by Frankie Love
“You don’t really mean that.”
“I really do.”
“You’re really a virgin?”
“Sure. Like I said… you’re not?”
“No. Well, half.”
“Oooh! Do tell.”
Billy is by the table, card reader in hand, glassy eyes wide.
She says, “Another time.”
In the car, Poppy is fuming about a customer. I know who it is right away. It’s a girl called Nora Bryghte with a mother trying to own her wedding for her. Huge budget, but no sense of urgency or of how much trouble she puts anyone to.
“Honestly. That girl.” Poor Poppy’s face is screwed up tight. “She changes her mind with every breath. She’s driving me insane.” Her hands grip tight on the wheel. “Trouble is, it’s a huge wedding. A massive order. I’ve got all the fabrics. Not just hers, but all of the bridesmaids. Everything.”
“What’s the problem?”
“She chooses a dress and then changes her mind. We’ve taken three dresses to first fitting. You were in the store. You know what these fabrics cost.”
“What were the three designs?”
Back in the store over a glass of wine, she shows me the three designs.
I’m amazed. “But these are totally different.”
“See what I mean?” Poppy’s head shakes.
I’m confused. “She has no idea what she wants.”
“No clue. She seems happy enough, and her mother is happy, spending her husband’s money, and there’s plenty of time. Only, I’m going to go broke trying to give her what she wants.”
Next morning, I go back to Kingpin to collect my car. On the way back, I have an idea. I ask Poppy, “Your bride with the big wedding. Can’t you make something from the fabric in the dresses you already made?”
“I don’t have a pattern for anything like that.”
“I’ve had a thought about it.”
When I get back to the store, on a big piece of packing paper, I make a sketch with charcoal and white chalk. A dress in a sweep, off one shoulder, sewn in wide strips, but so they would hang like a bias cut.
Poppy’s eyes grow wide. “It looks fantastic. I wouldn’t know how to make it, though.”
“Me either. But I can work it out.” I ask her, “Can you spare me for half an hour?”
I take the brown paper with the sketch down to the basement workshop. Using cotton offcuts, I drape fabric over a mannequin until I start to see how to make it hang and fit together for the design.
There’s noise upstairs. It doesn’t sound good.
And he comes down the stairs. Running. Random mob guy.
“Hi.” His grin ignites me and I hate him for it. “I’m Finn, and I’ll be your kidnapper today.”
Chapter Six
Finn
She runs. She knows her way around the workshop.
I need to get her out of here. If I let her keep this up, Giovani’s men will be on us, and on her friend upstairs. I passed two van loads of them on the way. I know it was them. Giovani was leading the charge in a little red Italian sports car.
So, running around the room, I dodge to let her run up the stairs. Watching her in her tight leather pants, with the crisp white shirt, open deep over her hot, olive tanned skin, I feel like I could be in the best action movie. But this is deadly serious. Why does she make me think of frivolous things like that? Fantasies all the time.
I call after her, urgently, “If it’s not me, it’s going to be someone a lot worse.”
As I hoped, she darts out of the back entrance. Where I parked the van. This time, I had the sense to leave the side door open.
Outside, she runs in the narrow space in the alley, squeezing past the van. Giovani’s men are making a noise in front of the shop. Braking hard. Piling noisily out of their vehicles.
I’m closing on Mia. She shouts, “I don’t know if anyone is worse than you.”
“It has been said.” She has no way out now. Either she gets in the van, or she has to get past me. She jumps to get by. I block her. “Look, I’ve got a job to do.”
She snarls, “Funny thing is, I might go with you if you didn’t.”
“You’ll go with me, anyway. Sorry.”
“Sure about that?” She ducks left and jumps forward.
“Mm. Fairly sure.” I catch her and sling her over my shoulder.
“Oh! You’re strong,” biting sarcasm as she nips my back with her teeth.
She bites hard.
As I’m turning, she snarls, “Maybe a bit dumb, though.” She rocks hard. Slips her weight. Brings us both tumbling to the gravel. I roll.
She’s underneath me. Her face is pressed against my cock. Her voice makes heat on the underside of my pounding erection. Taking my mind off the heat of her pussy. Which is practically in my mouth. I can almost taste her through the soft leather.
She wriggles, “See, there are possibilities. If you could only lose the caveman act.”
“Shame so many armed men are racing this way.”
With my hands on her waist, I rise. I sweep her up, into the van, and I pull the side door shut behind us.
“Get on the back behind me.” I hand her a crash helmet and I climb onto the Harley.
While I strap my own helmet on, she says, “We’re going for a ride, on a bike, in your van?”
“Do you want all those men with their guns out streaming into your friend’s shop?”
“No.”
I take her phone. She puts up a token resistance, but she hands it over. I switch it off and drop it in my pocket.
“So get on the back. Let’s give them a fucking show and keep them occupied.”
When she gets on, I tell her, “Hold on tight.”
Her arms slide around my waist. I zip-tie her wrists together.
“You fucker.”
“I don’t want you to fall off.”
The bike roars and surges forward, bursting out through the unlocked back doors. We hit the ground hard, and I slew the bike sideways, around side of the shop.
There’s no way out, other than the way Giovani and his men are coming in. About twenty of them are out of their vehicles. They all reach for their weapons. As we thunder by, they turn. Tracking us. Lifting the guns.
I lean the bike and spray a wave of gravel at them. Fourteen hundred CCs of Harley Davidson motor roars in an angry crackle.
Volleys of pistol shots snap. Distant rolls on a snare drum. Hard to hear over the bike.
Shouting over the engine, I ask her, “Have you done much motorcycle riding, Mia?”
She shouts back, “Almost none. I have no idea what to do.”
“Excellent,” I’m leaning the bike over hard to cut an arc onto the highway and into thick traffic. “Do nothing. Don’t try to lean, don’t try to straighten up.”
I blast us between two trucks. Weave and dart through lazy, wallowing SUVs and limos. Trying to get some distance behind us. And in front of Giovani and his men.
She shouts, “Is that my lesson? Is that all the expert instruction you have for me?”
“Only one more thing. Hold on tight.”
I gun the engine hard and the bike rears up as it kicks forward.
She yells, “You tied my hands together.”
“You’re covered then.” Traffic bunches up ahead. I lean hard from side to side to flick between a cluster of sports cars. “Sit there and just be dead weight.”
“You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
I haven’t seen a trace of Giovani’s men since we left the bridal store, so I ease off the throttle. No point escaping them just to get us busted for speeding. I know they own at least half the cops.
As I weave smartly into the downtown traffic snarl-ups, she shouts, “How did you find me?”
“After you left me in the parking lot last night,” I tell her. “I put a tracker on your car.” Jerking the bike over, I make a sudden random left turn. There’s no-one on our tail that I can see. “I did t
hink that was rude, by the way.”
I’m heading for the anonymous, low-rise Marble Manor district.
“Maybe I should have given you more than the kiss.” She says, “How much did you pay the dealer?”
“More than a kiss. And not enough to cover the jab you gave her. You have a fast left.”
The oddest thing? I’ve nearly got her to a place of safety. A little oasis. A chance for some downtime. And I’m nervous about being alone with her. That damned fucking kiss. I need to forget about that.
I’ve been trying. Since the moment it happened. It complicates everything.
No, Finn. I tell myself. It doesn’t. Not if you don’t let it.
That fucking voice won’t shut up.
Riding a motorcycle, at speed, it’s complicated. It takes skills. You have to let a part of your mind free to do things like that. It’s how you windup driving for hours and not being able to remember it.
You can think about anything you want.
But you can’t stop yourself from thinking. If you put up barriers, it can all fall apart.
So I have to let the mental case in my head run around loose with his loony ideas.
You can imagine how it would feel, right? The grip of those fantastic thighs? Her hands, grasping, clawing. Scratching. Breath, beating hot on your skin? You could, you know. And she would be so fabulous. You know she would. The burn of her lips on your flesh?
Shimmering in the side mirror is the little red sports car. Coming up fast. We’re on a street at the back of Binion’s Casino. Parking levels rise on our right.
A guy leans out the side of the Ferrari. Pointing something. I accelerate hard. He speeds up behind us. The wind slaps my face hard. I’m almost flat out. The little Ferrari draws level with us on the outside.
I brake, hard, and turn right. The Ferrari turns, too hard. He slews, and the back fishtails. Arcing in front of the stern, municipal looking Mob Museum, it looks like Giovani’s going to get the skid under control. Then the car flips.
We’re long gone. Speeding past the back of the Downtown Grand and I don’t get a chance to see the final outcome.
I shout, “I hope your brother’s okay.”
“Why? I don’t care.”
“You don’t mean that.”
She pulls her wrists hard into my gut.
“How the fuck do you know what I mean?”
And I don’t know the answer to that.
Chapter Seven
Finn
I ride us around Downtown for about twenty minutes, doubling back, making fast turns, avoiding the blocks around the Mob Museum. Downtown Las Vegas looks unfinished in daylight. Washed out and kind of empty.
When I’m satisfied nobody is following us, I flip onto North City parkway and under the incongruous Historic Westside sign on the Highway 15 overpass.
Quiet, low rise, low rent Marble Manor is sparse, white and almost flat. I picked it because it’s a place where not much happens and nobody is likely to notice you. I thought it was a perfect place to be invisible and anonymous. That said, with it being so flat, and so little building, a motorcycle can be seen and heard from a long way off.
My undistinguished gray rental Toyota is in front of the isolated one-story that I rented anonymously. I pop the garage door with the beeper in my pocket.
It closes the door again when I’ve got the bike inside. The empty, pale gray cement garage feels oddly safe and secure, knowing that nobody tracked us here.
With the door completely shut, LED lights flood the echoing space in a hard, blueish glare. There’s nothing in here but the smoking, clicking bike, a tool bench, and a locked door to the house. That and her and me.
I cut the cable ties to let her get off the bike. She leans against my back for a moment before she moves.
I’m dreaming again. I need to stay grounded. Keep my feet on the floor.
“Nice place.” She stretches her legs. “I like what you’ve done with it.”
“Are you always this smart? I pity the guy who’s going to marry you.”
Her hair spills, and she shakes it as she pulls the helmet off.
“Nobody is going to fucking marry me.”
I look up as I’m hanging the helmets on the bars of the bike.
“Sorry. Raw nerve?” I look at her. I don’t like upsetting her.
But, really, I do have to try and make her hate me. I tell her, “I don’t plan to marry either. I’m not really even a relationship kind of a guy. I think I’m just not built for the whole love, marriage thing.”
“No. I won’t be married if I can help it.”
“See, we have that in common.”
“We have a disinterest in common.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Almost always.” She glares into my eyes. “What are you waiting for?”
“You want to hurry this process along.”
“Is there a ransom demand? Because, I have to tell you, I don’t know that my family will pay much to get me back.”
“I think they want you back.”
“Did they hire you?”
“No.” That’s one of those things that’s completely true, but completely misleading. But I don’t think I should tell her too much. She is very smart. She’s a lot smarter than I am. So, I need to take her out of her comfort zone.
“That kiss.” I look in her eye and her chin tips up. “Props for the move, by the way. Genius gag. You really got me there.”
She shrugs. Like she’s being modest. I go on, “It meant something, though. I know it did.” She’s looking back at me. Watching. Not giving anything away.
I say, “Sure, it was a great ruse, leaving me in the basement with my arms full of memory. But it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, was it?”
She takes a deep breath. I see a tremble in her neck. She says, “And it didn’t.”
“No? Come on. You know it did.” So, that’s a win. In one move, I’ve whisked her right out of her comfort zone.
She clears her throat. “No.”
I chuckle. “I don’t believe you.”
Unfortunately, we’re no longer on the same planet as my comfort zone. The way I’m feeling right now, I’m not even sure that I still have a comfort zone.
Her nostrils flare. “It obviously meant something to you, big boy. And you hope you snuggle up happily with your memories.” Her eyes shine with bravado. She may be the most maddening thing that ever drew breath. But damn, she is fine. She starts to pace around the empty garage.
I challenge her.
“Do it again, then.” I pace after her.
“What?” She’s walking backward.
“Go on. If you’re so sure you can can do it and walk away, do it.”
She stops. Then advances on me. She gives me her full-on challenging stare. “Do…”
“You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about. Airlock your face on mine, plant your tongue down my throat. Do it again and walk away. Then I’ll believe you.”
She stops in front of me. “Well, I can’t.”
“See?”
“I mean, I can’t walk away. You’re holding me prisoner. Or hostage. Or whatever this is. Aren’t you. So I can’t just walk away.”
“Okay. Stand away, then. Do it, then look me in the eye and tell me it doesn’t mean a thing.”
“And you’ll let me go.”
“No.” I laugh. “There is no, ‘then I’ll let you go.’ That’s not in it.”
“So what is it worth?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. All my muscles are buzzing. The tingling in the backs of my thighs feels like a lit fuse. “I know the truth of it. I just want to see how well you can lie straight after. I suppose what it’s worth is your self-esteem.”
“So my self-esteem is worth nothing?” she sneers, “Is that what you’re saying.”
“Ah, you’re just arguing for the sake of it, trying to shake us off the subject.” I turn my hands palms up. “You know you can’t do it. Just admit it.
”
“I can do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She takes a step closer. Heat rises in my chest and my neck. The scent of her is making my blood pump and hammer. My cock is so hard, it aches down both sides. The head fells raw and over sensitive.
My throat is tight. Inside my mouth is dry and my tongue feels thick.
She’s near enough that I can feel the rise and fall of her breasts. Her breaths are shallow. Trembling.
God, man? Do I need to tell myself all the reasons why this is the worst fucking idea of all time?
Why don’t I just imagine explaining it to Liam. He might think it would be best if I broke it to her father. The boss of another crime family.
How might that little chat go? ‘Oh, Lucas? Lucas Moretti? We haven’t met before. No. Hey, you know, guess what? The funniest thing.’
Her breath flutters. Patters against my lips as she stretches up. Her lips part. The warmth of her lips prints on mine as she shapes her mouth to mine.
My mind tunnels. I could have her. There must be a way. There has to be.
All the reasons why I wouldn’t seem to have faded behind a wall of smoke and out of reach.
Then her arms are around my neck and our mouths are closing on each other and her tongue is finding mine and I can taste her breath in my mouth, even before our soft, hot, wet flesh connects us.
Melts the two of us into one.
One mass of heat and heaving lust. A swirling, liquid rage of muscle and breath and movement.
Her body, pressed against mine, her hips roll and sway around the ridge of my aching cock.
I feel her about to break. Her eyes half open. Then she plunges deeper. Breathing noisily, she wraps her arms tight around me. Grinds her mound into me. Her firm, full breasts swell against me.
One hand in her hair, on holding her swiveling ass, I’m in danger of losing myself.
