by Nicole Fox
“I’ve found out,” he growled, “that someone has had the balls to skim off the top of the Devil’s Wings proceeds. Now, who do you think could have been so utterly fucking stupid as to steal from the Devil’s Wings?”
“Really?” Rico stammered. “That’s c-crazy. I don’t know w-what you’re talking about …”
Slam! The old man had leapt, rocketing himself through the air like an out of control cargo van, and punched Connor in the face. More surprised than injured, Connor stumbled back, then glared at the man and Rico in rage.
“Why, you …” Pow! Connor punched back, his fist striking out like a snake and connecting squarely with the man’s jaw. Though he was bigger than Connor, his flesh was fat with grease and easy living, so this single hit brought him to his knees.
Rico hovered beside the pair of them, undecided.
“You thieving bastards!” Connor cried, and then threw a haymaker at Rico. This connected with his ear, and he was sent sprawling into a table, blood flying from a gash in his head.
Connor reared back, ready to attack again, when the old man, lunged at him from the floor. He struck him in the knees and they both went down. Connor rolled, quick as a cat, and found himself on top of the old man, his legs straddling on either side of him. He rained down a series of blows on the man’s face, and each impact could be felt in the terrible, rippling squish of his skin splitting open.
“Hold it!” someone from behind me cried.
Gary! I had forgotten about him! In the tumult, he had crept round to my back, and now held in his hand, for all to see, the stem of a broken wine bottle, with red liquid dripping from its glistening shards.
Connor froze.
“If you keep going,” Gary stammered, “then I’ll gut her! I swear I will!”
I turned around and stared squarely at the guy. He was skinny, with that pasty complexion of too much beer and too little sunlight. The weapon in his hand trembled, and he was looking not at me, but at Connor and his two companions.
“Oh, please,” I muttered, and struck.
Wham! With a single, well-aimed kick I dashed the bottle stem aside, smiling as it flew through the air and shattered into harmless dust against the far wall. Gary gasped and clutched his hand to his chest in surprise and pain, then gazed at me in horror. It was like I could read his mind. “Oh fucking shit,” it said.
Connor grinned and punched the old man in the nose. Rico, now committed, circled round them and leaped on Connor’s back like a monkey. At that point, I lost track of their fight.
I had my own to worry about.
Though I’d gotten rid of Gary’s weapon, he still had his fists, and he lunged at me, teeth bared in a snarl of rage.
Nimbly, I stepped aside and held out my foot. Gary’s legs tangled against it, and he crashed down to the floor. Next thing he knew, I was on top of him.
I did not pummel him like Connor did the old man. My hands were too pretty for that. Instead, I gracefully locked his right arm against my chest, swung my legs up and over his head so they lay perpendicular to his body, and closed my left calf over his face, my right calf over his chest, with his arm pinioned between. Then, I fell backwards.
“Gracefully,” I heard my instructor’s voice say in my head. “Pay attention to the position.”
When his arm was out straight, his wrist pinned and his elbow locked, I thrust upward with my hips and yanked down on his forearm.
Snap! I heard his elbow joint break rather than felt it, like ice cracking as it was dropped into hot water. Gary screamed and I felt all the strength leave his body. I smiled and leaped off him and back to my feet, ready for more.
He gazed at me in horror, as if I was not a girl but some terrible supernatural creature, and then at his arm. It was hanging at an awkward angle and already swelling. He scrambled to his feet, gave me a last, fleeting look, and bolted for the door.
“So long, sucker,” I called after him, then whirled to see how Connor was doing.
All three were up. The old man’s face was a bloody mess, like a squashed tomato, and Rico had two blooming black eyes, but at least he was steady on his feet. Connor’s fists were split open from landing numerous punches, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
They noticed Gary dashing out the door and me standing there, cool and collected as ever. Rico’s face, if possible, got even paler, and he let out a frightened little whimper like a puppy being trodden on.
Casually, Connor strode over to the counter, retrieved the rag Gary had been scrubbing with, and wiped his bloody knuckles.
“So, gentleman,” he said, supremely unaffected. “Are you ready to pay the money you owe me?”
Rico nodded. The old man’s answer was to topple over like a felled tree, smack, unconscious, onto the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Connor
Princess and I sat side by side in one of the bar and grill’s booths, counting out twenty dollar bills with as much pleasure as a cat licking its paws.
“Two hundred forty … Two hundred sixty … Two hundred eighty …”
Rico sat opposite, handing us wads of cash as we went, trembling but silent. We counted the final bill, and I turned to Princess, both our faces glowing with success.
And for the tiniest second, I could have sworn to God I loved her. I leaned in, eager to kiss those sexy, awesome lips …
And that’s when we heard the sirens.
“Goddammit, Gary!” I swore, leaping to my feet. Princess, always quick on the uptake, was beside me in a second and followed me like a shadow out of the door. She was up on the bike before I was, and putting its engine into gear.
“Where the hell did you learn about bikes?” I hollered, as together we peeled out into the night. The sky was lit up in the distance with red and blue lights, but I wasn’t afraid. I was still buzzing with adrenaline.
“My father!” Princess yelled back, then fell silent. It was hard to tell if she didn’t want to say more, or simply wasn’t because it’s fucking hard to have a conversation on a moving bike.
“How about your fighting?” I said. “What the hell was that? MMA?”
She laughed into my shoulder. I could feel her hot breath in spite of the wind. “No,” she said. “Mostly self-defense, with some martial arts thrown in. Did you like it?”
“It was fucking amazing,” I said, and that was the truth. “I’m just pissed I couldn’t have gotten a better view. I was too busy punching Rico’s fucking face in.”
She laughed again, and I felt her hands digging more strongly into my waist. It was a good feeling, a pressure that spread from her touch all the way down to my dick. A girl who fights like that must be pretty strong, I thought. I wonder how tightly she can wrap those thighs around me …
That thought made me remember that she was, in fact, a whore. My whore. I didn’t have to wonder. I could have her whenever I wanted. It seemed strange that I had forgotten it.
“Weird,” I said, probing. “I don’t know too many whores who know self-defense.”
“Of all people,” she said darkly, “whores probably need self-defense the most.”
There was truth in that, but I still found it strange. I told her so, and she responded with silence.
“Shit!” she cried suddenly, as cop lights burst into view just on our right. We’d been going pretty damn fast down that highway, and I would have bet he was pulling us over for speeding. But just because he didn’t start with the cops after us didn’t mean he wouldn’t have figured it out fast.
“Hold on!” I ordered, and flicked a special switch beneath the handlebars of my bike. In an instant, all the lights of the bike went out, plunging us into darkness. Meanwhile, a small, hidden flap fell, shielding my license plate from view.
When the darkness struck our eyes, Princess screamed, but then she quickly contained herself. Still, I could feel her panting and clutching at me in terror as I kicked the bike up a gear, riding even faster. It aZ one thing to be going ninety at night with your h
eadlights on. It was quite another to be going one hundred in pitch blackness.
“Whoa!” I cried in the pure, reckless craziness of it. Behind us, the cop revved angrily, speeding up like some sort of predatory animal who could smell its prey but couldn’t see it.
I chuckled, then drifted to the side.
“Connor!” cried Princess. “The road!”
But I knew. I could tell exactly where the curb was, a long black snake slinking through the moonlight. The cop sped up again, hoping to scare us.
“There’s a turn off just ahead,” I said. “Be ready to jump off the bike and hide.”
“What?” she screeched. “Jump?”
“Don’t worry!” I called back. “I’ve driven this highway a million times. I know it by heart!”
“Jesus Chriiiiiiiiist!” she screamed as I hit the brakes, suddenly slowing. I felt her slam into my back, knocking the wind out of her, but I didn’t have time to care about that. Instead, I slipped off to the side, felt the shudder of my bike as it met gravel, killed the engine, and slowed to a halt.
“Hurry!” I cried, practically throwing her off the bike. Then, with the force of all my muscles, I half-hurled, half-dragged the bike behind a tree, and then the pair of us crouched in the shadows.
The cop slowed, sniffing that something was up, but he could not hear us and he could not see us. And the faster he went looking, the more the sound of his own engine blocked any hope of detecting ours. Deciding we must still be driving, he sped up.
Like a narrowly dodged train, he blew by, leaving us alone in the dark.
“Holy … fucking … shit!” Princess cried, collapsing in a panting heap onto the ground. I glanced over, mildly worried that she would have a fucking heart attack or something, but no—she was grinning. Wildly, yes. Wickedly, yes. But still grinning.
“Come on, you crazy bitch,” I said affectionately. “Let’s get back to the compound.”
Together, we clambered back onto my bike and rode to the Devil’s Wings, using backroads all the way.
Chapter Fifteen
Farrah
By the time we reached the Devil’s Wings Compound, I knew I had made a mistake. Why the hell did I show him my skills? I thought. No regular whore— even the toughest of ones—does martial arts. Fuck. If he wasn’t suspicious before he is going to be now.
And yet, I was torn. Part of me wanted to end this terrible charade, and yet the rest of me knew that this was the best way to keep me, my aunt, and even the Devil’s Wings safe. As for Honi … well, she was what I thought of as jumping out of the pot and into the fire. Yes, she had (at least for now) escaped whoring, but at what cost? The Devil’s Wings, and therefore probably the Minghelli family, thought she was me. What sort of danger did that put her in?
But I couldn’t worry too much about Honi right then. She had picked her fate and whatever it would bring.
I did need to worry about Connor. I strained against him on his motorcycle, wishing I could look into his mind. What was he thinking? Would he turn me in? Contact Montengo? The Minghellis? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I needed to figure out some way to distract him—to get his mind off of everything that had been going on.
But how?
It came to me, in a single, clear, terrible moment: Fuck him.
At once, I was chilled by that response. Though I had grown up with whores my entire life—and had in fact been raised by one—I had never intentionally sold my body for something other than pleasure or love. Sure, I’d fooled around, and had sex with guys I’d later regretted, but I’d never gone in with ulterior motives. Distraction. Money. Political gain. It was all the same.
Whoring?
‘So what? a callous part of me demanded. You are a whore. You’ve been forced into it, like a million women before you. It’s time you started thinking like one. Besides, just because you have ulterior motives doesn’t mean you don’t want to bang Connor’s brains out.
That was true. While my heart and my mind protested, I couldn’t deny the throbbing between my legs every time he was close. My body wanted him. Shouldn’t that be enough?
I thought about so many of the clients my aunt and her business entertained. They were weak men who wanted to be strong. Men who thought that fucking and even beating up whores made them more masculine somehow. That was not all of them, of course. Mostly the ones who wanted violence against the whores. Who enjoyed seeing them suffer. I had looked on them with disgust all my life, but not much more than that. As Aunt Venus always said, they were, “Essential to the business.”
Connor, though. He was nothing like that. He didn’t need fucking or hurting women to make him feel like man. He was already manly enough. When he wanted violence, he went to beat up people like the skimmers—other men who had wronged him. I thought about the way he had taken them on, two on one, and how he had completely humiliated them. Yup. A man like Connor didn’t need a whore to restore his manhood. He had plenty of manhood all to himself.
So what would he need whore for? I asked myself, but that answer was simple: pleasure. Simple, sexual pleasure. And was that really so bad?
We parked outside the compound and strolled inside. Leo was still dutifully awake, and he gave us a bored nod as we entered. Easy come, easy go, I thought, and suppressed a chuckle. Though it was late, I found that I was not tired at all. I felt energized and ready to go.
I had come to a decision.
“Connor?” I asked, as he went into his office and shrugged off his leather jacket, frowning as he noticed a splotch of blood on its breast.
“What, Princess?” he asked, wiping at the spot. I winced at that fake, horrible name, but swallowed my dislike. One day, I promised myself. When this is all over, he will know my real name.
“I … I was hoping we could go somewhere private,” I said. “Somewhere, you know … comfortable?”
He grinned. Was that suspicion on his face? No, I thought. It was a genuine grin. He wants me. He really, really wants me.
In the next second, however, a flicker of amusement crossed his gaze and I felt incredibly embarrassed. Of course he doesn’t, Farrah, I sneered within myself. Don’t be stupid. But then he spoke.
“Actually,” he said, his amusement growing. “I know the perfect place.”
He took my arm and guided me steadily out of his office and deeper into the compound. I had never been this deep and could guess that most of the Devil’s Wings hadn’t been either. This was the private quarters—offices and bedrooms for the people in charge.
My father would have worked and lived back here, I thought in a sudden realization. I wondered how much of his presence could still be seen or felt.
But when we reached the far room and Connor unlocked the door, I decided in an instant: None.
“This must be the famous President Montengo’s room,” I commented, barely able to conceal my disdain. Connor snorted.
“Is it that obvious?” he said. I glanced around: a yellow, leopard print comforter covered an enormous circular mattress dotted with golden throw pillows. Suggestively shaped lamp shades warmed the room with lighting as gentle as the black shag rug beneath our feet. Overhead, a mirror even larger than the bed waited, offering to reflect whatever went on below.
I chuckled. “He’s got quite a taste for interior design,” I said.
Connor sighed. “That bed cost the club twenty thousand dollars alone. And that’s ignoring what he spends to fill it, if you know what I mean.”
I wrinkled my nose. There was nothing wrong with a man blowing his own money on pleasure, but to be blowing the club’s money? Especially when they were struggling so much? My father would never have stood for it.
“Tell me,” said Connor, approaching the bed. “Have you ever fucked on a twenty thousand dollar bed?”
I smiled. “Please,” I said. “I’m a princess. I have fucked on twenty million dollar beds.” This was, of course ludicrous, but it felt good to be able to joke, especially about my horrible nickn
ame. Keep it light and fun, I told myself. This is about having fun. Right?
Maybe Connor sensed my hesitancy, for he stepped forward, took my hand, and pulled me down until we were both sitting, side by side, on the edge of the bed.
“You know,” he whispered into my hair, one of his hands stroking along the line of my collarbone. “You are the strangest whore I have ever met.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. Only half of my mind was on the conversation. The rest of it was on his fingertips, trailing down from my collarbone to the crook of my shoulder. His palm hovered inches above my breast, and already my nipple was burning.
“Yeah,” he said. The coarse scruff along his jawline tickled my neck. “Half the time you seem really into it, and then the other half …”