Bastards & Whiskey (Top Shelf Book 1)

by Alta Hensley

  The elevator stopped on the 9th floor and we all walked off. The driver turned to me. “Will you need anything else for the evening, sir?”

  “No.” I glanced down at Anita. “I have it covered. But I want to be on the road by 6 am.”

  “Very well, sir. Goodnight.” He turned left down the hallway to his room, while I led Anita down the hallway to the right.

  When I opened the door and we entered the room, I asked, “Can I trust that you can be a good girl if I untie you?” I struggled to hide my smile. I purposely taunted her by using the term ‘good girl’. I knew it would burn her insides through and through, but I couldn’t help myself. She was lucky that was all I was doing since I was still pissed from all her punching and kicking.

  Anita nodded slightly, a look of trepidation on her face, mixed with death glares from her eyes. I could leave her tied until morning. Her comfort was of no concern to me. Or at least it shouldn’t be, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hear bitching all night. A night in this small room, with a worn bedspread and the stench of old cigarette smoke would be enough misery.

  I reached forward and began untying the rope that restrained her, trying not to notice the way she stared at me. If she had a knife or a gun, I had no doubt she would use it on me without hesitation. And yet, I was still the fucking fool untying her. Harley would die if he knew how careless I was being. I’m sure he never conducted a job considering the captive’s comfort over all else.

  “I have some different clothes in my bag for you. Something for you to sleep in. It’s just an oversized shirt of mine, but it will be more comfortable than the jeans and tee you are wearing now.”

  My words were cut midstream as a hard denim-clad knee connected with my balls. Bent over in utter agony trying to regain my breath between groans, I noticed her shaking off the ropes that I’d loosened around her wrists. Swinging her right fist, she narrowly missed my face square on. In crippling pain, feeling as if my dick would never be the same, I fell to the worn carpet, doing my best not to punch back in retaliation. Or fucking kill her. If I were Harley Crow, she would be dead right now. I was two seconds from taking a page from his playbook.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Do you have a goddamn death wish?” I hissed at her, my words strained as I struggled to regain my breath. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking beat the crap out of you right now.”

  “You piece of shit bastard!” Anita yelled, kicking me in the gut, knocking the air I’d somehow managed to regain right out of me again. “You can go to hell… along with all the fuckers at Spiked Roses! Men like you should rot.” The venom in her voice blended with a tiny ounce of fear. Her voice cracked and quavered as she spoke, revealing her true feelings whether she liked it or not. Tough exterior, but frightened kitten inside. I’d seen many like her before. Easy to read when they were trying to be their strongest.

  Anita went to run away from me then, but I caught her calf, pulling her to the musty-smelling carpet beside me. For a moment, I worried she would hit her head on the edge of the bed, and I actually helped ease her fall to the best of my ability. Why I gave a damn, I had no fucking idea.

  Reaching for the rope that had fallen to the ground in the onslaught of her attack, I again tied her wrists together—much tighter than before. Fire still burned in my breathless body, and my groin throbbed to the point of nausea.

  “Listen here, bitch,” I bit out as I tied the last knot. “It’s high time I teach you a fucking lesson. You can’t hit, kick, and knee my junk and not think there will be goddamn repercussions!”

  Anita struggled just enough that her constrained hands broke free from my grasp, and she swung her hands with as much force as she could muster, connecting to my jaw. For a moment, she paused in shock, clearly not expecting that she would punch me. The pause in motion was all I needed to grab her by the back of her neck, practically throwing her over my lap.

  “I will not tolerate your explosive temper tantrums any further!” I spanked her ass two times with enough force that her stunned silence turned to a gasp of shock.

  “Fuck you, asshole!”

  I continued to spank, each blow harder than the last. At least it was on her ass and not her face. Her ass could take the beating, and her beautiful face could not—or should not. I wasn’t a spanker by nature, unless you count a few swats in the heat of passionate sex, but it did seem to work with her. And it was the only thing I could do so I wouldn’t knock her teeth out.

  “No, but if you don’t change your attitude, I may just fuck you! And if you are really lucky, it will be in your asshole.”

  “Go to hell! Don’t you dare lay a finger on me.” She was loud, but she never screamed. I suppose if she wanted to scream bloody murder, security would eventually show up. Not that I couldn’t fix everything with the wad of cash in my wallet, but it would still be inconvenient. And with how my luck was running today, some neighbor would call the police and they were a lot harder to buy off. Though in this piece of shit town, maybe they were cheaper than all my experiences in the past.

  Her teeth clamped down on my thigh like a rabid dog.

  That was it. I’d had enough. Yanking down her pants, which took very little effort on my part, I pummeled her backside with a fury of hard swats. I wasn’t going easy on her anymore. Over and over, I spanked, taking pleasure in watching the creamy white of her ass quickly change to an inferno of red. Oh yeah, this woman was about to learn her lesson. Don’t mess with me in a cheap fucking hotel when I was in a pissy frame of mind and in desperate need of a stiff drink. Her ass was about to pay the price for my foul mood.

  She continued to fight, struggle anyway she could, and curse like a goddamn sailor. This stubborn woman wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction of knowing that her punishment had any effect. I knew it had to hurt like hell, but she wasn’t going to show it. “You are nothing but a filthy excuse of a man,” she spat, kicking her feet and bucking up as the spanking continued. “Fuck you! You bastard!”

  “Shut your mouth now. I’m warning you.”

  “Or what? You’ll beat me some more? Go ahead.”

  “I’ll do something much worse. I have other ways of shutting you up rather than blistering your ass.”

  “Fuck you! There is nothing you can do that will make me be the ‘good girl’ you so think you’ll get out of me.”

  Enough with the language. I had never liked a girl with a foul mouth. It had always been a pet peeve of mine. But this was pushing me beyond slightly annoyed. I wanted to shut those luscious lips of hers and make the only sound coming from them be squeals of shock and discomfort. I wasn’t going to take it any longer. Dipping my finger into her pussy, I gathered her juices. Juices that were plentiful, regardless of her hatred toward her punisher. Oh yeah, this dirty talking girl liked a little forceful handling. Clearly, pleasure and surrender coursed through her body just as much as the rage did. Once my finger was properly slickened, I pulled it out—taking gratification in the tiny moan I heard escape from her—and inserted it into her anus without pause. I knew this little invasion would shut her up.

  She gasped and clenched, desperately trying to prevent my finger from going any further than it already had. “Stop!” she screamed. “You sick, bastard!”

  “Every time you say those revolting words ‘fuck you’ to me, I will do exactly that. I will fuck you one way or the other.” I pumped my finger into her puckered hole several times for emphasis, feeling my cock grow with every thrust. I wanted it to be my dick rather than my finger, but I had some control right now. Though it balanced very precariously. “You are lucky that right now I am simply fucking you in the ass with my finger. Trust me, my cock would have you crying out and begging for me to stop because I wouldn’t fit in this tiny hole comfortably.” I pumped my finger a few more times, going deeper into her tight channel with each push. When my second knuckle disappeared up her ass, Anita finally ceased in her struggles as she mewled like a kitten.

  I wanted to fuck her.<
br />
  I wanted to strangle her.

  I wanted to beat her.

  But I wanted to fuck her the most.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her full body weight melting against me in defeat. “Is that what you want me to say to make you stop?”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the finger rooted into her tiny hole, or her bright red ass that ultimately taught her a lesson, but regardless, she had thankfully simmered down. I had finally removed all the animalistic nature to attack and flee from her body… for now.

  “Sorry is a good start. So we are clear,” I began as I pumped in and out, feeling her muscles clench around my finger, “if you ever say those words to me, I will fuck you and not in a way that will have you purring for more.” I rubbed a second finger along her wet slit, coating it with her signs of arousal, placed it at her anus, and joined it with the one already in her.

  Anita inhaled and keened but didn’t resist or fight the intrusion of my two fingers. She simply laid across my lap limply, her tangled hair covering her face, concealing her expression, making it impossible for me to truly get a good read on her. The wetness of her sex, the smell of her musk, the swelling of her pussy lips, all gave away the truth that her body desired this. Her mind—maybe not. But her body exposed her dirty little secret whether she liked that fact or not.

  “And every time you decide to hit me, I would think twice,” I continued on, now with two fingers fully embedded in her ass, spreading her wide, relentlessly pushing her tight puckered hole past its limits with each movement of my fingers. “You will be punished much more severely than any blow you could possibly deliver to me. Unless you want to be sitting uncomfortably for the rest of our trip, I advise you to keep your hands to yourself.”

  I scissored my two fingers, stretching her, hoping the sting of my discipline would make my warning heard loud and clear. She writhed in discomfort, but still did not put up a fight. Her breathing steadied as the submission took over, and her legs parted slightly, as if silently begging for more.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes, what?”

  “What do you mean? Yes, what?” she asked out of what appeared genuine confusion rather than defiance.

  “Answer me with a sign of respect. Yes, sir,” I instructed.

  “Yes, sir. You made yourself very clear.” I could tell she didn’t want to say the words, but she still did. I had to give her points for doing so.

  Pulling my fingers from her anus—still wishing I could replace them with my cock—I spanked her two more times, still not getting a fight from her. I’d finally found a way to control this little vixen and the situation. But with the raging hard on that I had, I wondered if it were she who was truly in control.

  11

  Anita

  I pushed at the undercooked pasta in my bowl, deep in thought while I stared at it. It was the only thing that had seemed halfway decent on the room service menu, so both Kenneth and I ordered it. I should have been hungry since I had barely eaten anything in days, but the fear of my fucked up future stole any appetite I had. What would Marco do to me once I returned to New Orleans? I’d gathered by now that Marco was far from a merciful man, and no doubt would be pissed that I took the money and ran. I’m sure he had killed people for less than what I’d done. Would I be used and abused until I couldn’t walk without blood dribbling down my inner thighs? Abused to the point that I couldn’t move? Couldn’t breathe? Would I be beaten to death? I’m not sure the contract would protect me anymore. I had voided our signatures the minute I’d fled. Would he kill me?

  No… death would be too merciful. Marco wouldn’t let me off the hook by simply killing me, and I really didn’t think Kenneth would allow me to be killed. Something inside of me told me that the tight ass, no nonsense businessman would make sure my safety was guaranteed before being handed over. If for no other reason than to protect Spiked Roses and make it appear to all the participants in The Tasting Room that every transaction was safe. Kenneth wouldn’t want the staff to fear for their lives. So, he would conduct some sort of business agreement ending with a gentlemanly handshake. But there were a lot of things that Marco could do that Kenneth wouldn’t even blink an eye over, and frankly would maybe even do himself to some poor woman. I could see that. Kenneth was a dark man with dark desires. The fact that he… he… shoved a finger up my ass after spanking me like a hero would do in some historical novel spoke volumes about the man sitting across from me.

  “It is important that you eat something,” Kenneth said. “As subpar as this meal is, it’s either this or Mama’s Diner. At least here, we have the mini bar.” He poured two tiny bottles of booze over a glass of ice, and then repeated the same again for the glass in front of me. I sat cross-legged on the bed with the tray in front of me as Kenneth sat in the only chair in the room by a chipped and scratched desk made of cheap plywood.

  I rolled my eyes, huffed, and pushed the bowl away in defiance, pausing to see if that warranted another punishment or not. My anus puckered slightly in memory of the last time I’d pushed him too far. After what just happened, the last thing I wanted was a repeat.

  A repeat of discipline that had left me unsatisfied and hungry for more. I had hated every minute of it, yet when it finally came to an end, I’d felt an overwhelming sense of loss. I didn’t want another session, but at the same time, I didn’t not want it to happen again. I was sick. Maybe sicker than all these rich bastards combined.

  But controlling my emotions was something I clearly had no control over. I knew I had to behave. I was giving the man the upper hand because he was in control, and I was definitely not. Things would be so much easier if I just went back without a fight and begged for forgiveness at Marco’s feet. Do my time, keep the shit load of money, and all would be fine. But the demon inside of me screamed with rage. I wanted to hurt Kenneth, and yet after his display of dominance earlier, I couldn’t help but want to fuck him too.

  Not make love.

  No.

  Not gentle. No caressing. I just wanted to fuck him hard.

  And have him fuck me even harder.

  I wanted him to pull my hair, slap my ass again, wrap his hands around my neck and thrust his cock deep within me, all with the lingering threat that he may choose to fuck my ass at any moment, stretching me to impossible limits with the size of his dick.

  I had no doubt that Kenneth Saxon had a huge dick. Men like him had to have a huge dick. But fuck me if I didn’t want it in my ass after having just a tiny taste of the electricity that sizzled through me with just his fingers inside my tiny hole.

  “Eat.”

  The look on his face was enough for me to pick up the fork, take a bite, and start chewing. “Why are you doing this?” I mumbled with a mouthful of food.

  “I have Spiked Roses to think of. Not to mention your safety.”

  “My safety?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Did you really just say that? My fucking safety? You are about to hand me off to a madman, and you have the nerve to act like you are actually acting on my behalf? You really are a fucking bastard, you know? A delusional one too.”

  His look of warning was enough for me to swallow back the slew of curse words still threatening to vomit from my mouth. I took a drink of cheap gin to help aid me in calming the raging beast threatening to escape from inside of me. I stared at him over the glass as he ate. His jawline flexed with each chew, and I found it fascinating. I think it was watching a man with such power engage in such a normal and simple act as eating. He seemed more human and less Godly, while up until this point, he’d been more God than human. He was a fucked up version of Zeus, and everything around him, all that he touched, was his. His to do with however he chose.

  “Let me ask you something, Anita,” he said after he took a slow sip from his liquor, lightly inhaling air through barely parted lips as he did so. “Why did you go to The Tasting Room that night?”

  “Because all the gi
rls go to The Tasting Room. It’s expected at Spiked Roses, is it not?”

  He shook his head, his brow furrowing due to my answer as his eyes seemed to darken. “No, it’s not. Attendance in The Tasting Room has never been a requirement of working at the club. You were told this when you were hired.”

  “It is if you ever plan on making any real money,” I countered. “Every girl who works there knows this.”

  “Spiked Roses doesn’t pay you enough?”

  “It’s the difference between being a waitress and wearing diamonds. Which would you prefer?”

  He gave me a devilish wink and an asshole smirk that made me have to fight the urge to punch him square in the Adam’s apple. “Well, waitresses don’t get pissed on. So I guess the real question is, what would you prefer?”

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing.” I struggled to hold back my tears of rage and frustration. “It’s not a joke to me. It’s my life. I know you see me as nothing but a whore,” I said barely above a whisper. I straightened my spine and somehow found the little bit of strength that was still hiding inside of me, and said with more force, “And it’s so easy for you to say. You have money. A lot of fucking money. So, you can sit there and judge all you want, but some of us aren’t lucky enough to be rich. We have to do what we have to do to survive. I grew up in a goddamn trailer that rotted behind an abandoned gas station in the middle of a desert. I ate from cans of food that were so far past their expiration date that I didn’t even look anymore in fear that the knowledge of how old it was would spoil the one meal I was going to get that day. So, forgive me if I don’t ever want to return to that level of poverty. I will do whatever it takes to not get there again.”

  “And whoever it takes as well, it seems,” Kenneth said as he cheered his glass in the air to me and then took a swig of the remaining booze in his glass. “I’m not judging you. The choice is yours on who you fuck and how much you get paid to do it. I’m just here to make sure you follow through with your decisions. But stop playing the victim. No one forced you, and I could give a fuck less about your sob story of a childhood. We all have sob stories in our past. Some simply choose to use their past to give them strength rather than weakness.”