by Asher, Adele
I took mostly my clothes, shoes and personal sentimental items but the furniture would have to stay where it was. Nick checked his watch aware even on a noisy industrial estate the gunshots probably had raised an alarm which made me realise Nick was acting on personal rather than state business in helping me with my problems.
After we finished loading my stuff we got back in the car and Nick reversed out having to stop due to the four dead bodies blocking the exit.
“Drive over them,” I suggested. “It’s a four by four.”
“There isn’t a traverse dead bodies setting on the transmission,” he told me getting out.
I figured I would have to help him since it was mostly my fault. We dragged the bodies over to the office.
“What about the guns?” I asked.
“Leave them. The police will think it was a gangland hit.” Nick walked over and picked the four shell casings from his MP5 and put them in his pocket. “Now is a good time to leave.”
“So where to?” I asked him.
Given my lack of furniture suggesting we went back to my place seemed a bit pointless.
“Well, since you are technically homeless back to my place I guess,” he replied.
“I hope you have bubble bath,” I replied getting in the car.
We got back in the car and made a swift departure.
Chapter 7
NICK LIVED in a rather smart bijoux apartment overlooking Tower Bridge in Butlers Wharf. We dropped the car at the nearby parking garage and made the short walk through the quaint streets of Shad Thames to his apartment building. It was just getting dark and had a nice cozy atmosphere. It was a welcome relief from my Hackney misadventure.
“Wow. Didn’t expect you to live here,” I told him looking up at the grand Victorian warehouse building. Nick entered the key-code and we went through the lobby into the smart entrance hall and waited for the lift.
“Where did you expect I would live?” he asked surprised.
Unlike the rappers shabby council building the well-kept portered block smelt beautiful and was impeccably decorated.
“I didn’t think you guys got paid that well.”
“We don’t, I bought it years ago before the property market went up.”
“Must be worth a lot now.”
“Probably.”
We went up to the fourth floor and into Nick’s apartment. It was small but had a reasonable sized living room with a warehouse window and large French doors onto a balcony overlooking the river, a dining kitchen, smart wet-room and bedroom off the hallway. It had a lovely original feature brick wall and American walnut wood floors and was tastefully furnished with a mixture of modern Scandinavian contemporary furnishings. I smiled at Nick in approval of his good taste in interior design.
“You have good taste. Only one bedroom?” I inquired.
“There’s a sofa-bed,” he replied.
“Well,” I smiled. “We won’t be needing that.” He smiled back awkwardly. “Might as well start as we mean to go on.” I told him.
“There’s plenty of hot water, clean towels on the rail.”
“Perfect.”
I helped Nick take my belongings that I had brought from the car to the bedroom and opened his large wardrobe, cleared a space and hung my clothes up before opening his draws and moving everything to the right then filling the left side with my underwear and other items.
“I’ll get you a drink,” Nick told me, perhaps a little unsure about this sudden female intrusion into his bachelor pad.
“Don’t take too long. I want a back rub,” I winked at him. I headed into the neat bathroom and cleared a space for my armoury of cosmetics. Within less than ten minutes I had transformed Nick’s capsule of masculinity into a more appropriate female habitation. I checked the toilet. It was impeccably clean and suitably equipped with triple velvet quilted toilet paper. Based on my brief investigations of his domestic arrangements I determined Nick was suitable marriage material. The bathroom was fitted in a mix of white Villeroy&Boch fittings with a double walk in shower and a large bath.
I ran the hot water and selected some suitably scented bubble bath. Having spent so long in the filthy police station I wanted to cleanse myself of the experience and burn all my clothes.
Sinking into the hot soapy water was about one of the best experiences of my life and after five minutes soaking clean in the warm water I felt human and feminine again.
“Room service!” I called. Shortly after there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Don’t be shy,” I told him. Nick came in with Champagne. “What are we celebrating?” I asked.
“Who needs a reason?”
“A man after my heart,” I told him. It was only Veuve but given the ordeal I wasn’t being choosy. We toasted glasses.
A cool glass of Veuve and a hot bath was the perfect end to a horrible day.
“So about my back rub…” I said suggestively.
“Enjoy your bath,” he replied and departed.
“Spoilsport!” I called after him with a sulking pout. Despite the lack of on call masseuse a relaxing soak in the bath was still heaven.
Feeling suitably cleansed to normality I applied some moisturiser and a light dab of Gucci for Her, found a fluffy bathrobe on the back of the door and headed into the kitchen in search of a Champagne refill.
“Bathroom’s free,” I told him.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he replied removing his jacket and holster before taking his gun and putting it in a safe he had concealed behind a painting.
“Make sure you wash behind your ears,” I told him with a coy smile.
“Yes mum,” he replied sarcastically and departed for the bathroom.
I recharged my champagne glass and did the standard thing every girl does and investigated his apartment for hidden man secrets but nothing was revealed of any great interest. Having attacked the content of the fridge for light snacks I took the Champagne bottle and glasses headed for the bedroom and snuggled into Nick’s large double bed naked and waited for Nick’s return.
Nick appeared fresh from his shower in a pair of shorts and a ‘Keep Calm and Go To Sleep’ T-shirt, which was disappointing. I was hoping to catch him before he had the chance to avail himself of clothing but would quickly relieve him of such extraneous bed-wear as soon as he was within striking distance. He seemed quite surprised to find me already in his bed and had probably guessed from the devilishly dirty look on my face I wasn’t wearing any pyjamas and was ready for action.
I patted the bed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the sofa?” he asked politely.
“Oh Nicky, I would be offended if you did,” I replied with a seductive smile.
He nodded and approached the bed with all the caution of a Zebra about to be caught by a Lioness. I lifted the duvet up and he slid in.
“You won’t be needing these,” I told him reaching down and pulling his shorts off before discarding them by throwing them across the room well out of reach. “Or this,” and pulled his t-shirt off. “You’ve got me to keep you warm,” I told him with a wink.
I plied him with sensual kisses as I let a hand slip down his body to its final destination, which didn’t require much encouragement to respond to my call to duty.
“I think he likes me…” I purred at him before I moved on top of him pinning him in place between my thighs preventing any hope he had of escape. I massaged his body sensually whilst toying his lips with mine. As I felt his hand move between my legs I let out a giggle of delight before locking him into a long deep French kiss. While I would normally indulge in an extended bout of foreplay and other delights being our first time I just wanted to get on to the main event. I rolled off Nick and lay alongside him and gave him a hooker look.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” I said with a dirty smirk.
“Okay then…” he replied and moved on top of me. As he entered me we let out a joint delighted gasp of happiness.
T
he next two or so hours went by in a blur of touching, kissing and sexual bliss. We did missionary, spoons and reverse cowgirl. Me on top, him on top and doggy style. My mother would be appalled by our activities that would put a high-class call girl to shame. After Nick finally came I felt like I had spent eight hours in the gym. He collapsed exhausted on top of me burying his happy face in the pillow next to me.
“Good God Nicky. Are you on Viagra?” I asked exhausted.
“No,” he replied out of breath.
“Amphetamines?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to be able to walk for a week,” I told him.
“Sorry,” he laughed and kissed my ear playfully.
“Don’t be. That was incredible. When do we get married?” I toyed with his hair as I tried to catch my breath. Nick went to move off me but I clenched my arms round him. “No, stay just there,” I told him cuddling him. Remembering the cold loneliness of my night in the dirty cell being in a warm comfy bed with that lovely post-sex feeling of comforting endorphins rushing round my body I just wanted to hold him tight and feel him inside me. “You know I’d have shagged you even if you hadn’t just got me out of prison?”
“That’s good to know.”
“Well it’s important. I didn’t just shag you because you got me out of there.”
“And I didn’t just get you out of prison so I could shag you.”
“So I think we’ve established I’d have shagged you anyway and you’d have shagged me anyway and the whole arrest thing didn’t come into it.”
“That about summarises it,” said Nick still out of breath.
Poor boy sounded exhausted. I toyed his hair with my fingers.
“Kiss me,” I asked him and he duly obliged. We smiled at each other with that dopey smile lovers give each other after exchanging bodily fluids and orgasms.
“God you’re beautiful,” he told me.
“Are you just saying that because you’ve got your fuckstick inside me?” I replied.
“No, I’m saying that because you are beautiful.”
“We’re going to fall in love aren’t we?”
“Yes, I think we probably are.” Nick replied.
“And would that be a good thing for you?”
“Yes it probably would.”
“And would it be a good thing for me?”
“I hope so.”
“I hope so too.”
I finally let him free and we finished off the champagne before settling down. I wrapped myself around him and squeezed his hand tight. I felt safe with Nick in a way I never did with Johnny.
After my uncomfortable night in the cells and our extensive sexual exertions it didn’t take long to fall asleep and I slept solidly through the entire night until the morning light started to creep through the gaps in the wooden venetian blinds covering the window. Nick was still asleep, no doubt exhausted after his marathon shagging session so I huddled up to him for warmth and slept through until lunchtime when I felt him finally stir awake.
“Hey you,” he said sleepily and gave me a delightful morning kiss. “How did you sleep?”
“A lot better than the previous night.”
“So about last night…” he said with a sheepish look. I put a finger on his lips to silence him before he said anything more.
“You know you wanted to…”
“Yes…”
“Then why say any more?”
Sex like killing someone is one of life’s guilty pleasures. We are taught that it’s something wrong even when it isn’t therefore we should feel bad about enjoying it. I’m quite selective about who I choose to have sex with or kill, I don’t generally engage in either unless I am certain it’s something I want to do. Of course acting on impulse can lead to all sorts of complications after the event as had been the cause of my downfall.
Lack of planning in the death of the rapper had meant I had not formulated any kind of post-murder exit strategy or planning. My night of wanton passion with Nick also had been unplanned. I wasn’t taking any form of contraception and we had neglected to use a condom so there was some outside chance it would end in pregnancy. Not that I was any more organised that following morning as we spent the next hour having sex in the shower.
Sometimes you can’t get enough of a good thing and to hell with the consequences.
I made a traditional English breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and baked beans for Nick since I figured his stamina in the bedroom could only be sustained for any length of time with a high carbohydrate diet. I opted for a less fattening muesli, yoghurt and strawberries served with fresh orange juice and coffee. Nick’s apartment was a delightful place to spend breakfast after a bout of morning nooky. It had homely feel that my more grandiose Chelsea flat lacked.
“So what’s todays plan batman?” I asked.
‘We need to track down your fortune. And Johnny,” Nick replied.
“Where do we start?”
“Probably with this guy,” Nick passed the clipboard over with the paperwork from the firm of lawyers in Mayfair that Johnny had got to do his dirty work organising the transfer of my property portfolio.
“Do you think they will co-operate?” I asked.
“I’m sure they can be persuaded it’s in their best interests.”
“Like the guys at the warehouse?” I grinned.
“They were a different kettle of fish. Lawyers don’t generally go to work tooled up.”
“They did forge the trustee documents that allowed Johnny to transfer everything, I’m guessing they aren’t legit. So what are we going to do?”
“We need to find out where they transferred everything to. They must have paperwork for wherever it’s gone. We need to find that to get it reversed. I’m pretty sure Johnny isn’t going to tell you.”
“You could cut his balls off with a pair of blunt scissors.”
“That won’t help.”
“No, but it would make me feel better,” I smiled. “And you do want me to be happy don’t you darling?”
“Of course my angel. And if cutting your ex-boyfriend’s balls off will bring a sense of joy to your life I am more than happy to oblige but I don’t think it’s going to help you get your money back.”
“Shame babe.”
We finished breakfast and got dressed. Nick retrieved his gun from the safe which could only mean someone was going to have a bad day and we headed down to collect the car. I took his arm as we strolled in the early afternoon sunshine.
“What makes you think Johnny is working for someone?” I said.
“The people on the list. You don’t get names like that unless you know who they are. That’s not an accidental list.”
“If he wasn’t one of your mob then who would want them dead? The Russians?”
“No, you whacked their guys too remember.”
“Americans?”
“And theirs.”
“Am I going to be in a lot of trouble for that?”
“Only if they find out you did it.”
“They don’t know?”
“No, or you would be already dead.”
“What if Johnny tells them I did it?”
“They won’t believe him.”
“Why?”
“Because we already told them Johnny did it.”
“Why would you do that.”
“To protect you.”
“That’s sweet. My hero.”
“You have to stop killing people though.”
“I promise. I will be a well-behaved housewife, bake you cakes and iron your shirts.”
“Somehow I don’t see you doing that,” he said with a cheeky look.
“It beats doing time in Holloway.”
“Did you never stop to ask him why he was asking you to do this? It’s not exactly a normal thing you get your girlfriend to do.”
“He was very convincing. If you asked me to murder a load of people I would do the same for you.”
“I’m no
t sure if that’s comforting or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a nice romantic gesture, but it still means you don’t mind murdering people. That’s hardly the sort of girl my mother expected me to bring home.”
“It’s a lot better than you taking the other thirty-two dirty sluts home isn’t it? At least I cook for you.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Besides you whacked those guys in the warehouse without blinking. You can’t have all the fun Nicky. Where’s the sport in that.”
“I’m paid to do it.”
“I don’t think you were paid to do those guys.”
“Not exactly. That was more a favour to society. They were up to no good.”
“The people I killed were probably up to no good. I fail to see the distinction.”
“It doesn’t explain why Johnny decided to take action against them. He doesn’t seem like some crusading do-gooder.”
“Can I have my gun back?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No…I think you have got yourself into enough trouble for one lifetime.”
“Let me do in Johnny and his conspirators then I promise I will never kill anyone ever again…unless they start it.”
Nick just gave me a disapproving look that suggested arguing the point further was futile. I would try again later when he was more amenable.
Probably whilst he was naked.
Chapter 8
WE DROVE over to the lawyer’s offices in Berkeley Square, Mayfair. They were housed in a smart building with a discrete brass plaque. Nick parked nearby and we walked over to the entrance. I pressed the buzzer on the intercom.
“Hello?” answered the receptionist.
“Hello. We have an appointment with Mr. Reuben,” I told her.
“And your name is?” the receptionist asked in a manner I considered slightly rude.
I looked at Nick and shrugged my shoulders.
“Mr. Van Sant,” Nick replied. “And his associate.”
“One moment,” the receptionist replied.
I jabbed Nick in the ribs.