And that only seemed to make the crying worse. Wincing, he opened his arms to her as she crawled toward him, then cradled her against his chest as she cried. This was a good thing. It had to be. He kissed the side of her head, and he swore he heard her whisper that she loved him.
******
"Thanks, man," Red muttered, handing the pizza guy a tip. "Have a good night."
"You too," the teen muttered, bouncing down the steps to the car loitering by the curb. It was nearly three in the morning, and Red was damn thankful that most of the pizza joints in town delivered all hours of the evening. Standing there wearing nothing but his jeans, he had to be quite the sight for the poor kid. Before slipping back inside, he did another sweep of the street. Clear. Even more so than when Missy arrived.
He found her in the kitchen, seated at the table with a few mismatched plates set out. Their beers, which Red had thrown in the freezer for a few minutes, were now in tall glasses. He paused in the doorway: it was like walking in on his own little homemaker.
"Smells good," she said as he placed the pizza box on the table, and he held back a laugh as she dove right in to it. Nothing better than a woman with a healthy appetite after sex. Grinning, he sat on the chair next to hers, grabbing a few slices of his own as his stomach rumbled. They ate their meal in relative silence, occasionally commenting on the quality of the pizza or the thickness of the crust.
Unfortunately, Red just couldn't let his thoughts stay buried for long, and before he could help himself, he blurted, "Look, I hate to bring this up—"
"Then don’t," she interrupted swiftly. She didn't sound angry or anything, but Red wasn't going to let her talk him out of it. This was a conversation they needed to have if they wanted to move forward together.
"You know I gotta," he muttered, then took a long sip of beer. The liquid washed the slightly dry pizza crust down just right, and when he was finished, he covered his mouth with his fist, hiding a burp. "But, Missy, we need to talk about what you're going to do with Dan. I can't… I can't be the guy you sleep with after you two have a fight. I can't. I…" Care for you. Deeply. He gulped down the words, instead finishing with, "I just don't think I have it in me to be that guy."
"What's there to do?" she asked, picking at her final slice of pizza. She had a habit of picking off all the toppings and eating them separately—Red found it endearing. "He always told me he'd kill me if I left him."
The word hung heavy in the air. She'd always hinted at Dan's darker side to Red, but it wasn't until now that she'd come outright and admitted exactly what he'd do to her if she left. Red bit his cheeks to keep from snarling, his fists shaking.
"I don't know what I can do," she added, and when he glanced at her again, the tears had come back. They weren't happy tears this time, and he was sure they wouldn't be followed by tender kisses and a second round of sex in the shower. "If I run, I'm sure he'd find me. He'd find my mom, my friends… He'd do whatever it takes to make sure I suffer if I embarrass him by leaving him. Dan won't stop—"
"He'll stop when he's dead." The idea sprung to the tip of his tongue as if he'd only just realized this, but in truth, Red had imagined Dan's death a thousand times over the years. He imagined how much better everyone would be without that asshole floating around—and death seemed like the most logical way to get rid of him.
"Well, in an ideal world, yeah," Missy said before popping a piece of pepperoni in her mouth. They watched one another as she chewed, until she finally swallowed hard and frowned at him. "You aren't… serious, are you?"
"About what?"
"About him being dead."
He shrugged, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out under the table. "Well, Missy Mae… If Dan being dead means you not being dead just because you want to break up with him, then… yeah, I'm serious."
Her eyes widened. "Red."
"Missy." Adrenaline pumped through him, spurring on his words. "Look, the guy is a dirtbag. He's bad for you, he's bad for me, and he's bad for the gang. He's a drunk who beats his woman, who should've been locked up in jail a long time ago, but he pays everyone off. He's not going to stop. There's no way to make him repent."
"But—"
"Am I wrong?" he asked, cutting her off. She pressed her lips together tightly, abandoning her last slice altogether as she pushed her plate away.
"No."
Sighing, he reached for her hand and gathered it up between both of his, then kissed the top.
"Missy, I want to be with you," he told her, admitting his feelings in a way he'd never done for a woman before. "I want you to be happy. If that means being happy with me, then… that's fucking swell. If it means being happy on your own, I'd support you doing that too. But in order to do any of this, Dan needs to go. Permanently. And everyone else is too chicken shit to do anything about him."
"You'll go to jail," she said, half-whispering. "We will go to jail."
"We won't get caught," he assured her, mind going a mile a minute over all the possible ways he could put that creep six feet under. "I promise. I know it's hard, but you can trust me."
"Trusting you isn't hard." Missy gave his hands a squeeze, then retracted hers from his grip. "Scheming to kill the man who has my life in his hands? That's… the hard part."
"Let's sleep on it," he suggested, not wanting to push her into something she'd later regret in the heat of the moment. "We'll regroup tomorrow. Talk it over. Weigh the pros, cons, whatever. No pressure. Just know that I'd do this for you in a heartbeat if it means your freedom. I swear it."
She fell silent for a moment, then leaned forward and stroked his cheek.
"Look at that, Red," she murmured. "Your sweet heart is showing again."
He smirked and looked away, shaking his head. "I think you're seeing things."
"Clearly," Missy said, her tone a little louder, a little surer of herself. "Seeing things clearly for the first time in… a long, long time."
Chapter 6
Never in her life had Missy been in a sex shop—not voluntarily, anyway. Once, as a teenager, her friends forced her to step inside one on a dare, but back then all she'd done was push open the doors, stand in the entryway, and then run out, mortified, back to her giggling companions. There were sex shops in just about every town in America, whether they were out in the open or hidden behind a vague name and curtains. Now, as she stood there, not even sure where to begin, she could feel the backs of her knees sweating.
It had been two weeks since the love of her life offered to find a way to kill the man who'd been posing as the love of her life since she was seventeen. She and Red had discussed the situation at length, over the course of many days, and eventually agreed that the only way she'd be truly free would be if Dan was dead. Police wouldn't be able to help her. No one in the FBI would give a crap either. Dan knew where her mom lived, he knew where she worked, and he knew that she had a bad hip. If Missy just disappeared in the night one day, her mom would be the first person he'd go after.
And then when he found her, which he eventually would, Dan might kill her outright, or he'd drag out the punishment. A slow, awful torture awaited her either way—live the rest of her days with the man who drunkenly and violently abused her, or have that same man pull off her fingernails and burn her with cigarettes when he inevitably tracked her down. When she put it in the most simplistic terms, it was all quite simple: Dan needed to die.
Of course, she couldn't do it. Missy didn't have the stomach or backbone to kill someone point-blank, and while she knew Red could probably beat Dan's face into the ground and peel back his scalp right to the brain, she didn't want him spending the rest of his life in prison for trying to save her. They needed to be clever about everything. Dan's death needed to look like an accident, and it wasn't just the cops who'd have to buy it. Once their leader was dead, the town's bikers would probably launch several investigations of their own, and if they found out who was actually behind the murder, well, she wouldn't be any safer tha
n if Dan had still be around.
So, that was why she was in a sex shop—the last place on Earth she'd ever spend any of her free time. It was a breezy summer afternoon, a Wednesday, and the shop was completely deserted. Aside from the clerk stocking boxes of dildos on a window display, she was totally on her own here. Red had to work at the bike shop most days, and he figured it'd be risky if they were spotted walking into a shop like this together anyway.
Gripping her purse strap, she sauntered down a set of stairs to a lower level. The sign above read The Dungeon in big black letters, and she knew this was probably where she'd find what she needed. Dan liked to play the poor man's dominant and submissive, though Missy had never been fond of their sex games. With her unwillingness to play, she knew he went elsewhere to get his fix—the gang basically ran a prostitute ring, for goodness sake.
His love for whores and cheap thrills would be Dan's undoing—she'd see to that. Gulping, she wandered the walls of whips, ball gags, anal beads, and handcuffs, trying to find precisely what she and Red were looking for. She paused, briefly, at the face masks. The material was designed to be breathable, but some had no eye sockets or mouth holes. Her hand fell back to her side and she looked away with a frown.
Oh, she couldn't imagine not being able to see or taste Red when they were together. A little playful tying to the bedpost here and there was about as spicy as she wanted to go. For now, she was getting her fill of tender, loving sex that involved a genuine connection. After years of being forced into sexual situations that made her uncomfortable, being with a man who was all about give-and-take was a refreshing, much needed change.
Halfway through trying to guess how one shoved such an enormous plug into one's ass, the shop clerk reappeared in Missy's peripherals, and she stepped away from the toy in question hastily. Her cheeks prickled as a blush spread over them, and she cleared her throat, at a loss as to what she ought to say.
"Do you need help finding anything?" the clerk asked, and Missy let out a small sigh, pleased that the woman had taken the initiative for her. "Do you want me to explain how anything here works?"
"Collars," Missy managed, her voice cracking. "I'm trying to surprise my boyfriend, so I want to pick up a couple."
"Oh, wonderful," the clerk gushed, taking Missy by the elbow and leading her away. "We have a great selection of collars… Let me give you the tour."
At that point, her face was in agony, and she thought she might pass out with all the blood collecting in her cheeks. But, as always, she forced a smile, her persona bright and bubbly, and nodded.
"Great! Can't wait!"
******
"How does that feel, baby?"
Red let out a long sigh, one full of dwindling patience and strength of will, then turned his head to the side.
"It feels fine," he told Sandy, who grinned like the fucking Cheshire Cat as she worked her hands slowly down his back. Here he was, in a position he'd never wanted to be—ever. Flat on his stomach, on a grungy massage table, in Sandy's apartment. When he'd called her initially, she'd launched into a huge rant about her prices and services, and at the time had seemed a little deflated that Red only requested a massage.
Not a happy-ending kind of massage either. His pants were still on, despite her efforts to get them off several times since he'd arrived, and he was barely comfortable with her rubbing anywhere below his shoulders. But this was for Missy, and he'd do literally anything for that woman: including killing her abusive boyfriend.
It was only this week that they'd worked out the final details, covering their asses from every angle they could possibly think of. Unfortunately, Sandy now featured quite heavily into the whole murder scenario that Red and Missy had concocted, and its success fell squarely on the prostitute's squat, thick shoulders.
Dan's house was going to be where the murder eventually took place, but Sandy's apartment already looked like the scene of a crime. It was a rundown little one-bedroom place in the south end of the town. Not exactly the squalor that he might have expected someone like Sandy to live in, but just about. Hallways full of graffiti, babies crying on every floor, intensive bolt locks on Sandy's doors and windows, despite being on the sixth floor. It could have been worse, but Red sure as hell wouldn't want to live here. Townhouse living was bad enough, and at least his neighbourhood wasn't rife with guys wanting to prove how tough they were.
He'd been harassed twice on the way up front the underground parking garage. Twice. He couldn't imagine what the women in this building went through on a daily basis.
"You know, you'd really be more comfortable if you took these off," Sandy told him in what he assumed was supposed to be a seductive voice. He felt her slide a finger under the waistline of his jeans between his buttcrack, and he clenched up.
"They're staying on," he said firmly. The only woman who had the privilege of seeing him without his pants on these days was Missy, and, if he could help it, she'd be the only one seeing him like that for a long time. Although she kept her feelings close to her chest, she'd hinted that she wanted to be with Red once this was all over. They had a getaway scheme and everything. Of course he wondered if she was only pretending to have feelings for him because he was willing to orchestrate some grand plan to kill her shitbag boyfriend, but Red couldn't believe that. The proof was in the way she kissed him—and that was good enough for him.
"I don't get you, Red," Sandy huffed, running her nails up and down his back. His skin prickled at the sensation, though he wished it wouldn't. "Why won't you do anything with me? You gay, or something?"
"Are you seriously asking that?" He pushed himself up on his elbows, glaring. "You just tried to shove your finger down my crack, and you're asking if I'm gay?"
"Straight guys like it too," she insisted, her eyes flashing mischievously. Sighing, Red rolled over when she tried to cop another feel of his ass, his glare intensifying. "There are a lot of sensitive parts in there. I'm a pro at finding a guy's g-spot in his ass—"
"Yeah, well, that's great for you," he grumbled as he climbed off the rickety massage bed and went for his shirt. He'd folded it up and placed it on the armrest of her sofa, the only place in the whole apartment he'd deemed clean enough when he first arrived.
"Oh, come on, Red!"
"All I asked for was a massage," he snapped, grabbing his wallet and fishing out a fifty dollar bill. "Nothing more. Here."
She stared at him, hip cocked and arms folded, then begrudgingly snatched the bill from his hand.
"At least you know how to tip," she sniffed, tucking the money into her bra. "So that's it? Just a massage?"
"As a paying customer? Yeah, that's all I want." Red glanced toward the door, taking in each lock, then studied the combined kitchen-living room he found himself in. Hopefully the walls were at least a little soundproof. "But as someone who you owe at least eight grand to for dealing with your fucking drug dealers…" Her face blanched, all pretenses of seducing him falling flat. "… I think we need to have a serious talk about how you're going to pay me back."
Red grabbed the black duffel bag he'd brought with him, then unzipped it noisily.
"I'm working on the money," Sandy remarked softly, her shoulders slumped forward. "I swear, I'm almost halfway there."
"Well, I'm here to collect today," Red told her, ignoring the stress in her tone. He stopped rooting through his bag when he felt it, and then let out a long sigh. Sandy, meanwhile, looked like she was on the verge of tears—and it wasn't a good look. "Listen. I'm willing to wipe the slate clean. Clear your debt."
She sniffled noisily, then wiped under her nose with the back of her hand. "If?"
"If…" He trailed off, staring at her for a long moment, then pulled the collar Missy had bought from the sex shop last week out of the bag. Sandy gawked at him, her thick eyebrows furrowing. "If you do one simple job for me."
"I thought you said you didn't want anything more than a massage?" she asked, confusion riddled across her features. "You know I do BDS
M crap all the time—"
"I do," he interjected, standing and crossing the room to her. He held out the collar, which he'd spent a few days tinkering with at home. For how much it cost him and Missy, it had better do its job. "In fact, your reputation around the gang is that you play a good dominatrix."
She shrugged as she took the collar, her hands shaking. "Yeah, I've heard that before."
"Did you know that good ol' Dan likes to be put in his place?" Red inquired, folding his arms across his chest. Sandy looked up at him quickly. "In fact, I have on good authority that he's looking for a new girl who can keep up with him."
"But—"
"Put the collar on him and the debt is paid," Red explained, feeling it necessary to give the bare bones of his plan. "Does that sound like something you can do?"
Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance Page 4