Big Package_A Dark Vixens Novella

by Vivien Vale

  Black slacks, black jacket, white shirt, red tie. Simple. Timeless. Classic.

  Handy, too, since my step-brother’s ex-fiancé threw me out of her bridal suite without knowing who I was…or giving me the benefit of getting dressed first.

  I put the fresh suit on right there in the lobby of my office. Dal doesn’t so much as give me a sidelong glance as I do so.

  Part of me can still hardly believe the events of last night. My wanker of a step-brother’s indiscretions. The look on poor Becky’s face when she walked in and saw them all.

  And a thousand other looks on Becky’s gorgeous face, as well—most of them quite pleasurable, especially considering the state she was in when she called me.

  I can never say no to a damsel in distress, after all.

  So, part of me is still in shock. My life is changed forever now, whether Becky remembers me or not.

  The other part of me isn’t surprised in the least. When has my life been anything but surprises? Reality, normalcy, and a well-organized existence has never been my fucking forte.

  Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to Becky Brooks so much. Even when she’s trying her best to behave herself, she’s a whirlwind of chaos.

  And best of all, whether she knows it or not…she’s mine.

  “Any meetings for today?” I ask Dal, knowing she’s shifted all of them already. That was the first phone call I made last night: instructing Dahlia to ensure that my schedule would be free today.

  As expected, she shakes her head no.

  As my eyes pass over her desk, I notice something missing. She keeps her desk spotless and has no clutter on it. The bare essentials are laid out to her left: phone, pencil, and notepad. It takes me several seconds to work out what’s different.

  “How’s Michelle?” I watch her face closely as I wait for the answer.

  A shadow passes across her dark features.

  “Broke up. Don’t want to talk about it.”

  Ah. That would be it, then. Up until the end of last week, a gold-rimmed picture frame had been sitting on Dahlia's desk, and this morning it’s no longer there.

  Dal is gruff. Stoic. But I can tell she’s hurt.

  “Wasn’t any good for you anyway,” I reassure her, doing up my tie.

  Dal shakes her head. “Leave it, Black. Your last relationship only lasted a week.”

  That’s a blow right below the belt from Del.

  “With the French ambassador’s wife? That was a week and a half. I’m hurt you don’t recall.”

  “Mmph.”

  “She didn’t deserve you.” I’m not just saying that—I mean it. Women ought to have higher standards. Be with people who make them happy, not sodding fucking depressed all the time.

  Love should be fun. Not painful, and certainly not so fucking boring.

  Dahlia says nothing.

  “Stop dating women who look like truckers,” I suggest helpfully. “You need someone who completes you, Dal.”

  “Christ, Liam. What magic little minx came on your face this morning?”

  “Who says it was just one?” I ask, smiling like the bastard I am. Or…was. Or used to be.

  “I can smell the pussy on you,” Dal levels with me. “And you’re giving out monogamy advice. Something’s up, and my guess is it’s a woman.”

  “Might be,” I tease. “Just promise me you’ll look for a nice, leggy blonde bird next time ‘round.”

  “Right,” Dal says, but I can see her scrutinizing me. Trying to suss out what the hell has put such a pep in my step this morning.

  Poor Dal. I don’t kiss and tell.

  Specifically when it comes to my step-brother’s ex-fiancé.

  “You’ve got messages,” Dal sighs as I head to my office. “Dan the Man’s been dialing you all morning.”

  “Did you tell him to piss off?”

  “Wants to know if you’ve smoothed things out with his fiancée yet.”

  “Ah. Well, tell him to piss off if he calls again, then.”

  When the door shuts behind me, I take a moment and lean against the back of it. So much has happened, and I’ve not really had a chance to digest it all. The whole thing’s almost akin to being on an emotional fucking roller coaster.

  Usually, I am the roller coaster.

  I sigh. Time to stop daydreaming and get a fucking move on. Nothing is going to happen if I lean against my door all fucking day.

  I sit in my red leather high-backed office chair and put my feet on my desk. The movement has the chair automatically recline a little.

  I need to get my fucking thoughts sorted, is what I need to do. Generally, I operate just fine after an all-nighter.

  But this was hardly the kind of all-nighter I’m used to.

  Becky Brooks.

  Woman of my dreams.

  I close my eyes, and vivid images of Becky come flooding back to me.

  Fiery red hair, so long it hits her waist. Luscious, seductive red lips. Tits to die for. And her pussy…that pussy was something else altogether.

  Just thinking about her has me wishing she was here. My cock’s threatening the structural integrity of these slacks in anticipation already.

  She wasn’t meant to be mine. She shouldn’t have been mine.

  But Dan the Man has made a life out of taking things from me. Perhaps it’s high time that I took something that belonged to him.

  Becky. Sweet, wild, funny, intense little Becky. Her skin was soft and delicious, and her body seemed to melt into mine—a perfect fucking fit.

  Ahh.

  In my mind’s eye I can see her mouth tease my thick, stiff cock, and my desire grows rapidly.

  I’ve been with more women in my life so far than any man has any right to. But Becky…every moment with Becky has made me forget any sensation I’ve ever felt from someone else.

  It was glorious. It was raw. It was something fucking special…and now the little tart doesn’t even remember my name.

  Usually, that’s my job.

  Oh, Becky Brooks. How the tables have turned, you sexy fucking minx.

  Bzzzzzzzzt.

  A buzzing sound draws me out of my brooding. For a moment, I have a flashback—that feral fucking vibrator zooming around poor Becky’s destroyed bridal suite. Like a predator out for blood.

  The buzzing isn’t a runaway vibrator, however.

  My fingers find my mobile, and I glance at it.

  There are a quite a few missed calls from Dan.

  Fucking Dan.

  Reading his name makes my insides ignite. How dare the prick ring me? After everything he did to his poor fiancée last night, after everything he put her through—

  The little bastard expects me to sort it, I know.

  Too bad that’s the last fucking priority on my list.

  Before I call him, I listen to my messages.

  Half a dozen of them are those weird recordings of people’s voices and shouting in the background. I can’t make any fucking sense of them, but I have an inkling of what might be going on.

  Dan the Man, dialing me with his ass. Classy, that man.

  Reluctantly, I press Dan’s name on my phone and watch the display as it dials his number.

  It takes several rings before Dan answers the call.

  “What the fuck have you been doing?” he roars.

  Not even so much as a hello.

  Tempted as I am to press the end button, I restrain myself. The prick would ring back straight away anyway. May as well get this fucking unpleasant task out of the way.

  “No small talk or the usual pleasantries, Dan?”

  I decide I don’t have to be fucking nice to him.

  Bastard doesn’t deserve it.

  “What the fuck’s going on, Liam? I’ve had several missed calls from Becky, and I can not deal with her right now. I told you to take care of her. Smooth things over. Set it right. So why the fuck is she bothering me?”

  “Maybe she’s missing you?” I nearly laugh.

  I strain to m
ake out the background noise. Was that a party going on? It sounds like there’s music and people shouting or singing. I can’t be fucking sure, but I’d eat my mobile if Dan’s in the office.

  Fuck’s sake. Cheeky cunt doesn’t even feel bad about what he’s done.

  “Stop fucking with me, Liam. Just get in touch with Becky and fix it. I expect you to fucking look after her. If she’s pissed at me, whatever. Deal with it. Not my problem right now.”

  It’s Dan who ends the conversation. Makes me wish I would have hung up on him before it even started.

  It’s a shame, really. If he would have stuck on the phone for long enough, I could have told him all about Becky. I could have reassured him that she’s more than taken care of—in fact, she’ll never be a problem for him ever again.

  Or at least, she won’t be…as soon as she remembers what happened last night, who I am, and how much better I am than the stupid prick.

  Becky

  10:31 AM THURSDAY

  I bite back the tears, but it’s fucking difficult.

  Hollow. Empty. I feel hollow and empty.

  If Dan never speaks to me again when he finds out what happened, I won’t even be able to blame him.

  I trust you to make good decisions.

  And what the fuck did I do? Fucking blow it all by trashing the bridal suite and fucking some sexy British dude I never met before.

  Bad Becky.

  Fucking bad choices.

  “Here we go.” Mysti May comes into the living room with thick black coffee. “Not as good as Becky’s fuckboy’s, I’m afraid, but I’ve put them in Texas-sized mugs.”

  I take mine gratefully. I’ll need at least five or six of those before I’ll feel halfway human, since I’m still hungover as shit.

  I take a sip of the strong brew and close my eyes as the bitter taste washes over my tongue.

  “What the fuck are we going to do now?” Sammi asks.

  She looks pale, and she’s still shivering a little. For a woman who swims with sharks, dolphins. and everything else in between in her research, I think the whole pool-shark fiasco really shook her up.

  We all stare at each other. Normally, when we fuck up this bad, Sammi’s quick thinking saves us. But she’s looking more hungover than anyone.

  And without her, we’re clueless.

  I rummage around in my foggy brain, but draw a blank. I wish I’d never come on this fucking bachelorette party. One night in, and my life is ruined.

  Why hadn’t we just gone to the spa, gone shopping, watched Netflix and been done with it?

  But then anger wells up a little. If Dan had been here, none of this would have fucking happened.

  He knows who I am. Who I used to be, and how easy it is for a former party girl to relapse in the City of Sin.

  The feeling doesn’t last long, though.

  I can’t blame Dan for my fuck-ups. I’m not one to blame someone else for my mistakes.

  And as far as mistakes go, this one takes the fucking wedding cake.

  Percy smiles sleepily at us, waving her hand like she can wave all of our worries away.

  “I’ll call James. It’s cool. He’ll know what to do.”

  Without elaborating, she leaves the room.

  “Who the fuck is James?” Mysti May asks.

  Sammi shrugs. “You know how Percy is. Sugar daddies all over the place. Probably one of her adoring fuckboys.”

  May arches her eyebrows. “Let’s just hope he’s a wizard, I guess.”

  Before I can answer, Percy returns.

  “James is a retired private investigator,” she explains and sits back on the leather lounge, folding her legs under her.

  “What’s he going to do for us? Lead a fucking investigation? Into what?” Sammi asks, not hiding her annoyance.

  Percy laughs. “Don’t be a cunt, Sammi. I asked him for, y’know. Tips. It’s a mystery, right? So I told him how we need to work out what happened last night.”

  At this, a little glimmer of hope ignites deep within me. All may not be lost. If we can work out what the fuck happened, we may be able to get a better picture of last night—and with any luck, maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem right now.

  “And what did he suggest?” Sammi asked.

  We’re now all hanging on each and every one of Percy’s words.

  “He said we should start by interviewing any witnesses, and then move onto our mobile phones. Look at the phone numbers dialed or any incoming calls we might have taken. There could be clues everywhere.”

  “The showgirls,” Mysti May and I say at the same time. Except hers sounded more like a groan.

  As luck would have it, she hasn’t managed to get rid of them yet. We find them raiding the minibar—or what’s left of it.

  From the smell of things, mostly peach schnapps.

  “Explain to me what happened last night,” Sammi commands, but none of the girls answer. They just look at her blankly, shrug, and pass the tiny bottle of liquor.

  I take a step forward and smile at them.

  “Hi. I’m Becky,” I start. When I’m not fucking my life up, I plan parties for a living. Talking to people is kind of my deal. “Do you ladies have, like…names?”

  “Danushka,” replies the one with the tattoo. “And this is Alice, and this is River.”

  I nod. “Okay, Danushka.” I take another deep breath in and out to make sure I’m totally calm. “So, like, here’s the deal. We don’t remember, like, fuck all from last night. Could you fill us in?”

  Danushka grins. “We give pleasure to this woman.” She’s pointing at Mysti May. “We kiss her body and her tits. I use my tongue to lick off cream of belly button.”

  Generally, this would be a time for high-fives and ass-slaps. But Mysti May’s face is so red, I can’t even bring myself to tease her about it.

  “You can, uh, spare the details,” I tell the showgirl. “What time did you get here? Was anyone with you?”

  Danushka shakes her head. “Time is an illusion. We arrived with your lovely woman. She love it when River started sucking and licking on her pussy. Cream goes everywhere, and we lick it all up like wild cats with fresh milk.”

  I don’t need to look at May to know she’s hiding her face in her hands.

  “So. I lick her pussy and River suck her tits. Lots of cream—whipped, pussy, et cetera. And then she reciprocates. Very good at it, too. Much practice, I think. Then—”

  I hold up my hand to stop her detailed explanation. It won’t add anything to our investigation, no matter the way that Percy is hanging onto every word like Christmas just came early.

  I sigh. What has started out promising was fizzling out rather fast. The only witnesses we have are really fucking useless—unless Mysti May really wants to know what she got up to last night.

  “Do you remember…I mean, like, anything not involving sex?”

  “Eh. Not really.” Out of nowhere, Danushka materializes another can of cream and shakes it. “Another round, perhaps?”

  “Useless.” Sammi shakes her head.

  “I don’t know,” Percy says, stroking her chin. “I think I need to hear more.”

  “No,” Mysti May begs. “I swear, I would never—”

  I sigh, again. The jackhammer in my head is hard at work again. It’s so fucking loud I fear I may go deaf, or my head might explode.

  Fuck.

  I play with my phone. What had Percy’s friend suggested? Interview witnesses and look at your mobile.

  That’s it, I need to look at my own fucking phone. Maybe I’ll find a clue there.

  I scroll through my list of numbers. There’s one I don’t recognize. Instantly, I press it, and put the phone on speaker, so we can all hear.

  It rings once, twice, three times and keeps going. My heart’s beating a little faster, and I feel sweat on the palm of my hands.

  As I listen to the ringing, I get more and more agitated. This number is my only clue right now. What if it just rings out? Please
fucking answer the phone, I say to myself over and over.

  “Hey there, hot stuff. You’ve reached the Post Office, where every package is over-sized and overstuffed for your pleasure. If you’re in need of a special delivery, press 69 now.”

  The voice is a sensual, sexual man’s voice.

  Now Percy looks like we’ve just announced a second Christmas.

  Sammi has it researched before I even hang up the phone.

  “It’s a fucking strip club,” she announces, holding up her phone. “They specialize in…big packages.”

  My eyes widen in horror as I stare at the picture Sammi’s holding up on her iPad. Half-naked men are grinning at me from ear to ear.

  A fucking strip club.

  Why the fuck would I call a male strip club?

  To organize a stripper, a little voice pipes up. But I’ve never organized a stripper before.

  Now the news are coming in thick and fast.

  “Hey, guys look at this,” Percy holds up her mobile.

  There appear to be numerous photos of us out and about town. To my utter amazement, we actually made it to the Celine Dion concert. Christ. And I can’t even remember belting along with “My Heart Will Go On”.

  I glance over Percy’s shoulder to see the images.

  The first few are of us attending the concert. They’re the most harmless ones. I don’t even look drunk. Then there are pictures of us backstage. How the fuck we ended up back stage with Celine is beyond me.

  We seem pretty friendly with Celine, actually. She’s holding up a glass of champagne and has her arm around my waist on one side. I’m grinning into the camera.

  Frantically, I rummage around my brain.

  Celine Dion. Celine Dion. Celine Dion. Celine Dion.

  I draw a fucking blank.

  I just can’t recall going to the concert.

  My breathing increases, and the world looks a little blurry.

  Fuck.

  Here come those darn tears again.

  We look through Mysti May’s photos next. Most of them are either of someone’s thumb, or of Mysti May doing unholy things with the showgirls. Very drunk. I don’t think they’ll add anything to the unraveling of last night.

  Fuck.

  Sammi’s phone. I smack the palm of my hand onto my forehead. Sammi’s phone is the only lifeline that we have left, and she drowned the fucking thing in the toilet before she decided to fall asleep in the swimming pool.