Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (52 page)

“I think he’s still going to try something.” Were they talking about her Daddy? Tiffany’s heart jumped in her chest.

Mace, “Not before he gets her back, he won’t. Then, after that, we give him our little surprise, and he’s going to be a good boy from then on. Trust me, bro.”

There was a pause before Jax replied, “A lot’s riding on this.” His voice was lower.

Mace was aggressive, irritated, “You know it. We all know it.”

Footsteps came towards the door. Tiffany leapt for the bed and dragged the comforter over herself. She heard the door open, but she kept absolutely still. She wasn’t sure which biker was watching her, but she guessed it was Mace.

Did they suspect that she’d been listening to them? When whoever it was closed the door again, Tiffany did everything she could to fix in her mind the few details of the conversation she had overheard.
 

The pictures kept playing in her head of Jax’s hands on her, of his body covering her, penetrating her and controlling her.He was rough, strong, and passionate with her, and she’d never experienced anything like it.
 
She’d never been driven so completely, and never felt so overwhelmed before.
 
Her stomach fluttered and her breath caught at every memory, and her heart soared.

How could something that was so very wrong in every way have felt so absolutelyright, and so frighteningly good?

Remembering his strength and heat rekindled the scents and sounds of their intimate time together.
 
Her idea had been to make a connection, to share some intimacy, and to try to persuade Jax to keep her alive.
 
She didn’t want to have to do that, but she had to stay realistic about her situation.
 
There was good reason for what she did.
 
And yet…

Bikers weren’t known for their sentimentality, and the Blades MC had a brutal reputation. She knew that her chances of survival were less than fifty percent. She knew that giving one of the bikers some pussy wouldn’t improve those chances by much.

She couldn’t see anything else she had at her disposal. She wouldn’t get far if she tried to fight her way through three bikers armed with a slice of pizza and some warm beer. What else did she have?

Her plan had been to get as cozy as she could with whichever biker came through the door. After that, she’d probably do the same with one or both of the others if the chance came. Tell them each that it would only be him; swear that she wouldn’t tell the others. Whatever.

That way, maybe she could win one biker or maybe all of them a little way towards her side, in case a crunch came. Maybe she’d also have something that could make a wedge between them? A dangerous game, but those were all the cards and chips that she had.

If she had to appeal to one or more of them for protection, it would only improve her odds, surely.

Her plan hadn’t involved her feelings whirling up into a storm inside her.

Everything had changed. She felt so different, she was only sure of one thing—that deep in her body she wanted him again.

The voices in the next room rumbled, and Tiffany couldn’t make out a word. She didn’t have the energy to creep back to the door again, and if one of the bikers opened the door, they’d catch her for sure.

She curled up under the comforter, breathing in his warm scent. She wished she had a name for him that wasn’t fiction. Against her will, sleep snuggled around her, draped over her and enveloped her.

Chapter 6

Tiffany had no idea what time it was when the door cracked open. The one she’d called ‘Max’ brought in more beer and cold pizza. He took his time crossing the room, putting the food and beer on the little table. He watched her the whole time, squinting, quiet and sly. Was this one Mace?

Then she realized through her groggy, half-awake eyes and mind that she could see his hazel eyes sparkle. He wasn’t wearing shades, and his bandana was loose around his chin.

Tiffany tried to smile for him, but she knew she wasn’t awake enough to control her face properly. She thought of throwing the covers off to give him a view of her legs, but she remembered that she wasn’t wearing her panties.

He stopped at the door to look at her as she peered over the comforter. A leer spread slowly across his face, and he nodded slowly before he turned to leave the room.

She said, “Can I have a clock, or a watch, please?”

As he turned back, the bell outside struck seven times in the distance.

“See?” His voice was low and hard. “You don’t need one.” He licked his lips, looking at her, before he left and shut the door again behind him. From the scrape of a chair, she knew there was someone else in the other room, too.

Was it he? Was it her biker? Her ‘Jax’? Oh, god, she was so confused. She realized that, isolated and with a constant threat of danger in this situation, an attachment could be forming in her mind out of nothing but need.

Her psych classes had taught her nothing useful on this one. All she knew was how to suppress some symptoms with drugs. She should try to keep her feelings out of the mix. They wouldn’t help her to survive and that was all that mattered right now.

She drifted back to sleep. She dreamed of Daddy standing up in a big courtroom. He was arguing for the defendant. Then it changed, and he was prosecuting. Then, he rose in his black gown from behind the bench. The defendant was her biker, and Daddy was about pass sentence. When she took the biker’s hand, she realized that she was standing accused with him.

Chapter 7

The first thing Tiffany felt as she awoke was the damp pillow. She opened her eyes cautiously. A crack of light fanned out to a wedge and passed over her. It narrowed and vanished as the door clicked closed. She heard breathing in the room.

It came towards the bed, quietly. She wanted it to be her biker, her ‘Jax.’ She knew that it wasn’t. Sneaking in wasn’t his style. She didn’t want to move and let on that she was awake, but she really wanted to know who was there, in the room with her.

The decision was made for her when a weight landed on the bed behind her, and a hand clamped over her mouth. Was this Mace?

It felt exactly like the hand that had grabbed her in the parking lot. A growling whisper rasped in her ear. “Now we’re going to have some fun.” She stopped breathing. Yes, it was Mace. Tiffany was certain that his was the voice she’d overheard.

His hot breath beat on the back of her neck. The other bikers must have been away, surely. This one wouldn’t dare come in like this if the other two were there. Not if her Jax was there. They must be taking shifts, meaning there was nobody to call out to.

His hand was hard, his fingers fat. They slid under the cover, up inside her top. He grabbed her breast.

“Oh, I been watching these.” He squeezed her hard, kneaded her breast roughly and painfully..

His voice rasped in her ear, “Your big, round titties and your hard little nipples pointing out under that thin shirt are so sexy.”

Tears formed in her eyes. Her lips pulled between her teeth as he pinched her nipple. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to force her, but as he shoved her onto her back. she realized that was what he wanted. As he rolled her, she tensed with a shock as she saw his face.

His thick lips curled in a menacing grin and his dark brown eyes bored into her. His cheekbones were hard and his long, wide jaw was framed with a short, thin, pointed beard and mustache. Under his left eye was a teardrop tattoo tattoo.
 

He wasn’t wearing shades or a bandana, and he was talking. He didn’t care that she would be able to identify him.

She felt the tug as her panties were yanked aside. He drove his fingers into her. Her hips bucked in reflex. Holding her down with the flat of his hand on her pubic bone, his fingers pressed and dragged into her flower.

Her eyes widened and her mouth sagged as she shook her head from side to side, tears threatening harder now. Alarm flooded and electrified her when she noticed how wet she was.
You want this
, said a voice in her head. She screwed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth.

His strong fingers gripped her shoulders to turn her again, roughly, onto her front. The thumb probed inside her and lifted her hips, pulled her up to her knees. Tiffany sobbed silently as his other hand forced her ass wider open. Spit drooled onto her skin as he drove one finger, then two, into her smooth, tight little star.

Then he was behind her. The rigid weight of his heavy cock whacked against the cleft in her buttocks. As he forced her apart, drilled her open and drove himself in, Tiffany didn’t restrain her high gasp.

There was relish in his voice. “I been watching this little tush too long. Watching your sassy little hips swing.”

The pain seared though her like a fire and she pressed her face into the pillow with her eyes screwed tight shut. He gripped Tiffany by her hips to pull her against his fat shaft and he reamed mercilessly into her. A huge, dull ache rose behind the rasping sting. She felt like a doll in his grasp, and his weight and strength overwhelmed her with ease.

“Shout and scream if you want, girly. Noone’s going to hear you. Noone that would take a lick of notice.”

Tiffany writhed and sobbed beneath him as he plowed deeper into her. She pulled her thighs as wide as she could to try to reduce the pain.

Under hot, heavy breath he rasped, “I seen you, swinging from side to side when you walk. Walking like nobody can touch you. Telling everyone what you need.”

He grabbed a fistful of her silky hair and pulled her head up. His words followed his rhythm. “Now you going to get it, girl. I’m going to make sure that you get it. Could be your last chance. Never know, do you? Couldn’t let you miss out, not when I got exactly what you need, little girl. Oh, yeah.”

Slamming harder, his coarse denim beating against the soft backs of her thighs, he yanked on her hair as he started to pant. Drops of sweat fell from his face and bounced on her ass.

The
 
weight of his body pressed down on her as his hands came to grab her breasts. He squeezed them and pulled on her nipples. The pain and the horrible, intense, dark pleasure washed through her in sickening waves.

 
“I seen your big, round titties bouncing under your thin shirt, hard little nipples pointing out.” He grated down at her. He grabbed her stomach.

A sudden sting shocked her ass cheeks as he slapped her, hard. “You’ve been making me hard, girly. Making me want you.” The hard shaft of his cock pumped fast. “This tight little butt, your jeans tight around your tight little cunt. Oh, yeah.” He reached down to stick his fingers in her pussy. They pulled her wide.

The rant of his voice faded from her until she barely heard him. She tumbled and fell into a long, dark swirling cascade of orgasm. A warm gush of her juices squirted onto his hand. He was on top of her, his voice scraping low in her ear.

She didn’t hear him, she barely heard her own voice as she cried out and sobbed.

Then he pulled her hair and dragged her face to his pulsing red erection. He held her by her hair and jaw, and she almost gagged as he plunged his thick shaft into her mouth.

Saliva ran over her lips as his hot bolts of acrid, salty jizz spurted into her throat. He fucked her face repeatedly until he began to soften.

Even then, he held her face pulled right up to his pubes. He panted as his fingers twisted in her hair.

He shouted, “Woo-hoo!” as he pulled her off him and held her with her face upwards, forcing her to look up at his hard, rippled body and into his cruel eyes.

“Now, you can’t say that weren’t good fucking.”

He straightened himself up, buttoned his pants and let her into the bathroom to clean up. Though he stood by the door, he wasn’t paying much attention to Tiffany, so she took her time and tried to recover.

The shattering orgasm had left her knees trembling. To distract herself she studied the panel nailed over the window. Her legs quivered and her hands and arms shook so that it was hard even to wash.

Her concentration wouldn’t settle. There were four or five nails holding the panel on each side, so about twenty in all. They weren’t driven all the way in, and so they could be bent back or pried out. It wouldn’t be easy and it couldn’t be done without a metal tool.

Why did her body react the way that it did?
Count the nails again, Tiff,
she told herself.
Stay calm.
For once the voice in her head was strong and reassuring.

The window itself was screwed to the frame. The only way out would be through the glass, and she had no idea what would be on the other side. So far, fucking the bikers seemed like a more solid plan, although this one wasn’t likely to melt with gratitude.

As Tiffany splashed herself in the cool water, she felt strong, as though she really had washed something away. She still ached and stung all over, and heat burned raw in her ass. When she slipped back into the room, still wearing only her top and panties, and she felt, in some ways, more exposed than before.

The biker had a blunt lit. He took a draw and offered it to her. She hesitated.

“If I were you? I’d take all the fun I could get right now.”

She took the joint and drew deeply on it, letting the smoke curl up over her face. She watched him. His was the first face that she’d seen in more than a day. The only face she’d seen since she left the mall, really.

After she held the smoke in for a while and then let go she said, “Good weed,” through her teeth. Tiffany heard the quiver in her voice. She was shaken to the core. She had planned to submit to any of the bikers, all of them if necessary, but she hadn’t been at all prepared for what had just happened.

The fact that he had made no attempt to hide his face made her fearful. Still she wanted to show herself calm and strong, and hope that the brute would feel something, some kind of allegiance to her.

The biker smiled as he took the joint back. “Courtesy of your considerate captor.” Surely this man must be a psychopath. Whatever the implications, though, at least she should try to talk to him. His male brain was should still be at least a little loose with endorphins and hormone release.