Songbird

by A. J. Adams

  “No particulates to worry about,” he announced. “We’re clear.” Then he motioned the other one back. “Just in case, Arturo.”

  So he was called Arturo, the nice one.

  Arturo pulled my chair back a little. “Okay.”

  I found myself holding my breath while the devil eased open the case. When nothing blew up, all three of us sighed with relief. I peeked and saw the case was filled with packets of sugar. Cocaine, my inner self corrected me. The knowledge sent my stress levels soaring again. A suitcase full of cocaine was worth a fortune. And people would kill for a lot less.

  “Excellent!” Arturo was smiling. “Keep an eye on things for a sec, Kyle while I get my briefcase?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Kyle. I would have expected him to be called Lucifer.

  With Arturo out of the room, I felt incredibly vulnerable, but Kyle ignored me. He packed away his particulate sniffer or whatever it was called, took a wet wipe from the desk and cleaned the blood off his wrists. Then he looked at me and passed me the pack. A devil, but a thoughtful one, I thought as I cleaned the blood off my hands and wrists.

  “Hey, Kyle.” It was Escamilla.

  “What?”

  “Listen, we’ve known each other forever –”

  “Forget it.” Kyle moved to the other side of the desk, looking down at Escamilla. “You stupid sack of shit, your death is going to send a message that will be heard by the entire world.”

  “No! Kyle, for pity’s sake!” Escamilla sounded terrified. “Jesus! We’re friends!”

  Lucifer shrugged, totally deadpan. “We were. You changed that.”

  I peeked round the desk. Escamilla was lying on the floor, looking pale as death. Maybe I should have felt sorry for him, but every time I looked at him, more memories flashed back. Him slapping my face, him lying on top of me, and him laughing as I cried.

  I hated him, and I was glad they were going to kill him. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t just shot him now that they had their coke back, but I wasn’t going to ask. I was looking out for number one. I was in a dangerous place and surrounded by some very dangerous people. Nobody seemed to be after me, but somehow I was certain that I was inches away from death.

  My mind was racing at the speed of light. Arturo was clearly the boss, which meant he was the key to freedom. I didn’t have anything to offer him in exchange for letting me walk, so I would do everything I could to make Arturo like me.

  The door opened and Arturo was back, holding a thin briefcase this time. “How long have we got?”

  “No rush,” Kyle said. “I’ll need an hour to set up.” He glanced at Escamilla. “You’re going to love it.”

  The way he said it gave me the shivers, and when Arturo came round to sit behind the desk, I found myself clinging to his arm. “Don’t let him take me,” I begged him.

  “Of course not.” He stroked my hair and smiled. “I’m not wasting you.”

  I was so freaked that I missed the joke. “You can have me. We can –”

  He shushed me. “Business first, Solitaire.”

  Kyle grinned, grabbed Escamilla’s ankles and dragged him out of the room. Escamilla went screaming all the way, and I couldn’t figure out if it was from pain or fear. Either way, I didn’t care. Kyle would kill him, and that was all good as far as I was concerned. My hatred ran so deep that my hands were clenched at the mere thought of that gaunt fiend, but I knew I had other things to worry about. I didn’t want to end up in a hole in the ground next to him.

  Unfortunately Arturo didn’t seem too keen to have me, and that was scaring me to death. I was well on my way to working myself up into a fine state when he started taking the computer apart. “Help me with this, and then we’ll find a bedroom.”

  That settled me, and when he had me holding all the bits as they came off, I didn’t have time to fret.

  He put the hard disk into the suitcase with the coke and then rifled through the drawers, putting a couple of folders into his briefcase and dumping the rest on the floor. There wasn’t much, but by the time he’d finished, the room looked trashed.

  He looked around, took a small bowl from a shelf and smiled. “Lalique. Nice.” That went into the case, too. “Come on. Let’s take a tour.”

  I walked through the house with Arturo, helping him pick up knickknacks. It was a big place, but there was very little furniture, and many of the rooms were bare. Everything was super clean, smelling of antiseptic. Although there wasn’t much, Arturo picked the place apart, pulling out every drawer in every cupboard, turning furniture upside down and even looking in the bases of the lamps.

  As a search and seizure mission it was pretty successful. Arturo made a bag from a tablecloth for me, and I was soon holding a stack of cash and a pack of coke he found in a drawer in the sitting room, as well as a couple of crystal ornaments, six gold candlesticks and three jade statues.

  As we moved from room to room, I got glimpses of Kyle and a couple of other men dragging bodies through the hall and outside. The corpses left trails of blood, and there was splatter on some of the walls. There had been a massacre here, and I was a witness. It gave me the absolute shivers. What was worse, I had only the vaguest idea of what my role had been. I held on to the fact that it looked like I’d helped Arturo. It meant he owed me, but I didn’t know if it was enough to get me out of here free and clear.

  I wondered if I should tell him that I couldn’t remember anything, but when I opened my mouth, I got this terrible feeling of dread, and another memory surfaced. He was black, tattooed, and he was raging at me. “You talked, you stupid bitch! What did you tell them?”

  I was beginning to wonder if there was anything good in that dark pool of my mind. Maybe there wasn’t.

  I decided coming clean wasn’t worth it. Arturo would probably think it a lame attempt to get out of trouble. Much better to pretend that I was totally cool with playing a bit part in Slaughter House Five. Actually, it wasn’t a case of pretending at all. The few glimpses I got of the bodies only triggered more anger. I’d hated these people; hated them with all my soul. I wouldn’t weep for them.

  I didn’t recognise anything downstairs, but when we went upstairs, I got another flash. This time I could feel Escamilla pushing me up the steps. I sensed his hands in the small of my back, and my stomach was churning at the memory. It was creepy as hell.

  The first half a dozen bedrooms were bare, but the main suite had a massive four-poster bed, covered in a thin sheet of rubber. A stack of sheets, smelling of bleach, lay on a dresser. An air mattress lay in the corner. I saw it and knew that it had been my bed.

  “Que pendejo!” Arturo said when he spotted it.

  I didn’t know what it meant, but I appreciated the sentiment his tone implied. It looked like Escamilla had taken the bed and made me sleep on the floor, the scum-bucket. I helped Arturo strip the rubber off the mattress and check underneath it. There was nothing, no dirty magazines, not even a speck of dust.

  Arturo sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come here, guapa.”

  This was it. I went straight over, smiling and ready to do whatever he wanted. I would be brilliant. Then he’d like me, and that Kyle wouldn’t be coming for me.

  Arturo pulled me to stand in front of him. He was examining me in a thoughtful way, running a finger down my cheek and brushing the hair off my face. He was smiling with anticipation, but his touch was gentle. I breathed again and took a good look at him.

  I realised that if I hadn’t been so scared, I would have seen straight away that he had a dark, glamorous Latino look going for him: large dark eyes, high, slanting cheekbones, a Roman nose, full lips and a strong jaw. When he frowned he looked tough, almost brutal, but when he smiled, his face lit up and he morphed into, well, not a Latin Adonis but a good-looking bloke.

  He was grinning as he slowly undid my shirt buttons. I had been too preoccupied to notice, but now I saw it was so old that it was practically see-through. There was also a big hole in t
he front and a burn mark on my ribs. Arturo looked at the reddened skin, and then, very slowly, kissed it. His lips were soft, but the burn stung. The sharp feel of it curled my toes and gave me goose pimples of pleasure.

  “Hmmm, you like that, huh?” He licked the burn again, and when I shivered and swayed, he chuckled and unhooked my bra. “Pierced nipples. Sweet!”

  He ran his thumbs over the small barbells and pinched lightly. I discovered my nips were linked directly to my clit. An insistent throb started between my legs, and I felt suddenly hot and breathless. He tweaked my nipples again and then flicked his tongue lightly over the tender flesh. I found myself holding on to his shoulders because my knees had turned to water.

  He swiftly unzipped my jeans and ran a fingernail over my knickers. Oh Christ, those knickers! Grey with age and with a hole by the elastic. Jesus, had I dressed from a charity bin or something?

  Arturo was rubbing a finger thoughtfully over the cotton that hid that hot, tight little nub pulsing between my legs. “A shaven pussy too. Perfect.”

  He smiled and pinched my clit. I heard a whimper and realised it was me. He did it again, teasing the bud with a fingernail and then pinching me as he sucked those little barbells, triggering more tsunamis. My breath was catching in my throat, and I could hardly breathe. All thought of playing nice had vanished. I wanted him to throw me on the bed and fuck me stupid.

  Arturo was laughing. He pulled me forward, making me straddle his lap. “Undress me.”

  My hands were shaking as I tugged off the pullover and when he ran his hands over my bottom before sliding them under my knickers, I tugged so hard at the armoured vest he wore that I almost throttled him.

  “Steady, sweetheart.” He unclipped the sides, and the blessed thing slid straight to the floor. It took me a second to whip off the white tee he wore underneath. He had a terrific body: broad shoulders, a deep chest, fine black chest hair and lean muscles like he worked out. He was chunky and comfortable, though – not a Mr Muscle.

  When I ran my hands over his chest, the feel of that soft warm skin over those strong smooth muscles was adding nicely to my throbbing want. I could feel by the bulge in his trousers that he wanted me, too, but he was taking his time. He stroked my tits and my bum, telling me how beautiful I was, and I sat on his thighs, lapping it up, feeling my knickers getting damper and damper.

  After running his hands all over me in a nicely intimate search and seizure, he dipped his head, nuzzling my breasts and nipping at the barbells with his teeth. It sent a sharp pain shooting straight to the throbbing between my legs, turning heat into flame. I moaned and dropped my head on his shoulder.

  He sucked and bit lightly, running his hands all over me, until all those shivers of delight built up into a wave of sensation. As it washed through me, I became intensely aware of each touch, every dragging fingernail, every tapping finger, every flick of the tongue. He was playing me, and as his touch reverberated through me, I leaned into those soft lips, those nipping teeth and gave myself over to a warm, delicious delight so exquisite that I thought I’d do a Wicked Witch of the West and melt into a puddle.

  I wasn’t even thinking of why I was here; I just wanted him to possess me. I leaned against him, rubbing myself against his rod, wishing he’d ram all that hot hardness inside me.

  But first, that inner voice said, a little spanking would turn warm delicious into searing ecstasy. I was considering how to tell him I was a naughty girl, but with all the blood in my body heading south, I didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. Luckily Arturo was way ahead of me.

  “Time to play, Solitaire.” He stood up holding me up against him. “Take off my belt.”

  The blood was pounding in my ears, and my breath was stuck at ragged, but I managed to work that belt through a dozen loops. It finally lay in my hand: black leather, finely worked, and with a gold clasp. I knew what was coming next, and I was practically peaking at the thought.

  He took it from my hands. “Twelve strokes.” I was shaking, half in fear and half in anticipation. “Pick up your bra and give it to me.”

  I almost fell over picking it up, and when I stood up again, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess, my face was pink, and my eyes were half shut with lust. I looked possessed, but Arturo seemed to like it, because he was grinning, and his crotch was bulging with promise of big things to come.

  “Face the bed, and put up your hands.” A few twists and my bra, also well past its use-by date, was anchoring my wrists to the bed’s top bar. “Spread your legs.” He was running his hands between my thighs, testing to see how wet I was for him. By the feel of it, I had the Thames flowing between my legs. I was so ready, his fingers nearly set me off.

  He slid my knickers down to my ankles. “Twelve strokes. Count them off for me.”

  “My safe word is bacon.” God knows where that came from. The words just tore from my throat.

  “No safe words, Solitaire. You get twelve, no matter what.”

  The air squeezed out of my lungs, but I couldn’t tell if it was excitement, fear or both. Before I could say anything else, he took a step back, and the belt snaked through the air. I felt it land across the centre of my arse, and then there was a moment of numbness followed by a sharp white heat. That fire between my legs went from hot to volcanic. It was heaven.

  “One,” I moaned.

  A second blow, just below the first. Now my body was resonating, savouring the snap and fire, craving more and more and more.

  “Two.”

  I don’t remember counting past eight because I was floating in an ocean of bliss, punctuated by flashes of sheer delight. The flashes stopped, and I felt him fold himself around me. His body was hard and cool against my skin, but his cock was hot, pulsing in between my legs. I was dancing on tiptoe, trying to get him inside me, moaning with frustration when he hung back, teasingly rubbing himself against my clit, driving me insane.

  “Sirena! Sirenita linda!”

  His arms were around me, his hands cupping my tits, pinching and teasing, while that searing rod rubbed along my creaming centre, and I writhed and whimpered because I wanted him inside me.

  “Want it?” He moved back a little, holding on to my hips. I spread my legs, trembling as I felt his cock lean against my opening. A breath and then he drove forward, lunging deep inside me in one sharp thrust. He was filling me, stretching me, while his hands slid down, fingering my clit.

  The second he touched me, I exploded. I was screaming, convulsing around him, and it set him off, because he began fucking me so hard that my bra strap broke. I fell forward with him on top of me, and we finished off on the bed, with him groaning in my ear as he pumped away inside me.

  When he stilled, his breath in my neck, I lay there in a blissful haze, feeling him inside me and on top of me. The bed smelled of bleach, so I turned my head and buried my face in the crook of his elbow. He smelled of lemon, and his skin was warm and soft. I lay there, sucking up his scent, feeling like I’d come home.

  Chapter Three: Arturo

  Having Solitaire was a revelation. I was determined not to waste such a treasure, but I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be any trouble.

  “You’re mine now, hear me?”

  “Ahah. Hmmm.”

  “Do you understand me, Solitaire?”

  “Hmmm. Syup.”

  “You’ll forget what happened here tonight.”

  “Trfft. Never.”

  Talk about an intelligence-free zone. I shook her by the shoulder. “Solitaire?”

  She blinked, and I could see she was getting it together again. “Right. That fucker Escamilla and his goons. I won’t tell a soul, Arturo. Honest.” She rubbed against me happily. “That was a terrific bonk. I won’t forget that!”

  It wasn’t good enough. If I were going to ensure she’d keep her mouth shut, she’d need an object lesson. I tossed her clothes at her, made her dress and marched her downstairs.

  Chema was setting d
own a gallon of petrol in the hallway. He looked up and grinned at me. “Shit, we walk out of here with nothing while you get the girl and the bling.”

  “That’s why I’m the boss.”

  Solitaire was leaning into me, looking at Chema and the bombs he was building. Her hands were full of jade ornaments and gold candlesticks, but she turned a little, rubbing a boob across my arm, making damn sure that I remembered the fun we’d had. She moulded her body so close to mine that I could feel her heartbeat. Solitaire was afraid and not in a fun way. Good. The lesson would sink in, and I’d have no trouble with her. I was never risking another Gina again.

  Chema pushed a detonator into some C-4. “Her stuff’s in the van. It’s clean.” He stood back and looked at the bomb he’d just put together with satisfaction. “This is the last one. We’re set to blow any time you want.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Come on, Solitaire.”

  I walked her out of the door, and although I was prepared for something spectacular, Kyle’s set-up blew me away.

  He had arranged Escamilla’s people in a semicircle on the front lawn, their corpses stuck on spikes. An oil barrel stood in the centre, set on a metal tripod. Kyle and the others were sitting on the grass in front of it, dipping into a cool-box of iced beers.

  It was a party atmosphere, but Solitaire didn’t seem in the mood. She gulped when she saw the bodies, but her chin went up as we walked to join the others. She was a proud girl, determined not to show her fear, but I’d seen that nervous swallow.

  I pushed her to sit on the grass and grabbed a cold one. “So, what have we got here?” I asked my brother.

  “Remember when that English rim job said he wanted to renegotiate our coke deal last year?” Kyle asked.

  I remembered that incident well, and I knew what Kyle had set up. “Fuck me, this is going to be a classic.”

  “Yeah, I thought it would send a nice message. A true cartel response to a betrayal.”

  Solitaire was sitting half turned away, her eyes glued to the ground. She was trying to look unconcerned, but I could see her shivering, and it wasn’t the cold.