Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas)

by S. M. Stelmack

  Her front slid close to his. “Do you know any moves?”

  It had been well over a decade and the music was all wrong. Then again no one was moving in time. He slid his arm around her warm waist, took her hand in his and whispered, “I do, girl.” He spun her away, then twirled her right back.

  He and his wife had danced together for years to the point that their movements flowed in perfect harmony. They could move together while they talked or watched others, a synchronicity bred over time. Though Gina was so different from his elegant, petite wife, they were still perfectly matched. Despite the challenging pace of the music her instincts were honed, her long legs and inborn sense of rhythm allowing her to keep up with him even as their bodies whirled and slid and pressed together. And it helped her eyes stayed fastened to him the whole time. Two dances in, and the crowd had cleared a spot for them at the far end of the pulsing dance floor. By the fourth, the younger ones were trying to imitate them, and as expected, Gina didn’t mind showing them how to do it. A skinny young punk with spiked-up hair and size two biker boots tried to partner up with her. Kannon practically lifted her away. One look delivered his message, and though half-blitzed out of his mind, the kid backed off.

  “Sheesh,” Gina started in when he hustled her out on the stroke of midnight. “You kinda went all alpha there.”

  “He needed to be put in his place.”

  “Put in place? There’s that paranoia coming through again.” Gina lifted the hair off the back of her neck, wound it into a loose coil and from the inside of her dress hem produced a doodad she jammed into her hair. Long purple tips shot every which way. “There. That’s better.” She ran her fingertips across her chest. “I’d forgotten how hot the nights get here. You’re so lucky you’re not feeling this.”

  “I suppose.”

  Gina tilted her head. “Where to now?”

  “Back to the docks. I’m tired and it’s not your birthday anymore.”

  Gina threatened him with the lip. “It’s still our date.”

  “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow. We need to be on our toes. Probably shouldn’t have gone out tonight, except—”

  Gina got in his space. “Except—?”

  “Except it was your birthday.”

  “You didn’t know that when you invited me out. It’s because you couldn’t wait to go on another date with me. Come on, admit it.”

  “I couldn’t wait to take you out on a date. Now let’s go, and don’t give me the lip or else—” He stopped because there was no way he could threaten her with anything.

  “Please tell me that I’m not too old for a spanking.”

  He hustled her into a taxi to take them to the docks where he’d parked. And why was he not surprised that the taxi driver thought himself a conversationalist? Gina spent the whole trip back yakking to the man in Thai about their evening together, or so she informed him. Had he not made it clear he didn’t want to share? She called the Pussycat when they arrived at the deserted dock, and he knew damn well why she hadn’t done it earlier. She turned to him where they were standing at his car. “So, since it’s Thai-style tonight, I was wondering if—”

  He answered with his mouth on hers and, for the first time that night, she was wholly his. Her body melded against him, her dress and skin damp from sweat and humidity, the already thin material slicking under his hands. “Gina,” he said against the wetness of her mouth. “You’re wet.”

  She pressed her lower belly against him. “Lubed inside and out.”

  That was enough. His hand slipped under her dress and encountered something hard and rectangular. He set her phone on the hood of the vehicle and made a second attempt. This time, he found her breast, her nipple already a hard point. He licked her neck. “Tell me. When you went into the bedroom with Pensri, what did you two do?”

  Gina’s clever hands got under his jacket, squirreled under his shirt. “Oh, you know, the usual,” she said. “A little rubbing, a little licking, a little experimentation with her toys. Got sleepy before we did any anal play.”

  Kannon didn’t let up with his mouth on her neck. “How about your breasts? Anything with them?” He moved his hand to the other side. There his hand came upon something hard and poky. He pulled out the figurine and set it by the phone. His second attempt produced a breast as perfect as the first.

  “Oh. Not much. I’m very sensitive there. You can pretty much tell from the state of my tits how the rest of me is feeling. And…as you can see…I’m ready…to go…though I guess I was from the second…you called.”

  He’d heard enough. He lifted her up onto the hood of his vehicle and leaned her back against the windshield, her buttocks over the crevice between the windshield and the hood. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions but he was intent on making her forget that.

  He pulled down the straps off her shoulders straight to her waist. “I’ve loved your breasts since I saw them three years ago, you behind that counter.”

  “You seem focused on your job.”

  “Focused. Not blind.”

  “Looked to me as if—”

  He bent his head and drew a dark nipple into his mouth. She gave off a sound like when the prawn sauce had hit the back of her throat. After a few more pulls, the sounds deepened into something that no one in that restaurant had had the pleasure of hearing.

  He moved to the other breast, while massaging the freshly suckled one with his hand.

  From the corner of his eye he saw her hips take to rotating. He broke suction, touched his lips to hers. “I keep this up with your breasts, will you come for me?”

  Her lips trembled under his. “Halfway there already.”

  Kannon returned south. Her right breast, he discovered, was the most responsive, causing her to squirm, the heels of her bare feet rubbing the length of the hood. The left one wasn’t to be ignored either and made Gina’s back arch. The trick was to get both working for him when he had only one mouth. The best he could do was squeeze the two together to close the space, and that alone drew a deep orgasmic moan out of her. She wouldn’t be long now. He risked a glance to the water and spotted the powerboat coming to pick up Gina. He’d have to make it happen soon. He bent his head again and didn’t let up with his mouth even as her body went rigid, her hands clamped onto his head and he got his arm underneath in time to have her pound out her orgasm.

  After, she herself pulled up her dress, swung those dancing legs around and hopped down, tucking away her phone and figurine into their usual safe spots. “The boat’s almost here. Or I’d return the favor.”

  Something was wrong. She didn’t look as…satisfied as he’d hoped to make her. There was no way she could’ve faked it. Or had she? He crowded her against the vehicle door, even as the boat idled close. He hitched up her dress and skimmed a finger between her legs. “You’re soaked. You didn’t fake it.”

  She gave him an appalled look. “I never fake it. What’s the point of that?”

  “You don’t look…quite done.”

  She looked at him wide-eyed as she maneuvered space between them to wiggle her heels back on. “What do you expect? I only came once.”

  He blinked. “How many times can you come?”

  She shrugged. “My record is 22 times. But”—she gave him a quick kiss and a pat on the cheek—“I don’t expect it from you.” She slipped away and did a skip-scurry toward the boat.

  Had she handed him a challenge? If so, he accepted. It was going to be one hell of a third date.

  THE SUVARNABHUMI AIRPORT was a marvel of engineering. Its vast, bright and ultra-modern construction seemed to defy gravity. Flowing steel arches spanned epic distances while towering hoops of glass provided a breathtaking view of the sprawling public gardens at its heart. The monumental main terminal was decorated with huge, colorful murals and towering statues of Thai dragons, warriors and gods.

  It was also very, very, very long. Gina’s feet felt as if her shoes were designer vises. “Holy hell, I shouldn’t have
worn heels today,” she shared with Kannon. “How much farther is it to the arrival gate?”

  He lifted his chin to the long line of stores, restaurants, spas, beauty salons and way off, bowling alley. “The route we’re taking, another twenty miles. The economy won’t collapse if you bypass a few of these, you know.”

  “But why risk it?” she said, hobbling toward a stand of comfy shoes. Kannon snagged her elbow. “Come on, girl, or we’ll be late.”

  Gina didn’t protest. She could always come again. Maybe when she flew back to L.A. Whenever that was. Her life in America seemed unreal right now.

  By the time they swam upstream through the arriving visitors pouring out the gate, Gina was barefoot. “Do you see them?” she asked as the flow of exiting passengers washed up onto the welcoming shores of friends and relatives.

  Kannon scanned the lake of heads. “There.” And swam on, Gina in his wake.

  Brian, Delta and two backpacks were by a golden statue of one of the many fertility goddesses. Brian squared on them as they approached.

  “We’re not doing this. She’s pregnant.”

  Kannon took in the statue. “That was fast.”

  Brian wasn’t finished. “Do you know how I found this out? On the plane over. She upchucks after her eggs. She’s never been sick in all the years I’ve known her. She tells me not to worry. ‘I’m just pregnant, is all.’ Why, you are probably wondering, didn’t she tell me this before we got on the plane? Because she didn’t want to worry me.”

  Kannon released a long, exasperated breath, and set his hands on his hips, his suit jacket pulling open to show his wide torso in a royal blue shirt. He looked awesome in that color. As good as the black one last night. She couldn’t wait for the third date when she might get a peek of what he looked like without one. A third date also marked the end of their temporary trial period which was all she’d told him she wanted. Only—

  Only, she was happy he was with her. He could talk Brian down.

  “The day my wife told me she was pregnant I caught her petting a stray cat,” Kannon informed them.

  Crap, he was on Brian’s side.

  The rigid line in Brian’s shoulders relaxed. “So you agree that Delta can’t risk doing this.”

  “I do.” Kannon slid off his mirrored glasses. “Congratulations, Ms. Fox.”

  “Mrs. Chanse,” Brian corrected. “And it’s the only ‘chance’ she’s taking from now on.”

  Delta looked up at her husband with an expression of forced patience. “I already told you, Brian, It’s not like I’m suddenly made of glass. I know what I’m doing.”

  Kannon looked at Gina and gave the barest tilt of his head toward Delta. He wanted her to talk her boss’s wife and her friend out of going. Except Delta was their best hope. On the other hand, she could understand Brian’s worry. Whatever happened here in Bangkok, risking the lives of the two he loved the most, his wife and his unborn child, wouldn’t be worth it.

  Gina sighed. “Okay, you guys, you need to come to an agreement, whatever it is. And you need to do this quick, because time’s kind of short here.”

  “We are decided,” Brian said firmly. “We’re going back to L.A. on the next flight.”

  Delta turned to Gina. “When’s that?”

  Gina did a quick search on her phone. “Tomorrow morning. 7:20 departure.”

  “Okay. We’ll go then.”

  Brian narrowed his eyes at her. “And what will we do in the meanwhile?”

  Delta stole a look at Kannon.

  Brian exploded. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

  “Maybe, we should—” Gina started but Delta interrupted.

  “I know this is a risk, Brian. I get that. Back at the airport in L.A. the bookstore had this pregnancy manual I flipped through. Turns out I shouldn’t have had the shrimp platter last week. Turns out that my pelvis might be too small. Turns out that there are tests for genetic markers we could’ve taken, so we might have to deal with the consequences of that. Point is, we’ve already taken the biggest chance by just choosing to have a baby.”

  “I’m talking about unnecessary risks. And this is unnecessary.”

  “You were fine with me doing it before you knew I was pregnant.”

  “At least then it was your body and your decision. Now you’re making decisions for someone else.”

  Delta got in close to Brian and spoke in a way that seemed to close them off from the rest of the world. “I’m not walking away from this one, Brian. I can’t. This isn’t about springing some Godfather. This is about all the kids those sick bastards are going to hurt if they’re not stopped. If anyone can take care of business it’s Kannon, and I’m damn well going to get him inside so he can do his job. I know I’m risking our child, but I need to do this before I go home with you and have our baby. Okay?”

  Gina didn’t know the full story of Delta’s past. She wouldn’t be surprised if Delta had only told Brian the bare facts. There’d always been a pocket of reserve about her that made her seem aloof, and in a lot of ways Kannon was similar. He’d dropped little stories but, like Delta, would always hold himself back. Being with him would be like Brian’s relationship with Delta. Dealing with a stubborn and strong-willed person, used to doing things their own way. And from the seriously unhappy expression on her boss’s face, it would suck.

  Brian swung up both backpacks. “Okay, I’m buying our tickets home right now. You do whatever the hell you need to do. Come 7:20 tomorrow your butt is on the plane to L.A. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Brian jabbed a finger at Gina and Kannon. “Anything happens to Delta and I’m holding you two personally responsible because this is your fucking problem that you”—he focused on Kannon—“caused when you let your boss get kidnapped.”

  Gina felt a sudden flash of anger. “Hey, wait a min—”

  Kannon cut her off. “Agreed.”

  He looked grumpy. Delta looked defiant and tense. Brian looked like a sick tourist. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  She tapped on her phone. “You want to see what I did on my birthday yesterday?” She turned the display to Brian, Delta sliding in beside him. They peered at the screen, their eyes widening, and both looked simultaneously at Kannon.

  “Dances pretty well for a man considering he’s sixty, huh?”

  Kannon slid his sunglasses back on in obvious embarrassment.

  There. A distraction, and if it happened to focus on Kannon, all the better.

  Victoria leaned over the rail of the powerboat and dry heaved, her empty stomach having nothing to offer. She got nauseous from water taxi rides, let alone plying the turbulent estuary of the Chao Phraya river. Within minutes of getting underway that morning, she was seasick, and as the boat crossed the river mouth and headed once again to the open ocean, she let out a low moan of dread.

  The radio beeped and crackled, and the static-y sound of Ek’s voice reached her. “Anything yet?”

  Victoria stumbled past the rakshasa piloting the craft to pick up the receiver. “Nothing,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “Patpong,” he replied, the sounds of the red light district’s street noise almost drowning him out. “Spent all night and this morning here, but no luck. Bastard could be hiding anywhere. Let me know if you find anything.”

  “Will do.” Hanging up the radio, she ran her tongue around her mouth. “Agh! I’m so sick of the taste of vomit. I swear I’ll flay that old man alive when I catch him.”

  “I thought that was your plan anyway,” the rakshasa said.

  Victoria flashed him an irritated glare. “Yes, well he’ll deserve everything he gets, making me suffer like this.”

  Her brother had figured out it was Vincenzo Zaffini helping Kannon, but finding the old man was proving to be a real bitch. Even with the eyes of Ek and his men glued to Zaffini’s brothels and massage parlors, they hadn’t caught sight of the man or any of his known associates. Word on the street wa
s he was dying. Some said he’d gone to seek treatment abroad. There was even speculation that he was already dead, and his wife was running his businesses now. All their leads were coming up dry, except there was one that they hadn’t crossed off their list yet—The Pink Pussycat.

  According the harbor authority, the yacht had set sail for Australia weeks ago, a claim verified by the fact that its berth at the Ocean Marina Yacht Club was empty. Her brother suspected that the Pussycat wasn’t as far away as they were being led to believe. She was assigned the task of searching every nook and cranny a yacht could squeeze into.

  The powerboat bounced over the waves, each bump making Victoria’s stomach slam against the back of her throat. She held the binoculars as steady as she could and scanned the waters. The coast was dotted with both fishing and sail boats, with one or two larger pleasure craft making their way toward the city. Nothing big and pink.

  “Gulf’s huge,” the rakshasa muttered behind the wheel. They’d already boated all the way to the neighboring city of Chon Buri and back—a hundred miles of misery. But her John had an instinct for spotting deception, and she wasn’t about to give up the hunt.

  “Take us over there,” she ordered, pointing at a nearby fishing boat, its red paint peeling, its body flecked with rust.

  With a grunt the man complied, and a minute later they were pulling alongside the battered old craft. Fishermen, faces streaked with chalk to protect them from the scorching rays of the sun, glanced down at them with cautious curiosity. They were all Burmese by the looks of them, illegal immigrants who’d come to Thailand searching for a better life. Probably little more than slaves, exploited by their captains as cheap, disposable labor. Nothing men like these wouldn’t do to get out of their situation.

  “Have any of you seen a yacht?” she called to them. “A big one. Very rich. Not too far out to sea.”

  Most of the fishermen ignored her, except for one, perhaps sixteen years old, who raised a calloused hand.

  Victoria held up a small roll of bills. “What color was it?”

  “Pink.”