Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2)

by Alice May Ball

  The words were just a muffled noise and I couldn’t make anything out of them. With a chill, I recognized the voices. Boxer and Shank were just on the other side of those shelves, and I hadn’t a friend for ten miles or more.

  They must have second guessed Hacker and shown up early with their own surprise for him. That didn’t bode at all well. My first instinct was to call him, but I wasn’t going to risk having my phone flash or make a noise before I could get a safe distance away. That thought made me wonder how much distance I would need. It was very quiet around here, they would be able to hear me for some way. It was a miracle I had got this close without being detected.

  I crouched and started to back very slowly out. I would keep low and as close to the wall as I could to get away. My foot dislodged an old can and it rolled very quietly across the concrete. The sound of the voices stopped abruptly.

  I looked back at the shelves. No legs were visible. I turned to run. A huge hand fell on my shoulder and gripped, hard and I heard Shank’s voice, low and hard. “Boxer, I believe we got us a bonus prize.”

  My first thought was to brazen it out. I said, “Oh, boys, you know I’m glad to have found you. Let’s finish what we started earlier,” and I began to undo the buttons of my shirt. As Boxer came at me and I saw the feral look in his eye, I realized that they didn’t want me compliant. They wanted it to be rough. Well, to keep them busy until Hacker arrived, I was prepared to do that, too. I would put up a struggle. Hopefully not so much that they’d end up injuring me, but I could stand some bruising.

  I was beginning to realize that I might do almost anything for Hacker.

  Boxer came at me and I looked frightened. I don’t know that I’m much for acting, but he wasn’t hard to convince. I said, “Oh, no! Please don’t tear my shirt,” and he reached out to the front of my beautiful white cotton shirt. Buttons flew as he ripped right down the front of the shirt. I reached for his wrist and he slapped me hard across the face.

  The side of my face stung, and the shock sent me reeling. Shank was there to catch me. As I fell, I turned my head and breathed hard on the hard bulge that strained the front of his blue denims. He grabbed my chin. I slipped and was falling awkwardly. Shank caught my hair. A shock of pain hit me as the whole of my weight was suddenly hanging from my scalp. I got my knees to the floor as Shank’s cock loomed in my face.

  I shied away from it, hoping that while he made me suck his dick, it would keep him occupied and prevent him doing me worse violence. That still left Boxer, of course, but he was yanking my ass up, and tearing at my panties. It took him three goes to rip the gusset out. When my flesh was exposed, Boxer helped himself to a generous feel along my clit, my slit, my lips and my ass. I squirmed as he shoved his fingers up in my pussy and, treacherous female anatomy, it was soaking wet.

  Treacherous or maybe just self-protective. Boxer’s attention was certainly held at that moment. He worked his fingers up me, growling, “This little cunt’s as wet as a day in Scotland,” and, “horny little whore, she’s dripping for it.” Then he jammed his thumb up my ass. All the while, Shank’s cock was ramming my throat. I made noises of protest and Shank slapped my face. When he found how much he liked that, the sound of the slap and the whack as his hand beat my flesh on his cock, he slapped me again, harder.

  He did that a couple more times as Boxer’s cock was engaging in my ass. Next time Shank smacked my face, I let the impact bang my teeth into his cock. Just enough for the fun to have gone down out of that game for him. Boxer’s cock was splitting my ass wide, dry without even spit for lube. I didn’t need to pretend, my ass was shaking to get him out, whether I wanted it to or not.

  Then a mechanical click echoed in the darkness of the decaying industrial shell and everything became still. After the click, from behind me I heard Hacker’s voice. “Boxer you can finish cumming up my personal sweetbutt’s ass, or you can get right on to explaining why I can’t see my merchandise anywhere around here.” Then I felt a small ring of cold steel against my temple.

  Shank said, “Well, if she’s your personal sweetbutt, how are you going to feel after I blow her personal head open?”

  I heard Hacker say, “Not nearly as bad as you are, cause it aint my dick in her mouth. I doubt you want to blow your own dick off, Shank, but I can’t be sure. You are pretty fucking stupid.” There was a silence. Hacker said, “And since she is my personal sweetbutt whose throat you have your dick stuck in, I wonder what she would do if I asked her nicely to chomp your dick right off.”

  I bit on Shank’s cock. Not enough to draw blood but nearly. Enough to show him that I’d be happy to do it. The cocks in both ends of me were starting to wilt away. The pistol barrel went quickly away from the side of my head and upwards. My ears hurt from the hard, loud echo that the gunshots made in the cavernous warehouse. Something burned my shoulder. Shank fell backwards. Went down like a log.

  I turned, pulling my sore ass off Boxer’s cock. Shank lay flat on the ground, the gun smoking on the ground at his side. He had a startled look on his face. He also had a neat, red hole in the right of his forehead. A thick puddle of blood seeped out from the back of his head. Hacker’s gun was now up against the back of Boxer’s head.

  Hacker said, “Boxer. Tell me about my merchandise.”

  Boxer said, “It’s not here.”

  “No, obviously it isn’t. But it will be tomorrow. You’ll bring it here and then you’ll leave it. And you’ll consider it paid in full. Otherwise, by this time tomorrow, you’ll be meeting up with your bro where you can both become useful parts of a new freeway intersection.”

  We sat together on Hacker’s unexpectedly neat bed.

  Hacker took a long draw on the joint, held his breath in for a moment, then passed it over to me. As I took a toke, he picked up a remote, pressed a button and set it down again. The stereo played Free, the Fire and Water album.

  The grass was strong and smooth, fresh, natural Pacific Northwest produce. Straight away I was buzzing nicely. He came over to me to take back the joint. He was standing close. His chest was close to mine, and my breasts ached for him. I tipped my hip towards him, felt the heat of his groin next to the heat of mine. He said, “You can’t expect too much, okay?” I looked down at the big bulge in his jeans and I said,

  “I don’t know, Hacker, looks like you’ve got a fair sized package for me there.”

  He said, “I mean after.” In his eyes, through the hard, protective shield, I thought I saw someone with a deep, dark hole inside. An unfilled need. I knew that feeling well enough to know it.

  He leaned in towards me, “Let me look at your shoulder,” he touched it tenderly. After a gentle examination, he said, “You won’t need stitches, but I’ll put a couple of steri-strips on it.” He went to the bathroom and he returned with a medical pack. I said,

  “I should take off my shirt. Right?” He almost broke into a smile and I almost caught my breath.

  He watched as I shrugged out of the leather waistcoat. Since he was watching, I made a little show of undoing the shirt buttons, pulling the tails out of my skirt and then taking the shirt off, one sleeve at a time. I put my elbows across my bra, and looked up at him, checking that I wasn’t overdoing it. I think maybe I was but he didn’t seem to mind. We were both buzzing nicely on the weed by then, so everything seemed more like fun and mischief.

  He was attentive as he cleaned the wound up, although he didn’t mind looking at my breasts while he did it. He put three thin tapes across the gash, then a sticking plaster over the tapes. Then he inspected his work. Then he looked at my breasts. Then he kissed me.

  He kissed me softly at first, then deep, slow and soulful. I responded. The music carried our bodies together and I went to take off his jacket. He pushed me back firmly. The look in his eye was enough and I remembered. You don’t mess with a biker’s jacket, or with anything that has their colors on. A biker’s colors are as sacred as his bike. Ok. I said I was sorry. He said, “There are rules. You don’t
want to fuck with them.” I wanted to say, No, I want to fuck with you, but his face wasn’t ready for jokes yet.

  We smoked some more of the joint, passing it between us. He said, “You didn’t have a figure like that in high school.” I asked him,

  “Would you have paid me more attention if I had?”

  “I might have fucked you,” he said, “You were a couple of years below me, though. I wouldn’t have risked jail for it.” He pulled back and looked at my breasts again. Then his eyes slid up my neck. Then down to my legs. Slowly they traced up my thighs. After a long toke he said, “Okay. I might have.” His hand slipped around to my ass and he pulled me in for anther kiss. This time hard. Deep and wet. His tongue inside my mouth. My heart pounded as he pulled my hips against his groin and my breasts crushed into the muscles of his hard chest.

  I grabbed his ass and felt fires igniting all over me. My mound was squeezed in my wet panties against the uncoiling bulge in his jeans. My clit buzzed hot and raw in the friction. I pulled hard at his ass, and my body stretched up along his. I wanted to feel his skin. I wanted my hands on his flesh. I wanted him on me. In me.

  I ached to taste him. To feel him part me and plunge into me. My lips and my tongue wanted to feel his hot, hardening cock. The cock that pressed at me through my tiny leather skirt. My skirt that was riding up. His thick, hard thigh wedged in between mine. The denim grazed soft flesh above my stockings. I gripped him with my thighs. The heat of his cock rubbed against the swollen hood of my clit.

  His hands were on my breasts. Cupping them, squeezing them, teasing and kneading them through my black lacy bra. He slipped the straps off my shoulders then licked and sucked at my heaving breasts, slipping his hands into the cups to circle and roll my stinging hard nipples. I unsnapped the bra and let it drop. His lips and his tongue were on my nipples, suckling and pulling them. As he sucked on one, he tweaked and stretched the other with his fingers. My breath caught in my throat and my heart thumped in my heaving chest.

  My desperate pussy ached to get out of my wet panties and along the card evil curve of Hacker’s hot cock. It rubbed against his jeans, making me moan and quiver with excitement and pent-up passion. The nub of my clit sawed out under its swollen hood and it twanged and stung from wanting.

  His hand slid over my stomach. Down my leather skirt. Then up inside it. I bit on his shoulder, I grazed his chest with my teeth. I growled into his neck as his hands slipped past all of my clothes. I moaned as his fingers found my weeping flower, dripping hot with need. I said, “Hacker, whatever of your clothes you don’t want me to touch, will you please fucking take them off. I want you.”

  Hanging naked, upside down with my thighs on Hacker’s shoulders, his tongue buried itself in my puss, his lips pressed hard against my petals. My throat hugged the length of his cock and my mouth slewed along the length of it as I sucked him to another climax.

  That was when I decided. The sex definitely made it all worth it.

  © Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014

  Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

  All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.

  GOOD GIRL

  GONE BAD

  SAVAGE MC

  Alice May Ball

  “Let me stand

  Next to your fire”

  I thought I was ready for all of what happened. Turns out, I wasn’t prepared for any of it.

  Daddy’s good little girl. That’s what he always wanted me to be, and that’s exactly what I was. Up until I discovered all the fun that Daddy’s bad little girl could have. That’s when I began to figure out that the bad boys had the keys to the funhouse.

  Have you any idea what you can get away with in a small town like Placid, CA, when your Daddy is the police chief and he won’t ever believe one bad word about you? Daddy the police chief, his baby girl the cheerleader, voted Most Popular and Miss Congeniality. I don’t know how many popularity contests I won in high school and it took me years to work out that it wasn’t because everyone liked me. Almost no one liked me. They were all afraid of me. They were afraid of what I could get away with. They were afraid also of what might happen if I turned my Daddy on them, and that was something that I could do with the crook of my finger.

  Dwayne was a lazy punk car mechanic. Jacked cars, held up a liquor store, my kind of a man. And he sold some crack. Gave me crack. I hated it. I like the feeling of getting messed up on bourbon, it leaves me feeling loose and in control at the same time. I love the mellow hit from a fresh Californian or Oregon weed. I love that almost in the way that Daddy and his stupid friends get all wanky over the wines from the other side of those same western hills.

  But smoking crack? Get out of my face. I can get fucked up, wired and stupid all in one hit? Like John Fogerty said, it ain’t me. I did it to try it but I told Dwayne, Thanks, but no thanks.

  For Dwayne that’s a red rag. That was the first time he hit me. Like, really hit me, I mean. Left a mark. I wanted to kill him. I swore I would never breathe the same stinking air as him again. Somewhere deep inside me, the shock and the pain lit a powerful fuse, but I knew that wasn’t something to share with Dwayne. His pathetic little wooden room shook when I yanked the door open.

  He just sneered at me with that look on his face that said, You’ll be back, Baby Doll. I stamped out of there with that angry red splash across my cheek and when I slammed the door behind me I heard a small, satisfying sound of breaking glass.

  When Daddy saw the red mark, it made him so angry I thought he’d explode. He told me his house, his rules, I told him, I’m nineteen, Daddy, my LIFE, my rules. Then I realized that I wanted Dwayne again.

  We were out by the edge of town, looking down over the miserable little Friday night light show, not much different from any other night, just with a few more flashing blue lights. I thought, There’s Daddy’s men, keeping all the good people safe from themselves.

  Dwayne was high on crack, of course. Wanted to fuck right there by the side of the road, with the town spread out below us. There was hardly any traffic, so I couldn’t see much point. Still, he’d grabbed my tits, got my shirt open, my bra unhooked. Sucked on my nipples. I loved the way that he held my breasts. Grabbed them, squeezed them hard. Needy. Almost desperate. Sometimes he shook.

  Then rubbing the bulge in his pants against my short denim skirt. The skirt rode up, and his jeans scraped against my sheer panties. They were so wet by then I could smell them, and my hips were rocking hard against him whether I wanted them to or not, scraping up and down along the line of that bulge.

  His hands were on my breasts, on my neck, pulling on my shoulders. I knew what he’d want. His little baby doll cheerleader, kneeling on the rough ground, gravel ripping and laddering my expensive hold-ups. My big blonde tresses bobbing, knelt in front of him for all the world to see, while my hot, wet mouth and the top of my supple throat worked a wonder on his telegraph pole of a cock.

  Couldn’t take that away from Dwayne, the man had a prodigious portion, a massive mast of manhood. He had one of the hugest fucking cocks that I ever in my life attempted to swallow.

  I got to my knees and my weight pressed into the roadside shale. By then I had learned something about finding sources of pain and relishing them inwardly, secretly. This was something that I wanted badly to explore and experience with a partner, but I wouldn’t trust the partner that I had, so it had to be just me and me for the time being. It worked.

  Then he hauled that great trunk out of his pants in front of my face, and the heat and the musty scent of him made my head spin. His hands plunged into the back of my hair and I twisted my hea
d away. He loved to feel that I was resisting, like he was forcing me. He pulled, I pulled, all the while I let my hot breaths fan against his cock. I let him feel the edges of my teeth. He got bigger and harder with each breath.

  Then he got my lips pressed against it and they popped apart as I let him push it in. My hands grabbed the hard globes of his ass as his hard ridges slid through my lips, over my tongue, down to the back of my throat.

  I gripped through his soft cotton sweats into the crease between the clenching cheeks of his ass as he humped his hard hammer into my throat. Saliva cascaded sweet and gooey into my mouth and dribbled around my lips in the cold night air. The sweet wetness dribbled out as he sawed in and out of my hot mouth. Drips fell onto the tops of my bouncing breasts as Dwayne shoved deeper and harder into me.

  Dwayne fucked my face, faster and deeper and I thought he was losing it, but it was probably just the crack. He dragged me up and said he wanted to ‘bust my ass.’ He loved that phrase. He loved what it meant, too. Now he wanted to bend me over the hood of his old car, or over a rock, and ream my ass right out in plain view, probably hoping one of my Daddy’s deputies would come by.

  Only, I’d had it with Dwayne at that point. If he’d sucked on my pussy maybe, or even just finger-fucked me with some hint of consideration but no, Dwayne wants to bang yo ass, bitch. I told him he could wank himself off, go find a whore or we could both sit back and enjoy the show watching his balls change color.