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“I’m not sure if I want to know.” I thread a foot through and prop myself up on his shoulder, then the other leg.
“Smart… ” He glides the granny panties into place and playfully swats at my ass, earning my silence. “Relax, Neve. They probably know it’s not cocaine by now.”
He reaches for my pants and holds them out. I nod, liking the idea of him dressing me to undress me again later. “Did anyone sample the drugs when you sold them?”
“No.” I scan the room as I remembered lifting up the cushions and handing over the bags. A few of them were checking out the ashes. “They did the cobalt test.”
“Then whoever samples the drugs, and from what I remember it’s usually one of the first hands, is going to die, and they are going to come looking for you.” He glides the black jean material up my thighs; when it gets stuck there, he gets on his feet and wedges them up, his dick going hard in the process. “First hands, are usually someone’s brother, or nephew, or cousin. You killed them.”
“I did not.”
“Guilty by association.” He glances out the window. “They’re probably watching us right now, so we’re going to leave when Pink Street is busy.”
I pry my eyes away from his erection. “Okay,” I manage to say, a little less afraid than normal. Considering there’s probably a bounty on my head, I should be freaking out, but Mama Rosa said to find the positives.
To reverse.
Death usually comes in the end, but this time it’s the beginning. And that’s a positive. I’m one-hundred percent sure of that.
I’m lying.Eighty percent sure.
Okay.Fifty percent sure.
But I like those odds.
Dancing Dicks
STYX
What was that?A shadow catches my attention in the window. Carefully, as not to spook Neve, I walk toward the frame. The wrought-iron window shield on the other side muddles a clear shot, although sniper expertise clears the problem right up. Without any abrasive movements, I peek through the glass window in search of suspicious activity. I’m not directly staring down a barrel, that’s something Neve would consider a positive.
I know better than to think we’re in the clear. Just because someone hasn’t barged in here with a machine gun, doesn’t mean shit. For all I know, my father’s out there, waiting to catch me in a mistake. He’s a man of many torture-methods, known for studying his opponent and using their weakness, so I’m pretty sure he’ll connect the dots quickly.
See Neve for what she is… important.
Whether it’s because I’m attracted to her, indebted to her, or feeling sorry, won’t make a lick of a difference. Even if Dad has no idea about Neve’s involvement, he might be pissed enough to take it out on the person with me.
To him, I named Snow, played with her, and have a soft spot—she may as well be a puppy….Bad train of thought.I cringe as the memories of the animals he slaughtered surface.
“You okay?” Snow’s voice cuts through the bloody images, offering a sweet reprieve.
“Yeah.” I keep my eyes glued on the outside, perusing the crowd for my father’s face. My shoulders curl back as I crack the tension out of my upper spine. “Just securing the place.”
I recognize no one.
Although the streets are full of people, no one pays too much attention to the shop, at least not from this window. The Suspiro Room provides more coverage, less viewpoints, and if Neve keeps moving or out of sight, less vantage points. Human barriers tend to be effective. They move about freely, react suddenly, and inadvertently render a clear shot impossible.
My father may not be too keen and drawing attention in the public eye. His connections don’t run deep on Pink Street yet, but thugs account for high traffic hours. Hell, they thrive in them—get their thrills by committing a crime in public and getting away with it. Every last one of those Portuguese-Mafia fuckers, from politician to doctors to street thugs, have one common foundation: protect the enterprise at all costs.
They’re not much different than The Society or my father, except Dad doesn’t care whether he kills blood relations or not. These guys get lit on fire whenanyof their family members die.
I pass by Snow, through the hallway and out toward the main lobby. Everything looks exactly as it did twenty minutes ago, especially around the door. Picking up on of the talking motion activators, I walk toward the door while unwrapping the rather large talking penis.
Tossing the bubble wrap aside, I glance underneath for the battery storage. The thin plastic keeping the power supply off is there, so I yank it out and set the twenty-inch schlong near the guest book next to the cocks—the rooster kind. To test the angle, I slide my hand near the door to activate the sensor.
A creepy male voice comes from the device. “Come inside…” The movement on the table—that I had not expected.
“What the fuck?” I stare at the dancing penis, slightly mortified at the unnatural curves it’s creating as it whips around.
