Tinged (The Electric Tunnel Book 3)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “So, I said yes. I told Bruno that it was no problem. For triple the pay, I could do kink.” She lowered her gaze to the carpet.

  I put a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to meet mine. “Don’t, Chantilly. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “They wanted us at five o’clock, so I had my sitter take my girl to dinner while I got ready. I was gone by the time they got back. I was supposed to meet Trixie and Magnolia in the bar of the Fritz, and when we were all there, text Bruno for the room number and information. So, that’s what I did. While we sat in the lounge having a cocktail, a bad feeling ran through me. Something felt off, but it was a big job. Who was I to complain?”

  She stood and walked toward the bar, bracing herself against it but not looking at me. “We got the room number and headed up. It was the penthouse, of course, and as soon as we rang the buzzer, my stomach dropped. Everything felt wrong, especially when some foreign servant dude opened the door.” She sucked in another big breath. “Can I take a drink?”

  “Of course.”

  Pouring herself a few fingers of my Johnny Walker Black, she tossed it back like a pro. I watched her body still with the burn, afraid to move myself.

  “It was a full-on mess when we walked in. Lines of coke on the table, four men sprawled on the sofas, music turned up loud, TVs on, A/C going full blast. Their shirts were open, and Trixie sighed at the sight of their muscled chests like she’d hit pay dirt. One of the guys on the couch stood up and welcomed us, then pointed toward the table. Trixie made for the table and snorted a line or two. He asked Magnolia and me if we wanted a drink, and we nodded. He asked if we wanted champagne, and we said sure.”

  Chantilly moved around my office, prowling mostly, seeming uncomfortable with her fresh bruises on display. She kicked off her heels and padded barefoot.

  “By the time he got us our drinks, Trixie was already in the lap of one of the other men with her tits in his mouth and his hands down the back of her shorts. The first guy came back with our drinks and asked us to sit down. Said his name was Rahm and asked me my name, but wasn’t interested in Mags and Trix at all. Then he put his hand on my knee and whispered in my ear that he’d put something in the drinks to make it all a little more fun. I didn’t hesitate. I just tilted my glass over and poured it out on the carpet.”

  “Holy shit!” I jumped up and went to her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. “You need to see a doc? You got something in your stomach?”

  I wasn’t even worried about the dudes at that moment, just Chantilly. Christ, she had a daughter. I didn’t even know her name and where to find her if something happened to her mom.

  “No, no. I’m fine. I didn’t take that many sips before I drained the whole glass on the Oriental rug. I don’t do drugs. Like I said, I got a daughter. But this dude, Rahm, went fucking ape-shit, Mike. Grabbed my arm and dragged me toward one of the bedrooms screaming, ‘You’ll not disrespect me, blondie bitch. I told your boss we have our way with the girls the way we want. And if I want to fuck your ass with my whole fist up your cunt while you’re on X, then that is what I’m doing.’ I kept yelling for him to let me go, but he wouldn’t.”

  “Jesus Christ, I need to talk with this Bruno.” I let out a long breath. He needed to understand his girls were people, not pawns.

  “It gets worse, Michael.”

  I wasn’t sure what made my gut clench even more—her calling me Michael, or the part about it getting worse.

  “When I tried to jerk loose, he screamed, ‘That other cunt bitch wasn’t into it at first either, but now little Miss Lincoln is quite happy with her arrangement.’ And then he hauled off and sucker punched me.”

  The room spun, and I had to bend over and clutch my stomach. The few shots of whiskey I did earlier were coming back up, racing up my throat, accompanied by a scream.

  “What else did he say?” I forced out, my words raspy.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Nothing. I ran. I’m sorry, Michael.”

  On the verge of a panic attack, I went to comfort the brutalized woman in my office. It wasn’t her fault. I wanted to be mad that she didn’t stay and ask more questions, get me something concrete. But it wasn’t in me to be that way.

  “Come on. Take a shower and get cleaned up,” I told her. “We have to go see Bruno.”

  AS I listened to the shrill sound of the shower pounding behind the closed bathroom door, I poured myself a stiff drink. Letting the amber liquid burn through my body, I prayed for it to relax me. It didn’t.

  I was drinking too much. After I found Lynx, I was going to cut back. The shit was barely taking the edge off these days. Then again, when I got my girl back, I wouldn’t need alcohol.

  Doubtful, but I was optimistic.

  Grabbing my phone off the desk, I texted Carson.

  MIKE: I got info, my man.

  Unable to sit still, I paced my little lair while I waited for a response.

  CARSON: Give me a minute, and I’m gonna call you.

  MIKE: Not now. Got one of Lynx’s former coworkers in my office.

  CARSON: Oh man, don’t go there.

  MIKE: Shut the fuck up. Not like that. She got the info.

  CARSON: Shit. Sorry.

  MIKE: Call me tomorrow. I’m going to see the pimp.

  CARSON: You sure that’s smart?

  MIKE: No.

  I tossed my phone back on the desk, not wanting to discuss my intentions with Carson. He threw all his ethics out the window when his woman was captured and held hostage in an underage hard-porn studio, and almost raped by her filthy excuse for an ex-husband. And I wouldn’t do the same?

  Damn right, I was going to see the pimp.

  AFTER APPLYING a depilatory to her legs, Lynx scrubbed herself clean in the shower. With all the hair removed from her body, she took time caring for her sensitive skin. Using a pumice stone to the inside of her palms, she removed any evidence of her desecrating her own skin. Then she sat on the settee near the window, rubbing coconut cream over her calves, smoothing it down her pedicured feet and back up to her flat tummy. She swirled it around the crystal stud in her navel, trying not to think about her past, present, or future. The last of which was so hazy, she could barely make out that one actually existed.

  But it was hard not to drown in the sea of memories washing over her like a tsunami overtaking a small island.

  Soft music played from the iPod dock in the corner, and an emerald off-the-shoulder Givenchy dress hung on the door. The song was sad to fit her mood. It was a melancholy tune with morose lyrics about missed chances and lost love. An electric violin struck a high note in the background, and Lynx let the wave of emotion sweep over her.

  Missed chances in life and love—she knew about that. Like in her current situation, she missed the other girls she’d met here like a pup yearns for its littermates, long after they leave for their forever homes.

  Lynx had been chosen as one of the favorites, which meant she was moved to her own apartment and was paid more to have sex less frequently. She went on trips to London and Singapore, and was the envy of all the other nameless faces and bodies who filled the group housing.

  Yet she still yearned for the others. She missed their chatter and smiles, the movies and conversation they shared in the afternoons. Their words of comfort were all she had when she moved here.

  She also had missed her chance to find what she came for, because the answers were buried somewhere deep inside that group of girls. And now she was rarely able to leave her little palace other than by his side.

  Sighing, she slid the dress on over her silky skin, the green satin clinging to her curves. With her small breasts braless and free, the precious fabric rubbed her nipples, hardening them into tiny little peaks. There was nothing she could do about that. The sensation created by the silk reminded her of another man’s warm breath and mouth, and her body reacted.

  A man whose name she didn’t dare breathe.

  Her benefactor could n
ever know any other man existed for her, or he would strike out against him. She was nothing more than a piece of property to her current man, but he didn’t share well when it came to her. There was no way she could tip her hand, allowing him to see who her heart really belonged to.

  Tonight, he would come, and Lynx would spread her legs and take him deep in her ass. She’d suck him in her mouth until he released all over her face. She would do whatever she had to because she was on a mission. For tonight, she planned to ask to visit the girls one afternoon. She’d say she wanted to show off her new swimsuit to the others.

  As she stared at herself in the huge gilded mirror, Lynx could only think of the one man who truly cared for her.

  “Michael,” came out as a hushed whisper as she ran her manicured fingers down her cleavage and over her left breast, tweaking her own nipple. The dress hung loose off her shoulder as she worked herself up in preparation for the night ahead, pinching and squeezing her own breast until she was panting.

  “Wonder what you’re doing, baby? Are you happy? Do you miss me?” she said quietly to herself with her eyes closed tightly, imagining his face, his close-cropped hair soft and smooth like velour, and his strong frame. When he’d looked at her with all the compassion in the world, she’d always put up her shutters, keeping him and his love at bay.

  Stepping back to sit on the bed, Lynx wrapped her arms around herself, pretending they were muscled and firm. The image of his tattoo floated in front of her still tightly closed eyes . . .

  SHE AND Michael had been standing on the beach that day, her back to his front, his erection pressed against her ass. Her hair was unbraided and loose, flying around both their faces in the breeze.

  The warm ocean air had been their cocoon, protecting them from the storm that waited inside for them. As long as they stayed huddled together, watching the sunset from the beach, they’d be okay. It was the words that would be spoken inside that would bring them down . . . she was sure of it. That was why she hadn’t moved from where they were standing.

  Funny, the wild and roaring ocean was her harbor, and Michael’s office was like being out in rough seas.

  “Let’s go in, babe,” he whispered in her ear, pressing himself forward just a touch, making his intentions known.

  “It’s so beautiful out here. I wish I could just lay in the sand, running my hands through it, allowing my feet to sink deeper until I’m one with the tide. With the water washing over me, I’d be a new woman. Untouched. Not tinged or colored by my past or what I do now,” she admitted as the sky turned red and purple.

  “You’re not tinged, babe. Not then, not now, not ever. I love you. And you don’t need the ocean water to cleanse you. Whatever crap you’re spewing is just that—BS. You’re perfect.”

  He took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked gently, distracting her so she didn’t notice when he led her toward the club.

  Wearing rose-colored glasses, Lynx followed him up to his office where he laid her out on the couch. Carefully removing her eggplant-colored swimsuit, he knelt in front of her, worshipping every inch of her brown skin.

  He dropped his mouth to her core, swiping his tongue up and down before settling on her clit, where he sucked hard. Lynx’s back arched off the sofa as she ground herself into his face. On a breath, “Michael” came floating out of her mouth. When he slipped first one finger and then another inside her, she bucked into his face. When she came, it was spectacular. Different. A beginning and an end all rolled up in one. But only she knew that at this point, so she allowed the ecstasy to rain down over her.

  She tried not to compare it to the times she climaxed when she was working. Usually, she desperately tried not to let that happen at all. Most of the time, she faked it, but sometimes it felt too good.

  But nothing like what she just felt with him.

  With Michael, feelings mixed with the fingers and tongue and cock, making their coupling inherently different. With him, she went off like fireworks over the bay on New Year’s Eve.

  Every time she came with him, she begged her soul to let this be the beginning of a new life for her. But she always ended up back in her old ways. All she needed to do was quit and let go of her private mission, and Mike would welcome her with all her past baggage. But she couldn’t—no matter how hard she climaxed.

  Lynx heard him rolling on a condom. Of course, they’d never done it bare. She followed all the appropriate practices and was tested regularly, but rubbers were a must when it came to Michael sinking deep inside her well-used pussy. It wasn’t her preferred word, but appropriate in this case. While they didn’t fight about much, they fought about this—he hated how many men she let sink deep inside her.

  She just didn’t get why he continued to dip his very own wrapped-up length inside her. Michael was wealthy and gorgeous. He had strong convictions and the best heart. Why would he waste his time with someone like her?

  Like at the moment, he had lifted her as he sat and brought her down on top of him. With her riding him, her legs straddled on either side of his hips, he brought his hand up, brushing the hair out of her face so he could stare deep into her eyes.

  “Lynx, babe, this is pure beauty,” he said, never letting go of the eye contact, his hand gripping her hair.

  She didn’t respond, just shut her eyes and rode Michael to his own climax. Then she got off of him and ended it for good.

  She had responsibilities that she couldn’t ignore.

  THE LOUD clack of the knocker on her door signaled the end of her private time with her memories.

  Lynx stood and smoothed her dress before walking into the foyer. It was showtime. She was going with her benefactor to a party tonight before she came back to do her duty, and sometime this evening, she needed to get him to authorize her visit with the girls.

  “BRUNO, OPEN the fuck up,” I yelled, banging my fist against the door.

  A greasy Cuban, his unkempt black hair hanging over his dark eyes, swung the door open and aimed his Glock .45 between my eyes. “What the fuck you want?”

  When I whipped my own piece from behind my back, Chantilly let out a gasp and I pushed her behind me. “The fuck I want isn’t you. Get Bruno. Now,” I said, pointedly flicking the safety on my gun.

  “What is it, Sal?” a voice shouted from down the cavernous hall.

  “Bruno!” I yelled. “Get the hell out here and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  His loafers made an annoying-as-hell clip-clopping sound as he came down the tile hallway toward me.

  I wanted to vomit from all the beige-on-beige decor and ridiculous crystal chandeliers. Who did this asshole think he was? Everything about him screamed white-fucking-trash with new money. Lord knows he didn’t make it on the up-and-up.

  “Well, if it isn’t Big Mike. And my little girl gone wild. Mags called, Chantilly. Told me you went AWOL.” His brown toupee slipped a tad as he glanced at his goon. “Put the piece down, Sal.”

  Pushing his faux hair back into place, Bruno frowned at us. “I need to figure out why my little Chantilly disgraced a big client. By the way, you fucking this one now, Mike? You got a thing for call-girl pussy, my man? Gonna work your way through my entire stable?” Bruno stared me down the whole time, ignoring his little Chantilly’s new shiner.

  No fucking way he was going to rattle me.

  “You bastard,” I spat out.

  I pointed my gun at the wall and fired, sending ugly beige drywall flying everywhere. Finally, the floor was mine.

  “Only one girl for me, Bruno, and tonight I learned you sent her to the wolves. That’s right, fucker, your big client happened to mention Miss Lincoln. Now you’re going to fucking spill.”

  Taking a step forward, I stood tall, looming my own six-plus feet over his five-foot-eight frame to let him know who was boss.

  Me.

  Bruno narrowed his eyes on me. “That’s none of your business, Mike. My clients are my business, and your titty club is yours.”

  Shooti
ng out a hand, he grabbed Chantilly by the arm. She winced when he caught one of her fresh bruises, but he ignored her pain.

  I stepped up, tapping my piece in my hand. “Let go of her, Bruno. I got a few more bullets in here, and Sal is looking like a great target right now.” When Sal brought his Glock up again, aiming his piece and his beady black eyes on me, I said, “Go ahead, Sally-boy, take me out. See if it makes a damn difference with your scum of a boss.”

  “If you’re as smart as they say, Mikey, you’ll leave while you’re ahead. Now, I need to get a few things straight with my girl here,” Bruno said, dragging Chantilly down the hall.

  “Stop!” she screamed. It was a blood-curdling, belly-deep scream that nearly made my ears bleed. Clawing at Bruno’s hand, she cried out, “You’re hurting me.”

  Chantilly didn’t stop at that. No, she kept her foot on the gas, flooring it like she was in a drag race.

  “Move back, Bruno! Let me tell you why you’re hurting me. I got bruises and scrapes from that prick Rahm getting rough with me after trying to slip me some roofie-shit. I told you this before—I don’t do drugs. I have a daughter who needs me!”

  Bruno jerked his head back. “Shit, Chantilly. I didn’t know they roughed you up.”

  With that, the idiot shredded the last of my patience. “Where the fuck you been the last five minutes? Who the hell do you think the shiner is from?”

  He smirked at me. “You, tough guy. You little cocksucker.”

  Sweat trickled down my back, and my track jacket felt like a straitjacket. I felt like I was about to come out of my skin, and if I didn’t get some answers soon, I was seriously going to start taking people out.

  “You’re wrong about a few things,” I told him. “The shiner for one. That’s from your big client. Two, I don’t suck cock. And three, I’m not little, but I am tough. Now, do what the lady said and move the fuck back.”