16. Ozzie
16
OZZIE
Zoe cries out as she clutches the shower bar and bounces on my dick. I grip her by the ass cheeks and drag her back down toward me. My dick impales her, sliding into her hot, slick pussy.
We’re surrounded by the steam from the shower. Covered in soap and dripping droplets of water.
But we can’t help ourselves. We can’t keep our hands off each other.
We’re at the point where if we’re alone in a room together, we’re gonna fuck.
I hold Zoe up as she undulates her hips and rides me like a pro. The way her body moves is insane. It’s hypnotic as her hips gyrate in tune with the upward thrusts that I give. We work so damn well together, if fucking was a sport, we’d win the gold.
She hooks one arm around my neck and picks up the pace. Her abs contract as she pushes herself harder, riding me deeper and faster.
Her pussy kneads me in a viselike grip.
All slick heat and pulsating muscles squeezing my dick. It feels so fucking fantastic that it’s a miracle I hold on.
That I don’t fucking bust a nut here and now and spill inside her pussy.
But we’re locked into a competition—we’re upping the ante as she rides me and I wrench her back down on my dick, filling her up. I won’t give in ’til she does, and the gleam in her hazel eyes tells me she knows it.
Zoe knows damn well I give it back to her twice as hard as she dishes it. She knows I handle her just right, giving her what she needs.
We come together in greedy, open-mouthed kisses. Our tongues flick and tease as we devour each other. I practically flatten her against the shower tile as I take over the gyrations, spreading her thighs wider and pistoning my hips. I’m like a drill burrowing deep into her tight, slick pussy, hitting the sweet G-spot.
She lets go of the shower bar and wraps her other arm round me. Any tension that was once knotted up inside her melts away. Her body practically liquefies in my arms as she holds onto me, arms and legs banded around me, and lets me take us to the finish line.
I’m more than happy to. My balls damn near fit to burst, my adrenaline at its peak. It’s time to make Zoe come and then reward myself by following her over the edge.
I flex my muscles, demonstrating my power as I hold her up and fuck into her like a man possessed. I fuck her so good, her eyes roll back and she clamps down on my cock tighter than ever.
I drag every last ounce of pleasure out of her. My hips draw out every stroke, stimulating her over and over, making her pussy convulse around me.
Just the push I need to fall over the edge myself.
We’re both goners for seconds to come.
I explode inside her, my brain so fucking scrambled I don’t know left from right. Up from down.
You could ask me what two plus two is, and I couldn’t fucking tell you.
Intense pleasure has crashed over me in waves. I heave deep breaths and set Zoe down on her feet before I risk dropping her.
My orgasm has drained all strength from me, leaving me limp and spent.
Zoe seems to feel the same. She uses the shower tile as leverage, pressing up against it, her eyes wide and lips parted.
I grin and run a hand over my wet hair, the mohawk that once stood proud and tall now slicked down against my scalp. “I don’t know about you, babe, but I’m starving.”
She bursts into a breathless laugh that’s infectious.
That’s the thing about FBI Agent Zoe Strauss—she hides behind her cold exterior at almost all times, but there’s these small glimpses of her that show other sides. Only I seem to see them, where she’s laughing at something dumb I’ve said or sharing an anecdote I suspect she rarely mentions to anybody.
Dumb little cute habits of hers, like the cup of tea she always makes before bed or how she folds her dirty clothes and neatly places them in a laundry bag.
She’s guarded and off-putting to most people.
And that’s the point. For her to put off people and use it to push them away. Something tells me she does it subconsciously, like some sort of shield to protect herself. From what or who I don’t know.
But Zoe’s been hurt bad. The more time I spend around her, the more I pick up on it.
I run down to the hotel lobby to pick up the pizza we’ve ordered and then head back up to our room. Zoe’s changed into a sports bra and booty shorts as she waits for me cross-legged on the bed.
“Finally!” she groans in relief. “They said delivery in fifteen minutes.”
I chuckle, walking over to the bed with the large pizza box. “I think the driver got lost on his way to the casino.”
“Rookie mistake.”
“Look at this bad boy. Extra cheese with pepperoni and jalapenos. New York style.”
“We’re such fat asses.” She leans forward to swipe the first slice once I’ve set the box down on the bed and propped it open. She eats pizza like I do, holding it up and letting the cheese stretch all the way out.
She catches the stringy cheese with her mouth, then notices I’m watching her with a grin.
“What?!”
I shake my head in amusement. “Nothing. Just… you eat like I do.”
“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing insulting about it. It’s… kinda cute. Most girls pat down their pizza with a napkin or take tiny bites, especially around a man they’re seeing.”
She arches a brow. “You forget we’re not seeing each other?”
“Still undercover, aren’t we? Don’t worry, Special Agent—it’s hot that you eat like a garbage disposal. It shows you’re comfortable around me.”
“Don’t make me throw my pizza crust at you. I will do it, and believe me, I have impeccable aim.”
“I don’t doubt it. I saw the piece you were carrying the day you came to the Steel Saloon.” I join her on the bed, peeling away a slice of pizza for myself out of the box. “You said you’re an expert marksman?”
“That’s right.”
“What else you proficient on?”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I pose the question. I don’t know a damn thing about the FBI or their training, but I’m the weapons specialist at the MC. The armory’s my responsibility as well as making sure we’re stocked up on enough ammo.
That’s without mentioning I’m usually the first guy to break out a grenade when necessary.
Different kinds of weapons have always fascinated me. Guns, knives, explosives.
The first time I was ever arrested was for illegal possession of a firearm. I was fifteen.
Zoe swallows the bite of pizza she has and then hops off the bed to go digging for something in her luggage. At first I’m thinking she’s gonna bust out with a Sig Sauer or something like it, but instead she’s clutching a cell phone.
Her real one.
The one that belongs to Zoe Strauss, not Jade Fowley.
She returns to the bed, sliding aboard on her knees, swiping her thumb on the phone screen. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she turns the phone over to me.
It’s a video of her in a deserted field somewhere, dressed in swat-like gear, holding a fucking bazooka over her shoulder as she fires it at a long-range target. The missile lands exactly on its intended spot in a burst of smoke and flames.
“That was for some special field training I did with the military. It was elective, but I thought it would be exciting to shoot a bazooka.”
“Fuckkkk…” I groan. “That… just may be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. New kink unlocked. Hot chicks with bazooka guns. You ever handle a flame thrower?”
She laughs, swiping her phone to the next video. “Still on the to-do list. But here I am disassembling an M4 in fifteen seconds.”
I’ve forgotten all about the pizza as she shows me a few more videos.
Videos of her expertly disassembling and reassembling guns. Videos of her at target practice at the FBI’s firing range. Even an old video of her going through some active shooter simulation at the academy course she had to attend in Quantico.
It’s all so damn impressive. I’m not sure if I’m hard or just proud.
Maybe some confusing mix of both.
“I can see why your boss thought you could handle Boone and his men.”
“That was a hard sell. Honestly, he’s still not all the way convinced this operation is a good idea.”
“What made you interested in becoming an FBI agent? Not a lot of little girls grow up wanting to hunt bad guys.”
She folds her arms again, resting her elbows on her thighs. Her expression’s turned contemplative, like she’s trying to figure out how to answer.
“Believe it or not, Ozzie… I was a shit student too. I was C average at best. I got suspended a few times.”
“ You !? Suspended?!” I blurt out, thrown off. “How? For being perfect?”
Her mouth pulls into a half-smile, though she shakes her head. “I’ve never been perfect a day in my life. Especially not back then. I was… an angry teenager. I had a temper, and sometimes that resulted in me being violent.”
“Why were you angry?”
It seems like a simple enough question, but as soon as I ask it, I can tell it’s loaded. For her it’s not some simple reason, but instead something deeper and complex.
The room fills with silence for a while ’til I’m sure she’s not gonna answer. Then she seems to change her mind, sighing as she does.
“My parents…” she says slowly, dragging out each word. “My parents chose their vices over their daughters. I was the oldest… so all the burden… it fell on me.”
“Damn,” I whisper, immediately struck by the urge to pull her closer. Put my arms around her and give her some kinda comfort I doubt she’s ever been offered.
She goes on before I can.
“I figured since they couldn’t show up for me. I’d show up for my sister. I would try to make everything okay for her. Zani… was beautiful. She was bright and sweet and just everything I wasn’t. If anybody was going to make it out, I wanted it to be her.”
Something I’d never thought I’d see happens.
Tears emerge in Zoe’s eyes as she drops her gaze down to her lap as if shocked by them too. Her breaths turn sharp, shoulders tense.
“Zoe…” I say, stretching out my hand to grab hers, but she pops to her feet and walks over to peer out the glass balcony door.
“I was away at college when it happened,” she says. “I hadn’t even thought I’d ever go. But I got a good enough score on my SAT that I scraped by and got into a Cal State. While I was gone for the first semester, my father’s debts caught up with him. He had no way to pay, so Boone took the next best thing.”
My chest clenches from the revelation. So damn disturbed I can’t even react otherwise.
“They said they had no choice. That Boone and his men broke down the door and dragged her out of her room. Back then, he had a whole network in the area. He used to get teens from off the street to join his operation and do his bidding. Drugs, theft, prostitution. Just like that, Zani was gone. Sucked up into some black hole.”
“Where is she?” I ask, my throat dry. “We can find her… we can get her back, right?”
“She didn’t make it. She… she overdosed. She was found in some motel room after a job. The medical examiner ruled it accidental, but all the pills she took…”
I raise my hands to my head in total disbelief. I don’t know what the fuck to say. How the fuck to possibly begin processing what Zoe must’ve gone through. Even now, how she must feel knowing she lost her little sister the way she did.
“So,” she says finally with a dark laugh, “when you tell me I could die taking down Boone, I really don’t give a shit. So long as I take him down first. So long as I make him pay.”
Her back is still turned to me as she peers out the glass door at the cityscape.
I rack my mind for the only thing I can think to do.
Offer myself for her cause.
“Tell me what else I can do. Tell me how I can help.”
“Ozzie, I don’t need the pity. I don’t want it. I’ve never mentioned it because this is my investigation. This is my vendetta to carry out. Not yours.”
“Fuck that. This is important to me too. Boone’s an evil fucking monster and he needs to go down. We can be the ones to do it. We’re here, right in the middle of his tournament, we’ve got the opportunity. Let’s go for it.”
She glances at me from over the tip of her shoulder, her almond eyes probing. “No matter what happens?”
“No matter what the fuck happens. It’s me and you against him and everybody that stands with him.”
“You’re serious.” She turns away from the balcony door at last, padding back over toward the bed. Her arms drop from where she’s crossed them defensively over her chest.
I look her in the eye as I rise up from the bed and meet her halfway. I step in front of her and then cup her face in my hands like I really am her boyfriend. We really are lovers and everything about us is real.
It’s become that way. What we’re facing is real. It’s life or death.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” I tell her, then I draw her mouth to mine for a kiss.
Zoe has an idea to gather more evidence. Her boss, Duchovny, hasn’t been impressed so far with what she’s dug up on Benz’s bank statements and the deposits he’s making. It’s not enough to link him and Boone to any of the illegal activity going on. Instead, she decides to go for a more direct play. Something much riskier.
Night four of the tournament starts with me seeking out Boone before the game. He’s posted up in the lounge, sitting like some damn kingpin with his feet kicked up and a glass of tequila in hand. Some of Benz’s girls dance for his entertainment on stage, keeping him distracted ’til the games officially begin.
“You ever think maybe you should be out there?” I ask, dropping by his table.
Boone raises an eyebrow, his grin wide. “There’s my champ! You’re about to win big tonight, right?”
“Like we agreed.”
“Where should I be then, champ? What d’you mean I should be out there?”
“The floor,” I say with a shrug. “It’s your tournament. Might be a good idea to show face during the games. Show you’re in charge.”
He chuckles. “Oz, everybody knows who’s in charge. It’s my tournament.
“It’s Estrada’s casino.”
“What difference does that make?”
If it weren’t for his big shades, his narrow-eyed glare would be seen. The shades hide it from view, but I can sense it on his face. Feel it on the receiving end.
“Just thinking out loud,” I answer. “We’ve got a lot of new players this tournament. People who are still learning the ropes. You’ve been in the lounge for the first three rounds.”
“Oz, with all due respect, you’re the player. I’m the owner. I decide what the fuck goes down at this tournament, and damn sure where I spend my time during the games.”
I hold up both hands, playing it cool. “You’re right, Ace. Just figured I’d make the observation. See you after this round.”
I walk away confident the conversation did what I hoped it would—plant the seed in his head and fuck with his ego. If it works even just for a few minutes, it’ll give Zoe the opening she needs.
Where Boone goes his posse goes. Which means if Boone does walk the game floor during this round, the lounge will mostly be empty. Zoe will have a small window to plant the hidden cameras she needs to in order to get evidence on video or audio.
We couldn’t risk wiring either one of us up. Not after Boone’s suspicions in Houston.
The hidden cameras in the lounge and private rooms are our best bet.
The next round kicks off and I’m sitting at table three this time, going by Boone’s rules and using the marked deck. The cards are subtly rigged to let me know what each card is even from the back. It basically gives me the cheat code during a game like poker, where I can glance at everybody’s cards and know what they have.
No real strategy or difficult game play involved.
It goes against how I prefer to play, but it’s the guarantee win Boone wants.
There’s six of us at the table. Some rich oil exec type with slicked-back hair and a Rolex that’s probably worth more than my bike. Linda Cao has survived the first few rounds, her features sharp as she stares back at me like she’s trying to figure out my tells.
The other three guys at the table I’ve seen before at past tournaments. They’re mid-tier players that are more filler than anything. They’ll likely eliminate themselves over the next round or two.
The marked cards tell me the one on the left has a killer hand. His nervous tic confirms it.
I’ve got a decent start—pair of tens. Nothing wild, but it’s a hand I can work with. I go casual, toss in the minimum, then lean back like I’m not sweating it.
It’s as I’m waiting on Linda to make a move that I notice a tall figure in all-black moving out the corner of my eye.
Boone’s wandering the floor just like I suggested. His posse follows him as he hangs by different tables and looks over the games firsthand.
My gaze flicks to the lounge. Zoe’s in there, slipping between tables with her tray, trying to look nondescript. She stops at a corner end table, reaches under it for just a second too long. That’s our spot. I know she’s planting the camera.
Time to really stall.
I scratch my jaw, suck in a breath, then say, loud enough for Boone to hear, “Damn… tough call. Real tough.” I survey my cards again, like I’m second-guessing myself. “What do you think, fellas? Go big or go home?”
Boone stops, zeroing in on the table. I can sense his immediate urge to interrupt and remind me of our deal, though he manages to resist. But I do have his undivided attention and I hold it long enough for Zoe to disappear into the back where the private rooms are.
It’s only when she returns, briskly walking back toward the bar that I grin.
“You know what? Let’s go big!”
I place my bet. Heavy, but not enough to scare everyone off. The oil exec guy folds. So does two of the three mid-tier guys. Linda Cao tries to bluff… to no success. I quickly raise again, acting like I’m just riding the wave of adrenaline. In reality, I already know her cards.
The final reveal comes with no surprise for me. My pair holds for that hand. My so-called ‘luck’ continues for the rest of the round as I raise at all the right moments and fold when I’m certain I’ll lose.
Once the round is officially over, I stick around the lounge for another hour. Just long enough to seem like a team player (Boone praises my performance in front of his other cronies), and for Zoe to get off work.
We’re riding a high as we leave Boone’s underground club and take the elevator all the way up to the hotel. We walk like a couple embracing would, my arm slung over her shoulders and Zoe tucked into my side.
The second we’re safely back in our hotel room, we erupt.
Zoe releases an excited squeal I’ve never heard out of her and jumps triumphantly, whooping at the air with both arms. I laugh, amused but also glad to see her like this. It’s a good look for her, the bright smile on her face, lighting up her hazel eyes.
She looks gorgeous. A happy woman.
She steps toward me and gives me a kiss on the lips. Probably the first real time she’s initiated a kiss like this between us.
With no one else watching.
“We’ll have so much footage,” she gushes.
“Once we get back the hidden camera.”
“That’s the easy part! Planting it was the hard part,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We need to celebrate! I’m running downstairs to that store in the lobby to grab us some champagne… or maybe some tequila.”
I laugh and stick my hands in my pockets. “I’ll come with you.”
“It’s just the lobby. I’ll be back in a few. You dim the lights and play some music!” She plants another kiss, this one on my cheek, then rushes toward the door with her keycard in hand.
Zoe’s not the only one in high spirits.
It feels good to be the person helping her with this mission. I’m the guy by her side, putting my life on the line to avenge her sister and bring down a piece of shit like Boone, and it couldn’t make me prouder.
For the first time, it’s a sense of purpose far beyond myself. It’s not something for personal and financial gain like the work we do at the MC.
This is deeper. More meaningful.
Zoe and I are trusting each other with our lives.
I move around the hotel room, making her requests come true by dimming the lights and putting on some music. I choose R&B slow jams, knowing it’ll make her smile some more. Then I move into the bathroom to wash my hands and take my meds, a direct result of me trying my damnedest to stay on track.
I don’t want to ever go off them again.
My hand grabs the bottle of lithium sitting on the counter, assuming it’s mine ’til I’m unscrewing the cap and I notice the name printed on the label.
Zoelle Strauss
I blink to make sure it’s not my dyslexia fucking with me, scrambling letters and making it difficult to read the name.
But it’s what it says. These are Zoe’s pills.
It takes me another few seconds to process that.
“Why the hell would Zoe be taking lithium?” I ask myself aloud. Then my gaze lands on her toiletry bag resting on the bathroom counter. I’ve seen her clutching it countless times since we’ve arrived in Vegas.
Every morning and night she takes it with her into the bathroom. I’ve assumed it’s where she keeps all her girl stuff, like eyelash curlers and tampons. Maybe typical stuff like toothpaste and Q-tips. But something tells me there’s more inside the nylon bag.
I can’t resist looking for myself. I snatch the bag up into my hands and unzip the top to check inside.
The lithium was a shocker. The other bottles I find inside blow my mind.
There’s stuff in here I was expecting, things I guessed correctly on, like toothpaste, but there’s also several bottles stashed inside that I recognize all too well.
Medications I’m more than familiar with. All of them that I take myself. All of them with Zoe’s name on the label.
She’d mentioned she took light antidepressants, but she hadn’t said anything about bipolar disorder.
My thoughts travel back in time to the other day at the taqueria and the expression that had flitted across her face for the briefest second when I told her about my condition. Why wouldn’t she mention it to me? Is she embarrassed or ashamed?
I’m so invested in turning over these questions that I don’t register the snick of the hotel door or the fact that Zoe stops in the bathroom doorway.
“I hope you like sweet champagne, because I got the strawberry flavored?—”
She appears in the bathroom mirror clutching the champagne bottle. I’m clutching her medication bottles as I look up and our gazes meet via our reflections. I rush to explain.
“My bad. I didn’t mean to look in your bag,” I say. “I saw your lithium on the counter and then I realized you’re on the same meds as I am. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’m not sure what to make of Zoe’s reaction. She stands still, her expression some kind of cross between disgust and horror.
You’d think I was holding something grotesque and hideous, not her medications.
“Zoe?” I prompt. Then I set the bottles down to go to her.
She takes a step back from me.
My insides clench at her silence. The strange vacancy to her eyes when they’d been so damn lit up before.
“Hey,” I say, reaching for her hand. “Let’s talk about it. I’ve never met a woman who?—”
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps suddenly. She shoves the champagne bottle into my chest, then pivots on her heel. In two quick steps she’s at the hotel door, wrenching it open and rushing out into the hall, leaving me more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.