Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Six Weeks Ago
One thing Dad didn’t have was control. As I boot down the door of the cheap hotel and catch the glimpse of terror in the eyes of Roadrunner, that’s what I feel: control. It burns through me like the first sip of alcohol, lighting up every nerve ending.
Roadrunner scrambles to the bathroom, but I’m faster and sober. Snatching him up by the back of the neck, I fling him against the wall. Hard. He hits it, and his greasy body crumples.
“Runner, runner, runner,” I muse, flicking my gaze around the room. One of my guys goes to clear the bathroom as I’ve trained them to do. No one escapes my grasp.
Roadrunner—I’m not sure his real name, nor do I care—gasps in a breath. “Shit man, fuck.”
Rearing my foot back, I snap it down, crunching the man’s ribs and crumpling him against the wall again. The sad thing is, he used to be one of my good runners, but I haven’t heard from him in weeks. And he owes me money. A lot of it. Worth some broken ribs and a cracked skull.
The hum of my heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I want to be excited. I’m finally doing something fun! But I can’t get that fucking nagging feeling to go away. Right when Runner disappeared, my brother got out of prison. Is it connected in any way?
Runner, to his credit, tries to get up. I send him back down with a stomp to his fingers, because I didn’t tell him to get up. When I’m around, I’m in control, that includes every movement, every breath, every piece of information.
“You owe me,” I say as the man bows to me.
He nods, holding his breath, then says, “I swear I was bringing it by tonight.” He nods at the nightstand. “Was going to pay you back and then some.”
Sure enough, there looks to be cash there. I nod to my guys, and immediately they check it out, then nod to me. There’s enough.
I turn back to the man, unanswered questions burning in my chest. But if he is working for my brother, I need more information.
And he’s currently my only connection to him, despite weeks of trying to track him down.
I want to send my brother the message that if he messes with me, I’ll kill him.
But if I kill this lead, I’m back to square one.
So instead, I settle for: I know you’re there.
I get to deliver that message into the man’s skin. I refrain from beating him badly enough to keep him from ever leaving this room, and it makes me twitch.
I leave the hotel, hands shaking.
How dare he? My brother has always been angry about my success on the streets. When he got put away, there were blissful moments where I no longer had to check my back every minute.
As the night goes on, my hands stop shaking, but my eye starts twitching, and I can’t stop moving.
Back at the club, I’m up, down, and all over the place.
Watching people fuck usually helps. But tonight all I see is chaos.
No one is doing it right, moaning for too long, not hitting hard enough, faking orgasms. In addition, they seem to be watching me for longer than usual.
I clench my fists hard enough to dig into my palms. I need to get out.
Storming to my car, I dial my escape.
As soon as she answers, I snap. “Usual place, one hour.”
There’s a pause on the line. I hear voices in the background. “Double,” I say, knowing there will be no arguing when it comes to money. I’m already generous.
One hour later, I’m kneeling on the carpeted luxury hotel floor, palms facing the ceiling.
The air conditioning is cool against my naked skin.
Usually, it’s grounding for me, but tonight I can’t help but glance at the clock.
Where is she? I took a longer route to get here, just to be sure I wasn’t followed, but I was still early.
Then comes the slide and click of the key, and Velvet is sliding into the room in a pair of heels and a sleek black dress. Her hair is messed up, like she’s just come from something else, and I immediately wonder if she told them where she was going.
“Eyes on the ground,” she demands.
On instinct, I obey, staring at the royal blue and gold carpet. Her keys clink as she puts her things down.
“Have you been patient like a good boy?” she asks, her voice soft.
Too soft. I need more.
I shift, ignoring her on purpose.
She lets it go, moving around behind me.
I try to stifle my growl. Is she just going to allow blatant disobedience? Does she not realize this is how people get overthrown?
A nagging thought in my brain asks, like Roadrunner?
Hot hands smooth down my back, and I jump.
“Don’t move.” The hands turn less kind, nails digging into my skin. The bite of pain allows me to focus, and I let loose a breath of relief. But then she releases, tickling down my back in light brushes. It’s not enough, and I’m cold, and the floor is uncomfortable.
“Go fuck yourself.” I shift, adjusting so my knees get more blood flow. There’s a stunned silence that stretches on for heartbeat after heartbeat. Then, I make a low, irritated growl.
That does it. Velvet steps around me, crouching down so she’s eye level with me and gripping my chin in her long-nailed fingers. She stares intently at me, those blue eyes evaluating what I want.
I snarl. I want what I always want. I want her to take away the doubts. The questions. The million trains of thought. The paranoia.
The control.
Just for a moment.
Finally, Velvet obliges. She lets go of my face and smacks it, albeit lightly, then orders me to lie on my back.
She then proceeds to step on me with her heels.
It hurts like a bitch, but finally, finally, I stop feeling.
Occasionally, she gets too soft, touching me in a way that damn near feels like a caress, and then the feelings start creeping back in.
But I just close my eyes and dig my nails into my skin, reveling in the bite of pain.
I need it. I need the pain just as much as I need the control. Almost more.
It’s the only time I stop thinking. Stop remembering.
And I’m almost there, but I want more. I want to be pushed to give up control, and then I want the thrill.
I want her to do things to me that other people think you shouldn’t do.
I want her to hurt me when I can’t do anything about it.
I want her to piss on me when I’m begging her not to.
I want her to put things in me where things shouldn’t go.
I want to be made to feel.
But, she doesn't. She sticks to walking on me—and only the large muscle masses. It pisses me off so much that I don’t even want to come anymore.
I have to use my imagination to try to get anywhere close to getting off, and as I try, it’s not working.
I get more and more annoyed, jerking my dick roughly, and that’s still not doing it.
Then I roll away from her. “We’re done here. ”
“Huh?” Velvet seems surprised.
“I’m done.” I’m angry. I just want her out so I can get myself off in the way I know how. And I don’t want her to see. I may be paying her a large amount of money to keep her mouth shut, but there are certain things I can’t have slipping to the people under me.
Velvet meanders, taking far too long to get ready and get out. I snap my glare at her. “What are you doing?”
She moves to the bathroom. “Getting our shower ready, just like you asked before.”
I frown. Since when have I ever showered with her?
“Get out,” I snap.
Velvet comes back from the bathroom, throwing me a confused look. “Huh?”
Her confusion is making the anxiety hum even more, and I can feel my hard-on fading. “Get out.” Standing to my full height, I snatch up my clothes. She’s acting off and has the audacity to make it seem like I’m the weird one? And after she left me hanging?
Velvet’s eyes narrow, but she wisely obeys, grabbing her things and slipping out the door.
Quickly, I get up, shutting the shower off in disgust. I’m barely in the mood, but the simmering hum of anxiety won’t let me go, and I need something.
I go to my bag to grab my items, then check around the room to make sure no one’s watching. Which is stupid, because it’s my room. Still, I take the items back to the bathroom, pulling my dick out. My dick is soft, the pressure feeling like it’s pressing down on my back.
I remember the feeling of Velvet’s shoes on my body, the dirt still smeared on my shirt. My dick hardens enough for me to snap open my lube, slather my toy with it, and press it to my ass.
The bite of pain as I press the toy into my ass sends a thrill up my spine. I groan, pushing it in further as I jack myself off. The pain of what I’m doing goes straight to my head, making me float. I push it in until it’s as far as it’ll go, my ass adjusting to the feeling.
I don’t waste time—Velvet already did that—and find myself curling close to an orgasm. At the last second, I hold my finger over the tip of my dick, dampening my own orgasm with a groan.
I pack up quickly.
Velvet is getting too comfortable. Acting like she knows me. Tonight was fine, but not good enough. Already, I feel that twitch in my eye returning.
This isn’t the first time someone has said I told them something that I didn’t, though. Just last week at the bar, I was told I hired another bouncer, which I absolutely do not remember doing. There are gaps in my memory that are starting to mess with me.
I’ve been too stressed. I just need to get this next game over with and move on, and things will be better.
Oh, and find a new Velvet.