by Amy Faye
Her body seemed to sense my approaching orgasm, and she seemed to know that any minute now, I would be letting loose an orgasm inside her waiting, fertile womb.
That thought drives me to thrust into her with renewed vigor, and her body seems to be matching my intensity, meeting each thrust with her hips pushing back, letting a loud 'slap' of flesh-on-flesh ring out every time I take her.
I can feel my body tensing, can feel myself losing the control that lets me keep a steady rhythm. Need begins to overtake my control, forcing me to take each thrust as I can get it.
The rhythm breaks, and now I have nothing more than desire and the sensation that any moment I'll pass over the crest and finally fulfill the nagging need inside me.
One last push inside and my vision goes dark, my eyes forcing themselves shut as a powerful orgasm rips through my body, the two of us still joined as I cum hard, one long potent strand of cum after another shooting into her.
Maybe I shouldn't have done it. I don't care. My body starts to relax, the fire that had taken over my body starting to ebb away. I lean forward to press a kiss against the nape of Maguire's neck, laying still there for a moment before pulling out of her.
A drop of cum follows with me, spilling out and onto the floor, just something else I'm going to have to clean up when all this is over.
Maguire lays there for a long minute, panting and trying to catch her breath, before turning herself over in the bench.
"That was—"
I smile at her, lazily palming one of her breasts as it pools on her chest. A woman always looks her best on her back, like that. Something stirs deep inside me, a renewed interest that I haven't decided yet whether or not to refuse.
"Yes, it was," I agree. My thumb passes over her nipple, and it hardens immediately, already trained to follow my orders. Maguire's body is more honest than she is, at least.
"We shouldn't have done it, though."
"Shut up," I tell her, my voice lacking even the edge of a threat.
She shuts up, and I smile down at her. She smiles back, a rare moment of tranquility and acquiescence. Maguire doesn't make any move for her clothing, and neither do I.
Something inside me says that I should take her again.
Chapter One
MAGUIRE
There's a fast food joint exactly forty feet away. I can't guarantee the distance, but I can feel it in my bones. I've always been good at judging distances, but under normal circumstances I would have paced it.
"What did you need to see me about, boss?"
I press the cup of the earphone against my ear, as if having it closer will make Beauchamp say the magic words sooner.
"Spider. Hey."
My stomach growls so loud I'm afraid Hawkins can hear it through the mic. 'Spider' is the dumbest name I've ever heard, but if Beauchamp buys it, then it doesn't much matter.
Only forty short feet to a big, juicy burger and a heaping plate of fries, and my stomach can sense I'm weak. Right now, though, of all times, is when I can't do a damn thing about it.
Danny's got the other earphone cup pressed against his ear, and we're sitting so close I can smell that he put on too much cologne to cover up the smell of having been in the back of a carpet cleaning van for three hours, and he'd probably be here for another three.
"We've got another shipment coming through, and I need to make sure that you've got guys on it."
"What are we shipping this time, boss?"
Hawkins is going to blow this whole fucking thing. I can hear it in his voice. He's losing it. I'm not going to let that happen.
"Back off," I say, quiet enough that there's no way Beauchamp hears it. "You're pushing too hard."
"Spider, you been with me, what, a year?"
"Sure, I guess."
I suck in a breath. The twisting growl in my stomach sets me on-edge, and I can feel the tension in the room through the headphone set. Danny's thick body tenses beside me. He can feel it, too. The question, was that digging too much.
"You know better than to ask what's in the crates."
"You're right, boss. I'm sorry, I'm still—"
Beauchamp's voice relaxes. "I know what you mean. You're still young. Just keep your nose clean, man."
"So where am I dropping this stuff off, at least?"
I listen close and hard. Our man in Los Diablos says there's a drop right on the border tonight. A trade. It's circumstantial, but it'll be enough, if we can connect the dots.
Circumstantial is good enough, with Rico. If he just says the words, we've got him, and I can finally go get that juicy burger that fills my dreams and pulls another hard twist of hunger from my stomach.
Beauchamp doesn't give me what I need, doesn't say the magic words. "You coming by the bar, later?"
I can feel the deflection just as much as I can feel the hunger twisting inside me. I can almost see Beauchamp's face as he changes the subject.
As if I need it to imagine his face, I look up at the photo taped above the C.C.T.V. feed. It's a few years old, from back when he was caught running dope small-time through Cleveland.
That was the first time he slipped through my fingers, and it's about to happen again. At least, that's what he thinks. Well, I've got other plans.
But first, I need him to incriminate himself. Hunger pangs through me again and I slouch a little, feeling my breasts press into Danny's arm. He moves it without saying anything and my back springs straight like I've been slapped.
Two fucking headphones. Should've had two God damn headphones for a job like this, but budget cuts were always on the horizon, and nobody can seem to justify two pairs of god damned headphones for a bust almost two years in the making.
If Beauchamp just said the God damned words, I could go get my sandwich, and that's all I ever asked for, I tell myself.
Spider takes a long pause, and it takes me too long to realize he's waiting for something from us.
"Uh—shit. Tell him you've got to get to work before you can have fun."
Spider repeats it about verbatim.
The pause was too long. I can feel it, can feel the doubt in Beauchamp. I have to hope for Hawkins's sake that he figures out a way to ignore that doubt, because otherwise in a game like this people end up dead.
Hawkins knew the risk when he got in, but an identity like 'Spider,' you hope that things can go better in the moment. But here I am getting distracted by my stomach.
"I feel you, man. Well, I'll keep one on ice for you, then. Once you get the boys settled in for the haul, then you can come back."
"Thanks, boss," Hawkins answers, settling back into character, knowing what he's supposed to do again. I know what I'm supposed to do, too.
"Did you need something else?"
"Yeah, you haven't—I need to know where to drop the trailer."
"Oh, shoot. I didn't tell you, did I?"
No, you didn't, I thought. I add 'you son of a bitch' as an afterthought.
"No, sir."
"Well, how the fuck are you supposed to make a drop when you don't even know where you're going? What the fuck am I thinking, right?"
Beauchamp's laugh comes out easy and smooth. Not anything like the killer that I know he is. I imagine for his people, he must be an easy man to like, and with his history it's hard to believe that he's as small-time as he is.
But hard to believe or not, and in spite of their rise to power, the Ravens are still a small force in the national scene. That's what makes them the perfect choice for what I'm hoping to do.
I pegged them when the Beauchamp brothers pulled their tractor-trailer into the first little warehouse they picked up, and unpacked their big, bored-out hogs. The power they'd gained in such a short span of time just went to prove that I'd earmarked the right boys.
But first, before my plans for them went into motion, I just needed him to say the fucking words. I don't hear anything through the headphones. Real quiet, in fact. Too quiet. The pause is too long, considering that Hawkins
was waiting on a location.
A moment later, though, I hear Beauchamp speaking again. "We good?"
"We're good," Spider says.
I can hear in his voice that he's not just saying it to Beauchamp. I let out the breath that I'd been holding for the better part of three hours.
This job is too stressful, I need a God damn vacation. But that's not going to happen, and if someone offered me one, I wouldn't take it.
Not this close. Let Danny take the credit? Like hell would I let that bastard have credit for my haul. No chance. This is my commendation waiting to be pinned on my chest.
Right after I get the evidence from Hawkins, and right after I get that burger in my stomach. Then I get the commendation, as long as nobody asks any questions about how I pulled McCallister down.
If there's one thing I know, it's that nobody but Beauchamp is going to get to McCallister. If I know two things, though, it's that however he does it, nobody's going to be fuckin' happy.
So I'd better make sure that nobody finds out what I did to get him there. When we've got the evidence we need on McCallister, we can cut Beauchamp loose.
Who's going to look too close when a low-level dealer ends up dead in a ditch somewhere? Nobody.
Not anyone that pays my salary, anyways.
Chapter Two
RYAN
Fuck helmets. I never use them, because if I'm going to die, well—I'm not going to. But if some son of a bitch decided to smash his God damned Escape into my ride, then he'll learn real quick why he shouldn't have done that.
I felt the smooth, hard leather beneath my ass, not even moving yet and already starting to get the rush of riding, the enjoyment of the wind in my hair, pushing it back and tousling it deliciously.
I kicked the bike to life, hefting the not-inconsiderable weight vertical, and waited while Spider did the same. I can't stand the fucking names these people choose.
What are they, five? They can't even have real fuckin' cool names. But then again, what exactly did I expect? After all, they were the sort of people who gave themselves names like 'Spider.'
They probably didn't know any God damned better, and those were the kind of people who were hiring on, so I took what I could get.
I nodded to Spider and started the bike moving, pulling out onto the Arizona highway and enjoying the heat and the wind. Just like I knew that I would, when I got up into the saddle.
Just like I had the first time I'd ever ridden. Just like I would every time I rode. Arizona wasn't just a perfect choice because it was the right place.
It wasn't just smart because this is where the mules brought drugs across the border, which meant that they needed guns more than anyone. It wasn't even the right place because the drug cartels paid off the border patrol guys for us.
Really, it's the right place because I can ride every God damned day, and the bike never had to go away. Nothing like back in Ohio, where the weather was shit half the year, and the other half it was raining.
Sure, you could move guns anywhere. I know that, and I have made it work more places than most. But I can't ride anywhere else, so that means that of all the places in the country, this one is by far the best.
The other stuff, though, it doesn't exactly hurt. The Diablos bring in drugs, we buy them. All it costs us is the shipment of guns we were already hoping to move.
Then you get the guys out on the streets, moving the product. It's an easy business, and it's easy to make money doing it. They should teach the shit in schools. but then again, if they did that, then I would be out of a job.
I took in a deep breath and then dipped my knee close to the ground, the bike's own power bringing it straight. The Deuce was just as empty as it always was.
People steered clear of the Deuce, and they did it for a good damned reason.
I'm only half-owner, but I still have the right to tell anyone who I want to fuck off, and I want most people to fuck off. It's not as if I need the fucking business, right?
I already have a nice easy way to make money, and unless my people tell me very wrong, I don't have to worry about the damned A.T.F. or D.E.A. breathing down my neck. Not this far south.
It's too close to Mexico, they figure. I could be south of the border in the better part of thirty minutes, which means that I could avoid the cops for less than a day trip. This far south…
I pulled a glass out of the fridge and poured a cold one, enjoying the frosting on the mug as I drink it down. Spider comes in after, his knuckles tatted up like some kind of pretentious asshole.
"You need me for anything else, Boss?"
"Not today, Spider," I growl, giving him the look that says 'and I don't want you sticking around.'
He nods and pulls his goggles back down, heading out the door, his tattoos catching the light on the way out and showing all up and down his arms.
What kind of fucking crew did I have? One guy controlling most of it, and he was the kind of fucking idiot who took his name from a goddamn tattoo on his elbow, and had 'Hell' and 'Yeah' tattooed on his fingers.
I thought, not for the first time, about getting out. About getting myself a new set of boys a few miles down the border. It wouldn't be that hard to move to El Paso and find a few motivated young men.
Something always stopped me, and as usual, something stopped me this time, too.
Specifically, the something that stopped me was a woman, walking into my bar. I could already feel the words 'We're closed' coming to my lips when I saw her closer.
Fire-red hair and broad hips, the kind of hips that wrapped around a man's waist. The kind of body that was made for pleasure.
"You open?"
She sounded like she was from out of town, a sure sign that I should leave her the hell alone. I didn't.
"Just about, yeah," I answered, reaching down to grab another frozen glass. "What can I get for you?"
"I'm looking for someone," she said, her dark aviator-style glasses giving her a strange air of mixed appearances. She looked like a cop, but the way that she walked told him that wasn't quite right.
"Well, I'm the only one here most nights."
"Most nights?"
"It's a family-owned place. My brothers and I. We rent it out sometimes, but it's pretty rare. Most of the time, it's just the three of us."
"So you're Ryan Beauchamp, then?"
I didn't like the way she asked the question.
"Now I didn't say that."
She didn't like the way I answered it.
"Well that's a damn shame, because I'm looking for Ryan Beauchamp, and if you were him…"
She leaned over, showing too much of her luxurious chest for me to resist.
"What did you need Ryan for?"
"Well, if you were Ryan Beauchamp, I'd tell you that I had heard all about the work you were doing, and between you and me, I'd say that I found that sort of thing very attractive."
"What work would that be?"
The woman continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And I was just thinking that you were so… intoxicating-looking, it would be nice if you were him."
I could feel myself growing harder, between the way that she was putting herself on display for me and the way that her deep, husky voice implied what was going to come soon, even as she didn't quite ever say what she was planning.
There wasn't any question in my mind.
"I know Ryan. He's a good guy. What did you want to tell him?"
She leaned across the bar, practically spilling out of the shirt, an attractive and convenient-looking woman. She pressed a kiss against my lips, a kiss that didn't leave any questions about where it would lead if it continued.
It didn't. She pulled away, breathless, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.
"Is that what I'm supposed to tell him?"
"I'm not stupid, Ryan. Just admit who you are."
"Alright, say I am him—"
The woman ducked her head and spoke into her tits. "That's it, we've g
ot him."
The entire place exploded with a rush of activity, and by the time it was still again, I had three separate knees pressing me into the floor. My beer was already poured out on the floor.
As one of the uniforms pulled me up by my arm roughly, cuffs holding it in an uncomfortable position behind my back, I growled at the redhead, who was buttoning her blouse and straightening herself up.
"Oh, don't look so angry. You were never going to get away for long."
Chapter Three
MAGUIRE
My knuckles hurt where I'd pounded them into the steel table-top.
"I don't care what the hell Ryan Beauchamp has to say on the subject." I pull my hand back off the table and step back away from the table, against the dimly-illuminated wall. "Did I give you the impression of caring one god damned bit about his rights? You put the screws on him!"
Danny didn't look like he was going to enjoy 'putting the screws' to Beauchamp. He was a tough nut to crack, for sure. But then again, he would have been, wouldn't he? I imagined his face, a perfect representation after having seen his picture thousands of times.
He was handsome, even very handsome. He didn't look like a drug dealer, nor like a gun runner. He looked like someone who would fit in better at a magazine photo shoot, than a shoot-out.
If the description made him sound small, it would be a mistake. She'd seen plenty of hard agents come back from getting close to the guy. From getting too close, and letting him figure out who they were.
Spider was the first one to get through for real, the first one to positively I.D. Beauchamp as the ring-leader of the Raven's Call Motorcycle Club. The first one to find positive proof of what they were doing.
Ask anyone, and they'll tell you what the Raven's Call were doing. They didn't try to hide it, or at least not very well. Not well enough to stop the rumors.
But then you actually try to prove it, and the stories dry up. No proof from anyone. The members swore up and down it was just a group of friends who gathered for drinks in the bar.
