Chapter 7
The first thing Tiffany felt as she awoke was the damp pillow. She opened her eyes cautiously. A crack of light fanned out to a wedge and passed over her. It narrowed and vanished as the door clicked closed. She heard breathing in the room.
It came towards the bed, quietly. She wanted it to be her biker, her ‘Jax.’ She knew that it wasn’t. Sneaking in wasn’t his style. She didn’t want to move and let on that she was awake, but she really wanted to know who was there, in the room with her.
The decision was made for her when a weight landed on the bed behind her, and a hand clamped over her mouth. Was this Mace?
It felt exactly like the hand that had grabbed her in the parking lot. A growling whisper rasped in her ear. “Now we’re going to have some fun.” She stopped breathing. Yes, it was Mace. Tiffany was certain that his was the voice she’d overheard.
His hot breath beat on the back of her neck. The other bikers must have been away, surely. This one wouldn’t dare come in like this if the other two were there. Not if her Jax was there. They must be taking shifts, meaning there was nobody to call out to.
His hand was hard, his fingers fat. They slid under the cover, up inside her top. He grabbed her breast.
“Oh, I been watching these.” He squeezed her hard, kneaded her breast roughly and painfully..
His voice rasped in her ear, “Your big, round titties and your hard little nipples pointing out under that thin shirt are so sexy.”
Tears formed in her eyes. Her lips pulled between her teeth as he pinched her nipple. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to force her, but as he shoved her onto her back. she realized that was what he wanted. As he rolled her, she tensed with a shock as she saw his face.
His thick lips curled in a menacing grin and his dark brown eyes bored into her. His cheekbones were hard and his long, wide jaw was framed with a short, thin, pointed beard and mustache. Under his left eye was a teardrop tattoo tattoo.
He wasn’t wearing shades or a bandana, and he was talking. He didn’t care that she would be able to identify him.
She felt the tug as her panties were yanked aside. He drove his fingers into her. Her hips bucked in reflex. Holding her down with the flat of his hand on her pubic bone, his fingers pressed and dragged into her flower.
Her eyes widened and her mouth sagged as she shook her head from side to side, tears threatening harder now. Alarm flooded and electrified her when she noticed how wet she was. You want this, said a voice in her head. She screwed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth.
His strong fingers gripped her shoulders to turn her again, roughly, onto her front. The thumb probed inside her and lifted her hips, pulled her up to her knees. Tiffany sobbed silently as his other hand forced her ass wider open. Spit drooled onto her skin as he drove one finger, then two, into her smooth, tight little star.
Then he was behind her. The rigid weight of his heavy cock whacked against the cleft in her buttocks. As he forced her apart, drilled her open and drove himself in, Tiffany didn’t restrain her high gasp.
There was relish in his voice. “I been watching this little tush too long. Watching your sassy little hips swing.”
The pain seared though her like a fire and she pressed her face into the pillow with her eyes screwed tight shut. He gripped Tiffany by her hips to pull her against his fat shaft and he reamed mercilessly into her. A huge, dull ache rose behind the rasping sting. She felt like a doll in his grasp, and his weight and strength overwhelmed her with ease.
“Shout and scream if you want, girly. Noone’s going to hear you. Noone that would take a lick of notice.”
Tiffany writhed and sobbed beneath him as he plowed deeper into her. She pulled her thighs as wide as she could to try to reduce the pain.
Under hot, heavy breath he rasped, “I seen you, swinging from side to side when you walk. Walking like nobody can touch you. Telling everyone what you need.”
He grabbed a fistful of her silky hair and pulled her head up. His words followed his rhythm. “Now you going to get it, girl. I’m going to make sure that you get it. Could be your last chance. Never know, do you? Couldn’t let you miss out, not when I got exactly what you need, little girl. Oh, yeah.”
Slamming harder, his coarse denim beating against the soft backs of her thighs, he yanked on her hair as he started to pant. Drops of sweat fell from his face and bounced on her ass.
The weight of his body pressed down on her as his hands came to grab her breasts. He squeezed them and pulled on her nipples. The pain and the horrible, intense, dark pleasure washed through her in sickening waves.
“I seen your big, round titties bouncing under your thin shirt, hard little nipples pointing out.” He grated down at her. He grabbed her stomach.
A sudden sting shocked her ass cheeks as he slapped her, hard. “You’ve been making me hard, girly. Making me want you.” The hard shaft of his cock pumped fast. “This tight little butt, your jeans tight around your tight little cunt. Oh, yeah.” He reached down to stick his fingers in her pussy. They pulled her wide.
The rant of his voice faded from her until she barely heard him. She tumbled and fell into a long, dark swirling cascade of orgasm. A warm gush of her juices squirted onto his hand. He was on top of her, his voice scraping low in her ear.
She didn’t hear him, she barely heard her own voice as she cried out and sobbed.
Then he pulled her hair and dragged her face to his pulsing red erection. He held her by her hair and jaw, and she almost gagged as he plunged his thick shaft into her mouth.
Saliva ran over her lips as his hot bolts of acrid, salty jizz spurted into her throat. He fucked her face repeatedly until he began to soften.
Even then, he held her face pulled right up to his pubes. He panted as his fingers twisted in her hair.
He shouted, “Woo-hoo!” as he pulled her off him and held her with her face upwards, forcing her to look up at his hard, rippled body and into his cruel eyes.
“Now, you can’t say that weren’t good fucking.”
He straightened himself up, buttoned his pants and let her into the bathroom to clean up. Though he stood by the door, he wasn’t paying much attention to Tiffany, so she took her time and tried to recover.
The shattering orgasm had left her knees trembling. To distract herself she studied the panel nailed over the window. Her legs quivered and her hands and arms shook so that it was hard even to wash.
Her concentration wouldn’t settle. There were four or five nails holding the panel on each side, so about twenty in all. They weren’t driven all the way in, and so they could be bent back or pried out. It wouldn’t be easy and it couldn’t be done without a metal tool.
Why did her body react the way that it did? Count the nails again, Tiff, she told herself. Stay calm. For once the voice in her head was strong and reassuring.
The window itself was screwed to the frame. The only way out would be through the glass, and she had no idea what would be on the other side. So far, fucking the bikers seemed like a more solid plan, although this one wasn’t likely to melt with gratitude.
As Tiffany splashed herself in the cool water, she felt strong, as though she really had washed something away. She still ached and stung all over, and heat burned raw in her ass. When she slipped back into the room, still wearing only her top and panties, and she felt, in some ways, more exposed than before.
The biker had a blunt lit. He took a draw and offered it to her. She hesitated.
“If I were you? I’d take all the fun I could get right now.”
She took the joint and drew deeply on it, letting the smoke curl up over her face. She watched him. His was the first face that she’d seen in more than a day. The only face she’d seen since she left the mall, really.
After she held the smoke in for a while and then let go she said, “Good weed,” through her teeth. Tiffany heard the quiver in her voice. She was shaken to the core. She had planned to submit to any of the bikers, all
of them if necessary, but she hadn’t been at all prepared for what had just happened.
The fact that he had made no attempt to hide his face made her fearful. Still she wanted to show herself calm and strong, and hope that the brute would feel something, some kind of allegiance to her.
The biker smiled as he took the joint back. “Courtesy of your considerate captor.” Surely this man must be a psychopath. Whatever the implications, though, at least she should try to talk to him. His male brain was should still be at least a little loose with endorphins and hormone release.
“Have you given the demands to my Daddy yet?”
A grin stretched over his mouth. “Your old man’s going to play ball, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He acted as though they were buddies sharing a joint. Was he really that delusional, or was he just putting up an act—was this just a callous front? Was he planning to kill her even as he smiled at her, having just taken her by force?
He handed her the spliff and headed for the door, saying, “Sweet dreams, princess.”
“I might save some of this. Lend me a lighter?”
He smiled and handed her a plastic disposable.
As he closed the door behind him, Tiffany’s jangled nerves overcame her and she shook uncontrollably. She buried her head in the pillow, and her teeth clattered together as she sobbed.
She allowed herself the release of tears, but not for too long. She knew that she needed to stay strong. She had met something and the awful depth of that encounter, something she had known was there. Something she hated. It was her.
The pent-up anguish made her want to howl, to cry out for her daddy, for her sister Jesska, even for her momma. It felt good to let the dam break, even though she guided the flow. She would only let herself go so deep, and she had to keep it in a channel. She couldn’t have it spilling out all over or she would be lost, but she would allow that torrent to flow as long as it needed.
She shook and sobbed. Her quaking breaths into the wet pillow made her face hot and the rhythm of her shaking chest took her to a place she didn’t want to be. She accepted it, took it as part of the tide, and allowed all the old images to flash by, just as long as they kept moving.
It felt like forever since she’d seen her bed, her room, her stupid soft toys. She felt like an awful chasm had opened between her and everything that she knew, everything that was part of her life. She shook as she sobbed. Would she ever get out of this?
That became her turning point. Yes, dammit. Her eyes opened and the shaking stopped. Yes. Fuck you, you sleazy fucker. I would have given you what you wanted, but you had to get off by taking it from me. Well you know what that makes you?
Her fists clenched and her eyes hardened. That makes you small and stupid boy. A boy who can’t be on a level with a woman. A boy who doesn’t have enough man in him.
Yes. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Mace. I WILL get out of this, and I’ll get out intact. Whatever it takes. Tiffany’s jaw set firm. If I have to, she thought, I will burn you down. That thought grew in her and filled her. It straightened her up and she felt its power.
She simply pinned her wretched feelings on Mace. If I get the chance, she thought, I will kill you, Mace. I will be looking for that chance.
Her sobs and shaking had stopped. The wet pillow had absorbed all that she was going to give.
Back in control, Tiffany reminded herself of the two real gains that she had made. By getting him to give her the lighter, she had made Mace make a gift to her, to do something for her with nothing in return. That was important.
Perhaps even more important, she now had a weapon.
Chapter 8
He touched her shoulder and left his hand there while he looked at her. She put her hand on his. She could feel it. He knew. He knew and he cared. She saw his jaw working.
His voice was gentle, “You okay?”
She didn’t know how to play it. She had what she wanted. Tenderness from this man who had made her feel so wonderful and alive. She was getting human feeling from her kidnapper. Also, she had the possibility of a rift between him and the others, or between him and Mace, at least.
Tiffany pressed her lips together tight and nodded. Her eyes were wet but she closed them. Could this be the wedge between her captors she needed? More likely, this would be the point where everything started to go wrong and people got killed.
If she became the source of the rift, though, she saw how easily she could be the target. It hadn’t looked like such a great plan to start with. Now it seemed that it could turn into a disaster. Tiffany was tired and she ached all over.
More than anything, she wished that she could just curl up in this strong biker’s arms and rest. When he put his arms around her, she wanted so much to sob into his strong chest, to soften and melt into his hardness, to have him take care of her.
With all the will she had, Tiffany resisted the urge. She relaxed and drew what comfort she could. Less than he was willing to give, she felt sure. That thought built her strength. He wanted to give her more, and she held back. I AM going to get through this, she thought, with his help or without it. She felt safe with him, but she was in real danger here. She knew she could not afford to depend on anyone to save her.
His voice was soft and warm, “It’s going to be okay.”
She gripped his shoulder. She said into his chest, “Tell me how.” He felt so strong. Don’t go there, Tiff, she reminded herself. Take his strength, draw from his strength, but stay sharp. Don’t lose yourself in it.
The rumble of his voice made it even harder. “We’re asking your daddy for something that’s easy to give. It’s not money, not even something that will compromise him.”
Talking about her daddy muddied her feelings even more. She gently pulled away to look in his face. He said, “I can’t tell you what it is, but I’m sure that he’s going to do it.”
“He’s not a man you tell what to do.”
“I don’t doubt that. But he’ll do it to get you back.”
Maybe he will, she thought, after that he’ll hunt you like a dog. She knew Daddy was certain to be hunting him already.
He gave her shoulders another squeeze. “It’ll be all right. You have to believe that.”
Chapter 9
Jack Berringer pulled into the almost empty parking lot in front of the small diner. There was one other car, a beat-up Honda, two police cruisers, and a black van with black windows, probably FBI. Four uniformed officers stood by the door with two other men in lumpy suits and dark shades.
Jack recognized one of the men, Detective Frank Gracey, by the steps and lifted his hand in a breezy wave as he approached, squinting into the sun.
“Hey, Frank.”
“Good morning, Judge Berringer.” Frank was head of a major task force dealing with gang-related crime. He had appeared as a witness and as an arresting officer in Jack’s court on many occasions.
Jack asked him, “Can a man get his breakfast here?”
“Oh, sure, Judge. We’re keeping a watch on someone inside, is all.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t poke him or call him names, though.”
“I shall keep it in mind. But there’s no reason I shouldn’t go in for some eggs?”
“None at all.”
“Only, there don’t seem to be any other customers.”
“Yeah, turns out the cruisers don’t work as a great advertisement for the waffles.”
“Should I be worried?”
“There are two armed marshals inside, but watch out if he makes a sudden move for the cutlery.” Jack looked at Frank to see if he was joking. All he saw was his own reflection in Frank’s shades.
Inside one man sat at the center of the bright little diner. There were no other customers, only a bored waitress, a cook behind the order window, and two marshals holding shotguns. Jack said “Good morning” to the marshals and asked the waitress for ham and eggs, sunny side up and
a coffee.
He walked to the table where the man sat. He was broad and heavy-set, with long, straggly salt and pepper hair, extravagant sideburns and whiskers, and most of his skin decorated. Some of the ink was elaborate and very professional. Some was likely prison art. He hulked greedily over a stack of pancakes with bacon, and he looked to the judge like an old, worn bullet covered in graffiti.
He was heavy and clearly strong, but his skin wasn’t tight. He was not at the peak of condition. Still, he seemed to be a man you’d think twice about picking a fight with. Whatever he might lack in tone and agility, he could certainly make up for in ready aggression.
Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) Page 43