Enforcer's Price

by Sarah Hawthorne

  Colt was different. He was fast and immediately committed. I’d just met him, yet he spoke like he wanted a relationship. He knew I was a whore—when he was on my porch, he’d said he knew what it was to be a woman working for a MC, and yet he still wanted me. Why?

  Maybe he was like Janice said and could separate my work from our relationship. That thought left me cold. I wasn’t sure I could separate the two. I didn’t want to. I wanted a real relationship. One where I didn’t fuck other guys for money.

  I closed my laptop and stretched. Maybe he wanted the same thing. Maybe he really was my whipped cream and cherry.

  Or maybe he was just a cheap asshole who was trying to score some free sex.

  Chapter Seven

  Krista

  There wasn’t much left in the bar area that needed cleaning, so I moved upstairs. A couple of the guys—Skeeter and Rip—pretty much lived there and we kept two guest rooms where people could sleep after parties. They all shared one bathroom. I would start there.

  It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid, and I would make up some of what I lost in tricks. It was unusual for the guys to be gone this long, but some runs were longer than others. Anyway, it provided me a great opportunity to clean the rooms where the guys crashed.

  Skeeter and Rip were good guys, but well, they were guys. I emptied ashtrays, threw out half-empty beer bottles, and vacuumed every inch of that place. After wiping down furniture and changing sheets, I was ready for a break.

  I grabbed a bottle of root beer and sat on the loading dock. The night was cold and felt good through my sweatshirt. A bike rumbled off in the distance.

  A single headlight flashed as someone rode through the squeaky front gate. Probably Tate or Colt; I didn’t think the rest of the guys were back. I hoped it was Tate.

  The rider passed the loading docks and rode around to the front. I finished my drink and hauled myself up. Taking a break wasn’t going to pay my rent money.

  I searched the bar for any sign of Colt. Nothing. That was bad. If he was downstairs, I could easily avoid him by cleaning upstairs. I needed to know the best way to dodge him.

  When I got to the top of the stairs, I breathed a sigh of relief. He was in the shower. I could hear the water running and imagined it sliding down his naked body. I shook my head to clear it. I needed to stay far away from him. A relationship with him would just leave me heartbroken and out of a job. I could simply clean the other guest room and avoid him that way.

  Peeking into a room, I saw that it was bare. No personal effects anywhere. Perfect. I got right to work. As I was vacuuming, I kept hitting the drapes and sending up dust clouds. The long blackout drapes probably hadn’t been washed since Reagan, so I dragged a desk chair over and climbed up. I’d need to take down the entire rod if I was going to wash them.

  “You need some help?” a deep male voice said from behind me.

  Shit. I knew exactly whose voice it was.

  “No thanks.” I tried to make it sound upbeat. “I’ve got it.”

  To demonstrate that I had the situation well in hand, I lifted the curtain rod off the holders, and that’s when it all went to hell. It was one of those cheap expandable rods where one piece slides into the other. So, as soon as I lifted it up, the weight of the drapes caused the pieces to separate. I lunged to grab the end that was now sliding to the ground, but I had forgotten that I was standing on a desk chair. My foot hung in the air and I balanced desperately on one leg.

  I was going over, there was no way around this. I was gonna end up on the hardwood floor in front of Colt.

  As I pitched, I waited for the ground, but instead found myself caught by two iron bands. His arms.

  When someone catches you, it’s not like you see in the movies. It’s not all smiles and long locks of hair blowing in the wind. I think I kicked him in the shoulder, because I heard a grunt. But when I opened my eyes, it was right out of a romance novel.

  He was fresh out of the shower and smelled like soap and outside. He hadn’t shaved and I could see the stubble from my vantage point against his chest. Oh god. His bare chest. His pecs were sculpted, and sprinkled with hair and dotted with water droplets.

  In my line of work, I encountered everything from pelts to waxed bare. But this was Colt. Neatly trimmed, but enough to tickle my fingers, and all man. All right here in front of me.

  Our eyes locked and I licked my lips. Damn, I wanted him.

  “Here, let me put you down.”

  “No,” I breathed. I put my palm on his chest and felt my way up to the back of his neck. Then I pulled his head down and kissed him.

  He tasted like toothpaste as he cradled me against him. I moved my hand from his neck to his shoulders, trying to memorize every little divot, every spot where muscle met bone. His jaw was squared and slightly scratchy underneath my fingertips. I moved farther north and curled my fingers in his hair.

  While I was exploring his body, he was exploring my mouth. He licked my lips and I opened for him. I had stopped letting my johns kiss me and I had forgotten how erotic it was. His tongue battled with mine, a little piece of his body inside of me. I wanted more.

  He shifted his weight, and I realized that he was laying me on the bed. Looping my arms under his, I felt the cords of his naked back, then farther down to his ass. He was built like a Greek god and I needed to feel every inch. Straining up, I pressed against his body. His dick was hard against my jeans. Deep between my legs, I was tingling, aching for more.

  Colt’s hand was on my breast squeezing my nipple. I cried out and he pulled back.

  “That was good, right?” He propped himself on an elbow. “You know I want you. But you gotta be up for this as well. All of it. Not just once, but something real.”

  I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him that we were going to live happily ever after. Whatever I was doing right now could not continue. I’d lose all the business from the guys and Becky and I would be broke. But a little fling. I could have that, right? One night where I could feel wanted, cherished, loved.

  I looked into his eyes and whispered, “I want you.”

  It was the only thing I could promise right now. I knew he wanted more, but I couldn’t give him that. I could only give him right now.

  His arms went rigid. “No. Not just want, not just now. Tell me this is more than just a quick fuck for you. Tell me you want more, or I’m going to stop.” His eyes were steel as they searched mine.

  I wanted to stick to my guns and tell him this was a one-night stand and that I couldn’t endanger my daughter’s future. But right now, in this moment, with our bodies pressed together, I knew that what I wanted wasn’t the sensible, smart option.

  “I want this to be more than just a one-night stand. I want you to make love to me.”

  He growled and gathered me close and kissed me again. This wasn’t a featherlight touch, but more of a claiming. My lips were his. We separated and I stripped out of my sweatshirt and tank top. Oh god—I realized I was wearing my pale blue sports bra. Possibly the least sexy thing I owned. I should have worn one of my many stripper-type outfits. Men always loved those.

  I looked down at his body. I couldn’t see his dick, but I could feel him pressed against my jeans. The rest of his body was tanned and sculpted. Usually when I touched men I was only focused on making them feel good. But not now. I ran my fingers over his body—soft skin covering hard muscle. Touching him was making me feel good as well.

  He grabbed the back of my knee and brought my leg over his hip. “Do you like what you see?” he said as he nuzzled my neck.

  “Yeah,” I whispered. I buried my face against his shoulder. I was probably blushing, but I couldn’t stop touching him.

  As I caressed his chest, I compared his tanned, sculpted body with my own. I kept in shape, part of the job, but I didn’t have his
tan. Did the California girls always run around in bikinis, like on television? I covered my old bra with my hands. “I’m sorry, I should have worn something sexier.”

  We rolled so that he rested on his elbows above me. His hand moved slowly from my hip up my rib cage. His eyes were dark, and his mouth was set in a grim line. Shit, had I done something wrong?

  “You are beautiful.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek. “And sexy.” A longer kiss on my neck. Then he began to move down my chest toward my breasts. “When I woke up with an aching cock this morning and had to jack off, it’s because I was dreaming of you.”

  I wanted to believe that he ached for me as much as I did for him. I pushed him back and sat up, drawing my bra off over my head. He reached up and touched my breasts. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let myself enjoy him worshiping me. He tugged me back down and started to suckle my breast as he unbuttoned my jeans. I grabbed for the bedspread, needing something to anchor me. The pilled blue duvet felt rough under my fingertips. I knew its feeling well; I’d fucked quite a few guys on this bed. On this exact blanket.

  There were at least three condoms in the bedside table. I’d put them there. I could just reach over for one and he could be inside making me scream in moments. This is what I wanted, right?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of the room. But instead, my mind began to show me pictures. The faces of men as they came inside me for money. Face after face, on this bedspread. Some were vivid, like Skeeter. Others were just impressions. I lost count.

  “Krista?”

  I opened my eyes and the faces receded. It was just me and Colt. I looked around, waiting for the ghosts to return, but they didn’t.

  He rolled off and drew me against his chest. “What just happened?”

  I couldn’t. I just couldn’t explain to him what had just happened. I wanted a relationship with this man, I knew that now. And the best way to kill that was to tell him that I had just compared him to all of the other men I had fucked as a prostitute. I couldn’t watch his eyes cloud over with doubt and feel him push me away. It would be easier to just end it.

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t think this is the right thing to do.”

  It was shitty and vague as hell and I knew it. I stood up and pulled up my jeans and ran to my room.

  Chapter Eight

  Colt

  I lay on the bed for a moment, reliving the moments before it all went south. She’d been into me. He skin was hot against my hand, she’d played with my tongue when we kissed. She pulled off her bra and exposed her pair of glorious breasts. But as soon as I started to remove her jeans, it was over and I had no idea why.

  I had two choices. Lie here and let her go, or get up and fight for us. Or whatever was happening between us. To be honest, aside from a couple of stolen kisses, there wasn’t much between us. But I knew there could be more. It would be good. I’d known from the moment she stepped out of her apartment that she was mine.

  I threw on a pair of jeans and found her in her little room at the end of the hall. “Krista?”

  A sniffle.

  “Let me in. Let’s talk, okay?”

  There was silence for a while and then she opened the door. Her eyes were puffy; she’d been crying—hard. We sat side by side on her twin bed while she wiped her eyes.

  I wanted to put my arm around her, but I didn’t want to spook her.

  “I’ll go first.” I kept my hands on my knees so she knew I wasn’t going to touch her. “I didn’t mean to push you. I thought we both were headed in the same direction.”

  She turned toward me. “You didn’t push.” Her blue eyes were big and full of tears. “You just keep talking about a relationship and, well, I can’t.”

  My fingers dug into my knees. This again. She obviously wanted me, but not bad enough to let herself care about me.

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “No relationship. But I’m not interested in a quick fuck. I can pay for that anytime I want it. That’s not what I’m after. I want you.”

  Shit. Open mouth, insert foot. Her eyes were huge; she looked like I’d smacked her. I had come in here to make it all better, but instead it was all going to shit. Why the fuck did I think that comparing her to a hooker was a good idea? She was nothing like those women who hung around bars and tried to take men for as much money as possible, and here I was lumping her in with them.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the wall. “Don’t ever say that to me again. I want you to go.”

  I stood up. I needed to get the hell out before I made it any worse. I tried not to slam the door behind me.

  * * *

  It was late in the evening when Tate and I pulled up to the casino. He wanted to have a sit-down with one of the execs from the tribe.

  The casino was small but nice. About seventy-five slot machines and maybe five tables. Kurt, a tribal elder, took me around and explained how the games worked. Three five-card draw and two blackjack tables.

  “Odds are better for the house on the draw tables,” he explained. “But people like blackjack too. Gotta have both.”

  He showed me the pit and introduced me to the boss. “We’re a small place, so I know all the whales,” Kurt explained. “I know all the high rollers. Don’t need no fancy software here.” He nodded to me and smiled.

  Ah. That was the reason for the tour. They were explaining just how the money-laundering worked.

  “You get lots of big bets?” I asked. “Cash?”

  Kurt and the pit boss smiled. I understood what they were teaching me.

  “Got some real nice high rollers for this far south.” Kurt raised an eyebrow and then began to explain the odds of both blackjack and draw. Of course, it didn’t matter what the odds were. A fictitious player would show up with a load of counterfeit cash and place a high bet that everyone would know he would lose. There were no records of the bet and the game, though. Small casinos like this wouldn’t have the technology to track that. So, the counterfeit money would head straight to the count room, where it would be approved as legit cash.

  “Some of the cash goes as a payout to our customers.” Kurt picked up the cards he’d been using to demonstrate blackjack. “The other cash gets deposited into our accounts.”

  So, they passed the counterfeit bills on to the public, and deposited the legit stuff in their own accounts. A clean operation all around.

  Afterward, Tate and I relaxed in one of the VIP rooms. “Could be someone here.” He took a sip of scotch.

  Yeah. I guess. I didn’t get that feeling, though.

  “The count room operator is eighty if she’s a day. Kurt called her auntie.” I sipped on my tequila. Dark and aged and smooth. “I don’t think our problem is with the count room.” Tate shook his head in agreement. “I think the problem is inside the club,” I said.

  Tate was quiet for a while and we each sipped our drinks and played a slot machine.

  “I agree.” He cashed out and turned to me. “We don’t have much time left—I need to figure out who is doing this. If the Vietnamese find out I’ve been losing their bills, we’re screwed. We’ve got no protection from other clubs and no money to buy protection. This shit needs to get figured out. Now. You gotta come through for me.”

  “I will, man. I’ll get to the bottom of it, but I think I need the rest of the guys here. I need to see my suspects.”

  He nodded. “I’ll call them and see when they’re due back here from Portland. We’ll have a big fucking party. You can meet everyone there. Lots of true colors come out when the drinks are flowing and the women are willing.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Too bad there was only one woman I wanted and she wasn’t willing.

  Chapter Nine

  Krista

  I replayed yesterday over and over in my head. He
’d told me he didn’t want to pay and that he wanted me for me—and I’d freaked the hell out. I knew that I slept with men for money. I knew that he knew it. I just couldn’t hear it from him. So I threw him out of my room.

  I groaned and wished I was back in bed. But school started early.

  “Mommy, you’re not watching. They’re gonna die!”

  It was a life or death situation—we had to save the worms. Becky and I always left early to make sure there was extra time for worm rescue. It rained a lot in Tacoma, and whenever the concrete was wet, earthworms wriggled out from the grass and onto the sidewalk. If you didn’t throw them back, they would die when the sidewalk dried. Becky splashed through the rain puddles and we both chucked worms back onto the safety of the lawn as we walked.

  In the schoolyard, Becky ran off to find her friends. Gone were the days when she was shy and would linger by my side until the bell rang. I missed those days. She was only six, but growing up fast.

  “Krista.”

  It was Robby. Please God, let that be just a memory. I turned around, hoping to see empty space in the schoolyard. But instead he was standing right there, in all of his bruised and scraped glory.

  “You want to see your kid? Call me. We’ll set something up. Otherwise we have nothing to talk about.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

  He wouldn’t ask to see her. I knew it and he knew it. He barely cared about Becky and didn’t give a shit enough about her to spend any time with her.

  When he didn’t say anything, I turned and started walking—fuck him. He grabbed my arm hard and spun me around. “Listen to me, bitch. I want my money.”

  His fingernails cut into my skin and he had my wrist twisted so I couldn’t move. I knew from experience that this grip was going to leave fingerprints on my arms. Dammit.

  “I don’t owe you any money. Let go before people start to notice!” I tried to wiggle free, but he held on tight.