A black woman stood behind me, shaking. She was young, probably eighteen or nineteen. She’d been dressed for seduction—matching red panties and a tiny bra that did nothing to hold her huge breasts, and so scared, her scream had been lost in her throat. She just stood there with her mouth open and her hands caught in mid-air.
Fuck.
She ran off.
“No! Don’t go!” I grabbed my gun and took off after her, racing down the hall. She shoved shelves of dildos as if to block my way. Huge plastic penises rained down and coated the floor. I almost tripped a few times.
Sick fuck. How many dicks did you need, Rumi?
I jumped over some more as she slammed the hallway door closed. Her footsteps sounded far off.
“Wait!” I rushed to open it and caught her image down by the front door. “Hold up! I won’t hurt you.”
She screamed. Her ass jiggled in those tiny panties. It wasn’t the best time for a reaction, but my dick jerked to attention.
I might’ve caught her faster, if I hadn’t been a little bit distracted by her body.
She got to the front door and fumbled with the lock. Fear had her focus fucked up. She checked over her shoulder. Tears ran down her face. Dread hit her eyes.
“Hey, I won’t hurt you.” I sped up and caged her body to the door, taking her into my arms and covering her mouth. “Listen. I know what it looks like.”
She trembled against me, barely reaching the center of my chest. There was no ring on her finger, no husband waiting for her to get home, but there could’ve been a boyfriend. Not that I should’ve cared.
Her long dark hair hung in loose braids over one shoulder. Her skin was soft and creamy, and I had an urge to know what it felt like. I leaned in a little, getting the smell of strawberries and honey. I didn’t know someone could smell sweet like that, and my mouth watered.
“I won’t hurt you.” I released one of my hands from the door and ran my finger down her cheek. I needed to find out just how soft her skin really was. The desire to touch her overwhelmed.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Our gazes met.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, pulling me from the trance she had me under.
“I won’t hurt you, but I can’t just let you go either.”
She whimpered.
Motherfucker. What am I going to do with her?
It would’ve been easier to kill her, but that wasn’t me. I never played that role. I cleaned up shit. I buried secrets. I hid things. I crept in shadows, watching shit go down.
“I’ll let go of you, if you don’t scream.”
She nodded.
I let go and showed her my gun.
She shrieked and then covered her own mouth.
“You and I are the same. Okay?”
She whimpered but bobbed her head.
“We’re the same because we both walked into some fucked up shit and now we have to figure out a way to get out of this without no one killing us.” I had to keep on talking. Her body distracted me. Close and pressed against her, my dick came alive, wanting to touch her more. But this wasn’t the time or place, and I needed to get her out of here before someone tried to kill her.
“Please.” She struggled against my hold, rubbing that soft ass against my dick. “I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”
Anything? No. Stop. I’ve got shit to do.
I gritted my teeth, wondering why she was even here, half-naked and so sexy. Rumi liked hookers—young ones—and she looked innocent as hell.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Nineteen.”
“Jesus.” I turned her around and forced my dick to calm down.
She gazed up at me with those sweet eyes. “I-I won’t t-tell anyone.”
“I know.” I sighed. “But, just in case. . .I have to make sure.”
“Please, don’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.” I leaned away and tightened the grip on my gun. “Remember. I’m sorry.”
“Wha—”
I slammed her head with the butt of the gun. She fell to the floor, blinking her eyes and then closing them.
Kennedy would’ve killed me if she saw it. Emily would’ve beaten my ass herself. And my mother would’ve helped them both tear my behind up.
Sorry, ladies, but knocking her out is better than murdering her.
I let go of last night’s memories and blew out a long breath.
This week was the wrong time to quit cigarettes. My fingers itched to light something. My lungs yearned to burn.
My mind returned to the present moment. Back to Emily’s art showing. Back to the current problem.
Why did the Russian want to talk to Emily?
I stood outside the gallery, trying to keep myself calm. Things were too close to getting out of hand.
The front door opened.
The Russians walked out, two rich, scary looking men flanked by ten others. The two rich ones got in the limo, talking to each other the whole time. Neither saw me.
I glanced over my shoulder and looked through the gallery’s glass wall. Emily had returned to her event, slowly walking around. Whatever she’d talked about with the Russians didn’t show on her face.
I have to find out what they said to her. Why the fuck would Darryl tell them to come here? It doesn’t make any sense. And where the fuck is Kennedy?!
I pulled out my phone and texted her.
Me: Where are you?
Kennedy: Home.
Me: Why?
Kennedy: I’m sick. I need some rest.
She’d seemed just fine an hour ago. In fact, it wasn’t until I pointed out the Russians to her that she disappeared.
There’s some other shit going on that I don’t know about.
I texted Darryl.
Me: Where are you? We need to talk.
No response came.
Maybe the Russians had them. At this point, I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Cleaning up after his sister and him was getting to be exhausting. I almost wished the Russians would keep his ass for the rest of the year.
And what about the girl? Maybe, she woke up.
I’d wrapped her up in one of Rumi’s massive suitcases and rolled it out. She was now in my guest bedroom, tied and lying on the bed, her mouth duct taped. My soul crumbled from having to do it.
What the fuck am I going to do with her?
At Rumi’s place, I’d wiped down as many fingerprints as I could think of. I doubted they’d even find Rumi’s own prints in that house. I took the security footage, knife, and everything else. I should’ve been a little bit more relieved, but instead, a tornado of worry tore through my gut. By the time I got the girl and went back to the house, it was morning. I tied her hands and legs, taped her mouth, and then placed her on my bed.
How could I be so stupid? I thought this was the end, but I think this is just the beginning. Maybe, I can get her a plane ticket out of here or something.
I would just have to wait until this Russian shit settled over.
My phone buzzed.
I checked the text, hoping it was Darryl.
Emily: Meet me at your place in an hour.
I thought of the half-naked woman trapped in my bed. The last thing Emily needed to know was that I’d kidnapped someone.
Me: My place isn’t good for tonight. Let’s meet at yours.
Emily: I might have a pest control problem. Let’s meet at yours.