HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  He didn’t make me wait for long to find out which method he preferred.

  His left hand held my head firmly. Then, he guided himself past my lips and into my eager mouth. With his right hand gripping the base of his shaft firmly, he forced the tip against my inner cheek and stretched my mouth open wide.

  I salivated in response.

  He paused and gazed into my curious eyes. Anxious and ready to satisfy him as best I could, my pussy throbbed at the thought of what was sure to come. He released his cock, pressed his left hand hard against my scalp, and commenced to fuck my mouth as if he knew exactly what I wanted.

  Oh. My God.

  The sound of him satisfying himself against my throat resonated off the bare walls of the living room. Hearing it only added to my state of arousal. I wagged my thighs back and forth and reached for his bare ass with both hands.

  With his firm butt gripped in my hands, and my head held firmly in his, we continued our method of aggressive fellatio, each as eager as the other to reach the climactic finale.

  His pace increased slightly in speed, and in force. A few seconds later, his announcement came.

  “I’m going to come in your throat,” he groaned.

  Oh God. Please do.

  I fixed my eyes on his face. With a clenched jaw, he fucked my mouth like a man possessed. In a moment, his breathing became choppy and irregular. He tilted his head downward. At the instant his eyes met mine, the first of many successive releases of his warm cum shot into my throat.

  I moaned in pleasure against his throbbing shaft until the last droplet was mine. He lowered his hands and stood motionless, his mouth twisted into an ornery smirk.

  I sucked the length of his shaft as I pulled my mouth free.

  I drew in a quick breath, and then another. “That was awesome.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Did you like--”

  “I fucking loved it,” I said, not allowing him to finish asking.

  His eyes slowly widened. “That makes two of us.”

  He no more than responded, and his phone made an odd beeping sound. He spun around, picked it up off the floor, and swept his thumb across the screen. His facial expression changed to one of concern.

  “I’ve got to get.” He took a few long strides, and then hesitated. He turned to face me. “Come here,” he said, his tone low, but demanding.

  With shaking legs, I walked to where he stood. He pulled off his shirt and then draped it over my shoulder.

  “Wear that.” He pulled me into him and kissed me firmly. Our lips parted. He pulled away slightly and looked me in the eyes. “Nothing else. Sleep in my bed.”

  My face went flush. “Oh. Uhhm. Okay.”

  He released me and disappeared into his room. Exhausted, horny, and happy as hell to have brought him to climax, I flopped down on the couch. I raised his shirt to my face and drew a slow breath. A mixture of his manly musk and his signature cologne reminded me of the night we met. I closed my eyes, took another breath, and then lowered his shirt onto my lap.

  When his scent faded, I opened my eyes.

  I glanced at the shirt. There was no reason to wait. Wearing a huge grin, I pulled my shirt over my head and set it at my side. After removing my bra, I pulled his shirt over my head and smiled at how terribly it fit.

  The sound of his boots on the hardwood floor caught my attention. He emerged from the hallway dressed in black SWAT-type gear. Carrying a long plastic case in one hand, and a black duffel bag in the other, he looked like an official badass.

  An official badass with a big white scuff on his left boot.

  “Sorry, Tee.” He said as he rushed past me. “I’ve got to get.”

  A chill ran the length of my spine and goosebumps rose on my arms. My father called me Tee. I hadn’t heard the nickname since the night he died.

  He pushed the garage door open.

  “March!” I shouted.

  He turned around.

  “Be safe,” I said with a quaking voice. “Please?”

  “Will do,” he said with a wink.

  Then, he turned away.

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Two

  Marc – Day twenty-four

  When I pulled into the parking lot of the Filthy Fuckers MC’s clubhouse, it was filled with motorcycles and the shop’s lights were on. Odd for a Monday night if they didn’t have something planned. Beside the front door, an 8-passenger van was parked. Inside, the men stood in a group with their focus on Navarro.

  It was as if being briefed on a military mission.

  My assumption was that they were going to use the vans to transport their men to wherever they believed MS-13’s gang members were hiding. It would certainly make much less of an announcement than the rumble from twenty motorcycles.

  I parked the car, took a deep breath, and got out.

  In an effort to pay Navarro as much respect as I could, I leaned into the opening of the garage door, but didn’t step inside.

  “Navarro!” I shouted. “Need to see you. Alone.”

  I knew if he was alone, it would be easier for me to communicate with him. He’d be far less apt to be argumentative, and more receptive to my requests.

  In a moment, he stepped outside. Wearing jeans, boots, and a black tee shirt, it was obvious he was preparing to do something clandestine, and not on his motorcycle. All outlaw clubs required their patched members to wear kuttes if they were riding their motorcycles, I knew that much.

  He looked at my car, and then scanned the narrow lot. After satisfying himself that I was alone, he looked at me with thin eyes.

  “What in the fuck are you doing on my property, alone, at one fucking a.m., detective? Around this clubhouse a man’s liable to get shot for trespassing. If you don’t have a warrant, I suggest you take your little black outfit and go home.”

  “I need to make you aware of a few things,” I said.

  He huffed out a sigh. “What?”

  “Hear me out.”

  He looked at his watch. “You’ve got three minutes.”

  “I was headed home from a late-night raid, and I drove past to see if you and your men decided to move out or not. Imagine my surprise when I noticed twenty motorcycles, and two transport vans. My deductive reasoning tells me you’re headed to take care of MS-13.”

  “We’re all going bowling in Tijuana. Should make it back by tomorrow am. Write that down in your little notebook, I might need it as an alibi.”

  He was a hard man to deal with, that much was certain. He was far too street smart for me to bullshit him. I considered telling him the truth, then decided against it.

  “I know you and your men saved those girls from the MS-13 a few months ago. I also know Cholo was abducted, tortured, and rescued. I know Smokey’s Ol’ Lady shot some shit-hat in her driveway, and I know I helped her out of one hell of a jam. I know you had an ATF informant in your club, and that I helped get his sorry ass gone. I further know the charges against one of your patches was dropped afterward. There’s a pattern here, Crip.”

  His jaw tightened. “You can call me Navarro, or you can call me Nick,” he said through his teeth. “You haven’t earned the right to call me Crip, detective. Don’t let it happen again.”

  I let out a sigh. “You were a Navy SEAL, and I was a Navy SEAL. I’m not going to--”

  “Don’t lay that Navy SEAL horseshit on me, detective. This country shit on me. When I left the Navy, the Navy in me left along with it. Go find another squid to swap spit with.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got forty seconds.”

  “There’s nine teenage girls being held by MS-13. They were kidnapped ten days ago. I don’t even know if they’re alive, but let’s assume--”

  “Motherfucker,” he said through his teeth. “You set our asses up, didn’t you?”

  I let out a breath. “Let’s assume they’re alive. I know your men slaughtered a hose filled with MS-13. I know Cholo was abducted for his role in that slaughter. And I know you went to Coronado, gathered up a fe
w SEALs, and extracted Cholo safely. So, Navarro, don’t give me your sad sob story about how this country shit on you. I didn’t arrest you or your men for a reason. You play a crucial role in making my job easy. There aren’t any MC’s that have a code of honor that’s honorable. Notice I said any, and not many. I further know now that you know, that walking away from those helpless girls will be impossible. So, we need to come up with a plan.”

  “You don’t know shit.” He glanced at his watch. “Time’s up, detective.”

  He turned toward the clubhouse. After he took a few steps, I cleared my throat.

  “There’s no statute of limitations on murder!” I shouted.

  “I haven’t murdered anyone,” he said over his shoulder.

  “The DNA all over the ground outside of Temecula, in the desert, says otherwise,” I said. “A man would do life for that crime alone. It was smart to soak the body in Sodium Hydroxide, but you should have done something else with the bones.”

  He paused, and then turned around. With a clenched jaw, he glared at me. “What do you want from me, detective?”

  “I need to go with you,” I said.

  He blurted out a laugh. “Fuck you.”

  “It’s the only way it’ll work. I need to go with you, or else--”

  “Fuck you,” he hissed. “I’ll put a bullet in your skull, and bury you right beside him. Don’t threaten me. Ever.”

  Abiding by the law afforded me many opportunities. Walking on the criminal side of the razor’s edge afforded me nothing, unless I wanted to become a criminal. Without my badge, my negotiating power was nil.

  I decided to try another angle. “If I go with you, I can claim you led me to them. We got there right after the men were murdered. I’ll get the media involved, and your club can get the recognition--”

  He let out a laugh. “Do you think we do what we do for recognition?” He took a few steps toward me and stuck his face within inches of mine. “Me, and the seventeen men who are standing behind me do what we do because this world is filled with fucktards, and we don’t care much for fucktards. Don’t let ‘em in the club, and we don’t care for ‘em on our turf. I’ll bring your girls back, detective, but you’re not coming with. Not now, not ever. You can get the recognition. All I want is for these pieces of human shit to leave me, my men, and my shop alone.”

  “If you kill MS-13’s men and take the girls, they’ll tell everyone what happened once they’re interviewed. They’ll incriminate you and your men for murder. I can’t fix that.”

  His jaw clenched. “Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.”

  I knew now that he realized there were nine teenagers being held, that he wouldn’t be able to walk away. It wasn’t in his blood. He was far too prideful of a man to do so.

  “There’s two ways this will work,” I said.

  “I’m listening,” he seethed.

  “One. Give me the address of where they are, and I’ll assemble a team and go take care of it. End of story.”

  “Not interested,” he said dryly. “First of all, you won’t kill those MS-13 pricks. You’ll arrest them. There’s no funding to keep them in prison, so, you’ll deport them to Nicaragua, El Salvador, Ecuador, and Mexico. In 90 days, they’ll be back here doing the same shit. I want them gone. Forever. The only way to do that is to kill them. Secondly, I don’t trust you or your men to get anything done and done right.”

  He had a valid point. If we arrested the men, they’d be charged with criminal entry into the USA, and deported. They would immediately come back, knowing their only feasible income would come from the same criminal activities.

  “The other way is this.” I met his hardened gaze. “Your men take care of MS-13, and then leave. On your way out, you call me on a throw-away. I’ll claim it was a tip, and I’ll fall in behind you and take care of the girls. You get what you want, I get what I want. No risk.”

  “They’ll ask why you didn’t call it in. Why you didn’t call for backup. Your plan has holes, detective.”

  I reached through my window, gripped the radio’s receiver in my hand, and yanked it until the cord snapped.

  “Looks like my car was vandalized,” I said. “I’ll say on my way in I saw a pickup truck filled with who I believed to be four Hispanic males speeding away from the scene. Upon hearing the cries of females from inside the home, I rushed inside and found the girls.”

  He shook his head. “Lift up your right shirt sleeve.”

  I raised my sleeve. He leaned toward me, studied my SEAL trident, and then nodded. “I’ll take option number two.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Three

  Nick Navarro – Day twenty-four

  I joined the Navy to fight terrorism. When I took the oath to protect the nation from foreign and domestic threats, there was no expiration date. Being a man of my word, I continued to fight the nation’s threats long after my discharge from the military.

  Until I draw my last breath, I will oppose anyone who threatens my life, or the lives of those I love – my family by blood and my family by choice.

  As much as I realize I have no desire – nor the capacity – to save the entire world from harm, if a man preys on women, children, or the elderly, he’ll come to meet his maker at the hand of me and my men. Therefore, if I have knowledge of someone committing such crimes and I don’t act upon it, I’m not any better than the filth I so desperately despise.

  The van came to a stop alongside the curb. After scanning the darkened block and seeing no signs of anyone being awake, I lifted my chin slightly. “Sound off if you’re in this, fellas.”

  “Ready for round two,” Cholo said.

  “Lead the way, Boss,” Pee Bee said.

  “Good to go,” Smokey chimed.

  “Let’s get out of this motherfucker, I’m starting to fucking itch,” P-Nut stammered. “I’m in.”

  “Fuck these pricks,” Meathead hissed. “Let’s do it.”

  I looked at Stretch. “If you hear sirens, get the hell out of here, and pick us up at the ball diamond.”

  He gave a nod. “Got it, Crip.”

  “Just like I said at the shop,” I said. “No clear target, don’t take a shot. We’ve potentially got nine teenagers in here, and I don’t want them catching a stray. I’m taking point, Cholo and Peeb are at my rear. Smoke, Nut, and Meat enter the back door upon hearing the first shot.”

  I turned around. “I doubt any of these gangbangers are wearing black headgear. So, anyone not wearing a black mask? Don’t ask questions, just shoot.”

  Five heads nodded.

  I gazed blankly through the windshield at the pitch-black block, feeling sympathy for the people who were forced to live amongst such filth. Half a dozen homes within my view had for sale signs in the front yards, and just as many others were sure to be abandoned.

  The area had been overtaken by drug dealers, squatters, and the city’s addicts, and only those financially incapable of relocating remained.

  I shook my head in disgust. “Let’s roll.”

  We exited the van and walked through the front yard of the home that was situated behind the drug house. As we approached the back yard of the home in question, Smoke, P-Nut, and Meathead crouched down and made their way to the rear door.

  Pee Bee, Cholo, and I snuck around the front of the house. Upon reaching the front door, I glanced in their direction, raised my weapon to ready, and gave the nod.

  While enlisted in the military, I’d raided more homes, compounds, and buildings than I cared to try and count. Seventy-five percent of them were filled with armed men, and I’d lived through each and every mission I’d been on.

  They never got any easier, though.

  Pee Bee booted the door open.

  I scanned the room. Two wide-eyed men dressed in chinos and wife beaters jumped to their feet.

  Instinctively, I pulled the trigger twice. The thwack sound from the silenced pistol gave little warning to anyone else in the home that we’d arrived.

  The two me
n fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Living room’s clear,” I shouted. “Secure the kitchen.”

  I rushed to the first bedroom and kicked the door open. I was met by the flash from the barrel of a pistol and a deafening explosion, followed by a familiar burning sensation in my left arm.

  I returned fire, striking the threat in the center of his chest. As he fell to the floor, my eyes shot toward a movement in the back of the room. My vision narrowed.

  A girl was cowering behind a coffee table. Her matted blonde hair hung from her head like thick ropes of dirty yellow yarn. She appeared to be no more than ten or twelve years old.

  I checked the closet. “Bedroom’s clear,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  I turned toward the little girl. She was completely naked.

  My blood began to boil.

  “House is clear, Boss,” I heard Pee Bee’s muffled voice say from behind me. “Got eight little girls in the back room.”

  With my jaw clenched tight, I took a moment to clear my head. Accepting what I was seeing as being part of the America I lived in didn’t come easily.

  “She okay?” he asked.

  I found it odd that she wasn’t crying, and decided she was in shock. I tried like hell to hide my anger. Grateful that my face was hidden by a mask, I scanned the filthy floor looking for her clothes.

  There were none. The only things in the room were money, drugs, empty beer bottles, and three broken hearts.

  I pushed my pistol into the waist of my pants, pulled my shirt over my head, and held it at arm’s length.

  “Put this on.” The words got caught on the back of my tongue and came out in shattered pieces. Embarrassed by allowing my emotion to escape me, I cleared my throat. “Someone will be here in a minute to give you a ride home.”

  I hoped it was enough to give her some peace of mind.

  “Boss, you’re bleeding.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She accepted the shirt with a weary hand, and then pulled it over her head. It hung from her thin shoulders like a black tent, but it covered everything I wanted her to keep sacred.