His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  “I—I—didn’t,” he stumbles and closes his eyes. “Watch the road, son,” I tell him. “Jesus.” Then I start laughing a little, letting him know it’s okay. “Ease up. You don’t have to be so high strung. It was a fucking joke.”

  “Sorry, man,” he says, dropping the whole sir thing now. Thank the lord. “I just don’t think we have a case here.”

  “Let’s see what comes up first. Cool?” I say, lifting my hat up for a second to wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. “And, shit, man. Don’t envy me for fucking women. It’s weird.” He nods. I wish I could be like everyone else. Like Adam. Like the guys around me at the station, wifing up their high school sweethearts and feeling good about themselves. Having children. I’m not like them. The whole thing kind of makes me sick, to be honest.

  When we pull into the bank, he stops the car, but keeps the lights on. “Thank God you came,” the owner runs out. “The bastards got in and took practically everything.”

  “Who the hell robs a bank at night?” I sigh, shaking my head. I hold my hand out and he instinctually takes it. “Warren. Warren Marshall. Friends call me Marshall.”

  “Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, eyeing me like a whipped dog. “You do good work out here. I’m glad I got you working this thing.”

  That line of his breaks my damn heart. Crushes it, really. “Seeing a small bank owner get robbed under his nose hurts my damn soul,” I say. “We’ll figure this out. Not sure what we have to go on though.” I have to be honest with the man. At least, I do a little.

  “Figured,” he says. These things are taken care of at higher levels anyway. That’s not really the point, if you ask me. “Let me take you through.”

  He walks me in and my jaw nearly comes unhinged. The whole front is blown to bits. The back too. “They demolished the whole place,” he says. “I’m going to be dealing with this for months.”

  I just nod and keep walking. “They left underneath. I didn’t know there were maintenance tunnels here. Why they would build them here is beyond me,” he says. Again, I just nod and keep my eyes open.

  It takes me a few minutes to see it, but when I do, I know I’ve found something. A piece of cloth, near the gnarled-up vault. It looks like some of the burnt money scattered on the ground, only it’s got a slight pink hue to it. I grab it and put it in my pocket, making sure Adam doesn’t see shit. It’s not regular police work to do so, but it’s how I work. I don’t bring things into the station. I don’t play by the government’s rules and regulations.

  I walk through the bank and see what I need to see. Adam just keeps sighing, whispering, “Shit,” and “Well, I’ll be.” Good police work, Adam. What a fine job you’re doing.

  “Get forensics on this,” I say. “Any footage around the next three streets would be great. Stoplights. Traffic cams. CTV?” I turn to the bank owner.

  He shakes his head. “Nah. We can’t afford any decent CTV. All we have are the back cameras, but that won’t do any good,” he says.

  “Get that footage from him too,” I say. “Maybe we’ll find something. You never know.”

  I nod to myself. I need a fucking beer. I need a nice set of thighs wrapped around my face right about now. Fuck, I need a woman. Bad. It’s too early to be policing. I just want to be continuing last night’s fun.

  We exit the bank and I get in the car. When we drive away, Adam’s silent. “Turn on the radio or something,” I motion. He does and while he does, I glance at the opening to my pocket. I caress the fabric until it slides out onto my fingers. Pink. Thin. Why the fuck would any bank heister be wearing pink? I stretch out, making sure Adam doesn’t see anything he doesn’t need to see.

  Pantyhose. That’s the only thing I can connect it to. Did the guys wear pantyhose around their faces? If so, why? It was nighttime. They were shielded. There weren’t any customers. A woman? Did they have a woman with them? No fucking way. A woman couldn’t plan a heist like this out. There’s no way in hell I’m going to believe that.

  Well, if they have a woman with them, it must be that she’s taken under their will. That’s the only thing I can come up with. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe that’s fucking stupid of me. Maybe I’m getting lazy. Older. Whatever the case, I need to find her. If she’s being taken advantage of, I’ll fix this. I’ll come out as a hero to the city and to the citizens. Frankly, it’s a win-win.

  Good thing too. I never lose.

  Virginia

  I never lose at pool. It’s practically the one competitive game I’m good at. When I was a little girl, my dad used to take me to the dive bar across town, Six’s, and I’d watch him drink and play pool all day. I was too young to know how fucked up it was. For me, I was just proud to be near my dad. I was happy then…

  Now, I’m stuck on my own. No friends anymore. No nothing. I just have the money that I stole and it’s buried under a bush outside. I’m here because… well, I’m here really because I’m lonely. The idea was that it would be a good alibi. I’m not really sure how it’s the best alibi anymore. I should be home. I should be asleep, dreaming of my escape out of this country.

  I drink my Corona quickly and find myself ordering another one. The door nearly slams open and all of the bells attached to it jiggle violently. I’m shaky, probably too nervous. I need to relax. When I glance over, I see the guy. I know who he is. I’ve studied him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Warren Marshall. Jesus fucking Christ. I try not to cry, but I’m so freaked out. I hold my breath and count to ten. I fake a smile at the pool players, but it’s obvious I’m not with them. I have no plan, no good alibi, and no great escape. I down the second beer in a second, and push toward the door, avoiding all eye contact.

  “Shot of Whiskey,” I hear him say to the bartender. I feel it. I feel his head turn in my direction. Don’t do it. Don’t say anything. Please. “Whoa there! Hold on a minute. Who are you and where are you going? You look suspicious,” he says.

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Um, I—” I choke. I don’t know what to say. He’s caught me. I’m done for. I’m going to jail forever. All my plans down the drain. He smiles, looking like a wolf. He’s got perfect teeth, a perfect body, and a perfect face. He terrifies me.

  “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to frighten ya. What’s your name? Why don’t you have a drink with me?”

  Shit. I look toward the door, but he sees my hesitance, so I attempt to look calm. No dice. I am not calm. I am far from it. My heart is pounding. I swear, I’m starting to sweat. I’m losing fucking control in the worst way. I start to feel dizzy. I start to think about how things were three months ago, when the guys and me first hashed out this plan. It was so idyllic. It wasn’t too hot. Summer hadn’t quite hit yet. We had all these plans. There was going to be so much money coming in that we could all buy a villa somewhere, on the cheap. All of our dreams could come true. I could own a coffee shop somewhere in the south of Italy, in Sicily. The old country. Things would be real. Finally.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I say out of the side of my mouth. God, why do I have to be so awkward all the time. I’m tough. Deep down, I’m really tough. Why can’t I ever let it show? “I’ve had enough alcohol already…”

  “What?” he laughs and claps his hands eagerly. “Too drunk? It’s early, darling.”

  “Yeah, but…” Come on. I need an excuse. Anything. I just need to come up with something good. “Studying,” I blurt out. I don’t even say a real sentence, just studying. It’s pathetic and I hate myself for it.

  He checks his watch and I suddenly notice how smooth his lips look, how perfectly tanned his skin is. He’s riding that perfect line of young enough to still be attractive and old enough to be a man. He’s powerful. It all happens in a split second and then the allure wears off. Bad news. I’m always tempted by bad news. If someone told me to stare away from the sun, I’d stare straight at it until my eyes burned out.

  “It’s only 10:30. You’re really going to leave this place at 10:30?” he ask
s. When I don’t answer, he keeps going, pulling up two stools for both of us. “Come on. Sit down. This place gets real fun around 11.”

  “Okay,” I mutter. I’m forced to oblige him. If I say no, I’m afraid he’ll tail me. I hate cops more than I hate the real bad guys, killers and the like. They’re practically the same thing to me. I still don’t know if he’s on to me or not. If he’s not, then I can move on and feel a little better about my situation.

  “What’s your name? I think I’ve seen you around here before. You’ve lived here a while, haven’t you?” he asks me, motioning for a drink at the bar tender. “What’re you drinking?”

  “Uh, yeah. A while now,” I lie. “I’ll take a—?” I glance over at his drink.

  “Whiskey soda!” he yells at the bartender. He nods. “It’s a simple drink. I like it enough, I suppose. Anyway, I’ve been here all my damn life. Name’s Marshall.”

  He puts out his hand, but when I go to shake it he takes my fingers in his hand and kisses the top of my knuckles. His cologne wafts into my nose slowly, but surely, and I can’t help but approve. It reminds me of my father’s and it brings back good memories for a second. Then I remember that he’s not akin to me. He’s nowhere near like me.

  “Marshall. Nice to meet you. I’m Virginia Greene.” I say it to him in a nice, sweet voice. As long as I’ve got him here, I might as well play the character up a bit. If he thinks of me as nice, beautiful, and willing to please him, he’ll always think of me that way. That’s one advantage women have over men.

  “Virginia slim,” he jokes, wrapping his hand around my waist. I twitch a little and he lets it drop to my knee. I let it rest there, despite my major reluctance.

  “Bad joke,” I tell him honestly.

  “Yeah, I’m not too good at telling jokes,” he says, taking a sip. The way he looks at me is deep and thoughtful, and I soon start to realize that I have nothing to worry about. He has no idea that I’m a criminal. He can’t care to give that a second thought right now. Right now, all the thinking is going on in his cock.

  Am I scared still? Yes. But my heart has slowed down to a normal rate and I’m not clammy anymore. Scared, but I can get out of this.

  I drink from my glass faster than normal. All I can think about is getting back to my bed, back to the comfort of my shitty apartment. I’ve hated that place for so long, but now it seems like a godsend. God, why did I have to change my life around for some extra cash? Freedom, I know. But the whole thing now seems unthinkable. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t go through with it. That much, I know.

  He squeezes my leg and it snaps me out of my trance. Actually, he’s looking more handsome. In this deck of cards, he’s an enemy. But he doesn’t know that. “You’re funny,” I laugh. “It wasn’t that bad of a joke.”

  I don’t know why I’m humoring him. It’s the daredevil in me, always willing to ride the line. I could go back to his place right now. I could jump onto his lap. He could feel down my waist, around the curves that lead toward my ass, and even further toward the greatest treasure man has ever laid eyes on. I could unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. I could grab his thick cock. I know it’s huge. And I could slowly push it inside me. I can feel it now.

  I’m wet.

  “Thank you, sweetie-pie,” he says, winking. The wink. It kills me. I need to calm down. My heart starts beating in a very different way. All of the blood has moved between my legs. I’m warm and he can sense it. Men like him can always sense it.

  “You’re cute,” I say, laughing a little and scrunching up my nose. What the hell am I doing? I’m riding the line…

  Marshall

  “I’m cute?” I reply back. I can’t believe this woman is saying I’m cute. The things I could do to her. The things I will do to her. She has no idea. I’m not cute. I’m an animal and I’m going to ravage her.

  “Little bit,” she smiles. God damn, her cute little nose. She’s the cute one. She’s fucking beautiful. Jaw-dropping, gorgeous. Perfect figure. An ass and a pair of tits that men would kill each other over. She’s talking to me. I found her first. I can’t believe it.

  “Damn, you’re a whole lot of wonderful,” I say, feeling the alcohol start to influence me. “I needed this.”

  “Needed what?” she smiles. Her teeth are white. Her eyes are hazel green. Her skin has a slight tan color to it. Perfect. She’s perfect. I want to bend her over against the bar right now. I want to kick everyone out and have her do a little dance for me, while I sit in the back and stroke my…

  “I needed to talk to someone beautiful,” I say. “I had a hard night last night.”

  “Yeah?” she looks down at my belt and I feel my cock twitch a little. Gotta control myself. Can’t get hard in front of a crowd. Everyone here knows who I am.

  I see her glance at my holster and then at my badge, which is tucked inside of it. It shouldn’t be hangin’ out like that, but it is. Fuck it.

  “You some kind of a sheriff?” she asks me.

  “Somewhat,” I say. Ranks don’t matter. She doesn’t know the ins and outs of the business. Anyway, I’d rather not even talk about what I do for a living. That whole thing is boring. Unfortunately, women tend to focus on it. They love a man in uniform. They love the idea that there are some bad men out there and I can be the one to protect them.

  “You lock up the bad guys?” she asks innocently. She makes a fake gun gesture with her hand and shoots at the air, making some noises.

  I laugh when she laughs. I want her to keep having a good time. Being a cop is much more than that, though. It’s putting your life on the line. Any place you go, there can be trouble. Shit, there are probably a few people who want me dead in this bar here. I try not to let it get to me.

  “Been a cop almost all my life. Even when I was a kid, I was already a cop. It’s in my blood, I guess,” I tell her.

  “Was your dad a cop or something?” she asks. She stirs her ice in her glass, letting me know that I need to buy her another drink. I glance at the bartender and point with my head, making a “two” sign with my hand. She continues, “Seems like a scary job to sign up for.”

  I laugh again and glance down at her legs. She’s wearing a basic skirt, white, it’s a little short, but I want to see more. I have to see more. I place my hand on her thigh again and try to test fate. She doesn’t fret or say a word. She just lets me. She’s warmer the higher I go, but I stop at a normal respectable place. I don’t want to press too much, too fast.

  “It’s a stupid job to sign up for. Most of us, believe it or not, aren’t the smartest people,” I smile. “But I was called to it. I, uh, grew up around some pretty bad people growing up. My pa used to beat up on my sister… Being a cop was a duty I felt I needed to do, despite my well-being.”

  It’s the truth. My parents were assholes. No. They were worse. They were low-life drug users who had a knack for knocking my older sister around. Then, they took to beating me, which wasn’t really the whole problem. I could take a beating. I wanted to protect Sarah, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. Helpless. That’s the only word that sounds right.

  “That’s very noble,” she says, nodding. I look solemn. I know it. I gotta snap out of it.

  “Anyway, I’m getting all depressing now. Let’s talk about something nice,” I say.

  “Like what?” she asks. She checks her watch. Have I blown it? Is she going to leave me here high and dry?

  “Like that smile of yours,” I say. She glances down bashfully. It’s damn cute. “How can I get that smile to go out with me?”

  She laughs a little and keeps on smiling. “I don’t know. I…” she trails off, thinking a little. She’s seeing someone. I’ve seen this reaction before. “I sort of have a boyfriend,” she says. Nailed it.

  “Is your boyfriend as handsome and charming as me?” I ask her.

  “Well, he’s not a cop,” she says. Ouch. “Just joking. He’s kind of a deadbeat.”

  I don’t care what he is. I want t
o feel what it’s like when my lips crush against hers, dragging down her delicate skin, kissing her bellybutton, as she twitches ever-so-slightly, and I finally meet the center of all pleasure. I want to suck on each fold, massaging my tongue against her smoothly. I want to taste her and enjoy her. I want to devour her.

  “Good,” I say. “I’m not. Let me take you out. Steak dinner. It’ll be expensive.”

  I never put this much effort into a woman. She should feel grateful. Hell, I do. I still can’t believe I found a woman this beautiful in this kind of a shithole. “I might have to take you up on that offer,” she says.

  “How about we just skip the dinner and go back to your place?” I find myself saying, feeling pretty good about myself.

  She just shakes her head and says, “Nice try,” and she begins to walk away. I call after her and she stops, grabbing in her purse. A real fucking tease, this woman. She smiles and pulls out a pen and a blank card. She writes down a phone number and kisses the front. Her lipstick leaves an impression and I nearly fall from the barstool. “Call me. Maybe I’ll answer. Maybe I won’t,” she says.

  “Sure thing,” I say. I’m intrigued, to say the least. If I can solve this bank thing and bag a hot girl, I’ll have won the fucking lottery.

  Virginia

  God, I want to vomit. What the fuck is wrong with me? Borderline personality? Maybe. I don’t know anymore. You’d think I’d play it safe, but deep down I love to skirt the line.

  “One week. That’s all you’ll have to wait. There’s a boat with your name on it. Tell the ticket guy at the docks your name and he’ll take you where you need to go,” Craig told me before the big heist. “We’ll all meet up in Sicily. We’ll have a big fucking celebration. Pasta, fried squid, wine… it’ll be perfect.”

  We’re all good friends and now things feel so incredibly lonely without them. The only thing I have to do to pass the time is read the few books I’ve kept around my place. Other than that, it’s stare at the wall. So I guess that’s another reason why I talked to him. He really seems to have no idea who I am or what I really do for a living. I’m the girl he’s after, in so many ways.