by Teagan Kade
He puts his hands out again. “Who the hell are you, man?”
“Not your concern.”
“Are you hot for her? Is that it? Because man to man, bro, she’s cute, but she’s boring, a real dud fuck.”
Wrong choice of words, bro.
I rush forward and bury my fist so deep in his gut I’m surprised it doesn’t explode from the back of the couch.
I pull away and he slumps to the floor groaning, hacking up nothing but spit. “Did you ever consider maybe you’re not man enough to get her off? Did you even fucking try, or were you too busy trying to find that bee-sting dick of yours?”
He can’t speak, still trying to find his voice. I get down on a knee and lift his head up so he can see me. “The only reason I exist is because of assholes like you. Call me a cleaner of sorts, and if I ever see you again, mark my words you’ll be nothing but a stain on the floor. Are we good on that, bro?”
He nods, coughing.
I can’t stand this guy a second longer. “The money. Where is it?”
He points, gasping. “Bedroom. Mattress.”
I shake my head. Such a fucking cliché. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down.”
I make my way to the bedroom, flipping the mattress.
I pick up a gym bag off the floor, turning it upside-down, empty its contents, stuffing the cash inside. I’ve been doing this a long time. I can look at a pile of cash and tell you immediately how much is there. Rick might be an asshole, a compulsive liar, but he was telling the truth about the money.
I zip up the bag and throw it over my shoulder.
Rick’s managed to get himself up into a sitting position, one hand over his gut, teeth gritted together. “I think you ruptured my spleen or something.”
I pause. “I haven’t, but I’d be happy to if you like. You got a car or just that shitty bobtail?”
“Yeah, I got a ride, but it’s Bobby’s—a loaner.”
“Even better. Keys?”
He nods to the breakfast bar. I take them.
“Goodbye, Rick.” I call, closing the front door and looking for trouble. The Lambo remains, but Bobby’s goons will be by for it soon enough.
I hit the key fob on Rick’s keys. Looks like he’s living large in a Mazda Miata, a poor man’s Ferrari if ever there was one. I swear my balls shrink as soon as I step foot inside it, placing the gym bag on the passenger seat and getting the fuck out of this hole.
I call Sam on the way.
“You still here?” he answers.
“I need a favor,” I tell him. “Can we meet?”
*
My business with Sam takes a solid half an hour. I say goodbye, the gym bag twenty-five grand heavier, and head for the strip.
I check my cell. Dawn has already texted through the room details.
Good.
A new pain shoots up and down my arm. I feel it right down in the bones of my hand. It’s been a while since I’ve given them such a workout. O’Neil did a number on me as well, but I don’t have time for pain at the minute. It can wait.
I try to think of a solution to get Dawn out of this mess, but it’s useless. It kills me I can’t come up with a way to help her, to free her. Even with all my savings, every dime I have, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the debt.
Think. Fucking think.
But I’m done. I just want to sleep.
I park the car a good distance away from the Excalibur, making sure to leave it in a loading zone.
I knock on the door to the room, double-checking the hall. There’s no answer. I don’t want to call her name, so I take out my wallet and work through my cards until I find something of sufficient size and width.
I slip it easily between the doorframe and the door, working it down and twisting back, the door unlatching. Maybe you could become a burglar if this falls through?
Once the door is closed, I whisper her name. The last thing I want to do is startle her, but when I come into the light, I find her asleep on the bed, fanned out on top.
I sit on the bed and take off my pants and shoes, lying down beside her. I observe the way her lips are parted, take hold of the single strand of hair that hangs over her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. She’s so fucking beautiful.
I could wake her. She’d be happy to see me, but I choose to move to the other side of the bed and pull her into me. She gives a slight mew, her butt pressing back against my crotch. My cock hardens instantly, but it will have to stay that way.
I place my nose against her neck, breathe her in. We’re safe for now, but we’ll need to move in the morning. After all, we’re still in Bobby’s town.
*
We make love when we wake. We’re tired. The intensity isn’t there, but in a way I prefer the slower, measured approach. When Dawn comes, she doesn’t make a sound, her body simply squeezing mine, her hands clawing into my back as I find my own release.
While she’s in the shower, I book us the first flight back to New York. I call a buddy there, tell him we need a place to crash while we settle this thing with Saul. He’s happy to help.
Dawn comes out of the shower toweling her hair. She smiles. “Talk about room service.”
I reach up and pull her down into my lap. “You can have room service any time you like if we get through this.”
She hangs her head. “How? We’re fifteen grand short.”
I take her hands. “For now, let’s concentrate on getting out of Vegas.”
We dress and leave the hotel, doing our best to stay away from cameras and security, walking up a block to take a cab to the airport.
The welcoming party I expected doesn’t materialize. We board our flight without issue, but still I’m watching, observing, looking for anyone travelling alone, anyone with ink that might provide some insight as to their affiliation.
A kid giggles behind me. I almost take his head off.
Dawn places her hand on my arm. “Calm down, Stallone.”
I do my best to smile. “You’re right.”
Dawn sleeps on the flight, peaceful as a newborn, while I struggle not to pull the emergency door given the turbulence. I can’t believe people enjoy these slim tunnels of flying death.
I’m thankful when we land. I’d kiss the tarmac if it wasn’t so warm out, unseasonable heat for this late in the season.
Once more I scan the arrival lounge, but we’re good.
Another cab takes us downtown to my friend’s tattoo parlor. I have the cab driver pull around back, opening the door to the living quarters at the rear of the shop.
Oz and I did time together. He’s been straight since he got out. He’s had trouble, the biker gangs trying to take their cut of his business, force him out, but he’s pulled through. He was using this place to escape his better half, but they’re good at the moment, which worked well for us.
There’s a double bed in a small room down back and a tiny kitchenette. It’s far from luxurious, but it will do.
I show Dawn a pile of female clothes in the corner collected from Oz’s many exes. She changes into a tight denim skirt, Metallica tee and leather jacket, and she looks fucking hot—a complete bad-ass.
The shop’s closed today. I head out and pick us up two burner cells from a general store around the corner.
I hand one to Dawn. “We call everyone we know, try to pony up the remaining fifteen.”
She looks down at the packaged cell. “Do you think that will work?”
I shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”
I leave Dawn in the makeshift bedroom while I sit in a chair up front, slowly working through my contacts, but the stories are all the same. I’m not the most social guy. Try as I might, no one wants to hand over anything to someone in my position, with my connections. An hour later I’ve exhausted all options.
I check in with Dawn. She’s in tears.
I sit down beside her, pulling the cell, hot from her hands. “Hey. Your friend?”
She nods. “She doesn�
��t even want to talk to me.”
I take her head and pull her into my shoulder, my shirt growing damp from her tears. “She’ll come around. She doesn’t understand. That’s all.”
Dawn nods, but I can tell she’s not convinced.
“Did you have any luck?” she asks, hopeful.
“No,” I reply. “Sorry. What about your mother?”
Dawn shakes her head against me. “I can’t, Max. I can’t and I won’t.”
I’m not going to argue. “I’ve got five in savings, but that still leaves us ten short. I’m not trying to make this any worse, but that’s what we’re dealing with.”
“What am I going to do?” she sobs.
“We,” I correct. “You’re not alone. We’re in this together now.”
We stay there for a while embracing, nothing more said. While we do, I begin to formulate a plan if this goes to hell. “Should things go… off-script, when we go to Saul,” I tell her, keeping my voice level. “You need to make a run for it.”
“I can’t.”
It kills me to see her torn up like this. “You have to.”
“But you just said we’re in this together.”
“We are, but I want you to be prepared for the worst.”
“‘Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.’ Mom says that all the time.”
“Well, now’s the time to listen to her.”
“I’m not going to leave you there, leave you there to be…” she trails off.
I take her hands. “When I say ‘run,’ you run, Dawn. That’s all there is to it. Don’t worry about me.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’ll take out Saul, take him out before he can take us out.”
“But his men…”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect plan. That’s why it’s a last resort, but…”
“We have to be prepared.”
“Yes.”
“Promise me.”
“Max…”
“Promise,” I say, my voice harsher.
“I promise.”
I stand, pulling her up with me. “Enough of this sad, depressing shit. I need to take your mind off things.”
She wipes the tears away. “And how do you propose you do that?”
He pulls me along towards the shop. “Come and see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DAWN
The tattoo parlor itself is smaller than it looks from outside. There are two or three chairs, designs littering the walls, needles, and bottles of ink. The front windows are black, only the florescent lighting above providing illumination. It’s like a casino in a way, all notion of time expelled in this space.
“Have you ever been in a tattoo parlor before?” asks Max.
“Definitely not.”
“Take a seat.”
I sit on a nearby chair and carefully cross my legs together. The skirt I’m wearing is so damn short you can practically see my ass from behind. It’s not me at all.
Max is in his element. That said, underneath his dark tee there’s a toned and tanned body that would be far more at home in a CK catalogue than a tattoo parlor.
“Is this something you learnt to do when you were, you know, inside?” I ask, not entirely sure of his response.
He sits on a stool beside me. “Yeah.”
“Can I ask what you were in for?”
I see a moment of hesitation, but he speaks. “Like I told you, I grew up in Vegas. I was doing okay, enough to go fifty-fifty in a gym with Pops. We bought the place, were about to start renovating it when a buddy started talking about how much money he was making on the underground circuit in Jersey. So, against Pops’s advice, I left. I really got sucked into the scene down here. I was making good money, but then someone told me to throw a fight.”
I can see where this is going. “And you didn’t.”
“No. They came for me after that. I took one of them out in self-defense, shot him in the throat, but I still had to serve out a manslaughter charge. Prison changes a man. It will suck all the life and hope right out of you, which is why I started working for Saul. He came to me, took me in."
“What happened to the gym, the one you bought with your dad in Vegas?” I ask.
“Never opened. The bank sold it when Pops died.”
“I’m sorry.”
I smile. “For what? You had nothing to do with any of this. I made these choices and I’ve lived with them.” He picks up a gun. It buzzes with life. “You ready to live with this?”
“You want to tattoo me?”
“I do.”
I start to back up in the chair. “Oh, I don’t know about this.”
“Something small, a memento. Please.”
“Alright.” I can’t believe I’m saying it.
“You sure?”
He seems as surprised as I am I’ve agreed to this, but I figure we might both be dead tomorrow, so what the hell?
“Something small, right?”
“You won’t even notice.”
The gun buzzes. I flinch.
“Are you really sure? This is permanent,” he asks. “You seem kind of nervous.” Even his voice is attractive, low and deep and already driving me crazy with lust. I can imagine him touching my body already, the pain…
My gosh, are you actually looking forward to this?
Suddenly, I want those large hands on me, touching my body in all its intimate places. I want to submit to him.
“Don’t worry,” he says, rolling around on the stool and leaning forward to look right into my eyes. “I’ll go easy on you.” He winks and I want to beg him to take me right now, but I hold my tongue and composure.
“Where do you want it?” he asks.
“Not on my forehead if that’s what you’re asking.”
He laughs. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”
“Very private.” Only after I’ve said it do I realize how flirtatious that sounds.
He smiles. “How about your ass? Only I will see it there.”
“Sure,” I squeak, still thinking about backing out.
The smile deepens as he takes hold of the gun. “Trust me.”
“You’re not going to ask me what I want?” I protest.
“It’ll be a surprise.”
“If you tattoo a butterfly on my ass I’m not going to be happy.”
“Say it again?”
“What?”
“‘Ass.’”
“Ass,” I state.
He smiles wider. “I’m enjoying this transformation. What about a dragon holding his dick? A nice face tat of Trump?”
I don’t even reply to that he sounds so serious.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Come on.”
Dawn, what the hell are you getting yourself into here?
My palms are sweaty as I roll them together in my lap.
I take in his deep, gold eyes and his manly form, his broad chest and dark hair. And he’s all yours.
He stands and moves to the front of the shop, switching off most of the lights bar the one over the padded table in the corner. He points to it. “You’ll need to move over there.”
I stand and move to the table, hitching myself up until my butt is on the edge and my heels dangle in mid-air.
Max places his hands on my knees. They smolder there.
My heart is like a tiny hammer in my chest as we get closer to the moment when he will be completely focused on my body.
He stands up and begins to gather things together. “We’ll start with an outline first. It’s been a while, so—”
“What do you mean it’s been a while?”
“Kidding. Just kidding. Now, show me that cute ass of yours.”
I take a deep breath and slide down onto my feet, facing away from him. I hook my fingers into the waistband of my skirt and panties, drawing them down together until most of my ass cheek is showing.
I turn and see his approving eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take them off entire
ly.”
I kick my heels off and push my skirt and panties down to the floor, bending over the padded table teasingly but keeping my legs tight together to give him just a hint of my bare pussy. I kick my puddled skirt away and hook my balled panties off my ankle, folding them and placing them next to the skirt in a loose pile. Standing there folded in half over the edge of the table, hands on the padded leather, I’m at his complete and utter mercy.
Oh, man.
He’s looking at my ass like it’s already a masterpiece, but his voice remains even and calm. “Let me find the right spot for our long-schlonged friend on your cheek.”
“Real funny.”
I turn. There’s a towel over his lap but I notice a slight bulge in his pants below. He reaches out and lightly touches my hips, pulling himself closer.
I’m so turned on I could combust… and I have no idea why. This man’s about to mark my body, mark it for all eternity, mark it as his own.
Maybe that’s why.
He carefully comes forward. His fingers run lightly over my ass perilously close to the lips of my pussy. I watch his eyes take me in, his passion-glazed corneas wandering into that dark triangle cut into shadow by the lamp overhead.
All I would have to do is move back and just to the side to feel his fingers upon me. He’s so close already, but as much as I will myself to do it, I can’t, frozen.
My nipples harden against the T-shirt I’m wearing. Blood pumps through my veins in a burning trail between my sex and my aching breasts.
His fingers remain. I push my ass out just a little more and he swallows, his desire rising between his legs.
There’s a throbbing in my ears as he tells me to lie down on my stomach on the table.
I do as he says, removing the jacket, my pert alabaster ass right under his eyes ready to be marked forever by his hand. I hope he’s distracted. I hope that all he’s really thinking about is spreading my cheeks apart and plunging inside my wetness.
“Are you ready?”
I nod, sweaty with anticipation.
He turns around and pulls a table of equipment to his side. Finally, gun in hand, he pushes the back of my t-shirt up past my hips to rest above the twin depressions in the small of my back.
