by A. A. Dark
“You do this to him? You rough him up?” Lauren was on fire.
Georgie shook his head.
“No way, lady.” He held his hands up defensively, and nearly laughed at how fired up she was.
Jasper motioned for her to sit. He wasn’t cuffed, and she noticed it.
“Georgie is actually a VERY good friend. He didn’t do it, but I’m happy to see my attorney is all over my potential brutality case.”
He grinned at her, and that bit of that charm she had noticed during their first meeting returned. He motioned, again, for her to sit.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Besides, you look almost worse than I do. What happened?” Lauren sat intently in the seat, and leaned in across the table. Georgie looked on suspiciously. The woman looked like she was on a top-secret mission.
She wouldn’t recount what happened. Not yet. Her hand was stuffed in her pocket. Her fingertip caressing that ring as it burned a hole in it. Jasper and Georgie looked at each other as they waited for her to speak.
“Jasper.” She stated his name as he looked on.
“Yes, Lauren? What is it?”
She inhaled. To Lauren, time seemed to stand still, as her mind raced about the events of the day, and quickly formed plan after plan, in a matter of minutes.
“I don’t believe you killed Lucas Jackson. I’m going to help get you out of here, but first, you’re going to do something for me.”
Jasper sat back in his chair, staring straight into her eyes. He considered, long and hard, what she could possibly want from him.
“Ok, then … what do you need, Lauren?”
Lauren pulled the ring from her pocket, and set it on the table, the gold band of the cocktail ring vibrating off the metal of the table.
“Tell me everything you know about Darla Lovell.”
CHAPTER 8
ONE YEAR AGO
Jasper Connor sat across from Darla Lovell and Whitey Smith. His normally chiseled face was sunken in from the stress of the trial. He leaned his elbows up on the cold metal table and rested his brow on the heel of his palms. Jasper was exhausted.
“Well Darla, you gave it your best shot. Hopefully we can appeal the case.”
Whitey was the first to speak at this meeting which was being held immediately after Jasper was fully processed.
“Don’t worry, kid. We’ll figure out how to get you out of this.”
Whitey draped his big tattooed arm across the back of Darla’s chair as he stretched his six foot long body out. His legs spanning across the floor under the table and bumping Jasper’s. Whitey shot Jasper a reassuring wink.
“Figure it out. Yeah.” Jasper just shook his head at the thought. He was found guilty and being sentenced to death but they’ll “figure it out”.
Jasper, however, wasn’t the kind of guy to just give up and even though Darla hadn’t done her best (and he knew it), he would find his own way out. Jasper couldn’t even look at Darla’s face. She threw that case like a boxer getting paid to go down in the 2nd round. The only thing he couldn’t figure out is why. Jasper knew there was more going on between Whitey and Darla than just attorney-client privilege. He also knew that Whitey was the one behind Lucas’ murder but what he didn’t know was why. Why had Whitey served him a death sentence over Lucas Jackson?
Darla spoke up now.
“I’ve already filed an appeal. Jasper, don’t lose hope. Sometimes these cases are complicated and they will not push the death penalty until there’s a body. I’ll make sure of that.”
Jasper looked up at her when she spoke the words, and in his mind he knew she was implying was that she would make sure they killed him. His eyes fell on her lips which were turned into a wry smile. He knew something more was going on. Jasper also noticed that when Whitey draped his arm around Darla’s chair, she seemed to settle back into it and she touched her ring, a large sapphire that glinted in the shitty green tinted prison light.
Jasper motioned to the ring with his finger.
“That’s pretty, Darla. Is it new?”
Whitey glared at Jasper knowing full well what he was doing. Whitey was a smart guy and he'd known Jasper since he was a kid. He practically raised Jasper himself. Whitey nudged Darla with his thumb against her back.
“Darla … let’s get out of here and go back to the office. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure out how to get this kid out of here.”
His eyes were on Jasper’s the whole time he spoke. Jasper knew how to translate those words. What Jasper really heard was: Darla … let’s get out of here and go fuck so I can get you to do all of my evil bidding, legally. Whitey had it all going for him, even at 49; he was good looking, rugged. He had enough tattoos to make him look tough but not enough to make him look like an outright criminal. He was still fit and he had a big cock that he knew how to use – and he used it for whatever he needed. That cock broke up many a marriage in this city and the men never came after Whitey. They would just leave their wives in the dust knowing they probably got off easy. It was usually a message from Whitey: “Just fucked your wife. Next time, it’ll be you.” For Whitey, it was like a fetish. He’d screw all the wives of the men that owed him something big – either money or a favor and he knew just how to scare them enough and mess with their heads before it got outright ugly.
Jasper just nodded as Whitey and Darla both rose from the table. He watched them go, and just before Whitey let the door close behind him, he stuck his head back in to speak only to Jasper. “Don’t fuck with me kid or you’ll find yourself a seat in the chair sooner than you know it. Now go make nice and find a wife.” Then he shut the door and disappeared.
*
Georgie, the prison guard and Jasper’s good friend, brought him back to his cell. It was a quiet walk. Jasper and Georgie grew up together. Georgie was even part of the MC, but he kept his involvement to a minimum, in order to keep his job. Anyone that knew him, knew he was part of the club, but only as a part-time recreational rider. The truth was that Georgie was a legacy. He had a line of family members that were deeply imbedded in the Brass Bond MC , but it worked out for everyone that Georgie himself kept a low profile. He was one of their tools inside the prison. Now, Jasper needed him just as much as the MC did, and Georgie did a good job walking a fine line between prison guard, MC Brother, and friend to Jasper; but it was getting tougher. Georgie fully expected that one day Whitey would make a call, and Georgie would have to fulfill a specific request when it came to Jasper … and he was not looking forward to that day at all.
Once Georgie tucked Jasper back in he looked around. Seemingly, they were alone with exception of the surveillance.
“You ok, Brother?”
Jasper looked up at Georgie and nodded.
“Hey, do me a favor. See if you can get me some paper and a pen or pencil, or whatever. I need to write a letter.” Georgie nodded and took off, leaving Jasper to formulate a plan. If he was going to get himself out of here without getting himself killed by the Brass Bonds Brotherhood, then he needed to think things through, and the first piece of the puzzle he had to figure out was Darla and Whitey.
CHAPTER 9
Darla fiddled with her keys as she walked to the car in the underground parking garage. Whitey was walking a few feet behind her. He was watching her hips as she walked. Her tight, red skirt hugged her curves, and it gave her style a touch of Old Hollywood Glamour. Just as she reached the car, she turned to face him. She had a look of dread and doubt that was uncharacteristic for her. It looked completely out of place on her face.
Whitey, however, was grinning from ear to ear. It was a grin of power and seduction, and it made him randy when things went his way. He pressed up against Darla and moved his hands to her hips.
“Oh, look at this lovely lady walking alone in the parking garage.”
Darla rolled her eyes. Here she was about to say something important, and he wanted to play fantasy in the garage.
“, wait … I’m no
t sure we’re handling this right.”
Her tone was grave, she wasn’t responding to his advances and he was already shushing her in response.
“Darla … what are you worried about? Just trust me.”
He pressed his lips to hers then licked them as he pulled back. It was as if he was tasting her on his lips. His hands roamed from her hips to her ass and pulled him into her, pressing her mound against the bulge now ever- present in his pants. Darla exhaled feeling it against her, knowing fully what he wanted, and cursing herself silently at how she was powerless against his masculinity. She found Whitey Smith so very hard to resist, and she kissed him deeply.
His probing tongue parted the slit of her mouth hungrily; darting in as if it were his manhood thrusting inside her. She, in turn, sucked his tongue. Kissing him like this made Whitey growl, and Darla knew it drove him crazy. He released her from the kiss and looked around the lot. Not that he would care, voyeurs would only turn him on more, especially if they saw he was screwing the hot-shot, celebrity attorney, Darla Lovell.
He grabbed Darla’s arm, led her to the hood of the car, and bent her over it. Darla was panting with anticipation. She loved when he dominated her, likely because she was so used to dominating at her job. It was one of the things that attracted her to him, and other powerful, confident men. They didn’t care that she was a powerhouse herself. Darla planted her palms on the hood of the car and looked around while Whitey pushed her skirt up over her ass. She wasn’t wearing panties. She knew better than to wear them around Whitey. He growled seeing her naked ass and quickly unbuckled his pants.
“That’s a good girl. You left those panties home, knowing you were going to see me. I bet you’ve been waiting for my cock all day.”
His zipper dropped and his long, hard, erection sprang forth. Darla moaned hearing the zipper drop, knowing that he’d be inside her in a matter of seconds. She rolled her hips up and arched her back, eagerly waiting for it. When she tried to look back, Whitey guided her face down, his hand in her hair, and pressed it against the hood of the car.
“No, you don’t get to watch. Not today.”
With his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, Whitey guided his throbbing head against her. First he just teased her opening with it. He was taking his time while her heart was beating faster, not wanting to get caught. She bit her lip for fear she would beg him to do it fast. She knew Whitey liked to play with fire, and right now, instead of taking her quickly in the parking garage, he was waiting it out.
He caressed her with his manhood, and Darla spread her legs a bit more, trying to tempt him inside her. Make no mistake, she wanted him. She loved living on the edge with him, but she was sure that now someone from the prison would find them. In the distance, a horn honked. A car was headed toward them, and now Whitey was really turned on. He saw the car in the distance and thrust full speed in between Darla’s wet folds, causing her to grunt loudly. Her fingernails clawed against the hood of the car as his thickness pushed her silky walls apart.
Keeping himself buried inside her, he waited for the car to get closer before thrusting again. Darla’s walls clenched around his steel. Whitey chose this moment to light up a cigarette.
“Oh look … I think that might be the mayor’s car.”
He pumped her again hard, then rolled his hips while he took a drag of his cigarette. “Would you like the mayor to see how naughty you are, Darla?”
Darla whimpered, her body giving way to how hard he felt buried inside her. She felt her nipples harden against the cool metal hood of the car.
“Whitey … please.”
It was all she could muster as her need grew stronger. She had half a mind to beg him to finish fast, and half a mind to beg him to make it last. She lifted her head to see the car coming nearer. Part of her breathed a sigh of relief that it was not the mayor. Another part of her wished it was, because the dangerous line she was walking with Whitey made her feel completely alive inside!
Flicking his cigarette to the side, Whitey bent his torso over her body, both of his big rough hands splayed on the hood, and pumped her fast, with conviction.
“I bet you would like the mayor to pull that car over and join us, wouldn’t you?”
His own words drove him harder and faster inside her. They were both already close to a powerful orgasm. The oncoming car seemed to take forever to reach them.
Darla nodded as part of the fantasy, but the excitement for her was that she was never quite sure if Whitey would actually stop the car. She knew it wasn’t the mayor, but still... Whitey always managed to keep her on that edge of ‘do you dare’. Her body was aching for release now. She was so near.
“No. I wouldn’t want him to join us. I’d want him to watch you take me … because I’m yours.”
She braced herself feeling her pleasure surge, then crest into a mind-blowing orgasm that left her twitching and writhing underneath him.
Whitey licked his lips.
“That’s right baby…” He gave her a quick slap to the ass as he pumped his now erupting cock deep inside her. “This is all mine, and don’t you forget it.”
She had passed the test, so he rewarded her. He rode it out, and when he was empty, he slowed his pace and pulled out of her. Darla sighed deeply as she pushed her body up from the car.
She moved to push her skirt back down, knowing it would be ruined.
“This WAS Chanel.”
Whitey just laughed.
“I’m sure you got twenty more just like them back at Triumph Towers, sweetie-pie.”
He moved around to her car door, and opened it for her with a flourish of his arm.
“Your chariot awaits.”
Darla offered half a smile. She didn’t have twenty more in her closet. This was vintage. She did her best to keep her thighs together as she walked toward him.
“Can you just see if there’s a napkin in my glove box?”
She didn’t want to bend or move. Whitey just stared at her, and Darla understood exactly the meaning behind the stare. Whitey wanted her to ruin her skirt. She would not be permitted to wipe herself of his seed. She would be required to wear it like a badge, at least until she dropped him off. Then she would return to Triumph, and somehow get to her apartment discreetly to change. She slid into the driver’s seat and he shut the door.
“Good girl.”
Just then the car drove by and Darla could see in her mirror that it was a little old lady. She couldn’t help but to laugh, as that was certainly not the mayor.
CHAPTER 10
Jasper lay in bed tossing and turning. Outside a storm was raging. It caused the prison lights to flicker intermittently. The storm was the least of his problems. At least here he was safely out of it. His sleep, however, for the most part, was not safe from stormy thoughts. It had been interrupted by the memory of Lucas Jackson, and the night he was murdered. In his scattered dreams, Jasper’s consciousness searched for some sort of clue to get him out of what could be his final home, this cell.
*
The door to the tattoo shop opened and Jasper looked up. He’d been working on a sketch for a client when Lucas Jackson walked in. Jasper narrowed his dark brows as he eyed Lucas. Lucas was taking his time looking around at the art. He said nothing for a good five minutes, neither did Jasper.
Lucas Jackson was a clean-cut, college boy. He’d done well with real estate and was well-known for his role in the development of the Triumph Towers which was “what this city needed” according to the local councilmen and other two-bit politicians. He was a little older than Jasper, but when they were younger, they bumped into each other from time to time. Each man was well-enough aware of the other’s existence.
Finally, Lucas pointed at a particular tattoo drawing hanging up on the wall.
“This one? You draw this one yourself, Jasper?”
He kept his finger pointed, but turned his smiling face toward Jasper, his eyes glinting behind glasses that were intended to make him look e
steemed. Jasper was not impressed.
“Yep. Done them all. Interested in getting it tatted just above the crack of your ass?” Jasper smiled broadly as he waited for Lucas to answer.
Lucas laughed. How could he not? The tattoo was that of a grinning skull and skeleton hands holding a ribbon that read, “Highway to Hell.” Very witty of Jasper. Lucas turned to face him and waved his hand lightly.
“No, no. I’m afraid I’m more of a ‘Stairway to Heaven’ just under-the -navel kind of guy.”
Jasper nodded as if to imply ‘touché’, but continued sketching until Lucas got around to revealing what the hell he was doing in the tattoo shop.
Some heavy metal played softly in the background. The lead singer was shouting, but the volume was on 4. His aggression lost some of its power at such a low volume. Lucas hummed along, he knew the song. Another five minutes passed as he perused the shop.
“Ok Lucas … what do you need?” Jasper finally asked.
There was no way Lucas Jackson was there for a tattoo, so that meant he wanted something else. The deal for the Triumph Tower Three was just signed. Lucas Jackson had the world and the city by the proverbial balls, so what could he want with Jasper?
Lucas moved to the counter where Jasper was sketching and glanced down at the drawing. It was of a dragon holding a quill.
“Nice … very medieval.”
Jasper dropped the pen and flipped the sketch over.
“Lucas, I know you don’t want a tattoo, so what do you want? I’m busy. I have shit to do.” He clasped his hands together and leaned on the counter, waiting for Lucas to come clean, already.