Stryker (Books 1 & 2) (Atrox Security)

by J. C. Cliff

  I can’t help but think there’s something inherently wrong with this woman, especially if she has to go to one of these places to get herself some sexual relief. Since she’s so beautiful, it makes me wonder why she can’t find or keep a man. Is she that sexually frustrated? Or maybe she has such kinky and peculiar tastes no one can satisfy her?

  I have a gut feeling tonight will be every bit the painful experience I’m imagining it to be. Who the hell even knew they had places like this for women?

  “I’d like to be able to choose my own watering hole,” I grumble.

  “You don’t have to fuck her,” Travis says with a voice full of dismay. “Plus, you’re going to be in a private room.”

  I look to the ceiling and take a deep breath. “Well now, that makes me feel shit-tons better,” I growl with sarcasm, “because we both know crazy shit doesn’t happen behind closed doors, right?” I grind my teeth together and drop the satire a moment. I look from the painted pattern on the ceiling and turn to Travis. “Are we even in the same conversation, Travis? Because I’m pretty sure we just established she has an addiction, an insatiable obsession with the kinky side of sex, one of which I’m not into,” I point out harshly. “I’m fine with this woman loving her kink. I really am. I’m not judging. I just have issues with having to be the one to carry out the job.”

  I rub at my chest, trying to displace the constricting anxiety building up within me. “Can I wear exam gloves when I have to touch her?” My mind is spinning with the different ways I could potentially avoid coming into contact with bodily fluids. “Better yet, how ‘bout I get those cow birthing gloves—you know, the ones that come up to your armpits?”

  Travis visibly chokes on his drink of water. I think he was mid-swallow, because he spews it out, spraying it everywhere. “Oh my God!” He erupts in a fit of uncontained laughter.

  “Well, can you blame me?” I argue. “I don’t want to put my fingers into a skank hole, beautiful woman or not. I don’t know where she’s been.”

  Everyone bursts out, loud guffaws filling the room as they all laugh…but me. I was dead serious. I don’t know the exact specifics of what’s required of me tonight, and with each minute that passes by, the more uneasy I feel about having to do this job.

  “Shit, that hurt my groin muscle.” Hunter gasps, trying to catch his breath from being doubled over. “Oh damn, that’s some funny shit,” he chuckles, as he swipes at the corners of his watering eyes.

  “You’re such a germaphobe, Stryker,” Travis says with a tinge of sarcasm.

  “I’ve never denied that fact.” It’s true; I do have germ issues, and I’d be the first to admit it. I’ve taken too many microbiology courses, seen too many diseases, and I know what microscopic bacteria is capable of.

  “I promise, I’ll not only take the next dirty job, but I’ll take the one after that as well,” Hunter assures me. “I’ll be back up and running within a couple of days, and maybe we could work it out where I could cut in on your groove, and schmooze her away from you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Because we all know the ladies would take one look at me and then promptly dump your ass.”

  “Very funny, asshole.” If this case is ramping up, there wouldn’t be time for us to switch out roles. It’d take too much time and energy to figure out an ulterior plan when we could be working on solving the case instead.

  “When she’s getting her massage,” Hunter air quotes ‘massage,’ knowing full well she’ll be getting far more than a simple rub down, “Travis will slip into the lady’s locker room, access her locker, and plant a couple of bugs. He should be able to access her phone as well. It won’t be that bad. You’ll be okay for an hour or so,” he says, trying to make me feel better.

  “In the meantime,” Quinn cuts in, “Hunter and I will be working on accessing all her records from the FBI and beyond. We should know everything there is to know about this woman by the end of the evening. We already have some information, and we’ll be setting up survey equipment at her residence while you both are indisposed. We’ll regroup tomorrow morning and go over all the details then.”

  I grit my teeth, thinking I’d rather have a rectal exam than face what I have to do tonight, and that’s the damn truth.

  CHAPTER 2

  ~ Stryker ~

  I’m in downtown Raleigh at the Local Edge, getting a crash course courtesy of Mark, learning all about—what the fuck did he call it? Oh yeah—giving undiluted pleasures to my female client. My one and only female client, that is, and I can only hope being here will be a one-time deal.

  This place also has a bar downstairs and replicates something close to a Chippendales show. I’m told on most given nights the bar is packed with crazed, horny, and screaming women. I am so out of my element, but at least I’m in the upstairs part of the business. Apparently, the upstairs club is a members only high-end spa with special massage rooms. From what I gather, they cater to the undersexed, upper echelon of Raleigh. It’s highly exclusive, very expensive, and not easy to get a membership. This is a totally discreet operation unless you’re someone like Quinn, who knows how to buy his way in. Then the names aren’t so discreet after all.

  Despite what these rooms are used for, everything is upscale. It’s obvious no expense was spared in order to create a professional yet sensual look and feel to these rooms. I’m simply astounded a place like this truly exists.

  Other than the owner of Local Edge, Mark is the only one here who knows I’m working undercover. He’s been giving me the rundown as to what my job will be and how I’m supposed to carry it out. To my absolute horror, he gave me a music routine in which I have to do a little dance, and then at a certain stanza, gyrate my man parts all over this woman’s body. I silently curse at the thought then scold myself for getting worked up again. Yes, I’ve been dreading every second of working here this evening, and I’ve been trying like hell to keep myself psyched up, but Mark keeps adding unexpected shit to my routine, and it’s throwing me off.

  The men who work here, from what I’ve seen, are all in top shape as well as good-looking. I guess they have to be. I’m in no way vain and I couldn’t care less that I fit the bill to be here. Hunter, on the other hand, loves his pretty boy looks, and the guys and I take a jab at him every chance we get. Speaking of Hunter and the guys, I bet they’re all laughing their asses off right about now, solely at my expense.

  “Stryker, shut your mouth, man. You’re drooling on my clean floor,” Mark says in a teasing voice, cutting into my thoughts.

  Confused, my brows lift, and I realize my mouth is agape. I snap it shut and swallow hard. “I’ve got an uneasy feeling about this, brother.”

  Mark chuckles at my nervous behavior then tilts his head to the side, regarding me with a grin. “I thought ex-special-forces men were all badass and shit. Didn’t know you could be scared of a little pussy.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I puff out my chest and cross my arms, flexing my muscles. “I ain’t scared of pussy. It’s the women with highly manicured nails with rock hard paint on their claws who keep me on edge.”

  Mark bursts out laughing, almost doubling over. “Oh damn,” he gasps for a breath, “you are hilarious.”

  I roll my eyes, and mumble, “Everyone seems to be finding my predicament funny but me. I couldn’t be more serious.” I’d damn near sell my soul to escape the torment that’s about to go down here tonight. My parents raised me with old-fashioned principles. They ingrained that shit into me the second I was born. So needless to say, I’m not used to stepping out like this.

  I’m just an average guy who’s addicted to the adrenaline rush of secret ops and dangerous situations. Tasked with high-risk and unpredictable missions, is what I fucking love, and the things I did and witnessed in Afghanistan would make some of the toughest of soldiers lose their shit, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this—nothing.

  I slowly spin around in the very room I’m supposed to be working in tonight, soaking in every detail of this high-class
massage parlor. Calm colors of a light brown shade cover the walls, and expensive looking prints are set strategically about, which lend to the elegant look and feel of the place. I think about the different types of high-society women who would actually come here. What would make them want to?

  “You’re going to do fine, Stryker,” Mark encourages. Maybe he feels bad for me; hell, I don’t know. It’s not going to change the situation. “Remember, the massage is the warm-up. It gets both parties relaxed before things get heated.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Then I’m supposed to act the part of a super Chippendale, gyrate my shit over her, and then proceed to get her off—right?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “That’s about the gist of it.” And there you go. I let out a weary sigh, trying not to think about how fucked up this is.

  I watch Mark as he turns to open a drawer that resides right underneath the top of the massage table. I immediately find myself taking a step back. My eyes are wide with terror as I point to the implements in the drawer and shake my head. “No fucking way, dude.”

  Mark bursts out with laughter again, finding my reactions to everything funny as hell, as I look for hidden cameras. I’m wondering if I’m truly in an undercover operation, or if my comrades are setting me up for full-on shits and giggles. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I swear I will never, ever live this shit down if it’s a joke.

  Mark proceeds to pick up a handful of condoms, his shoulders still shaking as he explains, “This job is just something you get used to.” He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “But I will say I’ll never forget my first week here. I guess I had a lot of the same trepidations and reservations you’re going through right now, except I’d already been dancing for a couple of years in clubs.”

  My eyes snap to his. I’m not on board with this, and I wonder if I can drink on the job, because I have a feeling it’s going to take at least a fifth of whiskey to keep my feet planted in this room tonight.

  Mark shakes his head, truly looking sorry for me by this point. “Look, you and I both know this particular client has unique needs, but I can show you how to skirt around some of her fetishes,” he says, as he pushes to the back of the drawer what could possibly be the very things that go in the hole I don’t want to know about. I didn’t get a good look at them, so I can’t say for sure, but his words are music to my ears, and as a result, the tense muscles in my body begin to relax.

  “How do you do this job day in and day out?”

  Mark shrugs his shoulders. “It pays the bills and then some. When I feel like it’s getting mundane—”

  “Mundane?” I interject with disbelief.

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, mundane. Maybe I’ve grown numb to seeing so much pussy over the years, kind of like an OB/GYN. So I find myself constantly switching things up a bit to keep it interesting. I’ve pretty much turned this job into a game of sorts,” he explains. “I compete with myself, trying to outdo my last record, seeing how many orgasms I can dole out to my client within the allotted time.” He leans into my space as if he’s conspiratorially speaking. “And when you satisfy one of these rich women beyond their wildest dreams, let’s just say some nights I go home with a couple grand in tips, and all for a few hours’ work,” he says with a voice full of awe.

  I pull back, my eyes wide in disbelief. “Can you say sexually frustrated women?”

  “Stryker, I think it’s more than that. I never would’ve believed it unless I saw it for myself. It’s true what they say. Once these women hit a certain age, their sex hormones fucking skyrocket,” he confides, as he shoots his hand up in the air like a missile. “They become crazy insatiable, and sadly, when these women come into their own, it’s at the time when their husband’s libido takes a nosedive. I see it all the damn time. All these rich women who come in here drop those Benjamin’s without even blinking an eye, and I kind of feel bad for them in a way. They spend time working out, trying to keep their figures so they can be the perfect arm candy for their husbands, all to be pushed aside. Mostly, from what I hear, they feel neglected and unappreciated. Their husbands are too busy to give them any decent amount of attention.”

  “Sounds as if you’re their psychologist.”

  Mark’s expression becomes very serious as he tells me, “Sometimes, I feel like I am. I can tell you I’ve learned. I now know the things I won’t do in a marriage if I find the right one, and I’d make damn sure no woman of mine would be coming in here.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “But then again, I wouldn’t let my marriage drift apart either.”

  My brows furrow. “There's more to life than just sex, you know.”

  “Yeah?” His brows lift in challenge. “Stop being so judgmental, man. You don’t see what I’ve seen, the confessions I’ve heard, or know what it’s like to dedicate decades of your life to a significant other, and then spend the later years being ignored both mentally and physically.”

  I digest his words for a moment, feeling kind of sad if that’s how most marriages wind up years down the road. “Have you forgotten what it was like for you when you were eighteen?” Mark asks. “Your hormones trampling over your brain? Well, this is what women tend to experience much later in life.”

  Sounds like a cruel joke to me, but I think about what Mark said, and then smile at the memory of being so young and carefree again. “I guess I have forgotten. Since I’m in my thirties now, eighteen seems like it never existed.”

  “Some of these women are executives, own their own corporation, or they’re just rich and lonely housewives who’ve been neglected. By coming here, there are no complications, no cheating or one-night stands to be concerned with. There are no strings attached here, and it’s one hundred and ten percent confidential.”

  “Yeah, you have some very valid points,” I say, then steer our conversation back to the training, because I’ve had a very significant question that has been looming over me all day. I point back to the vibrators in the drawer, and beg, “Please tell me there are no butt plugs in there.”

  Mark goes silent and studies me then his eyebrows dip down in what I think is pity. “Yeah, there are, but if that’s your line in the sand, we can improvise. Like I said, I can show you how to skirt around your hard limits with this client and still wind up satisfying her.”

  Thank fuck. Improvise is officially my new favorite word. “Let’s improvise,” I blurt out immediately, not hesitating to steer clear of certain implements designated for the back hole.

  “All right,” he says, as he opens another drawer and pulls out a long chain. “For starters, you can distract her with these.” He holds the ends of the silver chain up, waggling his eyebrows. “These are nipple clamps.”

  My eyes bug out as I slam both my hands over my own nipples. “That’s gotta fuckin’ hurt!” I narrow my eyes, studying the clamps for a second. “Are you sure they’re not roach clips? You know—to smoke pot with? Not that I experimented with the shit, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been around it before.”

  He smiles at me, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin. “You are a vanilla boy, through and through, aren’t you?”

  “And damn proud of it,” I say with pride.

  He rolls his eyes at me and starts to remove a couple vibrators from their new packaging, as he explains, “It doesn’t matter how many times we get a repeat customer; we give them new toys every time they come in. They certainly pay enough that they should—hell, the amount they fork out, they should get gold vibrators.” He smirks. “Anyhow, just before their appointment, we sanitize them, but don’t ask me why we put a condom on them. We just do.”

  I stand here speechless. I mean, yeah, I knew what I was doing tonight, but seeing these devices up close and personal kind of brings it all home. The germ issues are still a serious concern of mine. “Don’t you ever feel the need to wear gloves when doing the deed for these women?”

  “Nah, these women are tested every month, if that
’s what you’re worried about,” Mark assures me. He pauses to look at me, tilts his head to the side, and concern falls over his expression. “You’re looking pale, man. You okay?”

  I nod my head, not speaking, because there’s an actual lump in my throat and I’m having a hard time swallowing around it. I’d rather skydive naked then be here right now.

  “It’s really not all that bad, Stryker, seriously,” Mark affirms again in a most assuring voice, and I’m trying like hell to let his words grant me some peace about tonight. “It’s not like you have to fuck them or stick your bare fingers in their pussy, Stryker. That’s what the toys are for, and the women?” He whistles loudly. “Ninety-nine percent of the women who come in here are not only wealthy, they’re fucking gorgeous.” He shrugs his shoulders. “They know the rules, and they respect them. Some of them are just as nervous as you, so remember that,” he says, tapping me on the shoulder.

  I steal a deep breath, knowing I’ve got to pull through for my team. I need to pull my shit together once and for all before my client gets here. No, not my client, my target, and thank fuck she’s the only one I have to do this with.

  I think to myself I’m so much better at warfare, or hand-to-hand combat. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought my undercover work would have led me to an establishment such as this. I gain a whole new respect for women who have to work as a professional stripper. At least I’m not stripping, or worse, having to whore myself out on the streets for a living, but God—this is some eccentric shit. My mind keeps spinning in circles, thinking this is going to be a night I will never forget.

  CHAPTER 3

  ~ Valerie ~

  I swallow the last little drop of my fruity, crisp wine, having savored the sweetness on my tongue before the taste fades away. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink, but I know if I have more than two glasses at this point, I’ll be hungover for sure.