Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “That’s it, my girl. My wonderful girl who comes so hard when her Sir’s in her tender little ass.” I punctuate each word with a harder thrust and feel her begin to shake. “There it is. Are you going to give your Sir everything?”

  “Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir! Oh, God!”

  “There we are.” Her heels pound against the backs of my thighs as the ring of her sphincter clenches and clenches around my cock. Her whimpers rise to desperate squeals. “Give it to me, girl. Come hard for me. I know it hurts.”

  She throws her head back and I glory at the sight of her throat straining beneath my collar as she screams out her pleasure. Knowing how very sore she must be, I don’t try to prolong my own orgasm. I let her pleasure ramp me up, her squirming and small cries as I pound her very tender ass take me over, and after that moment of soul-deep satisfaction when I empty myself in her, I keep her rolled tightly in my arms.

  “Who has you, girl?” I whisper against her temple as I rock gently in her.

  She clutches at me, her arms and legs trembling. “You, Sir.”

  “That’s right.” I lift up enough to look into her glazed eyes and let her see how pleased I am with her. “Your Sir has you. Am I letting you go?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not letting my girl go. My wonderful, wonderful girl who trusts her Sir not to let her go.”

  “Please,” she whispers. “Please stay in me, Sir.”

  “I will, my girl. I will until you fall asleep. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Even though you’ll be sorry tomorrow when you can’t sit down. You want your Sir’s cock filling up your ass, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, please, Sir.” She tips her hips slightly, probably trying to keep me in her now that I’m going soft. If she wasn’t going to be asleep in a matter of seconds rather than minutes, I’d have to disappoint her, but I can feel her muscles going lax already, hear the slur in her soft voice as she sinks.

  “That’s my girl. I’m right here with you, my girl. I have you.”

  “Ankusrr.”

  She’s going fast and I keep her enclosed in my body until she’s completely out, her body limp and heavy. She doesn’t even twitch when I gently draw out of her and clean us up. I flick on the night light I’ve asked Logan to put in the guest room since I’ve noticed she always sleeps with the bathroom light on, pull on a T-shirt so I don’t stick to her, and climb back into bed, rolling her onto her good hip and spooning in behind her. I tug the covers half off her, so she doesn’t overheat, and close my eyes. Despite the stresses of the day, I have a feeling we’ll both sleep well tonight.

  *****

  At first, it looks like nothing has changed inside Shameless Studios. Same gloom despite the bright day outside. Same, gum-cracking, bored girl behind the counter. But, as I stand in the reception area, letting my eyes adjust to the dinge, I register some differences. First, I can clearly hear the buzz of the tattoo machine. Sounds like Mad Bob’s in residence. Second, there are more designs up on the walls and I can see without close inspection that they’re Brenna’s. No matter what the subject, her art has a certain style to it.

  I think through the designs I saw in her sample book and remember a pair of intertwined dragons around a spinning globe of water. I liked it enough to contemplate asking Bren to add it to my sleeves. Mad Bob has a simple, almost crude dragon design up on the wall and I pace over to it, unpin it from the wall, and carry it over to the desk.

  “Hi,” I say to get the girl’s attention. She didn’t look up when I came in, or while I took the design down from the wall, but now she does, finally dragging her attention away from another fashion magazine. “Do you have any designs like this, but with two dragons?”

  The girl cracks her gum. “Yeah, maybe.” She pulls a thick, zippered binder out from under the desk. As she unzips it, I see hundreds of pages within, each in a plastic sleeve. Some of the sleeves still have a strip of binding at one edge, where they were torn out of Brenna’s sample book. That fucker.

  The girl flips to a sticky note labeled “Dragons” in a scratchy hand and flips through them. She pulls out two designs, one of which is the dragons and water globe I remembered.

  “Yes, I like that,” I say. “Can I look through the other dragon designs, just to see if there are any I like more?”

  The girl chews at her pierced, lower lip. “Bob said these aren’t to leave the desk.”

  I give her my best, blue-eyed smile. “I’ll be right there.” I nod at the sagging couch. “I won’t ever leave your sight.”

  “Oh, okay, I guess.”

  She pushes the sheaf of dragon designs into my hands. I take them and carefully sit on the couch so she can see me and spread the designs out on the chipped coffee table.

  They’re all Brenna’s.

  I pick a random design, shuffle the rest back into a pile, and take them back to the desk. “I really like this one,” I say, showing it to her. “But now I’m thinking maybe I’d like a wolf as well. Any wolf designs in there?”

  She nods. Before she starts pulling out wolf designs, I hold out my hand. “Here, I’ll look through them.” When she hesitates, I tip my head at the couch. “I’ll be right there.”

  Glancing between the folder and the, evidently engrossing, magazine, she nods and hands me the binder.

  I take it to the couch and flip through the whole thing. All of the designs are Brenna’s. I don’t remember her sample book well enough to say if any are missing, other than the ones up on the walls, but this is the bulk of her hard work.

  I linger, pretending to consider this design and that design. The girl behind the desk takes a call, apparently from her boyfriend, and they devolve into some kind of teen-speak that I wasn’t able to follow even when Naomi was speaking it. Something about a cat in a dress. She completely forgets about me. I lift my wrist to my face, pretending to scratch my chin, and speak into the microphone Logan’s clipped into my sweatshirt sleeve.

  “I’ve got the book and a chance to run. Take it or confront Mad Bob?”

  There’s a click in my ear, then Logan’s voice. “Take it.”

  “Coming out,” I say.

  I close the folder and zip it, holding one design in my hand like it’s the one I’ve settled on, and walk towards the desk. The girl is still too involved in her call to even look up at me.

  Just before I reach the desk, I take a sharp, slam through the shop door, and race up the stairs to the street, taking them two at a time, ignoring the girl’s shout behind me.

  Logan’s waiting just down the street in Manny’s limo, engine running, rear door open. I dive in and Logan slams the door behind me. Through the tinted glass, I see a bearded, barrel-chested man huff to the top of the shop’s stairs. As Bren described, he’s thickly tattooed, very little skin still visible. By his build, I’d guess he’s one of the two who bricked Brenna’s sign.

  Manny pulls the limo out into the late morning traffic. Mad Bob puffs his way to the curb—he’s really not in good shape if the run up the stairs left him winded—and watches us drive away.

  “He definitely got the plates, Man,” Logan says.

  “Yeah, I’ll call my cousin.”

  Manny has a cousin in the NYPD. I gather she fixes parking tickets for him, given the way he parks all over the City without concern for trivialities like no parking zones and meters. Can she fiddle a plate registration? I guess she can if Manny sounds unconcerned.

  I relax back into the limo’s very comfortable seat and rub my knee, which is protesting my sprint. Mission accomplished. I’m pleased we got most of Bren’s designs back and did it without getting into a wrangle with skinheads. But the war’s not over. I can feel it.

  “I think we should pull Theo in,” I say to Logan. “You said he owes you a favor.”

  “He does, but what are we pulling him into? Larceny?”

  “It’s not stealing if you’re taking back something stolen from you. These are all Bren’s d
esigns. I checked.” I tap the folder. “There were a couple of cameras in Bob’s shop, so he’s got my face. If his skinhead buddies have any contacts within law enforcement, he’ll be able to find me. I want to send a message before he does.”

  “What kind of message?” Logan asks. “Nitro or reactor scram?”

  “We’re still at nitro.”

  From the front, Manny chortles. Those were memorable pranks.

  “I’m not interested in running Mad Bob out of business,” I continue. “At least not the way he’s trying to do to Bren. But I want him to understand she’s not alone and if he continues messing with her, shit will escalate in ways he won’t like. Report the stolen book to Theo, report my recovery of it as part of an investigation by LMM, and Bren files a complaint of theft against Mad Bob. That way there’s an open, NYPD investigation if Mad Bob decides to retaliate.”

  Logan nods. “I like all of that. You think it’s enough?”

  “For now. If the Knights get involved, we’ll need something showier.”

  “Okay.” Logan pulls out his phone and calls Theo. I smile to myself. One of the things I’ve always liked about Logan is how decisive he is.

  I listen to their conversation but there’s nothing I need to add, and by the time Logan’s done and they’ve set a time for Theo to interview Bren by phone, we’re back at Logan’s. Manny drops us off and after checking on the girls, who are cleaning the playrooms, Logan and I join Max in the office.

  None of us are big into recapping ops. That’s the job of officers. We’re the doers, not the talkers. Max gives us one follow up point which is that Mad Bob called one of the Fairskin Knights pretty much as soon as he returned to his shop.

  “This guy isn’t exactly high up in the organization,” Max says. He pulls up what looks like an organization chart on the screen of Logan’s computer while he continues to tap away on his fancy-looking laptop. A red circle appears around one of the names on the lowest level of the org chart. Definitely a foot soldier.

  “Any connection between these guys you can find?” I ask.

  Max shrugs. “Very distant cousins by marriage.”

  “Maybe someone Bob feels he can call on but isn’t actually close to,” Logan offers. “None of these guys using burner phones?”

  “Not since the first ‘op’.” Max snorts. “This city deserves a better class of criminal.”

  I can tell Max is quoting something, but I’m not sure what. “We have to be ready for them to retaliate.”

  “I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere except Mad Bob’s apartment and inside the Knights’ HQ. When I’m not watching, Squid will be.”

  “Squid?” I ask but Logan waves me off. Evidently, Squid, whoever he is, is solid.

  “Good job, Max,” Logan says. “Mac, you want some time alone with Brenna so she can express her gratitude for the recovery of her book?” I certainly do. At my nod, Logan continues, “Max, before you take off, we need to go over the wiring plan for the Tessier job and then I’ve got a promise to keep to my little girl before we head to the club. Mac, are you okay fielding Bren’s interview with Theo or do you want backup?”

  “I’ll handle it,” I confirm.

  “Okay, only two things to cover legally are one, Bren engaged LMM to recover the book and two, you’re acting under LMM’s license. If Theo asks any questions about the investigation beyond that, just refer him to me. He knows better, but that’s never stopped him in the past.”

  “Roger that.”

  “He can be a bastard and he’s not above pushing buttons. You sure you’re okay with that?”

  “All good,” I confirm.

  Theo can push as hard as he likes. I’m the one who got the girl.

  “Are you coming to the club later?”

  I shake my head. “Bren and I are going to take off around two and meet up with Napa and Wreck, drive up to Poughkeepsie for the night.”

  “That death machine.” Logan groans. “You just love stripping years off my life. Be careful.”

  I grin. Logan’s never been a fan of my bike. He’s not a huge fan of cars, either, after his parents were killed in a massive pile-up on the Turnpike. “I will be. We’re stopping back off with the bikers on Sunday night for a barbeque. Depending on how things go, we’ll either be late home or stay a second night on the road. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Max tosses a flat, black box that I only catch because of my long history with these boys and them throwing things at my head when I least expect it.

  I rattle the box at him and Max winces. “Careful with one of my babies.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tracker for your bike. Call me when you’re on it and I’ll walk you through the installation. It’ll take you less than five minutes and I’ll have audio and video.”

  I can’t fault their preparation. “Hope you enjoy a whole lotta road and road noise.”

  Max lifts his shoulders. “Better than the noise outta Brenna’s shop. The tattoo guns are giving me migraines.”

  “They are noisy,” I agree.

  “Anything else we need to talk about?” Logan asks, looking up from notes he’s been making.

  “Just one thing from me,” I say. “Bren and I are going to sign a contract on Monday. Will you be witnesses?”

  Logan stares at me for a long moment. “You’re offering her a contract?”

  “I am.”

  “Good for you, man,” Max says. “I’m in. Cynnie’ll be over the moon. She loves Bren.”

  “You mind if I have a word with Bren?” Logan asks.

  “Be my guest.” I think about threatening him with bodily harm if he scares off my sammie, but I trust Logan with my life and my sammie’s not scared of anything, so I let it pass.

  Chapter 17

  I’m riding so high from Mac’s return of my sketches I feel like I’ve smoked a whole bong of Super Lemon Haze. After I jump up on him and nearly knock him over, he wraps my legs around his waist and carries me over to the couch. He sits with me in his lap, straddling him, and claims a hundred kisses as his reward. Some of those kisses are on his mouth but a lot of them land on his cock.

  After he gives me a big load of “you’re welcome,” we cuddle on the couch, skin to skin. Mac’s left his jeans open and his cock’s a soft, damp weight against my hip which is somehow more intimate than his cock being hard. Logan’s ridiculously huge flatscreen is showing the news but neither of us is watching it. I’m drowning in those sky-blue eyes. Mac’s lazily tracing the rose tattoo on my shoulder with his fingertip.

  “I asked Logan and Max and the girls to be our witnesses on Monday,” he says, low and soft.

  “What’d they say?” I run my fingers down the depression of his spine, my fingertips gliding in the sheen of sweat on his skin.

  “Logan wants to talk with you.”

  Tension creeps through my shoulders.

  “About what?”

  “I didn’t ask. I trust him and I trust you. Whatever you say to each other is fine by me.”

  I blink up at him, completely at a loss for words. No one, not even Ruby, has expressed their faith in me like that before.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I whisper.

  He brushes a kiss across my mouth and nips my nose before he pulls back.

  “What’s your top score on Frogger?” he asks.

  “My—uh—what?” The non-sequitur after that stunning display of trust leaves me brain-dead for a moment.

  “Top score. Frogger.”

  “Like fifty thousand. Why?”

  “Mmm, I think I can take you. I had an arcade date planned for tonight. I’ve had to shift location, but I found an arcade in Poughkeepsie online so after we ditch the bikers, we’re going to have a Frogger-off.”

  The grin that spreads across my face is so wide it makes my cheeks hurt. “You’re crazy, Sir.”

  “’Course I am. All the best people are.”

  “Alice in Wonderland , Sir?”

  “Naomi’s favorite movie for y
ears. Still not sure what girls see in that Johnny Depp fella.”

  “It’s an estrogen thing, Sir.” Although Cappa has been lusting after him for years.

  “Must be.”

  I trickle my fingers up his spine to feel his skin goose bump. “You know, I’m better at Pac Man than Frogger.”

  “Too bad. That wadda-wadda noise puts me off my game.”

  I capitulate with a laugh. “Okay, Sir. Frogger it is.”

  “Uh-huh. You need anything from your place before we go?”

  “No, Sir.” I glance at the zippered folder on the coffee table. “Do you think we should drop off the sample book?”

  “Nope. Mad Bob and his boys might get it into their heads to try again. Let’s get those high-res prints done so you’ve got a backup and figure out some security for the originals. Until then, book’s safest here.”

  I’m tempted to argue with him, but I bite the impulse back. He’s right, and I’d only be arguing to make the point that it’s my business, not his. That’s not a point I need to make anymore.

  “Any thoughts on security, Sir? I was thinking maybe I could chain the book to the table.”

  “Not the worst idea. That would at least prevent thieving bastards like me from snatching and grabbing it.”

  “Did you really?” I still can’t quite believe Mac walked in to Mad Bob’s place, grabbed the folder, and ran out.

  “I really did. Then I jumped into my get-away limo and raced away. Straight out of The Italian Job , only classier.”

  I bury my giggle in his shoulder. “If the hundred kisses didn’t convince you, Sir, I’m seriously impressed.”

  “I seriously wanted to punch Mad Bob’s lights out for stealing from you, but this was the right way to do it. I’m just sorry I didn’t get the ones that he’d put up on the walls.”

  I trace the laugh line that runs from his nose to the corner of his mouth. He has a tiny mole that disappears into the line when he laughs. It looks like it’s winking at me.

  “I can redo a couple of sketches, Sir. It was just the idea of redoing hundreds that got on top of me. Thank you for talking me down. Or, um, spanking me down.”