“I can do that,” I said.
“You understand what the job involves?” he said. “This ain’t no errand boy run, delivering pizzas. If you let them, they’ll run right over you. Bookies skimming off the top, druggies looking to jump you for the cash. You need to stay on top of it.”
I understood what he meant. He wanted me to be enough of a presence to deter the thieves. And the ones who weren’t deterred… they would need dealing with. It was the way the world worked.
“There’ll be no skimming on my watch, Mr English,” I said.
He laughed, shaking my hand once more. “Call me Terry, son,” he said. “One of my boys will run though the specifics with you tomorrow, but for tonight - have a drink on me. To welcome you to the family.”
“Thanks, Terry,” I said, and meant it.
“Mike!” he shouted. A man behind the bar looked up. “These boys are drinking on the house tonight. Look after them!” The man nodded.
“Off you go, son,” Terry said. “Have a drink, chat up some birds, enjoy yourself.”
“Believe me, a girlfriend is the last thing I need right now,” I said, standing up.
He laughed again. “You’re wise beyond your years, son. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, ain’t that right, Heath?”
“So many women, so little time,” Heath said, grinning.
As we moved away, I turned Terry’s words over in my mind. I don’t know if it was the atmosphere, the drink Heath was pressing into my hand, or just that it had been too long, but suddenly I was as horny as fuck. Get laid and get out suddenly seemed like a good idea.
Heath nudged me. “I think you’ve got an admirer,” he said, nodding towards a girl across the room. She had been looking at us, and when we stared back, she held my gaze instead of looking away. It wasn’t just her confidence that had my cock twitching - she was smoking hot. Long, dark hair, and curves in all the right places.
Before I could even think about it, I was standing next to her.
“I’m Mason,” I said.
She looked me up and down, biting her lip. An image flashed into my brain, of her biting my lip, and I could feel my cock hardening.
“Nicole,” she said.
Nicole
I felt that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had never been on a night out by myself in my entire life, and it was a strange experience. I found myself constantly trying to look as if I was waiting for someone to come back from the bar – whatever that looked like. But I wasn't on a night out, I was working.
We'd had intelligence about Terry English's illegal boxing ring for a while. It wasn't worth arresting him for that, though, not when we could get him for something bigger. So I had decided to go down there and observe him, see who he spoke to, how he acted, who he was.
It was my first official undercover outing. At first, I had wanted to order a soft drink from the bar – to keep my wits about me – but I realised that everybody else in the old warehouse was drinking, and I wanted to blend in. So I ordered a glass of wine, and settled at a table where I could see the fight, but also see Terry English.
He was holding court in a secluded corner, his goons protecting him. Men would approach the corner, and the goons would either admit them or turn them away. It was fascinating to watch – far more interesting than the fight. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but I could see the expressions and the body language of the men that sat with English. Some were nervous as they approached. Most of those left his company looking relieved, although one man looked terrified as he walked away. English had nodded at one of the goons, who then followed the man. I wondered if one of my colleagues would be writing a report about the scared man in the morning. Probably not – this was a tightknit world, and nobody grassed.
I didn't recognise all of the faces in Terry's circle, but most of them looked familiar from the surveillance photographs and mug shots I had been studying. One of those faces was approaching English now – Heath Bailey, one of Terry's prize fighters. He looked happy and confident as he was admitted to the table with his friend. Clearly, Heath was in the good books. English seemed to be speaking with the friend, rather than Heath himself. I couldn't see that guy's face from my vantage point, just the back of his head. After a few minutes, the two men got up and headed towards the bar. They were smiling – the meeting had obviously gone better than some of the ones I had watched.
Heath had a reputation as a ladies man, and I wondered if I could use that to my advantage. As he moved through the room, all the women stared at him, and he certainly seemed aware of it. But I found my gaze sliding to the other guy – Heath's friend, the one that Terry had been speaking to.
He was tall, maybe six feet, but what stood out more was the way he carried himself. It was a quiet confidence, not the cocky swagger of the local wideboys or the lumbering gait of the weightlifters. He was handsome, too, but unlike Heath, he didn't seem to be aware of it. He was dressed simply, carelessly – just jeans and a T-shirt, with a scruff of stubble darkening his jaw. He wasn't out to impress anyone, and I liked that about him. The warehouse was packed to capacity with people desperate to impress each other, and his indifference made him stand out.
I was so caught up in staring at him that I didn't realise Heath had clocked me, not until he nudged his friend and they both looked over, right at me. Shit! Was my cover blown already? I held his gaze. Looking away now wouldn't help matters, and I needed to be able to see their expressions – if a look of recognition crossed either face, I needed to get out of there quickly.
The friend was making his way over. I swallowed my panic, forcing myself to look calm, cool and collected.
"I'm Mason," he said.
I glanced down. His hands were by his sides, not reaching for a weapon or balled into fists. I realised I was chewing on my lower lip – the anxious habit that always gave me away – and stopped immediately.
"Nicole," I said.
"Who are you here with?" he asked.
Shit, shit, shit! "I was supposed to be meeting my friend, but she can't make it," I said. "She just texted me now." I waited, holding my breath. Did he believe me? Did he know who I was? Had Terry English, or one of his gang, sussed me out?
"That's good," he said, smiling.
"Good?"
"I wanted to buy you a drink, so I was hoping you weren't here on a date or anything," he said.
Relief flooded through me, and I smiled at him.
"Is that a yes, then?"
"Yes," I said. "A white wine, please."
As he fetched the drinks, I tried to justify it to myself. It would have looked strange, to refuse company after I had just admitted being stood up by my fictional friend. And this guy, Mason, had been speaking with Terry English. That made him a legitimate surveillance target. So it didn't matter, that I thought he was gorgeous. That just standing next to him gave me butterflies. It was still a professional thing to do...
Three hours later, it was harder to convince myself that I was still acting professionally. We had been drinking wine, laughing and flirting non-stop. It felt like… a date. A date with a funny, sexy guy. I had to keep reminding myself why I was doing this, what I was here for, but as time wore on it was harder and harder to focus. I hadn't asked him anything about Terry, or his business dealings. I told myself it was because I didn't want to scare my first informant away too soon, but really it was because I just wanted to keep the conversation going.
He had sat down next to me, the length of his thigh pressed against the length of mine, and I found myself unbelievably aware of his presence, his touch. By the time he was holding my hand, stroking my back, and finally leaning in to kiss my neck, I was gone. I didn't care about the work, the undercover job that I was supposed to be doing. I just wanted him. It had been so long since I felt like this – a sexy, desirable woman. Spending half my life lumbering around in body armour, and the rest of it dealing with the fallout from my relationship with
Gary Thompson had made me forget how good it felt to be wanted.
So when he kissed me, I kissed him back, and when he whispered in my ear that we could perhaps maybe leave together, I was all for it. The only sensible thought that I had was that we should go back to his place, not mine. A police-funded safe house wasn't the best venue for a booty call, and I knew there was all kinds of incriminating paperwork lying around my new home. So we went back to his place.
It was small, but clean and tidy – surprisingly so. There's only one kind of man who keeps a place like this.
"You’re in the Army?" I asked.
"I was," he said, his eyes darkening. Clearly this was something he didn't want to discuss.
"Right now though," he said, "I want to be in you."
Desire ripped through me as he began to kiss me roughly, pulling at my clothes. As I pressed against, I could feel the hard length of his cock, and I unbuttoned his belt, wanting more, more, more. He picked me up as if I was as light as a feather, still kissing me , and carried me over to his bed, where he gently lay me down.
I watched, anticipating, as he pulled his T-shirt off, tossing it carelessly aside. He had an amazing body – rockhard abs and a wide chest. I suddenly felt self-conscious about my own figure. It had been a long time since anybody had seen my own soft curves. I immediately found myself wishing that I was thinner, more toned, more perfect for this guy. But amazingly, he didn't seem to notice. As my T-shirt and bra came off, I saw his pupils dilate.
"God, Nicole," he whispered, "you're so fucking sexy…"
In that moment I believed him completely.
He shook off his jeans and underwear, and I could see his cock at last. I reached for it – but he moved away, grinning wickedly.
"Not yet."
I was lying on the bed, as he knelt above me, looking at me. He unfastened my jeans and slid them away, taking my underwear too. I was completely naked and exposed. He paused, looking up and down my body with a fierce intensity, and the combination of lust and embarrassment was thrilling. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started to kiss me. First my lips, then moving down to my neck, and then my breasts - his tongue teasing each nipple into a stiff peak, before licking, biting, arousing… and then down again, kissing my belly as his strong, warm hands pushed my thighs apart. I could feel his hot breath against my wetness as he paused, breathing me in. His tongue flicked out, tracing the line of my lips before finding the hot bud of nerves that ached for his touch.
I gasped with pleasure, all self-consciousness forgotten, as he buried his face in my pussy. Just as I could feel myself teetering on the brink, he pulled away, moving up the bed and over me in one swift, smooth movement. As he kissed me, I could taste myself on his lips, his tongue. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him down onto me. For half a second, I could feel the head of his cock, pressing against my pussy, and then he was inside me.
He was huge, and hard, and fast - and it was just what I wanted. He filled me completely, thrusting relentlessly as I cried out for more. It was amazing. I had never been fucked like this in my entire life. It was more than just technique, or desire. I felt as if this man, this gorgeous, sexy man, belonged inside me. I dug my fingers hard into his back, urging him on. As I felt my orgasm building, I started to moan incoherently into his ear - don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.
He didn't stop, but as I started to shudder and climax, I felt him let go, his fingers twisting into my hair as he spurted inside me, our bodies moving as one. It seemed to go on forever – I was completely lost in the sensations, almost afraid of the intensity of my pleasure.
Finally, it was over. He kissed me softly, neither of us speaking, neither of us wanting to break the spell. We lay there for a while, him still inside me, staring into each others eyes.
What had I done?
Mason
What have I done? No matter how many times I asked myself that question, a reply never came.
It was a cold, overcast day. I was making my rounds, meeting the bookies and collecting the money. I was a week into the job, and I was finding that the work wasn't that bad. So far, everybody had paid up. Terry was pleased, and he was paying me well. I should have been happy, but I wasn't. Not because of the job, though – because of her.
My priorities had been so clear that night. Have a few drinks, get laid, move on. As soon as I seen her, I knew that I had to have her. She'd come back to my flat, and the sex had been amazing. She had been amazing. Her body was ripe and luscious, but it had been more than that. She made me laugh, interested me, made me want to learn more about her. And that was not on the cards.
So the next morning, when she left, I swore that I wasn't going to see her again. We hadn't swapped numbers, so that was that- done. Until that evening, when my doorbell rang and she was there. If she had a flimsy excuse for coming round, I didn't get to hear it – I was deep inside her minutes later. That time, we did swap numbers, and the next evening I found myself texting her, inviting her round.
It was just for sex, I told myself. I’m horny, and she’s up for it. But if it was just for sex, then why had we watched a film together, ordered a Chinese takeaway? Moments like now, when I was alone, I could think straight – remind myself that getting involved with a woman was a bad idea. But when she was there, she was like a drug. I was powerless to stop myself from touching her, kissing her, wanting her to like me. And I think she did like me – although she was cool, playing her cards close to her chest, whenever we were together there was an undeniable spark. But of what? Lust? Friendship? More?
I was snapped back out of my thoughts and into the present by the man standing in front of me. He was small and scrawny, and he could be any age from early thirties to late fifties. He had that look about him – the look of somebody who has had a hard, unhealthy life, and every drink, every cigarette, every drug, every junk food meal was written on his pinched face.
"Here you go son, three hundred quid," he said, pressing a wad of cash firmly into my hand.
"It should be five hundred," I said flatly. I had been warned about this. The bookies would try to test me, pushing their luck. I was an unknown quantity, and if they could successfully pull the wool over my eyes, they could double their income. It was understandable, sure, that they tried. But it had to be dealt with. If word got out that I had been lenient with one, all the others would follow suit. On the other hand, this was an opportunity to quell the hassle before it even began.
"Nah, it's definitely three hundred," he said. "Five hundred is before my cut – three hundred after."
I moved closer to him, well into his comfort zone. He took a step back, which confirmed beyond all doubt that he was lying. An honest man would have stood his ground, fought his corner.
"It’s five hundred right now," I said. “In thirty seconds, it will be £550. In one minute, it will be £600 and four teeth. You can fuck with me all you want, mate, but you'll pay the price for it."
He shrank back, barking a nervous laugh.
"Now now, son, there's no need for us to fall out. It's my mistake – an honest mistake. You're right, it was seven hundred originally, five hundred after my cut. I knew five hundred came into it somewhere! My mind must be going soft…"
He fumbled in his pocket for the rest of the money. The fact that he had it on him was promising, at least. He hadn't been confident about getting away with his blag. I couldn't let this go without comment, though.
"If your mind is going soft, then maybe it's time to retire. Let someone else take over."
His eyes narrowed. "I've been with Terry since you were shitting in your nappies, boy, and I'll be with him long after you’re… gone."
"Maybe," I said, smiling. I consciously relaxed my stance, leaning casually against the wall. I watched his body language change. He drew himself up to his full height, confident that his invocation of Terry's name had protected him..
He never saw it coming. My fist crunched into his face, and he fell to the floor, nose bl
eeding.
"But until then," I said, in the same friendly tone, "there'll be no more memory lapses, will there?"
I could see a myriad of expressions flashing across his ruined face. Anger, guilt, and fear. He wanted to tell me to fuck off, but he didn’t dare.
"Will there?" I repeated, the friendly tone gone.
"No," he said quietly, dropping his gaze.
I turned and walked away, back to my car. I felt like shit. I was just doing my job, and he'd been asking for it. He knew the risk of chancing his arm. Nevertheless, it did not feel good - bullying and beating the older, smaller man. My mind flashed back to Nicole. What would she think, if she had watched that? Would she still look at me as if I was interesting, desirable, worthy?
Of course she fucking wouldn't, I thought. Some women would, sure, but not her. She was better than all that. She was better than me. Maybe that's why you can’t give her up.
My phone beeped - a text. It was her, asking if I would be home later. This was an opportunity to rid myself of the turmoil. All I had to do was… nothing. Ignore the text. I knew she wasn't the kind of woman that would lower herself to chase after an ignorant twat. Just do nothing, and it ends.
Even as I thought this, my fingers were typing - I would be home all evening, come round whenever. That was the effect she had on me. I was like a drug addict looking for my next fix. But this is it, I promised myself. One more hit, and then I'm done.
I headed home, trying to pretend to myself that I wasn't pushing the car faster than usual, trying to ignore the thrill of anticipation. As I parked up, I could see a figure sitting on my doorstep. A small, female figure. She was already here! I was grinning as I headed up the path, but when she looked up, the smile died on my face.
It was not Nicole. It was my wife.
Nicole
It was just over a week, since I’d met Mason, and I was finding it easier to process my double life. Well, maybe not easier, but I was trying.
Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance Page 2