2. 2 – Ryder
“God, you’re sexy.”
The dyed redhead – top and bottom – underneath me groans, her ass jiggling around my cock as I speed up, my hips pumping into her. My eyes aren’t on the cougar giving her best When Harry Met Sally impression though.
Winking, I blow myself a kiss in the huge mirror the chick has hanging above her bed.
“Fucking gorgeous,” I coo. Fuck knows I need the motivation to keep going. She moans loudly as I reach forward and casually tug on her nipple, flicking my fingers until she convulses around me with a strangled scream.
“So good, sweetheart,” I praise easily, sliding my cock out and shoving it back into my pants, zipping up the denim before she can get a good look and realize that only one of us came until our knees were shaking.
Preening, she rolls onto her back, long painted talons plucking at her surgically enhanced tits as she grins at me. “Second round?”
“I would, but I think that filthy cunt has sucked me dry.” Just as I knew she would, she groans at my words, her arms flopping to her sides.
“Close the door,” she mumbles, but her eyes are already sliding shut.
I wait until a loud snore shakes the walls – and holy shit . No wonder our client doesn’t hang around after his weekly fuck. This woman could be a weapon of mass destruction with the strength of her snoring.
Sliding off the bed, I casually make my way over to the painting hanging opposite. There’s a little wooden sign in fancy curling calligraphy underneath announcing the prestigious artist, and I roll my eyes.
It’s the work of a minute to swing the false door open, and I grin at the metal in front of me. You’d think, with all the expensive technology hanging around now, people would learn that a safe in the bedroom is not the best way to store expensive shit.
But it makes my life easier, and I whistle under my breath as I twist the tumblers. Gina was kind enough to share that today is her birthday, and it only takes a few quick guesses before it’s opening smoothly and I can grab the little blue velvet bag that sits in the middle.
So. Fucking. Cliché.
As I head out, I spy a little notepad next to the still-snoring Gina. Grabbing the pen, I scribble a quick note before I sweep out, jiggling my prize in my hand.
You snore like an agitated hippo.
P.S. Your painting is a fake. A shit one.
Whistling, I exit Gina’s West Side apartment block, sweeping straight past the concierge watching the game on his little screen. His beady little eyes don’t even look up as I head through the double glass doors into the still busy New York street.
I merge into the crowd, just another faceless New Yorker as I stroll leisurely down the sidewalk. I wander for a few streets until I reach the bar where I charmed gaudy, snoring Gina out of her panties, ducking into a side alley to grab my bike.
Well. Technically, it’s Enzo’s bike.
Not my fault he didn’t lock the door to his precious garage.
He might actually stab me for taking his one and only love on a little joyride into the city, but I can’t say I care as I pull out, uncaring of the cop car on the corner as I shoot past. They’ve got bigger fish to fry than one guy on a bike going a little over the speed limit in this area.
Although they might be more interested if they knew I was carting around a ten-million dollar necklace.
I tilt my head back as I get out of the built-up area, enjoying the rush of the wind on my face as I fly towards the national park we call home.
Nobody batted an eyelid when we carved out a little land for ourselves, greasing palms and turning heads until our names vanished from the system and we had ourselves our own goddamn fairytale castle.
Maverick hates when I call it that, but it’s the damn truth. The place still takes my breath away as I fly down the track, pausing only to enter the long-as-fuck security code into the heavy-set iron gates.
Mav is waiting for me when I pull in, his eyebrow raised as he takes in my mighty steed. “He’s fucking furious, you know.”
I give my little pony a loving stroke. Maybe I’ll get one for myself, but there’s something in knowing she belongs to someone else that makes her even better. “He’ll forgive me,” I coo. “Won’t he, girl?”
“Ryder.” Maverick’s voice is the epitome of long-suffering, so I take pity and tug the pretty from my pocket, tossing it over to him.
“One diamond necklace. You owe me for that shit. I thought she was gonna chew my cock off.”
“You’d probably enjoy it,” he mutters.
Asshole. I have some taste.
Climbing off the bike, I stretch, popping the muscles at the top of my back. “I need a shower.”
Possibly an STI test wouldn’t go amiss either. I wrapped up, but she still managed to get her vacuum mouth on me before the main event.
Mav sighs. “Are you joining us for dinner?”
“Not hungry,” I shoot over my shoulder. Leaving him behind to carry out his part of the job, I make my way through the side door connecting the garage to the main house.
My feet tap out a pattern on the fancy wooden floorboards of our hall, echoing back in a weird muffled way as the sound bounces off the various paintings on the wall.
Unlike Gina’s little pride and joy, every one of these babies is original.
I can confirm. The museums are still looking for them.
A little smug, I’m still internally crowing over my greatness when I step into the shower. Casually, I scrub off any leftover Gina particles, then I scrub again.
Once more. Maybe one more time, for good measure.
When I finally feel clean, my skin feeling almost raw from the abrasive sponge, I wrap a towel around my waist and walk into my room.
Enzo is perched on the edge of my bed like a creepy fucking gargoyle, and I give him a dirty look.
“Dude.” I point at my sheets. “Those are twelve-hundred thread Egyptian cotton sheets. Get your skanky boots off them.”
The knife flies past me, and I roll my eyes as I turn and yank it out of the wall. Another fucking hole to fill in.
Enzo doesn’t say anything, the skull on his neck giving him an eerie vibe in the lamplight. If I was anyone else, I think I’d probably shit my pants.
Whipping my towel from around my waist, I fling it across the room, crowing when it lands on his head and he has to tug it off. He doesn’t look half as scary with his head wrapped in damp toweling.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls when he’s wrestled himself free.
I grin. “You trying to put the heebie-jeebies up me, Enzo? You can deal with a little dick towel.”
He lobs it back at me. “You’re fucking vile. And you stole my bike.”
I shrug. “It needed a ride. It was lonely. I could tell.”
I can hear his teeth grinding. Winding my brothers up – brothers in blood and carnage, at least – is one of my favorite activities. They know it, though, and I make a sad face when he doesn’t bite.
I point the knife in my hand at him. “You’re no fun anymore. You used to be savage, E.”
He bares his teeth, and the scarlet caps he sometimes wears for his little sessions glow in the light. “Ask Antonio how much fun I am.”
“He’s still here?” I ask, yanking a drawer open and reaching for a shirt. Now I’m clean, I am actually a little hungry.
As if on cue, there’s a high-pitched wail from underneath us. I turn to Enzo with a frown.
“Not cool. I don’t want his screeching ass ruining my appetite.”
He shrugs. “It’ll stop soon. He’s lost too much blood.”
Sure enough, the sound cuts off with a garbled cry. Enzo gets to his feet. “If there’s a single scratch on her, I will rip your fingernails off, Ryder.”
I crook my sadly nail-less little finger at him in a little wave, wiggling my eyebrows. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Enzo baby. At least make it original if you wanna be a scary asshole.”
He glowers at the reminder, stomping his way out of my room.
“You’re still a petrifying little chicken,” I call after him, and his cursing hits my ears like music.