38. Cora #2
“Our arrangement with your boss is special,” he tells John. “We pay him a quarter bag a month. Reliably. Because he’s reliable.”
Brady’s voice is so threatening I shiver with the impending violence.
“I know, I know,” John says. “We know it’s a special arrangement, we appreciate that it’s a special arrangement, and next month we’ll bring fifteen bricks to compensate. J.C. told me it’s already lined up.”
Brady takes a deep breath, as if to keep himself calm.
I run the numbers in my head, because I don’t like the sound of this special arrangement with John’s boss.
It implies that he can get away with screwing us over.
And if Brady’s avoiding violence, then this unimpressive man in front of us is going to get off scot-free.
“Sixteen,” Brady says at last. “It’ll be sixteen next month, and J.C. will deliver them himself.”
“Understood, understood.” John nods like a bobblehead doll. He thinks he’s getting away with it.
But the violence inside me has already raised her head.
I slip my Beretta out of its holster, keeping my movements slow so I don’t draw John’s attention.
It’s not until I’m holding my gun straight up in the air beside my face that he notices.
Then his whole body flinches, and Brady turns his head to look at me too.
“So,” I say to John, “your boss’s apology is worth less than $8,400. Is that correct?”
“F-for now,” he stammers. “But then next month, we’ll give you the two extra bricks, no charge.” He glances between me and Brady, as if hoping Brady might call me off. But all my husband does is cock his head at me.
“Thing is,” I say, “we can’t really trust next month, can we? And $8,400 isn’t much of an apology.”
“But the arrangement we have,” John pleads. “It’s a gentlemen’s agreement, we’re all men who—We’re all—We…” He trails off, having realized his mistake, and I smile graciously at him.
“You owe us a gesture of goodwill,” I say. “And by my calculations, that’s either the book free of charge, or your left kneecap.” I point my gun at John’s knee. His dad jeans are quaking now.
“The book, the book. Free of charge, of course, goodwill, like you say.”
“Excellent!” I lift my gun in celebration.
A dark spot appears on the crotch of John’s jeans, and he turns hastily away.
With the paper bag and the inadequate product loaded in our trunk, Brady drives us back through the moonlit farmland. He shakes his head to himself, glancing over at me occasionally, but he doesn’t say anything. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I ask my burning question.
“What’s the book?”
“Seriously? That’s your concern right now?” He exhales in a huff. “It’s a first edition Ulysses. Mam’s birthday’s coming up.”
“Well, that’s adorable.”
“It’s from all five of us,” he says gruffly.
“Yes, but everyone knows you’re the one in charge of sourcing acquisitions.”
“And you’ve put yourself in charge of sourcing them for free.” When he glances over at me this time, the light from the dash gives his eyes a strange gleam in his dangerous face. I want to think it’s admiration, but I’m not sure.
“So you’re saying I did well?”
“You could’ve disrupted our arrangement.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That remains to be seen.” Brady sets his jaw, and irritation flares inside me.
I know what I did was impressive, cowing a grown man like that, showing him what it means to fuck with the mafia.
That man will never again be short on an exchange with the O’Sullivans, thanks to me. I’m an asset, damn it.
“Can’t you just admit that I did well?”
Brady veers the car to the side of the road and screeches to a halt. My pulse skyrockets.
“Get out,” he says.
I gape at him, but his face is set in stone. He’s seriously kicking me out of the car right now. Does he expect me to walk home? We’re out in frickin’ farm country in the middle of the night.
He unbuckles my seatbelt, then leans across my body to open my door. I push him away and open it myself. Then I’m stumbling out of the car, closing the door as I regain my balance on the grassy shoulder, my indignation soaring.
Brady shuts off the car and gets out. Slams his door. I gulp down my panicky confusion as he faces me in the moonlight.
“Hands on the hood,” he barks.
A shudder runs through me, jolting down my arms and stiffening my nipples. I move to stand in front of the car and put my hands on the hood. It’s hot, almost too hot to touch. But with the cold night air teasing through my clothes, the contradicting sensations make my entire body shiver.
Brady stalks around the car to stand behind me.
I’m bent over the hood, my feet shoulder-width apart and my ass prime for spanking.
He presses himself against me, and I feel him growing hard, even through our layers of clothes.
My knees quiver in response. We’re on the side of a desolate country road, but another car could drive by any minute.
I’m shaking as Brady slides his hands to the front of my pants. He unbuttons my jeans and tugs them down, pulling my panties with them until they’re bunched at my knees.
“Off,” he says.
In my urgency, I’m wobbly, but I manage to kick off my shoes and step out of my pants and panties. Behind me, I sense Brady bend down. Then he snatches up my clothes and hurls them into the harvested field beside us. Before I can process the ramifications, he’s gliding his hand over my bare ass.
“Do you know what you did wrong?” he asks.
“I—” I struggle to remember his exact words. “I might’ve disrupted the arrangement.”
Thwack. The sound echoes through the empty night, followed by my cry of beautiful pain.
“Correct.” He smooths his hand along my tender skin, almost like an apology. Bending his body over mine, he speaks low in my ear. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you did.”
Smack. He delivers a lighter spank to my other cheek, then straightens up, clearing his throat.
“In fact,” he continues, “I think they needed a reminder of who we are.”
Smack. My chest heaves, my breasts aching inside my bra. My swell of pride is justified, and I smile to myself in delirium.
“So yes,” Brady says. Smack. “You did well.” Smack.
Tears leak from my eyes as my knees shake. I hear him take off his pants, and my body shivers with cold, with lust, my pussy sopping from my husband’s spanking. He splays one hand on my back to push me down lower, and his next words come out harsh.
“You did my job better than I did.” Thwack.
My knees buckle, and I crumple forward onto the hot hood of the car. Brady pins me in place as he shoves his cock into me, his entire length in one go. I scream into the dark, and then he has one hand tight in my hair, the other spanking me into oblivion. Smack, thwack, thwack.
Pain, pleasure, punishment, reward, all of it combines into a swirl of euphoria.
“So. Fucking. Good,” my husband grunts, pounding into me.
He says it again and again as he spanks me, as he pinches my clit until I’m spasming around him, as he erupts inside my pussy with a heat that overwhelms every other sensation, except my thrill of victory.
“So fucking good.”