by April Lust
“Wrong answer, Erin. But then again, maybe the right one.”
He curled the fingers of his free hand in the top of the towel over my chest and pulled; the towel dropped immediately.
My heart was pounding at this point, and I wrenched my arm from his grasp. I turned to the door to escape the room, but he was too close.
He caged me in at the door, leaning heavily on it with his arms on each of my sides, and his body pressed mine into the wood. “Ah, Erin. Feisty. I like it. I think the plan changes now; you need to be taught a lesson in obeying orders.”
I started to scream and he spun me around to face him, then shoved his palm up and over my jaw with force. I ended up biting my own tongue, hard, and the back of my head slammed against the door. I was shocked into momentary silence and almost immediately tasted my blood. I had concerns for my ability to breathe as his fingers mashed into my nose and his palm kept my mouth uncomfortably covered. Even my teeth ached from the crash of pressure.
“You want to play rough? Okay, you bitch, we’ll play this rough.” He whipped the bow tie from around his neck and stuffed it into my mouth, then wrapped his big arms around me and lifted me against him.
I did the only thing I could think of to do. I pulled my knee up, as hard as I could, in between his legs.
I have really strong legs.
He released me immediately, crouching and then falling over onto his side in the fetal position, moaning like a cow, but with a higher voice. I ran over to the woman who was still tied up to the cross and lifted her blindfold. “You want to be here?” I asked, recognizing her as Candy, her stage name.
Her eyes indicated a definite no, so I removed her gag and unsnapped the wrist cuffs and waist belt and let her take care of the rest. Grabbing the towel, I rewrapped myself as I sneered down at the moaning bastard who had still not yet recovered from my excellently placed slam.
“Grab one of his hands, hold it down for me,” I directed.
Candy needed a minute to get there, so I used the time to get the six-inch stilettos on again. Then I stepped directly onto the middle of his palm with my heel. I took just a moment to appreciate the effective stems on these shoes. I’m pretty sure he cried. “Listen, asshole. Do not try to pull any control shit on me. Ever. Again. And let’s see…”
I turned back to Candy. “Search his pockets for a wallet.” It took her only a few seconds; I kept up the pressure on his hand. He was having some trouble breathing. I was fine with that.
Once she found it, she handed the billfold to me. I checked it and found a large number of one-hundred-dollar bills. I took them all out and gave her about half of them.
“I think we’re good to go now. Later, you sick fuck.”
And I grabbed Candy’s hand, and we were out of there.
It was time to find Torch, and get the hell out of Dodge.
Chapter 10
Torch
I couldn’t believe I had let Erin talk me into this shit. Watching Erin work at the club was bad enough, but watching Erin work a private party with powerhouse, rich, entitled tuxes and wearing basically nothing was torture. I wanted to wrap her up in my jacket and my arms and bodily carry the woman out of there and away from those fuckwad dickheads as if the house was burning down. Fuck. I wanted to burn the house down.
I was losing my rationality.
When I had arrived with Danny Fletch and one of my Damned Angels brothers, Claw, Erin was already there, dressed in a tiny little bedroom piece that didn’t cover her ass. Oh, and the hands of that sick bastard Owen. He was all over her. He was touching my woman. I wanted to pound him down for that so badly that my hands actually twitched.
But I controlled it. Barely. With that for my entrance, this whole night was lining up to be a long stretch of purgatory.
To keep my mind engaged with something other than my hardwired need to break Erin away from this whole scene, I tried to focus on the plan that we had agreed on, to try to find some evidence tying Owen to Fletch’s darkest porno productions.
I hadn’t been completely upfront with Erin about Owen and Fletch and everything that had led up to her sister’s death. Who needed to hear that shit about the torture of the last hours of her life? I really didn’t want to put her into a tailspin of pain and regret for Thea. If need be, I’d tell her about it later, when she could take the time and space to properly grieve and get through all the emotions that would no doubt come up.
Here’s how I figured it: as long as Erin was under my watch, I could keep any of that shit from going down.
At least I had scored on one point with her. I had drilled it into her that under no condition was she to agree to do a porno for those fuckers. She was my woman, and no way in hell was I okay with her even nominally considering taping one of those things, no matter what they offered her. She got it. I was pretty sure she got it.
My fucking luck that I picked the one woman who continually resisted my best efforts to teach her proper respect for my authority, right? But damn, she did it for me. The more time I spent with her, and the more time went on, I was starting to get that I really liked her. A lot. More than just her hot bod and the phenomenal sex.
But tonight was not the time to be thinking about any of that serious shit. Point was, I needed to stick to the plan. We figured Erin would have had a better shot of going through the upstairs rooms of the house, and I’d have a better shot at the first floor. We’d raise fewer eyebrows that way.
Not that I liked that she’d have to be out from my watch in order to accomplish that portion of the evening’s festivities, but it did seem like the best, most logical approach. I was trusting her to handle herself wisely. Seeing as how she was smart and quick and didn’t take any shit, not even from me, I was hoping we’d be able to get in and out within a few hours, maybe even having scored some evidence, and no worse for the wear.
That was a fucking big leap of faith, but I took it for her.
After the first hour or so of rich assholes schmoozing with each other, eying my woman and the other girls present like they were medallions of filet mignon, and snorting up some heavy lines of coke, the floor show started. I had to watch Erin strip down to nothing but those fucking shoes that made her legs look like they towered to the moon. And then I took note that she never managed to find that damn little piece of gauze that had not really covered her before—my woman was forced to walk around that damn living room fucking naked. I had to take that shit and just watch it. I thought for sure I’d be bursting a blood vessel or 5,000 sometime tonight. This shit was so fucking wrong, I was starting to see red. I maybe was breathing a little tight.
Danny fucking Fletch noticed. And the fucker pulled me away from the scene, about fifteen minutes after Erin’s dance had ended, telling me he needed to speak with me alone in the library. I did not want to go. I needed to stay and watch over my woman. This shit was so not right.
But then I felt Claw’s hand on my shoulder blade, and he grumbled, “I’ll watch her, Torch.”
I looked at him darkly, he gave me a chin up for trust, and I followed the smirking Fletch to the fucking library.
“I see you got a problem tonight.” He poured a drink. I had thought it might have been for me—it was obvious as fuck that I could use it—but no. I was, after all, on duty, guarding his pathetic excuse for a self.
“No problem,” I ground out.
“There had better be no problem. That bitch is out there doing her job. And the night is still young. You gotta learn to tack it down, boy-o. She’s just a fucking whore, anyway. Don’t let yourself get so strung-up. It’s pathetic to watch. I thought the Damned Angels MC were all men. Don’t make me wonder about that.”
I could feel my eyes narrow and my jaw tighten, and I was pulling my breaths deeply. I wanted nothing more than to beat this little POS’s face into pulp. But that would seriously interfere with the plan and probably stir up a whole bunch of shit that I really didn’t need flying.
When I failed to rise
to his bait, giving him nothing more than a sharp stare as I towered over him, the little prick grew uneasy. “Yes. Well. Okay. Just so long as we are clear here.”
He cleared his throat and swallowed nervously under my steady glare. I was not letting up. The man had insulted my woman and insulted me personally. That shit did not stand in my world. Tonight may not have been the night for me to make that clear to him, but he would at least understand that I was in no way, shape, or form intimidated or cowed by his attempt at power talk.
One thing I could say for the guy, though, was that his instinct to stay alive was working appropriately. He saw the threat I posed and, perhaps, realized he may have pushed me too far. “Okay, Mr…Torch, right?”
“That’s Mr. Parker, to you.” I’d take nothing less than full-on formal respect from this douchebag from now on.
“Uh-huh. Mr. Parker.” He eyed me warily. “Maybe you need a minute or two to…take a breather. Take your time.” And he scurried out of the office like the hounds of hell were at his heels.
I was still too pissed off to laugh. But I knew I’d be laughing at that image later. What a fucking useless prick Danny Fletch was turning out to be. He was no more than a sick yes-man to Owen, and a sleazy pimp to his dancers. And a fucking blackmailing slimebucket to Slim. Damn, I needed to find something that could be used as evidence against this worthless POS.
I looked around me for a moment and realized my extreme good fortune. Fletch had chosen to use Owen’s library-study for our little tête-à-tête. Effectively, it appeared that I had found myself in his home office. With his computer. And a desk with several drawers. And an external hard drive just sitting out, attached to the laptop that was lying on top of the desk. The arrogant twat had just left his shit out in the open. Un-fucking-believable.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I palmed the hard drive and pocketed it to look into on my own time once I got out of this shithole. I then further searched every drawer of the desk, finding nothing of note there. Remembering myself, I followed the general practices of all wise heisters and I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe down the desk and computer area to rub out any prints.
I turned to the rest of the room, which was lined with built-in bookcases. The lower shelves mostly featured large leather-backed series, while the middle and upper shelves had more seeming variety. There were gaps here and there, where framed old-style maps and porcelain figurines posed.
On the surface, there was nothing sticking out as obvious or odd or notable; there was no clear place to start. I randomly pulled out a few books here and there, and they were just books, filled with paper pages; most appeared unread. I picked up a couple of figurines, and they weighed about what you’d expect. No tripped wires or hidden anything, as far as I could tell.
I decided the rest of this room was a dud and that I’d already hit “pay dirt,” as Erin would say, with the hard drive. I also figured I’d been in there long enough and it was time to go back out and check on my woman. I knew Claw had had his eyes open, watching out that nothing might happen to her. But she was my woman to protect, not his, and I needed to be sure of her safety in this viper’s nest.
When I reached the living room again, where most of the tuxes and naked female bodies were gathered in their assorted states of high and loaded, I failed to see Erin. Fletch was there, and Claw was standing by a wall near him, looking over the room. I caught his eye and raised a brow, asking from afar where my woman had gone. His eyes flashed upward with a head tilt in the same direction, so I understood she was following our plan, as well, investigating the rooms upstairs. I sent Claw another query by face, asking if she were okay, and he nodded briefly. I chin-lifted a thanks and scanned the room again, looking to pinpoint Owen and Fletch, the two scumbags I was most concerned with.
I didn’t see Owen. This was not great. But I had to trust Erin; I had promised her I would, and it hadn’t been that long since I’d left the room, maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes. I’d give her a little more time before freaking out.
I decided it was as good a time as any to get Fletch alone again to get more info. I had been too angry before, when we had been in the library, to think of what needed saying and doing with the little ass, so a second go at him was due.
I made my way through bodies vertical and horizontal and everything in between until I was standing at Danny Fletch’s back. I tapped him heavily on the shoulder.
When he looked back, then up at me, he scowled. “Do you need something?” He attempted a contemptuous tone with his high nasal.
“It’s more a matter of what you need,” I replied, not hiding my ire as I eyed his nose and his throat. Damn, but I wanted to do some damage to this motherfucker’s face. I was pretty sure he got the point.
“Are…are you actually threatening me?” Ah! He was catching on.
“Yeah, I’m threatening you. I need some answers, and you are gonna give ’em to me, or I will gladly start my joyful work of rearrangin’ your face until you do.”
His eyes popped wide, and he squeaked out, “Here? Now? What the fuck is this, you fu—”
“Ah ah ah, it’s Mr. Parker to you. Now do you want to do this here, or would you prefer a more private location?”
His eyes darted over to Claw, but my man’s face gave nothing away and he shrugged. And Danny realized he was on his own.
“Your Pres is gonna pay for this. You both want that? I don’t know what your issue is, Mr. Parker, but you’d better take it down a notch. You’re out of your league. Don’t overstep. Now, get out of my way.”
I took him by the bicep—jeez, I could almost wrap my hand around his entire arm—and pulled him slightly in front of me, guiding him back into the gigantic foyer of the McMansion, saying, “Shut it, Fletch. Your options for the night are limited. If you’re a good boy, you’ll tell me what I need to know and you might get out in one piece. Maybe.”
I wasn’t too sure of my ability to hold myself back. This piece of shit deserved a roughing up so badly, and I was still itching to give it to him.
He showed wisdom and kept his mouth shut until we got back to the library and shut the door.
When I released his arm, he turned to me, seething and demanding, “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I know who I am, and I know who you are, too. You have a big problem, and it’s time we address it. It’s about a little snuff film, and knives, and a dead girl, and a dead brother of mine. Does that jog your memory?”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he smirked. “Ah, it just might. So you want—what? What exactly do you think I can provide you with?”
I wanted a lot of things. I wanted this motherfucker to pay for Franco. I wanted Owen to pay for Thea. I wanted evidence to incriminate both of them, evidence that could go to the cops and put these two away forever. I wanted to get out of Centerfold for good. I wanted our MC back. I wanted to find Pres’s daughter, Carly, in one piece and alive. I wanted this whole fucking nightmare to be over.
But I had to start small here. “I want to take Owen down. What’s his hold over you? Or are those types of pornos your sick preference, too?”
Understanding and superior knowledge lit his eyes. “Ah. No. His tastes…shall we say, he represents a distinctive niche of the market, one that is…ah, so specialized that men such as he are willing to pay top dollar for. Supply and demand, you know. It’s the way the world works.”
He looked proud of himself, like he hadn’t just made the most sick and abhorrent and criminal predilection sound merely offbeat and unique for the wealthy and discerning connoisseur, and he smirked again. I just about growled. There was nothing right about these people. They should have been wiped off the face of the planet long ago.
“So it’s all about making money for you, then? Anything for a buck?”
“Ah, well…” he drawled. “Perhaps there’s a little more. He’s invested rather heavily in my industries. He’s the silent controlling partner behind Centerfold,
and one might consider him as silent executive producer, if you will, for the cinematic ventures. On occasion, he opts to have a more, shall we say, personal involvement in the artistic offerings. My tastes run a bit more mainstream, but I know enough not to judge him. You might be wise to take that lesson, and just keep your fucking nose out of business where you don’t belong.”
“I see.” But I got him here. “So you just provide the…actors for his ‘special productions,’ then? Did you choose Thea, or did he?”
“Thea. No, Thea was right up his alley. The perfect girl. Money hungry, willing to do anything for it, sign her life away—figuratively speaking, of course. She also was fairly deeply in debt. I was helping her out, giving her another way to make some significant extra money on the side. I merely provided an introduction, and they took it from there.”
“You both are sick individuals, you know that, right? You lead a girl to her death, and you kill Franco for—”