Wheels. I'm as choosy about wheels as women these days. Wasn't always that way. While I can drive pretty much anything with an engine, I've found I only truly enjoy that thunder beneath the hood. The rush when pedal meets floor, beating through every bone in my body. Something only the raw horsepower of a V8 delivers. And if it's a dependable American hunk with a short shift ratio and high-quality tires, all the better.
My demanding criteria explained why, an hour after pushing Meredith's one-doored Honda under a bridge, and calling Blake to arrange for it to be towed, we found ourselves in a showroom on the outskirts of the city, ogling a used 2014 Chevy Camaro SS. The 1LE upgrade beneath its two-tone pearlescent paint job offered best bang for the buck compared to the higher priced, if slightly faster, competition on display. Zero to sixty in four-point-five seconds was plenty enough in a streetcar. Plus, I'm a sucker for Recaro seats.
The spacious dealership was the second one we hit after hiking hand-in-hand from the mall construction site. The greaser in the first joint tried to convince me a Porsche was better than my Mustang. Idiot had obviously never tried to jump one off a viaduct onto a moving train or he'd have known the Porsche would disintegrate. Not that I was intending to recreate that stunt, but with what I'd been through the last few hours, preparation pays.
I glanced down by my sneakers at the holdalls stuffed with the ill-gotten gains from my jobs over the past three years working for Monroe. Walking around with it was risky; spending it, perhaps moreso. For all I knew it could be traceable, but needs must.
Meredith cooed her way around the showroom at all the steel on display then returned to my side, flicking her brunette locks, hands resting on her curvy hips. If it was meant to be provocative, it worked. "Are you serious about getting this?" She tipped her chin at the car and I nodded, throwing her a wink. A low whistle escaped lips that my momma would have rightly said spelled trouble. "Pricey. When you said we were gonna get a new car, I thought you meant, y'know…"
I stared at her for a moment, then hissed, "I'm not a fucking criminal."
She shot me and the holdalls a look as the dealer politely coughed on his approach; an affable guy in his fifties who probably wouldn't see sixty unless he laid off the burgers.
"You like this one, Sir? An excellent model. Only eighteen thousand miles young."
I looked at Meredith, raised my brows. Her eyes glimmered in the spotlights, all kinds of want registering behind them. I nodded. "We'll take it."
He clapped his hands. "Then step this way and we can cross them t's."
"I'd like to drive it away right now."
He stopped, consternation creasing his pudgy forehead. "Sorry, that's not possible. We don't carry stock license plat-"
"Cash." I reached to unzip the left-hand holdall. "How about twenty-seven?"
He paused. It was way under the asking price and I could sense him doing the commission math in his head. I pulled out a couple stacks of bills and riffled through them. His smile widened.
"I'm sure we could come to an arrangement, Mr…"
"Carlton. Tobias Carlton," I finished. Had to use my real name for the registration documents. I reached for his sweaty hand and shook it, pressing the two bundles into his other palm. "And that's for your trouble."
He stared down at the notes, mouth agape. I prayed we could conclude the deal before he collapsed from excitement.
-- o --
For a heavier car, the performance of the Chevy was every bit as good as my Mustang. At the first opportunity I looped it off the highway onto a dusty track and floored it, kicking gravel and dirt in its wake. The engine roared like ten thousand angry wasps trapped under the hood as my grin was forced back into the plush Recaros. The symphony was almost deafening in the cheap cabin, its interior lacking the finesse of my Ford. No way the sound system would be heard over the noise of the Camaro's engine, but who needs a stereo when you have a V8?
The overall experience may have been enhanced by Meredith's reaction. I'd almost forgotten that she'd only witnessed the thrill of the Mustang locked in the trunk the night before, and this machine was an entirely different class of beast to her shattered Honda. When I spun the wheel, tires crunching against the gravel, and monotube rear dampers performing admirably, she laughed, squirmed in her seat and grasped the dash during subsequent handbrake turns.
As I powered it up the straight, her hand snaked across to my lap, caressing the bulge through my jeans that grew appreciatively. Each time she stroked, I dabbed the accelerator and pushed it higher, nudging eighty. Every few mph seemed to add more sparkle to her features until she reached over with both hands, unsnapped my fly, extracted my cock and bent over the console to suck it.
Controlling a high-performance vehicle at speed to outrun cops was one thing. Driving fast with a brown-eyed beauty intent on sucking me inside out was something else entirely. I always suspected women would be the death of me, just not so soon. I had to slow a little for fear of spinning us into early graves, but her enthusiasm remained steadfast. Thank fuck I didn't need the stick shift, nestled between her buoyant tits under that vanilla blouse.
She took my burgeoning hardness entirely into her fiery mouth and treated me to the second first-class blowjob of my day, tongue swirling all kinds of magic around the bulbous head. I was fully hard in less than the zero-to-sixty time of her last car. She knew her way around a cock, that much was damn sure, interspersing her mouth work with jacking my shaft as she nibbled the head, hair tickling my groin. I split my concentration fifty-fifty. Well, maybe sixty-forty when she deep-throated me. I'm only human.
I swelled beneath her touches and licks, the intensity of her actions increasing as she felt my excitement transferred to the steel stuffed in her mouth. The sensation of her head bobbing up and down in my lap was exhilarating, tongue dancing a tango around my girth; leading with slutty, following with fluttery. Both extremes were a delight and each time she drew back, the airstream rushing in through the open window played over the wetness she'd deposited along my shaft, making me shiver.
On more than one occasion I drifted onto the verge, wheels losing grip in the loose stones, and had to jerk the vehicle to correct our trajectory. Meredith remained on course throughout and I could feel her smiling, even before she slyly looked up at me, a mischievous spark in her demeanor.
As she plummeted to take every inch, a small part of my brain told me self-preservation was paramount and I should stop her or the car. Every other area of my body urged her on. Wouldn't let considerable danger interrupt considerable pleasure. I know living on the edge is a weakness deep in my core. It's what got me into the mess I was trying to scramble out of. The deadly cocktail of risks in my day job and incurable addiction to dangerous women was a potent combination I knew I had to overcome. Just… not today.
Meredith, it seemed, was trying to surpass some previous personal best. She slurped and sucked wetly, my fat cock head hammering the entrance to her narrow throat on each down stroke. She coughed a little but, all credit, never stopped. I gritted my teeth and hung on to keep us straight and alive, squeezing my eyes shut as few times as possible, trying to delay the inevitable, to amplify each delirious moment as my vision swam and resolve crumbled.
Every lick and throat-filled suck edged me closer to painting her mouth with come until my grip on the steering wheel was not only to keep the Chevy under control. I felt warmth rise as my balls surged and, accompanied by a roar that rivaled the engine, pumped my hot load into her eager orifice. The white droplets that spilled from the corners of her lips weren't wasted as she savored every thick rope, keeping me and the slippery white webs entombed throughout my release, before slowly withdrawing.
I slewed the car to a stop in a screeching three-sixty, panting as she pulled away with a satisfied grin on her face and swallowed, bringing up a fingertip to explore her lips and ensure she'd captured it all. I stared through the windshield at the shimmering haze above the road ahead, before tucking my withering cock back into my jeans and shaking my head.
"Crazy."
"But good?"
"Out of this world."
She beamed. "So the car's a keeper?"
"Until the Mustang's repaired."
"Then what?"
I shrugged. "Sell it?"
Meredith looked ashen. Her all-American twang surfaced. "Easy come, easy go, huh?"
"Something like that."
There was relative quiet in the car, only the shrill, incessant chirps of cicadas that braved the mid-morning heat filtering the interior. She looked away.
"How about you give it to me?"
I barely believed the question. "I don't think so."
She whirled. "Why not? You totaled my Honda."
I stared at her, incredulous. Had the blowjob been another of her ruses to get what she wanted? I wished I could read her better – read all women better – but I'd known her less than a day. "Let me remind you of some facts." I counted on my fingers for effect. "One: the only reason you're here at all is because I can't take out Monroe alone. Two: the only reason it's you and not someone else I trust more is because I have the video I made of you and your," I indicated in the direction of her short denim skirt, beneath which I recalled she was wearing no panties. "Three: you owe me for putting my daughter's life in danger. All the blowjobs in the world won't help me feel any less charitable while that's hanging over me."
"It wasn't meant… I didn't do it for..."
She tailed off and I let the silence hang a moment in the heat. "Look, if this all goes to plan, we can talk then."
She huffed. "Fine. I just thought we were getting somewhere."
It was my turn to look away at the irregular skyline of the high-rise city blocks beyond the still trees. "We were. Are. I don't know. I just need to focus. My family comes first. Trust me, Monroe isn't the kind of guy who takes being ripped off lightly and we're both in his crosshairs." I turned to face her, the sunlight reflected from the wing mirror catching her freckled cheeks. "Listen, I like you, Meredith. You're…"
She gave a wry smile at my pause. "Older?"
"I was going to say fun. Challenging. Sexy. Let's just deal with what we have facing us right now and go from there. Okay?"
Her eyes kept mine for a long moment. "Sure. So what's the plan?"
I was hoping she wouldn't ask. Not because I didn't want to tell her, but because I didn’t honestly know. Whatever it was had to be fast. Since Monroe had lost tabs on us, his next logical move was to go for Sadie as leverage. He knew her elementary school. Knew where she and my ex lived upstate. So I had to somehow appear on his radar to divert his attention back on me before he upped the stakes further.
The obvious place was at his club. Hot young honeys on stage. Office out back where he conducted business. Heavies by all doors, no doubt primed of my fugitive status. Cameras everywhere. I probably wouldn't make it through the parking lot without taking a bullet if I showed up unprepared. Needed leverage of my own.
But what did I have? A bunch of stolen diamonds. A shitload of cash I'd rather keep. A double-crossing MILF, and a fast car. I doubted even MacGyver could make something out of that.
I cast my mind back to the diamond job less than twelve hours earlier, hunting for some element I'd missed that would gain me the upper hand. That was where it had all gone wrong. The safe. Meredith. The chase from the cops in the rain. The motel. The youngsters on the jewelry store security cam. Making the video of Meredith's masturbation. Sex. Sleep. Her sneaky exit with my stash.
Wait. Back up.
The grainy footage on the hard drive in the side pocket of my holdall. The antics of the sixteen-year-old and her boyfriend, clothed, carnal and carefree in the storeroom. The girl that Meredith's performance misled me to believe was her daughter.
Something scratched at the edges of my brain, infuriatingly out of reach every time I delved to grasp it. Something wrong with the way Meredith reacted when she first laid eyes on the video. Another of the details I probably should have picked up earlier.
It clicked. "Who's the girl?"
"What?"
"The cheerleader on the security tape."
Meredith kept my gaze, flicked her eyes left then back. "I don't know."
I didn't need a degree in female psychology for that one. Used a firmer tone: "Tell me."
She looked away.
"Meredith!" I gripped her arm. "Please. You know her don't you?"
Her gaze fell to my handhold. Stayed there, unwavering. Eventually, she breathed out through her teeth and gave a curt nod. "She goes to Eve's high school." Catching my raised eyebrow, she clarified. "My daughter might have fled home, but I'm still her mom. Know her friends."
Her eyes grew a faraway look. I removed my hand. "Go on."
She took a deep breath. "Her name's Taylor. She's a good kid-"
I snorted. "Aside from fucking her boyfriend at the request of a scumbag."
"I swear I didn't know he was going to use her. He just said I had to act like it was my daughter. Like we were a perfect family. I thought it'd be easy. Thought it'd be some random girl." She looked away again. Stared into the distance. "But seeing Taylor on the tape made me realize Monroe's reach. Almost like he'd used her to demonstrate how easily it could have been Eve. That's when I knew I had to do whatever it took to get away from you. Rip you off. Rip him off. Disappear. Somehow convince Eve to lay low…" she tailed off, deep in thought. "But you screwed that up when you practically knocked my door down this morning."
I listened, gears turning in my mind, a plan formulating. It wasn't much, but not much was better than nothing at all. I stepped out of the car, grabbed the laptop and jewelry store hard drive. Returning to the driver's seat, one leg inside the vehicle, I gunned the car engine, used the cigarette socket to power the drive, hooked it to the computer and booted up Tails.
When the cam footage loaded, I scrubbed to a particularly juicy section of the teenage tryst, letting the footage return to normal speed just after Taylor sank to her knees and began to eagerly blow her gangly boyfriend. He grew beneath her enthusiastic tongue work and she took her time engulfing as much as she could. Given his substantial girth, it looked an impossible mission, but she rose to the challenge with considerable aplomb before standing to roll her panties down and toss them aside.
Despite my recent blowjob, it was difficult not to get hard spooling the segment where she spun away from him, reached under her tiny skirt and reversed onto his massive cock. It was the looks on their faces as they adjusted to the sensations. Starting slow, her hands on top of his, groping her tits through the squad jersey, the combination of innocence and depravity on display was compelling viewing.
When they picked up the pace and Taylor's head tipped back so the overhead camera could see her angelic features clearly, the silent ecstasy etched on her face as they bucked and slammed together was so erotic I swelled in the confines of my jeans. Fortunately, the laptop body obscured my arousal.
Meredith was quiet beside me, as unable to avert her gaze as I was, but no doubt for different reasons. I let the recording play a little further, trying to keep my breathing and cock under control until the pair reached their explosive peaks joined at the hips. Pausing the video, I exported the scene. Maybe three or four minutes total. Compressed it.
"Phone."
I reached out my hand and Meredith fished for it. Hooking her device to the laptop, I transferred the content and handed it back, then shut off the computer gear and stowed it.
Climbing back in, I slammed the door and revved the engine hard. "We're going to pay Taylor a visit. Set it up."
-- o --
Winning over a teenager's trust is easy. After making calls to her mom, Meredith extracted the girl's location and we drove over to the leafy suburb. Turns out she was with her boyfriend, at a squat three-bed with blue pastel shutters and a bordered lawn in dire need of a cut. The wide concrete driveway was empty: mom and dad weren't home. If the security tape was anything to go by, I could sure guess what Taylor was up to.
Meredith went in armed with the footage on her phone, and came out with information.
"Monroe's guys approached her a few weeks ago. Offered two thousand. Gave her the key and code to the store. The date and time to be there followed. No other specifics other than lying that the cameras would be off. They were to have sex in the storeroom and leave. Easy money for a horny teenager."
Another cog clicked into place. "That explains the boyfriend's reluctance to enter the store. He wasn't in on it." I played things back in my head. "But to get the alarm code, Monroe must have had a second unit. A backup team in case I walked." I paused, then added, "Didn't occur to me that he'd need me out of the picture so bad." Anger bubbled inside once more at being so shortsighted. At being played. I sighed, letting the emotions recede so I could focus. "We need Taylor to go back in."
"No no. She won't do that. And I won't let you put her in harm's way."
"You got a better idea? I can't go. Nor can you, and time's against us. We can either plot something else to draw him out or use a trusted third party. She's perfect." Meredith didn't appear convinced and I tried the hard sell. "We only have to get her to feed Monroe some disinformation. Say she got it from your daughter after you let slip where the diamonds were. Like you were pissed because I took them back and made you deposit the glass instead. Clears your name."
I could almost hear her thinking, so I continued. "Let's say Taylor asks Monroe for more cash in exchange for the information. That's a good reason for meeting him, right? He wants the stones. He wants me. I've evaded his goons a bunch of times so far. He'll feel the need to intervene personally. Then we follow him and grab him."
Meredith chewed her lip. "She won't go for it and I don't like it. Can't we call him? Or get her to call him?"
I blew a long breath out the car window. "Maybe, but he's cautious. He's more likely to make a move if the information is delivered firsthand, and especially if he thinks there's the likelihood of nailing me in the process. Plus, he'll be swayed further if Taylor is… dressed appropriately." I paused, turned to her. "And if the tape isn't enough to make her do it, maybe we could offer, y'know, some paper incentive?"
-- o --
Bribing a teenager is even easier than winning her trust. Thirty minutes and a thousand dollars later, Taylor had been briefed. She wouldn't go without her boyfriend, Lance, so we drove them both towards Monroe's club, with the understanding he would stay with us when she went in.
It was cramped. Even though Meredith and I had ratcheted our seats forward, the Chevy's rear section was only suited for children or people you didn't like. Luckily, I didn't care much for Lance. If his monosyllabic replies were an indicator, the world already owed him a living.
Despite the temperature, he still wore the same beanie from the cam footage, so I presumed someone had glued it to his head as a college prank. He'd also fallen in a vat of cheap cologne that even the open windows found hard to shift. Lord only knew what she saw in him, besides the impressive equipment I'd already seen on the tape.
Taylor on the other hand really suited having her knees by her ears. Especially with her blonde hair tumbling over the front of her tight tube top and ultra short skirt. I tried real hard not to use the rearview mirror for anything other than keeping tabs on surrounding road users, but it was a struggle.
She was incredible. A little over half my age, but damn. Way cuter up close than even the security footage indicated, representing the quintessential teen, oozing with innocence and youthful sex appeal. I felt a sharp pang of remorse at having to put her through the next half hour, sending her directly into the lion's den, but swallowed it. Couldn't think of anything else in the time available.
We slowed a short distance from the club and I rolled into position; far enough away to appear inconspicuous, close enough to see the entrance through the chain-link fence that surrounded the lot. The place was nothing more than a bunch of cheap connected office spaces that Monroe had bought and knocked through to form one large area inside. No exterior signage denoted its nature, its reputation spread only by word of mouth.
I killed the engine, turning to Taylor, only just remembering to meet her eyes before she caught me roving the outline of her pussy lips beneath the delicate peach underwear.
"You got everything, right?"
She nodded and I pressed on.
"No deviation. Just demand payment, deliver the message and get out. We'll be waiting."
Another nod.
"Good."
Meredith rummaged in her purse. "Any shit, use this and run." She handed the teen a canister of pepper spray and smiled at my look. "What? You're not the only cautious person here."
The cheerleader took it with thanks. Somehow slotted it in her impossibly small shoulder bag, which already seemed to contain her phone, cash cards, house keys, our money, a spare pair of skimpy panties, make-up compact and lip balm. If all else failed in her chosen career path, she could pack vans for UPS.
Meredith popped the door, unfolded and slithered out of the car, letting Taylor step into the sunshine, all legs, her tan body glistening. If she was nervous, she didn't show it. We watched her strut across the road from the car in her pumps. Well, I watched her ass, barely concealed beneath the excuse for a skirt, and I'm sure Lance did too. Lucky bastard.
I held my breath as she reached the entrance to the lot. After a brief back-and-forth, the guard let her thread past the barrier and she strode diagonally towards the main building. The second set of heavies at the door allowed her in and I breathed out, drumming the wheel. It was a long shot. I still didn't like the plan, but it was all I had. Once we got Taylor back and were sure Monroe took the bait, Meredith and I would go grab him. Tie him up. Leave him there, tip off the cops, then run.
Almost as if she could read my mind, Meredith asked, "You think it'll work?"
I stared at the doorway Taylor had passed through. "It has to."
As the minutes on the dash clock ticked by, I picked at the microfiber on the steering wheel, staring at the club door, willing her to come out. We all did. The heat was stifling. I could feel a trickle running down my side beneath the T-shirt and longed for air con, but the engine was off. The only thing between us, the doorway to the club and the success of my half-assed plan was an expanse of concrete dotted with crappy sedans and a few muscle cars.
And the click of a gun hammer from just outside the car window, the cold circle of steel at my temple. Everything except my heart froze.
Accented English: "Out, fucko."
I raised my hands as far as I could in the cramped interior. Meredith and Lance followed suit. The hired thug pulled the Chevy door and stepped back to let me out, flicking the gun barrel impatiently.
I was pretty sure that was the international symbol for you're fucked.
-- o --
The music in the main area of the club was pounding. Even at this hour of the day, women gyrated provocatively from the elevated central dance floor, attending to businessmen in suits on early lunch breaks, sat at bug-eye level to the stage. The platform was lit with swirling colored lights that glittered off the scant clothing and shimmering skin of its temptresses.
The outer ring of the club was much darker, just enough light spilling from the stage and few strategically placed lamps to avoid lawsuits from clients tripping over the tables, chairs and plush sofas. We threaded past the furniture, as did exorbitant waitress service from girls showing more skin than those at a Playboy pool party.
I was numb to it all in some ways, but Meredith's eyes were wide. Especially when a lithe brunette barely older than Taylor swung from one of the poles and swayed her tight ass and baby doll down to an eager guy's face. The sparkling scrap of material in the tight cleft of her peach perfect butt barely classed as dental floss.
Clientele etiquette was enforced: no touching for fear of broken bones. The punter, millimeters from the girl's milky taut skin, was well briefed but clearly excited, hands twitching in his lap either side of a straining bulge as she twerked in his face and teasingly crawled away. Not before he'd laid a fistful of twenties between her five-inch heels and she'd scooped them up, mouthing her thanks. I'd often wondered how much of the tips the girls actually received after expenses.
We were marched beyond the bar where a twenty-something in not much more than a tasseled bikini and elaborate feathered hat was preparing cocktails. The far corner of the establishment to which we were headed housed the office. Shielded from the main club by two thick walls of lightly frosted glass, we filed in, the hired muscle bringing up the rear with his gun trained. I was shaking and hot but at least the place had air con.
Monroe sat at his solid wood desk beaming, his ludicrously expensive suit straining at the seams. Taylor stood to his side regarding the floor. She shrugged some kind of apology as we entered, and were lined up in front of the glass like a bunch of naughty school kids about to be reprimanded by the principal. A bald guy seemingly lacking a sense of humor stood to attention on the far side of the room, beefy hands crossed in front of his waist, gun and silencer gleaming from one, his finger curled around the trigger. Menacing and unmoving.
"Well well, Mr. Carlton. You're a hard man to catch."
"Not hard enough, it seems."
Monroe chuckled. "Quite."
He tapped out a cigarette and lit it with a gold lighter from his jacket pocket, blowing a smoke ring. His asshole power trip. He took another deep drag, finger jewelry glinting in the smoky halogen spots above his desk as he pointed my way.
"You really think this pretty little ruse," he waved the back of his hand at Taylor like she was an irritating fly, "would draw me out? What were you gonna do? Tie me up? Call the cops?" I shuffled my feet and he chuckled again. "See, that's why you needed me behind you all these years. You lack imagination, Mr. Carlton, pure and simple. All that movie magic," he waved Jazz hands, "has bled your creativity."
He inhaled more smoke and blew a column of it out. "Shame really. I like you. Think it's the eyes thing. Makes you appear trustworthy. Loyal. Just not sharp enough to see that sending someone like her," he thumbed at Taylor who looked up momentarily, "to my place when she didn't know of its existence would be a problem."
Nothing but guilty silence filled the space between us. Monroe pointed his cigarette at me across the desk. "Exactly. Details, Mr. Carlton. Details. You of all people should know that's where the Devil lies, cock primed, laughing his ass off at those who pay him no heed. Details like a man with one green eye and one brown going into a dealership a few hours ago flashing cash around on a muscle car. Distinctive, no?"