Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  “No,” I gasped, as his lips pressed into the hood of my clit, “No. Don’t tell Jake that.”

  My thighs were over his wide shoulders. His huge hands squeezed my butt cheeks as his hard, mobile tongue snaked inside me. I leaned back on my elbows. Looked down over my bouncing breasts at his head, deep between my tightening thighs. My back stretched. My fingers grasped. My ass felt tiny, childish in his hands.

  My voice was thick and I panted as I said, “You have any lube, American?”

  His head shook slowly, pulling his lips across my clit.

  “Good.” my stomach still rippled with the last orgasm, “Don’t tell him that you reamed and burned my soft little ass raw, either.” I squeezed his head, feeling his wiry curls scrape inside my thighs as I shook and my juices gushed into his mouth.

  Soon after they hurried us in the back of the shed, they fed us some tasteless Yankee fast-food shit, cheap ground-up meat waste in weightless bread. Before we finished it the floor of the shed shook and we heard the bikes. A big enough roar that you couldn’t say how many there were, but it sounded like a lot. We heard voices and felt the beat of heavy boots make the wood flooring vibrate. A biker with a red bandana and shades came in and looked around. Picked out two of the youngest girls, Perla and Jazmin. Said, “I bet you two can dance. Here, put these on.”

  He handed them a couple of silver bikini bottoms. Waited while the girls stripped off and wriggled the things on. Perla had tears streaming down her face. The biker seemed to like that. “Oh, you gonna be good,” he said, “They gonna like you.” He laughed as he took the girls by their bare arms and led them away and kicked the door shut behind them.

  Then bikers took the rest of us to separate rooms. Small, bare, wood rooms. No windows, as far as I could see. Inez looked at me pleading as she was shoved into a tiny room. I saw there was a bed against one wall. But I didn’t acknowledge her, and we both knew why. In our part of Mexico, kidnappings were commonplace. Every schoolkid has spent hours of thrilling horror, turning over with their friends, what do you do if… Rule #1: Tell the captors nothing. All knowledge can be power, don’t hand them any.

  When he slipped his fingers up between my ass cheeks, held my ass in his other hand, put his thumb against my little ass, he pressed. He hadn’t bothered to take off my panties or the tiny cut-offs. There wasn’t much point, they would hardly get in his way. Then he pressed with his finger, cupping my whole pussy in his palm. Pressing the mound of his thumb against the mound of my sex. I always think of my mound as being a great big bulge. In his hand it felt tiny. He pressed my little star, and he moved his finger around it. Slowly burrowed his finger in. Pressed down a little more.

  Then he lifted me off the table as he stood. I put my arms over his shoulders. I gripped my legs around his ribs. Tilted my pelvis up. The lips of my puss tingled on the hair at the bottom of his stomach. The curls that led down to his cock. My buttocks felt the bones of his wide pelvis. My ass felt the head of his hard cock. He looked at me and said,

  “You aint done this before.” His lips tightened very slightly as he said, “You aint done a whole lot of this before, have you. You sure aint no whore.” His eyes looked hard into mine for some time before he said, “No, you aint no whore. Lot of men will pay a lot of money to have you act like one, though.” Did his voice soften, or did I imagine it?

  Probably I was just dreaming. Catching a stale whiff from one of the damned tele-novellas my Mama and my little sister Inez watch every afternoon. Or if not, if his voice really did soften a little, it was most likely a mixture of jealousy and admiration for the money that Jake was going to make out of me.

  I said, “You mean if I act like I’ve been acting with you, American?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And what if I’m not willing to do that? What if I won’t do it with just whoever comes through that door?”

  “We’re talking about hardcore MC brothers here. If they know you’re going to put up a fight, they’ll pay even more.”

  My lips tightened between my teeth. He said, “Well, we’re here,” and I clung on to him. Tight. Pressed my breasts against him through the ripped cotton. But he only pressed gently against my ass. I tried to relax. That made it easier. But not much. I couldn’t really relax much. And my ass was tiny. And his cock was huge.

  I said, “You want me to put up a fight, American?”

  He stopped. Looked at me. His cock was just engaged at the opening to my ass. “Whatever you want. It’ll be okay with me.”

  Then he pressed in. He slid into my ass and out, and deeper in, and slowly out, and on. The strokes got faster and harder, and he got harder, and my ass hurt like hell. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it, but I saw no reason to let him know that if I could help it.

  Gripping on tight to him with my thighs, I stretched back. He put out his hand out along my back. And he rammed harder in. It ached and burned, but through the pain was a thrill that I hadn’t ever felt before. Something deep. And dark. But strong. It was like an echo of something from long ago. Impossibly long ago.

  Then he lifted me off his cock. Lifted me like I was a bag of sugar or a cake. I couldn’t imagine this biker with either of those things though. So like a what? A bag of money, probably. Dirty dollars in bundles of thousands.

  He pulled out of my ass, and slipped straight in to penetrate my dripping hot puss. I felt like I had exploded. I wrapped my arms tight around him, squeezed with my thighs. I rode him as hard as I could. I was so ready to cry. I didn’t want him to see that. The thought made it harder to hold back. I slid my hands into his shirt. Dug my nails into his back. Dragged on his flesh.

  Didn’t seem to make any difference. I drew back and beat on his chest. Flailed my fists at him as hard as I could. He kept right on, his huge cock filling me up, hard, hot and pounding into me. His thighs slapped against my soft cheeks, still raw from his cock. I beat on his shoulders. His rhythm didn’t change. I slapped my hands on his face. Over and over. As fast and as hard as I could. He didn’t twitch. But the effort, while he was fucking me, so deep, so hard, while my hips, my treacherous little woman’s body, while my hips slid lasciviously along the length of his long, fat cock.

  The more I beat him, the closer I was to crying.

  II sunk my teeth into the top of his shoulder. He still didn’t seem to care. And rage was the only defense I had against tears. So I rode his cock as hard as I could and through my teeth I shouted into his shoulder, “Fuck me. Come on, American. FUCK ME! FUCK ME NOW!”

  The orgasm blasted into me like the Pacific smashing against high granite cliffs, breeching through vast, ancient caves, like a tsunami bursting into a bay, filling and consuming the coves and crags of the coast with white, raging foam.

  Lying back on the table, I could hardly move. I ached all over, but my muscles sang. Never before had I felt anything like that. So powerful it almost felt religious. Maybe because I was exhausted and I hadn’t eaten properly since the wedding. Whatever it was, it left me unbalanced. Confused. I felt drawn to this big biker like a father. Like a savior. And I knew that he wasn’t going to be either. Not for me.

  The sound of boots came from outside. Then a bang on the door and a rough male voice, “You done, bro? Ready to go?”

  Not taking his eyes off me, the biker said, “Ax there?” Another voice came from behind the door,

  “We’re all set, bro.” The biker called back,

  “Ax, take the merchandise and stack it in the cage. Call the geek and get him over. Don’t let anyone start to open anything before I get there.”

  “You got it. See you back.”

  “Ax?” the biker called again, insistent, “Nobody opens anything. No exceptions. Clear?”

  “Aye. You be far behind?”

  “No, I won’t be long.”

  As he fastened his silver buckle he said, “I hate to think of you being manhandled, mistreated and mauled, just to put money in Jake’s pocket,” he looked at me for a long time. Looked
me over. He said, “Seems tragic when you could fill my pocket instead.” I watched the emblem on his back then the door closed behind him. And I watched his ass. As it moved in the soft leather, I wanted his cock again.

  I must have slept, but not for long. I heard sounds at the door. The biker opened the door. The one with the red bandana and shades came into the room ahead of him, saying, “So, this gonna square us, right? The bust, Carter, the package you say you were short, we gonna be all squared away now. Right?”

  “All square.”

  “Brother, you paying a high price for a piece of tush. Let me take another quick look, okay? You sure she aint got diamonds in her pussy or a pound of crack in her bra? A weight of grass up her ass, maybe?”

  “This deal didn’t suit you, you wouldn’t be doing it, Jake. No more fucking around, okay.”

  “Okay, bro. She’s all yours. We’re good.” They clasped hands, locking their thumbs, embraced with their other arms and patted each other twice on the back. It was like a dance.

  The biker was leading me from the room. Whether this was taking me to a better situation, I couldn’t know, but the biker looked a better bet than Jake in every way. I pushed away the thought that I had never experienced orgasms anything like those he’d given me. Whatever else, I was sure he was a pimp just like Jake. Me allowing my emotions to get tangled up with him would probably not lead to a happy ending.

  As we neared the door I started to say, “My sister…” and I realized immediately that it was a mistake.

  Jake grinned wide as he said, “Oh, you got a sister?”

  If Jake learned that Inez was my little sister, it wouldn’t do her any good, or me either. Thinking fast, the best I could come up with was, “I gotta call my sister. Let her know I’m OK. And I want to know how her test went.” Maybe I went too far. I remembered from law school, the more detail a witness offers, the more likely they’re lying or trying to hide something. Either one of those lies should have been good. Saying both I could have given myself away.

  Jake said, “It’s okay, I’m sure Bogart will let you use the phone in your suite. You gonna put her in the penthouse, right, Bogart? With the rooftop infinity pool? You gonna let her use the chopper?”

  Bogart. So that was what they called him.

  Bogart said, “Don’t worry, Jake, she’ll be on a chopper night and day. She’s headed straight for the panthouse.”

  Out at the back of the shed, in darkness again. Seemed like the sun had taken a vacation from me. “Hold onto here,” he pointed at a grab rail below the seat of the huge motorcycle. As I clambered onto the back of the saddle and grabbed the chrome rail, he flicked a pair of cuffs over my wrist, chaining my wrist to the rail. He said, “If I’d expected a passenger, I’d have brought the Softtail. The Sportster’s higher, less of an easy ride. Just hold on, lean when the bike leans, go where the bike goes.” He swung his legs over the front of the bike, sat and turned the key.

  The engine burst into a crackling roar beneath us, with a steady pulse from the pipes behind. The thing jerked forward and I didn’t think I was going to be able to hold on. We rode for hours. I held on with both hands on the grab rails under my ass, and my arms felt like they had turned to ice. My legs were freezing so much in the wind that my knees shook violently the whole trip. The rags of the tee snapped and flapped around my bare breasts.

  The thing thrummed underneath me. Reminded my of my Mama’s tumble drier, the way it shook me. Only, Mama’s tumble drier did that because it was a cheap appliance. It shook because it wasn’t made well enough not to. This thing, this bike, it vibrated with a precision, speeding up, slowing down. Always with a force. And a beat. This machine rocked my clit and my pussy and my insides, it even made my breasts shake. And it did it like it meant it. The feeling of his ass, like steel balls between my shaking thighs did nothing to lower the effect. That whole journey I was freezing and almost edging at the same time. Most uncomfortable ride I ever had.

  Eventually, we came to a big roadhouse in a blasted crater of dry scrub. The red neon over the entrance said, HELL’S KITCHEN, BAR & GRILL. A heavy metal thud oozed out through the walls. Several bikes leaned outside, plus a number of pickups and a big container rig. Probably like the one we’d been brought in from the Mexican border. We got in and out in pitch dark so it could be the same one for all I’d know. I saw him look over a couple of the big, shining bikes, listen to them crackling as their engines were still cooling. Rocked one on its stand. He felt them, for the temperature I guess, patted them like they were horses.

  Bogart unlocked the cuffs and led me in through the bar doors. What lights there were behind the bar, on the stage or from the gambling machines around the walls. Red, blue or amber lights and logos flashed and flickered through the dark press of leather, denim, metal and hair.

  Still shivering from the ride, I had to stop a while to warm up. Bogart waited with no sign of impatience. Through the shadows and the mostly male bodies, I saw two or three girls gyrate around the stage. They wore sparkly heels. That was about all. Maybe some glitter and rhinestones. They slithered and writhed in easy reach of the customers.

  Sliding after Bogart through the crowd in the tiny cut-off denims with flaps of the tee hanging from my shoulders, I looked more naked than the dancers, and none of the bikers failed to notice.

  When they saw who I was with, they kept their observations to themselves and greeted Bogart like some emperor returning from a conquest.

  A cute, black-haired dancer crouched at the edge of the stage in front of a customer. Her big, round breasts pressed against him. Looking closer, I saw that his cock was standing out and she had it wedged between her breasts. She slid up and down, reaching under his balls. Some bikers clapping time and stamped until the guy’s cock went off in the girl’s face. She pulled on it and sucked on it to drain it dry, then she wiped all the cum from between her breasts and on her face into her mouth and licked her lips theatrically. She showed her tongue to the crowd with a drooling hunk of spunk on it. She swallowed, licked her lips again and grinned. Her eyes shone and she shouted, “Who’s next?” and reached for the belts of the two nearest bikers.

  Bogart steered me to a room out back. Inside was a large empty desk with a wood swivel chair behind it, a black safe by the side, and two more chairs in front. A picture hung behind the desk of some men in another desert, in combat uniform. A tattered flag hung in a corner, and a big tapestry of the SAVAGE MC colors hung on the wall opposite the desk.

  Bogart offered me a chair. Doesn’t seem like much, does it. “Sit. Relax.” But it was the first kindness I had been shown since I left my family’s village two days ago. Or was it three days, I couldn’t tell. Now was the first time I felt truly tired, too. He poured bourbon into two shot gasses. Handed me one of them. Not something I would usually drink, but these weren’t usual times. It was sinking in that usual times were fading behind me. Whatever the future would be, it wouldn’t be anything like the past.

  I thanked him for the seat and for the whisky. He paused a moment, letting it hang. Like he was looking at it. Then he made an acknowledgement with a cock of his head. It seemed elegant somehow. “So,” I said, “Is this a brothel too?”

  His voice was hard and even, “Asking questions, especially questions around business is a dangerous sport in these parts.”

  I wanted very much to know where ‘these parts’ were, but I’m a quick study. I figured where I wanted answers, I’d have to find them for myself and be very discrete about it.

  There was a knock on the door. He told me, “Wait here.”

  I said, “Hmm. Should I postpone my drive to Acapulco? Skip the flight to Rio maybe? Okay, you know what, I’ll wait here.”

  He looked back at me from the door, “Help yourself to more bourbon if you want it. Seems to do you good.”

  As he left I watched his pert ass roll in those leathers. After that I did take another shot.

  Bogart was away for some time, and as well as the noise
from the bar there were sounds of boots and boxes and animated talk among the bikers. I heard talk of ‘shipment,’ ‘packaging’ and ‘cut.’ I heard men say, ‘general’ and I think they were talking to Bogart. Also some mention of a ‘city alderman,’ either in the bar or coming to the bar.

  When he returned, Bogart said, “Angelica, I hope you’re going to be happy here and do well. I hope we’re both going to do well. But make no mistake, I’m not your knight on a white steed. You’ll be working here, just like you would have been with Jake.” He looked at me, hard over his shot glass. “That’s the way it is.”

  I said, “There’s one thing.”

  He said, “Your sister. I know we’re going to get to that. You think Jake was thrown by your, ‘Oh, I got to call her’ routine? Wondering about her test scores? It was quick thinking, woman, but you may have overplayed it.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that, too. But I think he bought it. He was too busy showing off to you, Bogart.”

  “I see your situation. But you cost me dear, woman. You want me to go back and bargain with Jake for another girl? Forget it.”

  “Okay, look. I’ll do whatever you want, alright? You want me to fuck some guy for you, no problem. Sleazeball, dirtbag, don’t matter. You want me to struggle and pretend to fight back, you got it. Fists, nails, teeth, whatever. Act like I never did it before? Sure. Two guys? Three? Bring ’em on. I’ll make you money, I’ll sweeten your deals, I’ll help you do exactly whatever you want, American.” I looked at him long and hard. I wanted him to see that I meant it and that I could do it. I stood and took a bite of the bourbon. What few fragments of clothes I had on hung in rags. My skin glistened, I breathed hard and my eyes blazed as he looked me up and down.