BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Holy fucking…Oh. My. God,” I murmured.

  I clenched his head with my thighs and prayed that he stop.

  But he didn’t.

  I shuttered. I shook. I came. And then, I came again. And, again. The room spun. My eyesight blurred. My ears rang.

  When everything settled down, he was standing in front of me with a raging hard on. As perfect as he looked wearing nothing but a tee shirt, being fucked was the last thing on my to-do list. I needed time to recover, and a few moments wasn’t going to be enough.

  A week was more like it.

  “Well? What did you think?” I whispered.

  He wiped his beard with his palm. “You got a great little pussy.”

  “Really?”

  He reached for my ankles and gently pulled me off the edge of the countertop. I stood on shaking legs, uncertain how long I could continue to do so without collapsing.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the bar. Naturally, I flattened my hands against the counter to steady myself. He must have seen it as his cue, because he pushed against the center of my back and forced my boobs onto the cold granite surface.

  Then, without warning, he shoved his cock in me.

  All. Of. It.

  “Oh. My God!” I gasped.

  “Holy fuck that feels good,” he said.

  He withdrew himself, and then slowly pushed his entire length back inside.

  I was one and a half strokes into our sexual adventure, and I felt like I’d just completed a gang bang with an NFL football team.

  I’d heard all the phrases like, it’s not the size of the ship, it’s the motion of the ocean. Until that moment, I believed them.

  It was painfully obvious that the women who spouted such untruths had never been fucked by a man with a real dick. If they had, they’d know better than to try and sell such lies to the masses of unknowing women who were willing to listen.

  A man with a big dick will ruin a woman from ever being satisfied by anything normal. I now knew that to be the truth.

  He gripped my waist in his hands and commenced to fuck me like I was paying off a debt.

  The tip of his dick was making me aware that there were areas inside of me that I had no idea existed. His massive girth and unequaled length had him well into unchartered territory, and I was enjoying every thrust that reminded me of it.

  “Fuck yes,” he said through his teeth. “You’ve got a fantastic little cunt.”

  No one had ever said the c-word in my presence and got away with it. In the context he’d used it, however, it took me to an entirely new level of wetness.

  “Thank you,” I said between breaths.

  His hips slapped hard against my ass. “What’s your fucking name, anyway?”

  I realized that in all the excitement, I hadn’t even introduced myself.

  “Andy,” I gasped.

  He pounded his full length into me three more times before he acknowledged my response.

  “Baker,” he said with a laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

  I chuckled to myself at the direction my life had taken. I had a new job, a handsome as hell neighbor, and I was having my brains fucked out by a man I didn’t know in a five thousand dollar a month apartment that was walking distance from the San Diego Bay.

  It beat the hell out of being robbed at gunpoint, losing my job, and being unemployed, that was for sure.

  The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed through the empty apartment. A dozen or so strokes later, I felt myself contract. No differently than when he sucked my pussy, I expected the climactic ending was going to make me appear to be mindless.

  I opened my eyes and focused on the feeling of being stretched wider than I’d ever been. I felt his hand against my shoulder. Then, he lifted against it, causing me to arch my back. His warm breath against my neck sent a chill down my spine.

  “Do it,” he breathed into my ear. “Do it, you sexy little bitch.”

  It was all the authorization I needed.

  I came with the force of a tsunami, clenching his cock like a vise as I reached climax. When the waves of pleasure ended, my legs gave out.

  He caught me before I hit the floor.

  “You’re out of shape,” he said. “Because we’re far from done.”

  A sigh shot from my lungs. “Seriously?”

  He simply smiled.

  He fucked me two more times that day, again on the island, and once as we gazed out at the traffic.

  When he finally came, it was all over my tits. I’d never viewed being plastered with cum as sexy, at least not until that afternoon.

  When Baker did it, it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  It may have been the smile that he wore when he was standing in front of me with his cock in his hand. Or the fact that I’d never seen a man come so much. Maybe it was that he let me clean it up with his awesome guitar print socks. Regardless, my first day at work was the best day I’d had in a long, long time.

  He pulled his jeans on and buckled his belt. “Craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done,” he said under his breath.

  “Having sex with a stranger?” I asked.

  “No.” He let out a long breath. “It’s not that.”

  “What, then?”

  “With me living next door to your office, I can’t decide if this was a good idea or a bad one.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I’m not one of those crazy women who’s going to knock on your door. If you want, you’ll never see me again.”

  “That’s the problem.” He said. “I’m afraid I’m far from done fucking you.”

  My life continued to get better and better. I smiled. “That’s okay, too.”

  He chuckled a dry laugh. “If you say so.”

  After he left, I fully expected to fill with regret, but it never came. Instead, I filled with pride, wearing our little sexual adventure like a crown.

  Adventurous?

  Yeah, I’d say I’m adventurous.

  SEVEN - Baker

  Tito scratched the light scruff that peppered his jaw. He held my gaze for an instant, and then lowered his eyes to my desk. His boyish features made it easy to assume he was immature or inexperienced.

  He was neither.

  Although he was in his early thirties, he could easily pass for a high school senior. A true genius and self-taught electrician, he was a wealth of information about everything. His areas of expertise, however, were computer hacking, anything to do with numbers, and the manipulation of high end alarms.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

  He continued to rub his jaw. “Eighty-six percent.”

  I laughed. “Eighty-six, huh?”

  He looked up and nodded. “Eighty-six.”

  Standing off to the side, Cash crossed his arms and then gave Tito a look. “You’re a fucking weirdo. Why not ninety?”

  Tito glared back at him. “Because ninety would be a lie.” He looked at me. “It’s eighty-six,” he said dryly.

  In the few days it took me to recover from having my brains fucked out by my new daytime neighbor, Tito had been researching Pat’s Gold and Diamond Exchange in detail. In his survey of the premises, he learned the alarm system included motion activated cameras and an emergency power supply that automatically energized as soon as electrical power was lost. It was outdated, which made the once state-of-the-art system and easy one to disable. If he was eighty-six percent sure he could manipulate it, I was willing to plan the job.

  I rubbed my hands together. “Eighty-six is good with me.”

  Cash waved in Tito’s direction and then turned away. “Eighty-six is the same as a hundred. He just makes this shit up. This deal’s for sure. I’m telling you. We’re gonna be fucking rich.”

  Tito pushed himself away from my desk and gave Cash a shitty look. “Nothing’s certain, so that gets me to ninety-eight. This place is in a strip mall off of Main Street, and Rainbow has a police force. So, the possibility ex
ists that the town cop gets bored and drives past while I’m trying to kill the alarm and cut the power. Now, we’re at ninety-two. There’s six of us involved. The odds of--”

  Cash turned around. “Why do you do you always do this in two percent increments? If you’re so fucking smart, why not one percent? Or a half? Or tenths. Yeah, why not tenths, Mister Brainiac?”

  “No one can guess within one percent. A tenth is ludicrous. If I claimed to be able to, it’d be a lie. You’re the only one in the club who’s prone to tell lies.”

  “Fuck you, Tito.”

  Tito looked Cash up and down. “Truth stings, doesn’t it?”

  Cash’s eyes thinned to slits. “What are you talking about?”

  “Back in May. When you almost shot that girl in the bank and called it an accident. It was the most blatant lie I’ve ever heard.”

  Cash huffed out a heavy sigh. “It was a fucking accident.”

  Tito formed a gun with his fingers. “You had it pointed at her face the entire time she was gathering up the money. Miraculously, when it accidentally went off, you missed her. You can tell Baker whatever you want. I’m not interested in listening to your bullshit, Cash. It wasn’t an accident.”

  Cash alternated glances between Tito and me. “When are we going to find something else to talk about?”

  “It was a fifty-thousand-dollar mistake,” Tito said. “I made an extra ten grand because of your accident. I’ll be talking about it for a long time.”

  “It was an accident, and it was eight months ago.” Cash looked at me. “What day is it?”

  “Seventh, why?”

  “No, not the day of the month. What day of the week? Is it Tuesday?”

  “Monday,” I said.

  He looked at Tito. “I’ll give you until Friday. Mention it after Friday, and you and me are gonna fuckin’ box.”

  Despite Cash being as mean as a snake, if there was anyone who could challenge him and make it a worthwhile fight, it would be Tito. His family had taught Jiu-Jitsu for generations, and he was a master at it. I prayed that Tito mention it during the following week’s Wednesday meeting, just to see them in action.

  “You and I,” Tito said, correcting Cash’s grammar.

  “That’s right.” Oblivious of Tito’s correction, Cash raised his clenched fists. “The two of us.”

  Unamused, Tito tilted his head toward me. “Looks like the town has three cops. One kid with an attitude, and two overweight fuckers in their mid-fifties. Kid appears to work nights. We’ll disable the generator, then cut the power and all communication at the same time. A cell phone jammer will make sure we don’t get a remote alarm.”

  “How are we getting in?”

  “The roof-mounted air conditioner weighs 560 pounds. It’ll take all of us to move it to the side. Then, we’ll go in through the ductwork.”

  “Sounds like a hundred percent to me,” Cash said.

  Tito glared. “Maybe you should disable the alarm, then.”

  “Maybe I should. I’ve watched you do it enough. No big deal, really. A cell phone jammer, some wire cutters, and a little blind luck.”

  Tito glanced at Cash and shook his head. “The place is lit up like a Christmas tree at night, so we’ll need a dozen battery-powered puck lights to make sure someone doesn’t notice the power’s off. If they do, they’ll call it in, and that cop will be there in a minute. My guess is he’s former military. Looks the part.”

  The index and middle fingers of Tito’s right hand were crossed. He did it when he didn’t want to forget something he felt was important.

  I nodded toward his hand. “What else?”

  He uncrossed his fingers. “This Pat guy. He’s got good credit, but he owes eight hundred grand on a nine hundred-thousand-dollar house. He leases a Benz AMG C63, and his wife drives a leased Lexus LX. On paper, he lives off his credit. There’s no doubt he has money, but he doesn’t deposit it in the bank or buy anything short of lunch. When he goes, it’s not with his wife, either. It’s with some hot twenty-year-old.”

  “Maybe his daughter?”

  “I don’t know who it is, but it’s not his daughter.”

  I grinned. “So, he’s getting some young pussy on the side, and he keeps his assets hidden? Might be planning on leave the wife, huh?”

  “The math doesn’t add up, that’s for sure,” he said. “I’m guessing his assets are liquid. My bet is that he keeps everything in that shop. If he does that much volume in gold, we’ll need to drive on this one. It will be impossible to haul much weight out of there on our bikes.”

  I looked at Cash. “This might be a damned fine job.”

  He flipped his hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Told ya.”

  “I would hate to leave anything behind,” Tito said. “Just to be safe, our vehicle will need to have a big cargo area.”

  I chuckled. “We’re not leaving anything behind.”

  Cash stepped to Tito’s side. “We could use that minivan Goose got in the divorce. It’s slower than the second coming of Christ. We’d blend in with all the soccer moms, though.”

  I looked up. “That white Toyota?”

  Cash nodded. “Fucker’s nice. Seats eight, and has those automatic doors. Slower’n fuck, though.”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “It’s the Cadillac of minivans.”

  “According to who?”

  “Goose.”

  Cash was an asset to the club, no doubt. Sometimes, however, I questioned his common sense.

  “I’ll talk to Ghost,” I said. “He can get something big enough to haul everything. Something big and fast.”

  I looked at Tito. “What else?”

  “That’s it, really. As far as jobs go, this one should be simple. Only problem I see is that night cop. He walks like he’s from Texas.”

  I blinked a few times, at a complete loss of what that might have meant. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “He wears boots, and his attitude arrives five minutes before he does.”

  “Hell, Reno’s from Texas,” Cash said.

  Reno was the club’s explosives expert. A former special forces soldier, he was an adventure-seeking maniac with a colorful personality and a huge attitude.

  I laughed. “That explains a lot.”

  “I’m serious,” Tito said. “This cop’s a potential problem.”

  “Maybe we’ll have to create a diversion,” I said.

  “Like Perris?” Cash asked.

  Tito shook his head. “Jesus. We don’t need another Perris. Start a fire. Tip over an avocado truck. Stage a drag race on the other side of town. Anything but another Perris.”

  In 2014, we were robbing a drug dealer’s mansion in one of Perris, California’s affluent neighborhoods. The community of three dozen homes was sheltered by a fifteen-foot-high concrete fence with one way in and out. A security contractor guarded the entrance twenty-four hours a day, making penetration of the neighborhood difficult, if not impossible.

  In broad daylight, five of us scaled the wall immediately behind the home and entered the residence unnoticed. Posing as a city inspector looking for a natural gas leak, Ghost drove past the gate by simply flashing a fake ID card. In ten minutes, we rid the home of eight kilos of cocaine, two hundred thousand dollars, and a cache of illicit firearms. Fearing the van would be searched by the guard as we tried to leave, we decided a diversion was necessary.

  Voluntarily, Goose scaled the fence, got undressed, and sauntered toward the guard shack. Naked as the day he was born – with his cock clenched in his fist – he strolled past the guard as if he were a long-time resident. A naked cock-stroking biker on a mid-day stroll through a neighborhood filled with multi-million-dollar homes proved to be more than the guard was willing to excuse. A foot chase ensued.

  While Goose streaked through the neighborhood with the guard only a few steps behind, Reno, the club’s self-proclaimed explosives expert, rigged the guard shack with an entire satchel charge of plastic explos
ives.

  It was enough C-4 to flatten the Empire State Building.

  The explosion that followed blew the structure to dust, and sent an orange ball of flames a hundred feet into the air. The subsequent concussion from the blast broke windows in more than half the homes in the neighborhood, and, according to the evening news, caused permanent damage to many of the resident’s eardrums. A two-hundred-foot radius surrounding where the guard shack once sat was marked by a blackened landscape and charred palm trees.

  In the hour and a half drive home, none of us could hear a thing. Goose was covered in cuts and scratches from running through yards, hurdling shrubs, and climbing the concrete fence naked.

  The job was a rewarding one, but went down in our history book as memorable because each of us lost our hearing for roughly a week. That, and the fact that Goose spent the entire ninety-minute drive to the clubhouse doctoring his wounds in our presence.

  Naked.

  I let out a long breath. “That was one hell of an explosion.”

  “The image will forever be burned into my memory,” Tito said.

  “Of the fireball?” Cash asked.

  “No,” Tito replied. “Of Goose trying to get that gauze taped to his bleeding nut sack.”

  I let out a laugh. “We’ll need to plan this one a little better.”

  “Maybe get the Ghost to take the Ducati to the other end of town and ride some wheelies through a few yards,” Cash suggested. “That’ll get the cop’s attention.”

  I glanced at my watch and then walked to the window. “Ghost is our driver. He’s not doing stunts as a diversion.”

  “I was just saying--”

  I raised my index finger.

  Cash stopped speaking mid-sentence. I peered down at the lamppost. Andy hadn’t made it to work. I closed my eyes. As Sky Ferreira’s Easy began to play, it dawned on me that since Andy and I had sex, my headaches had been kept at bay.

  Cash may have been right when he mentioned masturbation as therapy, but I wasn’t about to let him know it.

  When the song ended, I opened my eyes. Andy’s bike was chained to the post. I grinned, and then turned around.