Connie Bailey - Miles to Go

by Connie Bailey

Gareth put his free hand on the back of Billy’s head and pressed his cheek to the cool ceramic. “Spread your legs,” he said. Billy widened his stance and braced himself as Gareth found his lower opening with an insistent finger. The young man couldn’t hold in a whimper as he was roughly penetrated.

  “Still bothers you, does it?” Gareth said. “You can’t ever give it up easy, can you?”

  “It hurts,” Billy said succinctly.

  “Oh, do pardon me,” Gareth said, pushing his finger a little deeper.

  “At least spit on it, you bastard,” Billy said. Gareth found the young man’s prostate and circled it, pressing lightly. “You never cum when we’re fucking,” he said. “So I’m going to make sure you do this time.”

  “Stop it,” Billy said, as the first flutters of arousal tightened his groin.

  “That sounded like an order,” Gareth said, tightening his arm around Billy’s throat.

  “You are such an arsehole,” Billy wheezed. “Tell me something I don’t know,” Gareth said, sliding his hard flesh up and down Billy’s thigh, as he fingered him. “You brought this on yourself, my red angel. I know a cock-hungry, cum-drunk slut like yourself is bound to stray, but you need to learn that you cannot use my soldiers as your private stud farm. I can’t have them forming attachments. Understand?”

  Billy sucked in a deep breath as the pressure on his windpipe eased. “I understand that you’re an insecure, thick-skulled bully,” he gasped.

  “And you are one sexy bitch,” Gareth growled, massaging Billy’s prostate with two fingers.

  “Stop it!” Billy said. “I don’t want you to do that.” Gareth’s ears pricked up and his cock jerked at the new note in his favorite toy’s voice. Unable to wait any longer, Gareth withdrew his fingers and positioned his arousal at Billy’s entrance. At an agonizingly slow pace, he pushed into the contracting passage. “I want to teach you a lesson,” Gareth said,“but I don’t want to take you to the emergency room, so you be sure and let me know if you feel anything tear.”

  Billy didn’t answer; he was busy absorbing the pain of the penetration. Millimeter by millimeter the thick rod of flesh forced its way into him. Not until Gareth’s balls were snugly against Billy’s ass did forward motion stop. “You’re mine,” Gareth said in Billy’s ear. “I might wink at small indiscretions, but if you step over the line again, you’ll need a lot more than stitches to put you right.”

  Billy groaned as the big cock began backing out. A shiver of sheer erotic pleasure ran down Gareth’s spine at the sound of misery. Bending over the young man’s back, Gareth wrapped his arms around Billy and thrust powerfully. With his arms trapped at his sides, Billy strove to maintain control as Gareth pounded into him. Abruptly, it became too much and he began to struggle. Delighted, Gareth tightened his grip and pushed deeper.

  “Stop it!” Billy cried, his voice echoing off the tile. “Get off me, Gareth!”

  “Fuck! I’m going to explode,” Gareth panted in the other man’s ear. “Don’t stop.” Billy thrashed in the big man’s hold, throwing himself around to no avail. His flailing excited Gareth to a nearly unbearable degree, and the gangster gleefully reinserted his cock each time he was unseated. As he felt his climax build to the point of no return, Gareth pressed Billy flat against the wall and sheathed his aching rod. Billy trembled with rage and pain as Gareth rolled his hips, shifting his cock minutely in the clenching passage. Desperately, the young man bore down on the shaft that impaled him, seeking to end Gareth’s lesson quickly.

  “Bloody hell, that feels incredible,” Gareth groaned. Grasping Billy’s slim hips with bruising force, Gareth dug his fingers into the soft flesh and thrust in short, sharp jabs. Billy began to whimper as the cruel hands moved to his ass and Gareth’s thumbs sank into him along with Gareth’s cock.

  “I’ll kill you for this someday,” Billy told the man that abused him, horrified by the whining sound of his voice.

  “I know you will, pet,” Gareth said.“If I don’t kill you first.” Billy closed his eyes as Gareth came with a rumbling groan of fulfillment. As his climax washed through him, Gareth ran his hands over Billy’s chest and crotch, rubbing his coarse beard against the young man’s nape. Willing it to be over, Billy remained still as the other man pawed at him in post-orgasmic bliss. When Gareth grasped at Billy’s limp cock, Billy pushed him off with a convulsive shudder. Gareth landed on the tiled bench behind him and grinned up at his furious paramour. “You feel that?” Gareth’s laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “That’s a little bit of me way up inside you, marking you as mine. That really fucks with you, doesn’t it, kitten?”

  “You’re a dead man,” Billy said.

  “We’re all walking dead men,” Gareth said. “Now keep your hands off the hired help. Especially the new guy.” Billy picked up the liquid soap and turned the hot water up. Having delivered his threat once again, he had nothing else to say to Gareth. Seeing that he’d get no further reaction from Billy, Gareth dressed and left.

  RICK came from around the back of the pool house and entered the mansion through one of the French doors off the terrace. He had a bad moment when he saw Geordie standing there as though waiting for him. Rick couldn’t be sure, but he figured Geordie had seen him walk up from the pool house, and Geordie almost certainly knew Gareth was there with Billy now.

  “Come on,” Geordie said impatiently. “Did you forget we have an appointment at two?”

  Rick’s heart rate went down as he realized Geordie wasn’t being confrontational. “Hang on; I’ll get my piece,” he said.

  Geordie nodded. “Go,” he said. “But from now on, you stay packed, understand?”

  “You got it, boss,” Rick said as he walked away. Rick wondered what was going through Geordie’s head, but pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to be sharp for this job, and he needed to talk to someone whose motivations he was sure of. As soon as he was out of the Brit’s sight, Rick went out to the driveway and took out his phone. Quickly, he let Graciela know what was going down. She wished him luck and signed off with her usual warning to watch his ass.

  Graciela put the phone down and looked at the men looming over her. “Everything’s fine,” she said. “You boys would be smart to just leave Rick where he is.”

  “Damn it, Gracie!” Captain Walter Little said. “I can’t let Rick get away with this cowboy shit, and you want me to reward him.” “I fail to see how leaving him in a dangerous, potentially fatal situation qualifies as a reward, captain,” said Chief Inspector Frehley. “You don’t know Rick, Inspector Frehley,” Little sighed. “I think you might call me Campbell since it seems we’ll be working together for a time,” the tall man said.

  “In that case, I’m Walter and this lovely but misguided lady is Detective Graciela Cruz.”

  “Gracie,” she said, giving the spit-polished Brit a megawatt smile and offering her hand. “I look forward to working with you, sir.” “Who says you aren’t suspended?” Little asked.

  “Now boss,” Graciela said, “you know Rick won’t work with anyone but me.”

  “True,” Walter said, “but disciplinary action is only postponed. You and Rick are going to have to be reprimanded at the least.” Frehley made a sound suspiciously like a snort and both American cops turned to look at him. “Sorry; it’s just that if one of my officers had taken this upon himself, he would no longer have a badge.”

  “Welcome to America,” Graciela said. “Things are a little different here. We even have girl cops. Hope it doesn’t wilt your stiff upper lip too much.”

  “I shall endeavor to cope,” Campbell said solemnly, closing the door to the captain’s office. “Now…shall we get down to brass tacks?” “By all means,” Graciela said. “I like a man that lays it out on the table.” “Gracie,” Walter said. “Do I have to get the muzzle?” “Sorry, sir,” she said. “I’ll be quiet while the men talk.”

  Campbell’s wide mouth curved in a near-smile. “I like your spirit, young woman. Feel free to join the dis
cussion…if you’ve anything to add.”

  Graciela nodded and squelched her next comment, which would’ve been a sarcastic offer to fetch coffee for them. Frehley probably drank tea anyway.

  “As I earlier informed the captain,” Campbell said, “I’ve lost touch with one of my men. This is of interest to you because the agent is working undercover to arrest Gareth Carey. You’ll forgive me if I don’t reveal his name, but the temptation to tell your partner would be too great, I’m afraid.”

  “Oops,” Graciela said. “I told Rick this was a stupid thing to do, but I didn’t know we’d be interfering with another investigation. You have my sincere apology for poaching.”

  “Accepted,” Frehley said. “Now let us see what we may do to salvage the situation.”

  “Seems to me that if you told Rick who your man was, he could pass messages to him,” Graciela said. “So it would seem,” Campbell agreed. “However, I think the risk of discovery would go up exponentially if the two men were aware of one another’s identities.”

  Graciela frowned. “Really?” “I’ll make you the loan of a book that details the danger of accumulative activity and describes unconscious recognition signals, among other subjects.”

  “Sounds like psychology. Was it written by some shrink that never came near an undercover operation?” “Actually, I wrote it,” Frehley said. “From information gathered in years of field service. And for the record, I do have a degree in criminal psychology.”

  “Oops, again,” Graciela said.

  “You walked into that one, Gracie,” her captain told her. “What can we do to help, Campbell?” “We can use Detective Miles to keep track of my officer without either being aware of it as long as Detective Cruz consents to relay his conversations and ask him key questions.”

  “Of course,” Graciela said. “I’m just wondering about one thing.”

  Both men looked at her inquiringly.

  “Do we still get the collar?”

  ~ Chapter Eight ~

  RICK pulled the glossy black SUV to the curb and cut the engine. Dubiously, he looked down the block at the hangar-sized building. It was near the docks but not close enough that there was much foot traffic. The undercover cop did his best to scour his mind of all thoughts of Billy. He couldn’t afford the distraction. However, the young man’s scent seemed ingrained in the whorls of Rick’s fingertips. I should never have let things go that far, he thought. I must be insane. The kid is pure nitroglycerin. Shake him too hard and he’ll explode, raining flaming debris on everyone.

  Still, Rick couldn’t banish Billy entirely. How could he dismiss something that felt so right on an almost molecular level? When he remembered how they had meshed, flesh and spirit, he knew he’d had a preview of what the poets wrote about: a passion so all-consuming that it could not be denied or withstood. Which was just about the last thing Rick needed right now, though he yearned for it with all his heart.

  Get the kid out of your head, Rick’s interior voice ordered ruthlessly, before you do something stupid. “You sure this is the address?” Rick asked the man next to him.

  Geordie checked the slip of paper in his hand. “Yeah. Figures they’d have their headquarters in some piece of shit warehouse. They probably think the waterfront address makes them look like badasses.”

  “Maybe it’s their Bat Cave,” Rick said, playing into Geordie’s conversational gambit. Talking was good. It calmed the nerves and Rick didn’t want a bunch of nervous gun-toting hoods standing close to him.

  “Assholes,” Epiphano muttered his opinion of the junior gangsters as he shoved his Glock into the back of his jeans. Levere laughed. “Fucking assholes,” he improved on Epiphano’s observation. Rick shoved another extra magazine into his pocket. The Kutters were not at all concerned about the law and they were still young enough to feel immortal, a deadly combination. “So now that we’ve all decided we don’t like them, I guess we won’t be asking for any autographs. What do you say we get in there and get this over with?”

  Geordie turned around to look at Levere and Epiphano in the backseat. “No shooting unless it’s necessary,” he said. “Understand?” Levere and Epiphano looked at each other and smirked. “Sure thing, boss,” Epiphano said.

  “No worries,” Levere seconded his partner.

  Geordie checked his ammo and shoved his Sig Sauer back into his shoulder holster before he pushed his door open. Rick joined him and the two of them started up the concrete walk side by side, with Levere and Epiphano behind them.

  “I have the uncanny notion that shooting will become necessary,” Levere whispered.

  “Damn straight,” Epiphano replied, butting his fist against Levere’s.

  “So how do you think this is going to go?” Geordie looked over at Rick.

  “Badly,” the undercover cop sighed.

  “Yeah. Me too,” Geordie said. “These Kutters just plain piss me off.” They came around the corner to a roll-up door guarded by a young man in a bomber jacket. Aware that Geordie was grading his performance, Rick spoke first.

  “We’re here to see Fine,” Rick said.

  The man-child looked them up and down with deliberate disdain. “You from Hairy Carey’s gang?” “No, you snot-nosed little ratbag. We’re with Amway. Do you think anyone inside would like to see a demonstration of cleaning products?” Levere snarled.

  “You wanna get me lathered up, pervert?” the kid sneered. Rick held Levere back with an arm across the Aussie’s barrel chest. “Gareth Carey sent us,” he said. “And if I were you I’d forget about that colorful nickname. Now, is your boss here?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to have a case full of money for him?” Rick shook his head at this impudence. “What’s your name?” “Ask your mama,” the teenager sneered.

  Rick grabbed a handful of jacket and pinned the punk against the door. “Listen up, asswipe. We don’t have any money with us because we’re not buying until we’re sure of the quantity of the product. Now stop playing the negotiator and take us inside, or I’ll let my excitable friend here have a go at convincing you. I promise you that you don’t want that. He’s not nearly as civilized as I am.”

  The kid’s eyes darted to Levere. The burly Australian looked as though taking a piece out of some punk’s ass was all he wanted for Christmas. “I’m Cody,” the sentry said. “Follow me, and I’ll take you to Nate.”

  Rick walked into the warehouse behind the kid, wondering again if the case was worth what he’d lost thus far in pursuing it. He was beginning to feel like a short fuse on a hinky stick of TNT. Flexing his hands, he tried to center himself as Cody stopped at the door leading into a complex of offices.

  “In there,” the lookout said sullenly, pointing to an interior door. Through the opening, they could see Nathan Fine sitting at a battered desk.

  “No, you need to come back now,” the Kutters’ leader barked into his phone.

  Cody knocked on the doorframe. “Carey’s men are here,” he said as though announcing the arrival of IRS agents. Geordie and Rick didn’t wait to be asked, muscling past the kid into the room. “I know you wouldn’t want to keep us waiting,” Geordie said.

  Fine closed his cell phone and looked up from behind a desk cluttered with X-rated comic books, overflowing ashtrays, and convenience store coffee cups. Through the large plate-glass window behind Fine, Rick could see Flip Hudson in some sort of break room playing cards with three other young men. Rick looked for the creep, but Rafe Novacelli wasn’t there. The little tweaker’s absence struck Rick as fundamentally wrong; Rafe was Nate Fine’s dog and should be at his master’s side.

  “Greetings, gentlemen. Please take a seat,” Fine said grandly as Epiphano and Levere filled the doorway behind Cody. “Is there anything my man can get for you? A drink? A smoke? A woman? No problem.”

  Fine’s exaggerated congeniality rang alarm bells with Rick. There was definitely something wrong with this picture, but he couldn’t see it yet. “This isn’t a social call, Fine,” he t
ook the initiative. “Mr. Carey may be entertained by your bullshit, but not me. Who was that on the phone?”

  “That was Rafe, if it’s any of your business. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a little something while we wait?”

  “You heard Rick; let’s get this over with,” Geordie joined the conversation. Rick glanced significantly at Epiphano and Levere. Epiphano slid back into the hallway and away from the door, as Levere trained his eyes on the card players. Neither Cody nor Fine reacted to the ramped-up level of alertness; people were always nervous around large piles of cash, or narcotics. The punks’ failure to respond spoke of supreme confidence or an overwhelming naiveté. Neither option made Rick feel any better.

  “Understood,” Fine replied, pushing his chair back as he stood up. “If you gentlemen will just follow me?” Nathan came around the desk and Geordie allowed the kid to precede them out of the room. Rick and Geordie exchanged a look that confirmed that neither felt comfortable with Fine’s insouciant master of ceremonies demeanor. The atmosphere in the Kutters’ clubhouse was a little too laid back to be genuine.

  “Be ready,” Rick whispered to Geordie. “I’m getting the distinct feeling that we’re not far from a world of shit.”

  “I feel it too,” Geordie muttered. “Weird tension.” As they filed into the room where the card game was going on, Hudson looked up and placed his cards face down on the table. The other players reminded Rick of a pack of strays just waiting for the alpha dog to slip up so they could tear him apart. Not the sorts that were long on loyalty, these guys were obviously in it for the money. Rick figured the odds at about fifty-fifty that these hired guns would fire or put down their weapons if the situation devolved into gunplay.

  Fine unlocked the door behind Flip and Geordie followed him inside. “Nice,” Rick heard Geordie say, “but where’s the rest?” “I ain’t that clueless,” Fine answered. “If I tell you that, what would you need me for?”

  “Gareth sent us here to confirm the quantity. He’s going to be very disappointed.”