He’s probably not here to kill me but I have to be ready to drop him anyway.
I jump when my phone rings and bring it to my ear before I remember to check the number. Goddamn it, I’m jumpy as hell. This is going to be bad.
“Hello?” the other party says, before I can.
Interesting. Female; her voice is silky, seductive, and totally unfamiliar.
“Hello.”
“Now that we have that out of the way,” she purrs, “your employers are about to send the agreed-upon payment and a bonus.”
I flinch. Bonus. That has me nervous. I never negotiated any bonus, and I’ve never gotten one in all the years I’ve been doing this. When you charge as much as I do, you don’t get bonuses, and don’t seek them.
Something is definitely off.
“Good. I’m in the bar as agreed.”
“I’m waiting for you outside room 426. That’s yours, is it not?”
I lick my lips. That’s not cool, lady.
“Yeah. I’ll be up. Give me a minute.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I tuck the phone back in my pocket and head for the stairs. Elevators are too enclosed, no easy way out once you’re inside one. Makes a poor opening move to ride one up. It’s only four floors, and I take the stairs two at a time.
I want to get my payment and get gone. I’ve been on edge ever since I took this contract and with the payment promised I’ll be set for a long time. Almost enough to quit.
Thinking about this one makes my hands shake.
You’re losing it, Quent.
When I push open the stairwell door, my jaw drops.
It takes a certain type of girl to make business casual look good, and this is a certain type of girl. Tall even without the perilous spiked heels that mold her long legs and tight ass into perfect form, she wears a beige sweater like a pinup girl.
Horn-rimmed glasses and a loose updo of ash-blonde hair complete the look. When she sees me she purses her ruby-red lips and turns to face me, holding an attaché with both hands on the handle, which has the lovely effect of pressing her breasts together in a delicious display.
Stop thinking with your dick, Quent. It’s a distraction.
Right.
I walk up to her slowly, checking my corners while checking her curves. I find the corners empty and the curves enticing.
I’d say I’d kill a man to get my hands on that ass but I usually charge more for an assassination. I’d do all kinds of things to her pro bono.
Doesn’t stop me from taking a long, hard look. I’m sure it’s expected or they wouldn’t have sent her.
“Mr. Mulqueen,” she purrs.
“Who’s asking?”
“You know who I am.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“Why don’t we step inside and conclude our transaction,” she says, a sudden primness in her now-cool voice, though she does something with her eyebrow and a tilt of her head that sends blood flowing away from my brain.
“Sounds good. What would you like for breakfast?”
She laughs, softly. A good deep, throaty laugh.
Goddamn it, Quent. Focus!
“Does that line ever work?”
“Sure, it’s working on you right now.”
“Maybe,” she says.
I open the door and gesture for her to enter, not least so she can’t shoot me in the back as I walk in. I like the view, too. I’m studying the delicious sweeping curves of her narrow back and dancer’s legs to check for the telltale bulge of a concealed weapon.
Honest.
Hang back, Quent. Watch.
She carries the attaché to the bed and opens it. Yes, it’s terribly cliché, but it’s not actually full of money. I’m not being paid enough for this to actually fill up a briefcase. She opens it and withdraws a computer, and I stand behind her and watch with one eye on the computer and one eye on her. She’s watching me in the reflection on the laptop’s screen. Clever.
There’s something else in the briefcase.
Silk rope. Bright red, knotted together like a bundle of clothesline. Interesting. Very interesting.
“I never did get your name.”
Stepping aside, she gives me a coy smile and adjusts her cute little glasses. “Lily.”
“Alright, Lily.”
I tilt the laptop screen back and brace myself, waiting for her to attack my exposed flank. Instead she clasps her hands behind her back and looks innocent, a primly suppressed smile twitching on her lush lips. I look over the numbers and nod. The bank transfer is complete, but it’s the agreed-upon amount.
“What’s this about a bonus?” I say as I stand.
Her little smile twists into a lopsided smirk that belongs on a lingerie catalog cover.
“I would be the bonus, Mr. Mulqueen.”
Before I can protest or question, she reaches up and undoes the top button on her sweater. Deciding that I’m in for a show, I step back and watch as she pops the buttons down the front of the fuzzy cardigan and peels it back, exposing a magnificent set of breasts lovingly cupped in a black silk bra that only makes her pale skin paler. She casts the sweater to the floor while I move the briefcase and computer to the table.
My instincts are itching at the back of my neck, trying to figure out what’s off here, but much of the blood devoted to the rational centers of my brain is currently rushing south as she makes a show out of slipping off those spiked heels, in a practiced motion that leaves them neatly placed together at the foot of the bed.
A shake of her hips and her slacks fall to the floor, too, leaving her in a stringy black thong that’s barely more than a couple of lines and a triangle covering her pussy. She puts on quite a show, even hiding the best parts.
I drink in the sight of her sinuous, curvaceous body and she does a spin in place, flexing her legs and ass and rather conveniently showing me that she’s not hiding any weapons. I mean, there aren’t many places she could be keeping them. She moves fast and puts her hands on my chest, spreads open my jacket, and I shrug it off, let it fall to the floor. I can feel her nails on my skin even through the silk of my shirt. She gives my tie a little tug and runs her fingers over the grip of the pistol in my shoulder holster.
“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?”
“I feel naked without it.”
“That’s a shame,” she purrs, and artfully sinks to her knees in front of me.
A flood of excitement rushes through me, and as she opens my belt and pants and tugs down my boxers, my cock rushes up hard and ready to meet her. I crane my neck down and shudder as she takes the shaft in her silky hand and ducks close, almost puts her lips on the head, and pulls back, a flood of hot breath sending a jolt up my spine as she strokes, and cups my balls in her other hand. She smiles lunges forward, and her lips part over the head of my cock, her eyes flicking up to meet my gaze as they press hard around my shaft.
I groan as she takes me deeper and deeper, slowly, and doesn’t stop. I watch in amazement as my cock slides all the way into her mouth, into her tight, hot throat, and her tongue glides out along the bottom of my shaft and tickles my balls before she draws back and takes a deep breath, wipes a little spit from her mouth, and grins at me.
Without a word she takes my cock in her mouth more slowly, moving her lips forward and back and sucking the last third while she works my shaft with her hands.
Her fingers slide under my balls, and I jerk when she tickles them with her nails.
“You poor boy, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Been busy.”
“Mmm, shame to let a big cock like this go to waste. Don’t worry, by the time I’m done you’ll be all emptied out.”
I’m eager to see her fulfill that promise, and she goes to it hungrily, until it’s hard for me to stand. It’s quite a sight, watching her tight lips press around my shaft, staring down her back to get a delicious view of her round ass. As she pumps her head and sucks my cock
she deftly undoes her bra, baring one of the most perfect sets of tits I have ever seen. I reach down to cop a feel and she wriggles out of the way.
“Naughty,” she purrs. “Give me a treat and you can touch all you want.”
A treat?
Oh.
She goes to it, until I’m standing there straining, knees buckling, and I can’t hold back anymore. Like she can sense it, she plunges her head down as I explode. I’m treated to the sensation of her throat contracting around my shaft and milking me dry as she gulps it down, as a ball-draining, muscle-clenching orgasm shocks through my body.
She draws back but keeps sucking, squeezing out every drop. When she finally ducks back, there’s not even a hint of it on her chin. She licks her lips anyway.
“Hell of a bonus.”
“That was just a tip. The bonus is on the bed.”
She rises with a dancer’s grace, turns, and twists artfully as she bends at the hips, holds her legs straight, and strips her panties down her silky thighs, arching her back to give me a full view of her pussy. It takes everything I’ve got not to lunge at her and eat her out right there. She stands and walks around the bed, and rolls across it, spreading herself out.
First, though, she grabs the rope from the briefcase.
I might be able to trust her if she’s tied up.
I kick out of my shoes and crawl across the bed. She undoes my shirt and spreads it open, and she sits up and peels back the shoulders of my shirt.Her soft breasts touch my chest, the touch of them as smooth as clean silk, except for the hot brush of her tight nipples. I loop my arms around her and fall on her, her hot skin sliding against mine.
“You want your bonus now?” she purrs, running her hands over my cock. “Ooh, look at you. Still hard. Most guys need a breather after I finish with them.”
“Not me,” I smirk. “I can go all night.”
“Mmmm, I’ll bet you can. These are for you.” She shakes the ropes in her other hand.
“Give me your wrists.”
“Oh no, they’re not to tie me down. Just let me strap you in and close your eyes, baby. This will be the highlight of your life.”
I snort. “No, hon. Not my thing. Why don’t we just—”
“Fuck,” she snaps, and wriggles out from under me.
She’s fast, and slippery like a freaking eel. I try to grab her. Buck-ass naked and loosely gripping a loop of ropes, she slips through my arms, the length of rope between stretched between her hands. I push her back but the silk rubs hot around my throat, and with a jerk of her arm it tightens on my airway. Before I can grab it, the silk cord bites into my skin and crushes my neck, and panic sets in. For a moment I flail, and stare at her. My stupid instincts scream at me that I can’t hit a girl.
So I don’t. I shove my arms up between hers and break her grip. The rope tightens on my neck so hard I think it’s going to pop my eyeballs out, but her grip on the rope breaks and I shove her. She rolls off the bed.
I surge to my feet, coughing, and yank the fucking thing off and throw it aside. Before I can turn around she kicks the table over, the briefcase falls, and she rips back part of the lid and yanks out a pair of wicked six-inch knives, their mirrored edges so sharp they blur in the dim light, and charges after me buck-ass naked, razor-sharp steel flashing in the air.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I rasp, ducking out of the way.
“Fulfilling my contract,” she says, and comes at me again.
She’s fast, too goddamn fast. I catch one wrist and feel a hot bite in my side. She tried to stab me but the blade slid over my ribs instead, opening a two-inch-long gash that’s currently sending way too much blood running down my leg. I try to pull her into an armlock but she’s too damned slippery, and it’s only by a hair’s breadth that the tip of her knife doesn’t bite right into my chest and slide into my heart, and then the other one is coming at me.
The edges are so sharp I can’t feel the cuts until my arms are bleeding and there’s another gash in my leg. She darts back, lunging and feinting at me with the knives, and somehow her sinuous naked body is still beautiful, even with splatters of my blood on her face and chest.
“You should have let me tie you up,” she hisses, circling me. “I’d have let you come again before I cut your throat.”
“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”
“You do have a nice cock.” She shrugs and then comes at me slashing and stabbing, a whirlwind of sharp steel and silky, naked skin.
This time I’m ready. I twist and know I’m going to take a cut, but it’s enough. I get her feet out from under her and get ahold of her wrist, capture her momentum, and redirect it onto the floor. Her breath flies out as she hits the carpet under me, and the knives drop from her hands.
I throw my weight on her to pin her down, and now that I have her, it’s a matter of size. My ground game is good, hers isn’t, and I’ve got her. Once I get ahold of the rope it’ll be easy.
I could do to her what she did to me. With my knee in her back and the rope in my hands I’d just have to slip it around her pretty pale throat and twist, and that would be the end of it.
I could, but I don’t hurt women. I have a code.
Instead I drag her wrists together and loop the rope around them, and tie it tight, enough that it starts to turn her hands purple. She’ll wriggle out of it, but it’ll buy me some time.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Tying you up.”
The rope is just long enough to pull her legs up and bind her ankles, too, and leave her hog tied. I lurch off of her and grab my pants, drag them on, shove my feet into my shoes, and pull on my shirt. Blood is already soaking through.
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“Nope.”
“Are you crazy? I’m going to come after you again. I took a contract.”
“I know.”
“You’ll have to kill me the next time.”
“Nope.”
She laughs. “No wonder Santiago is so disappointed in you. You should hear him talk about what a bitter disappointment the great Quentin Mulqueen turned out to be.”
“Tell him I said hi,” I pant, lurching into the bathroom. I grab a towel and press it against my side, and use my belt to hold it in place. The wounds on my arms aren’t bad, just scratches. I slip into my holster and pull my jacket on, and hope I can get out of the hotel without somebody asking why I’m bleeding all over the place. I stumble out of the bathroom, straighten up my clothes as best I can, and watch her wriggle on the floor a little bit.
“You’d better hurry up,” she says, smirking at me. “The longer you wait, the less of a head start you have.”
I stumble out of the room and let the door close behind me.
The fuck am I going to do now?
Okay, first, get the hell out of here. I head for the stairwell and lurch down, wincing at the pain in my leg. I’m not sure how deep that cut is. I didn’t get a good look and I’m not going to stop to get one now. Each step is a jolt of agony, until I finally reach the bottom and stop, panting. Fuck, I can’t go out through the lobby like this. I’ll attract too much attention. I turn away from the door and go down the next flight of stairs, into the ground level of the hotel. I just need to find my way to the parking garage, and I’m set.
Down here it’s all bare concrete and harsh florescent lighting. I blink a few times as I walk out into the hallway, and stop. I’m feeling pretty hazy, and my leg is damp with blood. I’m bleeding elsewhere, too. I keep forgetting. A touch to my coat sleeve and it comes away red, soaked through the fabric.
Fuck.
I swipe my hand down my side and start following the glowing red exit signs, hoping the exit will be in the garage. When I finally shove the door open and lurch out into the light, it’s like two hot pokers in my eyes. There are fucking cameras everywhere. No hiding this.
Stumbling, I leave bloodied handprints on my way down to the car, thankful I parked it on the ground
floor, and slink behind the wheel. I have a first-aid kid in the glove box. I yank it out, sweep it open over the seat, and use the dull-tipped safety scissors to cut open my pant leg and peel away the blood-soaked towel.
It’s not a deep cut, but it’s a nice long gash and it needs stitches. For now all I can do is grit my teeth and put some field-dress bandages over it, to pinch the flesh closed. If that bitch had hit an artery there, I’d be dead already. Once that’s done I wrap it up tight and cut and tear away my jacket and sleeves, and shove my gun under the seat, and bandage up my arms in a hurry.
Goddamn, I’m a mess. I look like I’m a cow that got lost at a hamburger convention. She landed a cut on my face, and I didn’t even feel it until I saw the drying blood on my cheek. Not a bad cut, though.
Fuck me, what if she put poison on the blades?
There’s a ragged ligature mark around my neck, too. I look like death warmed over.
Once I get the car started I jab the call button on the steering wheel with my finger, and shout my way through the tedious commands to make a phone call through the car’s speakers.
“Dale,” I bellow.
“Dialing,” the cheery lady robot voice says back.
It rings five fucking times before he picks up.
“Quent?” he says. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“Me either. I’m hurt and shit’s gone south. I’m on my way to you.”
He swallows. “Yeah, alright.”
I drive. Slowly, carefully, methodically. I use my goddamn blinkers, I’m careful as hell of red-light cameras, and I keep it five under the speed limit, forcing my eyes open as I drive. The sun is too goddamn bright and my leg is on fire.
Not far now.
Traffic is on my side, which is great, because I would be dead if it wasn’t.
Dale’s place is in a seedier part of Philadelphia, on the edge of Chinatown where it blurs into a less savory place. Located in a triangular two-story block building topped with concertina wire, he’s got a garage in the back, facing a power substation. I wheel the car around the back and tap the horn, and the heavy garage door rumbles up, opening a great black mouth.
His Princess (A Royal Romance) Page 22