HARDCORE: Storm MC

by Zoey Parker

  I wasn’t too sure of my ability to hold myself back. This piece of shit deserved a roughing up so badly, and I was still itching to give it to him.

  He showed wisdom and kept his mouth shut until we got back to the library and shut the door.

  When I released his arm, he turned to me, seething and demanding, “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “I know who I am, and I know who you are, too. You have a big problem, and it’s time we address it. It’s about a little snuff film, and knives, and a dead girl, and a dead brother of mine. Does that jog your memory?”

  His eyes narrowed to slits, and he smirked. “Ah, it just might. So you want—what? What exactly do you think I can provide you with?”

  I wanted a lot of things. I wanted this motherfucker to pay for Manny. I wanted Fielding to pay for Tania. I wanted evidence to incriminate both of them, evidence that could go to the cops and put these two away forever. I wanted to get out of Hardcore for good. I wanted our MC back. I wanted to find Pres’s daughter, Zoe, in one piece and alive. I wanted this whole fucking nightmare to be over.

  But I had to start small here. “I want to take Fielding down. What’s his hold over you? Or are those types of pornos your sick preference, too?”

  Understanding and superior knowledge lit his eyes. “Ah. No. His tastes… shall we say, he represents a distinctive niche of the market, one that is… ah, so specialized that men such as he are willing to pay top dollar for. Supply and demand, you know. It’s the way the world works.”

  He looked proud of himself, like he hadn’t just made the most sick and abhorrent and criminal predilection sound merely offbeat and unique for the wealthy and discerning connoisseur, and he smirked again. I just about growled. There was nothing right about these people. They should have been wiped off the face of the planet long ago.

  “So it’s all about making money for you, then? Anything for a buck?”

  “Ah, well…” he drawled. “Perhaps there’s a little more. He’s invested rather heavily in my industries. He’s the silent controlling partner behind Hardcore, and one might consider him as silent executive producer, if you will, for the cinematic ventures. On occasion, he opts to have a more, shall we say, personal involvement in the—ahem—artistic offerings. My tastes run a bit more mainstream, but I know enough not to judge him. You might be wise to take that lesson, and just keep your fucking nose out of business where you don’t belong.”

  “I see.” But I got him here. “So you just provide the… actors for his ‘special productions,’ then? Did you choose Tania, or did he?”

  “Tania. No, Tania was right up his alley. The perfect girl. Money hungry, willing to do anything for it, sign her life away—figuratively speaking, of course. She also was fairly deeply in debt. I was helping her out, giving her another way to make some significant extra money on the side. I merely provided an introduction, and they took it from there.”

  “You both are sick individuals, you know that, right? You lead a girl to her death, and you kill Manny for—”

  His face shut down, and his voice went cold. “I don’t know what or whom you are talking about, Mr. Parker. But I do think you are way out of line. Best to forget any unpleasantries that occupy your limited mental space and move along, young Parker. It is always the healthiest option.”

  “Just so you see how I got this straight, Joey.” Oh, he didn’t like my use of the familiar. I thought I might keep using it. “You put Tania with Fielding to do the movie. Fielding calls the shots. Tania just happens to die, through… unplanned loss of blood. Fielding exits the scene; you call Manny in for cleanup. Yeah, I know all about that. Only, Manny sees what went down and freaks out—which, I want to point out here, is a normal reaction to seein’ somethin’ like that. You shoot him in the head so he won’t cause a problem, and make Clav do cleanup on both of ’em, which implicates him. So then you hold the whole matter over Clav’s head as blackmail, and my whole MC is payin’ the price now. Do I got it right?”

  “When you put it that way, yeah, you do, Dom. I’m a fucking genius!” And he had himself a good deep belly chuckle. He bought his own shit. What a fuckwad.

  I decided to throw out a tangent ball while he was in this open, self-congratulatory mood. “What ever happened to Zoe? To Clav’s daughter? ’Cause I know you got that hold, too. Where is she? What did Fielding do with her?”

  And here little Joey lost his humor. “I keep my nose out of that shit. That’s not my business; that’s all Fielding. When we have a problem with a girl getting herself a little too deep with the drugs, or when Fielding takes a special interest in one of the girls, it’s best to let him handle it his way. I don’t ask ’cause I’m smart; I don’t want to know. You won’t find answers, anyway. He’s got a labyrinth of ventures in this house of mirrors. You would do best to take my advice and…” He broke out into another crazy nasal chuckle. “Make like that James Bond movie. Live and let die.”

  “So she’s dead, then? You tellin’ me Zoe’s dead?”

  “I did not say that. You gotta listen, dude. I don’t ask. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where he takes them. I only know…” His gaze drifted away, and then he shook his head.

  “What? Spit it the fuck out! What do you know?”

  “Listen, all’s I know is that he likes to fantasize about having a sex slave. He talks about it all the time. Sometimes it sounds like he actually has one; sometimes it’s more like he’s talking hypothetical-like. So there’s that.

  “But then, also—and again, I want to stress here that I don’t know—he talks about selling. Selling girls. But it all is like, hypothetical, right? I don’t know anything. And I am smart enough not to want to know. I keep my nose out of that shit. I run Hardcore, I make the movies, and I sell them. I don’t deal with any of that other stuff, and I don’t know anything about it.”

  Shit. Well, at least Ronn admitted so much that he completely backed up Pres’s story and situation. Hell, I realized there had been a part of me that hadn’t wanted to believe Pres’s story. It was just too outlandish, too over-the-top. But there was no doubt any longer.

  “What do you know, you little shit? You know something. You know he took Zoe. Tell me about that.”

  “Look, man. Zoe was trouble. She had some issues. She was fucked-up and she, too, got herself into a situation of debt. It happens. So Zoe, well, Fielding—he liked the look of her, ya know what I mean? Like, he likes the look of your girl, too, that Sienna bitch. She’s got too much attitude, but she’s got a look that sells. Man to man, Parker, I’d be careful in the house of mirrors with that one.” We looked hard at each other for just a split second before he broke the contact and raised his brows in a momentary quirk, as though he had surprised even himself at his candor.

  So I knew little Joey was being straight with me on this point. I couldn’t be sure why, but he was flat-out warning me that Fielding had some depraved thoughts about my woman. I needed to get back out there and find her and get her the fuck out of here, stat.

  “I think our little talk is about over now, isn’t it? I’ll see you around, man. And, remember who gave you the heads-up. You owe me now—again.” Aha, and his altruism found its limit. It figured that he’d find some way to turn his momentary humanitarianism for profit.

  But I let him go, so I could go, too.

  We both headed back to the party, which was all kinds of orgy-fest at this point and nothing more. I looked and didn’t see Sienna—not that I’d expect to. I knew she wouldn’t be participating in that shit. Last I knew, she had gone upstairs, right? So I started to head up there, too.

  About halfway up, I saw Sienna in nothing but a towel, and a naked woman, both careening to the top of the stairs, both red-faced and pulling breath hard. I stopped climbing and watched as the two of them flew down, while Sienna yelled, “Dom, get me the fuck out of this house, now!”

  I didn’t argue. I turned, following them down at nearly the same speed, pulling my suit
jacket off to hand to the other woman. I grabbed hold of Sienna’s waist and sped the three of us out the door and into the night.

  I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to leave a party in my life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sienna

  Dom led us to a pickup truck I learned was his. It was a big black 4x4, and it did the trick just fine. The three of us scrambled into the cab, he turned on the ignition, and we were out of there. Not a freaking moment too soon.

  We dropped Holiday off at her car in the Hardcore lot and watched her drive away, making sure she got out all right. She had to have been as freaked-out as I was, but she was holding it together okay and claimed to be good to drive herself home. She probably just wanted badly to get away from everyone and everything related to Hardcore. I couldn’t say I blamed her one bit.

  Once we arrived back at Dom’s apartment, we took a few moments to just settle and unwind before rehashing the events of the night. I knew he was dying to know what had happened upstairs in that nightmare McMansion, but I wanted a drink first, and my feet hurt something awful, and I was freaking cold.

  Dom poured me a glass of wine—this biker was proving to have hidden depths I would not have guessed at—then told me to sit on the couch and put my feet up. He disappeared into his bedroom and reemerged with a fleece top and a huge pair of sweatpants. I almost declared my love but thought better of it in the moment. Now was not the time, and I was not sure of how rationally I was thinking.

  He rubbed my feet again while I drank that first glass. Neither of us made eye contact; it was as if we were both too raw and we needed time to gather ourselves together individually before we could reconnect with one another.

  After several minutes, I felt better. I was breathing normally, my mind was no longer racing, my body was warming up from the shock and adrenaline drop, and I was starting to relax under his firm ministrations on my feet.

  He’d noticed the difference. “Are you ready to talk now?”

  “Yeah, baby. I think so.”

  “Okay. Tell me what happened upstairs.”

  So I did. I went through every detail, including those which interested Dom the most: how Fielding had ripped down my towel and threatened me, my shoving my knee into his balls, releasing Holiday from her bindings, and grinding my stiletto into his hand.

  “Damn, Sienna. I wish I’d been there to protect you from that sick bastard. But I’m damn proud of you, that you nailed him so badly. Remind me never to piss you off that bad.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Dom, not unless you have a complete psychotic breakdown and become a whole different person. I save that nasty for special occasions only. No. Truth is, I learned that shit in a self-defense class. Never really needed it before like I did tonight, though. But something clicked inside me, and I thought, ‘It’s now or never, babe. Break out the worst moves you got.’ So that’s what I did.”

  “You did right. Damn. Okay. So, he’s gonna be really, really pissed about this, and there will be blowback. You know this, right? He’s gonna be on the hunt for you. Which makes me very, very unhappy. I don’t feel good about havin’ you go back to your little apartment alone anymore, not while he’s out there gunnin’ for you. I want you to stay with me, here. You down with that?”

  Wow. He’d really been processing this situation a lot more than I had, up to this point. I hadn’t even thought that far in advance.

  But he was right. Fielding would be on the hunt for me, and it would be far safer for me to stay here with Dom. I smiled at him gratefully.

  “You are totally right, Dom. You wouldn’t mind? That’s a big ask.”

  “I don’t remember askin’. You’re movin’ in here with me. Now come over here, and let me hold you.”

  I climbed up over him, and we snuggled on the couch until I fell asleep, not too much later.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized how completely sweet he was being with me, almost all the time, like maybe what was between us wasn’t all just about the stellar sex. But in those moments, like last night, as I lay on top of him drifting off, I was only aware of how big and warm and strong he was, and how I felt safe and secure and cared for. It felt really, really nice.

  # # #

  The next day started out perfectly.

  I woke up snuggled against Dom in his fabulous king-sized bed. I lay there breathing in his scent, lightly kissing his chest and neck whenever I felt like it, drifting in and out of consciousness for a while.

  Eventually I realized he must have been awake, too, and that he was smiling at me. When our eyes caught he rolled me over to my other side, lifted my upper leg back over his hip, and worked me up just enough so he knew I was ready for him. Then he slipped inside of me and smoothly pumped in and out, taking me there slowly, deeply.

  When our breathing became more labored and his strokes more demanding, and I was grasping the sheets and my head threw back, he bit me at the juncture of my neck and shoulder and we came as close as together as we’d ever come before.

  Best. Wakeup. Ever.

  We took it easy the rest of the morning, staying away from hot topics, just enjoying being together in a kind of normal way. We made coffee, and he cooked me breakfast. We ate together and made fun of each other, still learning one another. I cleaned up while he went out for a run, and then I showered and investigated his book collection. He returned and showered. Okay, I’ll admit it: I showered again. We had more of the greatest sex ever.

  It was a perfect morning.

  All good things must come to an end, though, as they say. Eventually, we had to broach the subject and deal with what was really going on in our world.

  Dom broke the barrier of happy good times when he dug out the external hard drive from his jacket pocket from the night before. Looking at me warily, he powered up his computer, connected the drive with a cable, and sat himself in front of the monitor.

  He hadn’t mentioned it to me at any point last night or earlier in the day, but I could tell from his face that this was something he found at that sick bastard’s house.

  My mind jumped to the possibility that there could have been digital evidence on that drive—something that could put Fielding together with Ronn’s pornos, or with other nefarious activity, possibly even with Tania’s death, though I shuddered to think of a recording of that. However, a recording of that was precisely the point of that, so it stood to reason that Fielding kept a recording on hand somewhere. I just didn’t think I could handle seeing it. Dom clearly had the same thoughts rolling through his mind, as he did not invite me to join him at the monitor.

  I kept my seat on the couch, my face pointing to the open pages of a book I had picked up, one of those military-spy-mystery-adventure novels that so many guys love. I had no idea what the words were in front of me. They swam around while I tried to keep my breathing even and not freak out about what Dom was finding.

  He didn’t say a word for a number of minutes, just kept clicking his mouse, leaning toward the screen, the fingers of one hand lightly covering his lips. Focused, but I could tell he was in search mode and had not yet hit pay dirt with anything.

  As the minutes passed by, the tension in the air around us thickened. At one point, he dug out a set of mini earphones and plugged them into the computer and his ears, and I knew there were videos he was going to watch. I kept my eyes away and took a deep breath.

  There were times when I’d known that he had found something. He’d stop clicking, his eyes scanning the screen, or sometimes even closed as he listened to whatever was happening. I moved myself to the mini breakfast bar between the living room and the kitchen, with my back turned to him so I could no longer see his reactions or watch his every movement. The book, however, continued to fail to engage me.

  I felt like there was a screaming silence in the room, and I needed a much stronger distraction. I dug out my smartphone and the earphones I always kept in my handbag, and turned up the volume on Eddie
Vedder. I went back into Dom’s bedroom and curled up on the armchair by the window, no longer attempting to read. I just listened to Pearl Jam and watched the clouds drift in the afternoon sky.

  That was probably a poor choice; Tan and I had shared huge childhood crushes on Eddie (though really, I think hers was only a copycat of my own). But listening to him kept her with me in those endless minutes at Dom’s place. Still, I didn’t look for a different artist; Tan had every right to be there. I needed her there; she was there.

  Finally, after what felt like ages and ages of purgatory, I felt a tug at my ear, and Dom was there, pulling out my earphones and pulling me up into his big strong arms, burying his face in my neck. I just hugged him back, not saying anything, letting him tell me what he needed to when he was ready.

  “Got him. We got him, baby.”

  I lost it. I did. I just cried. He held me, and I cried.