the giant speakers blasting rock music. Thank fucking God. Behind their shoulders I see a row of women lined up like a cattle auction.

  Sweet Jesus.

  This is insane.

  Johnny shakes the president’s hand, who turns his oily gaze toward me.

  The new president is a short, stout man with a russet-colored beard, which lightens in his heavy sideburns. His leather cut is cracked with age, but he wears it proudly. The look he gives me makes my teeth crack. The last thing I want is to marry one of these people. It’s a fucking insult to my brother’s memory. A disgrace.