by Tia Siren
Driving in the car with her, heading farther away from the city, farther away from Brighton Beach, life somehow began to feel normal. This woman, she seemed to love me, as crazy as it sounded. I had to keep reminding myself that she had been trained for that. She had been beaten probably and brainwashed into loving whatever man bought her. I was sure she knew I wanted to help her, though, and maybe that made her love me even more. But driving, listening to the radio, having her grab my hand and hold on to it, it felt real. It felt like a better life than I should know.
I’d had girlfriends, a lot of plastic bimbos drawn to the money and danger. I was a real bad boy, and it attracted some pretty girls. Beautiful even. But shallow and fake. I had never married anyone, never come close. They were just chicks I fucked, in and out of my bed, their beds, across the back of my couch.
Chloe was different somehow. I almost forgot what I had done the night before—buying her. Mr. Black was pissed; I knew it. He would want me dead. Driving with Chloe, I finally made up my mind. I would kill him first, and anyone else who stood in the way of me making sure Chloe was happy and got back home.
We stopped in a town called Barley. It was four hours upstate from New York City, small and charming. We arrived just after lunchtime. We stopped first at a small diner, both of us starving. We sat in a booth and ate hamburgers and fries and sucked down milkshakes.
There was a motel and a nicer hotel there, but we learned of cabins in some woods not far from the main road and drove there instead. I paid with cash, of course, and used a fake name. We went into the cabin together and didn’t leave for three days, save a trip on the first day to a small grocery store down the road.
We didn’t leave the bed much, day and night blending together in orgasmic bliss. Finally, as the sun fell on the third day at the cabin, I showered and came out to tell Chloe I was leaving. I had expected us to be found by then, but I had been careful not to leave a trail.
“You’re going?” Chloe asked me before I could even speak. She was lying in bed, naked, the bedsheet covering her lower half, her magnificent breasts on display.
“How did you know?” I asked her.
“I can see it in your eyes, in the way you stand.”
“If I don’t go, there are men who will never leave you alone. Never. They’ll never let you get home.”
The young woman nodded, and then she smiled sadly. She looked at me, and in the evening light that came streaming through the bedroom windows, I saw tears filling her eyes.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m married,” she said, and my heart sank. “Back in Greece, I’m married. Less than a year before I was taken. We were on our honeymoon. We had to go late because of his job. We were on a cruise. We stopped and I was taken. I was brought here…for this.”
I nodded. “I can get you back to your husband, but I’m going to have to do this. I have to make sure these men, the men who brought you here, can’t find you. Or us.”
She nodded. She looked as though she had more to say, and I was sure I did too, but neither of us spoke. I filled a backpack I had bought at the local grocery store with my guns and ammo. I took a bit of money and then faced her once more.
“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” I said. “Don’t answer the door.”
She stood, letting the sheet fall away, coming to me nude. She wrapped her arms around me and we kissed. “Be safe,” she said, and I nodded. “Come back to me.” I nodded again, and then it was time to leave.
I drove through the night back to the city. Mr. Black was first on my list. I knew where he would be; he owned a strip club in Brighton Beach, and he spent most nights there. I parked a block away and took time to prepare myself. I slid a handgun into the back of my waistband and pulled the backpack on. I had two larger guns in there, a shotgun fully loaded with extra shells and a submachine gun with three extra clips. I climbed out of my car and took a deep breath.
A fat bouncer named Reuben was working the door. He worked for the club but not for Mr. Black. He wasn’t a criminal, even if I was sure he was aware of what sort of man Mr. Black was. If he knew I was in trouble with my old boss, he didn’t show it.
“Peter, what’s up?” the fat man asked.
“Hey, Reuben,” I said and shook his hand as I stepped by.
“Boss man is upstairs if you need him,” he said, and I nodded.
The inside of the club was pounding music and pink and blue lights. A skinny brunette with giant tits was dancing on the main stage, a ring of horny men sitting around it, flashing green bills as she came near. I passed by the bar, where Samantha, a good-looking blonde who tended, gave me a smile and a wave. I managed to smile back.
Near the back of the club was a set of metal stairs, which led up to a second-floor office. I started up the steps and reached for the door handle. Just before I could open the door, someone pulled it open from the other side, and I found myself face to face with Vlad. His eyes widened in shock. Time seemed to slow down.
“You idiot,” the man said to me. He had a gun on the inside of his jacket; I could see the handle sticking out a bit. He didn’t go for it, though.
“Get out of here,” I said, giving him a stern warning. I liked Vlad, and he was just a lowlife grunt like me. Or at least, like I used to be. Standing on those stairs, I felt different. I wasn’t the man I had been just a week before. But my beef wasn’t with Vlad. He wasn’t the one in charge. I didn’t want to kill him, not if I didn’t have to.
“He’s going to kill you, kid,” Vlad said to me, shaking his head. He looked at me, and I saw concern in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill him,” I snarled. “Now get out. Don’t come back tonight.”
Vlad seemed to weigh his choices. Finally, he nodded and put his hand on my shoulder as he passed. I let out the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding and opened the door.
Mr. Black’s office was large and open, with some couches and chairs at one end and his desk at the far end. I had my gun out of my pants before I stepped all the way through the door. One man stood beside the door. He was a grunt, like me, but I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, so I beat him to the punch. I pressed the barrel of my handgun to his side and pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening and the man fell. The music was so loud downstairs that I was sure no one in the club had heard anything.
Mr. Black was at his desk, his cell phone to his ear. He looked across the room and his eyes widened. Another man sat on a couch nearby, reading a magazine, an automatic rifle lying across his lap. He tossed the magazine aside and went to swing the rifle toward me, but I aimed and fired, and my bullet took him in the head. He slumped to the side, dead.
“This is not wise,” Mr. Black said as I stalked toward him, my handgun trained at his head.
“Keep your hands up,” I said. I knew he had a shotgun in a special slot constructed on the bottom part of his desk. He held his hands up.
“So you fell for a woman. No harm, no foul. Bring her back; I can make it right.”
I shook my head. “You can’t make that right. It isn’t right. I respected you. I thought you were better.”
Mr. Black laughed. “You knew exactly what I was. You are a fool if you think I wouldn’t do anything I could to make a bit more money.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“Your life.”
Mr. Black laughed. “Come now, boy, we both know you won’t kill me.”
“I want to know who set it up. Who got you into it?”
Mr. Black shook his head.
“I won’t tell you a thing,” he said. I was standing next to him now, and I put my gun against his leg. “Idle threats,” he said. I pulled the trigger.
He yelled out, reaching down and covering the ragged hole I had just blown into his thigh.
“Tell me,” I said.
“David Ramos,” Mr. Black said. I knew the name. I
put my gun to my old boss’s head and ended his wretched life.
I went back out to my car quickly. There was a chance no one would find Mr. Black or his two dead stooges until the end of the night when someone would go see why he hadn’t come out yet. That was if Vlad didn’t attempt to return sooner. I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
I knew David Ramos. He lived in New York and had his fingers in every illicit thing you could think of up and down the East Coast. He was a big man, muscular and strong with a thick neck and biceps as big as my thigh. I didn’t care. I was going to kill him.
I had to do some digging to find him, though. I hit up some old friends, guys in the business who worked for other bosses. I found out I was on everyone’s lips. Mr. Black had put it out to find me and kill me. Ramos was backing him up. Ramos was the man in charge of the slavery ring, and he’d been embarrassed in front of the other bosses. He wanted me dead as much as Mr. Black had.
It took some doing, but as the sun was rising, I had him. I had tracked him down to a high-rise building in the center of Times Square. It would be tough; I knew that much. Ramos would have ten men, twenty even, protecting him. My boss had been big time, but Ramos made him look ridiculous. I got into an elevator on the ground floor and headed for the penthouse apartment. It was a long ride, and I prepared for what I was about to do. There was a chance I wouldn’t make it. I might fail. There was a chance, but I felt good about my odds. I had rage and anger on my side. I had Chloe. The elevator stopped, the doors slid open with a ding, and I thought of her as I lifted my shotgun.
4
I had told Chloe I would be a couple of days, but I returned to her almost twenty-four hours after I had left. She was in the living room, wearing one of my T-shirts and boy shorts that hugged her ass. I came in, my shirt splattered with blood, most of it not my own. I had a busted lip and a bullet had grazed my arm, but I had given way worse than I had gotten.
The young woman came to me as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, and she wrapped her arms around me. I thought she would speak, or I thought I would, but she pressed her lips to mine and I kissed her back instead, wincing as pain shot through my busted lip but not willing to stop our kiss.
My arms went around her, and when she was sure I was in a position to support her weight, she lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around my waist. Her panty-clad crotch was pressed against my own, and immediately my dick began to pulse and grow rigid.
I thought about carrying her up the wooden stairs to the bedroom, but we never got that far. The cabin was cozy, two small floors, but it was private enough, so I just took two steps to the couch before turning and sitting so that she was on my lap. She giggled as we kissed and wriggled a bit, grinding against my manhood.
My fingers pulled her shirt up and over her head, and I buried my face in her breasts, as she was wearing no bra. My lips found a nipple, my tongue flicking it back and forth before my teeth nibbled softly. She groaned and moaned, her head tilted back.
She climbed off me and lowered herself to her knees before me. Her fingers were slow, her movements delicate as she unbuttoned my pants and pulled them off, along with my shoes and socks. She left me in my boxer briefs for a moment, my cock hard and evident. She planted kisses on my inner thigh and then switched to the other.
Finally, she gave my boy some attention, reaching a slender hand up the leg of my underwear and gripping my dick. She amused herself by sliding my cock out through the same leg of my boxer briefs, and then she took me into her mouth.
Chloe gave the best head in the world. I had already gotten to know that. She was perfect. She built to the right speed, applied the right pressure with her hand. She gripped me at the base of my cock and held me where she wanted me, her lips and tongue and mouth handling the rest. When I could take no more, I forced her to stop and moved her to the couch.
I reached up and pulled her panties off. She was nude now, and she smiled as she watched me look up and down her body. I loved every inch of it. I sent my fingertips up and down, from her toes to her forehead. Then I used my hands to part her legs and buried my face in her pussy. She smelled great and tasted better. I lapped at her pink slit, and she gave me plenty to lap up, her pussy wet and warm.
My cock was aching to be inside her, so I didn’t make him wait any longer. I got up off my knees and then positioned her so she was facing away from me, knees on the cushion of the couch, arms on the back. I slid into her tight pussy, pushing until I had nothing left to give and then pulling back.
“No one has had my ass,” she whispered, looking at me over her shoulder. I didn’t need to be told twice. I pulled my slick cock from her and then spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Her butthole was tight, and I rubbed the head of my cock against it until she opened up and I could slide in. If her pussy was tight, her asshole was like nothing I had ever felt. She groaned and bent her head forward, burying her face in the back of the couch. I knew she was in pain, but she reached between her legs and began rubbing her own clit, and I knew she was enjoying it as well.
She came right before I did, biting into the couch cushion and screaming. I had my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them, groping them, leaving red lines on her tanned flesh. She must have known I was about to come, because she called to me once more, turning her head over her shoulder.
“Come in my pussy,” she moaned. “Please.”
Looking back, I wondered if she knew. Up to that point, I hadn’t come in her before. I had always pulled out, plastered her face, or sent stringy white strands of cum over her big tits. But now I pulled my cock out of her ass and shoved forward into her pussy just as my cock jumped and I came. I threw my head back and arched my hips, sending all I had into her. When I pulled out, she stayed like that for a minute, her back to me, on the couch, and I saw a bit of my cum leak from her gushing pussy.
We went to sleep after that. We woke up in the morning, and we knew things had changed. We kissed, but we didn’t fuck, and we didn’t make love.
“I’m safe?” she asked me over breakfast, which was simple bowls of cereal.
I nodded.
“Are you?”
“I think so,” I said with a grin.
“So I can go back?”
I sighed and nodded.
“I love you,” she said. “I do.”
“I know,” I said. “I love you too. But…you don’t belong here. You aren’t mine.”
Chloe smiled at me. It was sad and sweet and filled with longing. “I am yours. You bought me.”
Two days later I saw her off at an airport in Boston. She was headed home. I stood for a long time after she had gone, watching the planes land and take off through a large window that overlooked the tarmac. I knew I would never forget my bought bride.
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Owned by the Mafia
It was terrifying to have a pistol shoved in his mouth. More terrifying was the knowledge that he had no way of repaying his debt.
“How dare you,” Grigori said. “How dare you sit at my table and gamble with me when you know you don't have the funds to cover your debts.”
Grigori tightened his grip around Lenny's throat. Lenny looked up at him with saliva running from his open mouth and a great deal of fear in his eyes.
“I ought to kill you now, you asshole. But I'm a benevolent man. I'm going to give you a chance.” Grigori looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” he said. Lenny growled at him and tried to break free. One of Grigori's henchmen stepped forward and assisted his boss in restraining Lenny. “What time will she be home?” Grigori asked, removing the gun from Lenny's mouth to allow him to speak.
“You fucking bastard. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll kill you,” Lenny growled.
“From where I'm standing, you don't seem to be in much of a position to carry out your threat,” Grigori said as he forced the gun back into Lenny's mouth.
Lenny was forty-five, the son of an Irish immigrant father and a Hungarian dancer. His father had left them when he was two and his mother, struggling to find work as a dancer, had turned to prostitution. Neglected and alone, by the age of eight he was a master pickpocket, and by the age of thirteen he was one of the best lock pickers in New York. When his mother was murdered by a drunken client, he was fifteen. The authorities wanted to take him into care, but he'd already amassed enough money to look after himself, and he disappeared. When he came back to New York, it was as a heavily muscled strongman who lived from the proceeds of his criminal activities. In and out of jail, he managed to hide his ill-gotten gains and channel them into several pieces of real estate. Lenny was a rich man; he just didn't have any cash. In his opinion, he'd invested wisely, but he would have admitted to one very simple mistake: an evening of gambling with the Russians in Brighton Beach when he knew he didn't have the liquidity to pay if he incurred losses.
“Dad, I'm home,” Lucy shouted. Funny, she thought when he didn't reply. Her dad always shouted to her when she got home. He loved asking her about her day at art college, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and chatting with her. She hung her coat in the hall and put her satchel down on the black and white tiled floor. “Dad, where are you?” she shouted again.
“Sit down and shut up,” Grigori shouted when she walked into the sitting room. She screamed and put her hand over her mouth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted. She didn't sit down as asked; she walked to Grigori and began to throw punches at him.
“Very spirited,” he said as he held her from him with one arm, the other still holding the pistol in Lenny's mouth. “Get her off me,” Grigori said to one of his men.
A very large, very Russian-looking man took Lucy and lifted her from the floor. She tried to kick and bite him, but he threw her onto the sofa.
“Quite a display of aggression, Lucy. I admire spirited women. In fact, it turns me on. Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered all over this lovely room, sit still and fucking well listen to me,” Grigori snarled.