by Maelani
“What—?”
Jay backed away and flicked a hand behind him.
“Jay?”
Then she was assaulted by a sudden blast of icy cold water. Her body doubled over, and she screamed.
“Ah! What the fuck!”
Jay was smirking, just under the showerhead and out of its icy reach. He held his rock hard erection in one hand, stroking its length in his palm, smiling wickedly in her direction.
“What’s your fucking problem?” she shrieked at him.
“Oh, I have too many to tell you them all.” His smirk disappeared into a hard line on his face. Then, without another word, he stepped out of the shower. Hayley heard him grab a towel before exiting the bathroom.
Mother fucker!
Hayley scrambled to flip the levers back over to hot and felt the water change to stinging nettles against her frozen skin. Her jaw chattered with cold, and her whole body shook with angry energy. Not to mention the ache he had stirred up down below that demanded payment.
Bastard! How dare he fucking leave me hanging like that? She watched him through the crack in the shower curtain as he swiped a towel and dried himself, never looking worse for wear. Then, right before exiting the bathroom, he glanced her way, blew her a kiss and winked.
Fuck me.
Chapter Six
Jay was far from harmless. He was anything but. He’d let the bathroom door swing closed behind him, leaving the former Madame H., now just plain Hayley, to writhe in her unresolved defeat. He held a scratchy white towel in one hand as he walked into the living space of the motel room. His own body ached with desire, hurt with it actually, a distinct throbbing between his legs. He heard Hayley scrambling to warm the shower and smiled. Then he looked to the ceiling, straightening his back and closing his eyes.
He felt the desire in him, let it rise up before he mastered it. Like a ringmaster, he forced the angry heat between his legs to subside, which it did after a moment of concentration. Jay smiled at the command he had over his body. Pure control. He had to have it. If he couldn’t even rein in his own animalistic desires, how could he be effective in his line of work? Sure, he could have fucked Hayley senseless in the shower and be none the worse for it. In fact, he may still fuck her tonight, but he had to show himself, and her, who was truly in control of this little rodeo. The look on her face had been worth every bit of agonizing restraint too.
It was a cruel lesson Hayley had to learn. The tables were turned now, and things were going to change from this point on. He’d make sure of it.
Jay came from a long and distinguished line of professionals. He would not take his station or its duties lightly. His order was ancient and worldwide. Though Jay liked to think of himself as the best, he knew that in this field, the competition was stiff. Stiff and ruthless. If one wanted to play in the world’s oldest and greatest game of sex, money and death, he had better be ready to kill for it. Or to die for it. Jay too would one day die for it, it was his destiny, as unavoidable as the sun. But it would not be this day. For this day he was still the hunter, and the hunter was bringing back a juicy prey.
Hayley too would die eventually, that he knew, and much sooner than she might think. The wolves were waiting in Las Vegas, a city that took no prisoners. Madame H. had built a gilded throne of wealth, deceit and carnal gluttony there—a vast empire. The problem with being the queen, though, was that everyone else wanted the throne. All it took was one little misstep, one mistake, and the masses became the hunters and royalty became the prey. Just like now. She was in more danger than she could have ever imagined.
Jay smiled to himself and let the white towel rub over his iron body. He was not one of the masses, though; he had no desire to be royalty. His kind only wanted one throne, one title: to be the best. To be the most feared. To be the deadliest man to walk the planet.
Lying on the bed, he couldn’t wait to see how things would pan out in Vegas. It’d be easier to get things moving in the direction he needed them to once they returned. It was his town, and no one knew it better. Though he’d traveled extensively, there really was no place like home.
No other place to get revenge either. Hayley had it coming. It was inevitable, being the Madame of Vegas with more enemies than any person should have. It was all her fault, really. Jay was her right-hand man, lover, hater, enforcer... and whatever else Hayley had needed him to be. Even so, she’d never lived up to what she owed him. The years had passed, and no matter how much she used him, she never gave him anything he really wanted—her heart. He didn’t think she really had one anymore. She’d shoved her promises down his throat for so long, he no longer knew if she was even capable of keeping the one she’d sworn to him years before. Anyway, he wasn’t sure that was the only thing he wanted of her anymore.
“You will always be mine.”
“Goes both ways, doesn’t it?” Jay asked. Hayley twisted a long blade of grass in her fingers before she carefully tore it down the middle to create two blades and tied them together in a knot.
“Of course.” She avoided his look as she spoke, sending alarm bells firing off in his stomach, which he chose to ignore. “Always.”
“Promise?”
She scoffed, this time eyeing him with a stink eye that burned into the very heart of his soul. “Are you saying I’m a liar, Jay?”
“No, of course not. I’d never do that. I just need to know that this isn’t some joke for you, that we both see it the same way.”
She smiled, scooting over closer to him, swinging a leg over his thighs to cradle his lap. His hands instinctively slid over her ass and gave it an affirming squeeze as she rocked her hips slowly, igniting a fire inside his loins that could never be quenched. He swallowed, waiting for her to elaborate.
“I promise. It’s you and me. Always. Okay?” She reached down, sliding her hand between her legs down onto the bulge in his jeans. It sent sparks raging through him that only she could control. He wanted her to control him then, wanted to be her slave forever. If only she’d let him. Nothing was more impossible than trying to resist.
“Okay.”
Who knew how much that lie had cost him? The payment had been too great, and he stifled the tiny twisting ice pick embedded in his heart that Madame H. had placed there so long ago. There was no removing it. Some things had to be lived with, no matter how agonizing and torturous they were.
He would never fall again, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her first. Especially now, without her wretched memory to impede her reactions. Who knew Hayley losing her memories would be the most amusing thing to happen since getting caught in a monsoon in Bangkok while on assignment to assassinate a business mogul? It hadn’t been easy getting through the security of his inner circle, but Jay had done it and had barely slipped out of the country without losing his head.
This wasn’t that different, really. There was just less risk of losing an appendage. If her memory stayed away long enough for Jay to get what he wanted, this all could work out better than he’d ever anticipated.
Storming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped tightly to her chest to cover her breasts, Hayley huffed to the other side of the bed, slamming the light off before staring hard at him.
“The hell you’re sleeping by me. Get off the bed!” She waited but a second before she crawled onto the bed and began shoving at his side. “I said off!”
For a moment he thought Madame H. had returned, but when she didn't say anything further, he knew better and laughed.
“I paid for the room. You get off,” he responded, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes, feigning sleep. This had to have steamed her more, but she didn’t push it any further. Instead, she yanked the sheet out from under him before sliding into the bed next to him. He had shoved the blanket to his feet and hadn’t counted on her ripping them both from him. The only thing she’d left him was the nasty coverall he was betting never got washed.
“Fine. Find your own blankets then,
asshole.” She tucked the sides of the sheet and blanket under her nice and snug as a burrito before turning to the side, away from him, and going silent.
He could tell she was pissed, but the air of unfamiliarity and her initial fear were gone, which was more than enough for him. Jay was counting on her getting comfortable with him, more than she’d ever been before. They’d been completely harmonized before, but now with him in control, he’d have her doing his bidding without hesitating or demanding to know why.
Just desserts….
“Good night.” Bitch.
Chapter Seven
“He's a thug. A real degenerate piece of shit.”
“Maybe so,” Sheriff Cordoza answered, nudging the man with a well-worn cowboy boot. “But he’s still dead, and he’s still in our county.”
“So,” his deputy huffed next to him, “we still have to bring him to justice?”
“Oh, son,” the old man said, his dark face crinkling, “I’d say this one has definitely already been brought to justice. But that don’t mean we ain’t gonna solve the killing.”
“Maybe give the perp a pat on the back while we’re at it? Hell, I’ll buy ’em a beer.”
The old, leathery-skinned sheriff mused over this for a minute. It had its appeals, certainly. He was a lawman, of course, but out here in the middle of God’s country in Texas, he sometimes saw the laws a little differently. Sometimes natural justice just… occurred. Sometimes he had to help it along. “Have it all photographed, DNA smears, the whole bit. Jobs needing done.”
The deputy nodded. “Of course. Any press release?”
“Not unless they come calling, and if they do, send them to me.”
The sheriff stood in what used to be a carved-out dungeon of sorts in the old mansion. The mansion was no more, of course, after the house fire which had raged through the morning and throughout most of the day. There was almost nothing left. Well… almost. Then they found him, and shit got complicated fast. And then… they found them, and the shit really hit the fucking fan. The man was burnt up, of course, and the sheriff knew damn well it was murder/arson, but he had no problem identifying the victim. He happened to be a frequent flyer through Texas, one the sheriff had been most anxious to get acquainted with.
Looks like I'll never get a chance to now, thought the sheriff. Damian Abrudhera was stamped in elegant calligraphy on the inside of the dead man’s belt buckle. A former narco trafficker, he had moved to Texas from Dubai to take advantage of the lucrative drug opportunities between Mexico and the United States. Damian, who several years ago got out of the cocaine business and into the people business, namely underage ones. The definitely illegal age kind of people. Those souls that no one in America knew about and even fewer cared about. Most people were happy to stick their heads in the sand and flip the channel on their sixty-inch flat screens to the Food Network rather than hear about the sick demented people in their own backyards. Nope, most didn’t want to know their bubbles were sitting in a wasteland of shit where the criminals ran amuck, dealing in the sick desires and secret fetishes of those with way too much money to burn. Those were the new pots of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the public kept their blinders on to it all.
Damian had begun offering his services as a coyote, or so the stories went. Then he would abscond with the young female refugees and either kill the families or leave them to die. He would sell the underage girls as sex slaves to an unknown accomplice somewhere out west, probably Vegas. That place seemed to be a hotspot for the seediest of America’s crooks. After that, the girls were never seen again. They would live out a short and presumably torturous lives as forced prostitutes before they became too old or too boring. Then, they would be sold as household workers to the rich or to those just looking for bodies to torture, for use in snuff films. That would be the end of the road for them. No more hopes or fears, no more dreams, only disappointment and death.
This would be big news in law enforcement circles, but not much further than that, since Americans didn’t really want to know about the real monsters in their midst. Give them a few police brutality cases and a school shooting and they went back to arguing contrite stuff like gun control and whether a woman’s uterus was the government’s domain. Bullshit to fill up their monotonous days with something of value. Too bad it was the wrong kind.
The sheriff turned over the belt buckle with grim satisfaction. Damian was a bad guy, a really tried and true bad guy, but who had killed him? Was this just a lucky break, having one of the most feared human traffickers in the southwest picked off, or was there a bigger fish out there that they now needed to be looking out for?
“Least they saved us the time to try him,” the sheriff said.
“At least there’s that. So, no car in the garage or driveway, so I’ll assume that our killer took off in it?”
“That seems to be a pretty accurate assumption. Either that or they came together and only the one left. Either way, it’s the same in the end. Did you find a wallet or anything like that?”
“No, but I figured it would be burned up anyway.”
“Could be, could be. Go ask around a few gas stations. See if anyone was asking for directions or if someone noticed a fancy car heading out of town with a little bit of speed.”
“Sure, sure,” the deputy agreed. “Anything else? Should I talk to the state police yet or wait?”
“Wait and see if we get a description on the car. If we do, get an APB out immediately for it. Also, get in touch with border patrol. Most of these girls here were too young to have been through the system yet, but I’ll bet that somebody down there has seen at least one or two of them before. They may be illegals, but they still have next of kin out there.”
“I'll do that.” His deputy didn't flinch. He was a pro, but he avoided looking over to the area in the cellar they had uncovered during the search. The area was a pit that had been dug into the stone floor, beneath where Damian had been killed. The pit had been filled with girls, presumably waiting for sale. It was now filled with twisted, charred remains.
He no longer thought of it, but it was sad that the sheriff had become desensitized this way. He had seen so many Mexicans dead. Killed by the cartels, killed by the drugs they swallowed, killed by his own men as they tried to make stands. They had been his people just a few hundred years ago, born of the same native tribes, only they had grown up on the wrong side of the river. It did no good to dwell on this, which is why the old man did not. He had many children and grandchildren that he had successfully raised in America. America was a good country. Texas was the best state, and he loved his home. It was just sad and a damn shame.
“All right then, get on it.”
The deputy got up and walked out of the room, already sending the other investigators scurrying.
Damian was a piece of shit, a real cocksucker, and the sheriff was glad to see him burned. He really was, and didn’t feel a damn bit bad about it.
It was like Johnny Cash said, in the end, “God’s gonna cut you down.” And he sure as hell did to Damian Abrudhera.
***
Deputy Mason walked out of the dungeon happy to be away from the stink of burning flesh. Ugh. It wouldn't be so bad if it smelled like pork, maybe some spare ribs, but burning Mexicans? Jesus, it was goddamn terrible. The house was just a skeleton, and he picked his way carefully out to the road, passing firefighters and arson investigators.
He thumbed his radio. “We need a full CSU response team over here on Peach Grove.”
He didn’t want to say too much over the radio. There was this guy, Dick, the town’s newspaper editor, and once he heard “bodies,” on the radio, they’d have a thousand damn people with cameras shoved up their asses. Plus, Mason had some thinking to do before all this rancid shit got stirred up and displayed for public viewing and consumption. It would be a fucking circus when word got out. That was for damn sure.
He flipped open his phone at the same time as he pulled open the door to his crui
ser.
“Hey, Es. Hey, baby. I’m glad you’re up. No, I’m fine. Just heading home, though. Eh, it’s some nasty business this morning. I’ll talk to you about it when I get there. It’s… concerning. But hey, I was hoping you could help me take my mind off it a little. What do you say?”
A grin crept over his face as he listened to the response. Esmerelda was always up for doing his bidding. She was the perfect little wifey.
“Yep. Yes, I think that will do just fine, baby. I like the one with the red hair. I know she’s a little older, but I really like the red hair and her hot legs. Good. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
Mason flipped his phone closed and smiled. He was going to have a little fun this morning at least, before he had to clear everyone out. It was already turning him on, and his arousal pressed against the zipper of his slacks. His flashing smile switched to a frown as he thought of the unpleasant task at hand here at the mansion.
Now I’ll have to find another damn contact to get me the girls. Not to mention figuring out who he’d have to deal with in Vegas. After all, Damian had always handled that side of their business.
Esmerelda was waiting for him just inside the door of their home. It was a three-bedroom ranch, built just two years ago. It was cute and well cared for, and was the type of home Mason had always dreamed of living in while growing up, traveling from motel to motel with his worthless wannabe singer druggie mother. As he closed the door, Es threw her arms around him, pulling his chest against her. She wore a satin robe, which broke favorably in the front to reveal her ample breasts. As Mason gazed down admiringly at her bosom, Es started unbuttoning his work shirt, then pulling it off over his back and shoulders.
