by Teagan Kade
“Think, motherfucker, think,” I tell myself aloud. “You’ve got a brain. Fucking use it.”
I’m watching the lines in the road trail on to infinity when it comes to me.
At first the idea seems ludicrous, completely insane, but the more I think about it the more I realize it may be Winter’s only hope.
You can’t run, I tell myself. That guy I bumped into at the bus station, clearly one of the cartel heavies, he just missed her. They must have pinned her on the security cameras near the station somehow, which is a pretty fucking good indication of their reach.
An exit looms up and I take it, heading us back towards Miami.
*
I reach across and shake Winter lightly. “Winter, baby. Wake up.”
She stirs and sniffs, wild-eyed as she looks around.
I place my hand on her knee. “It’s okay.”
“Where are we?” she asks. “Are we back in Miami?” she adds with increasing nervousness.
She sees Robbie leaning on against the driver’s window sill looking in.
“Hey,” he says. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
I give him the you-fucking-asshat look and turn back to Winter. “You’re going to stay with Robbie for a bit at his place while I go sort something out.”
She looks scared. “Sort out what?”
“A way out of this. Trust me, okay?”
“I don’t bite,” adds Robbie.
It’s testament to my desperation I’d trust Robbie to look after the only woman I’ve ever cared about, but for all his testosterone-primed bravado and chest-beating, all that ‘pussy slaying,’ I’m pretty sure ol’ Robbie’s gayer than a rainbow-colored clutch. Not that he’d openly admit it. I’m pretty sure he’s so deep in the closest he’ll never find his way out.
“I won’t be long,” I tell her, squeezing her thigh. “Go on.”
“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
What I’m planning is basically stupidity personified, but I nod and smile. “I’ll be fine, baby.”
She leans across to kiss me and holy God above do I just want to stay here and take her in my arms, forget about everything. But I can’t.
She opens the passenger door, Robbie helping her out. I reach across and grab his shoulder, talking quietly. “You look after now, you hear?”
“Bro,” he smiles, “I’ve got this.”
All I can do is shake my head. “What the fuck am I doing?”
He shrugs in turn. “Beats me, but you make sure you come back, hear? I can’t be the only sexy lifeguard left on the beach.”
I can’t help but smile back, looking past him to where Winter stands on the sidewalk with her arms wrapped around herself.
I know if I don’t leave now I never will, so I take off as soon as Robbie closes the door, take off heading right into the viper’s pit.
*
A general rule about American cities: The nicer the suburb sounds, the worse it is. Such is the case with Liberty City, the Airport Expressway to the south and I-95 to the east. It’s a fucking rat’s nest of crime and poverty best avoided twenty-four seven.
The Encantado bar is well-known for being a Lacoya hot spot. It’s common knowledge to anyone who’s lived in the area. I pull up on the other side of the road and cut the gas.
There was one thing I took from the apartment when Winter wasn’t looking. I check my pocket to make sure it’s still there and pull in a deep breath.
I stare across the road.
Fuck this. I’d rather jump into a tank of sharks.
I look at the shady characters hanging outside.
You are, I realize.
It doesn’t get any better inside. The place is loaded with gang-bangers and low-lives. As I walk in, I swear every eye is on me as I make my way to the bar. Shitty narcocorrido plays from tinny speakers mounted in the walls, the paint peeling, the stench of stale alcohol almost overpowering.
I reach the bar unscathed and get the attention of the barkeep, a leather-vested Danny Trejo lookalike who probably doesn’t even know what a smile is.
I come right out with it, keeping my voice a little louder than it should be. “I need to speak to someone who’s in Lacoya, someone with clout. I’ve got an important offer.”
He whistles, stepping back from the bar. I swear the music drops. “My friend, you got a fucking death wish? Coming in here with your big, fat American balls doing what? Slumming? Looking for some blow?”
No use beating around the bush. “I’ve got Serpiente’s girl. I’m pretty sure he’d like to hear about that.”
At the mention of Serpiente, the barkeep tightens his lips and flicks his eyes towards a shadowy figure at the end of the bar.
“That guy?” I point, but my question’s answered when the man that was pointed out stands and approaches me, the guy who was sitting beside me standing to give him his seat. Unlike most in the bar, this individual is well-dressed, with leather shoes, clean shaven… He looks more like a banker than someone who’s deep in the Cartel.
“Speak,” he says, “and be clear.”
I settle myself before I talk. “I have Serpiente’s girl, the one he lost a few days ago off the coast. I want to buy her, settle any debts. Tell him I’m the lifeguard who found her.”
The man provides no hints as to his thoughts on this. “Is that so?”
“Can you relay that to him, or do I need to find someone else who has his ear, someone with actual connections?”
Now the fucker smiles, standing. “Give me a moment.” He clicks his fingers at the barkeeper, who slides a shot of what looks like rum in front of me. “Drink, friend. It might be your last.”
I swig it down fast. It’s more like rocket fuel than liquor.
I watch the man in charge talk quietly on his cell in the corner, looking in my direction from time to time. When he snaps the cell shut and walks back over, he’s flanked by two large gentleman who were previously watching the door. Once more, every eye seems to be upon us.
I’m starting to doubt myself. Did I really think they’d go for this?
“What are you prepared to offer?” the man asks, standing before me.
I try not to swallow. “Fifty large. I’m not well-versed in human trafficking, but that seems like fair compensation.”
I’ve got the money. That’s not a problem. Years serving this country saw to that. I can go up to a hundred if I need to, but after that I’m all out.
“She means something to you, this girl, Serpiente’s property, as you said?”
I don’t like the clarification. “Are we talking business or not?”
The man brings up a finger. “This is what Serpiente is counter-offering: You give her to us, now, peacefully, and we don’t cut off your balls.”
I should have expected this. What did I seriously fucking think was going to happen? They’d take my money, give me a receipt, and I’d go happily on my way?
I chastise myself. Stupid. Fucking Stupid.
Still, I try. “A hundred,” I offer, “but that is final. Go, tell him.”
His finger waves from side to side in front of me. “Uh, uh. You don’t come in here ordering me around like a fucking puto.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. The deal’s fucking off. He knows where I am if he wants to talk.”
I go to walk out, need to get out, but I’m blocked by a bunch of men who stand up from the bar. The whole place seems to tighten around me.
Fuck.
Was she really worth dying for? I ask myself, but the answer is unequivocally ‘yes.’ I had to try, to do fucking something. I knew the only thing the cartel would be interested in would be money, but it seems like even that isn’t enough. I hoped Winter would be just another girl to Serpiente, an easy sell, but it appears I’m not the only person she’s won over. Or maybe it’s more. Maybe they know she knows too much. Maybe they can’t afford to have her running around out there. I hadn’t even considered her father, how they could play him
into all of this.
No, you didn’t think at all, did you?
“I’m sorry, my friend,” says the man in charge, “but we can’t let you leave before you tell us what we need to know.”
I have to play my hand, and I have to play it fucking now. I reach into my pocket and pull out the grenade I took from the apartment, holding it aloft so everyone can see. With a flick I pop out the pin, squeezing the trigger tight. In a perfect show of theatrics, the pin lands right in front of Pretty Boy.
“Get the fuck back!” I yell. “Get back or I swear to Christ I’ll send us all to kingdom come.”
There’s hesitation, but a quick nod from the Pretty Boy sends everyone scooting back.
“Back!” I yell at the top of my lungs, shaking the grenade for effect. “I will fucking do it. Do NOT test me.”
I start to back out towards the door. I’m sweating up a storm, that adrenaline I’d been trying so hard to suppress flowing thick and fast now.
I walk back but they are still too close. “Back!” I yell, waving the grenade around and trying to look as crazy possible. “You want to redecorate this place with your fucking brains? Do it. Please. My fingers are getting itchy. I’m dying to let go.”
“Easy, easy,” Pretty Boy warns, slowly trying to walk towards me but as yet no one’s tried to wrestle the grenade away from me. For good reason, too. No one wants their arm blown off tonight.
I manage to make it outside, the whole bar gathered in front of me as I walk across the road to my truck.
A car comes screeching to a halt in front of me, the horn blasting, but no one pays it any attention.
I open the door of the truck with one hand and slide myself in, still holding the grenade out the window as I close the door. Meanwhile, they continue to stand there as a silent mob, the Thriller music video come to life.
Even when I hit the gas and drive off, they’re still there watching me—calm, quiet, cold.
*
As soon as I’m sure I’m not being tailed, after I’ve burned through half a tank going pedal to metal back towards Robbie’s, I toss the grenade into the glovebox. It was a souvenir from my time serving abroad, nothing but a replica, but it did the trick.
Even when I reach Robbie’s, I loop around the block looking out for tails, any suspicious cars. It’s quiet for two in the morning, making the task a little easier, but I’m still cautious.
I park a good three blocks away and walk, knowing I can’t return to the truck now they’ve got a fix on it.
In a strange switch of direction, Robbie opens the door and welcomes me in to what looks like a sleepover. He’s in his pajamas, there’s popcorn and candy on the table, some sappy movie playing on TV.
“Can you believe she’s never seen When Harry Met Sally?” He sees my haggard expression. “Fuck. What happened?”
“They didn’t go for it.”
Winter hears my voice, getting up from the sofa and running into my arms. “Are you okay?” she asks breathlessly.
I nod. “I am now, but it didn’t, ah, go so well.”
“What do we do?” she asks, and I sure as hell wish I had a better plan.
“We have to go to my friend,” I tell her. “We have to go to the cops. It’s the only move.”
She’s shaking her head, pulling away. “No, no, no.”
“Yes,” I say firmer. “Liam can protect us. I can trust him. We don’t have any other option. They’ll find us.”
I expect more defiance, more fight, but I can see the toll all this running around has taken on her. “Alright,” she says weakly, “if you think it’s best.”
“I do. We’ll go first thing tomorrow. For now, I think we both need rest.”
“I’ve already set up a bed down back,” chimes in Robbie. “Will that do?”
I clap him on the shoulder. “My friend, I’m so tired I’d sleep on a concrete slab.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
WINTER
Once the door to the bedroom is closed, I take Archer by the shoulders. “What did you try and do?”
“Something very, very stupid,” he confesses.
I reach up to kiss him. “I’m just glad you’re back.”
“How was Robbie?”
“We were having a nice time.”
“Reenacting the Breakfast Club?”
“He’s quite in touch with his feminine side, actually.”
Archer’s eyebrow lifts in surprise. “Who would have thought?”
He kisses me again, his hand searching down my side.
I hold him away, very conscious of my own, growing desire. “I thought you said you were tired.”
He holds me away to look at me. “I’m never too tired for you.” He kisses me on the lips—oddly, a hint of whiskey there. “Do you know how absolutely fucking perfect you are?”
My cheeks flush hot.
Archer starts walking forward, forcing me towards the bed. I hit the end of it and fall back, but he manages to take me by the thighs before I reach the bed and toss me onto my back. He steps between my thighs at the edge of the bed and pushes them apart with his knee.
I look into his eyes and see a hunger there that’s new, like he simply can’t wait to devour me whole.
I want to say something, but I can’t find my voice, too lost in the heat and moment.
When I do find it, it’s coarse and rough. “Won’t Robbie hear us?”
Archer laughs. “Robbie’s heard worse. Now, strip.”
With shaking fingers, I stand and do as he commands, watching while he slowly strips himself until we’re standing there completely naked in front of one another, exposed.
Without warning he grips my hips and pulls me against his hard body, driving us back into the bed.
I swallow, even that simple action almost too much to bear.
“Tell me you want me,” he says, his voice surprisingly calculated.
“I want you,” I reply, my voice weak.
“Where?” he asks, looking to the hot space between my legs. “Where do you want me? Say it.”
I swallow again. “My pussy,” I stammer. “I want you in my pussy.”
“That’s fucking right you do.”
And I do. I want him to kiss me, touch me, fuck me into oblivion so I never have to think again. I want him to love me harder than anything he’s known before.
Light flashes through the window behind the bed, enough so I can see the urgent hunger in his eyes, the way they glint in the light like precious gems, so striking, so beautiful.
His grip firms on my hips. “I’m going to take you now, as hard as I want, and you’re going to come, harder than you ever have before. Yes?”
“Yes,” I reply, but it’s barely audible.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… please.”
He doesn’t waste a second more. He covers my mouth with his own, the kiss rough and fast. We break and he draws my lower lip into his mouth, releasing it and pulling away, making me work for each and every kiss, breaking away again to trail them down my neck.
I kiss the top of his head, breathing against his scalp as he takes my nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around the sensitive pillar of it until my spine snaps forward, pleasure licking at my body from bottom to top, a constant, never-ending swirl of sensation.
“Yes,” I moan. “God.”
But even a higher power can’t save me from Archer’s tongue. It moves from my right nipple to my left, latching there, tending my need until I’m a senseless, panting muddle.
“I need you,” I tell him, growing more confident, my thighs spreading further and my sex open and wet.
“And I’ll tend to your needs,” he tells me firmly, “but we’re doing this by my rules tonight, my way.”
He kisses down my chest, hands sliding up to cup my breasts. He pinches my nipples, twisting them lightly until the mix of pain and pleasure threatens to tear me limb from limb.
“Please,” I beg, “I can’t take it.”
>
“You will,” he purrs. “You will and you will enjoy every fucking second of it.”
Lord help me.
He rises, using his large hands to push my knees apart until they can’t go any further. He kneels, almost solemnly, and starts by pressing his lips against the soft, puppy flesh of my inner thigh, slowly working his way inwards.
The way he kisses me, the way his tongue moves… It’s incredible. He is incredible. I try to focus on what he’s doing, to compartmentalize and capture the moment, but it’s all happening too fast, the flood of sensation too much to pin down.
His hands slide up and down my thighs, warming them, squeezing them tight. I clench with anticipation, my breathing raspy and dry. I’m bucking from the mattress, levitating until a firm hand presses me back down, Archer’s lips inches from the wet mouth of my sex.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, drawing in a sharp intake of breath when I feel Archer’s tongue sweep over my sensitive folds, the tip of it hunting for the tight confines of my hole.
I reach out and grip the sheets, pulling them tight as he hums against me, licking from tip to tail but never moving inwards. He circles, teases, nips… always moving, avoiding my clit until I’m begging him, body and mind, to apply his tongue.
It’s torture of the grandest kind, exquisite. My eyes shutter tightly closed, all I know the deep sensation, the way my aching clit pulses for him.
He lightly sucks on the lips of my labia, letting them fall away wetly before dipping his tongue inside me.
A guttural “uh” is released from my lips, my mouth open.
Another jolt runs up my spine, his breath hot, on my clit and then, finally, it’s followed by the warm plane of his tongue.
He laps at it like a man possessed, just the right amount of pressure to slowly build me towards orgasm.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, lost in the moment.
He hooks his arms around my thighs and flattens his hands against my stomach, pressing me down into the bed, making me his own, his personal little fuck toy.
I inhale when his tongue shifts, curling around my clit but with such slow intensity it’s practically criminal. I can’t help reaching down and running my hands through his hair, holding him tightly against me, suffocating him with my sex.
