Page 118 of Tease Me


Font Size:  

I dodged my brother’s gaze for several minutes while I replayed the scene from several nights before at the Diamond—somewhere I went when I needed to blow off a bit of tension. Like many evenings I’d spent at the club, I had been there alone and lurked in one of the back booths with some girl’s mouth wrapped around my cock. The lights, as usual, had been dim, but enough to light the face of the messenger-whore who had approached. She looked haunted, like someone held a flashlight on her features. Her hollow look had been intriguing enough that I’d squinted up at her, growing quite pissed off that she’d interrupted my climb to another mediocre orgasm. Finishing after catching sight of her wasn’t about to happen. Something about the bags under her violet-colored eyes, her sunken cheeks, and that jagged scar running the length of her jawline raised my hackles. She’d flashed me absolutely no expression when she’d approached, or when she slid something across the table. And she seemed unfazed when I had pushed away the bleached blonde and zipped up my pants or when the blonde wiped her mouth and sauntered away.

Angel waited for me to speak.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Some working girl sidles up to me at the Diamond. Slams this down on the table.” I pulled the police sketch from the desk drawer and slid it across the desk. “Says her boss is waiting for me in the back room.”

Angel took a passing glance at the image. “Fuck, that ain’t flattering.”

“Hell, that’s not me!” I stabbed a finger at the paper. The resemblance between me and that cop-sketch was the reason I had to hit the road. I looked too damn much like my old man. The eyes. Our fucking eyes were almost identical, and that gaze had lingered in the back of my mind since he had dragged my ma out of our trailer. We only had a few physical differences. I kept my hair trimmed tight—otherwise, I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. But whoever had drawn that picture had left out one important distinguishing detail. The scar that normally trailed from above his brow, across one eye, and half-way down his cheek wasn’t present in the sketch. The one eye still seemed to droop, but someone would have to know both our faces well to see that tiny difference.

Angel shrugged. “You didn’t walk into that ambush, did you?”

I gnashed my teeth, then snapped, “What am I? A kid? A fucking prospect?”

Angel lit up his one-hitter, took a drag, then said while trying to hold the stuff inside, “What’d ya do?”

“Not a fucking thing, asshole.” I pounded my fist on top of the wanted poster. I didn’t expect to ever see that face again, and certainly hadn’t expected that I’d look so much like the motherfucker when I grew up. I reached out a hand. “Pass that pipe over.”

Angel handed me the onie and lighter, still with his brow shot up. I lit the end and inhaled, held, and reclined as the smoke took the edge off.

Lifting my chin, I strangled out, “That’s my old man.”

“Didn’t think you knew your dad.”

I exhaled. “Haven’t seen him since he popped my ma.” I took another long drag.

I’d heard the fucker had gotten out a couple of years back. Something to do with lack of evidence and a bullshit alibi. Word was he’d hot-footed it across the border before the cops realized his alibi was about as reliable as a bike with sugar poured in the engine.

“Still not getting what this has to do with you. Or Diablo.” Angel shifted in the chair, propping one ankle on his knee.

I dropped my head back and soaked in the high. “Let’s just say there was trouble with the AX3 and the law.” I had no intents of telling Angel that I’d crossed the leader of the Azusa 13 crime ring, Paola Soto, the only daughter of its founder Pablo. And, once she found out it was me, she would sure as fuck send her henchmen after me and my entire operation in retaliation for that bust.

My second in charge looked at me with a rock-hard challenging glare. “Thought you didn’t fall for it, asshole?”

I didn’t say shit, didn’t need to loop him into my bad situation any deeper than necessary. I hadn’t walked into the ambush. Instead, I had gone to the bar to “pay my tab.” Rocky, the bartender, had warned me off. He’d overheard earlier that they’d fabricated the sketch to get me arrested so they could take over Diablo. I’d turned the tables and called in a tip that a massive drug deal was going down in the back room of the Diamond just before I strutted out to the street. The LAPD rained down on Paola’s men while I stood in the shadows on the opposite corner, arms crossed over my chest, and watched with smug satisfaction.

“Well?” he prompted.

“All you need to know is that the AX3 wants the club, but I took care of them for a while. They’ll have the DEA all over them for the next year.”

“Hell, man. The AX3’s deadly, no matter how many of them are in lockup,” Angel said.

“No shit.” I ran a hand over my head. Pablo Soto had been a fat little fucker with a huge mole on the end of his nose, and Paola was about as attractive as him. Regardless, their gang was big time—extortion, auto theft, drug trafficking, murder, and hell, they even imposed “taxes” on smaller traffickers when they caught someone dealing inside AX3 territory. I couldn’t name a crime they didn’t have their hands deep inside. “Just keep a low profile here while I’m gone.”

I swiped the sketch, folded it, and stuffed it in my jacket. My chances might have been better with the pigs. Someone inside had to put together that official sketch. It wasn’t standard procedure for cops to fudge reality like that. That was a topic for another day. For now, I had to disappear. Get the fuck out of town tonight, head for Mexico, and find dear old dad. I’d drag him back and hand his sorry ass over—alive if possible, dead if fucking necessary—to whichever so-called authority I saw first. The law or the lawless.

“So,” I said, lifting my head at long last. “You’ll watch the biz?”

“S’pose,” Angel said.

I tossed him the keys to my office, grabbed my bag, and went outside to straddle Betty, the most beautiful girl fucking ever in sleek black with her massive V-twin. Engine roaring under me, I opened the throttle and rolled out, sighing with pure delight at some much-needed wind therapy in the desert’s night air.

3

Bou

The sun descended red over the desert. Evenings at The Ridge were a gorgeous time of day, but sunsets couldn’t hold a candle to the desert sun rising to greet the morning. I’d just blown off enough steam on the range to calm my nerves. A little. Empty gun at my side, I sauntered toward the post where I’d hung the paper target. The man-shaped figure had three nice bullet-hole clusters—head, heart, and where it really mattered to the men: cock. I’d get it framed in the morning. As new artwork for the front door to the shop, it’d make the right statement. Most residents of The Ridge knew I was off limits, but the young ones needed reminders.

Inside, I dropped the target on the table and swung open the door to the shop. I put on some music with a good thump to work by and took my two newest babies, Sig Sauer P320s, over to the workbench. With the guns cleaned, I turned to the airbrush equipment. I’d put the final artistic details on Luke’s bike tomorrow then begin the 5-step clear coat. But if I didn’t get the remaining paint cleaned out tonight, it’d be a bitch in the morning.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like