Black and Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 3) Page 7

  I hold a sip of warm water in my mouth, his dick at the ready at my lips. Nudging, trying to find entry. The second time the head knocks, I open and he thrusts, into a mouthful of warm water.

  I push forward, taking his dick deep into my mouth.

  Panties hit the top of my head, and he bellows. “Sashaaaa!”

  He groans loud, and before he can warn me, I feel it. Splashing the back of my throat.

  “I don’t want our kids on the farm! Sasha, hide them! Please!” That makes me choke on the last drop.

  I hold him there, swallowing. Squeezing the tip of his cock with my throat muscles. Hips pump once, twice, but my mouth stays latched. I run my kitty claws over his taut balls, just a tickle, as he finishes down my throat.

  When the worst is over, he mewls like a kitten. I lavish his cock with attention, kissing up one side and down the other, suckling the tip. I grab the Altoid from the tray and pop it in, before placing a final kiss on the tip.

  There’s awe in his voice as he says, “Thank you, Highness.”

  I smile and get up off of the floor, unsure of what the etiquette is now. So I bow. He doesn’t laugh. Cause he’s blindfolded! “You, my loyal subject, are more than welcome.” My knees pop, but I’m on my feet again. “Uhh, do you need help with the chains? Should I get a ladder, or are you good?”

  He chuckles low in his throat. “No need. These have a safety catch on the inside. I just have to get my thumbs in…”

  I watch, entranced, as he moves his thumbs around the outside of the black leather cuffs. He turns to where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just need the blindfold off, Sash. It would make it easier.”

  He grins, and I pop off the bed to help. Not bothering with the tie, I just run my hands up his cheekbones and slide it over his head. He blinks, once, twice, in the dimming twilight before his eyes find me. I kiss his lips, and he smiles down at me with admiration. “You are a walking wet dream.”

  He runs his thumbs across the lip of the cuff, and I hear a snick! They’re off, dangling free from the ceiling. He stretches his arms out, hands reaching, and rolls his shoulders before rolling his neck.

  With a wink he says, “Now, where did those panties go?”

  I pull my dress up to show him.

  Javi

  I stroke the thing between my legs. The last broken piece of her.

  I sigh, feeling like she’s watching me.

  I snatch the cheap, plastic thing and give it a vicious squeeze, relishing the crack of the band. Sitting there judging me!

  I squeeze again, sharp plastic bits poke the sensitive web between my thumb and index finger. A blood drop wells and falls onto the fake blue flower.

  Evidence, my mind whispers.

  I feel other eyes, staring at my back. My skin crawls with them. Did I do something that I shouldn’t have?

  “Where’s the girl, Javi?” It’s always my father’s stern voice that asks the hard questions. The one I could never please. Who left me to fend for myself with the bitch viper.

  “Shut the fuck up, Padre,” I hiss, and smash the blue flower in my fist. It’s streaked in my blood. I squeeze the wilted flower to the bloody gash, applying pressure.

  Who would own one of these cheap things? So delicate, so easily broken.

  I’ll have to tell Hari to find a new supplier for headbands.

  I put it on my list.

  Next item on the to-do list. Get rid of the evidence. What? What evidence?

  The word alone makes me cringe. Calls to mind rubber rooms, restraints, sad girls screaming my name.

  I throw the headband to the floor and grab my phone, tucked in the visor.

  I need her. I’ve done something evil, despicable. I’m going to need her to retrace my steps and fix it. A Favor. One of the many I’ve asked for, yet she can never refuse.

  The brand and the business, hell, even the house are all in my name.

  Ted, a family attorney, made sure of it. Without me, they’d all be out on the street. Hooking in front of a bakery, most likely.

  You’re feisty!

  I know, I always get like this after a feeding. I’m not myself. I yank the wheel and cut off speeding traffic. I’m still alive, so I skid to a stop before I go completely off the road.

  Horns honk as I jump out and run around the front of the truck and tear open the passenger door.

  I throw the headband down on the hard-packed dirt, stomping it till I feel better. It doesn’t help. I think peeing on it might help.

  Then I see the McDonalds bag.

  Everything goes into the trash bag. There’s something to say for out of sight, out of mind. The motto I’ve lived by since the day my father walked out on me. Leaving a little boy to deal with the woman he couldn’t. We didn’t matter, we weren’t real then.

  “You’re not real anymore, Papa. But I am.” I hiss at the imposing figure lurking in the backseat.

  Out of sight, out of mind. I learned it from the best.

  Gretchen

  The thing about Favors? They all come due. You ask me, I ask you. Back and forth, over and over till it makes my head spin. It all just cancels out in the end. Why not start back at ground zero? Or better yet, you keep your Favor, I’ll keep mine, and we can stop this friggin’ tennis match, once and for all.

  Favors. The bane of my existence. I was brought into the house as a Favor. I just didn’t know I’d bought into a lifetime membership. Anything you say, Javi. Whatever you want, Javi.

  Until it got harder and harder to stomach the Favors. “You did what and want me to do what?” became my standard greeting when answering his calls.

  I keep telling myself that I will not panic or overreact today. I’ve got the general vicinity. Well, Tony does. I will not worry.

  Besides, I’m sure they’re holed up in that love nest in Big Bear, most likely feeding and fucking. Javi can be a very dirty boy. I’ve watched all of his footage. Well, I skimmed through the sex. I was more interested in the pillow talk.

  He’s not back yet, so that’s something. With ‘12’ he came home, got his bike, and took off again, but he came back. Maybe he’s keeping her, after all. Couldn’t go through with it. Can’t let her go.

  Probably sipping champagne in that huge Jacuzzi.

  I looked up the property. It sure looks like a love nest. Beautiful, actually. That must be where they’re at.

  I texted him last night, but his phone’s off. I can’t even find it on the locating service I use. Not until he turns it on. It’s the most I can do without a warrant.

  Everything’s password protected. It’s not even Bluebelle, dammit!

  I sigh in frustration, feeling my blood pressure start to rise. Then I remember, it’s kickback chill day today. No dramatics. Sasha’s gone. No theatrics. Oh, and definitely no jumping the gun. But I’ve seen his work, I know what Javier’s capable of.

  If Blue would at least return a phone call, I wouldn’t have to worry!

  It’s that damn ‘12’, that’s what’s got me all worked up. It was my own damn fault.

  I slept on it, got up, did my hair and makeup. Wanted her to see what the real Queen Bee looked like. I was stupid, never realizing she’d already suffered long enough.

  I drove to the motel, like I was going on a road trip. A cooler full of water, Gatorades and snacks next to me. Music blaring, windows down. Great trip…till I got to my destination.

  Then the empty room. The note on the mirror, scrawled with her lipstick.

  “Junk in the trunk.”

  My blood ran cold. I ran out and signaled for Gus to start checking trunks, watching him sweat in the 110-degree heat. The whole time, my heart beating in my throat, saying the prayer, please let her be all right. Please let her be all right.

  Him breaking a lock, walking towards me, carrying a limp doll.

  Heat exhaustion. IVs and more Favors called in to get the doctor to come to the dingy room. We got her revived, plumped up with fluids, let her rest for a night, watching ov
er her, soothing her…just so Tony could come in and give her the strong-arm.

  I stood outside the door, eavesdropping.

  Tony stood over her. “You’ll take that piece of shit rust bucket car of yours, this money, and you’ll get lost, little girl. Because if I find you or hear of you…even catch a whiff of that cheap perfume, you’ll wish I never opened that trunk. Got it?”

  She grabbed the duffle bag of money, one hundred thousand dollars, the price for silence, and asked. “What trunk?”

  See, that’s a working girl for you.

  Tony filled her tank full of gas, ran it through the carwash, and away she went. Haven’t heard from her since.

  I continue to remind myself that it’s not my business. What’s happening at that cabin? Blue would call if she needed help. As I go through Blue’s contact list, I replay Favors, looking for just the right one.

  Someone she felt close to. Comfortable with. For whatever reason, she’s not calling me back. But she must be talking to someone.

  “There you are, Bradley,” I purr, already dialing the phone.

  “Chello,” Brad answers on the first ring.

  I explain the situation with full-blown theatrics, all my fears and guilt leaping out of my throat. My carefully concocted story getting stepped all over.

  He listens as I go on and on—with an actor, for cripes sake—spilling too much milk.

  When I stop to take a breath, he cuts in.

  “Hey, Southern belle. Say no more. It just so happens I’m here in Vegas, training with The Brat,” he whispers conspiratorially into the phone.

  I hiccup. Men are easy. It’s the women you have to worry about.

  He hasn’t heard the worst of it. My eyes burn with real tears as I confess, “I’m really starting to get worried. I will never forgive myself if something happens on my watch. You sure you haven’t heard from her? She never mentioned a house or a boat?”

  “Oh! You’re talking about Frankie then. For a minute, I thought the other one, that Javi, was the one she ran away with. Thank the Lord! Once you said boat, I knew she was with the good one. He didn’t get away after all!” He actually cheers. “Way to go, Blue!”

  “Wait, I’m confused here. Who is Frankie?”

  I think back to all the Favors and don’t remember anyone named Frankie.

  Who in the Sam Hill is Frankie?

  “You don’t remember the guy who swept Blue off her feet? He took her out on a Ferris wheel? One kiss? Oh, the tattoo? None of this is ringing any bells?

  “No, what tattoo?”

  “Here, I’ve got his number. I’ll shoot it over in a text. It could be possible she’s hiding out with him. He’s so much! A biker, bearded, looks like a model, I’ll send you the pic of them together. I’d stow away with him, too, if I were Blue. He was really head over heels. Her, not so much. She was too tangled up with that other one to let him in. Glad that’s over,” he says.

  Me too. I thank him and hang up in shock.

  Blue had another guy, a regular guy, that she gave up for Animal Crackers? Why?

  Frankie

  I don’t sleep. Haven’t had a good night rest in days. Every time I close my eyes, think I’ll be able to get a solid eight hours in, she comes to me.

  It’s dark, but I know she’s there. Crying, screaming, dirty. Held against her will. In a cell? Underground? Each time I think I can just make it out, she screams…the most heart-wrenching agony I’ve ever heard, tearing me from slumber.

  And I jump awake.

  I go through my days at the clinic, once a joyous place, on autopilot.

  I need sleep. I fear sleep.

  I tried calling her. My number was blocked. Which is probably a good thing. I don’t have the willpower to block myself.

  I tried talking to Riley. Even he doesn’t understand. He thinks it’s because she dumped me, the reason I can’t let her go, ’cause she’s the one that got away.

  He explains away my unanswered calls and texts as just that.

  “Unanswered, because she’s got a boyfriend. Are you sure you’re not turning into some kind of a stalker now? She’s already told you, now I’m telling you. She’s not interested, Bro.”

  “Can you ask Sasha?”

  “Not unless she brings it up. But I’ll tell you something, Franks, and I need you to hear this. She’s on her honeymoon, dick.”

  I suck in a ragged breath after that sucker punch.

  “Sorry, bro, but you gotta know, she’s not the girl for you.”

  Riley doesn’t get it. He thinks I’m one step away from a restraining order. Started treating me like some cracked nut, like that husband of hers. Like I’m stalking her or something.

  No one at work but us dogs. It’s so slow this time of year I sent the vet techs home early.

  No one to talk to about her. Bluebelle, the reason I’m a vet today. The psychic predicted it, and I made it come true.

  Traveled all the way to California from the east coast, intent on finding her. And I did. For two nights.

  Married though?

  Maybe the fortune teller was wrong. Maybe the two nights with me saved her already.

  I’m thinking about all of this as I check the kennels for the night. My phone rings—an unknown caller—and I don’t even hesitate.

  Hello?” I answer, hoping to hear her sweet voice, even if it’s raised in anger, telling me to fuck off.

  “Is this Frankie? Frankie Duchesne?” I know she’s from the South when she pronounces my name right.

  Annoyed. “Yeah. Can I help you?” I put the phone back to my ear and resume locking up.

  “I think you can. I’m a friend of Blue’s. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m Gretchen.”

  “Blue?”

  “She needs your help.”

  Before she can get the words out, I’m there, extending everything. “Anything. Name it. Is she all right?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from her.”

  Then it hits me. “Blue’s on her honeymoon. You must not be that good of a friend if you don’t know that.”

  I’m ready to hang up until she says, “Wait!” And then follows it with the only thing I want to hear.

  “Frankie! She needs you.”

  I agree to meet her. And I’ll try to do as she asked and keep it to myself.

  Riley doesn’t get it anyway.

  Blue

  A tidal wave of fury rips through my insides, up my throat, and I shriek like a motherless prisoner from the depths of hell. Bane ain’t got shit on me. “Fucking asshole!” It feels so good to finally admit it and not have to hide my fury away, shrinking behind denial.

  This happened. Is still fucking happening. There’s no he went out for a walk and got lost.

  No, this fucker left me to die. I sound possessed, as a stream of curse words flies out of me. Every single one of them for that donut-fucker and what I’d like to do to him.

  “I’ll shove that funnel down your goddamn throat and piss in it!”

  My heart starts hammering in my chest, but I don’t try to calm myself. No, not this time. Let it fucking explode.

  No more fucken fairy tales, no prince’s riding up on sterling motorcycles. The pain in my throat matches the beat of my heart. Dark quivering wings flutter on the edge of my vision as I yank at the restraints, willing my fists to break free. The leather bites painfully into my inner wrist. Fuck the pain, I scream in anger. “Just let me go!”

  I will not faint, reverberates through my roaring mind.

  My heart yammers away, thrumming my ribs, and I add to it. Salting the soup of pain with venomous anger. This is good.

  I start cataloguing every hurt inflicted on me to nurse this impending heart attack. Every tear, every rejection, every secret, feeling dirty… Yep, a heart attack sounds just about right.

  So much better than the alternative. Slowly withering away, drying out from the inside. The big D.

  Dehydration. Cramps so bad the muscles turn to stone. I grimace,
afraid of even thinking about muscle cramps, worried just the thought might call them back. Hours of agony, wracking pains, no thank you. I’ll take a coronary any day.

  This is much better than dying of thirst. So out of my dehydrated mind, I don’t remember whose name to curse, who to damn to the darkest hell.

  “Shit stain Javi!” That’s who, and I continue to rage at the fucked up situation my life has become.

  My legs hurt, aching from the last cramp that brought all this on. This convulsing rage, pulsating through my sore body, with a life of its own. I jiggle my confined legs as fast as I can, hoping a little cardio’s enough to push me over the edge and finish me off. Death by Tae Bo sounds pretty appealing right about now.

  He got me good. They’re tight as rubber bands around my ankles, and I just fucking let him.

  Didn’t even put up a fight, just, “Oh, Javi, I don’t like this.” What the fuck was that? Who in the fuck was that? I should have bit him, kicked him in the balls, gouged his eyeballs out of his motherfucking head.

  Not the mousy, “Oh, Javi, I don’t like this.”

  I’m so pissed, if he was here right now I’d probably rip my own shoulder right out of its socket to get at him. Which gives me an idea.

  I rattle my arms and legs hard against the restraints. The poster bed doesn’t give an inch. I continue flailing about, screaming, a sore throat the least of my concerns. I’ll be dead in just a few short days. I pull against the restraints holding my arms, but they don’t give. Wait. Did my left hand slip? Just an inch?

  I’m too scared to wish. Instead I focus all of my pent-up anger on my left wrist. I feel a thin sheen of perspiration coat my body, and curse the water loss, but this needs to be done if I’m ever gonna get off of this bed.

  I tuck my thumb in, snugged up against my palm, and try to squeeze my fingers together, but the damned cursed diamond is in the way. “Fuck!” I scream, and yank on the restraint. Nothing.