Class and clubwhores—for years.
FORTY-TWO YEARS OLD
MOUNTAIN
“Fuck,” I moan as the whore sinks down on my dick.
The blonde’s eyes find mine before her lips curve up into a smile. Don’t give a fuck if I’m paying her to smile, Christ, it’s a pretty one. She leans backward slightly, arching her breasts forward as she rides me.
The brunette leans forward, touching her lips to her nipple, sucking it as her eyes shift to mine. Reaching out, I grab a handful of each one of their ass cheeks. Slapping the brunette’s ass, she lets out a playful squeal.
Squeezing the blonde’s cheek, then wrapping my hand around her waist, I stop her movements, knowing if she keeps riding, I’m going to come far too fucking soon.
“Put on a show for a little while. I want to watch,” I instruct.
They don’t complain, not that they ever do. I always visit them, blonde and brunette. Don’t know their names, it’s better that way. Blonde spreads her thighs as the brunette lowers down and buries her face in her pussy.
“Spread,” I direct the brunette.
She does, tipping her hips back and showing me her perfect pink pussy. Christ, these bitches are pure fucking class. Trained in the art of sex, every single fucking aspect of it. Gorgeous in every way.
I watch as they bring one another to orgasm, then one climbs on my face, the other on my cock until they each come again. They switch and this time, I allow myself to come when they both reach their third climax.
Later that night, they curl against my side. I stare at the ceiling and wonder if this is all that will become of my life? I’ve fucked dozens of beautiful women, paid for them, and fucked them for free, but is this all my life has come to? Fucking classy bitches, never keeping them for myself?
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD
LEIGHTON
I left five years ago. Five years of being on the run, of hiding from myself, my father, and Leopold. I’m under no illusion that Leo has been looking for me, but my father possibly has.
I’ve dyed my once blonde hair, black, and now wear glasses. They are just blue light blocking, but it’s the only thing that I can think to do to change my appearance even more than just coloring my hair. I don’t know how to truly become a different person. I’m still Leighton Richardson.
“Another round,” a man shouts with a burp.
Looking over my shoulder, I grab four beers then make my way toward him. Setting down the bottles, I walk away from them. They are laughing and talking among themselves. Sliding around the bar, I lift my head and look over to them.
They’re all around my age, but they look as if they don’t have a single care in the world. I guess they probably don’t. They’re students blowing off some steam after classes. What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of life for just a moment or two.
Living in a college town has been the easiest for me. I can blend in with all of the girls my age, hide in plain sight, plus work for cash. Nobody really bothers me and except for the fear of being found, I’ve lived a very peaceful and quiet life since running away.
“You wanna get outta here, come home with me tonight?” a deep voice asks.
Lifting my head, I look at the man standing across from me. He’s handsome, too handsome. He has bright blue eyes and short, clipped blond hair. He’s tall and lean, his smile comes a bit too easy.
Four years ago, I would have taken him up on his offer, because it would have meant a place to sleep for the night and a warm shower the next day. These days, I’ve squirreled away enough cash that I don’t need to do that anymore.
“No, thank you,” I murmur as I continue washing dishes.
He stays where he is for a few more moments, then thankfully walks back to his table of friends. I can feel his gaze on me, watching me the rest of the evening. I want to ask him to leave, I want to brush off his watching me as just something that happens.
But I can’t.
I’m too freaking terrified.
I know what lurks behind beautiful exteriors. I know the evils of this world and I don’t want a single part of it. If I thought that I could stop it. If I could, I would run to the police, to the FBI, to anyone. The truth of it is that I can’t trust any of them—I can’t trust anyone.
“You need me to walk you home?” Sullivan, the bartender on shift, asks.
I only live two city blocks away, usually I walk home alone, but tonight I feel really unnerved. Looking back over my shoulder, I notice that the handsome stranger is still watching me. Shaking off the creepy feeling, I lift my eyes up to meet Sullivan’s.
“You know, I think I do,” I say, giving him a smile.
He grins down at me, shaking his head once. “Yeah? Okay.”
A few minutes later, we’ve counted out our registers and wave goodbye to the rest of the employees. Together we walk out of the bar and head toward home. Sullivan walks next to me, but is careful not to be too close.
“So, what’s your story?” he asks.
Looking down at my feet, I inhale a deep breath, then lift my head. “I don’t have one,” I lie.
He chuckles softly. “We all have a story, Leighton.”
Turning slowly, I look up at him. He’s stopped walking. His chin is dipped as he looks down at me, his lips curve up into an almost evil-looking grin. I never told him my real name. As far as anyone at work knows, my name is Sara.
“Got a phone call about you the other day,” he rasps.
Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, I feel someone behind me. Sullivan lifts his chin in a jerk, then laughs as fabric is pulled down over my head. I let out a scream, but it doesn’t matter. We’re alone on the street and I’m dragged away and thrown into a car before I can let out a second scream.
FORTY-FIVE YEARS OLD
MOUNTAIN
“How many more of these sick fuckers are we going to bring down?”
Dragon grunts. “All of them?” he asks.
There’s a moment of silence, we all flick our gazes to one another. We’re all thinking the same thing, but none of us says a word. That is, until I speak. “We could do this for the rest of our lives and never get them all,” I murmur.
He nods his head, inhaling a deep breath before he leans back in his chair. “Just the ones on the list, then. I understand we can’t stop them all, no matter how badly I want to.”
“More will just appear,” Silver grunts.
“They will,” I agree. “What about the Donkey Punchers? We need to worry about their retaliation. Because it will come.”
Dragon nods a couple of times, as if he’s mulling over my words in his head. “They’ll bide their time. If I know Riot, and I do, he won’t strike any time soon. We have some time to work on a strategy.”
“What do we do now? Colorado and California have been taken care of,” I murmur. “What’s next?”
There is a moment of silence, Dragon lifts his gaze to meet mine, his eyes glitter as he watches me for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips turn up into a grin.