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CHAPTER 3
“You two are dismissed. Good work tonight. Take the rest of the weekend off,” Alden says to the guards once we land. “You come with me.”
He’s not asking.
We enter the smaller, but no less grand, second home of Mr. Riege. It’s more modern, but just as luxurious. Black and white and metallics replace the warm wood interior of his other house. I follow him to his study.
Opposite the door, the entire wall is glass. We’re high above and far away from the City. I’m too exhausted to be nervous or to contemplate an escape plan.
“None for me, thanks,” I tell him when he pulls out two glasses. He fills them both anyway.
“I’m not in the mood to drink alone.” He sounds angry. “You killed a man tonight. You need a drink.”
“Two,” I mutter. He raises an eyebrow. “I shot two masked people.”
“People. Right. Could’ve been women. Women can be quite sneaky.” My stomach drops but I don’t flinch. It was just a comment. He can’t know.
Or maybe he does know who I am. Maybe that’s why he sent away the guards and brought me to his study alone.
I take a long sip of the whiskey then walk to the window. The City is a fuzzy glowing ball under the haze. The lights in the suburbs are more difficult to see, but I can make out faint clusters of street lamps and porch lights fanning out from the City. Each community is surrounded by walls or fences, separated and protected from the other communities of the suburbs, but most importantly, from the City dwellers the ones who can’t afford high tech security systems or aroundtheclock patrol.
Or expensive whiskey.
I down the rest of my glass and set it on a table. I cross the room, putting my back to him and the window, so I can take off my vest. I feel his eyes on me as I unbutton my shirt. Removing my vest reveals ugly purple bruises covering my pale midsection.
“How bad is it?” he asks. My shirt hangs open, revealing a black lace bra, but I turn around anyway.
“Better than being dead.” He’s not discrete in the hungry way he examines my body. “But I’ll take some more of that whiskey.” He motions to the full glass next to the empty chair opposite him.
He already knew.
We sit gazing out the window with a diminishing bottle on the table between us. The alcohol has me feeling warm and woozy. The pain in my ribs and my head are only dull aches now.
“I was going to fuck her,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “That’s why you were bringing her to me.”
“She was nervous,” I tell him. His chuckle makes me uncomfortable.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I lie. “Who was she?”
“That’s enough,” he sighs.
“So I’m dismissed?”
“No… Finish your drink.” I toss it back like a shot and then stand up. “Sit,” he growls.
I do sit, mostly because I’m so unsteady on my feet.
“I was thinking about you too.” He’s so drunk. If he’s going to slip and say anything, this could be the time. But this would not be playing hard to get. Not at all. On the other hand, a shootout wasn’t exactly part of the original plan either though.
What if I say no and he loses interest?
“I don’t remember that being part of the job description.” I meant it to sound mischievous and maybe a little y, but I’m also so very drunk and completely out of my element.
He laughs. Great.
“Would it be ier if I paid you?”
“Paid me… for ?”
“There are far worse things on my resume. On yours too, I’m sure.” I smile at his revealing statement, at his cliche fantasy of wanting a ‘bad girl’. He takes this as a yes.
He retrieves his wallet from his jacket and lays a hundred dollar bill on the table. Cash is currency for criminals. All transactions can be done with the swipe of a finger, that is if you don’t mind it being tracked. The dirty, faded bill on the table excites us both.
He lays down another and another, slowly and deliberately, one at a time, never taking his eyes off me. I hold his gaze, ignoring the cash, but aware of his hand moving from his wallet to the table and back again. I slide my unbuttoned shirt off my shoulders and remove my arms. He pauses, glancing down at the scars on my wrists again.
When he resumes eye contact, I nod towards the pile of money, urging him to continue. He smiles, enjoying this game, laying down one, two more before pausing and looking at me expectantly. I unlace my shoes then kick them off.
“Your pants,” he says firmly. I hesitate. He leans back in his chair, showing he has no intention of continuing to stack bills on the table.
I stand up, feeling the effects of the whiskey in my head. I hear his breath hitch as I slide down my pants, unsure whether it’s due to the straight, even scars on my thighs or the black lace panties that match my bra.
All that’s left is black lace.
“Come here,” he growls. I saunter over to stand in front of him. “Here,” he repeats, patting his lap. I’m far past the point of no return, but the hungry gleam in his eyes is terrifying. I straddle his legs. My bare skin feels sticky against the leather chair. He places his hands just below the band of my bra, his thumbs resting on my breast bone where some of the darkest bruises have bloomed. I wince.
“Does it hurt?” Its curiosity, not concern.
“A little.” He runs his hands down, not being particularly gentle, until he reaches a very tender rib. I flinch.
“This one might be broken.” I place my hands on his, urging them down. When he reaches my thighs, I stop pushing. His thumbs trace the scars there. “You seem tense.” He squeezes my thighs. His hands are rough.
When I rock my hips, I feel him grow harder beneath me. “It’s… been a day.”
“That it has,” he agrees as he slides his hand over to rub the thin fabric between my legs. “Those weren’t the first people you’ve killed though.” His other hand takes my wrist, turning my arm over and pulling me forward so he can kiss the raised marks there.
“Is that why you did all this?”
“I rather not talk about it,” I tell him. He removes his hands from my body angrily and grabs his wallet. He pulls out every bill inside and throws them over my shoulder onto the table. The paper flutters softly onto the glass.
“Why do you hurt yourself?” He resumes rubbing my panties but less gently now. I squirm in a mix of discomfort and arousal. His other hand is climbing, pressing against my sensitive torso. “Please don’t make me ask you again.”
“I’ve hurt people,” I snap, locking eyes and rolling my hips forward. “I’ve threatened people… beat people… killed people.” My confessions are arousing him. His breath is quick and shallow.
“Whatever I needed to do to make a few bucks.” I run my hands through his hair before tugging his head back and leaning forward.
“I could kill you right now if I wanted to,” I whisper in his ear before biting it hard enough to draw blood. My teeth graze his neck, nipping and kissing until he pushes me off his lap.
His dick springs free when he removes his pants. He spins me around then presses between my shoulder blades until I’m bent over with my hands resting on the pile of money on the coffee table.
The image is unsettling and arousing at the same time. My body doesn’t feel like my own and the whiskey has the room teetering. He pushes my panties to the side and slides in easily despite his size. This illicit foreplay made me undeniably wet. He lets out a satisfied moan as he bottoms out, gripping my hips and holding me tightly against him.
He’s trying to compose himself, make this last. I’d rather get it over with, so I roll my hips, grinding against him. His palm connects with my ass so hard I yelp in surprise.
“Patience, greedy slut,” he mutters. He’ll pay for that someday. I’m going to make him pay for all of this. In a twisted way, that only makes it hotter.
He pulls out and then slams into me again, jolting pain through my bruised ribs. His fingers dig into my hips, controlling me, controlling the pace, burying himself to the hilt over and over again, our thighs slapping together rhythmically.
I moan or whimper, in pain or pleasure it’s hard to say.
He spanks me again and I feel my pussy clench around him.
He grips my hair, tugging until I arch my back. A hundred dollar bill sticks to my sweaty palm as my hands lift off the table. I shake it off and watch it drift onto the floor as he stills and empties his seed deep inside me.
When he lets me go, I stand there a moment, hands back on the coffee table for stability. After he pulls out, I’m unsure what to do, what to think.
“There’s a bathroom through that door if you need to freshen up.” I grab his shirt off the floor and wrap it around myself. I let out a deep breath once I close the door behind me. I’m shaking. Excitement, nerves, relief.
Was that successful? Is he just going to discard me now or have we started… something?
When I return, my clothes are folded neatly with a stack of money sitting on top of them. His pants are back on but not buttoned, riding low on his hips, showing off his abs. He’s attractive. And not only because we just fucked. He’s tall and fit, inarguably attractive characteristics.
“You should come to bed with me.”
“I’m too drunk to protect you from assassins right now.”
“You’re too drunk to go down to the guard quarters. I don’t trust them.” I open my mouth to say something, but don’t find words. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I’m not taking no for an answer this time… My shirt.”
“It’s the middle of the night in your own house. You don’t need a shirt.”
“Now. Or by morning the whole staff will know what else you’re getting paid for.”
“I’m sure the rumors have already started and honestly I don’t give a fuck.” He smirks, genuinely amused.
“Fine. Don’t forget your payment.”
I shrug. “What am I going to do with a stack of hundreds? People will just assume they’re counterfeit or stolen.” He looks confused then contemplative.
“I didn’t fuck you for the money,” I add with a laugh.
I fucked him for the mission… and because I wanted to find out what scared the others away.
“I’ll deposit it into your account,” he replies stubbornly, turning towards the door. I follow, wrapping his shirt around me, very satisfied with the outcome. We don’t pass any guards in the halls, but I see one when I glance over the balcony. He doesn’t look up at us, but I’m sure they already suspect exactly what happened.
Alden’s bedroom is huge but sparse. An oversized four poster bed sits against one wall and a low sofa faces a window wall similar to the study. I continue following him to a door opposite the bed.
“Joining me in the shower?” he asks, surprised.
“I’m sure it’s huge like the rest of your house. Plenty of room for both of us,” I slip past him and enter the bathroom first. The shower has countless jets and a screen to control them. I punch buttons until he grabs my wrist. He’s standing unnecessarily close behind me. He lowers my hand from the screen.
Control freak.
His hand on the back of my neck makes me shiver. He tugs the back of my collar, his collar, down as he manipulates the settings for the shower with his other hand. I let the shirt fall off my arms and puddle on his feet. He massages my neck, my shoulder.
I stiffen uncomfortably as his hand comes around to cup my breast. He pulls me against him, my bare back against his bare chest. The shower room is full of steam now.
“You really need to relax.” He sounds annoyed. I take a small step forward when he releases my breast, trying to put a little space between us. “Go ahead, get in there.” He punctuates this with a spank slightly too hard to be considered playful.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted and I don’t want to be messed with. It would be easier if I was there to kill him, not recruit him.
We shower in silence.
We climb into bed in silence.
I slip into a deep sleep instantly, but that never lasts long.
I’m suddenly aware of a hand over my mouth. Instinctively, I swing my arm as hard as I can at my attacker. I connect with bone a cheek or jaw. I can’t tell in the dark. Someone is on top of me. I kick and writhe. The pain in my ribs makes my eyes water.
He calmly pins my arm before I can hit him again.
He’s talking, not yelling or threatening. I freeze when I realize where I am… and who I just slugged.
“Are you done screaming?” Alden Riege asks. I nod, so he cautiously lifts his hand off my mouth.
“Sorry,” I whisper. He doesn’t reply and I can’t see his reaction in the dark.
How is it so dark? The sun was about to come up when we finally went to bed. He climbs off of me, out of bed.
“Miss Marks, good morning,” he says. A sliver of light appears on the window wall. I can see he’s on the phone. “Two coffees and an ice pack.” He glances at me clutching my side. “And some pain medication… That’s all for right now.” I pull the blankets up around me. Moments later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.” A middle age woman enters, unphased by his nakedness.
“What’s the pain medication for? Your face?” she asks when she gets a better look at his jaw.
“Broken ribs,” he grumbles. She doesn’t hide her shock and concern. “I didn’t do it,” he adds. She noticeably relaxes. “Can you take a look?”
“But I’m…” I start.
“Let her look,” he demands.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, dear. Not much to be done for broken ribs, but let’s make sure nothing looks exceptionally bad.” I lower the blankets. She raises her eyebrows before glancing at Alden.
“She was shot wearing a bullet proof vest,” he explains defensively. And when she gently raises my hand, which looks like I punched a wall, “A misunderstanding.”
“Is that true?” she asks me. I nod. “You’re fine. Just take it easy. No vigorous activity.” She shoots Alden another dirty look when she says the last part. I can’t help but smile, but he stares angrily over his coffee cup. “I’ll get you something to wear and bring you both breakfast.”
“Something she can wear back to the City,” Alden clarifies sharply.
“Are you firing me?” I hope he doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.
“Alden…” the kind woman begins.
“That’ll be all, Miss Marks.” Which she knows is her cue to leave.
“You heard her. No vigorous activity. I’m sending you home to recover.” I nod in understanding. “My childhood nanny,” he explains once she’s gone.
I don’t ask any of the questions banging around in my head, especially not the most important one: Why did she suspect he broke my ribs?
ero
