by James, Marie
“Did she tell you where she was going?” Kincaid’s eyes are back on mine. He’s pleading, grasping at straws, trying to control a daughter who has no interest in such a thing. I want to tell him to lay off of her and maybe she’ll stick around, but he’s only being a protective father.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t…last night wasn’t pretty.”
“The fuck does that mean?” Kincaid growls, dropping the shoes and taking a menacing step in my direction.
“She made…advances. I didn’t reciprocate.” He growls, and I know he’s torn between her being rejected and his command that I stay away from her. “I kept my promise.”
“Are you saying you forced a drunken girl out of your room last night?” Seems the rejection is winning out right now.
I can’t win for fucking trying at this point.
“I kept my promise,” I repeat. “But, yes. I had to physically remove her. I didn’t hurt her, but she wasn’t happy when I closed my door on her.”
“She ran,” Kincaid says with disappointment. “Again. Shadow.”
“On it,” Shadow says and leaves us in the room.
“Did she ever mention going somewhere? A city? A certain job? Friends?”
I shake my head. “We never really talked about life goals and futures.”
I’m disgusted, standing in front of this man and practically telling him I treated his daughter like a whore. Even after knowing who she was, I took her to bed, and if I’m honest, I can admit that the thrill of fucking her, the pleasure I gained from sleeping with the boss’ daughter was part of the appeal.
“Pack your shit,” he hisses.
I should’ve seen this coming. Fuck her or don’t fuck her. The end result was always going to be the same.
“You, Scooter, and Rocker are heading to Tijuana. Simple extraction. Three days max.”
He leaves without another word. My head is spinning from everything that just happened. Gigi is gone, more than likely left because I pissed her off, and I still have a job? Either Kincaid has something planned for me of devious proportions, or he actually is a decent man, and isn’t holding a grudge even where his daughter is concerned.
“Fuck,” I mutter scraping my hands over the top of my head. “I don’t even know if I’m coming or going in this fucking place.”
***
“This,” Scooter says handing over a flash drive, “has all of the forms you have to complete before we can leave Mexico. Send them to Blade so he can finish the mission remotely.”
I look at the sleek black device in my hand and then to Scooter’s and Rocker’s back as they turn to leave the hotel suite.
“And where are you guys going?”
Rocker grins over his shoulder. “Tijuana nightlife is the best thing ever. Sexy-ass girls all half-naked and ready to fuck.”
“We’re heading to the club,” Scooter adds.
“And I’m staying here to do the paperwork?”
They both grin. “Being the boss sucks sometimes.”
I look at Rocker, and he just shrugs.
“You can come with us,” Scooter offers. “We can show you how Cerberus celebrates a successful recovery, but you’ll still have to have that shit submitted before we leave.”
My eyes cut to Rocker, who sobers a little, his smile falling to a flat line. He knows as well as I do that this mission wasn’t as simple as we all thought.
One of the guys guarding the young girl that was abducted got the jump on him. He also got a bullet to the head, but Rocker was mere seconds from having his throat slit in the basement of a makeshift whorehouse that caters to men who have singular tastes, their sexual proclivities leaning toward pre-pubescent girls and toddlers. He was distracted by the depravity, and it almost cost him his life.
“It’s no big deal,” I offer. “I’ll knock this out and grab some sleep. I haven’t slept well in a couple of weeks. I’m sure I’ll crash like the dead tonight.”
“Your loss,” Scooter says and turns back to the door. He turns back when he realizes that Rocker isn’t with him. “You coming?”
“Naw,” Rocker answers before grabbing a laptop out of his bag and sitting down on the bed. “I’m gonna help Hound fill out this paperwork.”
“I appreciate it, man,” I tell him. “But you don’t have to do that. I can handle it.”
“Shut the fuck up. The sooner we knock this shit out, the sooner we can slip inside of some sweet Mexican pussy.” I can hear the playfulness in Rocker’s voice, and for the very first time since joining Cerberus, I feel like part of the team.
“Dammit,” Scooter mutters, but he grabs another laptop from his bag and opens it.
Rocker and I work in silence, but Scooter feels the need to hum stupid ass songs as he works. What would’ve taken me several hours to complete alone is finished in just under one with all three of us working.
“This is what Kincaid and Shadow spend all of their time on after missions?” I ask as I close my laptop.
I verified all of their forms and made sure they were sent to Blade.
“I guess,” Rocker answers. “I only went out with them a few times when I first started. Grinch usually heads up the missions, but since he’s in South Africa with the rest of the guys, Prez picked you.”
“And if I wasn’t an option?”
“More than likely we wouldn’t be here,” Scooter says as he puts his laptop away. “They only allow the guys with ten or more years in the Corps to head up the missions.”
“So the girl we extracted tonight would’ve just been left?”
“Not necessarily,” Rocker begins. “There are other companies. The family would’ve just gone down the list until they found someone available.”
“Cerberus needs a bigger team,” I mutter.
“Kincaid is expanding as fast as he can. I know you saw them breaking ground across the street. They have to have somewhere to house the new members. The new clubhouse will look more like a two-story hotel. We’ll be able to have three times the amount of men, but until then we have to wait. You took the last available room.” Rocker slaps me on the back and heads to the door. “You coming?”
I waffle between building a relationship with these men or just staying the hell inside. Getting laid, for the first time in my life, doesn’t appeal to me.
“We can always bunk up together,” I offer as a solution to the lack of space back at the clubhouse.
“Never,” Scooter objects. “That’s Kincaid’s view. When we’re in New Mexico, we’re home, and having to share space with others is something he wouldn’t force on us. We live that way when we’re working. He doesn’t want it to be that way all the time.”
I nod my head in understanding but knowing more men means more chances for us to help those in need.
“Besides,” Rocker says with a quick laugh. “You’d change your mind the first time you saw Scooter rutting around in some chick too stupid to turn him down.”
I laugh. Scooter shoots Rocker a double middle finger.
“You coming?” Rocker asks again. He stares at me when I don’t respond. “She always runs.”
As if he’s reading my mind, Rocker responds to thoughts I’d never verbalize to these men.
“Every once in a while, she’ll show up like a lost dog, but she never stays long,” Scooter adds.
“Who?” I ask playing dumb.
They both laugh and shake their heads.
“Come on,” Scooter urges. “Tijuana is the best place to fuck her off of your mind.”
I stand and join them. Not doing so would raise more questions, more suspicion than I’m willing to answer for.
Chapter 14
Gigi
“Order up,” Benny says for at least the hundredth time tonight. He slaps the bell in the window beside the steaming plate of chicken fried steak as if I’m not standing right in front of him.
“Thanks,” I mumble and drop off another ticket.
I carry the plate of food to the trucker w
ho ordered it. I drop it the last couple of inches unintentionally.
“Sorry. Be careful, that plate is damn hot.”
The trucker, unfazed by the hot splash of gravy on the back of his hand smiles up at me. Lifting his hand, he licks the food from it.
“That’s alright, darlin.” The quick flip of his tongue, I know, is supposed to be seductive, but half of it gets stuck in his ratty beard, and my stomach turns. “You can make it up to me later.”
I just nod, used to the sexual solicitations from the clientele this crappy diner pulls in. Three more weeks until I turn twenty-one and I won’t have to work for less than waitressing wages under the table. Benny hires all of the women who work here that way, so he doesn’t have to pay payroll taxes. If an accountant took a long hard look at this place, they’d question how it operates without staff.
“I still need ketchup,” a woman barks when I walk by.
“Coming right up,” I tell her with a smile.
“They know your smile is fake,” Farrah sneers when I reach behind the counter for ketchup.
“And?” I hiss. “What does it matter if I fake smile?”
“You get better tips if you’re genuine.”
“The fake smile is the best I can do,” I murmur before dropping the sauce off to the female trucker who’s looking at me the same way the gravy guy did.
“Thanks, baby,” she purrs in a rough smoker’s voice. “When do you get off?”
“I work all night,” I lie. My shift ends in a couple of hours, and all I can think about is falling into my bed and passing out. Sleep and work. It’s all I can manage these days.
“Too bad. I pull out at midnight. Have to make it to Salt Lake City by ten.” She winks at me, and I offer my fake smile. “I could possibly be a little late.”
I take a step back when she reaches for my hip. “Have a safe trip. Maybe next time you’re coming through.”
“You bet your tiny, sweet ass, baby,” she says as I walk away.
I know I shouldn’t give them any hope. I know it’s a dangerous line I’m walking, but tips generally suck, or they go to the girls like Farrah, who will either jump from sleeper to sleeper or bring these men and women up to our tiny two-room apartment over the diner.
I have to scrape for every dollar I earn because whoring myself out for twenty bucks isn’t something I’m willing to do.
“She would’ve paid at least fifty,” Farrah says looking back over at the lady trucker. “I bet she’d be more interested in getting you off than the other way around.”
“No thanks,” I say standing near the window and waiting for my next order to come out.
Farrah has been trying to get me to see the brighter side of prostitution since she arrived over a month ago. I started working here less than a week before that, but she isn’t the first girl to pick the diner for the extra earning ability. The girl that I shared the apartment with for four days before she took off with a trucker that promised her the world also earned extra cash in the parking lots.
“Not my thing,” I mutter when Farrah just stands there staring at me.
“Women?” she questions. “I’d choose the women over the men any day, and one like that one where I’ll probably just have to lay back and get licked? Those are the best.”
“She’s all yours,” I offer.
“Sweet,” she says turning her back to the patrons eating and waiting for food. She doesn’t turn back until she’s lifted her already exposed tits up an inch higher.
Shaking my head, I do my best not to judge her. I know some women are forced into this kind of life. They do things they never thought they would because they have no other choice. I also know the probability that Farrah will either end up on drugs or with a pimp that controls her every move is high. I also know the likelihood that she may end up in the sex trafficking trade is even higher. The difference in her and the women Dad has spent his life rescuing is that there’s no one out there for Farrah. There’s no one looking for her, worried about her, or willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money to keep her safe. She’s one of the truly lost ones.
Just like me.
Shaking my head again, I try to dislodge those thoughts. I know all of the risks Farrah is taking with her life, other than the prostitution, are the same ones I take with mine.
The difference is, she’s looking for someone to love her whether she admits it or not. I’m running from parents who, in their own weird way, only want what’s best for me. I’m running from people who love me and want me around. Tears sting my eyes when I look over and watch Farrah shove her tits in the female trucker’s face.
I’ve managed to keep the money I whored myself out to Hound for, but I know that if something doesn’t change soon, there’s a real chance I’ll be doing exactly what my roommate is doing to earn a couple extra bucks. Farrah truly seems to enjoy the extra attention she gets from the truckers. She’s not crying into her pillow when they leave. She’s not using drugs to get through the act of selling herself.
I’m the one teary-eyed and questioning every choice I’ve ever made. I’m the one standing here and ignoring the ding of Benny’s bell. I’m the one who’s considering that maybe community college and the comfort of my parents’ home isn’t such a bad thing.
***
The sounds of familiar grunts and a shitty bed frame squeaking wake me up. It’s the third time it’s happened since I got off work early this morning.
I cover my head with my pillow and wait for it to stop. It never takes Farrah long to escort her Johns from the apartment, so I wait, bladder ready to explode until she’s done. I never look up, never wonder what’s going on. I’ve never had any desire to see first-hand what it takes to earn a little extra cash, but today the yelling makes my head pop up.
“Let go,” Farrah says clawing at the man’s hands around her throat.
“I’m not leaving until I come,” he hisses but loosens his grip.
She takes as deep a breath as she can manage, and despite this man, twice her size and menacing as the devil himself, who is in front of her with the ability to kill her in a flash, Farrah never looks scared.
“I’m done,” she hisses. “If you’d stay off of the dope, I’d have more to work with than a half-hard dick.”
My eyes shoot straight to his crotch. If that’s half-hard, I can’t imagine what he looks like fully erect.
His grip tightens again, but even with breaths being pulled in on harsh wheezes, she never loses the fire in her eyes or drops the sneer from her lips.
The click, that tell-tale sound of a hammer being pulled back, draws both of their attention.
“Let her go,” I command.
Farrah frowns, but the guy immediately releases her and pulls up his pants.
“I didn’t sign up for this shit, Farrah,” he mutters before shrugging on his jacket.
Farrah glares at me before turning back to him. “We can finish in your truck.”
The fuck is going on?
“Next time.” He angles his head in my direction. “Make sure that crazy bitch doesn’t pull this again.”
I watch as the man digs out a few bills from his wallet before handing them to my psycho roommate and kissing her lips. He doesn’t kiss her like a man who just had his massive hand cutting off her air supply, but someone he genuinely cares for.
“Unless you want to take this next trip with me?” Hope fills his voice, but Farrah takes a step back and shakes her head.
“Maybe next time.” She pecks him one last time before he leaves the room.
I release the hammer on the small gun I got a week ago and shove it back under the edge of my shitty mattress.
“What the hell is that all about, Homeless Barbie?”
“He was hurting you,” I hiss. “Well, I thought he was hurting you.”
“It’s his kink,” she offers folding the money and shoving it into a tin cookie can.
“I know that now.”
“Did it turn you on?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Turn me on? Not a fucking chance. I was seconds away from shooting him.”
“You’d kill for me?” Confusion draws her brows together.
“No,” I lie. “I’d probably shoot him in the leg. I won’t sit around and watch any man hurting a woman like that.”
Another lie. Yes, I’d kill him. Dad trained us to shoot center mass, and that’s exactly where my weapon was pointed.
“You need to go home,” Farrah says as she tugs on a t-shirt. “You don’t belong out here with girls like me.”
“Girls like you?” She better not start in on trying to convince me to be a prostitute again. I’ve heard all I can take.
“Girls like me would’ve looked at the reversal of this situation. If I saw you dangling from the fist of some deadly trucker, I would’ve wondered if I could work my shift at the diner before reporting your dead body up here. Girls like me would’ve covered my head with my pillow while you died, not out of fear, but because if you die, then I get to keep the money you have stashed under that broken tile in the bathroom.”
My stomach turns.
“You’ll never be a girl like me, and that makes you more dangerous than the men that choke me when they’re not role-playing. I’ll take those creeps over some girl running from problems any of us would trade our shitty lives for any day.”
I fall back on my mattress, wondering if she’s stealing my money when she walks away and closes herself into the bathroom.
Chapter 15
Hound
“Jesus,” I hiss when Scooter slams the door to the SUV at least ten times harder than required.
“The day after always sucks,” Rocker says with a quick slap to my back.
I cringe harder, the movement jostling my brain that’s been swimming in Russian vodka for the last three days.
“It was a three-day bender,” I correct him.
“You can’t tell me you didn’t do this shit in the Corps,” Grinch says no worse for the wear even though he put back more alcohol this last week than all of us combined.
“I worked. All the time. I didn’t risk getting drunk in foreign countries.”
