“Maybe they would be safer in prison rather than the streets.”
“Maybe some of them will be off the streets in just a few days, and we should think of something else.”
Guinevere isn’t stupid. Our doublespeak raises her ire. She snuffs out her cigarette on the back of my chair and glowers. “Pierce. Explain.”
“One of the Cobras guys is”—Miles tenses—“a mole for us,” I say, digging myself deeper into a never-ending rabbit hole of lies. Miles releases his breath, his posture slumped.
“And we don’t want to send him to jail?” Guinevere asks, her gaze flitting back and forth between me and Miles. “Why not say that? What am I missing?”
“I forgot about our mole. Miles was just trying to subtly remind me.”
“Liar.”
I glare back at her. “Maybe I should call and ask your father about whether I should take you straight to the airport or not.”
“Touché,” she says, straightening her hat. “I’ll accept that you don’t want to tell me, so long as I get to participate in a little fun. Nothing too bloody, though. I don’t want to sully anything.”
Guinevere leans all the way back in her seat as I turn the vehicle around. It’s painted black, and I think it’ll blend in, despite being bulkier than most, so I drive along the far sidewalk where I first spotted the man with the tattoo.
I almost jump when I feel Miles’s hand slide its way up my thigh. I turn to him with a cocked eyebrow, but he doesn’t meet my gaze, instead allowing his fingers to feather along my crotch. The hell? Is doing recon his fetish? Fuckin’ bizarre.
With gritted teeth I chortle to myself. It’s so obvious I should’ve seen it right away. He’s “rewarding” me for helping him out. That and I think he’s still horny. Good enough for me. I am sticking my neck out for him, after all. I could get used to this kind of arrangement.
I spot the men as they turn into a back alley behind buildings. I drive by, taking my time, and see the door they open and enter. The hotels in these parts have back entrances for long-term visitors, which consist of gangsters in between permanent residences. They pay the hotel a portion of their earnings, and the hotel lets them occupy a room for an extended visit.
“He’s going there to sleep,” I say aloud. Miles keeps with his petting, and I’m starting to lose my train of thought. A piece of me wonders if Guinevere is watching, but I don’t really give a fuck. His strokes grow ever more purposeful.
“Why don’t we get him while he’s sleeping?” Guinevere asks. “Sounds easy.”
“If we go in on foot and get into a firefight in the middle of their base of operations, I guarantee you’ll sully something.” And there’s a good chance we’ll all get gunned down.
“So we’ll wait. He’ll come out at night, like all the street scum do, and then we’ll be waiting for him.”
“Street scum? Ya know I wake up at the crack of dusk, right?”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about you, Pierce. You’re different. You’re classy.”
Waiting the entire day in order to catch this one asshole isn’t the best use of my limited time. On the other hand, I didn’t get much sleep and I’m running on fumes. I need to get this guy, but I also need to rest. The priorities are fuckin’ with my mind, but sleep and revenge beat out protecting grown-ass adults. I have Guinevere. Rodger might not even be in town. Jeremy will show up tomorrow. I’ve got time.
I drive by the hotel, eyeing the foot traffic outside. Miles points to a building on the other side of the street. Another hotel, just as run-down and sad-sack as the others.
“We could stay there,” he says. “And keep an eye on them instead of driving around the entire time.”
He just wants to get into a hotel room. Then again, it’s not a bad idea. I nod. “Fine. We’ll watch ’em through the windows.” I pull the vehicle around the block and to the backside parking lot. Guinevere doesn’t protest the plan, but I can practically hear her seething. The hotel is far, far below her standards. I would suggest she go somewhere else, but I’m not letting her out of my control until I get her to the airport. Not in this territory.
I park in one of the covered spots to avoid anyone getting a good eyeful of the vehicle. Miles lets go of me when we separate to exit, but I can tell he’s not done. Guinevere is out of place for anything but a Hollywood movie premiere or a debutante party. I roll my eyes and take her hat. I would offer her my jacket, but then it would expose my shoulder holster, which I can’t have happen.
She frowns but doesn’t say a word as I toss the clunky hat into the trunk. At least she has common sense enough to know my judgment is best.
I’m not familiar with the hotel, but as I enter I know we won’t have any trouble. The man behind the counter—skin like a potato, accent thick—is neutral in all this turf-war bullshit. Everyone leaves the foreigners out of the fray. They’re good hardworking people minding their own business. There aren’t many of them, and they accommodate both sides. Win-win.
Miles fidgets as I pay for two rooms. It takes a bit to get the rooms I want—street-view rooms on the fourth floor—but eventually it happens. The smell of the lobby… it reminds me of a gas station. I light a cigarette and allow the smell of smoke to replace everything I inhaled. We walk to the stairwell and begin our climb to the fourth story.
“If I’m to stay here, I want some basic amenities,” Guinevere says halfway up. “Strawberries and champagne will do.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. “Strawberries? That might give us away faster than me screaming our identities out in the middle of the street.”
“Champagne, then.”
“Box wine or bust.”
She snaps her heels down on the steps as she walks, but I know that’s her way of accepting the terms. I stop and turn around, intent on getting her wine from the mini-mart next door. Miles trails after me.
“Do we have to do this right now?” he asks, his tone low. “We could go up to our room now and get her stuff afterward.”
“Eager?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away. “Are you saying you aren’t?”
I chuckle. Lack of sleep and a headache make it easy to contain my lust, though I feel it coursing through me nonetheless.
Miles grits his teeth at my blasé attitude.
“I guess I could turn around if you want it that bad,” I drawl as I return to the bottom step of the stairs. “But that means I won’t be buying any of the stuff that makes it easy on you.”
Miles furrows his brow and glances over. “Like… condoms?”
I let out a single laugh and stifle the rest. No, I wasn’t planning on getting condoms. I’m pretty sure my fate is to die via bullet to the face, so why limit what pleasure I get before the inevitable? Still, Miles isn’t a Boy Scout, but his request shouldn’t take me by surprise. I guess he still has a chance to live life in a suburb. Perhaps he’s only playin’ this smart.
“Sure,” I say. “Like condoms. But, more importantly, lube.”
He says nothing. I stop at the door to the lobby and hold the handle.
“If you want it bareback, you should let me know now,” I mutter. “Otherwise I’ll be right back.”
Miles remains silent. I throw him the room key, and he catches it.
I head back into the lobby and out onto the street. I hate the daylight. It glares off the chrome and glass of every passing car, hurting my bad eye and causing me to squint. I hustle to the mini-mart—owned by another foreigner—and admire the bars, cameras, and security. The place could be a mini-Alcatraz.
I grab the most “expensive” box wine they have and amble over to the glass safety room surrounding the front counter. Exhaling smoke, I nod to a box of condoms on display, along with lubricant. The man behind the register waggles his eyebrows. I smirk. He rings everything up with a snicker on his breath.
Without a word I slide my money under the safety glass and the transaction is complete. I like this mini-mart.
I return to the hotel without delay, keeping my brown paper bag of goods close. With a flick of my wrist, I toss out my cigarette on the stairwell and stomp it out on my way up. Winded, I make the fourth floor regretting the fact I smoke in the first place. I really need to quit.
To my surprise, Guinevere is out in the hall waiting for me.
“I found them,” she says once she spots me. “Come look.”
I pass my room and walk into hers. The brown-on-brown color scheme floods my vision. The blankets are brown, the dresser chestnut, the blinds a shade of feces—the room has all the glitz and glamor of a mud puddle. I’m disappointed, so I know Guinevere is unhappy, but I don’t say anything lest she gets into a habit of complaining.
She points me to the window, and I walk over. Across the street, standing in the third-story window, is our target. A piece of me can’t believe they didn’t shut their blinds, but perhaps they’re too stupid to take even the most basic measures to hide themselves on their home turf. Or maybe it’s hubris. Either way, this is to our advantage.
As I stare I see four others—including a man so large it’s noteworthy. Stella hadn’t been lying. The little tattooed freak has some backup. I’ll need to think of some way to kill that bastard without getting caught in a compromising situation.
“Don’t leave your room looking like you do, understand?” I say. “We shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves here.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it.”
“What’s this?”
I turn and see Guinevere rummaging through my bag. She gives me a coy smile as she holds up the box of condoms.
“Are they ribbed for her pleasure?” she asks.
I half smile and move away from the window. “You know that means something else out on the streets, right?”
“Oh? What does it mean?”
“Forget it.” I snatch away the box and toss it back into the bag.
“These walls are thin, Pierce. I might hear things if you two shirk your duties to fornicate.”
“You’re gonna hear things, then.”
Her smile widens into something devious. “Oh. This is already getting interesting. You should’ve taken me on more of your assignments when I was younger. This is what I’ve always imagined your little outings were like.”
“Can I trust you to keep an eye on our targets?” I ask, ignoring her frivolous musings. “I’m certain they aren’t going to move until the evening, and I need to get some rest, but the more information we have, the better.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll watch them.”
Her eagerness to comply raises my suspicion, but I don’t have time to deal with it. Whatever. She gets to watch them. Hopefully she won’t fuck it up. I leave her the wine and exit the room. My thoughts turn to Miles, and I lick my lips.
I walk into my room to find the blinds shut and the lights off. Only a hint of sunlight dapples through, leaving everything silhouetted. Miles sits on the bed, shirtless, resting his weight on his posted arms. He straightens himself as I step in and lock the door behind me.
Good. He knows I don’t want to bullshit around. I need this.
I place the paper bag on the dresser and remove my jacket, holster, and shirt in one swift motion. I’m ready to go, but I’m not overclocked like last night in the limo. I can take my time—I’ll enjoy it more this way.
Unbuckling my pants, I hear Miles follow suit. He fumbles and fidgets while I dump out the bag, remove a single condom from the box, and snatch up the lube. When I turn back, I see he’s stripped down to the buff, his unkempt hair hanging over most of his face. He backs up as I climb onto the bed. His trembling does wonders for my excitement.
Miles audibly swallows.
What’s wrong with this guy? He was all over me five minutes ago, but now it seems like he has cold feet. I rip open the condom wrapper. “You ready?”
“Y-yeah,” he murmurs. “I want this. I’ve, uh, wanted this for a long time.”
Longer than he’s known me, no doubt. He just wants the experience, then. That makes sense—and makes this easy—but I’m a little disappointed it wasn’t my cock specifically that got him all hot and bothered.
I unroll the condom over my semihard erection. Miles clears his throat. “So, uh,” he says, his voice still just above a whisper. “What… position… should I be in?”
I wanna say any way I can get my dick inside you is fine, but I hold back my sarcasm. Without the precursor of foreplay or overbearing lust, he’s overthinking everything. I chuckle to myself and grab his leg, manhandling him as I like, despite his nervous grunts. I roll him onto all fours and shove his face down onto the bed. He shudders as I smear lube into the cleft of his smooth ass.
Miles waits beneath me as stiff as a rail, his hands gripped so tightly on the blankets it’s like he’s choking them to death. I run my hand over his back, enjoying the feel of tense muscles beneath my fingertips. Damn. I want to fuck him so bad, but….
He flinches as I run my hand down across his balls and grip his rock-solid cock. He’s leaking enough to slick up his shaft as I stroke him, and with my other hand, I circle the entrance of his ass with my thumb. Now that he knows what’s happening, I slide my digit into him, testing the waters, so to speak. Miles sharply inhales but doesn’t pull away. Even in the dim lighting, I can tell he’s coated in sweat. He smells like sex.
Little by little I increase the speed, depth, and pressure of my thumb, enjoying the hot insides of his body that practically pull me deeper with each passing moment. He wants it, and he starts to relax the longer I go. I feel his dick twitch, and I cease my stroking, causing him to whimper and buck. I smile to myself. That’s enough prep—the agony of my own cock is driving me insane—and I pull Miles back by the hips.
I align the tip and force myself halfway inside. Miles lets out a sharp cry but stifles most of it as he bites down on the blankets. He’s tight. Even with a condom I feel like he’s trying to cut off my circulation. I gulp down air as I rock back and forth, inching ever deeper, digging my nails into his hips to make sure he stays in place. Miles grunts into the mattress, his noises desperate, needy, and pain-laced.
It only adds to my lust.
I straighten my back and revel in the sensation of being balls-deep in another man for only a moment before withdrawing to the tip and slamming it back in. Miles, again, cries out, clawing at the bed and quavering. I almost want him to try and run—to try and get away from me now that I have him—but he doesn’t. Instead he offers nothing but shallow breaths.
As I continue my full thrusts into his untested ass, I lean over and bite the back of his neck and shoulders, relishing the salty taste of his skin. He gives me an appreciative whimper as I reach around and return to stroking his cock—which is considerably limper than before, but still somewhat hard.
“Relax,” I whisper in his ear.
“I’m trying,” he breathes, his tone apologetic.
I grit my teeth, stop my thrusting, and jerk him around onto his back, not bothering to pull out before doing so. I spread his legs and push them back, angling to go deep, and I return my hand to his cock. With forceful pumps I continue, jerking off Miles like I would myself. He moans aloud, unable to hide it in the sheets, and reaches up to grip the headboard. My efforts rock the bed, adding a symphony of creaks to his panting. His dick hardens in full force, precome slicking my hand.
Dripping sweat everywhere, I drop forward, desperate to catch my breath and bracing myself over Miles with my spare arm. I’m breathing heavy but enjoying every second of pleasure. I latch my mouth on Miles’s neck and run my teeth along his flesh, lapping up his sweat with my tongue and coating him in my hot saliva.
He wraps his arms around my neck and licks at my ear. “Faster,” he begs, his voice so laced with need it causes my mouth to go dry.
I bite down on his shoulder and comply with his wishes—I thrust fast and hard, slamming my flesh against his like I aim to bruise, heat building in my gut a
s he whines and groans right into my ear. Even my hand on his cock goes faster and harder until I feel him clench every muscle in his body. His spine arches, and a guttural moan fills the hotel room as he covers us both in his sticky seed, his cock twitching with release. His nails leave bloody furrows in my back.
I can’t stand it. The sharp pain, his scent, the heat, the tight grip of his body—I rut into him with everything I have, stretching his ass to take every inch of my cock. He keeps his arms tight around my neck even as his grunts turn to whimpers and muffled cries. My teeth break his skin, and the coppery taste excites me.
“I’m gonna fuck you every night like the whore you are,” I growl into his neck.
“Whatever you want,” he forces out, his voice unsteady.
His act of submission sends me over the edge. I bite down on him again out of instinct, blowing my load into the rubber that surrounds my dick. Miles shudders but keeps his embrace with me as I slowly come down from my high. After a few seconds, I realize I haven’t even been breathing—I pull away from Miles and gulp down air.
Sex does wonders for headaches. I feel like a whole new person, albeit an exhausted person. I withdraw from Miles—going slow but still feeling him tense and grit his teeth as I exit—and then peel off the condom. It’s thick with juices and easily thrown into the nearby trash can. With a contented exhale, I fall onto the bed next to him, forgetting that I’m covered in sweat and semen.
Eh. Whatever. There are two beds. I roll onto my back and regret that decision as well. Miles really did a number on my back with his nails.
He snuggles up next to me, unconcerned with his own state of cleanliness, and runs his mouth along my neck and jawline. He goes to kiss me, but I turn away with a hiss.
“I don’t do that,” I say.
“We did it last night.”
“Yeah? Well, I was drunk then. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
He gets unresponsive. I stare at the ceiling, feeling his steady heart rate through his rib cage.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
For a moment Miles doesn’t answer.
Vice City Page 7
