Gratifying Lines

by Breena Wilde

  Cruze steps back. I’ve shocked him. “You’re mine, Cadence. I’ve practiced for years and years preparing for you. You’ll be my finest, most beautiful work of art.”

  My heart clenches. I can’t even wrap my mind around where his mind is. “Just tell me what you want me to be. I can do for you, fuck you, please you in ways you’ve never imagined. Let me go and you and I will fuck until we’re sick of each other.” Those exact words have gotten me out of more than one predicament in my past.

  Of course most guys who want a hooker are just lonely. They need their desires fulfilled. Some are kinkier than others. It’s been my job to fulfill those needs. Sometimes the guy isn’t in it to fulfill sexual needs so much as anger urges. They think they can take out their rage on a hooker since it wouldn’t be right to do it on their wife or their girlfriend. That’s why I always carry mace. But I’m completely naked, with not a single weapon close by... except my charm.

  Cruze seems to have mellowed.

  “Uncuff me. Let me be free to touch you the way I’ve done so many times before.”

  John shakes his head. His eyes glaze over and I know I’ve lost him. He lifts the blade and points it at me.

  “Here’s what you need to understand. I’m in control, bitch. Not you. Now lie back and let me kiss you.”

  I feel tears threatening, but I resist. There’s no one coming for me. If I’m going to get out of this I’m going to have to comply, at least for a while.

  I nod once and do as he says. He walks over and presses the blade against my neck. “Kiss me, Cade. Kiss me like your life depends on it.”

  His lips press against mine, hard. His breath is minty, like he’s just brushed his teeth. He wants to impress me. He wants my experience with him to be good. I stow that in the back of my brain as I wrap my hands in his hair and stroke my tongue with his. He climbs on the bed, keeping the knife pressed against my neck. I feel blood trickling and try not to panic. If he presses too hard, I’ll be dead.

  He seems oblivious. I feel his cock get hard against my leg. His free hand grabs my breast and massages my nipple.

  “Moan for me, Cade.”

  I try, but it comes out like a strangled gurgle. Cruze notices and stops kissing me, leaning up, looking at my face. He must notice the blood on my neck, a stark contrast to all the white, because he quickly tosses the knife. It hits the ground with a light thud. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He pulls off his white tee shirt and places it on my neck. Then he undoes his pants, releasing his cock. It springs free, smacking my pussy.

  If this wasn't a life or death situation I might be turned on. I mean, it's John fucking Cruze, the hottest man on the planet. It isn't like he's an obese balding man with gross teeth trying to fuck me. It's the actor, the guy every girl wants to be with. But I can't let myself get there. I’ll act like it, though. I make every guy I fuck feel like they're the only one for me. I can do it for Cruze, too. So I turn it on and pretend I knew what kind of guy he was: a pretty boy with a chip on his shoulder.

  “Spread your legs, wide,” he whispers and then catches himself. “I forgot.”

  “You can take them off and I’ll spread them so wide,” I whispered against his ear.

  He shudders, but shakes his head. “I got this.” He climbs off the bed and goes to the edge. For a moment I think he’ll change his mind, that he's actually going to free me, but there's a noise like a crank, and my legs begin to spread in the cuffs.

  What the fuck,” I think, sitting up. Blood from my neck and blood from my thigh have smeared John’s chest and must be soaking through his pants, because some of my blood is on his thigh.

  The mechanism makes my knees bend and spread my legs, kind of like the stirrups in a doctor's office.

  John finishes doing whatever and then climbs onto the bed so that he’s positioned between my thighs. He kisses each knee, then kisses the bloody cut on my thigh. His lips come away with my blood on them. “There. See? I’ll take care of my little doll.”

  A surge of terror runs through my body. I clench my fists, holding back the fear.

  “Where were we?” he asks, pushing between my legs and positioning himself to slide his cock inside.

  I steel myself, trying to find the feelings I thought I had for this guy, trying to remember the good things I liked about him. His kindness. The day he brought me lunch and we played twenty questions. God, I’d been so fucking hot for him then. So drawn to him.

  It almost feels like he’s two different people. “Where’s the John I met that night in the hotel? Where’s the guy who brought me chocolate chip cookies?” I ask, unable to help myself. I remember fearing that Fileze had sent me to a fiend, a rat who would treat me so badly I’d change my mind, so I’d keep him as my pimp. I remember the surprise I felt when I saw him. I’d been immediately smitten. It’s strange that the man Fileze intended me to be with was less of a monster than the one looking at me.

  John freezes. The questions seem to have thrown him. He sits up and I notice his cock size reducing. “I’m the same man, Cade. Each of us has two sides—the soft and the hard, the good and the bad.” He climbs off the bed and pulls on his pants. “Take you, for example. When I first met you, you looked like the epitome of an expensive whore. Last night you were the height of class. There wasn’t another person there who could compete with your perfection.” He walks to the door. I want to stop him, ask him once again to let me go. But I know he won’t. So I keep quiet.

  He walks to the door. I notice there’s no handle. “You’re the lovely whore and the lady. Two sides.” He presses three fingers along the edge of the door and it pops open. “We belong together, doll. Don’t you doubt it.”

  Then he’s gone.

  Chapter 19

  Zane

  I call the police captain once again. “I’m on my way to John Cruze’s house. I’ll be sure to text when the deed is done and there better not be a single fucking cover up this time.”

  “Fine, but don’t make a mess.”

  “He killed my wife. I make no promises.” I hang up and sit back in the black leather seat. In my hand is a tumbler full of ice water. I want to be fully aware for what’s about to happen.

  I’ve been in Cruze’s house before. He doesn’t know that, but after my wife’s death I allowed the police to handle it, until they couldn’t go any further. I wasn’t sure if someone had paid them off or if it were really that difficult. Then I took up the case myself. I followed every lead, sniffed out some new ones, and realized the trail led directly to John Cruze’s door.

  At the time I thought it was strange. He was an up and coming actor. A bit of a hothead. Definitely overly cocky.

  My wife was in the business. She was a costume designer. She worked for me. My production company hired her. The first time I met her I knew we’d become an item. There was that instant chemistry. She hadn’t minded my twisted ways. In fact, she relished them. Encouraged me.

  She and I were perfect for each other.

  On the side she was a stylist to the stars. She’d made a name for herself. That’s where John Cruze met her. His publicist called and asked her to style John for the Academy Awards. He was presenting. She’d agreed.

  It was downhill from there.

  He was immediately taken with her as well. Started calling and texting, inviting her to events, asking her to style him for all of his events.

  She and I thought it was sweet. She used to tease me about how handsome he was. But we were tight, she and I. I loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone. I knew she felt the same.

  So when I found out she’d been to John Cruze’s house on the night she died I told the police. Of course they thought she’d been having an affair.

  I knew better.

  One night Lincoln and I snuck into his house. We found the room. I told them, but the police said their hands were tied. They couldn’t enter a residence without probable cause, and they had none. I took pictures of the room, showed them the broken wall filled with hundreds
of porcelain dolls. It still wasn’t enough. That wasn’t the truth of it, though. There was plenty of circumstantial evidence, but the mother fucking cops, including the captain, had been paid off handsomely to make the whole thing go away. When I found out I confronted the police chief. It’d been nice having him in my back pocket because I knew sooner or later Cruze would fuck up again and I’d have him.

  But after Cruze killed my wife, he stopped. His whole outward persona changed. It almost felt like overnight. He was no longer an asshole. No longer cocky or arrogant. He became kind, even humble. But I knew it was an act. Motherfucker. So I bided my time.

  Seven long years!

  But no more.

  Tonight is the night.

  Tonight John Cruze is going down. He took the first love of my life. There’s no fucking way I’ll let him take Cadence.

  ***

  We arrive at the wrought iron gates that keep out unwanted visitors to John Cruze’s house in the Hollywood Hills. There are a couple of cars parked along the road; probably paparazzi waiting to catch a shot of him coming out. Stupid fuckers. The next time they get a picture it’ll be of his dead body.

  Lincoln rolls down his window and reaches out to press a button.

  “Who can I say is calling?” A voice asks through the speaker attached to the button. It doesn’t sound like John. I’m guessing it’s a security guard. He may be a problem, but I doubt it. He sounds bored.

  “Mr. Zane to see Mr. Cruze," Lincoln announces. "He’s expecting him.”

  “One moment, please.”

  We wait. Lincoln catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. I know he’s just as ready for this as I am. Lincoln and I have known each other for years. He knew my wife. He’s one of only a handful of people who know where my kids are.

  “Come in.” The voice crackles and the doors swing inward to open.

  Lincoln puts the car in drive and pulls through.

  It’s a pretentious drive—long and winding. Impeccably trimmed bushes with blooming white flowers line the way to the front of Cruze’s house. It looks newly resurfaced. The exterior is made of rock and stucco. Rounded windows have wooden shutters on either side. The house is all points and different levels, like a castle. I search for a flag bearing the crest of his ancestors, but there isn’t one.

  “Pretentious ass,” I say and step out of the car. There are three steps that lead to large wooden double doors. Each has a knocker. I look back at Lincoln, who shrugs.

  Before I can knock, the door opens.

  “John Zane. So nice of you to come.”

  Chapter 20

  Zane

  There’s no reason to put it off or take my time. The sooner John Cruze is dead the sooner I’ll be able to find Cadence and get her out of this hell hole. But I sense he’s wound up and I wonder if I've interrupted him… if it’s too late.

  God, please let her be alive, I plead internally.

  “What you been up to?” I ask, following him through the entryway, down a hall and into his office. One color stands out more than the others, and that’s white. There are accent colors in gray, red, black, and silver, but white is definitely the main color. I can’t help but wonder why. Why white?

  John picks up a cigar box and opens it, then offers the box to me. I’m not a huge cigar smoker, but I know the key elements to look for: consistency in cigar color, which this box possesses. I select a cigar, pick it up, and roll it through my fingers. It’s smooth to the touch and firm, but not too firm. It should also possess a good tobacco, properly aged. I place it under my nose and smell. It’s got a woodsy scent with a hint of spice. “I think you’re right, John. These are excellent cigars.”

  He smiles and takes back the box, picks one up for himself.

  I sit in a leather chair and wait for him to answer my question.

  John takes his time, sits in his black leather chair and leans back. He drags the cigar under his nose, smelling it slowly. “Not a whole lot,” he finally answers. “Just doing a little relaxing.”

  I tuck my cigar in my pocket.

  He raises a brow. “I thought we were going to smoke.”

  “How about you tell me where you have Cadence?” I ask point blank, steepling my fingers and leaning forward.

  John flinches like I’ve punched him, but quickly recovers. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He busies himself cutting off the end of his cigar. I watch it fall onto his sleek cherry wood desk. He picks up a lighter. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. He lights the end. It burns and crackles and John sucks and puffs, sending smoke into the air.

  “Not at all,” I say, standing. “But you will tell me what I want to know.”

  He smiles. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Zane. Why don’t you sit the fuck down and have a smoke. It’ll mellow you.”

  I feel my mouth fall open, but quickly close it. He is bluffing. Stalling. Trying to figure out what to do next.

  He’ll find out soon enough.

  Lincoln moves toward Cruze. Quicker than I thought possible, Cruze lifts a gun and aims it at Lincoln.

  Dammit.

  Cruze fires. Lincoln lets out a light growl and crumples into a heap.

  “Lincoln!” I shout and run to him.

  “Don’t move, dickhead.”

  I turn and see that Cruze is no longer holding his cigar. He’s risen and has the large silver handgun aimed directly at my face.

  “Stand up,” Cruze shouts.

  Fuck, I hate being told what to do.

  “Now,” he adds, and I stand. “I should’ve known you knew about me. After I killed your wife I stopped for a while, but I had the sense you hated me for what I did to her.”

  I grit my teeth together.

  John steps over the fallen Lincoln without even acknowledging him and touches a hidden button in the bookcase behind me. His gun is still aimed at my face, but I follow his controlled movements with my eyes. A hidden door clicks and unlocks. He opens it. “In you go,” he says.

  I think about what’s about to happen. Fear isn’t an emotion I possess. Anger. Rage. Inside I’m seething.

  With pleasure, I think.

  I walk down a set of stairs. The walls are painted a stark white. The stairs are white as well. They remind me of the materials used on a baby grand piano. They are sleek, smooth, and have a high gloss on them. The wrong king of shoes could send you slipping down these stairs. No question.

  When we reach the bottom of the stairs, he’s close. So close I can hear his breathing. Smell the tobacco and woodsy scent of the cigar. I think about taking him down right here, but I wait, because I have a feeling John is leading me exactly where I want to go—toward Cadence.

  There’s no handle on the door. It’s a sleek flat surface, just like the stairs. John reaches over and presses a point near a seam in the wall. There’s a click and the door pops loose.

  “Open it,” John commands.

  I do, pushing it in. The vision in front of me is a relief ...and terrifying.

  Chapter 21

  Zane

  My heart stops. Cadence is lying on a small bed in a completely white room. She’s naked. Her legs are bent at the knees and spread open. I can see her pussy. If I weren’t so focused I’d be fucking turned on. But there blood streaked down one thigh and on her neck. It looks dried.

  I clench my fists together. He fucking touched her.

  John presses the gun against the back of my head and pushes me inside.

  Cadence’s eyes are closed, but I watch her lids flicker. She’s awake. Probably preparing mentally for whatever is coming next.

  Raw anger rips out my insides. Hang on. Just keep it together a little longer.

  Her eyes open. When our gazes lock there’s a flash of surprise, followed by happiness, and then her eyes glaze over.

  God, she’s amazing.

  “Look who I found,” Cruze says, forcing me across the room to a blank wall. I allow him to pu
sh me. Just a little farther and then the real fun will begin. John Cruze knows nothing about me, but he will soon enough.

  She doesn’t respond, just stares. A bite of worry gnaws at my heart. Has he broken her already?

  I notice the wall has two white chains dangling from it. John picks one up. “Give me your left wrist.” His voice is clipped.

  I wink at Cadence, trying to let her know everything will be fine. She doesn’t respond—or did I see the barest flicker of a smile? I can’t be sure.

  “What have you done to her?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  He locks the chain around my wrist. “You’ll see,” he says.

  I look from Cadence to John and notice for the first time the quiet evil on his features. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” I say, trying to get under his skin.

  It works, because he fires the gun. The bullet goes through my arm. A flesh wound, but fuck, it hurts. “Shit.” I go to grab my arm, but John grabs it and forces it into the other chain. I pull against them and Cruze smiles—not at me, though. Behind me. I look over my shoulder and notice the spray of blood on the white wall, and I think I get a glimpse of the hysteria in his head. That’s why everything is white. He likes the way the blood looks against the blankness.

  Cadence sat up when I was shot. She’s breathing heavily. Just seeing her alive melts my heart, makes the pain in my arm more bearable. She’s alive. She isn’t broken.

  Now that I’m locked up and John knows I can’t go anywhere, he places the gun on the counter and walks over to Cadence. “We have a visitor,” he tells her quietly, brushing some hair off her face. He leans in and tries to kiss her, but she shakes her head. “I see.” He pulls something silver from his back pocket and wipes it along Cadence’s thigh in three quick swipes. I watch in horror as three lines of blood immediately appear on her thigh. “I thought we had an understanding,” he says, taking a fistful of hair and yanking her head so that she has to look at him.