“Fuck,” he swore when all her muscles contracted. “And we are definitely going to -”
“Archer,” she interrupted him with a whine. Her whole body was trembling and she couldn’t keep up with his thrusts anymore. “I can’t … I’m going to … you’re going to make me …”
She almost started choking when he abruptly stopped moving, leaving her impaled on him. Then he kissed her hard, his tongue taking over her mouth at the same time as he gently pushed her away from him. He wouldn’t let her complain, just kept moving his tongue against hers as he urged them both onto their knees.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered when he finally pulled away.
“Please,” she begged, her trembling turning into shaking. “Please, please, please, Archer.”
“I’m going to make you come so hard,” he promised, and she moaned at his words. “But first I’m going to do something I’ve dreamed about for years.”
She was in no position to argue. She couldn’t even make coherent sentences. So when he started pushing her and moving her in a circle, she had no choice but to go along. Didn’t say a word as he put both her hands against the headboard. Sighed when he swept his hands down her back, then moaned when he pulled her hips back towards him. Then a long, shuddering groan escaped her mouth when she felt him moving behind her, forcing his hard length into her from behind.
“Better,” she whispered, letting her head drop forward as he held still for a moment, his fingers digging into her hips so hard she was sure she’d have whole hand prints on her skin.
“The best,” he corrected her, and she chuckled.
He was gentle, at first. Really, he’d always been gentle with her, in all their interactions. So it didn’t surprise her. But then he started picking up speed, his hips slamming against her ass. She cried out with each thrust, curling her fingers around the top of the headboard so hard, her knuckles turned white. When he slapped her on the ass, she gasped.
“Jesus, fuck, where has this guy been this whole time!?” she shouted, then she moaned when he gripped her hair and yanked back, forcing her to look straight up.
“Hiding – I didn’t think you could handle him,” he growled, leaning over her back.
“I don’t think I can, either,” she agreed, then she groaned again when she felt him biting into her shoulder.
“Jojo,” he grunted, letting go of her hair and letting his hand wander down her back.
“Yes. Yes, god, yes, anything, whatever you want, please,” she babbled, her whole body starting to shake again as his hand continued on a path over her hip and around to her front, slipping and sliding between her legs.
“I want you to come for me, and I want to know it’s not because of drugs, or some fucking party, or some stupid fantasy. I want it to be only for me,” he told her, breathing hard. She nodded her head.
“Only you. It’s only for you. Only ever you. So close, Archer. So close.”
“So close,” he whispered.
He pinched his fingers together and she burst apart at the seams. Screamed and pounded her hand against the wall. A second, larger wave of pleasure rolled over her and she was reduced to groans and grunts, collapsing her front half onto the pillows. She sobbed and yanked at the blankets around her, unable to handle all the sensations running through her body. Every nerve ending was firing because of her tsunami sized climax, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Archer’s dick was pounding her inside out. He hadn’t slowed down at all for her, had fucked her straight through her orgasm.
“Goddamn, that was spectacular,” he grunted from behind her.
“So … good,” she managed to pant, then groaned when he slapped her on the butt again.
“Such a perfect ass,” he whispered, petting his hand over a cheek before slapping it again.
“Perfect,” she agreed, still not quite sure what planet she was on, let alone what he was saying.
“Fuck, Jo, you’re too much … I can’t … fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Her ass was stinging, her hips were throbbing, and she was pretty sure her pussy was broken. It certainly wouldn’t be any good for any other men, ever again. So when he slammed home one last time, then hitched his hips in tight, moaning and twitching against her, only one response came to her mind.
“Thank you.”
5:22 a.m.
Day Two
Archer slid sideways out of bed, then glanced back over his shoulder. Jo was on her side, still breathing heavily, obviously asleep. He hadn’t disturbed her.
Good.
She was facing away from him, and a sheet was wrapped tightly around her waist and legs. He knew if he walked around the bed, he’d be treated to the magnificent sight that was her breasts. Then he remembered waking up next to her at the rave, when she’d been sleeping on her stomach, only his t-shirt covering her ass. She clearly had no problems with sleeping in the nude.
God bless her.
He shook his head and forced himself to look away. Sleeping with Jo was a bad idea. So frickin’ stupid. And had he been imagining things, or had she been about to say she loved him!? She totally had. He’d stopped her because … he couldn’t handle hearing those words. Not now, or at least, not yet. Not until he could say them back with a clear conscience.
And to do that, he had to get to work.
Archer grabbed the charging laptop and moved into the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind him. He quickly got dressed, then he sat on the toilet and opened the computer on his lap. It made a loud noise as it booted up, the Windows logo flashing across the screen. He grimaced and glanced at the bathroom door, praying Jo hadn’t woken up. When he didn’t hear anything from the bedroom, he got to work, fumbling around through different programs and files.
Why were you following Jo, Krakow? And why were you doing your boss dirty and selling bad coke?
Bernard Krakow had some notes that made it obvious he wasn’t the only one in on his baking-soda-coke scam. He had a partner. Someone he emailed fairly regularly, going over deals and shipments. All strictly business – ounces, payments, measurements. His partner never gave away his name, just signed his messages with the letter R.
When the emails didn’t lead anywhere, Archer moved on to dig through Krakow’s personal files. The computer seemed to be pretty much empty, at first. Then Archer hit pay dirt – a whole shit ton of photos. He’d found them buried in a junk file, in a folder marked “taxes”, because of course, who would go rooting through someone else’s taxes? Boring.
Luckily, Archer was that kind of person, so he’d opened the folder and found a cornucopia of pictures. At first, he’d thought they were just Krakow’s porn stash. A little strange, a grown man who lived alone hiding his own porn on his own laptop.
But after about the fifth picture, Archer started to notice something. The pics were all of a very specific nature. Women who all looked like they’d been banged up, tied to chairs, their clothes ripped in various places. BDSM was all the rage anymore, but this seemed different. A porn star would moan or smile in pleasure for the camera. None of these women looked happy. They all looked terrified.
Beyond that, though, there was the setting. Archer’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes wandered over the backgrounds of the photos. Then he stood up and cautiously opened the door so he could peek into the bedroom.
Jo was still sleeping on the plain queen sized bed. There were nightstands on either side of the mattress, and a dresser against the wall by the door. On the opposite side of the room, there was enough space between the nightstand and wall for a cushioned chair. It had wooden armrests and looked very unassuming.
Archer looked at the laptop screen. Then looked at the chair. Back at the screen. So much rage started rushing through his body, he thought he was going to snap the computer in half. He backed into the bathroom and sat down again, taking deep breaths as he did so.
Those women had been tied up in Bernard Krakow’s bedroom, to the exact same chair Archer had just been looking at. Krakow had roug
hed them up, then he’d forced them to get their picture taken. Archer clicked through more of the photos, but they just got worse. Some of the women had their tops ripped off, and some were completely nude. Some looked fine, others were sobbing. All of them looked scared.
And beneath each photo was a caption. “July job – Tonya. Released.” “April job – Marie. Released.” “October job – Sammy. Divested.” “June job – Roxanne. Released.” “March job – Hannah. Divested.”
Released clearly meant those particular women had been let go. But divested? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? As he scrolled through the photos, he saw “divested” more often than he saw “released”. He had a general idea of what “divested” meant, but he decided to look it up. Just in case he was wrong.
Divest. Verb. Rid oneself of something that one no longer wants or requires, such as a business interest or investment.
He was not wrong. Some of the women in the photos had been allowed to go home, but most of them had been killed. Divested. Presumably by Bernard Krakow. But why? Was he a drug dealer and a serial killer?
No. Maybe a little crazy, and clearly lacking in sympathy, but not a psychopath. Every picture had the word “job” under it – keeping those women had been a job. Archer felt safe in assuming that meant there was a boss somewhere down the line, ordering Krakow to do these things. To … maybe … follow these women. Learn their habits and patterns, so when the time came to kidnap them, it would be easy. Maybe he’d even met them first. Had gotten them to lower their guards by, say, buying them drinks and dancing with them.
Jesus fucking christ, Jo. So close. I was so fucking close to losing you.
Archer growled and slammed the laptop shut. He didn’t want to see those images anymore. Wanted to burn them from his brain. He paced around the small bathroom, trying to calm down before he had to get back in bed.
So Bernard Krakow had been following and stalking Jo, most likely in hopes of capturing her and torturing her and possibly killing her. Now the real question was – who had asked him to do it? Who had “hired” him for this particular job? And why? Why Jo? She had no real connection to the drug world, no reason to be kidnapped and tortured, no reason to be anybody’s “job” or anything like that.
No real connection …
Archer tiptoed across the carpet and climbed into bed. He laid on his side and stared at Jo for a while. Then she mumbled in her sleep and rolled onto her back. She yawned, then kept moving, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she turned to face him. He held still until he was sure she was still asleep.
“Jojo,” he whispered, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair away from her face. She always looked young – whenever they went out, she got carded. She was young, though; and fragile. He’d tried for so many years to be her protector. Her defender. Her best friend. A guy she could always trust. A guy who might some day be worthy of her.
Some day.
“I’m so, so sorry, Jo,” he finally sighed. She mumbled again, then snuggled closer to him. He turned onto his back and she rested her head on his shoulder. Her warm body was flush against his side, silky soft and smooth to the touch.
But he barely noticed. He stayed awake for another two hours, trying to get the mental image of her tied to Krakow’s chair out of his head.
7:58 a.m.
Day Two
Jo yawned and stretched. Instead of cracking her knuckles against the bare wall behind her bed, she bonked into something soft. She opened her eyes and looked up at a padded headboard. She blinked a couple times, then looked around Bernard Krakow’s bedroom, remembering where she was and what was going on.
Archer was sleeping next to her, stretched out on his stomach on top of the sheets. He must have gotten up at some point in the night, because she remembered them falling asleep naked, yet he was almost fully dressed, wearing his t-shirt and pants. He was facing away from her, but he had his left arm stretched out behind him, as if he was reaching for her in his sleep.
She smiled at the thought, then slipped out of bed. Her clothing was scattered about the room – Archer seemed to like to rip stuff off her and then just fling it every which way. She tip toed around and slipped on her panties and bra, then wiggled back into Krakow’s sweater that she’d grabbed out of his closet. Then she headed into the bathroom and almost screamed when she looked at her reflection. After all their acrobatics the night before, and then sleeping on it all crazy, her hair looked beyond wild. Lank and frizzy around her face, and a big rat’s nest on the back.
She leaned over the tub and stuck her head under the shower, getting her hair damp enough to calm it down. While she was trying to work her fingers through the tangle, she thought she heard something over the water. She frowned, holding still and trying to listen.
“Jo!”
She hadn’t even realized Archer was in the bathroom, yet there he was, grabbing her from behind, his arms wrapping tightly around her. She shrieked as he pulled her off her feet, then they were both falling backwards, hitting the ground a second later. Her back was pressed to Archer’s chest and she clutched at his wrists.
“What the fuck are doing!?” she demanded. One of his arms moved and suddenly his hand was clamped over her mouth.
“They’re here,” he hissed.
“Hmoo’s hmere?” she mumbled through his palm.
As if to answer her, a pounding sound reverberated through the apartment. Jo went completely still.
“Police! Open up!”
She was a little surprised to feel relief flooding through her veins. They probably should’ve gone to the police from the get go – now that they were at the door, she could just unload everything onto them. The body could become their problem, it couldn’t be too hard to prove she hadn’t done anything. She’d spend a night in jail, maybe two. No big deal.
Awfully convenient timing. Why are the police here?
“Don’t say a word!” Archer breathed as he removed his hand and started shifting around underneath her.
“Why not? What’s going on?” she whispered, rolling off him and watching as he crawled out the door. He moved awkwardly, and she realized it was because he was clutching his cell phone in one hand. They’d found some chargers the night before and had juiced up their devices. His screen was lit up with missed messages.
“Those aren’t the police,” he finally answered her, and she followed behind him on her hands and knees. They left the bedroom and headed across the living room. A large sofa sat with its back to the windows and Archer came to a stop behind it. Jo sat next to him, resting against the piece of furniture and shoving her hair out of her face.
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“Call it a hunch. Wait here, and don’t move,” he urged, then he stood up and started moving across the living room.
“Police! Open the door, now!”
She looked over the back of the couch, watching as he crept across the apartment. He lurked around the door and peeked through the peep hole. After a second, he ducked down, as if the people on the other side could see him. Then he hurried back to her. She stood up when he got close.
“That’s not the fucking police,” he said in a low voice. “Two guys in plain clothes.”
“Maybe they’re detectives?”
“Please don’t talk right now. Let’s find a way out of here.”
“But maybe they could be -”
“Seriously, are we arguing about this right now? Just do what I say! C’mon, the guest room is over the parking garage, maybe we can find a way to climb down to its roof,” he suggested, turning and looking back towards the bedrooms. She leaned around him, following his gaze. The pounding at the door was becoming violent, making the wood shake in its hinges.
“Alright, fine. Whatever, let’s get out of here.”
Before either of them could make a move, though, gun shots ripped through the room. Whoever was on the other side of the door had decided they were done with knocking.
Mo
st officers would just break down a door, not shoot through it. Archer was right.
The window-wall behind them exploded, glass going everywhere. Jo screamed as a gust of wind rushed through the apartment. She ducked down and Archer stepped in front of her, presumably to protect her from the flying bullets, but then he accidentally bumped into her. With all of her weight behind her, she was immediately thrown off balance. She windmilled her arms for a second, then proceeded to topple over backwards.
And this is how I die – falling out a window. Fuck my life.
Jo screamed as she went through the window, reaching out her arms to grab onto something, anything. At the same time, Archer lunged for her, grabbing her by the wrist. She screamed again as she slammed into the side of the building.
“I’ve got you! Hold on, I’ve got you!” he yelled through gritted teeth.
“Don’t let me go, Archer! Don’t drop me!” she cried. She watched as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Do you trust me?” he asked as bullets flew over his head.
“What!? No! Now pull me up, please!” she begged. He looked back down at her.
“Trust me, Jo!”
He used both his arms to swing her away from the wall. Before she could ask him what he was doing, though, he released his grip. Four stories above the ground, and he just let her go.
God, what a dick.
Jo screamed all the way down. She was mid-breath, ready to start screaming again, when she made contact with the ground. Only, it wasn’t solid. She smacked into a body of water and was so shocked, she sucked in a lungful of liquid as she went under.
Falling forty feet into a pool wasn’t a picnic. She’d hit the water hard on her thigh, it already stung. She hacked and coughed as she tried to orient herself and push off the bottom. When her head finally broke the surface, she gagged and spit out chlorinated water, then looked up just in time to see Archer land about three feet to her left.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET ME GO!” she screamed, hitting him when he resurfaced.
“Stop it! I knew there was a pool, you’re fine!” he shouted, managing to dodge her blows and get behind her. His arms wrapped around her middle and he began dragging her towards the side.
Just a Little Junk Page 13
