15. Malone
FIFTEEN
The stupid fuck who pulled the gun has no idea who he’s messing with. I press back into the shadows. I’ve got time. No matter what the hammer of my heart and the adrenaline spike in my blood say.
I’ve got time.
He’s a guard, I’m guessing, most likely underpaid by the Herald Bros. company that runs these docks out here in the armpit of Brooklyn. So he’s going to ask her some questions. He flashes a light into Scarlett’s face and I grip my gun.
One wrong move from me and she’s toast.
Not something on my agenda. I need her alive.
Fuck, I want her alive. And?—
I have time.
Everything about this dude screams low-level. There’s no big business being handled down here right now.
The Herald Bros. do get shipments in, usually drugs, but never by water. Those shipments are by land, and they’re stored far away from here. But they just happen to run this area because storage is a big business for them, too.
So I’m very interested in what’s being held here. Because I know who rents this warehouse.
Which brings me right back to the guard.
If I take him out, that’s a headache. If he recognizes me as someone who has dealings with the Heralds, which I do, that’s a different ache in the fucking head.
But if he threatens Scarlett again, all of that’s going to be fucking moot.
I force myself to breathe.
He grabbed her right as I stepped inside. She probably thinks I’m hanging her out to dry. Fuck it, she’s probably thinking of screaming.
“Where’s the guy?” the guard asks, his Brooklyn accent thick. “Don’t make me shoot you, bitch.”
That’s a fucking strike. I’m thinking one might be all he’s gonna get.
From where I am, I can see Scarlett well. Especially with the flashlight up in her face.
That fuck.
Threatening her.
She offers the guard a big doe-eyed look, and it’s the type of play that wraps around my cock because she’s a fucking natural. Scarlett doesn’t hide her fear, but she doesn’t play it up. She leans into it like anyone would in this situation, and it has the effect of innocence, of guilt, and she isn’t going to give me away. I can feel it.
“Where the fuck is the guy?”
“What guy?”
“You came here with someone.”
“I came here to meet my boyfriend.” She slowly raises her hand and shows him the horribly garish diamond I got her. “Not my fiancé. So…”
“You’re not meeting anyone, and now I’m gonna have some fuckin’ fun with you,” the guy says, his voice a snarl. He raises the gun like he’s going to hit her with it.
My blood boils, rage threatening to spew like lava.
I move. Fast.
Grabbing his arm, I yank it away and slam my foot down on the back of his lower leg. Then I snap his wrist, grab the gun, and wrench the man’s head, breaking his neck.
I don’t look at her.
But I can feel her panic, her terror.
A sound rumbles in the back of her throat. I step over him, take her by the arm, and push her farther into the warehouse. She opens her mouth, probably to scream, but I bring my mouth down on hers instead.
To silence her. That’s what I tell myself. To stop her from screaming the fastest way I know how.
But there’s a part of me that recognizes the lie. I’m ice and she’s heat and life and I need that. I didn’t know how much I needed it until I kissed her.
Scarlett’s lips part with invitation, and I kiss her deep, taking her tongue in a slow, deep tango, one that has her winding herself around me like a stripper on a pole.
I’m hard, and I’m fucking sure she thinks it’s because I just killed a man.
But it’s not.
I don’t have a fetish for killing.
I have a fetish for her.
All that heat and blood and life inside of her. Her sweet fucking scent and the softness of her. If I grazed her pussy with my fingers, I know she’d be wet. That’s what’s got me hard, and while I don’t have a fetish for killing, I have zero compunctions for bending her over and fucking her on all fours on the dirty, cold ground right here under us.
And that’s exactly what I do.
I push her down onto her hands and tug off her pants and panties. I sink my teeth into her ass cheek and then tear open my own pants, setting my cock free from the confines of fabric. I line myself up with her slit and plunge balls deep into her tight, wet cunt.
It’s fucking bliss, it’s so fucking hot. So fucking real. I grip her hips hard and start to hammer into her, wishing I had a light on us so I can see the way she clings to my cock, that inner ring of muscle sucking at my shaft.
I feel it, the pull and kiss of her pussy. The tremors of her body as she pulls me deeper.
And the way she thrusts back into me, it’s almost too much. I start to fuck her harder, deeper, and she gets slicker, tighter, like she’s lubing my path and swelling around me.
Christ, I could get fucking used to this, the needy sounds she makes, how she feels wrapped around me. I’m not an idiot. Dipping my cock into a tight cunt or ass is always good, but this is different. This is magic. Maybe it’s because she’s my enemy’s kid. Maybe because I’m tainting the perfect bright and shiny treasure. His pristine daughter.
Or maybe it’s just fucking her that has my head in a twist.
I don’t know.
But I know while the magic’s there, I’m taking it as a bonus, something to be manipulated and?—
Fuck.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip as I plow her on the dirty warehouse concrete floor. My brain scrambles, my senses drowning in everything Scarlett. Every push and pull, every thrust and moan make me harder and so damn close to coming.
I thrust harder, squeezing my eyes shut with each slide of my cock. Her muscles clamp down on my dick, clutching me tight like an erotic vise.
Fuck, I want her to ride me. I want to torment her with my cock, to edge her so hard that she unravels for me.
My body is slipping further and further out of my control, the urge to own her, paint her, claim her, mark her inside and out is too strong. A fierce tingling sensation slips down my spine.
I need to come. The deep ache’s morphed into that perfect pleasure-pain where the only relief is to fill her with everything I have.
I want her mouth.
Fuck. Fuck!
But I hold her tight against me, slamming into her a few more times until my cock twitches and I lose myself in her. Lights burst and die in front of my eyes. I shudder, every cell awake and alive with that mind-blowing release.
I stay inside of her for a few minutes, letting them tick past. Not giving a damn if someone comes in. But they won’t.
Soft mewls slip from her lips, and her cunt spasms around my cock. Her body pulls at it like she’s trying to milk me for every last drop of cum, every last drop of pleasure for her.
Slowly, I slip out of her, and it’s one of the most reluctant dismounts I’ve ever had.
Dismounts?
What the fuck?
I almost laugh.
She collapses down to the floor, and now that my eyes are more accustomed to the dark, the soft mounds of her ass are visible. There are marks forming where I dug my fingers deep into her flesh.
My branding.
I force myself off my knees, put myself back together, and get the guard’s gun. I stick it into the waistband of my pants. It’s a standard handgun, Smith & Wesson. Mine’s a Glock 19. I prefer the Kimber 1911, but I don’t think a sleazebag like JM would use a Kimber. It’d be a Glock or something spectacularly fancy.
Breath under control, my dick back in my pants, I’m finally calm.
Now.
I turn and hold out a hand to Scarlett. She just stares at me, open-mouthed, so I crouch down to help her get dressed. I snap the waistband of the stretchy pants before standing up.
“Ow.”
“Get the fuck up.”
I stand and hold out my hand again, and this time, after a beat too long, she puts her hand in mine.
I can feel the scrape on the heel of her palm and hear her hiss as I haul her up off the floor. “You disgust me.”
“You please me.”
I don’t look at her. Instead, I return to the dead guy and drag him in, taking his flashlight and patting him down.
Finding the wallet, I check the contents with the light. Ben Carmichael. Forty-two. Bank card, cash, coffee card with one punch mark. Receipts, other cards.
Then I check all the little hidden pockets. A photo is tucked into one of the sections. I pull it out and shake my head.
Fuck. Me. It’s a naked girl who’s…
I grit my teeth and slide the photo into my pocket along with the wallet.
Who the fuck carries a picture of a borderline illegal naked girl with a pussy drooling cum and blood, a pussy that’s spread open and marked with bruises, a mouth swollen and glistening with cum. Who the fuck does that shit and then takes a picture of it?
I stand and kick the body.
“You’re a sick man.”
I flick her a look, then show her the photo. “He had this.”
She reels back, stumbling, slapping a hand to her mouth.
The other Knights will look into the identity of the girl and into Ben here. A sick fuck who likes to abuse girls, or a sick fuck who found the photo and used it for beating his meat. It wasn’t like it was in the little clear plastic photo pocket. He wasn’t showing that shit off.
The poor abused girl was folded down and hidden in the back pocket.
I don’t give a fuck if he found the photo.
He still had it.
And as far as I’m concerned, he’s just paid for it. That, and for pulling a gun on Scarlett. That, and for threatening to hit her.
I kick him again, hard.
Then I close the door, shutting us in the pitch-black with the dead.
Scarlett makes the tiniest sound but manages to keep it between her lips.
My willfully innocent girl’s made of some pretty strong shit.
There’s a switch on the wall and I flip it. Overheads light up the place, revealing neatly stacked crates.
I know immediately this isn’t where they’d hide trafficked girls. There’s always a smell to a place if they’ve done that. No matter how pretty or fuckable the contraband might be after they’re cleaned up, when they first arrive, it’s unpleasant and it takes a special breed of pervert to get hard over that.
I’m not looking for girls tonight, but I’m aware that the people whom I’m dealing with do traffic live transportations.
These crates are probably full of smuggled drugs. Hidden in whatever the crates contain. But I didn’t come down here because of drugs. I came to investigate what else might be stored here, which unfortunately isn’t in plain sight.
These crates could always be filled with low-end crap, so if anyone like the authorities come sniffing, they won’t find anything suspicious and they’ll lose interest fast.
The big-time shit is always moved quickly. It never just sits around a deserted warehouse, waiting to be found.
I’d thought there might be a chance we’d find girls here, stashed away, waiting for someone to collect them. Too often, smuggled girls are kept in places like this, and a lot of them die waiting for the better life they were promised.
But nothing that I see here shocks me. It was only meant to be a quick pit stop on our way to the real thing of interest, down on the next dock.
I nod at Scarlett who’s trying to pick at one of the crates. Curiosity, probably. “Get changed.” I point back at the bag near the body. “There are clothes in there.”
“These are Hanlon Shipping crates,” she says, tapping the top of one of them. “But they don’t have the name on them, just this.”
I cross toward her and peer at the spot she’s pointing to in the top right-hand corner. It’s a ship stamp, very small. “This was the symbol from when they took over the company way back… Before they changed the name and the logo.”
“Were you even born?”
She moves on to the next one like she didn’t even hear me. Scarlett traces her finger over the top, in search of the symbol. She stabs it when she finds it. “I remember old stationery that I used for drawing as a kid. It was all in boxes down in the basement. The boxes were dusty and…” She shrugs. “Guess some of the crates have been recycled.”
They don’t look old.
I grit my teeth.
Because they’re not old. I send a quick text to Smith to have someone come out here to discreetly look into it. I’m not sure if I want the crates opened, but he and Jones will work out the best way to handle things here.
It’s not my concern.
Not my job to decide what happens to these crates.
The list is my objective.
These crates could contain equipment for UR Fantasies, even though they don’t usually leave things in storage. And film equipment isn’t normally packed in such big crates. But there are other clients across an array of dirty businesses that her father ships for.
I file the information away, along with the basement as a place to look when I get a chance to get back into her father’s house. I need to get into Grant’s place, too.
That might be tricker, but a meeting there about his kid might work in my favor. “Get the bag and get changed.” I look at her stricken expression and roll my eyes. “He’s dead, he’s not going to bite.”
“Maybe I’m not sick in the head like you, Sir, and I don’t want to go near him.”
“You just fucked me next to the body and came all over my cock. It didn’t bother you then.”
She turns a pasty color and spins, hurrying over to snatch the bag. She marches back to me, her chin raised in defiance. “Everything off?”
“Now there’s a way to avoid punishment. Do a strip tease.”
“I’m not…” She looks up at me, all anxious eyes. “Please don’t make me, Sir.”
Fuck, I love how she turns on a dime like that. Snapping, snarling, breathing fire, and hurling sarcasm to little girl lost and soft Sirs.
I relent. “Just get changed, keep the underwear on.”
She pulls off the top and pants and puts on the short dress that clings to her like a second skin. It cuts so low and wide in the front that her bra’s on display. The skirt is short enough that anyone sitting opposite her will get a nice view. Hence the fucking lingerie.
My job tonight is to check out a player who’ll be at the poker game we’re going to, but it’s also another way to reinforce just how slimy JM is, how powerful. Drive home the idea that this man is the one who can save or sink her family.
And it’s all in a way where I win her despite herself and her family. They’ll trust a criminal over a shadowy Obsidian Knight. One’s familiar, the other? Who I really am? I’ll fucking scare them into silence if they knew.
“Shoes.”
She slips off the sneakers and puts on the hooker heels. I pick up the bag. I’ll toss it into the water when we leave.
“Malone?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you bring me here? It’s not like you need me to help, and if it’s to scare me, then I’m already scared. I don’t need… this.” She waves her hand in the direction of the dead guy. “You’re a bad man, a dangerous one. Proven it. And you’re all that stands between disaster and safety for my family?—”
“I need to know.” I walk up to her and turn off the light, leading her out into the night air. “I need to know what I’m up against. I’ve got a gun shipment I need to sort tonight, and you’re here because I need your help. Like I said earlier, I need to find out more about the clients of the shipping company.”
“Not here.”
“There are rumors, Red. I need to check them out. That man was following us,” I say, lying. “So I really would love to know what your father’s into.”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that, Scarlett.”
“You could ask them,” she says. “My dad and uncle.”
“I could, but they won’t tell me, even though we’re selling them ‘us’ as a real thing. I need an insider to help me. I need you.”
“But…” She looks around and I take her arm. “Malone, this isn’t anywhere they work from. This doesn’t even look that active.”
“How do you explain your little discovery?”
“Repurposed—”
“Scarlett.” I stop and pull her right up against me because I need to, because I can’t help it. “We’ll talk later, but I think your father’s up to his ears in highly illegal shit.”
“He—”
“Maybe,” I say, pushing the words out, ignoring the bitter taste, because they stick into me as I do so. Mainly since they’re total bullshit. “He doesn’t know it.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Play the dumb girl who’s enamored by my dick. My sweet fiancée in a room of animals. Watch and listen. Let me know if anything sets off your instincts, or if you hear anything suspicious.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” I kiss her soft and long and deep. “Let’s go play poker.”