by Miss Merikan
Borg decided Viper would remain where he was, watching the motel from a nearby building, in case someone else came to pay Paulson a visit. They were happy to see the balcony door open, with curtains gently swaying with the evening breeze. Getting in should not prove too difficult. Sam was oddly calm as they gathered by the terrace on the first floor. Borg would be the first one to join Paulson in his room, followed by Glock, Sam, and Red Jack, who was tall enough to climb upstairs without anyone’s support.
Red warmed his hands and stood in the corner between the wall and the railing of the small terrace. Everyone was silent, and so even Borg pulling the safety off his gun seemed far too loud. But nothing happened. Paulson was probably busy watching porn.
Slowly, very slowly, Borg climbed on top of the metal railing, and then on Red Jack’s shoulders. Sam swallowed watching his strong body pull itself up soundlessly to Paulson’s balcony. Borg’s military training showed.
Borg was over forty and had a bit of a potbelly, yet when he moved, it looked as if he’d never left the army. His moves were swift, and he rolled into the room like a pro. Glock needed some more support, so Sam let him climb onto his arm. The man was a force to be reckoned with, but not too nimble.
Borg peeked outside and gestured for them to come in and be quiet. Did Paulson fall asleep, or something? Sam’s eyes met Red’s, and he hated the fact that he needed this giant’s support to get to the freaking second floor. He did it anyway, neither of them commenting on Sam’s shortness for once. The railing felt solid in Sam’s hands, and he knew he didn’t have to worry about it supporting his weight if it didn’t break under the men who climbed up before him. He had done so many fucking pull-ups in his life that it wouldn’t be an issue once he actually grasped the metal bars.
Glock was there to give him a hand, and soon Sam entered the simple motel bedroom. Borg put a finger to his lips and nodded at a door on the side. There were splashing noises coming from behind it, and Sam understood that they’d been lucky to get here at Paulson’s bath time.
He and Red Jack shared a grin as Borg and Glock led the way, drawing their guns in front of the door. Glock smashed his shoulder into the bathroom door, which was closed with only a flimsy plastic lock. Borg was in right behind him, hissing at Paulson to get on the ground. No bullets flew through the air, and after a storm of chaos, the room became quiet again, almost eerie with the water still on in the shower.
Through the distorting glass, Paulson looked like a man without a face, standing there naked, with water dribbling down his cock, hands up.
“Get out,” said Glock, backing away from the shower, with his gun ready to shoot.
“What do you want?” asked Paulson, slowly opening the sliding door. His body was tense and pale, even though he was putting up a brave face.
“Talk,” said Borg, rapidly turning Paulson to face the sink. The thud of his head hitting the medicine cabinet made Sam wince, but Paulson made no sound as Borg handcuffed him.
“What about?” Paulson hissed as Glock pushed the man out of the cramped space and into the bedroom. There was nothing funny about Glock’s horseshoe mustache in these circumstances.
Red Jack stepped closer and punched Paulson’s face so hard bones cracked. “You fucking know what about.”
Borg had to push Red back slightly. He pulled out a Ziploc bag with a bloodied knife inside. “You recognize this?”
Paulson frowned. “Who did you kill?” he uttered, spitting blood on the carpet.
Sam pulled a chair from the dresser, and Glock shoved Paulson on it so hard it almost tipped back.
“None of your business. What matters is that it has your fingerprints. You grabbed it with your bare hand, idiot,” he scolded Paulson, who stared at him, wide eyed. When he opened his mouth wider, Sam was satisfied to see one of the large teeth at the front of his jaw facing toward his throat. No one messed with Sam and his brothers.
Borg flipped the knife in his fingers through the plastic. “Or, the answer is that you do know about this knife, and you know who went six feet under because of it. And that’s why you’re here, not at home, right?”
Paulson snorted and shook his head. “Well, the night one of your hangarounds got a knife in his throat, I was doing a late shift at the office, and my alibi is solid. So you can take that knife and stick it up your asses.”
Borg and Glock exchanged grim looks, but Sam had to admit that the fucker had guts. He chuckled, coming up with a bluff of his own. “It wasn’t him. Another time, another place. You can’t know whose blood that is,” he said, slowly lifting his boot to rest between Paulson’s spread thighs. They shuddered, but didn’t close even as Sam started pushing down on Paulson’s balls.
There was a muffled moan coming from Paulson, but nothing more. “Go on, give that knife to the police. I’m sure they’ll investigate it thoroughly.”
Red Jack let out a low growl and smashed his fist into Paulson’s face, this time knocking him over with a loud thud. “Think again, motherfucker,” he growled, and it looked like he would have attacked again if Glock hadn’t held his arm.
Sam had to admit there was raw power in those freckled firsts. Paulson was choking up, his breath coming in raw, wet gasps, and the smear of blood on his nose couldn’t hide the fact that it was now badly crooked.
“Who’s the rat?” asked Borg, calm as ever, pulling out a nasty-looking army knife.
Paulson looked up, and his pupils widened. “Listen, I hate your guts, you know this, but I want to live,” he said in a nasal voice and spat out some blood. “I’ll drop the case if you let me go. It’s your prospect, Monster.”
Sam squeezed his jaw and looked at Glock, who all but adopted the blond shit years ago. He and his wife even had a room for him in their house, and that was what he’d paid them back with? Betrayal?
Red Jack looked as confused as Sam, but said nothing when Borg shut him up with a gesture.
“Why would he? He has nothing to gain from it.”
Paulson grinned, showing off his bloodied teeth. “You let his brother rot in prison. Wouldn’t that be reason enough for you?”
Sam pushed his hands down his pockets, all tense. Monster never struck him as the family type, neither did he seem particularly close to his brother, but then again, he was a psycho. Who knew what was going on in his sick head? If he weren’t the type to make bonds with anyone, then he wouldn’t be loyal to the Nails either. Maybe Paulson got him some sweet deal.
Borg scooted down in front of Paulson. “Monster didn’t know about the wedding dresses. He’s not patched in yet.”
But just as a satisfied smile was about to spread on Sam’s face, Glock spoke up in a grim voice.
“I told him.”
All eyes went toward Glock in the eerie silence that followed. The moment was broken by Red Jack, who kicked the bed with a low growl. “What the fuck? That was the purpose! Keeping the info members only!”
Sam didn’t say anything, just shook his head, disappointed. How could Glock have been so careless? Club business wasn’t to be talked about, especially not by the freaking breakfast at home.
Borg squinted and yanked the chair back into a standing position. “Glock, deal with it.”
Paulson’s eyes went wide. “I told you! I fuckin’ told you! We had a deal!”
Glock wrapped his thick hands around Paulson’s neck. “We don’t make deals with turncoat cops,” he said, grinding his teeth as his thumbs closed off Paulson’s air supply. Just when Sam expected to witness a slow and very smelly agony, Glock made a rapid move with his arms. Paulson’s body relaxed with a loud creak.
They stared at each other in silence, and Sam wasn’t sure how it would all develop from now on.
Borg scratched his head. “Glock. What the fuck ...”
“The kid’s practically patched in. He’s doing tons of dirty work for the club when needed,” Glock said with a deep sigh.
“But he’s still a fuckin’ prospect!” Red Jack voiced Sam’s sentime
nt.
Borg exhaled, folding his arms across his chest. “Who will deal with him now?” he asked Glock, who winced. “You?”
“We don’t have proof. This fucker here could have been throwing Monster under the bus for all we know.” Glock spread his massive arms. “If we do get proof, yes, I will deal with him.”
Despite Sam feeling uneasy around Monster, he wouldn’t want to be around to see justice done to the guy by Glock.
Borg kept silent for a while until he said, “Let’s lock him up and see if anything still leaks out. And no one is to know about this”—he pointed to Paulson—“or about the lock up. For everyone’s information, he’s on a solo run.”
Red Jack shrugged, but his lips were tight. “We could keep him at my place. The basement’s only lockable from the outside.”
Borg nodded and gestured at the body. Sam pulled the throw off the bed and spread it on the floor. At least there wasn’t much blood so they wouldn’t leave stains in the car. Glock helped him move Paulson’s limp carcass on the throw, and Sam rolled him up.
“I’m gonna get Viper,” Borg said. “I, Glock, and him will deal with the body. We have some things to talk about anyway.”
Red Jack looked to Sam. “And us?”
“You can start racking your brains over how we’re gonna start transports with a rat still among the Nails. This is pissing me off.” Borg groaned and kicked the body wrapped in the throw.
“So we can go?” asked Sam, eyeing the larvae-like shape on the floor.
Borg waved at the balcony. “Use the back door.”
Red shrugged and went first, followed by Sam. Neither of them wanted to be there for Glock-thrashing. The guy was one of the members held in highest esteem, a long time Nail, someone to be trusted. Apparently, even such people had lapses of judgment.
Sam and Red left silently and rushed back toward the car. It was hard to find words for what had happened, and the thought that there was a traitor amongst them was uncomfortable at best.
“What a fucked-up situation,” muttered Sam as they drove toward the clubhouse where Red Jack left his bike. It would be fucking nice to have some peace now, because shit was about to go down real quick.
Red Jack looked out the window with a frown. “You know where Candygirl lives, right?”
Sam’s whole body tightened. He’d been trying his best not to think about her for the last two weeks, after she offered to give him a blowjob. How pathetic was that? The fact that he jerked off fantasizing about her was even more ridiculous. During the first few days, he had the idea that he’d make up his mind and let her know, not to block her, but having to see disgust or tears on her face made him reluctant to pick up the phone.
“Yeah, what's in it for you?” he grumbled.
“You can drive me there. Gotta pick up my gun out of her panties.” Red chuckled. “I bet it’s gonna smell of her pussy.”
Sam saw red, and he hardly kept his hands steady on the steering wheel.
“The fuck?”
Red turned to him with his face expressing genuine surprise. “What? You dumped her, so she’s fair game.”
“You sonofabitch,” growled Sam, hoping his head wasn’t steaming yet. “Who told you she’s free now?”
Red Jack groaned and sank into the seat. “I saw her at the wedding store today. She was moaning to Gina about how you’re not calling, so I figured you were done with her.”
Sam felt a flush creep up his body. He wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t if he was jealous of her. “Should have asked. She’s still mine. What did you do, Red?”
“Chill. Christ,” Red Jack hissed. “I was just buttering her up. Didn’t get a chance to get to the good stuff. I put my gun down her panties, so the cops didn’t find it on me.”
Sam clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. “Oh, you were buttering her up? Who do you think she is? A club slut? Get your guns away from her pussy!”
“I don’t know who she is, but she seemed awfully eager to me. I put my hand on her tit, and she wasn’t protesting all that loud.”
At this point, Sam wasn’t even sure if Red Jack was really thinking like that or if he was just saying shit to piss Sam off.
Sam stopped the car at the side of the road. “Get out.”
Red Jack took a better look at him. “You’re really into this chick. You know what Candygirl said?” He laughed off Sam’s anger. “That ‘all men are the same’,” he said in a higher pitch of voice. “So I don’t know if you’re gonna get anywhere with her again.”
It was like a punch in the face, and it seemed he deserved it. His eyes strayed to Red Jack’s freckled nose, which made Sam’s fists itch more with every moment. “Get the fuck out of my car.”
Red Jack frowned. “What? Here?” He pointed to the deserted dirt-land outside.
“Yeah, here. You touched my woman. You’re not going home in my car.” Sam tapped the steering wheel, waiting.
Red Jack’s face soured. “Make up your mind, you stupid fuck,” he muttered as he got out and slammed the door shut.
Sam drove off with a squeal of tires, and as Red’s tall form disappeared in the darkness, he couldn’t help but smile. The bastard had it coming. But as soon as the rush of victory subsided, Sam was left with a burning feeling in his stomach and throat. He needed to talk to Candy. After two weeks, he still wanted her all the same. If that made him a reckless idiot, then so be it.
He needed to man up.
There were hundreds of scenarios bubbling up in his head as he rushed for Candy’s apartment. She was probably furious with him, but bringing chocolate or flowers seemed like a cheap way to get an apology. He needed to just show up and tell her the truth. And then, either she’d throw him out, or they would talk.
He stopped the car in a free parking space in front of the building and rushed up the stairs. When he reached Candy’s door, he raised his hand to knock, but his fingers froze when he noticed a note where the tenant’s name usually was.
It read, ‘For Rent’.
Chapter 13
Sam made an effort and asked around, knocking on doors of Candy’s neighbors, until a guy from downstairs revealed that she had moved. In fact, he helped her with the boxes and even knew her new address. How the hell did Sam miss this? She moved to the store, and he guessed Borg delegated some of the guys to help her, but somehow no one said a thing to him. Was this what they all thought? That Sam and Candy were through, and she was fair game? He could only hope Red Jack hadn’t scared her too much. Candy was so skittish sometimes, while Red was as subtle as a lumberjack cutting down trees.
Sam scowled at the thought of Red’s filthy gun sliding against Candy’s strawberry pussy. He hoped she cleaned it well, or Red would go crazy with her pheromones. What had she been doing there anyway? Did Borg agree for her to live above the store? Candy seemed like a person to first do stuff, and only then consider whether it was a good idea.
There was no doorbell at the back of the store, so when no one answered his knocking, Sam took matters into his own hands and was pretty disappointed at how easy it was to pick the lock. The door was fucking ancient. They needed to get her a new one.
He passed the corridor leading to the store, and he had a peek at the space. It was still dusty with all the woodwork being done for the counter. Paint and ladders lay around after a day’s work. Again, something he hadn’t been involved in.
Sam headed up the creaky stairs to a small apartment, which looked as dirty as the space downstairs, with cobwebs at the ceiling and dust floating up after each of his steps. There were two rooms without doors in front of him, one dark and full of boxes, the other shedding yellow light into the corridor. As he approached, he could now clearly hear the sounds of a shower, and it gave him an unpleasant chill when he remembered Paulson.
But it was Candy, naked and fragrant behind that empty door. His body wanted to get in there, shed his clothes, and join her, no matter how much she’d protest, as it would be only for show. But given the s
ituation, and how angry she was with him, he decided to wait for her in the other room.
When he entered the dark room, it reminded Sam of Candy’s cluttered living room, only this space was larger and much messier, with a double mattress on the floor and pretty dresses hung on the pole over the window instead of standard curtains.
He turned on the light, so he wouldn’t be sitting in the dark like a creep, but what he noticed when the room was illuminated wasn’t old or dusty. Next to the mattress stood a whole box filled with sex toys in all shapes, colors, and textures. That he didn’t expect. Was this how bad she was missing him?
He sat down on the edge of the mattress and browsed through the package. There was everything there—clit massagers, anal toys, even a dildo with a distinctly animalistic shape. Sam didn’t know what the exact species was, but he was pretty sure this thing had been molded after some weird yet existing penis. Well, at least she didn’t have an imitation of those duck corkscrew dicks. Or did she?
A loud shriek made Sam stop rummaging through the box. He looked up at Candy staring at him, wrapped in a blue fluffy towel, her face wiped clean of makeup and her long hair wet. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Sam stalled as he looked at her completely bare face for the first time. It was still incredibly pretty, with big eyes and a cute upturned nose. “You need a new lock.”
“You can’t just barge in here!” There it was, that pink blush crawling up her neck when she noticed what Sam was looking through.
He shrugged, watching her squirm in the short towel. Her gorgeous pussy was right there, just above what he could see of her thighs. “You don’t have a doorbell.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to see … people.” She frowned at him, but it was hardly threatening with her baby face.
Sam looked at the bubbly vibrator in his hand and smiled. “Wait, are you a camgirl?” he asked, unsure whether he liked the idea of other guys getting off on Candy. Then again, it was good to be the only one actually having her while all the others had was jerking off.
