“Why? Because I wear my jeans how they’re supposed to be worn. That entitles men to grope me?”
“Dress like a stripper, don’t cry when people put dollar bills in the waistband of your 501’s is all I’m saying. Go see my tailor.”
Justice looks at the smirking crew. “Return trips delayed. Everyone take a fifteen while we sort this out.”
Once the plane’s clear, I knock. “Nova. It’s Shamus.”
Silence, maybe she’s sleeping? Then. “Are you the hard ass or the pushover?”
Surprised, I turn to Justice who looks like a hardass, even when he’s laughing. “Go on, Shamus. Tell her which one you are.”
And now, it’s me who’s pissed.
At myself. What did I expect? We met when she was in the hospital, waiting for her 5150.
“Like I said, I’m Shamus Malone, owner of The Four-Leaf, but if I had to guess which you think I am, I’d have to say, the pushover.”
“Shamrock shake.” Her giggle sounds eerie, off balanced.
“That’s right, we met yesterday. Remember?” I coax.
“Do you work out a lot?” She asks.
Every word out of her mouth sounds like a pick-up line.
Deadly serious, she continues. “I hope you do. You’ll need it for where you’re going. Kidnapping will get you five to twenty.”
Now it’s Justice who’s pissed. Incredulous, he says. “Kidnapping? We have your signed contract. Get decent, we’re coming in.”
He touches a card to the keypad and before the door slides all the way open, I see her.
On the bed, sitting on a pile of suits, she’s a beauty, but her heavily smeary eyes are unfocused.
This is the way she shows up to her first day of work?
It’ll be the insurance payout then, and the thought leaves me hollow. I don’t want to succeed if it means she needs to fail.
“If you’re not kidnappers, why did I feel the need to put a deadbolt between us?” Snapping one of my ties at me, she asks coyly.
“You didn’t. The crew locked you in for their safety,” Justice says and for one second, there’s a hint of recognition in her eyes. Like this might be a song she’s heard before.
Uncertain, she asks. “What were they afraid of?”
“Apparently, you,” Justice says.
She takes a long look at Justice. Then throws back her head and laughs.
“So, serious,” she murmurs. Her long wavy hair, knotted and tangled covers her teacup sized breasts, but the way she’s leaning towards me, it looks like she wants to wear me.
I swallow around a lump.
“Finally, someone with the balls to fuck me,” she says.
My dick jerks savagely in my pants at her lewd introduction. No hi, nice to see you, she’s all business. And business is booming.
“That filthy mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
“That’s what I’m counting on handsome.” She says and falls back, like a sack of potatoes. Worry creeps into my belly when she doesn’t move.
I move closer to her still form on the bed. “Is she breathing?” I whisper.
“She is. No dead person can snore like that.” Justice says.
Watching each breath she takes, I say. “Justice, I’ve got this. Pull the car as close to the stairs as you can get, and for God’s sakes, put the damn top up! No one sees her like this.”
This one doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble.
I think as I stride toward the armoire and pull out a fluffy white robe with the M logo on the front. I have to dress her, she’s out cold. Every inch of her is silky, toned and smells like a pub.
As I carry her down the stairs, I’m past worried. Knocked out cold. Defenseless. With no protection, anyone could hurt her.
That ends now.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. I’m not just going to give her what she wants, like I did with my dad. I’m going to make her wait. Good things come to those who wait, and Nova’s no different.
Justice has the backdoor open. Chuckling, he leaves me to fold her long legs into the car. Without breaking a snore, she judo kicks and almost takes me out. At the last moment, Justice pulls me back and saves me from losing my front teeth. “Thanks, bro.”
On the drive to the hotel, I think of our phone conversation…this morning. After her performance last night, I wanted to make sure she was alright.
“Do you have a problem with alcohol or drugs? We can provide a quick detour to rehab if you do.” I’d broached the subject with her gently. Must have caught her in a lucid moment. I’d been surprised that she’d answered her own phone, and it wasn’t some groupie, or a dreaded PA. Her laugh had been tinkly soft. With just a hint of the smoke that she’s famous for, her voice sounded rich, even over the phone. Each word she uttered, seemed to tinkle and I’d believed every one of them.
“No, sir. No problem. Me and the bottle get along just fine.” I’d laughed with her then, now I want to punch something.
She assured me there was no problem. This looks like a fucking problem.
“Roll the windows down, would ya? I can’t stand the stench of her lies.”
Chapter 17
NovaKain
I wake with a pounding headache. Alone, in another hotel room, unsure of how I got here.
But I’m not scared. A plush suite isn’t even in the top five creepiest places I’ve woken up in.
Looks like I made it to Vegas after all.
Neither the headache, nor the unfamiliar surroundings make the top of my concerns list.
But this maddening itch that races beneath my cheeks, to the point where I feel like my whole face is humming? Numero uno.
Like a stroke to the back of a dog’s back, it lets me know that deep down inside of me. The beast begins to stir. Wearing a gleaming spiked collar, with a name tag that reads, Addy the Addict.
Just the tiny thought paid to my craving and my cheeks sizzle. Rebound reverberations from the swarm of killer bees that have set up shop in my brain. As if someone turned the amp up to 11, the sound of the hive ratchets up until it drowns out the world. I slap my hands to my ears to muffle the noise, which only traps it in. This is what addiction is and it’s not pretty.
My stomach yawns and I lean over the side of the bed. After two gut-wrenching retches, nothing comes up, yet my throat feels like it’s been bathed in acid.
Unpleasant, yes, but it’s just my addiction, letting me know she’s awake. She’s just starting to stretch, but if I don’t get my mostly pleasant, sometimes petulant craving something to cool out soon, I will be faced with a needy snapping beast throwing one hell of a knock-down, drag out tantrum.
It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.
On shaky legs, I stand. Shivering, I’m sweating bullets and push off the oversized robe. My goal…the curtains. One tug of the string, and the draperies close. Not even God needs to see me this way.
Palming sweat from my eyes - even the space under my eyes is sweating - my vision adjusts, and there’s my purse, sitting on a chair.
Hallelujah!
With jittery hands, I rifle through makeup and straighteners. All the while, telling myself it’s my blood sugar, must be low, I’m just looking for hard candy, but even that excuse is wearing thin.
“Keep telling yourself that sister. But I know you,” I mutter.
Case in point, without even having to wonder or think back, my addicted mind already knows that a few pills didn’t make it into the airport trash.
Hidden under all the junk, I see one glorious little pink pill. Covered in lint and tobacco, it’s a roofie miracle!
Ten times stronger than Valium, it should do the job. Playing at pharmacist, I calculate the dose needed to knock me out. Just until I’m over the worst of this.
It takes me two tries to tweeze it before I get the crumbling pill. Then almost drop it when the door behind me opens.
I know who it is by the way the hairs stand up on the back of m
y arm. The light spilling in the doorway turns him into a negative. He jerks to a stop when he sees me.
Uncertainly, the silhouette man says. “Nova?”
Crouched in the corner going through bags like some junkie, I’m caught. Why my teeth are chattering, I don’t know. “This is me, Shamus.”
Too busy palming the pill before it gets confiscated, I barely notice him cross the room. He kneels beside me, sympathy in his eyes but I’m looking past him, frantically searching.
Not for a weapon, I need a mixer. But I come up empty.
Looking him up and down, he’ll do. “You can do whatever you want to me,” I say.
There’s a pause. Maybe I’m not all that and bag of chips right now.
“Anything?” he asks.
Shaking, I nod.
“Turn over. On your stomach,” he says.
“Why? What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice laced with tension. My whole body is on edge, but his firm hand on the center of my back reassures me. Steady, he guides me to the carpet and his whispers follow me down.
“Everything’s okay, you’re okay. You are safe. No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”
His words are a balm for my tortured soul, and I believe him.
Stretching out, I rest my head on my arms and watch as he moves around the room. A shadow man that presses a button and fills the room with seductive jazz. Slowing my rapid respirations, I focus on the music which puts the bees to sleep.
When he kneels beside me, the smell of Lavender keeps my headache at bay. “I’m going to touch you Nova,” he warns and my body scoots closer to his.
Gently, he gathers my hair and places it over a shoulder. All the while he talks.
“You’re so special. So beautiful. Don’t you know that, Nova?”
The gift of his touch, gentle and soft is what he gives. He takes nothing by force and the shakes in my hands subside. The only answer I have to his kindness is tears.
Brushing hot tears from my cheek, he murmurs, “One of a kind.”
Warm hands settle on my shoulders and begin to work. “Relax. Tell me how you like it, hard or soft?” He asks as he kneads my overwrought muscles.
“However, you like it,” I say. Not flirty like I’d hoped, it comes out desperate.
“No, this isn’t about me. It’s all about you. Tell me, Nova. How do you like it?” he asks.
“However, I can get it,” I say.
Shivers race along my sides as his hands travel down my back.
“Mmm,” It feels so good.
My nipples harden as his fingertips skim my ribs, it’s the fuckticipation of it all. What will he say next? My mind empties of all clutter and the sound of his voice echoes through the empty chasm, filling me with pleasure. My only thoughts are of him and his…of me.
Where will he touch next? My hips, the swell of my breast, my sex? He touches none of these places, yet I’m dripping with anticipation.
His fingers fan the expanse of my back, before he strokes a fine line down my spine. But they stop short at my tan line.
Needing more, wanting more, I raise my hips from the floor and push until my ass is on display. “Touch my pussy until I tell you to stop.” I beg.
But he takes his hand back as if I’ve burned him. “Shhhh. There are no directions with this pussy. I want you to say it.”
Even as I breathe the words, my thighs clench. “Please Shamus. I need it.”
Devouring all my unspoken protests, he takes my lips with a sweet kiss.
“No.” he says and covers me with the robe.
No from the yes man? The Enabler just got a lot more interesting.
Chapter 18
NovaKain
“Come have a drink with me, Shamus,” I say. The surface of the ensuite bar lights up when I Iean on it. Lining up two crystal goblets, I hold the bottle up. “Maker’s mark?” I ask.
“Only the best.” He sounds smooth, like he’s unaffected by me. But I’m beginning to find, his voice can be deceiving.
I turn and take one more look at him as he is now, before I ruin him completely. Because that’s going to happen, mark my words. No man says no to me.
Perched on the edge of the bed, taking up a postage sized spot on the California King. His knee jitters and I realize, he’s worried. Wondering just what the hell I’m planning to do to him. “Don’t look so worried Shamus. When I fuck you, it will be slow. I want to relish every moan that comes from your soft lips, but it won’t be tonight, because you said no. One drink?” I offer, petulantly.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he breathes deep, before he speaks.
“Should we? I mean, you were pretty….” His voice trails off when I take the finger I’ve been stirring my drink with and slide it between my lips. I suck until it’s bone dry.
“Tastes like medicine,” I say and nod him over.
When I beckon, he comes and his unbuttoned shirt falls open. Wow. Shamus has the kind of body that looks better with less clothes.
As he approaches, I’m eye to eye with the barrel of a very large…gun. “Is this a stickup, Shamus?” I say.
Even his laugh sounds nervous.
My fingernail feathers a trail around the tattoo on his chest, dipping into the valleys of muscle which quiver beneath my touch. A very nice stretch lubricates me from within. Out the window, there’s a glittery marquee. My name in lights. Nova…Coming soon.
I sure hope so, I think and savor the hum between my thighs.
Before I go too far, Granny Guilt hits me with a cross-stitch. There won’t be any coming! He said no. Get your hands off him! Look but don’t touch!
Oh no. With both my hands on his chest, I’m moving towards the ‘D’ before I realize exactly what it is I’m doing. Pushing the issue. Fully naked, my hands keep seeking, even as he batts them away.
Next, I’ll be making him watch me take a shower! I’m a fucking groper! Gross!
Backing away, I look for something to cover myself with. “I’m such a fiend. I’m sorry, Shamus.”
I put the robe on and tie it, tight. Like my resolve. “One drink and then it’s time to go, buddy.”
Straighten up! I think and reach for my glass, which is empty. Both glasses are.
Please be my shoddy memory. “That can’t be right. I thought I poured…”
With a sheepish grin, he says. “Made mine a double, you don’t know the effect you have on me, woman. Lucky for us, there’s more.”
Nonchalantly, he pours out two neat fingers into both glasses.
But my heart has stopped. “Shamus you didn’t…”
When he looks back, his eyes are positively Shameless. His eyes me, from the toes up and licks his fucking lips. “Oh, but I did.”
“I’ve gotta pee.” Sure, that I’ve already pissed myself, I run to the bathroom.
My whole body shakes on the cold seat. Do I tell him? And if I do, how’s that gonna work. “Hey Mr. Malone, I know I was just begging you to touch my pussy!
Ugh, the memory makes me positively cringe in the cold, throne room.
And totally unrelated to the fact that you said no…I um…roofied you. No really, big mistake, wasn’t meant for you. In a courtroom full of my peers, they’d say guilty, lock that bitch up.
Greedily, I have the stones to be pissed that he drank the last pill in existence.
Not his fault. Instead of being an absolute baby about swallowing big, bad pills, why didn’t I just swallow it? Yes, the gag would have been unflattering. I might have been a bit embarrassed, but this?
A nervous titter turns into full blown hysteria, and I wonder, just what in the fuck is wrong with me?
Shit, should I call a hospital or something?
He is pretty big. So, what!
No means no, I should have just let him be. This world is one big party and I’ve always got to be the crasher.
Why does one never seem like enough? One puff, one sip, one pill, one line, one kiss, one lick. One always leads to two an
d before I know it there’s no one left.
It can’t just be me, can it?
With envy, I watch the sweet girls at the party that are able to nurse a drink, while I manhandle the bottle. Or the casual pot smokers, the ones that only light up on birthdays and sex nights. Be like them, I think sadly. Normal.
Display a little control. Stop buying the handle of Jack, be a fucking lady and get a shot. Maybe two, point is, leave the bottle on the bar and carry yourself home.
Great. Why’s he singing Mas Tequila? I left him with a maker’s mark bottle in his hand.
Doorknob in hand, I stop for a cleansing breath.
Take it one day at a time, Nova. Ignore him. No matter what he says, or how hard he begs, it’s just the drugs - which I gave him! - talking. Just get out of this room. Walk through the bedroom and get as far away from him as you can. One step at a time. Go.
Ugh. I hope this guy’s not a virgin, or I’m gonna have a real mess on my hands.
He sounds like seven kinds of sin when he asks. “Are you going to just stand there or hop on?” In the moonlight, he looks magically delicious, yet so far out of bounds.
My eyes adjust and I realize…Houston, we have liftoff.
There is two hundred pounds of pure premium, spread out like cheese on a cracker, and I start to sweat.
One day at a time? Try one minute at a time. One tick of the secondhand at a time.
I teeter on the edge, wanting what he’s offering, fuck wanting, physically needing what he’s offering. With white knuckles, I’m staring down at the finest, most uncut drug of my choice.
If he were cocaine, he’d be Columbian.
If he were premium ganja, he’d be Jamaican.
If he was MDMA, he’d be Molly to his friends.
Everything about him is pure.
Lying on his back, hands on his hips, he thrusts, twice. “Well?” he asks.
It’s absolutely shameless to be this dangerous. This hazardous to my health.
I’m being tested. The lord is punishing me. That’s the only way to look at this fucked up situation I find myself in, yet again. Either that or I’m still in the looney bin. Could this be a drug dream?
“Shamus?” I say.
Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1) Page 12