by Bryan Smith
“Damn right.”
Carl opened the door and ushered her inside with a sweep of a hand. She purposely brushed his arm with a breast as she walked past him. Maybe he did prefer a different shade of girl meat, but that would give him a little something to think about. By now she was willing to curry favor any way she could. And maybe he—
The line of thought cut off the instant she saw Helga.
Her heart did a hard stutter-thump, and she forgot to breathe for a moment. The leggy blonde goddess sat with her legs crossed on the edge of a chocolate-colored divan in the center of the room. She wore black platform shoes with the usual spike heels. The platforms looked big enough to bludgeon a person to death with. Sheer stockings encased her sleek legs. The only other thing she wore was a pair of lacy black panties. She sat leaning back, with her palms flat against the divan. The perfect jut of her large breasts was emphasized in this position, which Megan realized was the whole point. The woman would be well schooled in how to best show off her assets by now.
Her mouth was moist with freshly applied pink lipstick. The lips tilted slightly upward at the sight of Megan. “Hello, Amber. Nice to see you.”
Megan looked at Carl.“What’s she doing here?”
Carl laughed.“Didn’t Madeline tell you? The guy who paid for you is a real moneybags. He requested both of you bitches. You got a problem with that?”
Helga laughed.“I don’t, Carl.”
Carl sneered.“Ain’t askin’ you, bitch.”
“It’s cool. Seriously.” Megan was still rattled by the unexpected appearance of her new rival, but even more troubling was the prospect of what might happen if she showed signs of weakness now. “I’m down for whatever the gentlemen want.”
Carl actually cackled then.“Now there’s the bitch who said she could handle all the dick we could throw at her.” He smirked.“Well, starting real soon we’ll get to see just how true that is.”
Everyone except Megan laughed.
Carl and the guard left after that. Megan watched the heavy door slide shut and heard the click of a key turning in the lock on the other side. Megan didn’t much relish the idea of being locked in a room with a woman who’d promised to hurt her only a short while ago, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it, so she tried her best to ignore Helga’s steady, unrelenting stare as she looked the room over. There was a slowly spinning mirror ball hanging from the ceiling. The red walls and carpet matched the hallway decor. In addition to the divan, there were expensive-looking leather sofas against every wall save the one in back, against which was a lavishly stocked bar. A huge plastic tub overflowing with ice sat atop a black coffee table in front of one of the sofas. Several large bottles of champagne were shoved into the ice. Megan approached the table for a closer look and was astonished to see the words Krug and Dom Perignon on the labels.
Helga laughed.“You should see your face. Let me guess. Mads told you this guy was a big shot, and you thought she was exaggerating. Well, guess what? You were wrong.”
Megan couldn’t take her eyes off the bottles.
Jesus, she thought. Those things go for hundreds of bucks a pop.
Helga was laughing again. “Don’t ever be fooled by how nauseatingly white trash the Prestons are, Amber. This place does a lot of serious business with some serious people. I once blew a congressman in the room right across from this one. Ugly old man with a flabby white belly and these disgusting warts on his balls. But I used to see his wrinkly face on CNN all the time.”
Megan looked at her. “No shit? You catch anything from him?”
“No shit. And no, I didn’t catch anything, by some miracle.”
Megan sat on the edge of the closest sofa, and Helga pivoted slightly to look at her. She found she was able to meet the woman’s gaze and hold it for the first time since the dressing-room altercation. “So why aren’t you beating the shit out of me?”
Helga shrugged. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. But this isn’t the time or the place for such shenanigans. Besides…” She drew her lower lip between her teeth and appeared to think for a moment. Then she smiled. “I came back out to check out your encore. You were fucking hot.”
Megan was stunned to find herself blushing. “Um…really?”
“Yeah. And I had an idea. Go for it, and maybe I’ll forget all about smashing your pretty face in.”
Megan’s brow furrowed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever
Helga had in mind, but knew she had to at least humor the woman.“Okay. What’s your idea?”
“We should be a team.”
Megan frowned.“What?”
Helga scooted to the edge of the divan and leaned forward. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about working up a new act. It’s got to be something really hot, and I think you’re just the ticket. You’re by far the sexiest fucking thing to show up here since I arrived. We’ll play around with a little bit of a lesbian angle. The guys always eat that shit up. Drives them fucking wild. And then we’d maybe team up on more of the same kind of thing you saw me do earlier, only get more creative about it.” She smiled. “So what do you think?”
Megan pursed her lips, thought about it.
And she said,“The Torture Twins.”
Helga’s eyes went wide and she snapped her fingers. “That’s it! Fuck yeah! You’re brilliant, girl.”
Megan smiled and shrugged.“I have my moments.”
Helga squealed.“This is going to be great!”
She seemed about to say more, but fell silent as the door opened again.
Megan held her breath and turned to look at the door as the man who’d paid for the use of her body strode confidently into the room. There were two other men with him,but it was clear at a glance who the big swinging dick of this group was. All three men had a certain swagger to them, the kind most successful men exuded without trying. Clad in professionally tailored suits, they looked as if they’d just walked out of a board meeting. There were other hints of wealth. Diamond cuff links. Watches that probably cost more than the monthly rent on her apartment back home. A lot more. All were still relatively young, mid-to-late thirties. Young and virile. All were around six feet tall. Their bodies were muscular and athletic. The physical power was obvious even through the elegant clothes. The three-figure haircuts and manicured nails did nothing to detract from the impression of masculinity in full bloom. But two of them evinced a slight but clear level of deference to their leader, who stood now in the center of the room and stared intently at Megan.
His suit was a very dark shade of blue that was almost black. A tie the same color was knotted with precision over a crisp white shirt. He had a cleft chin and dark, compelling eyes. He had wavy, subtly gelled hair. His prominent cheekbones would stir the envy of any male model. And he oozed charisma. A feeling of immense relief swept through Megan at the sight of him. She still hated the idea of being forced to submit sexually to these strangers, but at least they were clean and attractive.
It could have been a lot worse. The other Sin Den patrons she’d seen were proof of that.
The man pointed at her and jerked a thumb toward the divan.“Up. I don’t want you sitting there.”
Megan blinked slowly in surprise.“Wh-what?”
One of the other men—the only black man of the group—walked over to where she sat and knelt toward her with his hands on his knees. “HE TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCK UP, BITCH! YOU HEARD THE MAN. DO IT!”
Megan cringed, shrinking away from the man’s barking voice.“O-okay.”
She scooted sideways away from him and forced herself to stand. She took a step toward Helga, but pitched forward as the heel of the man’s hand slammed into her back and knocked her to the floor. She shrieked as her knees banged the carpet. The heel of a designer shoe sent her the rest of the way to the floor. She lay there and listened to effusive male laughter. Tears welled in her eyes. Something in her gut told her this was going to get much rougher than Madeline had hinted. She held
back a sob with a tremendous effort of will. She couldn’t allow herself to break. Not yet.
And then the leader spoke, voice quiet but menacing. “Get up. Sit with the other one.”
The voice contained an implied promise of pain and suffering if disobeyed. Primitive instinct carried her to her feet again seconds later. She wobbled over to the divan and plopped down next to Helga.
One of the big shot’s buddies withdrew a dripping-wet bottle of Krug from the ice bucket and set to work removing the cork. It came free with a loud pop. The man who opened it took several large gulps straight from the bottle. A bit piggish a way to drink for someone so clearly upscale, but Megan supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. These were men who’d paid good money to use and abuse them any way they saw fit. All outward appearances to the contrary, they were not classy men.
The leader approached the divan and walked slowly around it, stroking his chin and licking his lips as he appraised the selections he’d made. One of the other men found the room’s stereo system while the boss was checking them out. A seventies funk song poured out of the high-end speakers. The black guy sang along for a line or two of the verse before saying,“Hey, Joe. Tell those bitches to make out with each other.”
Joe smiled at them. “My friend wants to see you ladies kiss. So do it.”
Megan glanced at Helga.
She’d half-suspected something like this would happen the moment she’d entered the room and seen Helga sitting there. But now that it was actually happening, she was overcome with fear and resentment. She stared at Helga and wondered what the other woman was thinking. She’d been here a while and had probably been through similar scenarios countless times. Maybe she was used to it by now. Megan, however, wasn’t sure she could ever get used to this kind of humiliation and degradation.
She felt paralyzed, incapable of obedience or defiance.
Helga put a hand on her thigh and leaned close. She spoke at a volume too low to be heard above the music. “Relax. You might even enjoy this.”
Helga kissed her. Megan’s lips parted and the other woman’s tongue darted into her mouth. Some of the tension deserted her as she closed her eyes and focused on the physical sensations, which weren’t at all unpleasant. She was able to forget about the men for a time—even with their hoots and catcalls—and for that she was grateful. She even found she enjoyed the taste of Helga’s pink lipstick. Her hand went to one of Helga’s breasts, and she felt the nipple stiffen beneath her gliding fingers. She tweezed the nipple between thumb and forefinger, eliciting a low purr from Helga. Megan realized with some amazement that she had become aroused, too. She supposed her excitement was at least in part fueled by the recent violence between them. Which hinted at some previously unexplored capacity for kink within her. She nipped at Helga’s bottom lip and was rewarded with another purr.
But the pleasant interlude ended as Joe uttered a simple command:“Stop!”
Sitting on a sofa now, he pointed at Helga and said, “You. Come here.”
Helga stood and walked over to him.
He leaned back and looked up at her, his arms spread across the back of the sofa.“Get on your knees.”
Helga again did as instructed.
Joe smiled.“I think you know what to do now.”
Helga didn’t say anything, but she reached for his fly and pulled the zipper down. She then reached into his slacks and pulled his cock out. Even limp it was an impressive size, but it didn’t stay limp for long in Helga’s hands. She stroked it lightly and it hardened at once, growing to an even more impressive size. Megan couldn’t stop staring at his dick. It was porn-star material. This guy was a premium example of the fabled man who has everything. She caught the gleam of a wedding ring on his left hand. Probably he even had a doting wife back home. Megan wondered what wifey would think if she could see her man now.
Helga leaned forward and drew his massive cock into her mouth. Joe groaned and closed his eyes, let his head settle back against the sofa as Helga ministered to him with her expert whore’s tongue. Megan stared at the other woman’s perfectly round, upraised ass and the smooth, creamy expanse of her tapered back. The black platforms jutted out behind her, hanging off her smallish feet like bricks. Megan heard slurping sounds as the woman’s head went up and down in Joe’s lap. The sounds were punctuated with little moans from Helga. Megan couldn’t decide whether this was evidence of real sexual excitement on Helga’s part, or if she was faking it. The latter seemed likely, but the sounds were so convincing it was hard to tell.
The black man came over to Megan and stood in front of her, blocking her view of the action on the sofa. A moisture-laden bottle of Krug dangled from the fingers of his left hand. He used the other to open his own fly and tug his genitals out.
He sneered down at her.“You’re not here just to look good, girl. Get to work.”
Megan felt a reflexive flutter of revulsion, but knew she had to do what was expected of her. She didn’t wish to risk invoking this man’s wrath again. She cupped his balls in the palm of one hand and paused a last moment to psych herself up to perform in the manner required.
The music changed.
Something she thought she recognized as being by Isaac Hayes started.
She opened her mouth.
Leaned toward the man’s slowly lengthening cock.
And jumped at the sound of the loud, flat crack audible over the music.
Her first thought was it was the third man popping open another bottle of Krug. Then somebody said, “What the fuck!?”
The sound came again, and the chest of the man standing over her exploded in a spray of red. She screamed and scooted out of the way as his body toppled over the divan and rolled to the floor. Megan stared at the dead man in uncomprehending bewilderment for a long moment.
Someone nearby was screaming.
And begging.
That loud, flat crack came again and the begging stopped.
Megan shook her head and the world snapped back into semifocus. She turned away from the dead man on the floor and saw Helga still on her knees in front of Joe. But Joe was dead. There was a hole under his chin and a spray of blood and brain matter on the wall behind him. He didn’t look so special now. All that charisma had leaked out of the holes in his head, the one under his chin and the larger exit wound at the crown of his skull. He was just a corpse. A thing.
Death, Megan thought. The great equalizer.
Helga clutched a 9 mm pistol in her slender fingers. There was a crazy grin on her face. “Can you believe it? Fucker had it in a shoulder rig. Saw it while I was blowing him. Had him so cross-eyed he didn’t know I was going for his piece until it was up under his chin. This guy wasn’t a high roller at all. He was a fucking cop. They all were.”
Megan blinked in confusion.“But Madeline said—”
“Madeline was duped. This was an undercover thing. Been going on a while, I’ll bet. Fucking pigs didn’t mind getting their wangs waxed in the line of duty, either.”
Megan still felt dazed. She shook her head again.“But…what do we do now?”
Helga stood up and came over to her.
She extended a hand and Megan took it.
Helga hauled her upright and said,“What we’re doing, girlfriend, is getting the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jessica kept the gun in front of her and both hands wrapped around the grip, forefinger tensed on the trigger, as she circled the cruiser. She doubted the big cop would be getting back up. Ever. But she wasn’t about to let her guard down now. She strained to detect any hint of movement or slight sigh of breath, but the only sound she heard was the soft crunch of her shoes on the pavement.
Then she was on the other side of the car and staring down at the dead man. One glance was all the confirmation she needed. He wasn’t just wounded and playing possum. The thing on the ground wasn’t a man anymore. It was just a big lump of meat. The body lay half in and half out of the shallow ditch that sepa
rated Larry’s lawn from the road. Though she was certain the man was dead, she approached the body and kicked it hard in the gut.
Yep, she thought. That is one dead cop.
She moved closer and peered at the badge pinned to the front of his jacket. It was more ornate than the ones worn by the deputies. The logical assumption occurred to her then: she had just killed the sheriff of Hopkins Bend. She wondered briefly why the sheriff would be here instead of one of the deputies, but remembered that, duh, she’d killed most of them. Maybe all of them. Hopkins Bend wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis. But surely the state cops would be out here in force soon. This was a pretty serious killing spree she’d embarked upon. Hell, it was maybe even wild enough to warrant the attention of the national media. Some prickling of intuition stirred at the back of her mind, and she stared at the dead sheriff a few moments longer, frowning as her mind worked toward a single inescapable conclusion.
The national media wouldn’t be out here any time soon. Or ever.
Nor would the state cops.
Hopkins Bend was a festering, diseased backwater nest of dirty secrets. Things the sheriff and the local power structure would never want to expose to the world. More insights came to her in rapid succession. There would never be a warrant out for her arrest. Not for any of the things she’d done here today, anyway. All she had to do was get the fuck gone and this mess would be behind her forever.
She chewed her lip and frowned again.
Or maybe not.
Yeah, she would never be arrested by the local law. And she’d never openly be fingered as a mass murderer. But they would know about her. Her fingerprints were everywhere. Even if she got rid of the video evidence from the cruisers, she could be identified. Tracked down. She imagined growing complacent as months passed. Saw herself going about her daily life again, until one day a man with a gun slipped into her apartment at night or surprised her in a parking lot. Her guard would be down. It would be easy for them. One round to the head and she’d carry the secrets of Hopkins Bend to the grave forever.