by Tessa Thorne
“What?” Her voice is so low; I can barely hear her over the music.
“You heard me.” I roll back my sleeves to the top of my forearms while I wait for her to process the request. If she’s a cop, she’s doing a really good job of playing the part of a clueless broad from the Upper West Side. She’s got the whole look down pat.
Her eyes fall on the tattoos covering my arms from my wrists past my elbows. She startles as Tony tries to squeeze his big belly behind her to put a tray with the tequila and glasses on the table.
She waits for him to get back to the bar before speaking up. “Why do you need me to unbutton my cardigan?”
“So I can check out your tits, sweetheart.” I grin as I take the top off the bottle and fill the glasses to the brim.
She takes in a sharp breath, swelling her chest through her sweater and her face blooms red. She looks behind her to see if anyone else is looking. Of course, this being Franky’s, everyone is back to minding their own business. The people who come in here are all connected in one way or another. This isn't some regular dive bar.
I’m thinking this broad’s probably a cop. It’s the risk of running a hit-for-hire business on the darknet. If she’s a cop, might as well have some fun with her before I send her on her way. Let's see how far she’ll take it.
“Relax, sweetheart. Maybe you should have a drink first.” I’m barely feeling that first shot. Could use an extra one myself. “You seem nervous.”
She turns back to me and nods slowly. I take the two glasses and hold one out to her. “Go ahead, take it.”
Her emerald green eyes shift between me and the glass I'm offering. She takes a hand off her purse and gingerly accepts it. Her hand is shaking though, and she spills a bit of the tequila on my fingers.
I smile as I suck the tequila off my fingertips. “This is good shit. Tony never cheaps out on me.” I hold the glass up. “Salute.”
I down the drink and slam it down on the table. She looks at me wordlessly, and to my surprise downs the whole thing in a single swallow. The way she licks her lips after makes my cock twitch again. Her quick glance down tells me she notices, and I can’t help but grin again. She’s probably not used to a guy who’s open with what he’s working with.
“The sweater,” I remind her.
She puts her glass down and looks at me again. “Do I really need to?”
Her voice is so sweet and full of innocence. I almost feel bad about this next part.
“Look, sweetheart.” I take a step closer to her. “I’m doing you a favor. See, I have to frisk you before you can sit down. Then we can chat about why you took the L train all the way down to Williamsburg. Much to the chagrin of the uptight broads you don’t really like at your book club, I'm sure,” I say and smirk.
I put my hands on her hips and sweep my fingers over her back and then up to her shoulders, feeling for a wire. She jumps in my hands before she steadies herself when she realizes what I’m doing. Fuck, she’s playing this perfectly. She feels so soft. I want to see her strip down so bad. Too bad she’s probably a cop. I’ll probably have to yank it to my imagination before I go out tonight.
I sweep across her shoulders and bring my hands down over her upper arms as I stare at her flushed face. “You want to leave now, or you going to let me finish?”
She bites her bottom lip, trying to decide. She must know what the look does to me, because I sure as fuck don’t want her to leave right now.
“Okay, fine.” She puts her purse on the edge of the table and looks down at her feet as she unbuttons her sweater. The dress underneath is light green, with a high neck. I can barely make out the top of her cleavage, but it’s more than enough to strain my cock.
I open her purse up and look inside. I take five crisp bundles of hundred-dollar bills out and stack them on the table. I’ll be damned. If she’s a cop, they’re trying something new. Normally they don’t come loaded with cash on the first meet. They always try to dangle that in front of you to force a dumb mistake.
The rest of the purse is just filled with regular women’s shit. Makeup, perfume, tampons, floss, keys, a wallet. Nothing suspicious. I put the money back in the purse and close it.
“Spread your legs.” I squat in front of her and look up, watching her face as she nervously spreads her feet apart. I start at one ankle and slowly feel up her smooth leg. Fuck, her skin is so soft, and feels hot as a fire. It prickles with goosebumps as I feel up her thigh past her hem.
“I have to check, sweetheart.” I grin. “Can never be too careful.”
She sways as I brush my hands over her plump ass and gasps as I cup my hand between her legs. Fuck me. She’s soaked through. I grin up at her as I brush my hands down her other leg. If she’s a cop, it’s not stopping her from wanting to fuck a bad mobster, that’s for sure. The body doesn’t lie.
I stand up in front of her and look down on her perfect face. “Almost done.”
I brush my hands up her stomach, then up her sides and down her arms. She presses her lips together as I feel under and around her breasts with my palms, enjoying the weight of them.
“I have to feel under your bra,” I explain and grin. “It’s the best place to hide a wire.”
She looks down at her chest and nods quickly before turning her head to look away.
I sweep my hands over her breasts, dipping the tips of my fingers into her bra, brushing lightly over her puckered peaks. It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull out her big tits and suck on her nipples until they're hard.
“All done.” I smile and gesture to the booth. “Sit down.”
She lets go of the breath she was holding and sinks into the seat. One hand clutches her purse, and the other nervously taps on the wooden table.
“Another drink?” I ask, filling both glasses before she answers.
“Yes,” she whispers hoarsely as she takes the glass in her shaking hand and downs it before I have a chance to pound mine back.
I look at her with a wide smile on my face. She can hold down that drink. She's a real Irish broad. I’d kill to fuck her if she wasn’t a cop.
I take my own glass and throw it back. She watches me as I lick my lips, enjoying the burn of the tequila working its way down into my belly. I’m starting to feel it. Might as well get to the point.
“Here’s what I need you to do, Caitlyn.” I put my hands down on the table and turn my palms up. “See, you have me at a disadvantage. You found me, so you know what it is I do with these hands.”
Her eyes fall down on my callused hands and then look back at me. There’s a hot mix of fear and curiosity in her eyes.
“Far as I’m concerned, and as much as it personally pains me, I think you’re a cop.”
She suddenly looks like a ghost of her former self. She pulls herself back from me like I’m a snake about to strike out at her. “I’m not a cop,” she stammers out.
“See, that’s exactly what a cop would say, right?” I smile a mock apology. “So we’re at an impasse.”
“But I did everything you asked me to do online.” She pushes her purse out at me. “I even brought all the money!”
“What’s this online shit you talking about?” I ask mockingly. “I don’t know anything about nothing till you convince me you aren’t a cop.”
“But I already told you I’m not a cop,” she says, desperation creeping into her voice. “I did everything right. I took a big risk coming here, and you're just going to turn me away?”
“Everything about you says cop,” I say and shrug. “A broad like you got no business coming into a place like this carrying a stack that heavy.”
“This is unbelievable,” she says, her voice rising in anger.
Fuck me. She looks hot when she gets angry, too. This whole thing is all kinds of fucked up. Pinky’s got me wasting my time talking with a cop because he didn’t check into her enough before sending her to me. And now I’m not even going to be satisfied with whatever ass I tap tonight. There’s no w
ay I’ll find a dime piece like her again. Why did she have to be a fucking cop?
“Look, sweetheart.” I pour another round of tequila. “I’m all but certain you’re a cop. So we got nothing to talk about unless you can convince me otherwise. So why don’t you have this last drink on the house, go back to the pork delivery truck your backup's hiding in, and let me get on with my card game?”
This fucking broad knows how to act. Her eyes are glistening as if she’s ready to cry. She looks down at her hands, clutching her purse as if she’s trying to hide her tears from me.
But instead of breaking down crying to complete the act, she pulls back her shoulders, blinks her eyes clear and forces her hands steady.
“You said you're all but certain I’m a cop.”
I nod.
“That means there has to be something I can do to convince you I’m not a cop.”
I laugh. “There is.”
“Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
The booth creaks as I lean back, putting my full weight on it. I cross my arms in front of my chest as I look her up and down. She seems serious. Could I have pegged her wrong? Could she really be a woman desperate enough to hire a killer like me? Can I take that risk?
Fuck it. I know one thing no undercover cop would ever be caught doing.
“Tell you what, sweetheart.” I lean back in and rest my forearms on the table. “I know one foolproof way to make sure you aren’t a cop.”
She meets my eyes, trying to hide her nerves, but I can practically feel her heartbeat pounding through the table. “What?”
“Fuck me.” I shoot her a cocky grin.
“What?” she asks, her lips parting in surprise. I wonder if she knows what seeing her pink tongue glistening between those full lips is doing to my cock.
“You heard me.” If she’s a cop, she’ll say no. There’s no chance an undercover cop would ever get caught with my dick in her cunt. With my reputation, she’d never hear the end of it.
There’s a nagging thought in the back of my mind telling me that I could be wrong. Maybe she’s dedicated enough to the cause to take one for the team. I drown that voice in another glass of tequila as I wait for her to make up her mind. This broad’s worth serving twenty at Sing Sing.
The pink returns to her cheeks, and I can’t help but stare at her tits as she takes in a deep breath.
“Now?” she asks.
“When else?” I grin. Fuck me. Is she actually going to do it?
“Here?” she whispers.
“There’s an office in the back. I got the keys.” I smile, flashing my teeth.
She opens her mouth to say something, but stops and drops her eyes down to the table. I really thought I had her for a second.
She looks back up at me, her eyes wide open. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
She leans out of the booth and looks back at the length of the bar, looking to see if anyone’s watching her. She turns back to me, brings her glass of tequila to her mouth, throws it back and slams it hard on the table.
Fuck me. She’s going to do it.
Chapter Two
Caitlyn
I bite my bottom lip to soothe the sting of the tequila as it washes down my mouth into my throat. Drinking is what got me into this mess in the first place, and it might as well help get me out.
If I have to fuck him to prove I’m not a cop, then that’s just what I’m going to have to do. The fact that he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life has nothing to do with it. Nope. Nothing at all.
I slam the shot glass down on the table and watch that cocky smirk spread across his lips. He knows he has me, and he’s so pleased with himself. But that doesn’t change anything. He’s the last chance me and Ethan have, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my nerves stop me from going through with this.
“Let’s do it,” I say before I can change my mind.
He pounds his fist on the table triumphantly and stands up from behind the booth.
“Leave your phone with Pinky,” he says, pointing to the skinny guy that looks a bit like him.
He grabs our pair of shot glasses and the surprisingly not-yet-empty bottle of tequila and leads the way to the back office.
I pull my phone out of my purse, put it on the table next to Pinky and follow him to the back office. I try not to look all around me at who else is watching. This is no time for shame. I don’t care if everyone in this bar knows I’m going into that office to get fucked like a whore. The only thing on my mind is doing what I came here to do, and that’s to hire a hitman to kill my ex-husband. I’ve already decided I’m going to be complicit in the murder of my son’s father. Somehow, offering my pussy as a bonus doesn’t even measure on that scale.
He unlocks the door and swings it open for me. I guess it looks like what you would expect for an office in the back of an old dive bar in Brooklyn. It’s a small room with a cheap laminate wood desk with a duct-taped swivel chair behind it. There’s a worn brown leather couch up against the wall, and in front of it a brass-bound chest is doubling as a coffee table. Bolted against the far wall is a safe about as tall and wide as Rocco. The whole affair is lit by a bare fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling.
I step inside, feeling the heat radiating off Rocco’s body as I step past him. His presence is overwhelming, like one of those guys that’s noticed by everyone when he walks into a room. Even if you don’t see him, he's impossible to ignore. He follows me inside and closes the door behind him. The sound of the deadbolt locking into place sends a pang of anxiety through my body. I clutch my purse to my chest and back up until my ass presses up against the desk. It’s crazy how fast all that false bravado can fade away the moment I’m locked in a room with a hitman. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so scary. What the hell am I doing? Am I really going through with this?
He smiles as he holds up his hands, still holding the bottle of tequila and glasses, in mock surrender. “I’m not locking you in, sweetheart. You don’t want nobody to walk in while I’m railing ya, am I right?”
I loosen my death grip on my purse and slowly lower it from my chest.
“That’s better.” He smiles. “I don’t want ya to think you’re being forced into this. You can go if you want.”
He steps aside and nods towards the deadbolt latch. “You want I should let you out?”
I take in a deep breath and try to calm myself. This is just my nerves getting the best of me. Obviously this isn’t going to be easy, even if he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever been locked in a room with. I can’t let myself be disarmed by his rough charm and easy smile. I need to remind myself that he’s a killer. After all, that’s why I’m here.
“No,” I say with a surprisingly steady voice.
Good. I’m pulling myself together. All I have to do now is go through with this without falling apart like a little girl.
“Good,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “'Cause I’ll be honest. I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy since you walked that fine ass of yours into this joint.”
I drop my eyes to avoid his as I feel blood rushing to my face and a hungry pang in my pussy. Damn it. Why do I have to want him as badly as he seems to want me?
The answer's obvious. I haven’t had sex in two years. Hell, I’ve never even had sex with anyone other than my ex-husband. And he never went down on me once. He said he’d drink bleach before he’d be willing to go down on a woman. I used to think it was a joke, but now I think he really meant it.
“Want another drink?” His offer snaps me back to reality. I look up to see him halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. My mouth drops open as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside on the couch. His body is everything I could have dreamed and more. His tattoos go past his arms, over his shoulder and cover his entire chest. And what a chest. His broad pecs look like they're carved out of stone. And those abs, wow. I thought the only place you could see abs like that was on TV watching the Olympics.
His cocky grin makes me acutely aware of what I must look like staring at his chest. But I think I’m finally past caring.
“Yeah,” I mumble as I put my purse down on the makeshift coffee table next to the bottle of tequila.
“I’ll pour while you get out of that dress,” he says as he grabs the bottle.
I nod, dropping my eyes to my feet as I take my cardigan off and put it down over my purse. He’s pouring two full glasses of tequila while looking up at me with that same frustrating smile.
I wish he thought I didn’t want this. That I’m only doing this to prove I’m not a cop. That I don’t find him attractive at all. But my body already gave me away when he felt my wet panties. And now I’m staring at him like he's an ice cream cone on a hot Sunday.
I reach behind me, unhook the back of my dress and carefully pull down the zipper. He perks up his eyes, watching me as the sound of the zipper seems to tear through the quiet space. I can’t help but feel an ounce of satisfaction as his eyes go wide as I push the straps off my shoulder and let the dress fall to my waist.
“Oh, shit,” he says as the tequila spills over the edge of the glasses. “You’ve got an amazing rack, sweetheart.”
I can feel heat growing between my legs as he stares at me, but all I can think is that I wish he’d stop calling me sweetheart. He picks the glasses up and walks over to me, his eyes locked onto my tits. He hands me one of the wet glasses and clinks his against mine, spilling the overflowing liquid over our fingers.
“Salute,” he says as we tilt our glasses back and slam down the drinks.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my stomach roils from the tequila. I should have eaten before this. I’ve been drinking a lot more lately to deal with the stress in my life, but this is pushing it for me.
My eyes open as I feel him stepping closer to me. His broad chest rises slowly as he breathes, the bottom of his pecs mere inches from my breasts. I gasp as I feel his strong hand wrap around my waist and pull me into his chest. I look up at him, and he smiles down on me as his lips crush against mine.