by Jenika Snow
She turned her back toward him, and he took a moment to appreciate the view. She had a nice big ass, round and juicy, and had enough meat on it that when he had his cock deep in her cunt he had something to hang onto.
“Not even for, say, ten grand?”
He could see her tense, knew he’d gotten under her skin. Mayhem picked up his shot and tossed it back, watching as she turned around slowly to face him.
“What?” She sounded like she had to force that word out.
“You heard me.” Despite the loud music, laughter, and talking all around them, he heard her clearly, and knew she heard him just fine, as well.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she said between her clenched teeth. He spotted her hands going into tight little fists, and he smirked again. She wanted to hit him. He’d give her credit for having the strength to want to go up against him, but no one got a hit in on Mayhem. Now, if she wanted a little slap and tickle, he wouldn’t mind leaving some handprints on that pretty skin of hers, but it would be on his terms, and his alone.
“It doesn’t matter who I am, because I’m pretty fucking sure I’m the only one that can help you.”
Her face turned red with her anger. She looked around the bar, and he saw her throat move as she swallowed. “I don’t need your help, because I have a feeling you’re the type of man that wants something in return I’m not willing to give.”
“How do you know I’m not just a nice guy and would give you the money? Maybe I just want to help a damsel out in distress.”
She snorted and crossed her arms under her breast. Her tits popped out, her cleavage on display as the material spread across her chest. “You must think I’m a fucking moron.”
No, he thought the farthest from that. Mayhem leaned forward, his shirt riding up his forearms, and looked at her right in the eyes. “You’re right. Ain’t nothing for free in this world, baby.”
She swallowed again and shook her head. “I don’t need it that badly.”
Liar.
He could see the hesitation on her face, see the way her mouth parted, her pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. “You’re a fucking liar, but if you want to pretend it’s all good…” he said, not finishing the sentence. He might be playing it off like he didn’t give a shit, like he didn’t care if she didn’t want to take him up on his offer, but the truth was Mayhem wanted to demand she give it up to him, order her to take the deal. Like he said, he was a real piece of work, and that wasn’t a good thing.
“You don’t know anything about me.” She tried to sound strong, but he caught the tremor in her voice. “I’m not some whore that can be bought.”
He shrugged, finished off his shot, and looked her right in the eyes. “Not even for your brother?” He let those words hang in the air between them. “And you wouldn’t be a whore. You’d be mine, only mine.”
“Because you bought me, paid for the chance to fuck me?” Butters stated it like a question, but he could tell she already knew the answer to it.
“Yes.”
She gaped at him. Mayhem didn’t mince words, didn’t go around things. He made his point, and that was the end of it, like it or not.
“You want the money, it comes with a price.”
“And what price would that be exactly?” Despite the fact people were all around them, it felt like it was just them, like they were in some kind of showdown and he was waiting for her to draw. She shook her head. “I can’t be bought.”
He grabbed a napkin, reached out and took the pen from the pocket on her apron, which had her eyes widening and her taking a step back. He smirked again, looked at the napkin, and wrote down his number.
“You smarten up and change your mind, hit me up,” he said and pushed the napkin toward her. Mayhem looked at her for another second, and then got up and left.
She was strong, but he’d seen the hesitation in her eyes. He knew she was desperate, and she’d come around. He just had to have patience until she came around, which he knew she would. Desperation made people do things they wouldn’t normally agree to, and that’s what he was counting on.
Chapter Three
The bar was closed, the last drunken asshole having been kicked out by Jorro, the bar’s bouncer that was usually just as drunk as the customers. Butters hated that all she’d been able to focus on was Mayhem’s offer. She hated that he’d made her that desperate, that he’d given her his number like he’d known she would take it.
And she had.
After he’d left she’d looked at that napkin until customers started hollering at her for more drinks. Butters had grabbed the napkin, shoved it in her pocket, and finished the night. But now it was going on three in the morning, and for as exhausted as she was all she could think about, feel, was that little slip of paper in her pocket. It felt heavy, felt like it would burn a hole right through her jeans.
She had her keys in her hand, heard Jorro shouting at a guy that was leaned against the side of the building puking, and hurried to her car. Butters had the keys between her fingers, ready to jab a fucker’s eyes out if he messed with her. She knew how to take care of herself, knew that this shitty part of town was dangerous, and she was a target simply because she was a woman and men thought she was easy prey. They’d be wrong, because she’d tear an asshole’s balls off before they had a chance to hurt her.
Once in the car she locked the doors and rested her head on the back of the seat. The streetlight made a swatch of muted yellow light, covering the front interior of the car, and making everything look even shittier. Breathing out roughly, she lifted her ass enough to reach down and pull out the napkin. Looking at the number scrawled on the paper, she had the urge to crumple it and throw it away, but even if she wouldn’t fuck Mayhem, or at least tell herself she wouldn’t be his slut, something inside of her wouldn’t throw it away.
“Dammit,” she cursed and put her keys in the ignition. But before she cranked the engine her cell went off. Grabbing her phone she saw her neighbor’s number flash across the screen. It was late as hell, and the fact he was calling her had warning bells going off.
“Hello?”
“Butters?” Frankie said, his voice strained, almost urgent.
She’d known Frankie for the last year since she’d been living in her duplex. Her place wasn’t as shitty as it could be, not given the fact she didn’t live in the best part of town to begin with, but she occasionally spoke with Frankie. He was a decent guy. Frankie was one of the only “normal” things in her life, and how fucking sad was that?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to panic. The only reason Frankie would be calling her was if something was wrong, surely.
“Your brother is sitting on your front porch, and he’s in pretty bad shape.”
She choked back her tears and hysteria. “I’m on my way.” After hanging up she turned the car over and headed home, speeding, and not giving a shit if she was pulled over. She should since it would waste precious time, but she was too worried and frightened about Nathan.
When she finally reached her place she pulled into the cracked driveway, barely put the car into park before cutting the engine, and rushed out of her car. Frankie’s lights were on, and as she ran up the steps he pulled the door open and held it open for her.
She didn’t have to ask where Nathan was, because as soon as she stepped inside she saw him lying on the couch. His face was busted up, with fresh and dried blood covering his nose and mouth. His eye was swollen shut, already black and blue, and she saw bruising on his neck and disappearing beneath his bloody, torn shirt.
Butters felt pain in her chest at the sight of her poor brother.
“It took him a few times to agree to come inside my place. I couldn’t leave him out there,” Frankie said, standing back.
“Thank you, Frankie,” she whispered. “God, Nathan,” she wheezed out, and moved toward him. She was aware Frankie shut the door behind him, but it made her feel closed, trapped.
Her b
rother opened his good eye and looked over at her, and despite the damage on his face she could see his emotional pain. Sinking to her knees in front of him, she took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “What happened?” He tried sitting up, but she shook her head. “Just relax.” She looked at Frankie. “Can you get me some ice, maybe rags and water, or peroxide if you have it?”
Frankie nodded, and that’s when she noticed the bloody rags on the table. It looked like Frankie already tried to clean up her brother. Her tears spilled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away with her hand not holding onto Nathan.
“I tried to work things out with them.” He started coughing and she saw the wound on his lip split open further. Frankie came back with the items, and she started cleaning off Nathan’s wounds, wiping away the blood, and started putting the ice wrapped in towels on his face.
“Why would you go there, Nathan? They could have killed you.”
“I know. I didn’t say it was the smartest move. I hated that I’d put you in this situation again, Renee. Hated that I put you in danger.”
“What do you mean put me in danger?” she asked as she continued cleaning him off.
“When I went there and talked to Marco—”
“Which one is Marco?” she asked, her throat tight. She’d heard of the Cardonas, of course, as did anyone that was smart and lived within a three state radius, but there were a lot of people working with them.
“Sal’s son.”
Her throat tightened, and her heart seized.
Sal, the head of the gang.
If Marco had been the one to issue the threat, who was most likely next in line to be the leader of their organization, shit was even worse than it had been.
“He said there was no negotiation. He said if I didn’t come up with the money he’d start coming after everyone I held close, starting with you first.”
Of course there was no negotiation, and her brother had been a stupid fool to think going there and bargaining would help. But he’d done it to try to save her from this, and that made her cry harder.
Her heart started beating faster. She knew Nathan was in danger, and wasn’t stupid to think the Cardonas wouldn’t use any means necessary to get their money back. Of course she’d known they would go to any lengths, but she supposed she’d been more focused on trying to get the money to save Nathan, and hadn’t been thinking about too many other problems that were in the offing.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, and started crying.
She pulled him in for a hug and just held him, not knowing what to say or do to make this better. Of course that wasn’t true. That little piece of napkin was burning a hole in her pocket, and as much as she didn’t want to be bought, didn’t want to be someone’s whore, she had to save her brother … she had to save herself. He was weak, had been his whole life. His vices made him a target, easy pickings, and he’d gotten into trouble because of it most of his life. But at heart he was a good guy, cared about her, and she knew that although he had his addictions, he also knew what he did was wrong.
He just couldn’t stop.
“Come on. Let’s go to my place so you can get some rest, and so Frankie doesn’t have to deal with this drama.” She helped him off the couch, but didn’t miss how he winced and groaned. They left Nathan’s house, went into hers next door, and once Nathan was in bed she went back out to the front porch. Frankie was outside, a joint in his hand.
“You think he should go to the hospital?”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of scared to take him, though, given…” She glanced at him, knowing he’d heard everything that Nate had said. “Given all of it, you know.”
He took a hit off the joint and nodded, passing it over to her. “It’s probably safer not to take him there. They’ll ask questions you probably don’t and shouldn’t answer.”
Frankie was right. She took the joint from him and inhaled off the end, needing something to calm her nerves, although she knew pot wouldn’t really help her, not with this situation.
They stood side-by-side, looking at the rundown duplexes and houses across the street, at the trash blowing down the cracked sidewalks, and the smell of the weed surrounding them.
“Nate’s in deep, Butters.”
She nodded, not looking at him, but taking another hit from the joint. Holding in the smoke for several seconds, Butters exhaled, a cloud swirling in front of her face for a second before dissipating. “It’s really bad, Frankie.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of all of this press down further on her. “How deep is he in with the Cardonas?”
She handed the joint back and stepped to the side, having his hand fall away. “A lot, Frankie. A lot more than I can get on my own.”
“How much?” he asked again.
Butters looked at him, holding her breath for a second. “Ten thousand dollars.”
He didn’t answer, just brought the joint to his lips and inhaled. “That’s a lot,” he said while holding in the smoke. “More than I have to give.”
“Yeah,” Butters said and looked at the street again.
“You know if I had that kind of money I’d give it to you.”
Butters smiled. “I know, because you’re a decent person, Frankie.”
“I’m sorry, Butters.”
She turned and faced him. “I’ll figure it out.” She looked at the ground. “Even if I have to sell my soul to the devil I’ll figure it out.”
For another ten minutes she stayed outside with Frankie, but they didn’t really say much. The air was too heavy with what was going on. Frankie said he’d help in any way he could, but the truth was she was cutting ties with him, not because she didn’t trust him, but because she thought of him as a friend, getting involved with her right now would mean he’d be thrust into the whole situation, and she didn’t want him involved with the Cardonas.
She went inside after saying goodnight and thanking Frankie again. Butters closed the door and leaned against it, breathing out as her emotions rose up again. The pot had made her slightly mellow, but the reality of what was going on was too hardcore.
She went into her bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, staring at Nate. She’d given him her room for obvious reasons. Besides, she wouldn’t be able to get much, if any, sleep tonight. When Nate wasn’t out all night gambling or getting into some fucked up trouble, crashing at the places of the few friends he had, he stayed on her couch. They were it for each other, and as strong as she tried to make herself out to be, Butters was weak when it came to her brother.
Maybe most people would have cut ties, kicked him to the curb and been done with it. But when the only thing in her life was her brother, how could she just discard him? He had problems, but she wouldn’t turn her back on him.
Turning from him and shutting the door, she made her way into the living room and sat on the shitty, tattered, and old as hell couch. She grabbed the napkin out of her pocket, looked at the number for long seconds, and then picked up her cell. Her heart was beating, her palms were sweating, and all of that had nothing to do with the fact her and her brother’s life was in danger, or that Nate had just gotten the shit kicked out of him.
She was nervous and afraid for all those reasons, but right now, as she held that napkin, her hand shaking, her throat feeling tight, all she could think about was how she was really going to call up Mayhem and offer him the one thing he’d been after. Of course Butters didn’t know why he had this fixation on her, or why he was willing to give her so much money just to fuck her. It seemed a little unbelievable, but in this world, and the life she led, Butters had come across, on more than one occasion, things that didn’t make sense. Sometimes people were just crazy enough to do fucked up things, herself included. Right now was one of those times.
Looking over her shoulder at her closed bedroom door, she took a deep breath and faced forward again. After dialing the number that was scrawled in front of her, she put it to her ear an
d listened as it rang only twice.
“Yeah?” the deep voice said on the other end. She instantly knew it was Mayhem. She had his scratchy, gravelly voice engrained in her brain.
“I’m ready to talk about what you want.” She didn’t know what else to say, but she swore she could feel his grin through the receiver, and knew that she had, in fact, just sold herself to the devil.
Chapter Four
Mayhem hadn’t gone far after he left the bar. He’d rented a motel room for the night, knowing Butters would call him. Desperation made people do some crazy shit, himself included. He could admit he was obsessed with her, could even admit that coming here, watching her at the bar, and thinking about her while he fucking jerked off was straight up stalker behavior. He wasn’t some sociopath, didn’t get kicks out of fucking with people and their emotions. In fact, Mayhem was to the point, and didn’t play games. He was too old for drama, had lived a hard enough life, that trying to mosey around what he wanted was not something he did.
He was sitting on a small chair by the window, one of his guns on the table in front of him, his leg kicked out in front of him, and his cock hard. Truth was he’d been planning on rubbing one off while thinking about Butters denying him, but then she’d called. Hell, he could jerk off just hearing her voice. It had that smoky quality to it, that seductress tone that had his balls drawing up tight.
“You’re ready to talk?” he asked, pulling the curtain aside and seeing his Harley sitting in front of the room. This was the closest motel to the bar Butters worked at, and although he had no business staying here, could have headed back to the club and waited for her call then, he knew that her life was too fucked up right now for her to hold off on calling him.
“Yeah.” Her voice was tight.
“What made you change your mind, aside from the obviousness that you need the money?”