Christof Brutal (Bad Russian Book 12)
Page 7
“I’m here for you. You’re safe now, I promise. Come quickly to me.”
Bear has found a gun so I shoot out some more windows around him. I won’t use lethal force unless they absolutely force me to. People in this country get so pissy and bureaucratic over a little bloodshed between criminals. Nobody in Russia would give a shit.
My hand is still out for her, and finally she jumps down to me. “Run,” I tell her, “Back to the car.” I have to go backwards. Uphill, too. To shield her and to keep these assholes covered. When Bosman makes a move for the door, I put out his rear window.
Finally, I get to the car. I get in and give Max the Magnum. The glove box is still open, and she throws the gun in like it’s on fire. I should move, but I have to give her a hug first. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?” I’m feeling a rising panic now, “Are you hurt? What did they do to you?”
“No. I’m not hurt. I’m OK in that sense.”
“Is it all right if I get us away from here now?” Bear and Bosman are climbing out of the wreck of their car. They both have handguns.
“Yes,” Max says, “We can go now.”
I would rather reverse away, but I can’t risk one of them getting off a lucky shot.
I drive flat out. Straight at them. They shrink back, shielding behind the car doors. At the last possible moment, I tip the swerve away, roaring past them at full speed. The side draft would have been enough to knock them both on their asses.
I don’t think about where we’re going now. I just want to get her away and somewhere safe.
“What happened?”
“I saw them, Bear and Bosman, outside the building. They must have seen me drive by.”
“You ran out as soon as I got home.”
“I heard you on the phone.”
I’m confused. “Heard me?”
“You were talking about trading me. Or giving me away.”
“What?” I almost jam on the brake. My head races as I’m trying to think. Who was I talking to? I made a number of calls as I was returning from robbing Bosman’s house. I vaguely remember I was on the phone when I stepped out of the elevator. Who was I talking to then? I called three dealers. I was looking to confirm what I suspected about the piece that Bosman had. I was looking for… Jebediah.
I pull over and stop the car.
“Max,” I take her hand. She looks afraid. “I love you, Max. I would never do anything to hurt you. And I won’t ever let anyone else hurt you either.” I take her face in my hands. I want to kiss her, but she’s still unsure. I lean across to hug her. I hope she can feel the sincerity in my embrace, but I know that I have to show her.
“I think I know what happened, Max. I have a meeting at the apartment. I was going to put him off, but I’ll just call and confirm. Let him know I’ll be a couple of minutes late. Come with me. You’ll see.”
Chapter 20
Her
Jebediah has a beard like a Pennsylvania Quaker. He dresses like a rich hippy and he talks like a professor.
“There’s been talk of late. Tales are told about a man with deep connections to the cartels. It is said that he works with an associate who once was a master forger. That’s what they say. They say that and, at the same time, some certificates of authentication begin to show up. Certificates that have murky and dubious origins. Dubious COAs have shown up for pieces that are suddenly lost or stolen. Then, on the East Coast, fakes start showing up.”
Christof says, “It looks like the cartel’s bag man is freelancing.”
I ask, “Would they care?”
Jebediah tells me, “That would depend on whether it had a negative effect on their business. Maybe somebody will drop a note to that Columbian bank.”
Christof says, “That bank will be waiting a long time for a favor from me.”
Jebediah goes on, “The little Brancaster was one of the pieces with questionable COAs.”
“This one?” I gasp as Christof pulls the small bronze from his pocket. The one that had been on Bosman’s desk.
“Ah! May I see it, Christof?” Jebediah takes the little sculpture to the window and holds it to the light. “Yes. It’s a cast of a cast. Likely someone had one of the original foundry copies, and used it to make a cast. It’s not a bad copy, but if you compare it to the real thing, it isn’t hard to see the difference.” He holds the sculpture toward us. “See? The points are blunted. The joins, where the head and the arms join the body, they’re thick and filled in. Like it’s blurred. See the difference…”
Jebediah takes a brown paper parcel from his case. He unties the string and unwraps the paper. Inside is a cloth, and tissue inside that. He opens out the tissue to reveal another little sculpture. Like the other, but sharper, clearer. Almost like it’s more in focus.
He slides the open parcel across the table. “This is yours, brother. I hope she will bring you enough joy to be worth every cent.”
“Max,” He passes it to me. “Brancaster’s sad siren, the Weeping Angel.”
“She’s beautiful.” Close up, I can see the differences easily.
“And she’s for you.”
I can’t believe it.
“You’re kidding, right? How much did this cost?”
“It doesn’t matter. You love it. That’s all that’s important.”
“Trust me, Max. What it took for Christof to obtain that for you, it’s important. If the cost of it doesn’t matter to him, then you really must matter to him a lot.”
I’m starting to believe it.
Epilogue
Him
After Jebediah leaves, I find Max in the living room, standing by the windows. She’s breathing hard.
The light in her eyes is a spark to set me on fire.
“Get undressed.”
She looks back at the floor to ceiling windows that stretch the whole width of the room. I press a switch on the wall panel nearby. Translucent opal blinds slide up from the floor to cover the glass.
She looks around her again. Shy. “Can’t we have it darker?”
I step over to her. “I want you.” Her breath catches. “I want all of you. Exactly as you are.” I’m near enough to catch the delicious scents of her. The sweet, peaches and cream from the back of her neck, behind her ear. The warm, exotic temptation between her breasts.
And now, as I stroke her neck and her stomach, and I reach for the buttons of her shirt, the dark, fiery tang of her heat. Opening her shirt, I slide it off.
“Your body is fantastic,” I tell her. “You’re beautiful.” She’s pulling her shoulders together.
“All that does is to push your breasts to make them even sexier.” She holds me, grips my head as I kiss her neck.
When I look up, we come together in a kiss. Then she comes to life. Flowing and turning, writhing in my arms. The velvety heat of her skin makes me hard with desire. She moans as she feels me lengthen and swell.
Reaching back to unclasp her bra, I lick and suck on her full, creamy breasts.
As her sighs and gasps stutter, faster and harder, and she murmurs my name, “Christof,” I slip my hand up her thigh and she folds at the waist as I stroke her between her legs. I free her from her skirt, then her panties and I lick and suck on her mound and her clit, while my fingers work inside her to push her higher.
She pulls her fingers through her hair and bites on the inside of her arm while my tongue drives her wider. Higher. Farther.
When finally my tongue slips inside, stretches up to please her, she gushes, flooding me with sweet, dark nectar.
She falls back on the couch, spread, wide open and I take my time to undress for her.
At last, as she bites her lip and rubs on her mound, I split her open on my throbbing cock.
With her calves up over my shoulders and my head buried between her breasts, I ream her soft wet pussy and hold back as her walls suckle pleadingly on my shaft.
I hold out as long as I can, but on the t
hird or fourth time she throws back her head, stretches her reddening neck, and quakes and arcs and claws at my back, I let go and hammer her, pounding, pumping, bursting to flood and fill her with a pulsing fountain of hot bolts of thick spunk until it runs out of her, mixed with her own hot honey.
I’m determined to get to the bottom of how she could ever have thought she should run from me. Whatever it was, I have to make certain she can never misunderstand me that way again.
Holding her cradled in my lap, I tell her, “I loved you on sight, Max. It just took me a little while to face it and admit it to myself. I’m too old for you, and you deserve better, but I don’t care. I want you and I need you and I adore you. You’re mine and I’m going to keep you.”
I stroke her forehead, determined to make her understand. “You’re so sharp. Your intuition is so strong, and so pure. You have a strength in your character that makes me twang and chime inside like a harp.”
She nuzzles into my chest. “But without any of that I would still be mad for you, just for your body.” I swallow and shift in my seat, prickly and aching. “You have the body of an angel. That would be more than enough. You’re the woman for me.”
“But…”
“I’m too old. I know. And you deserve better than me. I know. But I want you and I’m having you. Every day from now and forever, I’ll make you see that you’re the woman for me, and I’m the man for you.”
“Nobody’s talked about my body that way before. I’m… I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t need to say anything. I will worship your body for you. Every part of it. I’ll make you do what you dream of, even in all the dark dreams you forget.”
“but I’m…”
“You’re not ready. It’s okay. I’ll win you round. I promise you, you’ll need me as badly as I need you.”
“I don’t know how you can be so sure.”
“I’m used to trusting my instinct. Yours is strong, too, but I don’t think you know how to trust it yet.”
She holds on so tight I’m stirring again. “Oh,” she says, looking down. “It’s…” then she looks up, her eyes shining into mine, “How many times can we do that?”
She rolls and climbs on top of me. Her eyes gleam as she rubs her wings along the length of my thickening cock.
I groan with pleasure, “Oh! As many times as you want, my love.”
With her big, lovely tits bouncing free, and her wet pussy exposed, watching her dripping flower clinging along my shaft, the head of my cock is soon lengthened up to my navel.
She strokes the length of it and licks her lips. “I want to taste it.” Straightaway, she wriggles down my legs. Her creamy tits bounce on my thighs and her hot breath fans the underside of my pole.
When she takes me into her mouth, I grip her hair in my hands. She works her lips all over my cock and it swells to reward her. She takes me into her mouth, slipping over her wet, velvet tongue, and she hugs me into her throat. She sucks and slides and pulls until my hot, sticky white filling seeps out around her red lips.
She licks and slurps it all away and grins like a bad angel.
Epilogue 2
Her
Bosman’s house caught fire a couple of weeks later. Everybody said it had all the hallmarks of a cartel hit. We all thought that was the end of Bosman and Bear, until a couple of guys who fit their descriptions were seen at an art fair in Switzerland, claiming to have discovered a store of rare French Impressionist prints, lost since the Nazi invasion of Paris.
Christof says he’s finally found the work he loves, and he really wants to settle into. He’s investigating art forgery. It’s been nearly a year now, and that’s a long time for him. So we’ll see.
I couldn’t get my job back, but it turned out to be a blessing because I helped Christof to run his gallery. I love it and pretty soon I was running it more or less single-handed, and very successfully.
Besides, I couldn’t give my old job the time it took. Not with the twins on the way.
CHRISTOF
BRUTAL
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Christof Brutal
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