Until now, I'd never needed to watch my own house for signs of someone trying to kill me. How things change in the space of a few hours. I stared hard through the windshield, eyes watering between blinks, keeping low in the luxurious Recaros. My normally blood red Mustang glowed muddy orange beneath the sodium-vapor hue of a street lamp. A few hundred feet ahead of me, the suburban box I soon wouldn't be calling home stood. No lights. No signs of movement in the last ten minutes, inside or out. Just a generic slice of metropolis. Bricks, mortar and shattered dreams.

The driveway sloped up to my double garage alongside the rectangle of turf that Sadie had spent hours "mowing" with her tiny doll-laden stroller. It seemed half a lifetime since my ex had taken both her and my heart on the same day. But access every other weekend would soon change. It had to. Now that I knew Monroe was on my tail, I needed to think faster than he did. No mistakes. Every detail mattered so I didn't fuck up like last night's job.

I tried to push the brunette's actions to the back of my mind. It wasn't just the fact she'd been paid to deceive me and, more to the point, I'd fallen for the ruse and her body. It was that I'd been naïve enough to accept Monroe's deal at face value. Steal diamonds in exchange for my freedom, and keep any cash on the side? Shoulda seen that one from space. After three years being Monroe's bitch, I thought I was beyond making rookie errors. Complacency? Definitely. Stupidity too. Now I was a dead man walking because I'd let that incredible body disappear with the holdall.

My gaze drifted to the bullet hole that had pierced the passenger side a little over half an hour earlier; a testament to my good fortune or driving expertise, I wasn't sure. Maybe both. Either way, I didn't have the luxury of time before another thug was sent my way, with more bullets and firmer instructions. Speed. Focus. Caution. The three qualities that would determine if I survived the next twenty-four hours.

Satisfied my place was clean, I popped the Mustang's heavy door and stepped into what remained of the night. The driving rain had gone, but its signature still lingered in the cool air. The suburbs were tranquil an hour from dawn, maybe two, just my sneakered footsteps and the blip of the car's lock breaking the stillness.

I approached. Wary. Alert. Glancing side-to-side all the way to the white paneled front door. I stopped to listen again before retrieving my keys, silencing their irritating jangle as best I could while unlocking the door, casting a look back to the empty street before slipping inside.

The place still smelled fresh and vaguely of paint. Prepared for sale, living room furniture pushed towards the walls to emphasize the illusion of space. Stripped of personality so potential buyers could more easily picture theirs in its place. The realtor's idea, not mine. I just wanted to run from the memories, happy to let someone else make their own instead. The good ones were in the camera. The bad ones in every room.

I shut out the thoughts and didn't use the lights. Pressed through to the kitchen using familiarity alone, my eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness. Unbolting the basement door, I descended. Each tread of the staircase creaked, and the colder air raised the exposed hairs on my arms. I risked the mini-Maglite. No windows. Safe enough.

Crossing to the far wall, the narrow beam danced off disturbed dust particles as it scoped the area ahead of me, before falling upon the rack beneath the battered air-con inlet. My second holdall. I knelt and unzipped it, peeling the canvas flap aside and playing the torch over the paper bundles. Three years of ill-gotten gains. Undeclared. Unspent for fear of tipping off some law enforcement agency. Hoping for any trail to go cold or to spend it offshore one day.

Alongside was a smaller drawstring bag containing more essentials: passport; money clip of clean cash; array of SIM cards; and a couple of burner phones. Last year's models, bought online through an anonymous email account, paid in cash, buyer collects.

Putting the torch between my teeth I unclipped the rear cover of one of the iPhones, slotted a SIM in, powered it on and packed the remaining kit in the holdall's side pocket as the phone completed its preliminaries. Almost on automatic, I went to the glowing device's settings, linked it to one of my iCloud accounts and enabled 'Find my phone'. Then, pocketing it and hauling the holdall behind me, I retreated.

I paused in the center of the living room, allowing the darkness to own me, breathing in the house for several seconds. Letting go. Preparing for the next chapter. It was hard not to recall the good times with Naomi, back before the name-calling and plate hurling set in. I loved preparing good food together. Loafing in front of trash TV. Laughing until I could barely breathe and chasing her upstairs, a trail of clothes in our wake. Not even making it to the bedroom before pushing her against the wall, kissing her hard and giving her what she craved, listening to her panting in my ear as she wrapped her trim thighs around me, the pictures on the wall askew by the time we'd finished.

Rocket-propelled sex was probably the best way to describe it. She was wild. Shoulda seen that I could never sustain her drive, but it wasn't for lack of trying. I thought she was happy. Thought we were bedrock. But the cracks that were probably always there turned to fissures after Sadie was born. Stubbornness and inexperience stopped me seeing beyond anything except the growing pains of adjusting to the new life we'd created. I was blinded by Naomi's apparent perfection. The lithe curves and infectious laugh. Her goofy humor. Like when she climbed into the cart at the supermarket checkout and asked the cashier to scan her to see how much she was worth.

I loved her. In some ways I still did, in spite of everything. Even after she shacked up with that slimy ski instructor, I found it hard to despise the person who contributed DNA to make my beautiful girl. I see the best parts of Naomi in her and worry that the failure of our relationship will affect her life choices or alter her outlook; even worse, that she'll become a cynical husk like her dad. I'd hate to be the source of any future pain.

I closed my eyes and allowed the fading glow of mixed memories to run their course before slipping from the front door and shutting them in with the click of the latch.

Partway between my house and the Mustang, I heard it behind me. The roar of an engine. Not a performance vehicle like my own; a midrange streetcar at best. It didn't have the throatiness to be anything more. My elongated shadow was thrown down the street as the headlights snapped on. I didn't need to turn around to know their destination. The tires spun, briefly struggling for grip and finding it.

I ran, instinct and a spike of adrenaline my guide.

Unlocking the Ford, I hurled the holdall into the passenger seat, gunned the engine and hit reverse, swerving into the center of the street. No other option. Going for the oncoming car would make it too easy to cut me off, injure me, or worse.

Putting my arm behind the passenger seat and seeing the neighborhood rushing at me through the rear windshield, I revved hard, the car slicing between the sensible autos and SUVs either side, my pursuer gaining with each second. Even with all the raw power of the V8 working in my favor, the GT wasn't designed for reverse. I needed space for a Rockford.

There. Dead ahead. I brought my arm forward and took up the slack of the handbrake, poised, seeking the perfect moment.

Seventy feet.

Fifty.

Twenty.

Just before drawing level with the gap formed by a facing pair of empty driveways, I yanked upward heavily to throw the car's weight towards the back, cranking the steering wheel full lock at the same time, every ounce of my day job paying off as the car pirouetted in a tight one-eighty. Midway through the squealing turn I released the handbrake, slammed the forward gear and floored the accelerator, the car barely missing a beat of its original momentum. I powered up the leafy avenue and screeched left at its end, burning through the gears at the extent of their rev limits, pistons doing what they did best under pressure. My pursuer was no slouch in the heavier BMW M5, but also no match. Monroe should know never to send a boy's car after a man's.

I watched the guy's headlights shrink in the rear view mirror as I sped past a derelict mall lot and span onto the highway that led to the interstate. Remnants of the earlier rainstorm reflected off the blacktop in the dwindling moonlight but the Pirellis dealt with it, faithfully feeding back the road conditions to my shaking arms. Heat pumped through my veins like the fuel in the combustion chamber and I kept checking behind me to see if he was giving chase. He wasn't.

Looping down at the next off-ramp, I drove through some unfamiliar suburb, criss-crossing the streets and doubling back to make sure I wasn't being followed. Carbon copy residences silently slid past my window. A boarded up gas station. A church in need of repair. A twenty-four-hour convenience store promising the best deals on subs and liquor.

I felt out of place. Where it was once cool, the Mustang felt conspicuous, even at this hour, and I knew I had to get it 'reborn', not least because it was technically Monroe's. A new paint job and new registration was the only way to get it off his radar, though it would eat into a healthy chunk of my capital. I was now pretty sure his generosity at claiming I could keep the car after I'd finished doing his dirty work was as false as the other parts of our agreed severance package. Never trust a fucking crook.

While I'd been living the life during his employ, it had never been part of me; never felt right. Just a means to an end. A way out of the hole I'd dug, and I felt no remorse at the cash I'd stolen on the side. It was my recompense; the start of the long haul back into Sadie's life so I could be her dad for real, not some part-time parent with a gnarled moral compass. Or so I kept telling myself.

The only full relapse into my darker days had been the brunette. Our tangle of bodies in the cheap motel. The smell of her juices on my face and satisfied groans from her open mouth as I plowed her had reawakened something I knew I had to control. It couldn't own me again. Not now of all times, on the cusp of renaissance. I had to stay strong. Dig deep into my resolve. Somehow resist those urges.

I swallowed. Focused on the car instead. Pulling over to the curb I grabbed the phone and called Blake. It went straight to answer machine, understandable for the hour, and I left a short, bland message asking if I could drop the car in for some work. No specifics. No red flags: even burner SIMs were easily monitored.

I shoved the phone into the holdall and drummed the wheel, planning my next moves again. Drive upstate. Call the real estate agent en route. Ensure Sadie was safe from Monroe. Come back to get the car patched. No, wait. Get the car sorted first, then drive upstate. Less risky than driving around next to a bag stuffed with stolen cash in a gleaming red beacon sporting a bullet hole. But it was a gamble. Would Monroe go after my family next or remain focused on me? Once the brunette delivered his diamonds and he found the unexpected extra cash – my fucking cash – from last night, it might take the edge off his wrath.

Or not.

How much had he paid her to seduce me? Five? Ten thousand? More? I wondered if she had second thoughts about ripping me off after we'd fucked, or if it was all business. An act. She certainly seemed to enjoy our time together, even if my reward for making her come twice was no phone, no money, and no diamonds.

Wait.

The phone. The phone.

I snatched my laptop from the bag, piggybacked an unsecured Wi-Fi connection from one of the technologically inept local residents and navigated to Find My Phone. I tapped in the credentials of the old handset and let the app do its stuff, bouncing signals around the globe, searching for a lock.

A pushpin appeared and I wanted to punch the air.

I zoomed in. Not far. A midrange neighborhood the opposite side of the city. I looked at my watch. A detour might be worthwhile. Take back the stash before she delivered it to Monroe, then head over to Blake's. Tempting.

Very tempting.

Another thought occurred to me and I flicked to my iCloud account. A smile spread across my lips. Thank you, auto backup. Somewhere on one of Apple's sprawling network of hard drives was the video I made of her the night before in the crappy motel. The video she thought was solely on the phone she stole. Things started to look brighter. Leverage.

I spooled the shaky handheld footage, saw her take off her top and stand to remove her skirt, then begin to touch herself in her underwear. Watched her start to lose herself with each circle of her center, then those big brown eyes imploring me to remove the same jeans I now sat in, that strained at the crotch in the same manner they had when she was a few feet from me. I could almost smell her again. Taste her in the air, perhaps a reminder from my lips. There was something about the way she moved that was captivating. The fluttering eyelids. The way her little belly rippled. The shape of her mouth when she came. The wet spot on her blue cotton panties before I'd shut off the phone, yanked them aside, ate and fucked her until we both spilled over. Strangers fulfilling needs.

And then I'd fallen asleep. Another amateur move; one that she'd exploited. Yet I had an opportunity to correct my mistake. To take it all back. Regain control of the situation. Play Monroe on my terms.

I stowed the laptop and new phone, reached for the car key, paused with my fingertips resting on its metallic surface, then fired the engine, flexing my hands around the steering wheel.

It was just a detour.

-- o --

Her place was similar to mine from the outside. Boxy and low. Wood panels. Lawn. Dormant sprinklers. A slice of Middle America nestled on a street that seemed too quiet for its own good. Like there'd been a zombie apocalypse and nobody had thought to mention it.

I stood on the opposite side of the street, car safely stowed further along, one fist clutching the bag by my leg, the other balled. Waiting. It was still early. Too early for her to be up after only a few hours rest. The crisp morning air was ice in my lungs but it sharpened me. Funneled my emotions. Helped me plan the upcoming play-by-play, the way every good operation should begin.

Strategy formed, I strode across the dormant road, then up the three steps to the decked porch that stretched out either side of the entrance. She had no screen door, but the hinge marks remained where it had once been. I rapped the faux brass knocker.

No answer.

I banged it again. Authoritatively. Heard a commotion. Shuffling feet. A sleepy "Who is it?" from the other side.

I was ready for that. "Monroe sent me for the bag. Saves you a trip. I have the rest of your money."

There was a pause. I prayed that Monroe's terms were the same as most of his other deals: half up-front, half on completion. Seemed I was right. The chain rattled and the door swung open inwards.

She froze for a full second, blinked, then her eyes widened and she tried to slam the door shut. My foot was faster, jammed between the wood of the door and the frame. I pushed the upper panel, momentum and the heavy holdall working in my favor, and she stumbled as I pressed inside.

"You remember me then? The guy you fucked, then fucked over."

"I… I-"

"You what? Didn't mean it? Were only following orders?"

I flung the door shut behind me and scanned the room on instinct, in case she wasn't alone. Her living room was tidy. Battered couch. Cream carpets. TV. Cable. Large mirror over the fake fireplace, reflecting us, maybe six feet apart. No other sounds in the house.

She was eyeing me. Part suspicion, part fear. Worried what I'd do, perhaps. She had first-hand experience from our last encounter, and fewer clothes. Her burgundy nightshirt came only as far as her upper thighs, and bore the Harry Potter slogan in gold lettering: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good". Ironic. Her tousled hair brushed her shoulders, the swell of her breasts a little further below. Why were dangerous things so damn alluring?

She cast her gaze up and down my body the same way she had earlier. "Monroe made me do it. I had no choice."

I almost believed her. The guy had a unique brand of persuasion. "How do you know him?"

"Bar downtown." She shrugged. "I'm not here much these days."

Like my own mantelpiece once displayed, she had rectangles of happiness captured in plain frames. A toothy teen with Dad. The three of them on the river rapids at some theme park. "What happened?"

She shrugged again and sighed. "We fought, her and me. She left at sixteen. Turns out John and I didn't have much in common besides her. Empty nest syndrome, they call it." She pursed her lips and added hollowly, "They have a name for everything these days."

I nodded. Her situation kinda took the edge off my anger. Kinda. "I'm just here for the holdall."

Her eyes above lightly freckled cheeks flicked to my hand. "You already have one."

I said nothing. Just watched her eyeing me like she had in the motel after I'd let her out of the trunk. Sizing me up or looking for action, I still wasn't sure.

She lowered her guard, as if someone had deflated her. "How about a coffee too?"

It sounded pretty tempting, like everything about her. And the caffeine boost sure would be welcome. But I wasn't sure if it was my head or my dick that made me nod and follow her to the kitchen, dropping the holdall by the central counter and perching on the barstool.

She flicked on the lights over the range, bathing the room in an artificial glow, then busied herself with the coffee machine, filling it with a jug from the ceramic sink on the opposite wall. Yawning and padding back to the unit, she readied the filter then flicked it on. "Sugar?"

"Two."

Reaching up to the shelf on tiptoe, her nightshirt rode high. The lower arcs of her perky ass beckoned below the hem, just long enough to tantalize me before they slid beneath the garment again. The vision burned in my mind, mixing with flashes from earlier. She cast a sultry look over her shoulder, flicking her eyes to my crotch, seemingly pleased with my state of arousal. I knew the bitch was playing me again and I had to resist. Stay focused on the mission.

Opening the nearby drawer, she pulled out a teaspoon. As she slid the drawer shut, she dropped the spoon and it bounced on the linoleum. When she paused, I knew what was coming next, but it was still a huge thrill to witness her stepping back a pace and languorously bending to retrieve it, my imagination unnecessary. Fuck, she was something else.

Once she'd straightened, I told myself to stand firm, but it was useless. We both knew it. My dick definitely did the talking as I rose and crossed the room, hands coming to rest on her trim waist. I slithered the nightshirt up, bunching it above her hips for another spectacular view. She didn't stop me and I growled low at the splendor of her full butt.

Every instinct except the one controlling my libido told me to grab the bags and leave. The libido shouted loudest and I grabbed her cheeks instead, the skin impossibly soft for her age. Above the mechanical phutting of the coffee machine, I heard her breathe in; a response to my touch. Excitement. The weakness in my DNA surfaced and I knew resistance was futile.

I leaned into her ear, pressing against her body so she could feel the extent of my arousal, and whispered, "You're up to no good."

She trailed the back of the teaspoon over one breast and I saw the nipple rise in its wake as she caressed the prominent outline beneath her nightshirt. Emitting a full body shiver, she placed the spoon on the countertop and used a finger on her peak instead. Bringing the digit to my mouth and pressing the tip inside, she breathed back, "I solemnly swear it."

I sucked her finger then released it and sank to my knees behind her, level with her womanly rear, holding her cheeks. She parted her legs just enough, an open invitation, and my tongue crept beneath her, finding the light fuzz of her pussy and the tang of her scent all at once. Nothing on earth like it. As my tongue sought her entrance, the taste of arousal and writhing of her body against my face temporarily muted any notion of payback. Dangerous as she was, I had to have her.

Insistently pulling her to my face, she spread her legs further and I tilted my head upwards to dive into her folds, nose buried between her sweet cheeks. Home. She gripped the countertop and ground against me, using my face as an impromptu seat. I was more than happy to be used, and lapped at the extent of my tongue's reach. I felt her shudder. Again when I pressed inside, slickening her channel with saliva. It drove me, the scintillating musk of her pussy shutting out everything but need, her pleasure my sole focus.

I felt movement just above my chin and it took a moment to realize she had begun circling her clit. The dual stimulation brought with it a few droplets of wetness, shortly becoming a tributary. I wasted none of it as we fought to race her body to its conclusion before the coffee was ready. If anything, she tasted better than at the motel. Sharper. More Cabernet than Merlot, her natural tannin beginning to coat my tongue.

I could hear her panting and kept up the onslaught. Clear juices drizzled onto my face, tongue driving a beat inside her. Like before, our union was Metallica not Mozart, raw desire providing the riff, the counterpoint her fingers grinding deep circles around her needy hood and its sensitive prize within.

My cock strained against the fabric of my jeans once more and I clutched her buttocks, pulling her harder towards me. I ate her like it was my last meal on Earth, her slippery response my reward. Lick after lick, she became wetter and more animated but I still wasn't fully prepared for the quickness, nor ferocity of her orgasm. It was preceded by a tightening of her leg muscles and a series of sharp gasps before she bucked against my mouth, froze and I rode out her powerful release, her quivering body thrilling me as each clap of internal thunder hit and rolled my way, delivering delicious waves of heat and wet.

I let her finish shaking, more than content to sit beneath her and provide support until she was done. Eventually, I peeled my face from her sticky lips, slithering backwards on the linoleum and standing behind her, admiring the curvy vista a moment before stepping in, tugging at my belt buckle.

When I freed my dick from the confines of my underwear, it sprang angrily ahead of me. Fully hard. Veined. Ready for action. I angled it down, aligned it with the tantalizing gap between her sexy thighs and sank directly into her. No waiting. Just driving hard and deep, the pace frenetic from the get-go.

I could feel her splitting and closing as my bulbous head pistoned inside and re-emerged wet. She lowered her face to the flecked kitchen counter and shoved backwards to take me deeper, needing it as much as I did. I bunched her hair into a ponytail around my fist and pulled her upright again, altering the angle so I was slamming against the front of her sopping cunt with each savage stroke. She responded with deeper sighs of pleasure; the rougher I became, the intensity of each exhalation increased.

Fucking her like a dirty bitch brought back memories of the times I'd lost myself in booze and broads before Monroe dug me out. The thirst I'd largely repressed since those dark days re-emerged and I found myself wanting more. An inky flux unleashed itself inside my body, coursing my veins. I probably could have stopped it, but didn't want to. I let it take over. Infect me. Control me.

Shoving her bucking body forward, I released her hair and licked my thumb until it glistened in the under-shelf strip lights. Peeling apart her tight behind I swabbed the knot of muscle there and delighted at her whimper. Maybe revenge could be exacted after all. I spat into the sexy cleft just above my pounding cock, smearing the wetness across her asshole and probing the tip of my thumb inside. Her butt's resistance gave a little with each intrusion. I added more lubrication and pressed deeper until I was up to the second knuckle and she was grinding against me, groaning into the worktop at being penetrated in both holes.

She was ready.

More than ready.

Without warning, I vacated her body completely. As I pulled out, her pussy tried to hungrily keep me inside. On other days I'd make it happy, but the new goal was way more alluring. I knew my rigid pole, drenched in her juices, would make entry into her asshole a charm. I spread her voluptuous cheeks and wasn’t exactly gentle as I pressed the fat head of my cock against her tight butt.

It penetrated with a slight pop and she gasped deeply. I gave her no time to adjust. This wasn’t a courtesy call, it was business, and she knew it. I shoved hard and sank all the way inside, savoring the tightness of her behind and the yelp from her lips before she groaned as I set up a pace in her delightful rear.

She took me beautifully. Unyielding at first, the intense grip around my thrusts eased as I picked up speed and she accepted everything I gave. Her cries intensified. I didn't know if it was her first time, nor did I care. All that mattered was the feeling. The excitement. The power. I watched her cheeks ripple every time our skin met, marveling my girth pulling out before disappearing inside her bottom. Over and over, mesmerizing.

I reached around beneath the slogan to grab her doughy tits, pinching and squeezing the hard nipples. She threw her head back against me. "Yeah. Fuck me. Fuck my ass."

I wrapped my arms around her, excited by her breathless cries at being abused, hugging her upright against me while slamming into her butt. "How much did he pay you?"

She didn't answer, even when I thrust harder.

"How much?" I snarled. "Five? Ten large?"

Still nothing. I shoved her forward again, rained a series of stinging spanks to her bouncing rear and listened to her satisfying gasps, watching the redness form on her perfect cheeks before grabbing her arms and pinning them behind her back.

"How fucking much?"

"Twelve," she rasped into the kitchen worktop.

I could hardly believe Monroe would go to such lengths, but it was probably small change to him. The diamond haul had to be worth twenty times that.

"Twelve? Was I worth it?"

Even in her current predicament I could hear the smile in her voice. "Every fucking cent."

I gave a savage thrust that knocked the breath from her. "Why didn’t you say? There's more than that in the holdall. I could have cut you in. Made a deal."

"Believe me. I… thought about… ripping him… off."

I pounded into her ass, feeling myself nearing climax. I was sure she wasn't far away from her second. "When?"

"After."

I seethed. All the problems I now faced – Sadie's well-being, repairs to the Mustang, running for my life – were down to the brunette inside whom I had my cock buried. I wanted to hurt her. Pay her back. But it was impossible to stay mad with her sexy ass and thoughts of the rising tide I was going to unleash inside it. I settled for spanking her again. Hard. She yelped.

Her fingertips flew to her clit once more and I felt her roughly masturbating, seconds before she cried out and everything except her clutching pussy froze. The contractions were mirrored in her ass, milking my cock, and I could no longer hold back. Grabbing her upturned butt, I slammed inside twice more and roared as I fired my hot load into her distended rear.

I stayed inside her all the way through our pulsing orgasms, savoring every internal ripple until I started to soften, then pulled out and buckled up. She remained panting over the countertop for a while longer, my come dribbling a crooked milky trail from her ass, before allowing the nightshirt to slither back in place and tending to the coffee.

It was good. Hot and strong. We said nothing the entire time, just leaned on opposing sides of the central console, eyes meeting and looking away like the distance between us was ten times its width. As I drained the last mouthful, I felt kinda cheap. The joke about the panda, with the punchline "eats shoots and leaves" came to mind. I took the empty mug to the sink and rinsed it.

"Thanks for…"

She nodded and I headed for the exit.

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" I turned back into the room. She was still glowing from our exertion, subtly shifting her weight from foot to foot in front of the unit.

"Think about it. Monroe's expecting me to drop the stones."

She had a point. "You think he'll be watching?"

"He said he would."

I considered it. Was it another play? Could she be trusted? I eyed her, looking for signs of deception. All I saw were her curves.

"Fine. Get dressed. Let's get it done."

-- o --

We took her car. 'The divorce settlement' she called it, a beat-up Honda that had as much torque as a manual screwdriver. I'd have fought for the house. But it drove.

She'd called Monroe before we left and arranged a time. Memorial Park, Southwest corner. Diamonds in the pouch inside a Starbucks paper bag, dropped into the trashcan.

We stopped for breakfast on the way. Raisin toast and another round of coffee to go. Parked across from the coffee house, I cranked the window down a fraction to let out the steam from the drinks.

"Did he mention the cash?" She shook her head, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. I smiled. "Good, then it's mine."

She eyed me expectantly for a moment then looked away when it became clear I wasn't giving her a fucking cent after the shit she put me through.

The toast drizzled with butter was delicious and hit the spot. Coffee was easily as good as hers, the double hit coursing through me, making me edgy. Like the feeling before I'm due on set to perform a dangerous stunt. There were degrees of danger of course, and my dial was set pretty high compared to most.

I drained the last of the brown liquid, put the cup inside hers in the holder and handed her the empty paper bag, watching her ass in the short denim skirt every second of its journey from the driver's seat as she slid out to tend to the transfer of merchandise. She returned clutching the Starbucks bag and handed it to me, nodding.

"You ready?"

I looked ahead. "Yeah."

She shifted into first and pulled into the early morning traffic.

We rode in silence all the way. As we skirted the park, bumper to bumper with early commuters, I looked across its expanse of well-kept grass, trees and criss-crossing paths. It was fairly quiet; just dog walkers, joggers, or people combining those activities. No out-of-place shady guys reading papers on benches. No unexpected suits. All the same, I ratcheted the seat right back and hunkered down in case Monroe was watching. As far as he knew I was out of the loop and I didn't want to give him reason to think differently.

She pulled into a bay, short of where we needed to be and killed the engine, which took a second longer than it should to sputter out. Back in the house I'd convinced her that it would appear more natural approaching the drop from a distance. I handed over the bag.

It took her a few moments to compose herself. Nerves, probably. Then she steeled and reached for the handle. "See you in a few minutes."

Yet again I marveled her butt as it sashayed away, torn between staying low and peeking above the dashboard at her diminishing frame. I waited, tapping my sneaker in the gritty footwell. So many things could go wrong, but I convinced myself it was all gonna work out. I had to stay positive. Any time in the last hour I could have jetted with the holdalls. Left her to do the drop alone. But I wanted to ensure she went through with it. To know I was in the clear.

I heard footsteps and craned my neck. Her hair swished in the morning sunlight as she returned, confident, settled beside me and fired the engine. As we cruised by the trashcan there was already a guy I hadn't spotted in a baseball cap, reaching inside it.

The light was red at the intersection that led to the main road. We queued, shuffling forward before joining the main trunk of traffic and I gradually rose in my seat the further we left the park behind. As we forged ahead, stopping at most junctions for lights, I regularly checked the wing mirror. A habit I didn't know would ever leave me.

Two stoplights on, something wasn't right. It started as more of a feeling that I put down to nerves, but it grew when the black car a few lengths back seemed to be trying to force its way forward through the traffic, angry blasts of horns charting its progress. I looked over at her. She was gripping the wheel, staring dead ahead. I glanced behind at the car threading forward. Couldn't tell its model, but it was new. I made a snap decision.

"Make a right."

"Next right?"

"Yeah. Now. Go."

She turned. I watched the wing mirror. Several cars streamed past, then the black car turned too.

"Right again."

She did as she was told. Our pursuers – for that was what I now considered them – did the same.

"And again."

We were shortly back on the main road. I hunted for a path through the traffic as I spotted the black car pulling out. "Hop a lane."

"What is it?"

"Just a hunch. Move it."

She hit the blinker and squeezed in. Middle lane. Options. "Okay. Straight across the next lights, then head left. We need to get out of this traffic."

Were they tracking us? Making sure we left and didn't go to the cops? Or tailing us back to her place? Maybe so they could tie up the loose end; or ends, if they found me there too.

The Honda nosed across another lane after the lights and she indicated left. Waited in the short queue, reaching the front as the lights turned amber. She slowed.

"No, keep going."

"What?"

I looked back. "Turn. NOW!" The black car pulled alongside and I saw the barrel of a gun glinting in the hand of the beefy man in the passenger seat. "Now, now, now!"

She sped up and pulled into the adjacent road, pissing off the guy in the opposite carriageway who had already started rolling forward as we sliced in front of him. He screeched to a halt, sounded his horn and made a gesture that wasn't altogether friendly. I didn't care. "Put your foot down. Monroe's guys."

She obliged. Reached forty and eased off the gas. I looked back to see the black car executing the same maneuver we had at the intersection. "Don't slow down."

"I don’t want a ticket."

"Are you fucking serious? Speed up. Miss Daisy just passed us."

The black car was closing. Caution had to go out the window, but we'd need speed and power; two things the Honda lacked in her hands. Adrenaline surged inside me along with the coffee. "I'll drive."

She nodded but before she could slow down further, I continued. "Don’t stop. Keep your foot on the gas, stand a little and step across. I'll go under." I unclipped our belts. "Ready?" She nodded again. "Okay, go."

She stood and the car lurched as she nudged the gas. I slithered across the central console, trying not to watch her ass again as she brushed above me, stepping across in the confined space. The passenger seat was still racked all the way back, which made it easier. I took the wheel from her, plunged into the driver's seat and punched the accelerator.

The car responded badly, tires spinning in protest, but I dropped it down a couple of gears and found some much-needed traction. Thank fuck it was stick shift. The Honda squealed and I leaned it hard left, cutting in front of a station wagon. She reached for the roof handle, struggling for her seat belt, and I clipped mine too.

Checking the rear view, I could see them weaving behind us. I changed lanes again, darting between slower moving traffic, pushing the needle higher, always scanning for the next advantage. In the shitty Honda, we needed every break.

I spied an intersection. Not much traffic in the opposite direction, but the left light was red. "Hang on."

At the last moment I braked, heaved the wheel left and slid the vehicle. She'd need new tires by the time the day was out. Our pursuers overshot, which bought us maybe twenty seconds until they could correct their mistake. Enough for now.

Squeezing everything I could out of each gear, I powered along the street past a grocer, muffler yard and drug store. Nothing behind us. I breathed out. Searched left and right for a place to lay low. As we passed a crossroads I glimpsed the black car again. The parallel road, to our right. They must have taken the next left off the main road after they overshot.

I hauled the car away from them at the next opportunity, a narrower residential street, and threaded fast between the parked cars, hammering the horn to alert pedestrians to remain on the sidewalk. I spun it right again, startling an ancient guy in an Oldsmobile that was in worse shape than the Honda. The black car wasn't far behind. We couldn’t outrun them on the straight. Needed to gain the advantage some other way. They closed the gap enough that I could see the car was a Chevy and the driver had a tattoo across his knuckles.

I glanced at her. "What the hell do they want?"

She didn't respond.

"Hey! What have you done?"

Silence.

"Tell me!" I roared. "Monroe obviously means business, I need to know how serious he is."

She gazed out the window at the rapidly passing two-story abodes, her shoulders sagging. "They might be after the loot."

My heart tanked. "Seriously? All of it?" She nodded, biting her lip. I could barely believe it. "You stupid…"

I hit the steering wheel rim.

"Sorry, okay?"

"No it's not fucking okay."

She shot back. "Well you weren't giving me any of the cash, I needed something out of this deal."

I screeched left, then left again, hunting for a way out of the residential maze. "You could have taken Monroe's twelve and been happy."

"You know as well as I do, he's a crook. There was never any guarantee I'd get the rest."

I exhaled, conceding she was probably right as I spun the Honda onto a wider avenue and tried to out-pace their car that was newer, faster, and taller. The Chevy badge loomed in the mirror. I weaved a little. They accelerated and hit our fender. The car lurched, but I held it steady. Years of training.

They were close, preparing for another shunt so I dabbed the brake first to gain the element of surprise. They rammed into us and I used the momentum to heave the car right onto a tree-lined avenue. They overshot again.

From beside me, she exclaimed, "Yes!" If she felt any guilt, it was well suppressed.

"Not clear yet."

"This is actually... fucking exhilarating. Much better up here than in the trunk. You do this a lot?"

"Stunt driver."

"Figures. You know how to handle a car."

I grimaced. "No offense, but this one acts like a boat."

Even with my foot to the floor, the Honda was sluggish, the pistons designed for hopping to the mall and back, not for outrunning crazed gunmen. I spotted them at the entrance to the street behind us.

The dwellings flying past either side mostly had driveways so there were fewer cars parked, and the road stretched out ahead of us, nothing but a few side streets interrupting its flow. The Chevy gained.

"I'm going to have to out-maneuver them. No way we have the speed advantage."

I scanned the area. Nothing useful. Just trees.

Trees.

"We might have to sacrifice the car."

"Really?"

"Really."

She breathed out. "You'll fix it?"

"I know a guy."

She looked out the window. "The way you drive, I trust you."

"Good. Hold tight and do exactly as I say, when I say."

"What are you planning to-"

She didn't finish. I grabbed the handbrake, yanked the wheel and spun the heap in a wide, torturous arc until it had completed a one-eighty. Shoved it into reverse and floored it.

Angling the car towards one side of the road, I straightened and powered backwards alongside the curb. The Chevy followed, quickly coming within inches of our fender. They bumped us and I could see the driver leering, preparing for another attack. I locked eyes with his.

"Okay, when I say, open the door and shove it outward."

"What?!"

"Do it on my mark." I checked the rear view mirror. Clear. "Okay. Three… Two…"

She scrabbled for the handle.

"One."

Her fingers tightened around the door release. I jerked the wheel a fraction to move the car a few more inches away from the sidewalk and gripped tight, locking my arms.

"Do it."

She popped the door and pushed it hard, its outer edge connecting with the next tree. The car jolted with a thump and a jarring screech as the door was ripped off its hinges, tumbled up away from us and hurtled towards the Chevy. They had no time to react. The door smashed horizontally through their windshield, the black car swerving violently, careening across the street into a tree, its airbags deploying in unison.

She punched the air where the door used to be, her hair whipping around her face. "Insane!"

Although pleased to be free of the pursuit, I didn't completely share her sentiment. Spinning the Honda back round, I powered up the road, hauling left away from the carnage. At the end of the next turn I found the loop road, slowed a little and joined it, my heart still hammering in my chest.

She looked out the windshield, jaw clenching, eyes sparkling. "I'm fucking wired after that. So exciting. I feel all… funny inside."

"That's the adrenaline. It'll pass."

"No. It's more than that. Can't really explain it." She stared forward a long moment, wriggling in her seat then looked across at me, our eyes meeting. Her gaze dropped to my crotch then back, a mischievous glint reflected in the low sun just above the horizon. "Adrenaline wouldn't make me want to do this."

She arched in her seat, reached beneath the denim, rolled her white panties down, balled them up and threw them out of the car. I stared as she spread her knees so the rushing breeze buffeted her right leg. "Ohhh, that's goooood. This car always needed air-con."

I shook my head but had to smile. Ran a hand through my black hair that was desperate to curl out of control. "You're crazy."

Her eyes met mine after detouring to my bulge again. "Come on, let's stop. Figure out our next move."

I stopped smiling. "Our move?"

"Yeah. We're in this together now."

"No way, you're a jinx. We fix this."

"Pfftt. How? Rock up to Monroe and hand him the real stones with a 'sorry about the broken glass, honest mistake' kinda thing?"

I gripped the wheel, equal frustration and to combat the fact the car was listing slightly. "I dunno. Maybe. I'm just trying to get my life back together. See my little girl grow up. We're not Bonnie and fucking Clyde. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life."

She was quiet a moment. An exit slid by. "Look. You did what the guy asked and he sent me to flush you out. What does that say about his integrity?"

I thought about it. Grasped the wheel tighter. She was right. It wasn't over. Far from it. Even if she hadn't ripped him off, we were targets. At least this way we had cash and diamonds. "So whadda you suggest?"

"Pull over."

"Where?"

She looked out the damaged vehicle. "Down there."

I followed her finger to an unfinished strip mall development. Dormant bulldozers and trucks lined the dusty building site, waiting for the day shift to arrive. I nodded, cut through the cones, looped down and pulled into the shadow of one of the rigs, killing the engine. It was quiet, just the steady drone of nearby traffic. She hopped out, and I watched her strut around the hood before she climbed the ladder leading to the seat of the giant machine alongside. Of course I looked up her skirt. And she knew it.

Upon reaching the top, she sat and turned, her legs dangling off the side facing me. I watched, mesmerized as her thighs parted. "Come up here," she called down. "Let's… discuss our options."

I waited. Running things through in my head. How much time we had. What needed to be done. In what order. Almost instinct. By the time I looked up again, her skirt was hiked, fingers circling her clit, head thrown back. I looked around, alarmed at her brazenness. Jesus, she was insatiable.

"We don't have time for that," I called up.

"There's always time. Get up here."

I stared out the windshield, heard her groan and grew hard. Fuck, I was weak. Taking out the key in case it was a ruse, I pocketed it. Exit plan. Heaving the door open, noting more dents than when I'd climbed in, I ascended the ladder after her.

When I reached the top rung and drew level with the seat, she slithered forward. "Can we start the discussions… here?"

Her fingers stopped and she teased apart her lips, already wet. The drive must have really affected her. Impossible to resist. With one final glance around, I dived in. Tasted her nectar. Drew my own circles with my tongue. She hooked her calves over my shoulders to keep me on the ladder, freeing my hands. I put them to good use, bringing them up and over her slender thighs, affording me better pressure against her delicious folds. We'd be a sight from the road above, but I was already past caring.

I snaked my tongue inside her entrance, nuzzling the wetness and light fuzz of pubic hair with my lips, unable to get enough of her slipperiness. She was tinged with a delicate sharpness that offset the silky texture coating my tongue. I could hear her moaning, felt her weight shift as she lay back fully across the dusty black leather, and caught sight of her pulling up her top to free her bountiful tits from her bra. She tweaked the hard pink caps and rolled her head, mouth open.

My fingertips took over where hers had been, spreading her sexy cunt. I drew my tongue up and over her firm clit, proud and shiny at the apex of her womanhood. Her body jerked each time my touch and pressure was just right, flicking and rolling the edges of her sensitive central jewel. Her own diamond. I kept up the onslaught. Sometimes soft, sometimes hard. Direct pressure, circles, nibbles, taps, gauging the reaction to each and delivering more of the ones she responded to most. My chin was soaked and still I craved more. As did she.

When one of her hands came down to pull the back of my head to her, I knew she was going to come. With a final few swabs of her clit I felt her body start to quake and she held me tight against her as juices drizzled from her entrance onto my waiting tongue. Divine.

Her grip remained all the way through her orgasm, then slackened. Part of me wanted to stay there forever, not facing the reality of my predicament. Another part wanted to feel her from the inside. That part won. I waited for her to compose herself enough to sit, which allowed me to clamber the remaining rungs and perch alongside.

The sun peeked above the bare steel beams pointing skyward from the construction. The site was months from completion but the workforce didn't seem eager to start. Her hand slid across the gap between us, finding my straining prize beneath the thick material of the jeans. She yanked the buckle, dropped to the footwell on her knees and unsnapped the fly. I looked about. Still nobody. God knows how I'd explain it if someone showed up for work. I turned my attention back to her when she scooped out my hardness and took half of it straight into her hot mouth.

I've always enjoyed blowjobs. Who wouldn't? But whether it was the setting or technique, hers was pretty special. She kept swirling the shaft and tip with her tongue on each upstroke, hands on my knees the whole time. Whenever I swelled or jerked inside her wet mouth, she seemed to find another gear. Devoured another half-inch after every few slurps until she was taking it all and I was nudging the entrance to her throat.

By the time she sat back on her haunches, my entire shaft was coated in saliva that glinted in the sun, its heat already being felt. She cocked her head, admiring her handiwork, stood and turned away from me, hiking the denim above her hips. That was my cue to reach and guide her onto my lap. She took me inside with hardly any resistance and immediately set up a grinding rhythm. So sexy, watching her fleshy, pantyless ass gyrate right before my eyes.

My hands gravitated to her tits and squeezed through her white blouse. I pinched her prominent nipples and her moans echoed off the building site, head tipping into my shoulder. I quickly moved my hand up to cover her mouth.

"Shhhh."

She twisted her head a little and took my index finger in her mouth, sucking it deeply before reaching for my wrist and guiding me down beneath her skirt. My wet digit zeroed onto her waiting pearl and she gasped, rocking back and forth before reaching for the gear levers for stability and beginning to bounce on my solid cock.

In that moment, nothing could have stopped us. No foreman, no natural disaster. Even the threat of Monroe faded as she rode me and I circled her slippery clit, the speed of our fuck escalating as need overtook prudence. I brought my free hand to cover her mouth, feeling the hot breath of her stifled moans against my palm, using the grip to pull her body to mine with each forceful thrust. Increasing the pressure of my finger on her slick centerpiece met with a low growl of approval from her throat.

I took over, lifting off the seat slightly to drive inside her. Owning her body. Loving how wet she was around my pulsing length. The intensity of our union escalated as I felt myself bounding closer to release, teetering on the edge of that delightful precipice as my balls tightened, the breath against her ear transforming into staccato rasps. I shut my eyes and my world surged, hips hammering erratically and deep as I came inside her, listening to her sighs as they tickled my hand.

I don't know if she came a second time as waves of my spunk jettisoned into her soaking depths. Her gyrations and flushed neck indicated a high probability, but I wasn't about to ask. Didn't even know her name. All I knew for sure was that she was dangerous, unhinged, untrustworthy and a fantastic fuck. A compelling concoction.

Slumping back to the seat with her still impaled on my dick, we rested, heart rates slowing. When she climbed off, she cupped her hand beneath her body to catch my come then ate it from her palm. I zipped up and we sat side-by-side overlooking the building site, the post-coital silence now seemingly customary.

Thoughts were spiraling inside my head. The brunette's body, primarily. Our future, if we had one. The thoughts were invaded by the immediate problems at hand. I had to get to Sadie. Get her safe. Or somehow remove the deadly shadow hanging over our lives.

Ideas formed. Plans. Some I rejected as too fanciful. Others had promise. Nothing concrete, just sketchy pieces that I needed to somehow stitch together on the fly. It always came back to one central idea: get to Monroe. Neutralize the threat. But I couldn't do it alone. Needed someone I could trust. Or at least half trust.

I turned to her. "What's your name?"

She blinked her long lashes. "Meredith. You? I only know your surname."

"Tobias. Toby."

She nodded slowly, staring ahead. "Toby Carlton. So what's with the eyes thing?"

"These?" I pointed unnecessarily. "Heterochromia. Developed shortly after birth."

"One green, one brown. It's pretty."

"It's unusual."

"Mmm. Pretty unusual."

Her observation made it all the harder to do what I had to do next. I reached into my pocket and retrieved the phone. Scrolled to iCloud and brought up the video. Hit play and held it in front of us so she could see it.

The color drained from Meredith's face. When I deemed she'd seen enough I paused playback.

"I need your help, Meredith."

She nodded fast. "Name it."

"If you want this video to remain private, we need to work together. No more lies. No more games. We do things my way, on my terms, got it?"

Again, she nodded. "What’s the plan?"

I looked out over the construction site, down to her beaten up wheels, then back to her eyes framed between the slightly tangled length of her hair.

"We take the fight to Monroe. Take him out. It's the only play we have left."

I left out the part about only having half a fucking clue how to do it. Waited as she processed it, eyes briefly closing before fixing on me. Almost looking through me. She breathed out, long and heavy. "Okay, let's do it."

Before she could request any details, I held out my hand, palm up, helped her stand, then climbed down the rig's ladder first. Her pussy, dotted with come, descended after me until we stood beside her mashed vehicle. I regarded it. Looked at her, saw a smile spread across her face that turned to laughter. Despite myself, I joined in. It felt good. Laughed until my belly hurt, eventually spluttering:

"Might get us noticed. Shall we… ditch it?"

She confirmed, still laughing.

I rounded the trunk, pulled out the holdalls stuffed with cash and dumped them in the dust while she emptied the glove box and retrieved any other personal belongings. Then she helped me push the wreck back under the freeway bridge, out of casual sight. I dusted my hands.

"I'll get my guy to pick it up. Let's grab something faster, eh?"

We walked back to the holdalls, took one each over opposite shoulders, their weight reassuring. Our free hands found one another and we walked past the part-completed mall, back up to the main road alongside the rising sun. The journey wasn't over, and I sensed the hardest part was to come. But I had money, diamonds, a mission, and a hot woman by my side, and that had to count for something.