Wrong Page 9

  There is no sound aside from his sniffling and stuttering over the word “please.”

  By now anger has set in. I’ve been set up, fucked over, and this little shit thinks I’ll take pity on him. My jaw is ticking, my breath labored. “And you tell that fucking uncle of yours he made a very bad decision to fuck with me.” I hang up the phone, clenching it in my fist.

  I can feel my face heating as I turn to Marney. “Look, I know I’ve been set up. That’s not the issue right now. The issue is whether or not she’s part of that set-up, because if she isn’t, that makes her an innocent victim. I will not kill an innocent girl.”

  “Your job is to protect this”—Marney waves his hand at the house—“not worry yourself about ‘innocent victims.’ You're not a knight in shining armor. You’re a bookie.” He huffs out a harsh breath. “You protect number one, no matter what the cost.”

  At what point does the cost become too high? Where do you draw the line? Even a man with no morals has to have a line he will not cross.

  I stare at him; there’s not one ounce of remorse on his face. If it were up to him, she would already be dead. This life is all he’s ever had, and it’s left him soulless and bitter. Is that what I look like to her? Like a heartless, bloodthirsty bastard?

  He shakes his head like he can’t understand what my hang-up is. “You think she’s innocent, but you can’t guarantee that. Are you willing to bet your life on it? Caleb’s life? Because you need to be that sure. If you can’t put your hand on your heart and say that, then you do what needs to be done.”

  “Fuck!” I slam my hand against the wooden rail. Is she really worth the risk? Why the fuck can’t I just do the logical thing here?

  There’s only one way to be sure someone is telling the truth, but my mind doesn’t want to go there. If this were a guy, torturing him for information wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, I’d do it myself. So now I’m left with very few options: shoot her, in case she’s working for Joe, or do whatever it takes to drag the truth from her in the hopes of proving her innocence. Fuck, she may prefer the option of a bullet.

  “I’ll make sure,” I say without looking at him.

  He claps his hand over my shoulder as he moves past me. “I know you’ll do what needs to be done.” There’s doubt in his voice, and he stops on the stairs, glancing up at me. “You killed Joe’s fucking wife. It’s your life or hers, remember that.”

  I swallow, unable to even say anything at this point. My pulse thumps hard in my chest, and all I can see are brutal images of Tor beaten and bloodied, crying and begging for me to stop, and my stomach knots.

  I watch him climb into his truck and back out of the drive. I pick up the bag. “Fuck!” I shout as I open the door to the house. I walk into the living room and Caleb tosses his head back over the couch to look at me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  I shoot an angry glare at him and toss the sack on the table. “Oh, I don’t know, Caleb. Maybe I’m fucking pissed because I’ve been set up, and I’ve got a possible bug locked up in my goddamn bedroom?”

  I watch his eyes glaze over, his face growing pale. “She’s not a bug...” He swallows.

  “You don’t know that. We’ve gotta be sure.”

  His jaw tightens. “She’s just a girl. I swear, she’s got nothing to do with Joe. Are you losing your mind? Are you that paranoid?”

  “You spent three days locked in a room with her, and you think you know her. You don’t know the first fucking thing about her.” I groan, frustrated at the situation. “She spins you a few lines, bats her eyelashes, and that's it, you believe every word that comes out of her mouth. It’s too much of a coincidence. She’s too much of a risk.”

  Caleb jumps from the couch and stomps toward me. His face blood-fucking-red, his eyes narrowed. He’s fucking angry. “You’re not gonna kill her!”

  I drag a hand through my hair and cock a brow. “I’m running out of choices here, Caleb. If she works for Joe and I let her go, we’re fucked. So, I either kill her now just in case, or I prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s innocent.”

  Caleb falls back onto the couch, holding his head in his hands. “What are you gonna do to her?” It’s evident by his tone that the thought of harming her makes him sick too.

  I inhale. “Whatever it takes to make me believe she’s innocent...or not. It’s her or us.”

  ”Fuck, Jude.” Caleb’s head is still bowed. I think he can’t stand to look at me right now.

  “And you’re gonna have to help me.”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t a question. You will help me. You’re the only person here that’s not a fucking monster.”

  His eyes rise to meet mine, and they are angry. “I won’t hurt her.”

  “I know. That’s why I need you. It’s your job to make sure I don’t kill her.”

  I wake up to the sound of the lock clicking. I open my eyes and watch the door swing back, throwing light across from the room.

  Jude’s enormous frame is silhouetted in the doorway before the door closes, blocking out the light once more. I hear him kick off his boots and the rustle of clothing as he undresses. Then I feel his weight dip the mattress. I go rigid as I feel the heat of his body near mine. I can smell the scent of whiskey and cigarettes that is all Jude. I shouldn’t like it, but, weirdly, I do. He barely seems to notice my presence as he rolls over. His breathing evens out and within a few minutes, he’s out cold. I lay there, every muscle in my body tense as I stare at the ceiling.

  I move my hand underneath my pillow, my fingers curling around the plastic handle of the razor. I eye the door. I didn’t hear him lock it. This should be easy. Just slit his throat and run. Fuck! If only. Can I really kill a guy in cold blood? He’d do the same to me given half the chance, but what if I get caught? What if I don’t kill him and just hurt him? My chest starts to tighten, and my pulse hammers in my veins as adrenaline floods my system. If he catches me, he will kill me. Honestly, I would rather die fighting than just take this like some pathetic victim. I need to do this.

  I pull the razor from under the pillow and slowly sit up, trying to make as little noise as possible. The bed creaks slightly as I move. I stare at Jude led on his back, one arm thrown over his head. I can just make him out in the darkness. His chest is bare, the broad muscles rising and falling steadily. My eyes trace the lines of ink that wind across his chest and down his arm. He’s power personified, and although he terrifies me, I’d be lying if I said that there isn’t a part of me that is in awe of that power. He exudes it with every breath, every small action; he lives and breathes it.

  I take a deep breath and steel myself, moving onto my knees over him. If I’m going to succeed in doing this, then I’m going to need to use what little body weight I have.

  My hand shakes as I move the razor blade toward him. I eye the line of his throat, imagining what it will look like when I slit his jugular. I have the blade millimetres from his skin, when I hesitate. Fucking do it! My mind is screaming at me to man the fuck up and save myself. That’s all it takes, that second of hesitation. I’m staring at the blade, willing my hand to move, when I feel his fingers slowly wrap around my wrist. I want to cry. I’m not even strong enough to kill the guy who might kill me. I don’t even move or try to fight him. He’s going to kill me, and it’s my own fault because I fucking hesitated to kill a murderer, a criminal, a heartless bastard.

  He pulls the razor closer to his throat. “What are you waiting for, Tor? Do it.” My eyes meet his, glinting in the dark. “Do it,” he repeats more aggressively, pressing the blade into his skin.

  “I…” I can’t, I can’t do it. What is wrong with me?

  He suddenly moves, grabbing my hips and flipping me onto my back. His enormous body hovers over mine, pressing me into the mattress. “You want to kill me?” he whispers, his face is so close I can feel his breath on my lips, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes overwhelming me. “Well, here’s your chance, Tor. Slit my fucking
throat.” I still have the razor to his throat. I can do this. His eyes lock with mine, holding my stare, daring me. There’s a deafening silence as we both wait and see whether I will do this, kill a man.

  His hand slowly wraps around my wrist again, and he forces my hand above my head, pinning it to the pillow. His face drops to my neck, and he inhales along my throat.

  “You can’t do it because you’re not like me,” he whispers. My body temperature skyrockets as his lips barely skim my neck. “You save lives, I take them.” I don’t want to be affected by him. I hate him, I want to kill him, but the way his body is pressed against mine, the way he touches me as if he owns me, it has my heart trying to escape my chest, and my lungs struggling for breath. I hate myself more than I thought possible in this moment.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I manage to gasp.

  He moves his face from my neck as his fingers release my wrist and wind into my hair, pulling it almost to the point of pain. “I haven’t decided yet,” he murmurs, so close to my lips that I feel his brush against mine. My breathing accelerates, and he huffs a laugh. “Scared?”

  “Should I be?” I breathe, my voice shaking. Yes, I should be, and I am, but not as much as I need to be with a murderous psychopath pressed between my thighs and a razor blade inches from my head.

  He tightens his fingers in my hair, wrenching my head to the side. His lips move to my ear, making me tremble beneath him. “Definitely,” he growls.

  Oh, God. I can’t breathe, I can’t talk. All I can feel is him. I don’t want to feel him, and my mind is screaming a thousand questions at me; namely, what the fuck are you doing? My body, though, my body is a traitorous slut evidently.

  His teeth gently nip at my earlobe, and I lose my shit. I drop the razor blade and my hand flies to his hair, pulling at the short strands. I don’t know whether I’m trying to pull him away from me, or bring him closer. He laughs and his hot breath blows across my neck.

  “Not so innocent now, are we?” he mumbles as he rolls his hips against me, teasingly.

  His hand moves from my hair to my jaw, gripping it roughly. His lips are so close, and every hormone in my body is screaming at him to kiss me. I’m a mess. Just when I think he’s going to, when I can feel the brush of his lips over mine, he pulls away and rolls away from me, climbing out of the bed.

  I hear the rustle of clothing, before he opens the door. “You fuck with me, I’ll fuck with you,” he says, and slams the door shut behind him.

  Fucking prick. All I can hear is my pulse hammering in my ears as I attempt to come to terms with what just happened. What the hell is wrong with me? If he had kissed me then, I would have let him; hell, I might as well have just stripped fucking naked for him and laid out a welcome mat. I feel like I need to jump in a bucket of bleach just to wash the whoreishness off me. There are times in life when you have to seriously question your own sanity, and this is one of them.

  I slam the door behind me. My fucking dick is throbbing, my pulse is hard and heavy. That bitch just tried to slit my throat, and it fucking turned me on. The way she felt pinned underneath me, my leg pressed between her warm thighs, my bare chest against her full breasts...Fuck! I stop at the top of the stairs and swipe my hands through my hair. I glance back at the door. She was fucking willing, had I tried to fuck her, I am damn sure she would have let me. What kind of fucked up shit is this? Shit! She’s trying to seduce me. Make me want her, feel like I can trust her so she can fuck me over and sell me out to Joe…

  I shake my head, and make my way down the stairs. I can’t think about that right now. All I know is that I need to get away from her. I pass through the living room and Caleb is sprawled out on the couch watching TV. “I’m going to check on the titty bar.”

  He glances back at me, his lips curving into a smile as he grabs the remote and flips the TV off. “I’mma come with you.”

  The doors to Elysium swing open and the loud bass rumbles through my chest. We weave our way through the crowd toward the bar.

  The bartender looks up, shaking his head. “Vincent called in. I’m sick of this shit.”

  I make my way behind the bar, clasping my hand on his shoulder. “I just own the fucking club. Bitch to Chris about shit like that would you?”

  I grab a bottle of Maker’s Mark and pour two large glasses. I hand one to Caleb as I round the bar, and make my way past the stage. One of the half-dressed waitresses struts by and I pop her ass. She doesn’t miss a step. I tip the glass back, sucking back the chilled liquor as we shove our way through the thick crowd of men gathered around the stage, tossing bills at the dancer. The music fades as we walk down the hallway. I stop in front of the door that says “staff only”, taking another large swig before turning the knob. As soon as the door opens¸ we are greeted with squeals.

  “JP!”

  “Caleb!”

  Crystal glances up from her dressing table, each side of her full lips flipping up into a grin. She tosses her makeup brush down and slowly stands, sashaying over to me. She’s wearing black, sheer lingerie and a silk thong. Her perfectly round tits bounce with each heavy step she takes, and it makes my dick throb like a motherfucker. Stopping in front of me, her eyes trail up my body.

  “I’ve missed you” she purrs, her fingers brushing over my crotch. The other girls leave, flashing me seductive smiles on their way out. I arch a brow in amusement.

  “Have you?” I ask and take another large gulp of whisky.

  “Looks like you missed me too.” She bites her lip, her fingers already undoing my fly. She yanks my cock out. Her nails gently trail over the tight skin.

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Tara approach Caleb and shove him down onto the couch. I tip the glass back again, staring down at Crystal as she drops to her knees. This is why I like her, no fucking around, just straight to business. She slowly drags her tongue over my dick before she shoves it in her warm mouth. I inhale and place one hand on the top of her head, guiding her. Her fingers wrap around me, twisting up as she forces me to the back of her throat. I yank her hair, groaning as I take another swig of whisky. She’s working me over, but not damn near hard enough. My hand slides down the back of her head, fisting her hair as I force her down on me as far as she can go. She gags and tries to pull away.

  “Fuck that!” I laugh. “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

  She groans and pulls in a breath as she swallows more of me back. She grabs the waist of my jeans, yanking them down with my boxers while she eye fucks me. She aggressively cups my balls, her eyes slamming shut as she goes down further on me. I feel her tongue press under the tip of my head then circle around it. Her teeth gently scrape over me, she moans and rolls my balls in her palm....and... I can’t get off.

  I widen my stance and exhale. I’m not even fucking close. She’s growing frustrated, working over me harder, deeper, rougher. I feel her finger creep under my balls and slip over my taint, putting pressure on it. I grit my teeth as I pull her hair and lean my head back. Tara moans, and the slapping noise from Caleb fucking her does nothing but distract me. I close my eyes, and, against my will, I imagine that the warm, wet sensation enveloping my cock is Tor’s mouth. My hips thrust forward, groaning as my fingers clench in her hair. Her nails dig into my thighs. The more I think about Tor, the more I fuck the shit out of her mouth, every few seconds causing her to gag and attempt to pull away from me, but I won’t let her.

  “Fucking take it, Crystal.” I pull in a breath, picturing those steel-blue eyes of Tor’s glaring up at me.

  Crystal deep throats me, her finger pressing on me in just the right spot as heat spreads over my body. I hold her in place. I feel my balls tighten, my muscles stiffen, and I pull out of her mouth, furiously beating off on her face.

  “Shit! JP!” she yells, her hand wiping over her cheek.

  I fall back on the couch, some of the whisky sloshing out of the glass I’m still holding onto. I suck the last bit down. I sit, my pants around my ankles, and thin
k about how fucked up it is that I just had one of my stripper’s deep throat my shit while I fantasized about a girl locked up in my room as collateral for a debt.

  Women don’t do that to me. They don’t get to me...but she does. There’s no room for sentiment in my world. She’s involved with Joe, of course I want her, I’m supposed to want her, which only makes me fucking angry that I do. Joe’s a fucker. It’s hard to kill something you want, bastard knows that. I can’t let him fuck me over. I won’t let him fuck me over, and I’ll fuck up any intentions he had. I have no choice in the matter. My hands are literally tied behind my back. I’m either going to kill her, or save what’s left of her once I’m done with her.

  When I wake up the next morning and my vision comes into focus, I find two massive men standing beside the bed, staring at me.

  “What the hell?” I croak. “Who are you?”

  They say nothing, and without warning, one of the guys grabs my leg, dragging me from the bed. I hit the floor hard, hitting my elbow as I go down.

  “What the fuck? Who are you? Where is Jude?” I try to crawl away from him, my heart slamming against my ribs. I never thought that I would wish for Jude, but suddenly I wish he were here. He scares the shit out of me, but I trust him not to deliberately hurt me. These guys, though...these guys look like they would rape and kill me just for shits and giggles.

  The two men scoff at each other. “Oh, he had to go take care of some business.” One of them grabs my shoulder and yanks me to my feet. “He asked us to handle you while he’s gone. Get you ready for when he gets back.”

  He shoves me toward the door. “Now move it.”

  I stumble, grasping for anything to get me away from these ogres. “I need to wee,” I blurt. He scowls at me. “Please.”

  “Fine. Fucking hurry up.”

  He stands in the doorway with his back to me. Shit, what am I going to do? This is it, I know it is. I don’t know if Jude’s in on this or not. I know he’s an arsehole, but I’ve always taken him as the kind of guy that handles his dirty work himself. If he wants me killed, the least that bastard could do is pull the trigger himself.