by Lane Hart
“You coming?” he asks, causing my eyes to glance over to where he’s holding open the bar door. “You’re letting all the cool air out.”
I somehow get my feet moving, although they still feel shaky and unstable from the vibrations of the bike or from his calloused hand on the soft skin of my stomach, I’m not sure which.
Inside, the bar is just as I expected. It reeks of smoke and booze, and loud rock music threatens to cause permanent deafness to my ears. The bottoms of my sandals stick to the floor, and men with even more facial and body hair than the guy I’m with are sitting on stools at the bar or at small, rickety wooden tables, indulging in both bad habits. Even if I were blind I would feel their heated stares on me, hooded eyes lowered to my breasts and ass. Their perverted thoughts about my body are nearly palpable, and I…like it. To be wanted, especially sexually, is exciting after being cast aside, removed from society for ten long, lonely years. After my mom died, no one gave a shit about me. No one loved me. Hell, no one even liked me, which is not surprising since I don’t really like myself either.
When we sit down at a table in the corner, my back to everyone, I look at the man across from me and study him, trying to figure out his name after he removes his dark sunglasses. Maybe I’ll just make a name up for him. He looks like he would have a classic name to go with his young, attractive face that’s hidden under several inches of forest. His hair is longer on top and neat and tidy on the sides in contradiction. It was actually smoothed over to the side before our ride if I remember correctly. Now it’s sticking up and messy in a cute sort of way. But back to guessing his name, I think Jack or Thomas fits him. Or maybe Henry…
“Why the fuck are you staring at me?” he barks so suddenly that I startle out of my silent evaluation. Shrugging in response to his question, I can’t hide my smile when I look down, pretending to read the plastic menu he tossed in front of me. He would probably punch me if I told him that I bet he’s attractive under his mountain man disguise.
“Brede! Isn’t she a little young for you?” A yellow-haired woman, and I mean yellow like the color of mustard, not blonde, walks up and greets the man across from me familiarly, wearing cutoff jean shorts and a tiny white tank top. She’s eying Brede greedily, the same as the men who were looking at me.
Brede. Yeah, the name Brede fits him, too. A short name that manages to hold an odd, heavy strength to it. It reminds me of course of the verb, and he also looks very capable of breeding. Actually, it fits him perfectly because he has the wild look of a feral animal that can’t be controlled or contained, and one that very much likes to fuck. The down and dirty kind of fucking of a man who doesn’t stick around for very long before moving along to the next available female. I’m starting to think I would like to be one of those females.
“Debbie. Bout time. Thought we were gonna starve to death,” Brede replies to the waitress, causing her to roll her dull brown eyes.
My dislike for her is instant. The way she dresses and talks to him…she’s obviously the opposite of me, experienced and not the least bit shy. A woman, while I’m still very much a child, despite my age.
“What can I get you? Usual?” she asks, cocking her hip in an attempt to try and look sexy. Maybe Brede thinks so too. It’s hard to tell since his eyes haven’t shifted from mine.
Handing her my menu, I nod in agreement that I want “the usual” after which Brede arches an eyebrow at me.
“Coming up,” the waitress says with a snort before picking up Brede’s menu and walking off.
“Do you speak?” he asks, crossing his thick, leather covered arms over his broad chest.
I shake my head, frowning at the reminder of the last night words left my mouth. Words I thought were innocent had disastrous consequences. After I had stopped screaming, I was forbidden from speaking, my life threatened, memories of my mother being stabbed to death, crying out in agony until she took her last breath, used as my deterrent.
Besides, talking is overrated. Not that I would know from experience, only from television, but it seems that very few words spoken by my generation are worth hearing anyway.
“You’re a long way from home with a stranger, chatty Cathy,” he says. I shrug in response. What’s the worst that can happen to me? He’ll kill me? Rape me before I kill myself? There are worse things. Maybe I want someone to touch me that way just once to know what it’s like. His hand on my stomach felt nice, and I want more. Besides, he can’t hurt what’s already broken.
“Here you go,” the waitress says with her return, sitting two small glasses full of amber liquid and ice in front of us. “Burgers are on the grill,” she tells us before walking away. Yum, greasy burgers. I bet they’ll be delicious compared to the bland slop I’ve had for years.
Until the burgers arrive, I pick up my glass and swirl the foul-smelling drink around before I put it to my lips and guzzle it down to the last drop.
Blah. My face scrunches up in disgust as the drink singes my throat and chest on the way down. That was some seriously nasty shit.
“Here, why stop now? Maybe a little whiskey will loosen your lips,” Brede says with what I’m guessing is a smirk underneath his thick facial hair, based on the way his light blue eyes seem to brighten when he slides his full glass toward me.
I push past the burning in my throat and down the other drink, swiping at my damp lips once I swallow.
“Damn,” Brede mutters. “Those are gonna hit you hard in a few seconds, and it’s gonna be hilarious to watch.”
My stomach rolls over when the drinks land in it like a lead bowling ball. I glance around the bar, needing a distraction from the nausea. At the sound of a flick, my eyelids feel heavy when they drift back to Brede, who’s lighting up a cigarette. If they didn’t smell so foul, I wouldn’t mind trying one of them as well. Running low on time, I want to experience everything I’ve missed out on for the past ten years. But smoking, ugh, my nose wrinkles in revulsion.
“Not a smoker?” Brede asks, tipping backward in his chair so he’s balancing on just two legs.
I shake my head in response.
“You know, most of the time I prefer my women to keep their mouths shut unless they’re sucking my cock, but I can’t say I’m a big fan of this one-sided conversation you and I’ve got going on.”
The unexpected mention of his…his…penis in women’s mouths causes my jaw to drop open in shock and my eyes to lower to the zipper of his ripped jeans. I’ve read about oral sex in a romance novel a time or two, but he makes it sound so…demeaning.
“See something you like?” he asks, grabbing his crotch crudely, reminding me that I’m still staring at it. “I bet this would get a few sounds out of you.”
The legs of his chair slam forward on the ground, startling me on purpose. When he leans across the table on his forearms, I see the hint of tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of his jacket and collar of his shirt before his words interrupt my perusal.
“You think you’re safe with me in here because other people are around?” he asks. “None of these bastards would give a flying fuck if I stripped you naked and bent you over this table to pop your sweet little cherry.” He pauses to let that visual sink in. I’m not sure it had the desired effect he intended.
Instead of fear or repulsion, some other sensation sends warm tingles all the way through my body, until they gather in my lower belly, seeking an outlet. My stomach muscles clench, trying to hold the pressure in, but that only makes it worse. Feeling an unexpected dampness in my panties, I squeeze my thighs together to try and make it stop, which causes my cheeks to flame red hot either from my embarrassment or the effects of the alcohol.
I am so out of my league.
Chapter Five
Brede
“I’ll be damned,” I mutter, flicking the ashes off the end of my cigarette into the ashtray before I slip the stick back between my lips for another drag and blow it out. “You are nothing like I expected.”
The girl’s wide, inquis
itive hazel eyes raise to mine like she’s trying to figure out if that’s a good thing. She’s still alive, so, yeah, I guess it is.
What I expected after following the beautiful young girl from the huge house to the pawn shop in her fancy, new car, was for her to be an annoying, stuck up bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone. So far, she’s none of the above and hasn’t made a single sound, which I can admit intrigues the fuck out of me. I want to hear her voice, to see if it sounds as sweet and pure as she looks. Honestly, I wanna know what she sounds like so I can imagine the noises she would make if I were balls deep inside of that tight pussy, fucking her so hard she screams my name, either begging for more or telling me it’s too much. That my cocks too big, too hard, too rough.
See, where’s the fun in fucking a woman if she’s a mute who doesn’t say any of that ego-inflating shit to me?
Our staring contest ends, and my X-rated fantasy is paused, scheduled to be continued when the waitress, Debbie, drops two plates in front of us and leaves. Slack bitch didn’t even ask if we wanted refills on the Jack. She’s probably jealous of the beauty across from me because she knows I won’t be fucking her in the stock room as payment for this meal, unlike two nights ago when I got into town. The burger was a helluva lot better than the fuck, that’s for sure.
Grinding out the butt of my cigarette into the dinged up metal ashtray, I realize I’m starving and thirsty, thanks to the odd, little girl sitting across from me that gulped down both drinks. While I watch her, the image of her bent over this very table with her round ass in the air jerks to a stop as she picks up her burger and digs in like a starving Ethiopian child.
“Slow down before you choke to death,” I mutter since I would rather see her choking on something long, thick and hard. She ignores my comment, which irks me because if I can’t get words out of her, I want some goddamn response. “Did I mention that you’re buying dinner?” I ask.
Her narrow shoulders lift, giving a shrug of indifference, so I grab for her purse on the floor before she can stop me, digging through it underneath the table. After I take what I was really after and hide in the top of my boot, I search for a wallet and ID but come up empty except for a wad of small bills and a fucking public library card.
“Blair Elizabeth Lockhart,” I read from the plastic. “How old are you, twelve?” I tease. She shakes her head. “Sixteen?” Another shake. “Eighteen?” Finally, she gives a nod. Jesus, she’s young. Too young to die. “Good to know you’re at least legal,” I grumble. I pull out two tens and toss them on the table to pay for our cheap meal. She looks like she couldn’t care less if I raid her purse or rob her blind.
Of course, I know she has an endless supply of money. I’ve only been back in Lexington, North Carolina for a few days, but that’s long enough to hear through the small town gossip about her dear old dad, District Attorney Lockhart, being a dirty prosecutor, surrounded by crooked cops, and selling verdicts to the highest bidder, victims or defendants. Lockhart is also a murderer like me, which is why I’m here. I would’ve guessed that this girl is spoiled by daddy and has never gone a day without getting everything her heart desires. Yet, that’s obviously not true since she doesn’t come across as spoiled, and her daddy wants her dead. She’s so fucking clueless that it would almost be sad if I still had a fucking heart.
“Nice stash,” I say as I thumb through and quickly count the rest of her cash. She already trusts me for some unknown reason, not even flinching at the thought of me draining her dry then getting up and leaving her here while she continues to devour her burger. I’m actually impressed by how brave she is instead of acting like the snobby, whiny, little girl you would think she would be based on her looks and name. She’s got a beautiful face that’s almost impossibly flawless like her skin’s never seen the sun. With small, almond-shaped eyes that constantly change color, a tiny button nose and red, roller coaster lips set in an oval face, she’s perfect in a way no real women are, only those chicks you see in make-up commercials. Don’t even get me started on her lithe little body that still has plenty of curves to keep a man busy all night. The girl should thank her heavenly maker above for being gorgeous because that’s the only thing that’s keeping her breathing right now. I could’ve put a bullet in her head before she pulled out of her garage. Instead, I followed her and found her buying a fucking gun, of all things. Maybe she isn’t as naïve as I thought about her father wanting her out of the picture, but she’s too trustworthy of strangers and doesn’t stand a chance.
Why would anyone want to kill someone so angelic, though? The better question is why the fuck do I care? Because since the moment I saw her, I’ve wanted to fuck her beautiful brains out. Could I fuck her and then kill her? I need that money and to get home so damn bad…but maybe it can wait a few more days.
Jim says Paula’s improved since she was admitted and may get to go home in a day or so while she waits for a transplant. Am I really gonna hold off on the trip home and payout so I can fuck this little saint a few times?
“You know, I might just keep you around after all,” I tell her when I set her purse down on the table to dig into my own plate of food.
She doesn’t respond other than the slight lifting of one corner of her lips, not that I really expected a reaction. The mute thing is strange, and I’m not sure what to make of it. It doesn’t make sense that her daddy’s worried about her running her mouth since she doesn’t make a sound. Now I can’t help but wonder what sort of secrets she’s got locked up inside her pretty little head. It must be seriously fucked up if he doesn’t want anyone to find out. My curiosity is piqued. And so is my cock.
Man, her silence makes it really fucking hard to read her. When she climbed up on my bike, I thought she was just screwing with me, but then her face lit up like a Christmas tree, and I knew she actually wanted to go for a ride with me. Most people, especially innocent young girls like her, run in the opposite direction when they see me. She’s not scared of me, though, and she didn’t even freak out when I burnt up the road, going at least forty over the speed limit on the highway.
The most unexpected response from her was how arousal colored her cheeks when I threatened to fuck her on this table in front of everyone. I never expected that a virgin would want it rough and dirty her first time, but this girl didn’t recoil at the mention of me ravaging her in front of a room full of men. And she’s definitely a virgin. I’d bet my fucking Harley on that. Which is another reason she’s still alive. I may not be a holy man, but hell, I can’t kill a virgin. That’s gotta be sacrilegious, to take a person’s life before they’ve experienced the heavenly bliss of an orgasm.
So what am I gonna do?
I guess I’ll just have to resolve this dilemma myself. After I fuck her and get off a few times, then I’ll do the job I fucking came here to do for a nice, cool million.
She’s watching me now with a cute little wrinkle between her glazed over eyes, equal parts curiosity and lust in them. Before I realize she’s moved, her arm stretches across the table so that she can pet my fucking beard. She even tugs on a chunk and rubs it between her two fingers.
I growl and snap my teeth at her hand like a vicious dog, making her gasp and yank her hand away. She laughs, surprising me when an actual tinkling sound comes out her mouth. It’s a girlish giggle that does, in fact, match the sweetness of her innocence. Good, so she can speak, she just…doesn’t. Yet.
My new goal in life is to make her scream my name.
While she’s riding my cock like a fucking rodeo star.
What can I say? I’m an eternal optimist when it comes to the idea of getting my dick inside that holiness, the Virginal Saint Blair.
My deadline isn’t until the end of next week. That’s plenty of time to have a little fun and take away all her purity. But then I have to do what he’s already paid me a quarter of a million dollars for. Money that’s already been spent.
The alcohol must be getting to the girl based on her brave attempt to t
ouch me, her unrestrained laughter and her lowering eyelids. Fuck. If she’s drunk, she’ll end up a flattened puddle on the cement. The girl’s probably never even had liquor before, much less something as strong as Jack Daniels.
She’s in even more danger than she realizes, because the more uninhibited she gets, the more likely I am to carry out my threat. I want to rip her clothes off and do every perverse thing under the sun to her until she cries out. But it won’t be gentle or nice, and there’s no doubt that my cold, emotionless fucking will break her. She deserves better than living like that.
I guess I’ll get this over with sooner rather than later then. I’ll take her home, fuck her, and then kill her. It almost seems too easy. Honestly, though, I need the money now, but I really want to play with her, more than just once. Somehow I already know that once will never be enough with her. Better get started.
“Time to get you home, little girl,” I say as soon as she’s finished eating. I barely ate half a burger, too busy watching her and plotting. Blair glances up suddenly from her plate, her wide eyes glancing around the bar like she forgot where she was. Then she shakes her head, I assume in disagreement with my plan to get the hell out of here.
Fuck.
The fact that she doesn’t want to leave yet snaps one more of the threads on my weak restraint. I need to get her home. My choices are to leave quickly to take her back to Rog’s so I can fuck her while risking her becoming roadkill or spend more time with her here and test the limits on controlling my urge to eat her alive in the middle of the bar. I’ve already fucked up by being seen in public with her. That’s like assassin rule number one, and I broke it. Rule number two is not to fuck your mark, but I’m saying screw the rules.