She hesitated briefly before tilting her chin to accept the contents of the bottle. It couldn’t be laced with anything; the seal was unbroken. She was already thinking like a captive—his captive. Had he done this before? She resisted the urge to ask.
“Take it easy. Don’t gulp.” He pulled the bottle away from her lips and placed it back on the nightstand. He crawled back onto the bed and knelt between her legs. Sliding a fingertip along her drenched slit, he circled her clit and smiled smugly when she gasped with pleasure. He pulled the finger away and slid it inside his mouth. His eyes closed as he hummed with pleasure at the taste of her.
Placing a hand on each of her thighs, he leaned back and took a good look as he slid his thumbs back and forth over her skin. “That is one pretty pussy, baby. Fuck, and it tastes good, too. Sweet.” His gaze lingered there until he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and asked, “You hungry?” His gaze was clear and steady as he leaned over her and used his thumb to gently wipe a drop of water from her bottom lip.
“Um, I don’t know.” Her brain was so fried, she didn’t know much of anything in that moment, other than she was tied to King’s bed and she had no idea how he had managed it.
She resisted the urge to panic when he turned and left the room. A surge of uncertainty coursed through her and she pushed away the fickle thought of him not returning and her lying there for hours, helpless and unable to free herself.
She looked around at her surroundings. She wasn’t in some kind of dungeon or shed; she was in his bedroom. That had to be a good sign, right? Her thoughts were muddled and hazy. She tried to move her legs, to no avail. Somehow it had escaped her notice that he had tied them down too. Silken restraints around each ankle and knee were fastened to unseen corner pieces of the bedframe. The whole time he had been eating her out and then conversing with her, she had been spread wide open like a frog ready for dissection.
“Now, now. Trying to run away so soon?” he said playfully from the doorway, but there was a hint of steel in his words. There was no doubt in either of their minds that she was at his mercy until he deemed otherwise.
“I need to pee.” It was the first thing she could think to say to try to gain the advantage and free herself. He said nothing as he set the tray of food down and reached over with ease, releasing her restraints with a few flicks of his wrist. She sat up and her head swam. She somehow resisted the urge to reach out and grab him for support as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her senses. He had done quite enough; no way was she going to lean on him for support after he sneaked her out of her own home and tied her to his bed for his own pleasure.
Okay, there had been more than a little pleasure in it for her too, but that was beside the point.
He snaked an arm around her waist and ‘escorted’ her to the bathroom, which was basically King dragging her flailing form across the floor against her will. As they crossed the threshold into the bathroom, she went limp in his arms. What did it matter? He was going to do whatever he wanted anyway, and her defiance would accomplish nothing.
When he had her securely upright, he lowered her gently onto the toilet and took a couple of steps back. And stood there.
“You’re kidding me, right? Sorry, no can do. I can’t pee with you in here.”
He made no effort to leave, just turned on the water in the sink and smiled benignly, turning his back only when it worked. This time when he tried to support her as she walked, she jerked away from him. But he was having none of it; he pulled her into his side and growled in her ear, “Don’t fight me, Harley. You’ll never win.”
This time the fear was real, not just a nagging premonition but the certain knowledge that he would do whatever was necessary to keep her under his control. This wasn’t really about the Ramirez brothers or her keeping King’s secrets; it was about something far deeper. This was about his need to hunt.
Why hadn’t she figured this out before? It was so obvious: King was no different than the exotic animals he offered refuge to. His life’s calling to give them solace in a place that was nearly identical to their natural habitat was an extension of his own need to soothe the caged beast within himself.
The beast he kept hidden from the outside world had revealed itself to her. He wanted her so he took her, and he intended to keep her. There would be no hiding from him. He would track her, just like a wild animal tracked its prey.
She couldn’t help but wonder if she should have listened to Stacy. Her friend had tried to warn her about the darkness that lurked within King. She had ignored the warning, and in doing so had experienced the deepest, most profound sexual pleasure of her life. As Stacy’s warning echoed in Harley’s mind, one fact became clear: somehow, they had both underestimated him.
Chapter Thirteen
Stan had the itch. The time had come to lure a woman into his lair for a little fun. He just had to find the right one, a woman who would believe he was just a sex-starved, gullible jackass who would happily part with some cold, hard cash to get his dick sucked. Stan didn’t apologize for his misogynistic worldview. It was their fault, after all; they had done this to him. Every woman he’d ever given his attention to had disrespected him or ignored him -- from his mother right down to that celebrity whore, Valentina Vargas.
They were all no good. Deep down, they were all just whores looking for an easy buck and a man to fuck over until something better came along. If he could rid the streets of Louisville of one more hooker, he figured he was doing the world a favor. And if he made a little money while he did it, all the better.
He got up from the couch and stepped outside to get the newspaper. He was still old school, not like those ‘millennials’ who got all their news online. He looked forward to that moment each day when he would settle in to catch up on current events. He would pour a mug of coffee and, after positioning the mug’s handle at a right angle to the table’s straight edge, he would unfold the newspaper. Holding it aloft, he would confidently pop the pages three times to straighten them. Always three times. He had invested enough time reading the paper to know that four was too many and two wasn’t enough. Always three.
“Wait a minute. I know him,” he murmured as he leaned in to get a closer look. The grainy photo in the bottom right corner of the front page showed a flamboyantly dressed man standing on a street corner.
Stan shook his head, bringing his thoughts back into the moment as he read over the article, which explained that the image was a file photo of a local pimp whose body had been found in a downtown alley. He had been killed by a single gunshot to the head, although post-mortem injuries were said to have complicated things, whatever that meant. Police had no leads but suspected a gang or rival pimp was responsible for the murder.
Stan wondered why the man was wearing a mink coat when the photo had obviously been taken during the summer. It had to be some kind of status symbol; a way of bragging to his ‘professional peers’ that he was making a shitload of money off of women flat-backing.
A wave of sadness washed over Stan. The man was dead and his life had counted for nothing. Just another dead pimp no one gave a shit about. Stan doubted the police would even bother to investigate.
The article did have an effect, though; it stirred Stan’s curiosity about the woman he’d seen working the corner with that pimp. Maybe she had tired of her pimp’s antics and decided to put a bullet in his brain to end her suffering. Regardless of whether she had been involved in his death or not, she was a free agent now. Perfect. She was a pretty little thing, too. She would be exactly what he needed for his little side business if he could just find her.
Stan decided he would take his coffee to go. Maybe take a drive down to that corner and see if he could find the girl. He would need to move quickly before another pimp got to her first and claimed her for his stable of whores. Pimps were like buzzards, feeding off the flesh of leftovers. Most hookers were needy creatures who had decided long ago that they needed a man to protect them. They were all fools.
He rushed into the kitchen and poured his tepid coffee into a travel cup with a lid on it. After rinsing his empty mug three times, he placed it on a carefully tri-folded kitchen towel. He stopped at the front door to turn the overhead light off then back on…then off and back on. When he flipped the switch to the ‘Off’ position a third and final time, the tension clenching in his gut relaxed and he stepped outside with a smile on his face. Things were finally looking up.
Chapter Fourteen
“She’ll know something’s wrong when I don’t show up for work. She’s already suspicious of you.” The change in King’s expression was subtle but Harley saw it and knew it wasn’t good.
“I don’t like her. Too damn nosey. I bet she’s been asking questions about me, hasn’t she?” He wasn’t the type to be jealous, but he was certain Stacy intended to cause trouble between them. Maybe she was the one with a jealous nature. He’d heard of women before who couldn’t deal with losing their side-kick when a man entered the picture.
“Of course, she has. We’re friends,” Harley said in an effort to downplay her friend’s suspicions. Stacy had all but accused King of having ulterior motives.
King leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. He didn’t strike her as being a worrier but there was a measure of anxiety in his expression. There was a silver lining to the situation, though: he obviously cared about her.
“Just tell me what you’re thinking,” she said quietly.
“The Ramirez brothers are concerned that you’re going to run your mouth. When they’re nervous, I’m nervous. If you talk, I won’t be able to keep you safe. There are rules in this game.”
“I’m well aware of the rules that go along with being in the criminal element. Are you forgetting who my parents are? From the time I learned to talk, I knew when to keep my mouth shut. You know what they say: ‘snitches get stitches’.”
“In my line of work, snitches get killed…along with their families. This goes far beyond stitches, Harley.”
There it was again—that direct look that said there were no alternatives when lines were crossed in the cartel. She hadn’t thought about her family. She’d been under the false impression that she was bearing this burden of silence alone. It didn’t matter how much dysfunction had strained her family ties over the years, she didn’t want her parents out of her life forever. She certainly didn’t want them dead.
Harley wondered how things had become so confusing. She’d spent years avoiding this kind of drama, and yet fate had thrown her right back into it. At least now she had a choice, maybe. Thing weren’t exactly final…yet.
King’s voice broke into her solemn thoughts. “Listen, I think it’s time you introduced me to your parents…as your boyfriend.”
The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. “My boyfriend? You may be in for more trouble than you’re bargaining for. My father will have you checked out, King -- every detail of your life. He has the connections to do it, too.”
“Good to know. I should fit right in. Now call your friend and tell her you’re taking the day off to stay with your Hospital Hotty.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “We wouldn’t want her to get worried now, would we?”
Such an innocent nickname for such a not-so-innocent man. If Stacy found out who King was and what he did for a living, she’d freak. She’s already worried you’re a psychopath.
Rather than Harley saying what she was thinking, she held her hand out defiantly. “I’ll be needing my phone to do that.”
He smirked as he got up to get it. If she thought her defiant attitude was going to deter him, she was wrong. She didn’t need him or any other man. He saw the walls she’d so carefully constructed as nothing more than a challenge he was determined to conquer.
He handed her the phone, but as she reached for it he pulled it back and gave her the look again. “You need to understand something. I’m the only friend you have right now. If you feel the need to tell someone your deepest, darkest secrets, you tell me. Consider me your new best friend. You need to talk?” He pointed to his chest. “This guy. Right here.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she dialed -- until he spoke, that is. “Put it on speaker,” he growled impatiently.
She rolled her eyes as she waited for Stacy to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello, my worrywart friend. I called to tell you I’m taking the day off—wouldn’t want you to be concerned,” she said, laughing awkwardly.
“You just disappeared, Harley! I’ve left tons of messages. Don’t do that again!”
“You’re just not used to me having a boyfriend.” She glared at King.
“Can he hear me?”
“No, of course not,” Harley lied.
“I’m still not convinced this guy is who he says he is.”
Harley was going to have to pull the trump card she’d been holding back. “Why can’t you just fucking be happy for me? You’ve dated plenty of guys over the years and I’ve never treated you like this. Some of them haven’t been the best, either.” If she had to force Stacy to back off by alienating her, then that’s what she’d do. She couldn’t allow her friend to be put in danger. “I mean, you’re acting like a jealous lover—like you don’t want me to be happy with King because you’re scared he’s going to take me away from you.”
“A jealous lover!? You can’t be serious, Harley. I’m concerned about you dating a man who has Colombian cartel ties.”
Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t know you knew that much about him. Thanks for running your big fat mouth, Stacy. I swear I think you have a death wish. “They hired him because they needed an expert to run their exotic animal refuge. That’s all. He can’t help who his boss is.”
“What happens when he fucks up, or when he doesn’t do something they ask him to? I’ll tell ya what happens, Harley: you’ll be in the line of fire because they’re going to go after what he cares about most.”
“You’re going to have to back off and believe I know what I’m doing or it’s going to come between us. You’re my best friend, Stacy, not my mother. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up before her friend could say anything else. Even though she was trying to protect Stacy, Harley meant what she had said. She did feel incredibly drawn to King. If she quit seeing him it would be because she made the decision, not anyone else.
Chapter Fifteen
Stan assessed the whore objectively as she approached his car. She was a little too skinny and unkempt, but she was pretty enough. She had probably been a knockout before she started working the streets. Her glazed eyes and restless, twitchy hand movements just made her attempt at a sexy stride pathetic. Her blonde hair lay lank on her shoulders and her blue eyes were dull and lifeless. The only thing she really had going for her was a great rack. Her tits were fantastic. He couldn’t really tell how old she was, but her tits were full and perky with prominent nipples that pushed against the slip of fabric she wore for a top. Stan loved big, beautiful tits. I think we have a winner…
True, Stan would have preferred the other girl he’d seen on this street corner the other night with that Huggy guy, but that one must have found another corner to work. This one would have to do. A little spit and polish and she might clean up just fine.
In that moment, Stan decided that she was here at this place and time to serve a purpose—his purpose. And he could take his time and keep her for a while because it was obvious no one would miss her. He smiled. She was perfect.
“Hey, baby. Want some company?” she rasped, swaying unsteadily on her feet. She was probably an addict, which presented Stan with a power dynamic that would work beautifully for what he had in mind. Stan was pleased; this just kept getting better and better.
He watched a drop of sweat as it slid down her temple to land on the inside of the door frame. DNA. Great, he’d have to wipe the car down now. Stupid, sloppy bitch. “Maybe. Why don’t you get in and cool off? We can get to know
each other better.” He reached down, turning up the air conditioning, certain that she would take him up on his offer. She looked desperate for a fix and would probably do anything to get the cash she’d need to buy more. And he was prepared to make sure she did every-fuckin’-thing. Again, so perfect.
He smiled, revealing stained, uneven teeth. She gulped, her nose wrinkling with distaste, but decided that, like everything else in her life, she didn’t have a choice; and it wasn’t his face she’d be kissing, anyway, although his lack of personal hygiene had her wanting to gag before she even got a look at what she’d be working with down south. Maybe she could just use her hand on this one.
“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile and scrambling into the passenger seat before he could change his mind. “You can pull over right over there. There’s a parking lot with a bunch of trees--”
“Shut up,” he snapped as he put the car in gear and pulled into traffic. This early in the evening, traffic was still pretty light.
“Oh. Um, okay. So, do you want me to suck you off while you drive around? I don’t care where we do it, and if you like that kind of thing, that’s--”
“I said, shut the fuck up. There was another girl out here, a blonde.” He rolled his eyes at her frown and drawled, “Don’t worry, you still get to suck my dick. I just had my eye on her is all, just wondered whether she was still working this corner.”
“Last I heard she hooked up with some rich escort agency, getting all her johns online now – although I guess they call them ‘clients’. Probably thinks she’s too good for the likes of us now, too good to work the streets.”
“Online? Huh. Do you know the name of the agency’s website?”
“Nah, I just know the high falutin’ bitch’s name she took off with—goes by ‘Blue’. She’s pretty, but for thousands of bucks a night she should be, know what I mean?” She slid her bony hand onto his leg, running it up and down his inner thigh and trailing her fingertips over his balls, squeezing them gently. She smiled with relief as his cock hardened. She hated it when a john wasn’t able to get hard. They always blamed her and got so angry.
Daring Summer Page 7
