by Alexa Riley
“Do it, and I’ll let you walk out of here,” I say, and I mean it. I would give anything to have them safe, including my own life. “You have my word. You put her down and don’t try anything, I’ll let you go.”
Justin slowly turns around and looks me directly in the eyes. He looks half-crazed right now, like he might be on something. I didn’t notice it before, but maybe the adrenaline from his finger getting cut off masked it. He’s sweating like crazy and his pupils are so enlarged his eyes look like they are solid black.
“You’re too late,” he sneers, and a sinister smile spreads across his face.
Just then Saint comes around the corner of the garage holding a woman, his arm around her neck and a gun pointed to her head. She grips his arm but otherwise looks like a space cadet with the same black pupils as Justin. I’m convinced these two junkies are so fucked up they have no idea what’s happening.
“Hope this wasn’t your getaway ride, Justin. She was too busy using to check the time. Guess she missed the signal.”
I still have my gun trained on Justin, and I see defeat cross his face. I guess relying on a junkie to be on time wasn’t the smartest plan. I look back over at the woman, and I realize I recognize her. It’s Layla’s mother. Jesus! Layla told me she was with O’Leary at the warehouse, but I had no idea how far deep in this shit she was. I don’t have time to figure this shit out right now. I’ve got to make sure Layla is safe.
“Fucking useless bitch,” he rants disgustedly. “All she had to do was drive the car. Four years of planning this shit out, and she’s too busy getting high to remember her one goddamn job. I’ve put up with that asshole O’Leary, and fucked that crazy bitch,” he nods at Claire, “to get my payday, and she can’t do one goddamn thing. But, hey, maybe I can have a little fun with your Cherry. I’d bet you would pay for me to give her back to you.”
“Put her down. Now! There’s no way out of here. It’s the end of the line,” I shout, and I see him jump. He glares at me and then makes his move. He pushes Layla roughly off his shoulder and she lands with a loud thud on the concrete. She utters a small cry, and I see red.
I’m distracted by her falling, and for a moment my attention is diverted. I lower my gun and make a move towards my girl. As I step towards her I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, pulling a kitchen knife out from behind his back.
My body is already in motion but he’s closer to Layla. He stands above her and raises his arm. I see his intention is to bring the big knife down on her, and I react.
In a split second I aim my gun at his head and pull the trigger. No hesitation. Direct hit.
The loud pop rings through the garage and Justin hits the ground as I reach Layla.
I hear Layla’s mother start to scream, and I don’t know if she’s upset he’s dead, or if she’s so strung out she’s just in a panic over a loud noise. I don’t give either of them a second of my attention as I go to my girl.
“Layla, baby, look at me,” I say, frenzied. I rub my hands over her face and head, trying to see if she’s okay. I don’t know where she hurt herself, but, thank God, she’s semi-conscious so she must have hit her head when she fell. Or maybe it just the drugs he slipped her.
Suddenly Jeanette is by my side, helping me wake her up. “I think he drugged her, but it must not have been much. She’s still breathing and her eyes are opening,” she says.
Layla looks up at me with foggy eyes blinking slowly. She doesn’t say anything so I guess she must be drifting in and out of consciousness. “Look at me, Cherry. I’m right here. Are you hurt? Talk to me, baby. I love you so much. I’m right here.” I’m rambling but I don’t give a fuck.
Jeanette helps me in looking her over, and she sees a big bruise already forming on her hip. “She must have banged her hip on the ground when he dropped her. Fucking hell, I’m glad that dick-bag is dead. I want to kill him all over again for that shit. Do you have any idea how difficult that was to watch and not be able to do anything?” She looks up at me and gives me a small smile, like she’s trying to make an inappropriate joke, maybe trying to get me to calm down a little. I feel like my whole body is shaking. It probably is. I’m sure I’ll laugh later.
“I need to get her to the hospital and make sure she and the baby are okay. I don’t know what that motherfucker gave her,” I say and pick Layla up.
“Two steps ahead of you, big guy,” Jeanette says, jangling the keys to the truck in her hand. “You sit in the back with her. I’ll drive.”
Saint walks over with Layla’s mother and looks at me with a questioning raised eyebrow. I know that look. He’s asking if we should take her out back and clean up this mess completely.
I look at the woman who was once the epitome of elegance – never a hair out of place and always perfectly dressed. She was a cold bitch but had her shit together. That woman would be ashamed if she could see herself now. She was a shitty mother and a pretty shitty human being, but I don’t think she would be standing here if it wasn’t for Dean O’Leary. That man ruins lives and his wife is no exception. I look back at Saint and shake my head.
I lock eyes with her, and I can see she’s coming down from her high. She knows what’s just happened. “I’m letting you leave here with your life. Nothing happened here today as far as you're concerned. You leave and you never, ever come back. You won’t have contact with Layla or our baby. Ever. You disappear on your own or next time I see you, I make you disappear. We clear?”
Tears start to stream down her cheeks, but she takes a deep breath and nods. “Thank you,” she whispers and turns to leave. Before she makes it out of the garage she looks back and says, “For what it’s worth, tell her I’m sorry.” With that, she’s gone.
This bitch is clearly crazy, making up some idea that we had something, but I just can’t bring myself to kill her. It’s Layla’s mother. She never really did anything worth killing her for. Maybe being with O’Leary all those years made her lose her grip. I can always finish her off later if she tries something. I look at Saint, and he knows what I need. “I’ll take care of this. No need to worry,” he tells me, motioning towards Justin’s body. This isn’t our first time dealing with a corpse. He knows what to do.
I get in the backseat and position Cherry in my lap. I look up to see Jeanette in the front seat, fiercely kissing Saint goodbye. It’s over quickly, and before I know it she’s cranking up the truck. Cherry breathes evenly and occasionally looks around almost drunkenly as she slips in and out, but I need to know she and the baby are going to be okay.
“Let’s move it!” I shout, and Jeanette stomps on the gas.
“I told you. I got this, big guy. Just hold on to your girl. Oh, and P to the S, I got this little surprise for you,” she winks, tossing another flash drive at me.
“What’s this? Where’d you get it?”
“I was watching the beginning of your convo with Justin when he gave you the flash drive. I guess in the shuffle to get Layla out, he dropped another. I’m willing to bet that’s got the real account information on it. Dean O’Leary had money on top of money, and Justin was a financial expert. I think if anyone had access to it it was Justin. I can probably crack the encryption on it for you. From what I can tell he was funneling money from O’Leary the whole time. Either those accounts are on there or the original ones are. Either way, the trail is there.”
I look up and our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
“Also,” she continues on a hair flip, “when we get to the hospital say that she went to the bar called Jimmy’s out by Route 17. They’re known for date rape drugs being passed around. I’ve got a cover story of working there part-time, and she came to pick me up. She had a water while she waited but went to the bathroom for just a second. The owner owes me a favor so I’ve got us covered. I found her this way and you came to get us. Got it?”
“Who are you?” I ask. Jeanette’s like a goddamn Russian sleeper spy all of a sudden.
“Let’s just say my past
life prepared me for a lot of shit,” she responds, and winks at me.
LAYLA
His warm mouth eats at my pussy. Shifting again, Carter spreads my legs wider using his broad shoulders. Sleepily opening my eyes, I look down at what I’ve woken up to every day for the past two weeks. Every morning without fail, Carter has woken me up with his mouth, like my own orgasmic alarm clock. While I love it, I’m really starting to miss my man’s cock and forceful nature. Since I’ve come home from the hospital his appetite for me has changed. It’s tame and gentle. I enjoy that side of him, but I also need the other side.
“I swear you taste sweeter since I planted my seed in you, baby,” he says, inhaling deeply. A look of pure pleasure crosses his face as he drives his tongue into my pussy. My back comes off the bed, and I moan loudly. Carter takes the opportunity to slide his hands under my ass, gripping each cheek to pull my pussy closer to his mouth. It’s wonderful, but I want more. I need more. I want him in me.
“More,” I beg, moving my hips to mimic sex, trying to convey my body’s silent plea.
Growling into my pussy, Carter suddenly flips me over onto my stomach. He grabs me by the hips and brings my ass into the air. When I start to rise up onto all fours, he places a firm hand on the middle of my back, stopping my movement.
“Stay like you are, baby,” he commands and uses his knee to nudge my own knees farther apart, opening me wider for him. Finally I see he’s going to give me what I want: his cock deep inside me, thrusting and filling me completely. I look over my shoulder, and disappointment hits me when I see he still has his sleep shorts on. He’s been sleeping in those for the past few weeks now. I’ve thought about burning them but stopped when I remembered Jeanette and Saint are still staying here, and Carter walks around in his shorts in the mornings. No one is seeing my man naked. Not even Saint.
Biting my lip, I give my ass a little wiggle to encourage him.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, Cherry,” he groans as he rubs his cloth-covered cock against me. I can see his control slipping so I reach back and try to pull at his shorts. He gives me a quick smack to the ass that halts my movements.
“Spread your legs more for me. I want to see how wet you are for me. Only me. Show me how much your pussy wants it.”
I spread my legs farther apart for him. He grabs my hips and rocks us as if he’s actually inside me.
“Please,” I moan “I…God!” My nipples ache and pleasure drives down to my clit at his commands. I feel my pussy contract, begging to be filled.
He leans over me, kissing my bare back. He trails open-mouthed kisses all the way down to my ass cheeks, then starts taking little bites.
“God, I love your ass,” he groans, before licking a long, savoring line down my seam, circling my hole and then moving to my pussy. I feel myself grow wetter, and the juices start to slide down my thighs, but Carter is already there, licking them up. It feels like he’s everywhere. I rock my hips to press myself into his face. He licks and sucks everything he can reach. His tongue thrusts then retreats. Every time I feel like I’m about to cum, he pulls back, only to dive back in a moment later.
Spreading my cheeks, he licks me from my clit to my ass. I think I might explode from the pure pleasure of it all.
“I want to fuck you,” he growls into my pussy.
“Yes, please,” I plead. His lips lock around my clit and suck. I cum, and waves of pleasure shoot through my body. I cry out Carter’s name. Aftershocks continue to flow through my body after the crashing wave has receded, and they make my legs shake. Not able to hold myself up any longer, I let my body drop fully onto the bed. I look up to see Carter grab my discarded panties off the floor, bringing them to his nose to smell them as he strides into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
I jump up and run towards the door, but before I can grab the handle I hear the lock click into place. This is getting old. Every morning after my wake-up orgasm he slips into the bathroom to take care of himself. He has to know I know what’s going on in there, though I have no clue what he does with my underwear. It’s not like he’s exactly quiet about it. Why else would he be saying my name over and over again? He’s also taken all kinds of naked pictures of me with an old Polaroid camera, pictures that I know for a fact are in the bathroom drawer. When I first asked him about it, all he said was, “I want some pictures, and I’m not taking pictures with a phone. I know that shit can get hacked. No one sees you naked but me.” He seemed to get agitated about the idea of naked pictures of me on the internet so I let it drop. Then yesterday when I was looking for a hair tie, I saw them in the drawer.
Plopping back down on the bed I wait for him to come out. No point banging on the door, because he’ll just come out berating me about upsetting the baby.
I look down and play with my engagement ring. I woke up in the hospital with it on my finger and couldn’t do anything but smile at it. Typical Carter, he just put it on me without even asking. It was beautiful but simple: a platinum band with a solitaire oval-shaped diamond. Classic and perfect.
When I asked him about it he told me the ring was his promise to always do whatever was best for me even when I fought him on it. It was a promise that we’d be together, free of everything. That he had a plan for us. And when that plan was carried out, he would ask me to be the light to his darkness, to give him a taste of happiness he knows no one but I could give him. He wanted the ring on my finger so every day I saw it I knew he was fighting for us, for our family. I didn’t need a ring to remind me, but I knew he liked seeing it on me. I’ve caught him a couple of times running his fingers along it.
I haven’t said anything to him yet about how he’s been acting since we’ve been home from the hospital, but I’ve tried other things. I tried inviting him to take a shower with me, and then I complained I was horny. He tied me to the bed and ate me out until I passed out. I didn’t know the human body was capable of that many orgasms in a thirty-minute period.
When the bathroom door opens I sit up and look at him. He stands there and just stares at me before mumbling something to himself.
“What?” I ask.
“Just maybe you should put some clothes on.”
I look down at myself. I hadn’t even thought about getting dressed. I always sleep naked, and it hurts a little that he would suggest I cover myself up. The hurt must show on my face because he quickly follows it up. “I just mean I don’t want you to get cold.”
Rolling my eyes, I push off the bed and walk past him on my way to the bathroom, but I make sure I don’t touch him.
“Go fuck yourself, Carter. No wait, I guess you already did that, didn’t you,” I snap before slamming the bathroom door and locking it.
I wait a beat and expect to hear him yell but there’s nothing. Not even a “watch your mouth, Cherry.” I swallow the lump that I feel in my throat and sit down on the toilet lid.
A moment later I hear him through the door. “I’m going downstairs to make you breakfast, baby. Hurry so it doesn’t get cold.” There’s a pause, and I begin to think he’s gone. “Don’t make me take the door off the hinges.” I knew I wasn’t getting away that easily.
I sigh and can’t help myself from childishly mimicking his words. Please take the door off the hinges, I think to myself. Then you can’t hide in here and jerk off every morning.
I know when I woke up in the hospital a few weeks ago the doctor said to take it easy for a few days. Those few days were up ten day ago…not that I’m counting or anything. The baby was fine, and I was fine, but I’ll never forget the look on Carter’s face when I came to. Just thinking about it made my heart hurt. I know he’s scared. Hell, I’m still scared. But I’m not sure Carter has really experienced true fear before, and I see it all over his face. I know he’s seen me hurt before but to have a family back in his grasp and to have it slip through his fingers? I’m sure that prospect has to mess with his head. Carter loves control, and he lost it for eight years. He is so afraid it will
be ripped from him again.
I close my eyes, tilt my head back to rest it on the cool, tiled wall and get myself under control. Acting like a spoiled brat isn’t going to help anything right now. Carter is hurting which in turn is making me hurt, and I don’t think he gets that. He thinks that by just tending to my needs and keeping me in this little bubble he’s protecting me and the baby. I’m starting to worry he’s trying to protect us from himself. Carter might not trust himself fully but I do. I never feel safer than when I’m with him.
Maybe it’s time to really test his control. The guy won’t even let me try to take care of his needs. I dropped to my knees in his office yesterday and all but fought with his pants before he ran from the room. He acted like he was on fire and blurted something about needing to talk to Saint. It’s almost funny to think about my giant Carter running from little me. I might be the only thing he’s ever run from in his life.
Standing up, I look in the mirror and notice I still have that ‘just ravished’ look going. I put on some mascara and lip gloss and give my hair a little tease before making my way to the closet. I know Carter packed a few sexy things Jeanette had gotten me for my birthday last year. I locate some dark-green lingerie and slide the thong on. After hooking the front-clasping bra, I start to look for the perfect pair of heels. Carter likes to complain about them, but I know he secretly loves me in them.
Finding my cream suede ones, I put them on and give myself a once over in the mirror. Carter makes me feel sexy, but the last few days bruised my ego. I can’t help but think it’s because I’ve gotten a little fuller. I know it’s ridiculous because he always says how big a turn-on it is that I’m carrying his baby, but these hormones aren’t helping at all. I adjust my boobs and try to make them fit into the bra, but it doesn’t really help much. I’m still clearly about to tumble out. I move the front of my underwear to right below my baby bump. It’s not big but it’s pretty noticeable now, even more so when I don’t have on clothes.
