by Nicole Fox
I raised an eyebrow and smiled a little, if only to myself. Yep, right where I wanted him. Putty in my soft little hands. The bigger, more burly the guy is, the easier it is to get them to do what you want. Still topless, I walked around the table to stand next to him. I looked into those eyes, a perfect image of what his corpse would look like flashing in my brain. “Yeah, Boss?”
Before I realized what he was doing, before I could even put up a fight of any kind, he'd snatched me down by the wrist and pulled me over his knees, like I was some bratty child that had gotten bad marks on a test.
“Hey!” I screamed, trying to kick. “Fuck you!”
He grabbed a fistful of fiery red hair, though, and yanked my head back till I had to arch my back to keep from struggling to breathe. It cut my screams off and, surprisingly, felt . . . delicious. I felt his hand on my ass, felt it grab at the hem of my skirt and start shimmying it up my thighs and over my ass.
“Wh-what?” I sputtered out as I began to realize this son of a bitch had me at his mercy. This son of a bitch who'd been responsible for Tommy's death.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled cruelly as he yanked my hair back. “Unless you want this to be harder than it will be already.”
I felt my hair begin to tear out at the roots, and I arched my neck to keep all my strands on my scalp as I swallowed hard and tried to stay calm. This was certainly not what I'd expected. I kept my mouth shut, though, even as the cool air caressed my naked ass.
“Now,” he growled as he ran a rough hand over the skin of my baby-smooth bottom, “this is what a slut gets for trying to distract my men.”
I'd played with guys like this before. Most working girls had, simply because we had a lot of guys who came to us because they couldn't have their tastes fulfilled by other people. I'll admit it, the first few times, I'd been a little scared. But, after a while I'd realized that most guys just wanted to play at it, and they really wanted a willing partner to pant and moan and scream as they smacked some ass.
This, though, was different. I didn't know this man. And, I could tell from the tone of his voice, that he was pissed. I nodded as much as his grip in my hair would allow. “Yes, Boss,” I said, my words almost frantic and choking from the way my head was pulled back.
“Good,” he said in a simple, flat voice. Then, he started to spank me.
Not in a gentle, sensual way like I'd experienced. Nor in a coy, playful way like I'd had other times, where they rubbed you a few times in between slaps to take away the sting. No, Koen spanked me like a naughty little girl who'd run off to become a hooker.
I was going to kill this fucker, I reminded myself. For Tommy, for this, for all the girls and people Sven had ever hurt.
Fuck. This. Guy.
“You will never strip like that for any of my men ever again,” he growled, his voice barely raised as he punctuated each word with a hard, openhanded slap on my bare ass.
Each slap stung like a thousand bees concentrated in one spot, and left a burning hand print behind like someone had painted me with lighter fluid and set a spark to it. I wiggled under the onslaught, straining against his hand holding my hair, but still unable to shift my bare ass out of the way.
Inside, I screamed. I couldn't believe he was doing this! This motherfucker, who'd ruined my life by getting my brother killed. I was going to return the fucking favor!
Outside, though, I whimpered, blinked back the tears as the pain continued blossoming on my back side and spread through my body. I knew I was going to have welts all over me, knew I wouldn't be sitting right all night. Finally, I choked out a cry, but quickly bit it back.
“Never,” he said, slapping my ass again, “again.”
To my embarrassment, though, and dismay, I realized something else was spreading throughout my body, and my ass subtly pushed back into his open palm, barely rising each time to meet his strikes.
“Do you understand, Jace?” he asked against, still slapping my ass with each word till he finally stopped. “Do you?” he asked again, slapping my ass twice when I didn't respond fast enough for him.
I groaned low, my eyes still watering from the pain, but my body aroused like it hadn't been since before I could remember. I don't know why I did it, but in response to his question, I just shook my head. “No, Boss,” I whispered. “I don't understand.”
He grumbled, and I could feel him shift a little in his chair to hide his erection. There wasn't any keeping it from me, though, seeing as how it was pressing into my bare belly. His hand came down against, at least half a dozen times. The sound of callused palm striking soft skin filled the room, along with my moans as I pushed back into his hand.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this wet, or any other time I'd been this horny. The thought of just the barest strips of cloth separating my sex from his hand set me to dripping.
I didn't care if I had to kill him afterward. From the way he was handling me, I at least knew it would be a good fuck.
He must have gotten tired of spanking me, or maybe he enjoyed it a little too much, because he pulled me back up off his lap by the hair and flung me away from him. “Get ready to go home,” he said.
I stumbled a little in my bare feet, but stayed upright as I pulled my skirt back down over my bare ass. Fuck it stung to cover it back up! Instead of slipping my hands beneath my skirt, or using them to begin unbuckling his jeans, I pulled my top back over my head.
“Go!” he barked.
I glanced down at his lap one last time before I left the room, if only to confirm to myself that hadn't been a phantom cock pressing into me. Oh yeah, he'd been as into that as me. I grinned slyly. “Sure, Boss. Anything you say,” I said as I turned on the tip of my toe and sashayed out of the room.
I never knew planning to kill a man would be this much fun.
Chapter Five
Koen
She almost looked peaceful, lying like that in my guest bedroom. I'd doped her up pretty well with the mickey I'd spiked her drink with, enough so that I wouldn't have to worry about her wandering around my house while I tried to conduct business, or sleep.
Relax, I didn't have any plans to take advantage of Jace. It was just that, whether she was walking the street or ending up in a hotel room with a dead pimp and a dead John, she seemed to have a knack for being where she wasn't supposed to. She proved that again when she showed up in the meeting room during the vote.
My hand still smarted from earlier in the night. Hopefully, I'd taught her a little bit of a lesson when I'd bent her over my knee. Of course, as I adjusted my half-erect cock, I also hoped she learned slow. There'd been something immensely hot about her form bent over my lap like that, having her submit to my hand the way she had. I liked the way she fought it, at first, but ended up relaxing and pushing back into it, by the end.
But, whether she needed another lesson later, or not, I had other work to do still.
I quietly closed the door to the guest room and headed back downstairs and into the small guest bathroom. I removed the lid from the ceramic toilet tank and reached inside to grab the bag, and the disposable cell phone it contained, that sat at the bottom.
When you do the kind of business me and the MC do, you get paranoid. You never use the same phone more than a few times, you always keep them rotating, and you certainly never use one that's registered under your name. You also follow the same rules when it comes to calling out on the phone. Just because your line ain't tapped, doesn't mean your buddy's ain't, too.
I dialed in the number for Fed's burner of the week once I'd pulled the phone from its waterproof bag and turned it on. As the phone began to ring, I pressed it to my ear and waited.
“Yeah?” Fed said when he answered on the fifth or sixth ring. We'd arranged the times before I'd left Hellfire, so I was a little surprised it took him as long as it did to answer.
I kept my concerns to myself, though, and tried to fight back any others I might have. Fed was my right-hand man, and questioning
him would just lead to questioning myself. No good can come of that, no matter which way you looked at it.
“What'd we hear from our little buddy?” I asked. Fed was our point of contact for the guy in Volkov Arms. Early on, we'd discussed how it would be a bad idea for me to be involved on that side of things. When I'd brought Jace home with me, and set Fed to putting Benji to work, I'd also made sure Fed knew it was time to move on with our original plans.
Sven had been a bust, after all. But, you couldn't let a little kink in your plans fuck everything else up. It didn't matter if you got knocked down a hundred times, my old man used to say. What mattered is that you got back up a hundred and one times.
“One week, or thereabouts,” Fed said, his voice hollow and scratchy through the cheap speaker of the cell phone. “Got the numbers.”
“They gonna be what we need?”
“Mil-spec,” he said. Military Specification firearms, is what he meant, though. Full-auto, selective fire, high-capacity rounds, chambered for larger calibers. “Out on one of those bayou roads”
Those things would go for a pretty penny on the open market. A couple of the right deals, might even be enough to set us up good and pretty. Not enough for the rest of our lives, or anything, but enough that we wouldn't have to take such crazy risks going forward.
I looked at myself in the mirror, at the sleeves of tattoos covering my arms, at the beard covering my face, at the certainty in my eyes. This was what we needed, I reminded myself with a nod. This was what Fire and Brimstone MC needed to keep moving forward.
“Good,” I said, my mind starting to formulate a plan. “We'll take ten guys. You, me, and eight others set a stolen truck as a roadblock. Guy pulls over, we stick the guns in the window and yank him down. Pull around our pickup and unload everything. Easy-peasy, man.”
“I dunno,” Fed said. “I don't trust this whole thing, man. This Sven guy that got in touch with us? How the hell did he know we were involved?”
“He never said he thought we were involved,” I reminded him, even though, in retrospect, it did feel a little strange. “Said he thought we might be interested in the idea when he put his feelers out. He knew something was going on, Fed, and wanted a piece of the pie same as anyone else. I bet they got tons of drivers seeing that action, right now, and wanting in.”
“Damnit, Koen, think. Why the fuck was he running a prostitution ring, if he was a trucker? What kind of trucker does that shit? If anything, he'd be one of the damned customers, not the pimp.”
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just the mark of another greedy bastard, that's all.”
Silence on the other end. I walked out of the small hall bathroom and headed out into the living room, cocked my ear to the side to make sure Jace was still sleeping like a doped-up baby.
“You there?” I asked after a while.
“Sorry,” Fed said quickly, “yeah, I'm here. Turn on the news, channel six.”
“What for?” I asked.
“Something about our favorite corpse, Sven. Might find it interesting.”
I found the remote and turned the TV on. I wasn't in time to catch the beginning of the news story. I was treated, though, to two pictures on the screen.
The first, on the left, was a picture of a young man that was clearly related to the hooker currently asleep in my guest room. It looked like the picture was maybe a high school baseball photo, the kind they took for yearbook. He was decked out in his uniform and trying to look serious, like he really knew his shit. Poor kid couldn't have been more than sixteen. Under the young man's smiling face was the name Tomlin Spears, with the word victim in parentheses after.
The second, on the right, was the photo of a man who could be a Russian mob extra in Hollywood. It was so stereotypical, I was amazed he wasn't wearing an Adidas track suit in the image. Under the picture of the mob extra was Sven Morokov. A voice over of a local crime reporter saying, “Authorities are still unsure why the young man was meeting with the Volkov Arms executive in the Hilton hotel room. If members of the public have any information that can contribute to the murder investigation, they are encouraged to contact local law enforcement.”
I wasn't exactly sure, but Tomlin Spears there didn't exactly look like the type to be renting an hour or so with a family member.
“You watching?” Fed asked after a minute.
“Shit,” I breathed.
“Shit is right.”
I wiped a hand down my face. I couldn't believe I'd bought into any of that shit she was selling. I mean, I knew something was fucked up with her story . . . but that her own brother was involved? Of course the cops would come looking for her!
“How do we want to handle this?” Fed asked from the other end of the line.
I shook my head. “I dunno yet. I'll let you know tomorrow.”
Fed sighed. “Yeah. Alright,” he said before we both hung up.
Clutching the burner phone like my life relied on it, I let my hand drop to my side.
What was going on here? What had I dragged myself and the MC into? Whether this Sven guy had zeroed in on Fire and Brimstone as his culprits, or not, it was clear they were looking for us. Whether they would find us, or not, was another matter. These were businessmen, after all, despite their looks. I was pretty confident they wouldn't go to the police, or try to make waves. Otherwise, they would have already.
But, still, to know I'd gotten played so far by some amateur that was crashed out in my guest room, and that Fed and I had been that close to walking into the same room with Sven Morokov. That was too much.
Suddenly, the stress and the bullshit of it all was too much. “Fuck!” I yelled, forgetting myself. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”
When I'd stopped yelling, the silence of my house returned. Nothing stirred, nothing buzzed. No baby cried, no wife asked me what was wrong. Just solitude and emptiness.
Luckily, Jace was drugged up enough to keep a horse down. Should have been plenty for even a foul-mouthed hooker.
# # #
Jace
I woke up in a comfy king-sized bed the next morning, fully clothed. I was a little groggy from the drinks I'd had the night before, but could tell I was in a strange room. I wasn't sure how strong Koen had been pouring them, but I reminded myself that I needed to stick to beer next time. The Boss had a heavy hand, it seemed, in more than one area.
I wasn't sure how I'd gotten to bed, but I was actually a little surprised to still be wearing everything. What with the Boss being a big biker type, I kind of figured I'd wake up naked with cum dripping from all my holes. Bikers weren't exactly known for their respectability around pretty, passed-out girls.
Although, as I rubbed a hand across my mildly-sore tits, I did wish he'd at least taken my bra off before he shoved me in bed. But, no sense in complaining about it now. I climbed out of bed and put my bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. I did a big stretch and, after wiping a hand over my made-up face, groaned. There was one more item I could add to the list on things The Boss needed to do before dumping me in bed: wash off my makeup.
I padded out into the hallway and found a bathroom to relieve myself. While I was searching the big upper floor, my mouth began to water as the fragrance of cooking bacon and eggs and fresh-brewed coffee hit my nose. I finished up and stopped before I left the restroom. I knew I shouldn't look in the mirror, at least not too closely, but I did anyways. My heavy blue eyeshadow was smeared off, my mascara was running, and my lipstick was rubbed off. I looked like a clown that had gotten into a back alley brawl, and lost.
After a few minutes' unsuccessful search for makeup remover, I settled on the liquid soap Koen had sitting out. It was basic, but it was better than looking like one of those bad crying clown velvet pictures my Mee-Ma had in her double wide.
Scrubbed up, I stumbled downstairs and found the kitchen. Koen was in there, humming along as he finished up breakfast. I stepped up behind him just as the toaster popped its cooked bread out of the top slots.
“You're awake,” Koen said in a deadpan voice, not bothering to turn from the stove. “Coffee cups are over there,” he said, gesturing with his spatula to a cabinet.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, my vocal chords feeling unfamiliar in my throat, and went to pull down one of the big ceramic mugs from the cupboard. I poured myself coffee.
“Food'll be ready in just a bit, Ms. Spears,” he said. “Have a seat at the table, I'll bring you your plate.”
I nodded, not even catching that he'd used my last name. The coffee hadn't kicked in yet. I went and plopped myself down at the dining room table and, soon after, the Boss was bringing food out to me. A pile of bacon, a mound of delicious-looking eggs, and thick-cut toast arrived in front of me.
After a few bites of my food, and a few healthy slurps of coffee to wash it all down, I finally started to perk up.
