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She laughed in my face. “Who’s going to do that? You?! Like you’ll ever find her stupid friend.”
No. Not me. How could I?
Shit. I fisted my hands in my hair.
I met Richard Cowley after training, at the back of an old industrial unit ten miles out from the ground. He pulled up in a brand new saloon, and jumped in the passenger seat of the Range without a word.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Long fucking time no see,” he said. “Got some garbled message from Steve Dean, what’s going on? This about that shit in the papers?”
“No,” I said. “The papers are an unfortunate hindrance.”
“To what?”
I spat it out. “The old days, Rich. They were fun, right?”
He smiled. “Wild, yeah. Didn’t think I’d hear you going on about that shit anytime soon. Thought that was all done.”
“It was. Until I met someone.”
“Not April, I assume?”
I laughed aloud. “What do you think?”
“I think Hell might freeze fucking over first. So, who is this girl?”
“I met her on chatline a few months ago. Her name is Gemma. She wants to be fucked by strange men. Lots of them.”
His turn to laugh. “Like her, do you?”
“Enough to want to see her fucked raw by a load of strange men,” I laughed. “I’m not sure that makes it the real deal.”
He smirked. “Who gives a fuck? I’ll nail her, if that’s what you’re asking. Engagement broke up a while back, could do with a good fuck.”
“It’s going to be a bit harder with all this press shit going down. I was hoping I could be there, but I’m going to have to rain check. I’ll find another way to make my presence known.”
“Yeah, whatever. You want me to fuck her, on my own?”
“First time,” I smiled. “If you’re up for that. She’ll be blindfolded and you’ll be anonymous. Then we’ll get something together, you, me, Steve, and the Carlisle brothers if they want in.”
“They’ll want in. Saw them a few weeks back, pulling some drunk bird and taking her back for a Carlisle sandwich.”
“Bring them in the loop, if you can.”
“Will do,” he said. “So, when do you want me?”
I told him the plan.
***
Chapter Thirteen
Gemma
Jason: I need your schedule for the week.
The message pinged as I was grinding my toes into the testicles of some gruff old guy who must have been at least seventy. It put me off my stride and the caller hung up, leaving me free to text back. His reply came much quicker than I expected.
