Bastards & Whiskey (Top Shelf Book 1)

by Alta Hensley

  Again, Marco said nothing but just studied me.

  “But, Marco, I need to have your word that no harm will come of her. I can’t leave here until I have your word. And since you believe in the power of the word, as do I, I know I can trust it. You can not kill her, or torture her, or do anything that is not spelled out in the contract.”

  Reaching for a knife in his belt, Marco placed the tip of the dagger at my neck, piercing my flesh until blood was dripping down and staining the cotton material of my shirt. Marco stared at me directly in the eyes, assessing, waiting for me to cry out in pain, to beg for him to stop his torture and have mercy on me. He was trying to scare me. He was trying to prove he was the mighty mafia and could kill me, bury me, and no one would be the wiser.

  I refused to give him the satisfaction, remaining silent, barely flinching as the blade cut into my skin even though the fire sizzled along my flesh. I knew he wouldn’t kill me. It was bluff. He wasn’t an idiot. He would have had to deal with the wrath of the other members of Spiked Roses. Even if you took the lethal Harley Crow out of the equation, each man would rain down their wrath on Marco and his goons if they did kill me. Marco wasn’t a stupid man. A motherfucker, yes. But not stupid.

  “Did you fuck her?” Marco asked, bending down close to my ear, the blade still threatening. “Did you fuck her while she was under contract with me?”

  When I didn’t answer right away, Marco pressed the dagger into my neck a little further. I was going to kill this motherfucker… but I had to keep Anita in mind. If I acted rashly, she would surely pay the price too. No witnesses. No mess. But enough was fucking enough. Reaching up, I grabbed his wrist pulling the knife away, my eyes locked on his.

  “I admit I owed you one, but if you ever put a knife to me again, the outcome will be different.” Dropping my hold on his wrist, I stood, forcing him to step back, never looking at the knife, never allowing my gaze to drift from his.

  “Did you? Did you fuck that tight ass of hers?” Marco demanded, his anger bubbling over at my reaction, and yet he slid the knife back into its sheath. Just like in a courtroom, the calmer and more collected I was, the better chance I had of winning.

  “Yes.” It took all my might to not beat the living shit out of the man for having the audacity of being so fucking stupid as to threaten my life. “Do you blame me?”

  “No, I guess I don’t.” He smiled. Sick fucker. “I bet it was good.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing you and I haven’t had before.” Lying between my teeth, but I didn’t want the asshole to picture having amazing, mind blowing sex with Anita. No fucking way.

  “Maybe I should have added that to the contract,” he said as he took a few steps back.

  I shrugged again. “Not worth the money if you want my opinion. It’ll cost you a pretty penny and frankly… mediocre pussy.”

  “Yeah, the pretty ones are usually the worst fucks,” Marco said as he walked toward the door. Looking over his shoulder, he added, “I’m sure you can show yourself out. I have a contract to honor on my end.” With that, he left the room leaving me tempted to kill the motherfucker with my bare hands.

  19

  Anita

  “Let go of me. You’re hurting me,” I snapped, my words laced with pain. “You might be pissed off at me, but you can’t cause bodily harm. It says so in the contract.”

  He only squeezed my arm harder, not seeming to care about the bruises that undoubtedly would be inflicted. I suppose I should have been grateful that he hadn’t beaten me to death, or killed me in some other tortuous way the minute he entered the room. But I couldn’t cower for the man. I couldn’t.

  “You have been a very, very bad pet. Do you know what I do to bad little kitties?”

  I readied myself for the fury that was about to be unleashed on me. Marco was not a gentle man, this much I could figure out. Nor a caring, a compassionate, or a man of mercy. Tennessee had warned me. The girls at the club had warned me. And yet, I was the stubborn idiot who not only signed on to his list of kinky demands, but I’d taken the money and ran. I couldn’t blame the man for being angry. Not really. I was the one who broke the rules. Not him. But I still hated him, and he was nothing but a disgusting monster in my book. The look in his eyes exuded evil. The devil himself could not have looked any more menacing.

  “Did you have fun running away only to be caught? Is that how you like it? You want your body to be taken? You say no but you really mean yes? You’re just lucky I didn’t put a hit on your bitch ass.” His laugh cut through every ounce of bravado I could gather.

  What good would begging do? He wouldn’t change his mind. He wouldn’t grant me leniency for my crime. No pardon in his world. And even if I wanted to terminate the contract and give back the money, something told me that all negotiations were over.

  Slap!

  The sound of his open hand making contact with my cheek crashed in my head louder than any noise I had heard before. But there would be no bruise bad enough to cry foul. A slap was not in violation of the contract. No blood. No damage. Just a fucked up way to treat a woman. Who slaps women across the face these days?

  Marco Nunez apparently.

  The shock, the stunned surprise—whatever it was had mercifully saved me from retaliating and attacking like a pitbull. I would have never allowed a man to hit me. Never. Not if he wanted to keep his hand. But this was different. What could I do? Scream? Cry? Fight back? I had no real viable option other than to continue to stand there in stunned silence.

  “Take your fucking clothes off and become my pet,” was his only command.

  I hated him. I hated this. Was the money worth it? No, but I had already climbed the hill that I would die on. The battle had begun and there was no choice but to see it through.

  Putting up a fight, screaming, pleading—all would fuel his hate. Weakness only made him stronger. My only hope of enduring this night—these two weeks—was by doing as he ordered and try not to add to his evil onslaught.

  I did as he asked, removed my dress, and lowered myself on all fours before him, awaiting his next command.

  “Suck me, my dirty bitch,” he said as he lowered his pants revealing his flaccid penis.

  My stomach recoiled at the thought of placing his limp, shriveled nub on my tongue, but I also knew I had no choice. Hopefully, if I performed the act well enough, I wouldn’t have to do anything else because he would be too exhausted from coming and not be able to do anything but sleep like the lazy fucker he was.

  Closing my eyes in hopes I could ease the nightmare before me, I placed his salty flesh in my mouth, struggling not to gag when his musky scent entered my nostrils. My eyes watered as I desperately tried not to vomit all over his bristly pubic hairs.

  His moan burned my ears. I hated giving this man pleasure of any sort. As his hips thrust his growing cock further into my mouth, I dutifully bobbed my head up and down, refusing to let this man take what very little was left of my soul. Up and down, up and down was the cadence I silently chanted. I could… and would survive this, but I was so ashamed. So very ashamed of what I had become. Nothing was worth this. Nothing would make this right. I had become a whore. There was no euphemism, and no way to sugar coat the situation that I had willingly placed myself in.

  He fisted a chunk of my hair. “There’s no escaping me,” he said as if he was the all mighty master. If I hadn’t been closing my eyes, I would have rolled them at how little I respected this man. “You belong to me. You make no choices.” He moaned and thrust even deeper, filling my mouth with his creamy seed without warning. “You make no choices, bitch. None. I make them all,” he grunted as he pumped his hips against my lips, emptying himself completely in the back of my throat. I considered spitting it back out, but again, I needed to pick my battles. Maybe this evening would end with just a vile blowjob.

  He kept his dick in my mouth until it began to soften. I did nothing more but remain in position, swallowing the last remnants of his filthy essence as I trie
d to block out the black demons in my mind that threatened to consume me with despair.

  “Lick me clean, my kitty. Lick every last bit of my milk.”

  He was a sick motherfucker, and I wanted to gouge out his eyes with my kitty nails. Yes, I’d be his pussycat. Let me claw the fuck out of him until he was nothing but a bloody pulp.

  “Stay on all fours, pet,” he commanded as he pulled up his pants. “Spread your legs wider so I can see that little kitty of yours.”

  I did so, not allowing the panic in that knocked on my soul. But my body involuntarily shook as I waited to see what would happen next.

  “Put your face on the floor and spread your legs further. I want to see that tight puckered hole of your ass before I punish it raw.”

  Giving me only a second to do as he asked, Marco placed a cold metal dildo at my opening. I didn’t need to look back to know what it was, but when I pushed up on my elbows and glanced back, my assumptions were correct. But what surprised me was at the end of the dildo was a fur tail, giving off the impression of a kitty tail. He was going to fuck my ass with a kitty tail dildo. I could also see that the dildo was so large that no matter how relaxed I tried to be, the dildo would spread my anus to the point of maybe tearing. Fuck what if he tore me? It would be against the contract and cause bodily harm, but by the time I could cry breach, it would be too late. I would have a torn asshole. My only saving grace was that the metal was so smooth it slid in easily enough, because lube was clearly not something Marco believed in.

  In it went. No ease, no waiting until my body naturally allowed entry, nothing but a firm thrust. This was not at all like the erotic sensations of what Kenneth had given me. This was not Kenneth in any way. And, of course, Marco didn’t allow my bottom hole to adjust to the intrusion as he began thrusting in and out, quick and strong. I whimpered, but I would not cry out. I would not give the man the power of knowing how the painful and humiliating punishment ripped at my shattered soul even more.

  In went the metal dildo—feeling as if it had ripped me in two. Out went the dildo—expanding my tight entrance to the point where my whimper turned to an uncontrolled scream. The fur of the kitty tail brushed against my upper thighs and along the seam of my ass. With tears running down my face, I could no longer show courage because I had none left. My body hurt, my soul destroyed by the excessive anal abuse coming down on me.

  “Please,” I cried out. Not for Marco’s ears since I knew my plea would mean nothing to this vile creature. But I called out to the angels of mercy around me, begging for something. Desperately pleading to anyone or anything. “Please, please, please,” I cried out. “Please.”

  “You are my pet. My kitty. Meow for me as I fuck your ass with your dirty little tail.”

  What the fuck? What was wrong with this man? Was he getting off on this?

  “Now,” he commanded as he shoved the kitty dildo up my ass further. “Meow like a good little pussy. Be my dirty kitty.” He pushed the dildo in harder. “Now!”

  “Meow,” I squeaked as the anal rod plunged even deeper into my back channel. “Meow.”

  “That’s my dirty, dirty pussy. Master likes his dirty kitty when she meows. Again!” He punctuated every syllable with a push or pull of the punishing tool.

  “Meow.” What more could I say? What more could I do?

  “You are my bad pussy, and I will lock you in a cage for trying to escape.” He jammed the dildo even deeper, harder. The fur of the tail made contact with my anus, telling me that the large dildo was fully inside of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I was. I was so sorry that I did this to myself. So sorry that I had allowed greed to put me in this situation. Nothing, and no amount of money was worth this. I would rather be the poor trailer trash on exit 222, mile marker 51 eating expired canned beans than this.

  Should I scream out the safe word? I could end it all now. Give the money back. I could… but no.

  No, motherfucker. You pissed on me, and now you fucked me in the ass with a kitty cock.

  He owed me that fucking money. He owed me!

  Minutes felt like hours as the brutal ass fucking continued, but eventually Marco grew tired, or bored, and threw the anal device to the ground. “Get cleaned up and compose yourself. Your punishment is over for now. Let’s go put you in your cage, dirty pussy cat.” He gave his maniacal laugh again.

  20

  Kenneth

  Staring into my glass of the most expensive whiskey that I could find behind the bar, I struggled to focus my thoughts. Since arriving back in New Orleans and Spiked Roses, I’d wanted nothing more than to charge to Anita’s side, hold her to me and take her away from the nightmare of that fucked up contract. Marco was a son of a bitch and honestly deserved to die. I also knew, though, the recklessness of such a thought. I had considered telling Harley everything that had happened. Harley Crow would kill Marco without giving it a second thought. But as I touched the bandage on my neck, I knew that having Harley do something would only cause problems for the club. I had worked too damn hard trying to make all our problems go away.

  Why the fuck did Anita sign that damn contract in the first place? And why was she so damn stubborn? All she had to do was give the money back. She’d said she hadn’t spent it yet, and I believed her when she said so. So, why the fuck would she put herself through all of what Marco had in store for her?

  We were not in a relationship, other than the few passionate encounters we had shared. I couldn’t just claim her as mine, sweep her up into my arms, and take her away from all the evils of this fucked up world. If I even tried, Marco wouldn’t exactly be open to the idea. I didn’t need to start a war between Marco’s camp and Spiked Roses. It would be our undoing and not cool to make my issues the issues of my business partners.

  I was also smart enough to know that trying to rescue and take Anita away would put her in even more danger than before. Depending on which hit man Marco sent after us, the danger could be even worse than what she was already living with.

  I knew Marco Nunez to be ruthless and he always got what he wanted, especially if his ego and pride were involved. But I couldn’t allow her to serve her two-week sentence. There was no fucking way. And the fact that I let her go made me just as much of a monster as Marco… if not even worse.

  The thought of buying out Anita’s contract came to mind over and over. If Marco even allowed it, that is. Going in and simply handing over the money and taking Anita away would piss off Marco. It would attack his ego. So I knew I had to make it seem like a legit business deal. Make the man believe I wanted what he had and was willing to pay for it. If I went about it as delicately as if I wanted to buy a rare painting he was in possession of, he may be willing to hand her off to me.

  But would Anita even want that? Honestly, I had no idea what the woman wanted. I had never actually taken part in The Tasting Room for myself. I wasn’t interested in owning a woman or having to pay for any services. Though I had sexual tastes that certainly bordered on taboo, I had never had an issue convincing willing partners with my charm alone. That and money. A shitload of money gives any man charm.

  Relationships were not going to happen in my life. I hadn’t really had a girlfriend since college. I didn’t operate like that. I was a selfish son of a bitch, and I liked it that way. I actually enjoyed the freedom of being without one. Fuck and farewell.

  But there was no doubt in my mind that Anita and I had some form of hot chemistry. I didn’t want to admit to it, but the woman had my balls in a goddamn vise. Her body willingly submitted to me, almost screamed out for more of my dominance. But her mind? That was a completely different story. She fought me just as I fought her. Mental warfare on both of our parts, and I couldn’t tell who was winning.

  There was something about Anita that fascinated me to the point where I had woken from my sleep, my body drenched in sweat, my mind reeling with images of her naked brilliance, her sultry words begging me to take her in ways no decent woman should
want, should crave, should demand with every move of her body. She was a dirty, dirty girl, and I fucking loved it.

  This woman held the power… and I was willing to risk everything, including my life, to get her back.

  Yes, I wanted her back.

  I wanted her back.

  I should have never let her go.

  What the fuck was I thinking handing her over? Anita had been right. I was a weak pussy. I was so focused on doing everything right, to not fail at my mission, that I hadn’t realized that I just failed. I failed her. I had fucking failed her. I was ashamed of myself. She had asked for help. She had begged. But I was so driven and focused on my original goal that I couldn’t see the bigger picture. I couldn’t even hear the pleas of a woman who needed me. She had needed me, and I fucking failed.

  I tried to make myself see reason, however. I had nothing to offer a woman, let alone one like Anita. I certainly wasn’t capable of surrendering my own heart to her. I couldn’t change who I was. She deserved the type of man who gave her flowers and draped her with jewels. She deserved a man who promised her the world and would swoop in on his white horse and make all her problems disappear. And if that man couldn’t make them disappear, then he would buy them away. Yes, she deserved that man.

  I was not that man.

  I was as far from that man as you could get.

  Sin, indulgence, and a harsh level of cold cruelty had been the lane I’d chosen. I liked dark undertones in a good fuck. I preferred it. I knew this, embraced this—it was who I was. But with Anita… with Anita… could I change? She deserved the opposite. She deserved the happy ending that each staff member who works for Spiked Roses dreams of. They all dream of the day that their wealthy as fuck prince charming comes charging in and turns them into the princess. Anita Kyle deserved her crown just as much as the other girls, and I knew damn well that if I left her alone and went my own way, she would find it. Hell, the type of woman she was, and the fight that she had in her, she would damn well take or steal the fucking tiara if she had to. She was stronger than any woman I had known, but was she strong enough to endure the next hellish two weeks?