Chapter 14 Dominic
Dominic
The springs of the chair I’ve pulled into Hannah’s “sex cubicle,” as she calls it, strain as I push back with my legs and stretch, and I move my neck from side to side to loosen it up.
This is my third day of taking calls with her from inside the building while Shane mans the van, and I’m sorry to say, things don’t seem to be getting any easier for Hannah at all.
Today in particular, she seems completely dejected, and I spent the first ten calls just trying to get her to say something that wasn’t outright depressing.
I hate seeing her like this. There’s a quiet fire in Hannah that I’ve been lucky enough to catch glimpses of, and when it’s not burning as bright as I know it should, it bothers me more than I’d like to admit.
Thankfully, she now seems to be falling into a little bit of a rhythm, and I haven’t had to remind her this isn’t a suicide hotline even once.
I think the Dunn coffees I ran and got from down the street helped a bit, and in a little while, I think I’ll leave the CMA headquarters for a hot minute to grab us some lunch.
I know her life is a lot harder than it seems—and it seems hard enough from my perspective, sitting here next to her day after day while she talks to these fuckers. Trust me.
“Oh yeah. I’m ready,” she says to our current caller, a guy by the name of Waylon, who seems more than a little preoccupied with the setting of their dial-in adventure.
“I’ve got a strobe set up and the stereo is blaring, and I can feel the pounding of your pulse in my veins.”
“Sounds . . . exciting,” Hannah says, shrugging and rolling her eyes at me and making me smile. I don’t know what it is about the way she does that—so subtle, so natural—but it makes my heart flip over on itself every time.
“Oh yeah?” Waylon carries on. “You like to party, don’t you? I can tell.”
“Definitely.” Hannah nods dramatically. “Never missed a party. That’s me.”
I shake my head, grinning to myself. The reality is, from what I’ve witnessed of Hannah’s life and what she’s revealed to me about herself, her circumstances have kept her incredibly sheltered.
She’s been so busy taking care of her mom for so long, she hardly does anything but work and go home.
The idea of her at a party, with strobes and pounding bass and drinking and drugs, is actually quite comical.
I hope she finds a way to make some happy moments for herself soon, though—she’s still so young, and the thought of her stuck in this endless cycle of responsibility twists something inside of me.
“Me either, baby,” Waylon says, his voice taking on a huskier tone. “And I got the good stuff. I’d take a hit right off your pussy too.”
“Wow,” Hannah remarks, her eyes noticeably rounded.
“Don’t worry, Ruby, I’d eat you too. A little blow, a little pussy. My tongue is better when I’m up anyway.”
I nod, teasing Hannah by mouthing the words “Me too.”
She has to fight a giggle and playfully smacks me in the shoulder before turning away and closing her eyes in an attempt to concentrate. “Oh yeah. That feels good.”
“I bet it does, Ruby. I could give you a hit, too, if you want. You like that shit?”
Hannah turns to me quickly, looking for an answer, and I nod in the affirmative. Keeping him hooked is the goal at this point. I’ve already texted Shane about tracing his number, and we plan to bring him in for questioning, but if Hannah can somehow lead him into mentioning fent, all the better.
“Love it,” she says.
“Good. I got the good stuff for us if we meet up. Made special from one of the best guys I know.”
I laugh internally. Oh yeah, I’m sure his dealer is a real stand-up guy.
“Sounds good,” Hannah agrees. “Is your good stuff . . . high inducing?” she asks, and I cover my face with an arm. Shane’s got to be dying in the van over that one.
“Of course it is, Ruby. And then we can fuck while we’re out of our minds.”
Hannah’s chest rises and falls in heavy but silent waves, her face taking on the familiar tight expression she always gets when she’s overwhelmed.
I gently tap her hand, pulling her attention back to me, and scribble a note.
How? What position?
She nods at my words and takes a deep, cleansing breath. “So . . . how would you fuck me?”
“From behind, so I could smack your pretty little ass.”
Her eyes meet mine again, and I quickly jot down another note.
Your cock will feel big like that.
“Oh man,” she says, her voice still sounding a little stilted to my ears. “I bet your cock feels big like that.”
“My cock feels big in every position,” Waylon claims boldly. “It’s twelve inches.”
“Ha!” I scoff, before covering my mouth and shaking my head and muttering, “No fucking way.”
Hannah waves me off, which is fair. I’m definitely not helping at this point.
“Oh wow,” she says, pretending to be surprised. “I don’t even know if your ruler-size dick will fit inside me.”
Ruler-size. I have to bite my lip not to laugh.
“Oh, I’ll fit,” Waylon demands, his voice rough around the edges. “You just have to take me.”
“And I’ll take the whole thing,” Hannah says. “Suck you right in like a Dyson.”
Holy hell. I’m not sure how she manages it, but these calls are simultaneously the highest form of torture and entertainment.
I’ll be honest, when this sting is over, casework is probably going to seem incredibly boring after sitting in on Hannah’s calls.
“Oh, fuck. I can feel how wet you are.”
“Of course. We’re going to need a mop too,” Hannah continues, sticking with the theme of cleaning supplies. “A mop for my WAP.”
I sit back and buckle in for the ride I know this is going to be. There’s no other option.
“Maybe it hurts too?” Waylon suggests, and my ears perk up. Hoping for pain over pleasure takes this in a bit of a different direction than I was thinking it would go and raises some suspicion.
While there wasn’t any brutality involved in Heather’s and Gwen’s cases, so often these guys start where they feel at ease and escalate from there. If Waylon is into the idea of pain, that might be the next thing on his agenda.
I roll my hand in front of Hannah’s face, cuing her to keep him going if she can, and she sits up straighter in her chair, concentrating.
“Yeah, it is so big, so it does hurt some.”
“How much?” Waylon asks, and I hold up a finger pointing to the ceiling.
“A lot,” she says. “It hurts a lot.”
“Good,” Waylon groans. “I want it to hurt. I want to fuck you until you bleed. I want you screaming, baby. I don’t want you to be able to walk.”
Hannah’s jaw drops, but I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her wide, vulnerable eyes lock on mine, and for a split second, all the chaos around us seems to fall away. In that moment, all I can feel is an overwhelming pull to shield her.
A large part of me wants to end the fucking call.
Or, even more dramatically, wants to get on the line and tell Waylon he’s a piece of shit.
But instead, I force myself to focus on the job, giving her a calming smile and a thumbs-up while I mouth, “Just keep going. Hang in there. You’re doing good. ”
“I . . . uh . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for days,” she whispers. “I’m already feeling so sore.”
“Take it anyway,” Waylon demands. “And if you try to run, I’m just going to tie you down and fuck you even harder.”
What a fucking sicko.
I look at Hannah’s face, assessing her current state of mind. Of course I want her to keep going because of the possible information we can get from this fuck, but the last thing I’m going to do is push her to do something that’s making her way too uncomfortable.
“I am,” Hannah says, surprising the hell out of me. Her expression is that of raw determination. “Anything you say. I can take it.”
This woman . . . I swear, she’s so strong it’s not even funny.
“That’s right,” Waylon grunts. “Ah, shit. I don’t want to come yet. I want to keep going until you break. Until I see your blood on my cock.”
“Just let yourself come,” Hannah encourages, massaging her temples as she starts to get overwhelmed again. I don’t blame her one bit. I rub her jeans-covered knee just a little—just enough to provide some comfort—and then retreat back into my space to give her hers.
Waylon groans through his climax, and Hannah doesn’t waste any time taking the out, ending the call with her standard goodbye: “Thanks for calling Ruby’s line and letting me make your dreams come true. Call me anytime!”
She smashes the button to hang up and yanks off her headset as she takes several deep breaths.
And I quickly switch her phone to “off duty” before it can start ringing again.
“Come on,” I say, my voice soft as I jerk my head toward the exit door. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”
She nods and stands, and I let her lead the way out of the cubicles, through the door, down the hall, into the stairwell, and out onto the sidewalk without saying much. She’s very obviously working through her feelings, and I intend to let her.
But I’ll be here if she needs me. That much I’m determined to make true.