Villains & Vodka

by Hensley, Alta

  Rather than answering or overthinking it any further, I went ahead and marked the box with a ‘yes’, and turned the page as if it were something as simple as that. I didn’t look up to see what expression Harley had on his face, but since he said nothing more, Tennessee continued on with getting the rest of our initials and then finally our signatures. He then pulled out a dagger that was used to pierce both of our fingers so we could seal the contract with a drop of each of our blood. Spiked Roses liked a little bit of theatrics with the Tastings, and this little element of sealing the deal with blood did just that .

  Harley pushed the dagger away and pulled out his own knife. It had a deep burgundy handle that reminded me of the richest wine. “I prefer to use my own,” he said as he ran it along the edge of his thumb, drawing his own blood. When he stamped his thumb on the contract, he reached out for my hand and handed the knife to Tennessee so he could wipe the knife off with disinfectant .

  I placed my hand in his and felt a sense of warmth and security wash over me. A complete polar opposite of what I should have been feeling at a Tasting called Who’s Afraid of the Dark? When Tennessee handed the knife back to Harley, he took the blade and sliced my thumb as softly and gently as he could. I could barely feel the sting. He then placed my bleeding thumb to the contract himself. It was so fucking hot. I have no idea why. But I was so incredibly turned on with the way he handled my hand. If this was even the slightest peek at how he would handle my body… I would be ruined and forever be under the spell of Harley Crow .

  “Shall we leave?” he asked as he handed Tennessee the contract. “Or would you like to stay for a drink ?”

  Not in the mood to stay in The Tasting Room any longer, I said, “Let me get my stuff for the weekend out of the staff room. I’ll meet you up front .”

  He nodded as he took my hand he was still holding to his lips and kissed it softly. “All you have to do is say RED. I will stop immediately. But if I don’t hear that word this weekend, then whatever I do, however I do it, is fair game. Understood ?”

  I nodded and swallowed hard. His lips were so soft. His eyes were so hard. The combination of the two almost stole my rapid breath from me . “Deal .”

  “Let’s see, Miss Masters, if you truly are not afraid of the dark .”

  5

  Marlowe

  W e sat in the back of a town car in near silence. Harley hadn’t said much other than that we were heading to the docks. He had a boat waiting there to get us to his house. He said the only way to get to his home was via boat through the swampy channels of the bayou. The idea of living out in the swamps of New Orleans intrigued me, though it also seemed like a long way to commute every day for work .

  And the bugs .

  I bet there was a shitload of bugs .

  Oh and the alligators .

  Yeah… on second thought, maybe living in the bayou wasn’t as intriguing as I’d first thought .

  Staring out the window into the blackness of New Orleans scattered with city lights, I tried to calm my nerves. I had played with other partners before, done a few Tastings, but this time was different. It felt different. The energy between Harley and me seemed unlike all the others. In the past, I was in control. Yes, the man technically ‘owned’ me for whatever period we had agreed upon, but I was truly the one in the driver’s seat. We could only do what I agreed to, and I could stop the play at any time. The man was at my mercy .

  But with Harley, I felt like the rules had changed. He was in control. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why I felt that way, but I was now at his mercy .

  When the car stopped at the docks, Harley got out, walked around the car, and opened the door for me. The driver was already getting my bag and carrying it down the dock .

  Harley placed his hand on my lower back and guided me down the wooden planks. His touch against my spine reminded me of a branding iron. I could focus on very little other than the heat of his large fingers splayed against my exposed flesh. We were connected… touching .

  The night was warm, but not terribly muggy like it had been over the past few days. It was clear and the stars, as well as the nearly full moon, shone brightly. Though the walkway leading to the boats was illuminated by tiny lights, we would have been able to see just fine without them .

  This was the time that warning bells should have been pealing crazily inside my very being. I walked toward the unknown. I had no idea where I was going, and knew very little about the man I was walking with. In fact, all I knew about this man was that he killed people for a living. He was the bad guy. The criminal. The one I was supposed to be afraid of. But I heard nothing. No warning bells. No inner voice screaming at me for being a stupid girl. Did I not possess the voice of reason? The voice of sanity? Why was nothing but excitement knocking on my door ?

  I saw Harley’s driver place my bag in a speedboat up ahead. It was a simple boat. There was nothing flashy or anything that screamed a billionaire owned it. It was like many of the other boats at the dock. Plain. It was silver with a white stripe down the side. The interior leather was white, and it could maybe seat five people comfortably. It wasn’t like I was expecting to be taken to his house in the thick of the bayou on a yacht or anything, but I was surprised by the average mode of transportation Harley had chosen. The boat was something that I could have owned .

  Like the gentleman I was finding Harley to be, he helped me onto the boat by holding my hands and practically lifting me down. He didn’t let go of me until I was seated in the chair next to the driver’s seat. He then pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to the driver with a handshake .

  “Have a nice evening, Mr. Crow,” the driver said as he turned and walked back toward the car .

  We were alone .

  We were finally alone .

  “You ready?” Harley asked after he prepared the boat to leave .

  I nodded, not really sure if I truly was. I swallowed hard as I watched Harley’s tattooed hand turn the key in the ignition to start the boat. The low rumble as the engine revved up vibrated beneath me, only adding to the building nerves attacking my body .

  Was I scared ?

  No .

  But what ?

  I think it was the silence. We were too quiet .

  “How far do we have to go?” I asked .

  “A couple of miles. Not too far, but far enough .”

  “Far enough ?”

  Harley stared ahead, standing with his feet spread apart and his broad shoulders held back as he drove the boat away from the dock. The water splashed up behind us, leaving a small wake of waves as we slowly drove away. There was a seat behind him, but it appeared he was more comfortable towering over the steering wheel instead .

  “Far enough from… everything .”

  I hadn’t pictured Harley as a hermit, but considering his closed, introverted behavior at Spiked Roses , I guess it did make some sense .

  After we’d motored far enough away from the dock and the other boats, Harley stopped and removed his jacket, revealing a long sleeve shirt beneath it. I could still only see the tattoos on his hands and the ones peeking out from his collar. I couldn’t wait to see more. I was curious to see what painted each inch of his skin .

  Placing his coat over my shoulders, he said, “It gets a little chilly on the water with the wind whipping past us .”

  I wasn’t cold, and didn’t really believe I would need his jacket, but I wasn’t going to argue. I liked seeing that, though Harley Crow was anything but soft, he had been taught manners and how to treat a lady .

  “Thank you,” I said, noticing that he took the time to make sure it was secured around me. He even delicately swooped my long hair out from underneath it. As he walked over to the steering wheel and started the boat again, I asked, “Do you like living out here? In the bayou ?”

  “I wouldn’t live here otherwise,” he answered, still staring ahead. “I don’t do things I don’t like .”

  “Seems like a lot of effort
to go home every night .”

  He shrugged. “I enjoy the boat ride. It settles my mind .”

  I looked around and saw how that could happen. The only sounds were those of nature and the low rumble of the boat as it sliced through the calm waters .

  “Do you always drive the boat this slow ?”

  “I’m carrying precious cargo,” he quipped .

  I liked how simply he had answered my question. He cared about my comfort and safety, and a warm rush filled my belly as I couldn’t help but smile .

  “Have you always lived in Louisiana?” I asked .

  “No.” He continued to stare ahead .

  Jesus, small talk with this man was near impossible .

  He glanced over at me and watched as I pulled my hair to one side to try to keep it from flying around all over the place. “Do you want me to slow down even more ?”

  I shook my head. “It’s okay. My hair just has a mind of its own sometimes .”

  “I like your hair,” he complimented as he looked back ahead of him. “So many women don’t allow their hair to grow long and flow like it’s meant to be. They restrict it from its natural beauty. You don’t. I like that .”

  I may have melted right there in the white leather seat of that boat with his words. Harley Crow was giving me praise. He liked my hair. He was complimenting me !

  “You can thank my mother for that,” I somehow managed to say between all the giddy feelings flooding over me. “She had long black hair that flowed to her waist. It wasn’t straight like mine, but had curls. She used to tell me that a good Mexican woman never cuts her hair. Her grandmother had told her that. It was a belief passed down to me, and though I don’t embrace everything about my heritage, that one seemed to stick .”

  “Mexican huh?” Harley looked at me quickly. “I didn’t guess that about you. I would have said Italian or something. Your skin is fair .”

  “I know. I was the only one in my family without rich caramel-colored skin. But everyone in my family tree was full Mexican as far as I know. Both my parents were born in Mexico City.” I pulled the coat up around my shoulders as it started to fall off. Harley had been right; it was a little chilly riding the boat through the bayou. “Who knows? Maybe I was the milkman’s baby .”

  “Do you speak Spanish ?”

  “I haven’t in a very long time. Not since I left home. But, yes, I can. My mother never really learned to speak English. I guess she didn’t feel she had to. She would watch hours of those Spanish telenovelas that were on television. She also had a small parrot with a missing eye that spoke Spanish as well. My home was not your typical American type home .”

  “Where was home ?”

  “Oregon. The drier, boring part .”

  “Not a fan, huh?” he asked .

  “Not a fan at all,” I replied. “I left at seventeen. I had graduated early with the one intent of leaving as fast as I could .”

  “Why ?”

  “Big dreams, shitty past. Isn’t that why everyone leaves everything they ever knew ?”

  It dawned on me that Harley had successfully changed the direction of the conversation to where it concentrated fully on me .

  “What about you?” I asked, trying again. “You never said where you lived before moving to New Orleans .”

  “No, I didn’t .”

  “Not one to talk?” I asked as I watched the way his eyes studied the landscape before us. There was always so much focus on how he watched things. His eyes were like magnets, drawing everything into their depths. So serious, so dark .

  “I talk. I just like to talk about things that matter. My past doesn’t matter .”

  “What types of things matter to you ?”

  He paused for a couple of minutes, looked at me briefly, and then straight ahead again. “Things that make us who we are. Who we are right now, this very minute. Like the tattoo on your back,” he said. “That is not a small piece of ink. It took a huge commitment. It clearly means something. It matters. So tell me the story of your tattoo .”

  It was funny how I often forgot I even had the tattoo on my back. Maybe because I never saw it, or maybe because when I’d gotten it done, it was my closure for a time I never wanted to relive again. No one had really asked me why I’d gotten the tattoo or what it really meant. I got compliments or questions about if it hurt getting it, especially since it covered most of my back. But I was never asked about it in the manner that Harley just did .

  I shrugged. “It’s just a tree .”

  “A large tree. And it’s dead. Why do you have a large dead tree on your back ?”

  “It’s not really dead. Just dying .”

  “It’s black and white. Is there a reason you chose no color ?”

  I shrugged again. “Seemed right .”

  Harley looked at me and smirked. “Not one to talk ?”

  “Like you said, I talk. Just about things that matter .”

  “Well, I like it,” he said simply as he turned the boat to the right, going down a different channel of the bayou. “I’ve seen a lot of tattoos, and yours is captivating. I can tell there is a deep story behind it. Even if you don’t want to tell me what that story is .”

  “Do all your tattoos tell a story ?”

  “Yes. Some stories are better than others. Maybe I’ll tell you someday. The day you feel comfortable enough to tell me your story .”

  I already knew that day would never come, but I did like the idea that Harley actually thought there would be a time when he and I may be close enough to share past cobwebs. A butterfly fluttering in my stomach sent a shiver down my spine. I liked this man. I mean, yeah, I knew I already lusted after him, but I actually liked how easy it was to simply banter. It wasn’t cheesy or forced. And it didn’t feel fake. In fact, even though we both were avoiding going down paths we were uncomfortable trekking, it was, by far, one of the most genuine conversations I remembered having .

  We sat in silence for a while, taking in the song of the swamp with the undertone of the boat announcing its presence. It truly was beautiful in an eerie, almost haunting way. There was not much civilization other than a few shacks or fishing huts along the banks, and we hadn’t crossed another boat during our voyage to Harley’s isolated house .

  “Do you live in one of these shacks?” I asked .

  He chuckled. “Not quite .”

  “How did you find a house out here in the middle of nowhere ?”

  “It used to be an old fishing house that I built onto and turned into my home. I like the security of it .”

  “Security ?”

  “The only way you can get to my house is by boat. I can hear the boats coming far better than I could hear a car or somebody on foot. No surprise attacks that way.” He smiled. “And the gators are my free security .”

  “I thought you were the one who did the killing. Why are you worried about being attacked ?”

  “The need for revenge is one of the most powerful emotions one can possess. Vengeance places a huge bounty on my head. Larger than any bounty I’ve ever collected for assassinating someone .”

  “Do you have a lot of enemies ?”

  He nodded slowly. “I would say that is a fair assumption .”

  “And they all want you dead?” The thought of someone killing Harley made my heart skip. I had never considered the fact that his life was ever in danger .

  “At the very least,” he answered with that roguish smile I had seen earlier in the night. “Death would be too merciful. They would want me to pay first. Pay in ways that would have me eventually begging to be killed .”

  “Jesus,” I barely said as my mouth suddenly felt dry. “I had no idea. Does that scare you ?”

  He looked at me with the most serious expression I had yet to see on his face .

  “There are things that scare me. But death is not one of them. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my day will come. Being afraid of when that day arrives, does me no good. It only weakens me. In my pro
fession, weakness is not an option .”

  “Your profession. Why?” Maybe I was being too bold, but it seemed like it was okay to ask. Hopefully I hadn’t misjudged, but something in my gut told me that Harley would actually answer that question .

  “Because the first time I pulled the trigger of the gun and stole the life from someone else, I opened the door of Hell and walked through. Once you step over that threshold, there is no way to exit. You are there. You have no choice from that point on to take it back. So rather than standing by the door like so many others have done and allow darkness to consume you, I decided to charge all the way in. I don’t do anything half-assed, I guess you could say. I’m a perfectionist. So if I do something, I am going to do everything I can to be the best .”

  “Did everyone you kill deserve it? Were they all bad people ?”

  He glanced at me again for a moment. Not as long as the times before, but I could see a look of sorrow on his face when he did. It was for the briefest second, but I was positive that I had seen it .

  “Does anyone deserve to be killed ?”

  “Well… I mean…” I didn’t mean it like that, or did I? “Bad people. Like people who kill people .”

  “Like me. I’m the bad guy in this story. Do you think I deserve to be killed ?”

  “Maybe you do,” I answered honestly .

  Harley didn’t look at me, nor appear insulted by my words. He simply nodded slowly. “Maybe I do .”

  “Is it something you would ever consider not doing anymore? Stop being an assassin? I mean… you own Spiked Roses , and it doesn’t seem like money is an issue.” I didn’t really know that Harley was a billionaire like the rest since he definitely never flaunted that fact, but I also knew that all the members were, or at least were on their way to that level. “Only wealthy men are part of the club right ?”

  “It’s no longer about the money now. That’s true,” he said as he decelerated the boat even slower than he was already going. “But being a hired killer isn’t something you can just walk away from. I can’t wake up one morning and simply say I quit .”