Passion's Wicked Torment

by Melissa Hepburne

  Hunter was appalled. “Fun? You think it can be fun?”

  “Leave her alone, Dallas. I’m beginning to like this little lady.”

  “I just want to make sure your men will back me up once you put me into this man Rooney’s warehouse, whatever that is,” Kristin ventured. “I mean, if I’m going to be part of your . . . gang, then I’ll do my share. But not if I’m just going to be an outsider, left there dangling.”

  “No dangling for you, honey,” declared Ironman happily, slapping Kristin on the back. “Dallas, where’d you get this girl, anyway?”

  “The insane asylum. Look, babe, I don’t want you getting involved in—”

  Ironman held up a warning hand. “Whoa. Slow down here, boy. This little lady is offering to do us a big favor, and I’d hate to think you’re getting sentimental on me about it. I want to take her up on her offer.” His expression was still friendly, but his eyes had grown cold and scrutinizing. This was a test for Hunter. Ironman wanted to know if he had a right-hand man he could trust, or if he had a schoolboy who would crumple with sentimentality over a pretty girl.

  Hunter saw that he was being tested. After a minute, he shrugged. “It’s a good plan. I admit it. Who am I to stand in the way of genius?”

  Ironman slapped him on the back and laughed approvingly. “That’s my boy, that’s my boy. All right. Let’s talk business.”

  The plan they developed called for Kristin to get in a position where she would be in Rooney’s warehouse at a certain time, where she was not under observation. She would unlock the doors, which were well secured from within, thus allowing Ironman’s men in. They would then destroy the bootleg whiskey being held in the warehouse before it could be sent by convoy to the speakeasies that bought from Rooney.

  Once Rooney’s supplies were destroyed, the speakeasies would be forced to buy exclusively from Ironman. It would take at least a month for Rooney to arrange for a large enough shipment to come in from Canada to fill his orders. By that time, Ironman planned to have the trade cornered.

  The plan Ironman detailed had a surprise twist ending, which neither Hunter nor Kristin had been privy to. Ironman took delight in springing it on them. “The reason I’m so hepped up on the idea of using your girl friend here, Dallas, is because she can do something for us that no outside man from Philly could ever do.” He looked mysterious. “Did you know Rooney is about to turn thirty-five? His birthday is three weeks off.”

  Hunter shrugged. “So now he can run for president. He should be a regular shoo-in.”

  “Yeah, well the point is, my friend, that he’s having a big wingding on the thirtieth. And I have inside information from a personal contact that a special cake is being prepared in his honor. My contact is the baker. And the cake happens to be hollow.”

  Hunter nodded, understanding. “Let me guess what flavor it is.”

  “Girl-flavored,” said Ironman. “If you catch my meaning.”

  His eyes came to rest on Kristin. She looked stunned. This was something she had not counted on. She thought they wanted her to act in some sort of clerical position inside the warehouse. Now the full implication became clear. Her expression must have shown her consternation, for Ironman said, “You want to change your mind, doll?”

  “I . . . well, I don’t know. You want me to jump out of a cake, in a swimsuit or something, and yell happy birthday?”

  Ironman winked at her. “Someone’s got to do it. It ain’t going to be me, I’ll tell you that.”

  Ironman turned to Hunter. “My friend the baker will put in whoever I tell him to. So we show up with your girlfriend here, see, and after she jumps out and everybody has a good laugh, he’ll tell her to go wait for him in his car so’s he can take her back with him to his hotel. The car is downstairs in the warehouse garage. She can open the gates from there.”

  Hunter looked at Kristin. She could tell he was still against her taking part in the plan, but he held his silence. He had already risked antagonizing Ironman once and was not prepared to do it again. He glared at her. His expression seemed to say: If you’re crazy enough to do this, you deserve what you get.

  Ironman did not ask Kristin if she wanted to back out, now that he had detailed exactly what her role would be. He picked up his derby and cane. Then he turned to her and said, “Good. Doll, you are going to earn my undying gratitude. I got big things in store for you. What’s your name, anyways?”

  “Kristin . . . Seagrave.” It was her mother’s maiden name. She did not dare give her real last name. If they knew she was Chad’s sister, not only would her chances of getting information about Chad’s whereabouts be ruined, but her life expectancy would become zero.

  Ironman was on his way across the restaurant now, toward the door, which his lackey was holding open for him. His bull-like, gruff voice cut across the restaurant. “Dallas, you take good care of this little lady here. This operation is your responsibility now, and she’s going to be an indispensable part. For the next three weeks you stick to her like flypaper.”

  Then he was gone, and the black limousine disappeared from the window. Hunter stood up from the table disgustedly and threw his cloth napkin down. “Just what the hell are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “That you can travel with fast company? Is that it?” “I’m not trying to prove anything. I told you why I want to stay with you. I just want a different life. I want excitement and adventure and a rich, pampered way of life.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her up from the table.

  “You’re hurting my arm,” she said.

  “Do you know what you’re letting yourself in for, you stupid kid? This isn’t any damn game. People get killed in this racket! There’s a lot of pain and a lot of danger, and if you think you can play in that league, you’re wrong.”

  She stared at him, amazed once again that he was trying to talk her out of entering a life in the underworld. Why should he care? Just what the heck kind of gangster was he, anyway, Kristin wondered, trying to save a girl from leading a corrupt life?

  “You’re no hard-boiled lady. You’re fooling yourself if you think you can turn into one. You’re a little girl. A damn fool little girl who never even went to bed with a man before last night. Why don’t you go home and forget about this kind of life?”

  Her expression turned sharp. She was challenged, and she had to respond in a way that would get her what she wanted. She appreciated his concern for her— even though it surprised her—but she could not let it stand in the way of getting what she wanted. She let her voice become hard.

  “Why don’t you become a nursemaid, Mr. Hunter? You tell me I’m not the kind of girl who’s cut out for this. Well, what kind of gangster are you? Why don’t you go preach on a soapbox if you’re so concerned about a lady’s morals?”

  Hunter looked at her murderously for a minute, but then slowly, a tight grin began to break over his lips. It seemed false. “That’s right, babe. I guess that’s the situation we’re stuck with. I can go preach on a soapbox, and you can go run home to your mama. Or we can both play out the hand we’ve been dealt.”

  “Meaning?”

  His grin became broader. “As long as you’re going to be with me, I might as well take full advantage of it.” His arm went around her waist, and he pulled her against him. He stared into her eyes. “Come on, back to my room. I want you.”

  As they were leaving the restaurant, Kristin thought she detected in his actions a hint of deception—as if her accusation that he was a pretty strange kind of gangster, worrying about a girl’s morals, had prompted him to take this action now, to allay any doubts about whether he was or was not a tough gangster. It was as if he had a strong stake in protecting his reputation.

  Kristin only thought about this for a brief while, though, for the instant they were back in his room, he began tearing off her clothing. And then the hard virility of him was pressing against her, his naked skin searing her own, drowning out all thoughts in
a wave of sharp sensuality.

  CHAPTER 6

  Living with Hunter was like being on a constant voyage of discovery. Kristin soon learned that he was a far more complex man than he let on; not at all merely the common hood he took pains to appear to be.

  At first, she was his moll in only the loosest sense of the word. She hardly saw him at all, except at night, when he called her into his bedroom to sleep with him. Occasionally he would have breakfast with her in the morning, but more often he would simply hurry away to begin his day’s business. Kristin was given free run of the club, except for his office, but there was no one to talk to.

  Hunter’s men regarded her with irritation. She was a beautiful girl whom they could make no effort at trying to seduce, since she was the boss’s woman. The girls who worked in the club were generally cool to her, and some were unabashedly hostile. Kristin understood why: Many of them had had designs on Hunter themselves. Kristin came onto the scene, seemingly out of the blue, and dashed their hopes without “paying her dues” first.

  After the first week Hunter’s resentment at having Kristin forced upon him by Ironman seemed to diminish, and he loosened up a bit toward her. He became increasingly intrigued by her view of things and with her conversation. He liked talking to her. At first, he had been very closemouthed and had not been interested in anything more than having her satisfy his sexual needs. Now, though, instead of leaving quickly in the mornings, he began to spend more time with her, taking her to breakfast, enjoying her company.

  Soon he was taking her to dinner with him too. He only ate two meals a day, she learned. Dinner was always in one of the swankest restaurants in the city. And Hunter was always given the best table and was personally welcomed by the maitre d'.

  This was not just because he was such a generous tipper. It was because he had such a sense of style and, beneath his rugged, tough exterior, a subdued sophistication. He was a valued addition to any restaurant’s clientele. In addition, he was a celebrity in his own right, recognized as one of Ironman Gianelli’s top lieutenants.

  After dinner, Hunter sometimes took Kristin to a play or to the newest movie from the film colony in Hollywood, California.

  Often they argued about various things. This did not seem to upset Hunter though. He enjoyed it. He liked having someone to talk to who had a head on her shoulders. Evidently most of the women in his life— and the men too—were not very bright.

  During their talks Kristin realized that he had a far greater sense of personal honor and morality than she had suspected. His morality, though, was based on his own values, not on the values of society.

  Once when Kristin mentioned the questionable morality of running a speakeasy and casino, Hunter defended it by saying: “Look, babe, if a guy comes into my speak for a drink of whiskey after a hard day’s work, why should I say no? Just because Congress passed the Volstead Act, making it illegal? That’s crazy.”

  When she questioned him about gambling, he told her: “People have been gambling for as long as there’ve been people. They’re not going to stop now just because it’s against the law. If they want to gamble for entertainment, fine. I’ll supply the cards, the dice, the roulette wheels. If I didn’t, they’d just go somewhere else. And at least at my speak the cards and dice and wheels are legit.”

  She had seen him refuse to take people’s money. If a customer was just a common workingman and began getting in over his head, Hunter would stop him. If the man insisted, Hunter would throw him out of the club. He wouldn’t let any middle-class worker gamble away his entire paycheck or his wife’s grocery money.

  There were certain kinds of underworld activities Hunter refused to participate in, despite Ironman’s urging that he help out in these areas. Hunter did not own the Crimson Club. He just ran it for Ironman, who owned it as part of his vast underworld empire. Ironman also had operations in loan sharking, drugs and— it was rumored—murder for hire. He had brothels in the city, and he even had a famous one far afield, in the Canadian Yukon, to take advantage of a lucrative trade from the resurgent gold rush.

  So far as Kristin could find out, Hunter had no part in any of these operations. Gambling and numbers and assorted odd jobs were all he would handle. Despite Ironman’s pressuring him to oversee a broader range of activities for him, Hunter kept refusing.

  The more Kristin came to know Hunter, the more she began to feel that this was not the kind of man who could have ordered Chad beaten and abducted. She had seen Hunter become violent, but never to men who had not wronged him first. Also, he had a code that “civilians”—those not involved in the underworld—were to be left alone. And further, she had met all of Hunter’s henchmen, and none of them had been the ones who had beaten Chad that night.

  Had Hunter been responsible for Chad’s abduction? she wondered desperately. She couldn’t find out. She tried to talk around the subject several times, flitting near enough to find some hint, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she backed away. She knew she could not ask about the subject directly without giving her identity away.

  Time was running out. In only another few days she would have to take part in Ironman’s warehouse raid. If she did not learn Chad’s whereabouts from Hunter by then, she probably never would. Hunter had made it clear he didn’t want to have anything to do with her after the warehouse escapade. This was in spite of the fact that he seemed to be growing quite fond of her. Kristin could sense the emotions he felt for her, especially in the awkward way he tried to hide his feelings. Still, he had no intention of letting her get mixed up in his life. Once the day of the raid was past, Kristin knew he would have nothing to do with her.

  This caused an agony of mixed feelings for Kristin. On the one hand, she wanted nothing more than to learn information about Chad quickly, before it was too late—and then get away from this vile life among outlaws of the underworld. On the other hand, though, she had discovered that she was beginning to feel quite close to Hunter.

  There was danger here, and she recognized it. The danger lay in the fact that Hunter was more intensely appealing to her than any man she had ever known. He was handsome, intelligent, rugged and dynamic. He was exciting and radiated a powerful sexual energy. He was sensitive and honorable, though he went to pains to hide these traits.

  Kristin could feel herself responding to him on an emotional level that was tearing her apart. But she always tried to fight down her feelings for him as best she could.

  And then, so swiftly that it made her head spin, there was suddenly no need to fight her feelings any longer. For the day of the dangerous warehouse raid arrived— the last day she would spend with Dallas Hunter. She could not even run away and refuse to participate, for she had failed to learn where Chad was being held. She might need to deal with other gangsters later in order to find this out—possibly even Ironman—and if word of her betrayal surfaced, she would not be trusted. Reluctantly, fearfully, she let herself be used.

  CHAPTER 7

  Right from the start, everything went wrong. The French baker refused to let Kristin wear the swimsuit she had brought. He became indignant and vociferous and began gesturing wildly, insisting that she jump out of the cake naked. Finally, at the last minute, they compromised on a revealing, lacy chemise.

  She sat in the rickety delivery van with the baker, the huge cake in the back, as they drove to the warehouse. Ironman’s men were in several cars following them. When the delivery van reached the warehouse, the cake was transported to the upstairs offices by three of Rooney’s men. Kristin was placed inside just before the cake was brought into the room where Rooney and his party were dining.

  Things continued to go wrong. Rooney, a big, ruddy, elfish faced Irishman, was delighted when Kristin burst through the top of the hollow cake. But he was not content to just ogle her. He began grabbing at her, gleefully yanking down the top of her chemise, fondling her shamelessly. Kristin tried to resist, but it was impossible. Rooney satisfied himself, laughing boisterously.

/>   Finally, he let her go. But first he told her to wait for him in the downstairs part of the warehouse, by his car. He intended to take her home with him after the party. Instead of letting her remain in the warehouse alone, though, he sent one of his henchmen down with her.

  That was the worst of it. She had endured all the humiliations in order to reach this point, where she was near the warehouse doors so she could let in Hunter and Ironman’s men. But the young thug Rooney sent to accompany her, Marty, would not leave her alone. He stood with his foot up on the running board of the Pierce Arrow, rolling a Bull Durham cigarette while talking to her. “Yes sir, doll, a dame like you could really go far with a guy like me. I’m not going to be a small time punk always. No, sir, I’m just waiting for my chance. I’ll go far with Rooney, and when I do, I’ll have dolls like you all the time. They’ll be falling all over me. Yessir, that ain’t no lie.”

  Kristin stood away from him, near some crates containing bootleg bottles of liquor. She was hugging her arms across her breasts, shivering in her tom chemise. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and give me your coat?” “Why don’t I be a what?”

  “I know the word is foreign to you. But, still, you could do it to be nice to me. One of these days maybe I’ll be nice to you in return.”

  Marty leered at her. “Why one of these days? Why not right now?”

  “How do you think your boss, Mr. Rooney, would feel if you ‘handled the merchandise,’ as you say, before he gets a chance to?”

  “He wouldn’t have to know,” Marty said slyly. Still, her words had made him think twice. He knew that if Rooney ever did find out, he would be murderous. The thug shrugged, maintaining his tough expression, putting on a show for Kristin. He took off his coat and tossed it to her. She put it on quickly, pulling it close around her. She glanced at the warehouse doors. They were double doors, like one would find in a barn.

  “What you looking at the doors for?” Marty asked suspiciously.