by April Lust
“You both are sick individuals, you know that, right? You lead a girl to her death, and you kill Franco for—”
His face shut down, and his voice went cold. “I don’t know what or whom you are talking about, Mr. Parker. But I do think you are way out of line. Best to forget any unpleasantries that occupy your limited mental space and move along, young Parker. It is always the healthiest option.”
“Just so you see how I got this straight, Danny.” Oh, he didn’t like my use of the familiar. I thought I might keep using it. “You put Thea with Owen to do the movie. Owen calls the shots. Thea just happens to die, through…unplanned loss of blood. Owen exits the scene; you call Franco in for cleanup. Yeah, I know all about that. Only, Franco sees what went down and freaks out—which, I want to point out here, is a normal reaction to seein’ somethin’ like that. You shoot him in the head so he won’t cause a problem, and make Slim do cleanup on both of ’em, which implicates him. So then you hold the whole matter over Slim’s head as blackmail, and my whole MC is payin’ the price now. Do I got it right?”
“When you put it that way, yeah, you do, Torch. I’m a fucking genius!” And he had himself a good deep belly chuckle. He bought his own shit. What a fuckwad.
I decided to throw out a tangent ball while he was in this open, self-congratulatory mood. “What ever happened to Carly? To Slim’s daughter? ’Cause I know you got that hold, too. Where is she? What did Owen do with her?”
And here little Danny lost his humor. “I keep my nose out of that shit. That’s not my business; that’s all Owen. When we have a problem with a girl getting herself a little too deep with the drugs, or when Owen takes a special interest in one of the girls, it’s best to let him handle it his way. I don’t ask ’cause I’m smart; I don’t want to know. You won’t find answers, anyway. He’s got a labyrinth of ventures in this house of mirrors. You would do best to take my advice and…” He broke out into another crazy nasal chuckle. “Make like that James Bond movie. Live and let die.”
“So she’s dead, then? You tellin’ me Carly’s dead?”
“I did not say that. You gotta listen. I don’t ask. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where he takes them. I only know…” His gaze drifted away, and then he shook his head.
“What? Spit it the fuck out! What do you know?”
“Listen, all’s I know is that he likes to fantasize about having a sex slave. He talks about it all the time. Sometimes it sounds like he actually has one; sometimes it’s more like he’s talking hypothetical-like. So there’s that.
“But then, also—and again, I want to stress here that I don’t know—he talks about selling. Selling girls. But it all is like, hypothetical, right? I don’t know anything. And I am smart enough not to want to know. I keep my nose out of that shit. I run Centerfold, I make the movies, and I sell them. I don’t deal with any of that other stuff, and I don’t know anything about it.”
Shit. Well, at least Fletch admitted so much that he completely backed up Pres’s story and situation. Hell, I realized there had been a part of me that hadn’t wanted to believe Pres’s story. It was just too outlandish, too over-the-top. But there was no doubt any longer.
“What do you know, you little shit? You know something. You know he took Carly. Tell me about that.”
“Look, man. Carly was trouble. She had some issues. She was fucked-up and she, too, got herself into a situation of debt. It happens. So Carly, well, Owen—he liked the look of her, ya know what I mean? Like, he likes the look of your girl, too, that Erin bitch. She’s got too much attitude, but she’s got a look that sells. Man to man, Parker, I’d be careful in the house of mirrors with that one.” We looked hard at each other for just a split second before he broke the contact and raised his brows in a momentary quirk, as though he had surprised even himself at his candor.
So I knew little Danny was being straight with me on this point. I couldn’t be sure why, but he was flat-out warning me that Owen had some depraved thoughts about my woman. I needed to get back out there and find her and get her the fuck out of here, stat.
“I think our little talk is about over now, isn’t it? I’ll see you around, man. And, remember who gave you the heads-up. You owe me now—again.” Aha, and his altruism found its limit. It figured he’d find some way to turn his momentary humanitarianism for profit.
But I let him go, so I could go, too.
We both headed back to the party, which was all kinds of orgy-fest at this point and nothing more. I looked and didn’t see Erin—not that I’d expect to. I knew she wouldn’t be participating in that shit. Last I knew, she had gone upstairs, right? So I started to head up there, too.
About halfway up, I saw her in nothing but a towel, and a naked woman, both careening to the top of the stairs, both red-faced and pulling breath hard. I stopped climbing and watched as the two of them flew down, while Erin yelled, “Torch, get me the fuck out of this house, now!”
I didn’t argue. I turned, following them down at nearly the same speed, pulling my suit jacket off to hand to the other woman. I grabbed hold of Erin’s waist and sped the three of us out the door and into the night.
I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to leave a party in my life.
Chapter 11
Erin
Torch led us to a pickup truck I learned was his. It was a big black 4x4, and it did the trick just fine. The three of us scrambled into the cab, he turned on the ignition, and we were out of there. Not a freaking moment too soon.
We dropped Candy off at her car in the Centerfold lot and watched her drive away, making sure she got out all right. She had to have been as freaked-out as I was, but she was holding it together okay and claimed to be good to drive herself home. She probably just wanted badly to get away from everyone and everything related to Centerfold. I couldn’t say I blamed her one bit.
Once we arrived back at Torch’s apartment, we took a few moments to just settle and unwind before rehashing the events of the night. I knew he was dying to know what had happened upstairs in that nightmare McMansion, but I wanted a drink first, and my feet hurt something awful, and I was freaking cold.
Torch poured me a glass of wine—this biker was proving to have hidden depths I would not have guessed at—then told me to sit on the couch and put my feet up. He disappeared into his bedroom and reemerged with a fleece top and a huge pair of sweatpants. I almost declared my love but thought better of it in the moment. Now was not the time, and I was not sure of how rationally I was thinking.
He rubbed my feet again while I drank that first glass. Neither of us made eye contact; it was as if we were both too raw and we needed time to gather ourselves together individually before we could reconnect with one another.
After several minutes, I felt better. I was breathing normally, my mind was no longer racing, my body was warming up from the shock and adrenaline drop, and I was starting to relax under his firm ministrations on my feet.
He’d noticed the difference. “Are you ready to talk now?”
“Yeah, baby. I think so.”
“Okay. Tell me what happened upstairs.”
So I did. I went through every detail, including those which interested Torch the most: how Owen had ripped down my towel and threatened me, my shoving my knee into his balls, releasing Candy from her bindings, and grinding my stiletto into his hand.
“Damn, Erin. I wish I’d been there to protect you from that sick bastard. But I’m damn proud of you, that you hurt him so badly. Remind me never to piss you off that bad.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Torch, not unless you have a complete psychotic breakdown and become a whole different person. I save that nasty for special occasions only. No. Truth is, I learned that shit in a self-defense class. Never really needed it before like I did tonight, though. But something clicked inside me, and I thought, ‘It’s now or never, babe. Break out the worst moves you got.’ So that’s what I did.”
“You did right. Damn
. Okay. So, he’s gonna be really, really pissed about this, and there will be blowback. You know this, right? He’s gonna be on the hunt for you. Which makes me very, very unhappy. I don’t feel good about havin’ you go back to your little apartment alone anymore, not while he’s out there gunnin’ for you. I want you to stay with me, here. You down with that?”
Wow. He’d really been processing this situation a lot more than I had, up to this point. I hadn’t even thought that far in advance.
But he was right. Owen would be on the hunt for me, and it would be far safer for me to stay here with Torch. I smiled at him gratefully.
“You are totally right, Torch. You wouldn’t mind? That’s a big ask.”
“I don’t remember askin’. You’re movin’ in here with me. Now come over here, and let me hold you.”
I climbed up over him, and we snuggled on the couch until I fell asleep, not too much later.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized how completely sweet he was being with me, almost all the time, like maybe what was between us wasn’t all just about the stellar sex. But in those moments, like last night, as I lay on top of him drifting off, I was only aware of how big and warm and strong he was, and how I felt safe and secure and cared for. It felt really, really nice.
# # #
The next day started out perfectly.
I woke up snuggled against Torch in his fabulous king-sized bed. I lay there breathing in his scent, lightly kissing his chest and neck whenever I felt like it, drifting in and out of consciousness for a while.
Eventually I realized he must have been awake, too, and that he was smiling at me. When our eyes caught he rolled me over to my other side, lifted my upper leg back over his hip, and worked me up just enough so he knew I was ready for him. Then he slipped inside of me and smoothly pumped in and out, taking me there slowly, deeply.
When our breathing became more labored and his strokes more demanding, and I was grasping the sheets and my head threw back, he bit me at the juncture of my neck and shoulder and we came as close as together as we’d ever come before.
Best. Wakeup. Ever.
We took it easy the rest of the morning, staying away from hot topics, just enjoying being together in a kind of normal way. We made coffee, and he cooked me breakfast. We ate together and made fun of each other, still learning one another. I cleaned up while he went out for a run, and then I showered and investigated his book collection. He returned and showered. Okay, I’ll admit it: I showered again. We had more of the greatest sex ever.
It was a perfect morning.
All good things must come to an end, though, as they say. Eventually, we had to broach the subject and deal with what was really going on in our world.
Torch broke the barrier of happy good times when he dug out the external hard drive from his jacket pocket from the night before. Looking at me warily, he powered up his computer, connected the drive with a cable, and sat himself in front of the monitor.
He hadn’t mentioned it to me at any point last night or earlier in the day, but I could tell from his face this was something he found at that sick bastard’s house.
My mind jumped to the possibility that there could have been digital evidence on that drive—something that could put Owen together with Fletch’s pornos, or with other nefarious activity, possibly even with Thea’s death, though I shuddered to think of a recording of that. However, a recording of that was precisely the point of that, so it stood to reason that Owen kept a recording on hand somewhere. I just didn’t think I could handle seeing it. Torch clearly had the same thoughts rolling through his mind, as he did not invite me to join him at the monitor.
I kept my seat on the couch, my face pointing to the open pages of a book I had picked up, one of those military-spy-mystery-adventure novels that so many guys love. I had no idea what the words were in front of me. They swam around while I tried to keep my breathing even and not freak out about what Torch was finding.
He didn’t say a word for a number of minutes, just kept clicking his mouse, leaning toward the screen, the fingers of one hand lightly covering his lips. Focused, but I could tell he was in search mode and had not yet hit pay dirt with anything.
As the minutes passed by, the tension in the air around us thickened. At one point, he dug out a set of mini earphones and plugged them into the computer and his ears, and I knew there were videos he was going to watch. I kept my eyes away and took a deep breath.
There were times when I’d known he had found something. He’d stop clicking, his eyes scanning the screen, or sometimes even closed as he listened to whatever was happening. I moved myself to the mini breakfast bar between the living room and the kitchen, with my back turned to him so I could no longer see his reactions or watch his every movement. The book, however, continued to fail to engage me.
I felt like there was a screaming silence in the room, and I needed a much stronger distraction. I dug out my smartphone and the earphones I always kept in my handbag, and turned up the volume on Eddie Vedder. I went back into Torch’s bedroom and curled up on the armchair by the window, no longer attempting to read. I just listened to Pearl Jam and watched the clouds drift in the afternoon sky.
That was probably a poor choice; Thea and I had shared huge childhood crushes on Eddie (though really, I think hers was only a copycat of my own). But listening to him kept her with me in those endless minutes at Torch’s place. Still, I didn’t look for a different artist; Thea had every right to be there. I needed her there; she was there.
Finally, after what felt like ages and ages of purgatory, I felt a tug at my ear, and Torch was there, pulling out my earphones and pulling me up into his big strong arms, burying his face in my neck. I just hugged him back, not saying anything, letting him tell me what he needed to when he was ready.
“Got him. We got him, baby.”
I lost it. I did. I just cried. He held me, and I cried.
# # #
Torch called his Pres to give him the update and let him know about the party and the hard drive with the evidence he found. I overheard him speak of the video of “the girl,” and I knew he was talking about Thea.
After a few more minutes, Torch hung up the phone and turned to me. “Hey, babe, I gotta run out. Pres is callin’ church. That’s a MC meetin’ for all the brothers, so I gotta be there. You okay here? Might take me a couple hours, maybe more, maybe less. Okay?”
“Yeah, Torch. I’m okay. You go. Ride safe, okay?”
“Always do. Listen, I put a copy of the video on the computer, so if you don’t want to see it, don’t look at the ‘sick bastards’ folder, okay? But there was other stuff, too, in there; I’m bringin’ it all to the meetin’. But I wanted to have a backup copy of everythin’, too. Just don’t look in that folder, babe.”
“Okay, thanks. I won’t. You go. I’ll be fine.”
He kissed me, hard and quick, and held my eyes a moment. Then he grabbed his stuff and took off.
In his absence, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I wandered around his space for many minutes, unsettled, kind of bored and antsy.
I thought about what we’d discussed about me moving in with him, and I got motivated. I needed something to do, and I needed some normalcy. I needed not to be living in fear. I needed to do something positive.
So I left a note on the kitchen counter, telling Torch where I had gone and when I’d be back, and then I Ubered a ride back to my place to pack up some of my essentials and gather what I’d want for at least the next several days.
I had only been there only about a half hour, throwing stuff in bags and more carefully packing up my necessary bathroom products while jamming out to some favorite tunes, immersed in the mindless comfort of the beats. But I was feeling good, empowered, alive. It was a feeling bordering on happy.
And then I was jarred by heavy pounding on my door. Whoever it was, was also laying on my buzzer. Rude!
I jumped over some stuff to reach the door and threw it
open, not even thinking about who it might be. Stupid. It was just a stupid move.
Of course, it was the sick bastard himself, Owen. Shit.
He was pissed. Seething. Waves of evil were pouring off him, aimed directly at me.
As soon as I recognized him, I tried to shut the door right back in his face, but he had already shoved his foot inside to stop that process, and the door bounced back a little. He shoved it open wider, straightened to his full height, several inches above mine, and entered my space like the raider that he was.
“You little cock-sucking bitch. Don’t think you aren’t going to pay for what you did.”
I backed up as fast as I could, keeping an eye on him but also trying to use my peripheral vision to locate anything I could use as a weapon to hold him off. Nothing appeared immediately obvious. I thought speech would be my best option for the moment. “You deserved it, you bastard.”