Part 8 (2/2)

”You can't do it because you're not like me,” he whispers. My body temperature skyrockets as his lips barely skim my neck. ”You save lives, I take them.” I don't want to be affected by him. I hate him, I want to kill him, but the way his body is pressed against mine, the way he touches me as if he owns me, it has my heart trying to escape my chest, and my lungs struggling for breath. I hate myself more than I thought possible in this moment.

”Are you going to kill me?” I manage to gasp.

He moves his face from my neck as his fingers release my wrist and wind into my hair, pulling it almost to the point of pain. ”I haven't decided yet,” he murmurs, so close to my lips that I feel his brush against mine. My breathing accelerates, and he huffs a laugh. ”Scared?”

”Should I be?” I breathe, my voice shaking. Yes, I should be, and I am, but not as much as I need to be with a murderous psychopath pressed between my thighs and a razor blade inches from my head.

He tightens his fingers in my hair, wrenching my head to the side. His lips move to my ear, making me tremble beneath him. ”Definitely,” he growls.

Oh, G.o.d. I can't breathe, I can't talk. All I can feel is him. I don't want to feel him, and my mind is screaming a thousand questions at me; namely, what the f.u.c.k are you doing? My body, though, my body is a traitorous s.l.u.t evidently.

His teeth gently nip at my earlobe, and I lose my s.h.i.+t. I drop the razor blade and my hand flies to his hair, pulling at the short strands. I don't know whether I'm trying to pull him away from me, or bring him closer. He laughs and his hot breath blows across my neck.

”Not so innocent now, are we?” he mumbles as he rolls his hips against me, teasingly.

His hand moves from my hair to my jaw, gripping it roughly. His lips are so close, and every hormone in my body is screaming at him to kiss me. I'm a mess. Just when I think he's going to, when I can feel the brush of his lips over mine, he pulls away and rolls away from me, climbing out of the bed.

I hear the rustle of clothing, before he opens the door. ”You f.u.c.k with me, I'll f.u.c.k with you,” he says, and slams the door shut behind him.

f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k. All I can hear is my pulse hammering in my ears as I attempt to come to terms with what just happened. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with me? If he had kissed me then, I would have let him; h.e.l.l, I might as well have just stripped f.u.c.king naked for him and laid out a welcome mat. I feel like I need to jump in a bucket of bleach just to wash the wh.o.r.eishness off me. There are times in life when you have to seriously question your own sanity, and this is one of them.

I slam the door behind me. My f.u.c.king d.i.c.k is throbbing, my pulse is hard and heavy. That b.i.t.c.h just tried to slit my throat, and it f.u.c.king turned me on. The way she felt pinned underneath me, my leg pressed between her warm thighs, my bare chest against her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s...f.u.c.k! I stop at the top of the stairs and swipe my hands through my hair. I glance back at the door. She was f.u.c.king willing, had I tried to f.u.c.k her, I am d.a.m.n sure she would have let me. What kind of f.u.c.ked up s.h.i.+t is this? s.h.i.+t! She's trying to seduce me. Make me want her, feel like I can trust her so she can f.u.c.k me over and sell me out to Joe...

I shake my head, and make my way down the stairs. I can't think about that right now. All I know is that I need to get away from her. I pa.s.s through the living room and Caleb is sprawled out on the couch watching TV. ”I'm going to check on the t.i.tty bar.”

He glances back at me, his lips curving into a smile as he grabs the remote and flips the TV off. ”I'mma come with you.”

The doors to Elysium swing open and the loud ba.s.s rumbles through my chest. We weave our way through the crowd toward the bar.

The bartender looks up, shaking his head. ”Vincent called in. I'm sick of this s.h.i.+t.”

I make my way behind the bar, clasping my hand on his shoulder. ”I just own the f.u.c.king club. b.i.t.c.h to Chris about s.h.i.+t like that would you?”

I grab a bottle of Maker's Mark and pour two large gla.s.ses. I hand one to Caleb as I round the bar, and make my way past the stage. One of the half-dressed waitresses struts by and I pop her a.s.s. She doesn't miss a step. I tip the gla.s.s back, sucking back the chilled liquor as we shove our way through the thick crowd of men gathered around the stage, tossing bills at the dancer. The music fades as we walk down the hallway. I stop in front of the door that says ”staff only”, taking another large swig before turning the k.n.o.b. As soon as the door opens we are greeted with squeals.

”JP!”

”Caleb!”

Crystal glances up from her dressing table, each side of her full lips flipping up into a grin. She tosses her makeup brush down and slowly stands, sashaying over to me. She's wearing black, sheer lingerie and a silk thong. Her perfectly round t.i.ts bounce with each heavy step she takes, and it makes my d.i.c.k throb like a motherf.u.c.ker. Stopping in front of me, her eyes trail up my body.

”I've missed you” she purrs, her fingers brus.h.i.+ng over my crotch. The other girls leave, flas.h.i.+ng me seductive smiles on their way out. I arch a brow in amus.e.m.e.nt.

”Have you?” I ask and take another large gulp of whisky.

”Looks like you missed me too.” She bites her lip, her fingers already undoing my fly. She yanks my c.o.c.k out. Her nails gently trail over the tight skin.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Tara approach Caleb and shove him down onto the couch. I tip the gla.s.s back again, staring down at Crystal as she drops to her knees. This is why I like her, no f.u.c.king around, just straight to business. She slowly drags her tongue over my d.i.c.k before she shoves it in her warm mouth. I inhale and place one hand on the top of her head, guiding her. Her fingers wrap around me, twisting up as she forces me to the back of her throat. I yank her hair, groaning as I take another swig of whisky. She's working me over, but not d.a.m.n near hard enough. My hand slides down the back of her head, fisting her hair as I force her down on me as far as she can go. She gags and tries to pull away.

”f.u.c.k that!” I laugh. ”You can do better than that, can't you?”

She groans and pulls in a breath as she swallows more of me back. She grabs the waist of my jeans, yanking them down with my boxers while she eye f.u.c.ks me. She aggressively cups my b.a.l.l.s, her eyes slamming shut as she goes down further on me. I feel her tongue press under the tip of my head then circle around it. Her teeth gently sc.r.a.pe over me, she moans and rolls my b.a.l.l.s in her palm....and... I can't get off.

I widen my stance and exhale. I'm not even f.u.c.king close. She's growing frustrated, working over me harder, deeper, rougher. I feel her finger creep under my b.a.l.l.s and slip over my taint, putting pressure on it. I grit my teeth as I pull her hair and lean my head back. Tara moans, and the slapping noise from Caleb f.u.c.king her does nothing but distract me. I close my eyes, and, against my will, I imagine that the warm, wet sensation enveloping my c.o.c.k is Tor's mouth. My hips thrust forward, groaning as my fingers clench in her hair. Her nails dig into my thighs. The more I think about Tor, the more I f.u.c.k the s.h.i.+t out of her mouth, every few seconds causing her to gag and attempt to pull away from me, but I won't let her.

”f.u.c.king take it, Crystal.” I pull in a breath, picturing those steel-blue eyes of Tor's glaring up at me.

Crystal deep throats me, her finger pressing on me in just the right spot as heat spreads over my body. I hold her in place. I feel my b.a.l.l.s tighten, my muscles stiffen, and I pull out of her mouth, furiously beating off on her face.

”s.h.i.+t! JP!” she yells, her hand wiping over her cheek.

I fall back on the couch, some of the whisky slos.h.i.+ng out of the gla.s.s I'm still holding onto. I suck the last bit down. I sit, my pants around my ankles, and think about how f.u.c.ked up it is that I just had one of my stripper's deep throat my s.h.i.+t while I fantasized about a girl locked up in my room as collateral for a debt.

Women don't do that to me. They don't get to me...but she does. There's no room for sentiment in my world. She's involved with Joe, of course I want her, I'm supposed to want her, which only makes me f.u.c.king angry that I do. Joe's a f.u.c.ker. It's hard to kill something you want, b.a.s.t.a.r.d knows that. I can't let him f.u.c.k me over. I won't let him f.u.c.k me over, and I'll f.u.c.k up any intentions he had. I have no choice in the matter. My hands are literally tied behind my back. I'm either going to kill her, or save what's left of her once I'm done with her.

When I wake up the next morning and my vision comes into focus, I find two ma.s.sive men standing beside the bed, staring at me.

”What the h.e.l.l?” I croak. ”Who are you?”

They say nothing, and without warning, one of the guys grabs my leg, dragging me from the bed. I hit the floor hard, hitting my elbow as I go down.

”What the f.u.c.k? Who are you? Where is Jude?” I try to crawl away from him, my heart slamming against my ribs. I never thought that I would wish for Jude, but suddenly I wish he were here. He scares the s.h.i.+t out of me, but I trust him not to deliberately hurt me. These guys, though...these guys look like they would rape and kill me just for s.h.i.+ts and giggles.

The two men scoff at each other. ”Oh, he had to go take care of some business.” One of them grabs my shoulder and yanks me to my feet. ”He asked us to handle you while he's gone. Get you ready for when he gets back.”

He shoves me toward the door. ”Now move it.”

I stumble, grasping for anything to get me away from these ogres. ”I need to wee,” I blurt. He scowls at me. ”Please.”

”Fine. f.u.c.king hurry up.”

He stands in the doorway with his back to me. s.h.i.+t, what am I going to do? This is it, I know it is. I don't know if Jude's in on this or not. I know he's an a.r.s.ehole, but I've always taken him as the kind of guy that handles his dirty work himself. If he wants me killed, the least that b.a.s.t.a.r.d could do is pull the trigger himself.

I wash my hands, keeping my eyes down, not wanting to look at him. I can smell him from here. He smells like cheap whiskey and sweat.

”Time's up. Move your a.s.s.” He grabs my arm, dragging me out of the bathroom and across the bedroom. His grip on my arm is so tight my fingers are growing tingly from the restricted blood flow. He doesn't let up as he moves through the house. I can hear the other guy behind me, but he does nothing to help me. We pa.s.s what looks like a living room, which has at least four different televisions playing various sports games.

I'm lead to a door. Once it opens, I'm staring down a set of stairs. ”Walk,” the guy hisses, shoving me forward.

I stumble down the wooden staircase, my pulse becoming more frantic with every step. At the bottom, my bare feet hit what feels like rough, cold concrete.

I hear the click of a light switch, and a fluorescent light flickers to life overhead. I'm standing in a plain room. The floor is concrete with tiled walls. There are various cabinets on the walls, and a gurney in the middle of the room. I guess this is a criminal's version of a medical room.

The brute keeps shoving me across the room and to a door on the far side. He opens it. Another fluorescent light buzzes on. I involuntary push back against him as he pushes me forward. I don't want to go any further into this room. There are guns and knives everywhere. Jesus, this looks like something out of a mafia film.

Wooden racks are stacked with a.s.sault rifles. Strings of bullets hang from the walls. There are boxes labelled with explosives. s.h.i.+t, what are they going to do? Start a f.u.c.king war?

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