Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two)

by Rachel Dunning

  I put the couch down. “I don’t wanna talk to you, because I wanna get this job done and get the fuck outta here before those sluts in there come out here damn near naked or something!”

  Trev cracks up laughing.

  “What’s so funny!?”

  “I think she never expected to spend six Gs with us. I think she expected us to see her titties and then do her right here, two on one.”

  “Urgh! Bro, please!”

  “You wouldn’t do her like that?”

  I look out at the city skyline, and I think of Blaze. Her tats, her lustrous eyes, the crazy shine of the colors in her hair. “A week ago, in a flash. Married and all. But now? It just disgusts me, bro. You can have her if you want. Moral dilemmas aside. But if you do, we’re not taking your cut of the money.”

  “Damn straight we are! Just make sure the hours I get paid for are not the hours I’m busy fucking her! Then it’s all legit.”

  “Trev, whatever. It’s your business. Me? I need to get out of here. And I need to go to my girl. I miss her. Can you believe that? I miss her like mad. And when I saw Dalya the D-Cup there—didn’t move an inch down here, homes.” I gesture at my bad-boy. “Not an iota. I think those days are over for me.”

  “Hmpf. Incredible. Damn impressive, homes. I’m...stunned. Amazed and stunned. Good on ya.”

  “Thanks bro. I don’t know when it happened. It just did. Now let’s get this damned Layout C done before I go insane.”

  We start on the rest of the furniture. “So, what’s it like? Being in love.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you stop looking at other babes completely?”

  “When Tatiana called yesterday, I confess, my cock twitched. Male anatomy I guess. But even then I had no interest in being with her. And today—even worse. It’s not that I don’t find her attractive. I do. I find her hot. Supremely hot. And I can’t even say that my cock hasn’t done its own jumps and twitches at different times today. But, I dunno, there’s still no desire to be with her. There’s a thrill, I confess. But that’s all it is—a few hormones getting released. But nothing else.”

  “In other words, if she spread her—” He stops, moves closer. Whispers. “If she spread her wet cunt for you, naked and totally undressed...you’d do what?”

  I shrug. “Look away?”

  He steps back, eyes wide. “No shit.”

  “No shit. Zero interest, Trev. Blaze is something else to me, man. She’s my world now.”

  “In a week. You’ve known the babe a week and she’s your world.”

  “Completely.”

  “Well, that’s the real deal, bro. No shit. I’m happy for you. Really am.” We hit knuckles and bump shoulders.

  “Thanks, Trev. I know I sound like a total emo, but...it is what it is.”

  He grips my hand. “You don’t sound emo, bro. Not at all. Weird? Yes. Unusual? Yes. But not emo.”

  That’s when Dalya’s Southern mistress call flows fluidly out into the living room from within Tatiana’s Cave of Immorality. Or is it the Hotbed of Revelry?

  -2-

  “Oh, Declan, honey. Come on in here and let’s settle this bill, wouldya darlin?”

  Trev’s eyes go wide, and he can’t stop himself smiling. “Me or you?” he says.

  “No, let me go. I got us into this. I’ll get us out.”

  I start walking in, and Trev grabs my arm. “Deck, there’s nothing to ‘get out’ of, bro. You done nothing wrong here, OK? You’re getting paid to move furniture around, and them missies in there are gonna want you to move their furniture into this building. That’s all we’ve done, OK? Don’t go adding shit into this that isn’t there.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. It just feels weird.”

  “Who cares how it fucking feels. This is your business. Six Gs, Deck! For them to get a cheap look at our asses and tats? It’s your dream, bro. It’s your ticket into this very condo.”

  “I think I’ve decided I want to move to another condo, far away from the Witches of Eastwick here.” He smiles, all the way to his eyes. “But I hear you. We moved furniture, and they paid us. Understood.”

  But that’s when things go terribly wrong...

  -3-

  Let me just give you a brief rundown of what happens here, because I think you can deduce the rest:

  I get into Tatiana’s room. It’s extremely well-lit because all the curtains are open. Dalya’s under the red silk sheets of the bed, smiling seductively. Tatiana and Samantha are nowhere to be seen, so I figure they must be in the ensuite bathroom. I see Dalya’s shape clearly through the covering. It’s hard to miss, all the way to her gargantuan nipples which, in case my eyes betray me, are extremely aroused at the moment.

  I keep my eyes up.

  “Honey, cash is right in there. In that drawer.” Dalya turns to point to it, and the covering falls just enough to reveal the sideswell of her very generous left breast.

  At this stage, I’m feeling extremely uncomfortable. And, probably much to Dalya’s dismay, not even the slightest bit horny.

  I go to the hardwood drawer on the side of the canopy bed. “Mizz Watkins not around?”

  “Oh, honey, she’ll be out in a moment. She and Sammie are just doin’ some girly things in the bathroom.”

  I bend down and open the drawer. I’m struck by two things most forcefully, and one of them isn’t the silk panties on the left.

  The first is a fat wad of cash in the middle of the drawer—the top bill being a Ben Franklin.

  The second is the much smaller—but far more noticeable—pack of Trojan Sensitivity Ultra-Thin Lubricated 36 condoms right beside it.

  Now, I don’t know about you, but there’s something very sobering about seeing Bennie’s most sedated face near a set of panties and colorful rubbers. It’s about as arousing as earwax.

  Or maybe that’s just my state of mind.

  “Find anything interesting in there?” Dalya asks. From the corner of my eye, I can see the top of her left areola now. She’s leaning on her right hand.

  I grab the wad of cash, look at my watch, count three-and-a-half hours. I count out seven Gs. “Yes, thank you. I’ll leave a receipt on the table in the living room.”

  “M-hmmm... Anything else?”

  I say nothing; straighten. And that’s when I see Tatiana in full frontal—NUDE!—(and, no, she’s not blonde all over), leaning on the doorjamb of her ensuite bathroom. She’s smoking. “Got everything you wanted, Mr. Cocks?”

  By now I’m just simply furious. There are no words to explain the rage burning in my head. The fucking audacity!

  I decide not to look away, simply because I won’t give her the pleasure of having gotten under my skin. “Yes, Tatiana. I did. I’m sorry if you didn’t.”

  “Oh, honey...” She takes a drag of her smoke, and that’s when Samantha walks out (also nude!—and yes, red all over) and strides over to where I am, practically ignoring me.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Samantha says. She does have her hand over her nipples while she walks, for form’s sake.

  It’s taking all my strength not to lose my cool here, but I won’t let her faze me. I’ll take her money, and I’ll take her business. No problem. And I’ll let her know precisely what kind of man I am: the kind that can stare at her fucking tits straight on, and not bat an eyelid, because she doesn’t even come close to the class of my girl.

  Tatiana keeps talking, but then something else happens, something key, so pay attention.

  Tatiana: “I did. I think I got everything I wanted. And, if not now, then later. Make sure you bill the full hour for this last half hour. I wouldn’t want you to underbill.”

  “I’ll do that.” I turn to go back to the drawer, and two things happen. Two key things:

  I notice Samantha has bent down to pick something up from the ground, or to play with her toes—who the fuck knows.

  Two: I walk straight into Dalya, gargantuan tits and all. And our lips almost touch. Almo
st. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry—”

  I bounce back, shocked. She got to me, I think. I lost my cool, so she won. I almost lose my balance, and my arms fire out to my sides instinctively. I swear to god there was no tit there before! But, before I know it, I’m groping something most certainly mammalian! I snatch my hand away—still struggling for balance!—and then my back hits two more tits. And my nose picks up the fresh smell of tobacco on skin.

  Tatiana’s hands go around my waist. “Careful there, honeybunch!” And then her hand’s on my goddamned crotch!

  I do whatever it takes to get the fuck out of this potential quarterback sacking!

  I start swinging—not fists, just to get my balance, but I’ve stopped caring if I mistakenly connect with one of their faces. I feel more tits; Dalya’s gotten closer—motherfucker what are these goddamned women doing!? They’re all around me now, squashing in on me like slow-moving zombies.

  Finally, I fall—I swear I felt one of them trip me!—and land on my knees next to them. Samantha’s hands are over my shoulders, “helping” me up. Almost instantly I stand again and shake her off me. All three women are by Tatiana’s bed, naked. Dalya’s arm is now wrapped on the canopy bed like a stripper to a pole. My GOD she has massive conkers.

  In my mind, I regain composure, because I won’t let these women ruin my professionalism. I go to the drawer, grab an extra G for the final hour.

  “Mizz Watkins.” I tip my head. And then I leave.

  I guess Trev sees the naked chicks because he says, “What the fuck?” I drop a receipt on the table and pick up my phone from it. Then I’m out the front door faster than I can catch the rest of what he says. He chases after me. I don’t bother catching the elevator. I just run down the stairs. “Deck, what—”

  Down thirteen floors I run. Outside, I take a deep breath. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I rev the shit out of the truck, and I screech out of the parking lot.

  “Dude, what the fuck just happened in there?”

  “Trev, you seen that movie where the chicks suck Keanu Reeves’s blood and rape the shit out of him and keep him weak?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what happened.”

  -4-

  If you’ve figured out where this is leading, then hats off to ya. Because then you’re smarter than me. I, on the other hand, didn’t. I didn’t at all. I thought that was the end of it. I thought the three babes were horny as hell and wanted a group orgy and, when they didn’t get one, too bad.

  Until Blaze got the pictures...

  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Because that comes later. Nonetheless, here’s a little primer:

  -5-

  The primer:

  You seen that photo where Kate goes down on Prince William at the Royal Wedding? You didn’t? She bent down to pick up her keys or something. William’s hand is stretched out like he’s holding her head, and she’s behind a low wall, so you can’t see if that dude’s pants are undone or what!

  A picture paints a thousand words.

  You see where this is going, don’t you? Like I said, hats off to ya. Hats off... That’s all I can say. If I’d known, I would’ve said something. I swear. But I thought it best Blaze not know about this. It would hurt her. And nothing happened, so I didn’t wanna burden her with it.

  Another dumb move? Sure. Rearview mirrors, as they say. But we’ve already established that I ain’t no genius. So please don’t rub it in. Because it hurts like a mofo as it is.

  Hurts like a motherfucker.

  -6-

  Still on the primer:

  Tatiana Watkins had hidden surveillance cameras set up at various angles of her bedroom. Judging from the photos I would see later, I figured it as being six of them. The key one being the one aimed straight at her bed, the one that caught me surrounded by the three women, squashed up between them, touching their skin. It’s incredible, the facial expressions you pull when stuck in a moment of shock. It’s incredible how many of them look like sexual expressions.

  There’s a photo of Samantha “riding” me from behind. Remember when I fell and she “helped” me up? What I didn’t notice was her lips eerily close to my neck.

  Remember that shot of Kate and Prince William? Remember Samantha bending down to pick something up? Let’s just say that my hand—and my facial expression—could “not have looked better if it had been planned.”

  Then there’s the shots of me groping, not one, but two sets of tits—Samantha’s and Tatiana’s. Tatiana’s occurred when Dalya walked into me and thrust her own pair of cajoonkas deep into my chest, thereby throwing me off balance and getting one helluva set of good groping snapshots as I struggled and flailed backwards. And don’t forget those fantastic contortions of my mug.

  Guess where else she had a camera—you ain’t gonna believe it, it’s so rich. Remember the Trojan 36 pack?

  There’s also a shot of Dalya’s areola shining from above the sheets, a perfectly light-brown half-moon, and in that shot I look a lot closer to her than I really was.

  I figure Tatiana must’ve had twenty-four shots going a second: like video, but these were of top photographic quality. Not like the low-res crap you see in CCTV cams. She must’ve had that rate going per second because she caught every possible bad pose I got caught in! And there weren’t that many! This entire exchange lasted for, maybe, two or three minutes?

  I’m not a photographer, but I believe you need good light to have a fast shot-rate or something.

  Remember the open curtains?

  Of course, Blaze getting the shots would all happen later. At the worst possible time. But not much later.

  Today, now, while we drive home, Blaze is oblivious to all this. And I’m also horny. Not because I’ve seen three naked sluts in front of me! It’s because I’m seeing Blaze’s naked body in my mind. The most beautiful girl in the world to me. The one I’ve been dying to get back to every time that Tatiana skank threw herself at me and Trev. Blaze’s body: Small breasts, and both utterly magnificent. Perfect. Her tits. Her O-shaped mouth, full lips, small oval face, soft cheeks. A sleeve tattoo from heaven. Eyebrows that form a light arch in the center, and eyes so deep and green I could spend a lifetime in them.

  Yes, a picture paints a thousand words...

  Even if those words are lies.

  But, later, later. Let’s get back to now...

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  BOOM BOOM BOOM

  -1-

  Blaze Ryleigh

  It’s a new set of condos in Williamsburg, high-end. That’s where Xavier lives. The carpeting in the hallway smells new. Vlad, Sasha, Vikki and I stomp over the plush covering on the way to Xavier’s apartment door. I knock on it a few times and he doesn’t answer. “Xavier! It’s Blaze. Xavier?”

  I hear a door open behind me. I turn and see a gray-haired woman in a flowery kimono smoking a cigarette. She scowls at me like I’m one of the devil’s minions. Doesn’t bother me, my tats and hair generally do that to people.

  I turn my attention back and knock again. This time I shout. “XAVIER—”

  “Young lady!” The dowager takes a long drag. “If he were there, he’d answer, now please stop making such a ruckus!”

  Ruckus?

  I ignore her; knock again. I hear Mizz Kimono huff and close her door, mumbling something to the effect of “youth!”

  Vikki asks, “Is it open?”

  I put my hand around the brass knob and turn.

  The door clicks open.

  -2-

  The room is brightly lit. Everything is white, except for a huge red and black splatter painting on the left wall. Huge glass windows lead out to a terrace, washing the room in bright afternoon light. The place smells like an uncomfortable mixture of the sweet scent of weed and the vinegary tang of burned heroin.

  Xavier sits in the center of the room, at a round table. Dressed in a white suit. And a white fedora hat. On a white chair.

  Eyes a sickly mixture of red and
yellow.

  Burning cigarette in one hand.

  And his tiny black Ruger revolver in the other...

  -3-

  Snoop Dogg gangsta-funk (“Gin and Juice”) grooves lightly over what is clearly an expensive sound system, because the sound is crystal.

  The gat’s on the table, Xavier’s hand over it. He clasps it, picks it up, swings it languidly at the ceiling. Vlad and Sasha are on my right, just a little behind me. Vikki’s on my left. She’s the reddest thing in this place, wearing her trademark crimson clothing. I sense Vlad’s hand twitch to an obvious gat of his own. My hand fires off to his forearm and, my eyes locked on Xavier, I shake my head slowly.

  Xavier’s baked. Even from this distance, I can see this. His eyes struggle to stay focused on me, on anything. His head sways lightly from left to right.

  Vlad twitches again. Too fucking trigger happy.

  Xavier puts the ciggy in his mouth and its smoke teases his eyes. He squints, then flips the revolver’s cylinder. While its ratchet sound echoes in sync to Warren G’s rapping, Xavier says, “One bullet.”

  Ratchet-ratchet-ratchet.

  The cylinder stops turning.

  What he does next is too fast for me to do anything:

  He puts the gun to his head.

  And he pulls the trigger.

  -4-

  It clicks! My bladder almost gives.

  “Hmpf! Too bad.” He pulls the smoke from his lip, then aims the gun at me—weakly. “You. Alone. Tell whoever dees bozos are to wait outside.”

  “Put the gun down, Xavier, and I’ll come inside. Alone.”

  It takes him a second to grasp what I say. Then, he swings the cylinder—

  My hand flies out to stop him. “No!”

  He stops the cylinder swinging with his thumb, says, “You. Alone.” With the gun, he aims erratically at my crew. “They leave.”

  When I look at Vikki, her golden eyes are wide with terror. She mouths, No!