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 --