Auctioned To Daddy: BDSM Romance

by Amy Faye

  Hawkins knew the risk when he got in, but an identity like 'Spider,' you hope that things can go better in the moment. But here I am getting distracted by my stomach.

  "I feel you, man. Well, I'll keep one on ice for you, then. Once you get the boys settled in for the haul, then you can come back."

  "Thanks, boss," Hawkins answers, settling back into character, knowing what he's supposed to do again. I know what I'm supposed to do, too.

  "Did you need something else?"

  "Yeah, you haven't—I need to know where to drop the trailer."

  "Oh, shoot. I didn't tell you, did I?"

  No, you didn't, I thought. I add 'you son of a bitch' as an afterthought.

  "No, sir."

  "Well, how the fuck are you supposed to make a drop when you don't even know where you're going? What the fuck am I thinking, right?"

  Beauchamp's laugh comes out easy and smooth. Not anything like the killer that I know he is. I imagine for his people, he must be an easy man to like, and with his history it's hard to believe that he's as small-time as he is.

  But hard to believe or not, and in spite of their rise to power, the Ravens are still a small force in the national scene. That's what makes them the perfect choice for what I'm hoping to do.

  I pegged them when the Beauchamp brothers pulled their tractor-trailer into the first little warehouse they picked up, and unpacked their big, bored-out hogs. The power they'd gained in such a short span of time just went to prove that I'd earmarked the right boys.

  But first, before my plans for them went into motion, I just needed him to say the fucking words. I don't hear anything through the headphones. Real quiet, in fact. Too quiet. The pause is too long, considering that Hawkins was waiting on a location.

  A moment later, though, I hear Beauchamp speaking again. "We good?"

  "We're good," Spider says.

  I can hear in his voice that he's not just saying it to Beauchamp. I let out the breath that I'd been holding for the better part of three hours.

  This job is too stressful, I need a God damn vacation. But that's not going to happen, and if someone offered me one, I wouldn't take it.

  Not this close. Let Danny take the credit? Like hell would I let that bastard have credit for my haul. No chance. This is my commendation waiting to be pinned on my chest.

  Right after I get the evidence from Hawkins, and right after I get that burger in my stomach. Then I get the commendation, as long as nobody asks any questions about how I pulled McCallister down.

  If there's one thing I know, it's that nobody but Beauchamp is going to get to McCallister. If I know two things, though, it's that however he does it, nobody's going to be fuckin' happy.

  So I'd better make sure that nobody finds out what I did to get him there. When we've got the evidence we need on McCallister, we can cut Beauchamp loose.

  Who's going to look too close when a low-level dealer ends up dead in a ditch somewhere? Nobody.

  Not anyone that pays my salary, anyways.

  Chapter Two

  RYAN

  Fuck helmets. I never use them, because if I'm going to die, well—I'm not going to. But if some son of a bitch decided to smash his God damned Escape into my ride, then he'll learn real quick why he shouldn't have done that.

  I felt the smooth, hard leather beneath my ass, not even moving yet and already starting to get the rush of riding, the enjoyment of the wind in my hair, pushing it back and tousling it deliciously.

  I kicked the bike to life, hefting the not-inconsiderable weight vertical, and waited while Spider did the same. I can't stand the fucking names these people choose.

  What are they, five? They can't even have real fuckin' cool names. But then again, what exactly did I expect? After all, they were the sort of people who gave themselves names like 'Spider.'

  They probably didn't know any God damned better, and those were the kind of people who were hiring on, so I took what I could get.

  I nodded to Spider and started the bike moving, pulling out onto the Arizona highway and enjoying the heat and the wind. Just like I knew that I would, when I got up into the saddle.

  Just like I had the first time I'd ever ridden. Just like I would every time I rode. Arizona wasn't just a perfect choice because it was the right place.

  It wasn't just smart because this is where the mules brought drugs across the border, which meant that they needed guns more than anyone. It wasn't even the right place because the drug cartels paid off the border patrol guys for us.

  Really, it's the right place because I can ride every God damned day, and the bike never had to go away. Nothing like back in Ohio, where the weather was shit half the year, and the other half it was raining.

  Sure, you could move guns anywhere. I know that, and I have made it work more places than most. But I can't ride anywhere else, so that means that of all the places in the country, this one is by far the best.

  The other stuff, though, it doesn't exactly hurt. The Diablos bring in drugs, we buy them. All it costs us is the shipment of guns we were already hoping to move.

  Then you get the guys out on the streets, moving the product. It's an easy business, and it's easy to make money doing it. They should teach the shit in schools. but then again, if they did that, then I would be out of a job.

  I took in a deep breath and then dipped my knee close to the ground, the bike's own power bringing it straight. The Deuce was just as empty as it always was.

  People steered clear of the Deuce, and they did it for a good damned reason.

  I'm only half-owner, but I still have the right to tell anyone who I want to fuck off, and I want most people to fuck off. It's not as if I need the fucking business, right?

  I already have a nice easy way to make money, and unless my people tell me very wrong, I don't have to worry about the damned A.T.F. or D.E.A. breathing down my neck. Not this far south.

  It's too close to Mexico, they figure. I could be south of the border in the better part of thirty minutes, which means that I could avoid the cops for less than a day trip. This far south…

  I pulled a glass out of the fridge and poured a cold one, enjoying the frosting on the mug as I drink it down. Spider comes in after, his knuckles tatted up like some kind of pretentious asshole.

  "You need me for anything else, Boss?"

  "Not today, Spider," I growl, giving him the look that says 'and I don't want you sticking around.'

  He nods and pulls his goggles back down, heading out the door, his tattoos catching the light on the way out and showing all up and down his arms.

  What kind of fucking crew did I have? One guy controlling most of it, and he was the kind of fucking idiot who took his name from a goddamn tattoo on his elbow, and had 'Hell' and 'Yeah' tattooed on his fingers.

  I thought, not for the first time, about getting out. About getting myself a new set of boys a few miles down the border. It wouldn't be that hard to move to El Paso and find a few motivated young men.

  Something always stopped me, and as usual, something stopped me this time, too.

  Specifically, the something that stopped me was a woman, walking into my bar. I could already feel the words 'We're closed' coming to my lips when I saw her closer.

  Fire-red hair and broad hips, the kind of hips that wrapped around a man's waist. The kind of body that was made for pleasure.

  "You open?"

  She sounded like she was from out of town, a sure sign that I should leave her the hell alone. I didn't.

  "Just about, yeah," I answered, reaching down to grab another frozen glass. "What can I get for you?"

  "I'm looking for someone," she said, her dark aviator-style glasses giving her a strange air of mixed appearances. She looked like a cop, but the way that she walked told him that wasn't quite right.

  "Well, I'm the only one here most nights."

  "Most nights?"

  "It's a family-owned place. My brothers and I. We rent it out sometimes, but it's pretty rare. Mo
st of the time, it's just the three of us."

  "So you're Ryan Beauchamp, then?"

  I didn't like the way she asked the question.

  "Now I didn't say that."

  She didn't like the way I answered it.

  "Well that's a damn shame, because I'm looking for Ryan Beauchamp, and if you were him…"

  She leaned over, showing too much of her luxurious chest for me to resist.

  "What did you need Ryan for?"

  "Well, if you were Ryan Beauchamp, I'd tell you that I had heard all about the work you were doing, and between you and me, I'd say that I found that sort of thing very attractive."

  "What work would that be?"

  The woman continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And I was just thinking that you were so… intoxicating-looking, it would be nice if you were him."

  I could feel myself growing harder, between the way that she was putting herself on display for me and the way that her deep, husky voice implied what was going to come soon, even as she didn't quite ever say what she was planning.

  There wasn't any question in my mind.

  "I know Ryan. He's a good guy. What did you want to tell him?"

  She leaned across the bar, practically spilling out of the shirt, an attractive and convenient-looking woman. She pressed a kiss against my lips, a kiss that didn't leave any questions about where it would lead if it continued.

  It didn't. She pulled away, breathless, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.

  "Is that what I'm supposed to tell him?"

  "I'm not stupid, Ryan. Just admit who you are."

  "Alright, say I am him—"

  The woman ducked her head and spoke into her tits. "That's it, we've got him."

  The entire place exploded with a rush of activity, and by the time it was still again, I had three separate knees pressing me into the floor. My beer was already poured out on the floor.

  As one of the uniforms pulled me up by my arm roughly, cuffs holding it in an uncomfortable position behind my back, I growled at the redhead, who was buttoning her blouse and straightening herself up.

  "Oh, don't look so angry. You were never going to get away for long."

  Chapter Three

  MAGUIRE

  My knuckles hurt where I'd pounded them into the steel table-top.

  "I don't care what the hell Ryan Beauchamp has to say on the subject." I pull my hand back off the table and step back away from the table, against the dimly-illuminated wall. "Did I give you the impression of caring one god damned bit about his rights? You put the screws on him!"

  Danny didn't look like he was going to enjoy 'putting the screws' to Beauchamp. He was a tough nut to crack, for sure. But then again, he would have been, wouldn't he? I imagined his face, a perfect representation after having seen his picture thousands of times.

  He was handsome, even very handsome. He didn't look like a drug dealer, nor like a gun runner. He looked like someone who would fit in better at a magazine photo shoot, than a shoot-out.

  If the description made him sound small, it would be a mistake. She'd seen plenty of hard agents come back from getting close to the guy. From getting too close, and letting him figure out who they were.

  Spider was the first one to get through for real, the first one to positively I.D. Beauchamp as the ring-leader of the Raven's Call Motorcycle Club. The first one to find positive proof of what they were doing.

  Ask anyone, and they'll tell you what the Raven's Call were doing. They didn't try to hide it, or at least not very well. Not well enough to stop the rumors.

  But then you actually try to prove it, and the stories dry up. No proof from anyone. The members swore up and down it was just a group of friends who gathered for drinks in the bar.

  Well, thanks to a man on the inside, they finally had the proof they needed, and they finally had the big man. The Ravens weren't the biggest gang in the country, though.

  Hell, they weren't even the biggest gang in Arizona. But their spread had been as bloody as it had been fast, and there was no way that Ryan Beauchamp was going to ever get out of jail for it.

  I had spent two years tracking them, since that handsome son of a bitch drove his big Indian into town. And now that I had him, he was going to squirm.

  I smiled, my face hidden in the dim overhead light. He'd be worried right now about what was going to happen to his men. More than that, he'd be worrying about what was going to happen to him.

  Danny seemed to think that he wasn't going to crack, but they always crack. And Beauchamp wasn't even big fish. He was just bait, and that meant that she was prepared to offer him quite a deal in exchange for his cooperation.

  There was no way he'd get such a good deal, not with anyone else. Immunity up and down, for anything he'd done and anything he was about to do.

  All he had to do was kiss the ring of Government, and start filing reports like a good boy. Maybe meet with some people who the A.T.F. had their eyes on.

  Which begged the question, I thought as Danny slipped back into the metal chair opposite Beauchamp's seat at the table: why was he holding out so much?

  He sat back against his chair, a chair that I knew was more than just uncomfortable, and looked as if he were untouchable. I could feel myself burning at that expression. That smug son of a bitch was going to get that look wiped off his face, and soon.

  When Danny was done with him, then it would be my turn. But first, Danny had to convince him that he was neck-deep in shit, and that there was no way out. If he was still sitting there, smug and with that punchably-handsome face, then her part wasn't going to work.

  I slipped out of the observation room while Danny started to work, making sure that the observation camera pointed the wrong way. Some of these bastards got what they deserved to get in those interrogation rooms, and it's all I can do to make sure I do my part to see they get it.

  I poured myself a coffee and tried to calm my nerves. It wasn't as if Beauchamp was superman. He was a man just like anyone else.

  Not exactly like any man, of course. Most men couldn't claim to be as good looking. Most men weren't killers. Most men didn't control a third of the gun running going through Tucson.

  By some more recent estimates, more than that.

  But even still, this wasn't a situation where his boys were going to come by. Especially not with Spider on damage control.

  He was a good agent, and he'd follow his instructions well, like he always did. This time his instructions were simple: keep them quiet, keep them from causing too much trouble, and wait for further instructions.

  I tapped my fingers on the desk I'd set up against the wall, waited for Danny to come out with the good news. When he didn't come, I poured a cup of cold water and headed back into the observation room.

  The water was crisp and clean and cold. Nothing like the summer Tucson air. I almost felt bad about having turned down that drink in the bar. The cold would have been great.

  And then again, that kiss—I shook my head. He was a crook, a killer, and a smuggler. There was nothing there, and I was smarter than that. I knew better.

  Which made it all that much more frustrating when I looked through the one-way glass at his smug smirk, the way that he leaned back and the way his perfect muscles bunched up and loosed as he leaned back.

  He sat in that God damned, pointy, angular, uncomfortable metal chair like it was his favorite hammock. I could feel my lips twisting into a sneer, Danny turning back to face the mirror and giving a shrug.

  "Hey, is that hot bitch back there watching me?"

  Danny turned back towards Beauchamp. I could already see that he'd put his hard face back on, as if any minute he might lose his temper and put a fist through Beauchamp's teeth.

  "The only hot bitch you're going to be seeing is yourself, when you look in a mirror on Cell Block D. They're going to love you. Those boys, they can't get enough of a pretty boy like you."

  "She's there, ain't she?"

 
; "You worry about me, hot shot. I'm your problem."

  Ryan made a kissy-face toward the window. "Maybe I'll talk when you send in that fine-ass redhead."

  I didn't like the flare of excitement, the flash of imagination in my head at several ideas I could think of that would get him to talk.

  There was no way that would happen. He was deluding himself. Fantasies or no, I wasn't going to go for it, and that was that.

  That didn't make the fantasies less tempting. I pursed my lips and settled into the seat. Danny was just getting to work, and though he wasn't exactly the greatest at playing bad cop, he would learn.

  We all had to learn how to be the bad guy some day. That's what being a cop was all about. If he couldn't learn how to turn on the dangerous, then there was no way he was going to cut it.

  He had to provide a good example for Beauchamp, as well, if Ryan was going to work with us.

  Not that Ryan Beauchamp needed a cop to teach him how to intimidate someone.

  Chapter Four

  RYAN

  They were trying to sweat me. It would have been cute, if it wasn't so boring. It's not every day that you get to watch someone go through their entire playbook, step by step. It's certainly a new experience for me. But still—that cop thought he was going to scare me. Now they thought they were going to sweat me, and it would be cute—if it wasn't so boring.

  They'll send someone in soon, I'm sure, a friend. Maybe it'll be that redhead. Finally, they'll offer me a plea deal, and all I have to do is sign a confession, plead guilty in a court of law, and report the names of… what is it now? Three or four people, I reckon.

  That's how it always is with these cops. No vision. They want it quick and painless for everyone, and it doesn't much matter what all I confess to, I'll get two years tops, and then I'm back on my merry way.

  I should've hired better guys. The kinds of guys who would see this shit coming. But it doesn't matter now. I'm already in this mess, and I just want to get back out of it in one piece.