Fontanas Trouble (8 page)

“Move, and I’ll pump you full of
lead,” the Bull said.

She shifted her gaze back to him.
Her wrist started to throb. Fontana narrowed her eyes. “What the hell is going
on?”

He grinned, then shifted the
barrel to her left and fired.

Chapter Nine

The revolver report almost
deafened Fontana. Stinging debris hit her back, and she whirled. A new bullet
hole smoked in the fake wood of the doorjamb. Two heartbeats later, the door
banged open. The tall, skinny, laser-beam man they’d seen in the pool hall held
Brent, his arms pinned behind his back.

Fontana looked from Laser-beam
Man to his companion, a short, stocky brute she didn’t recognize. He gave her a
wide grin, causing ugly rifts and craters in his pockmarked face that looked
like it had been scarred by some weaponized nanomachines. She frowned. What had
gone wrong with the simple game of pool Brent had been playing with the thugs?
He was supposed to keep them busy until she had gotten the codes from Jimmy.

Laser-beam Man wrenched one of
Brent’s arms up and pushed him forward. Brent’s jaw visibly tensed, but he
remained calm as he stepped into the room.

“Break his arm, and I won’t like
it,” Fontana murmured.

Amusement flickered in Brent’s
eyes, and she wanted to box his ears. He wouldn’t think it was funny if they
did break his arm. She faced the Bull—and the revolver still trained on her
midsection. She could vault the desk and take him, but he could get off a shot,
maybe two. Weapons weren’t allowed on the fantasy planet, but she was pretty
certain those bullets were lethal. That brought back the memory of Spacer
Jack’s back door being blasted off its hinges. Someone could have gotten hurt.
Was the resort really reckless enough to allow real weapons? Weren’t they
concerned someone would get hurt on their fantasy vacation?

She lifted her gaze to the Bull’s
face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“
Us?
” He waved the
revolver to the left. “Get over there by the wall.”

Fontana eased back a step. He
waved the barrel again, and she retreated two more steps.

Jimmy the Bull addressed
Laser-beam Man. “Get some rope.”

Laser-beam Man gave Brent’s arm a
twist. Brent’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t utter a peep. The man released
him and disappeared out the door.

“Strip him,” Jimmy said.

Mr. Pockface slugged Brent in the
back of the neck with a forearm. Brent dropped to his knees. Fontana started
toward him.

“Uh-uh,” the Bull warned.

She froze.

Brent held up a hand. “It’s okay,
Fawn. Won’t be the first time I’ve been stripped in this fantasy.”

“Fawn,” Jimmy said with
amusement. “I’ve got something special for you.”

“Take off your jacket and pants,”
Pockface ordered Brent.

Brent pushed to his feet. He
stripped off his jacket, then pulled open the fasteners on his waistband and
pushed the trousers past his hips. If not for the revolver pointed at her,
Fontana would have laughed. It seemed Brent just couldn’t help ending up naked
in his fantasy. Though she couldn’t complain. His legs were a work of art. He
abruptly paused in shucking the trousers from his second leg, and Fontana
realized he was staring at the splintered doorjamb.

His gaze shifted to the gun Jimmy
pointed, then to her, his eyes suddenly dark with anger, and Fontana realized
he’d heard the shot but hadn’t known real bullets had been involved. Laser-beam
Man appeared in the door, and Brent broke his stare, then kicked his pants from
his leg. Laser-beam Man crossed to him and Pockface.

“Strip her too,” the Bull said.

That gruesome smile split
Pockface’s cheeks again. He took a length of rope from Laser-beam Man, then
strode to her. He pulled her jacket off and tossed it aside. When he seized her
arms and yanked them behind her back, Brent’s eyes narrowed. Fontana gave a
tiny shake of her head. For an instant, she thought he would act anyway, but he
remained motionless. She shifted her attention back to the Bull as Pockface
tied her wrists behind her back.

Pockface outweighed her by
seventy kilos, but she could take him down. It was the damn ancient weapon
aimed at her that had her worried. What was going on with this so-called fantasy?
She’d never heard of a fantasy going wrong on Sagitariun. Pockface reached
around and yanked open the waistband on her trousers. He rubbed against her,
and Fontana detected the beginning of an erection.

“This is going too far.” Brent
started toward her, but the thin man yanked him back.

Pockface spun Fontana around to
face him.

“Son of a bitch,” Brent growled
behind her, and sounds of a scuffle began.

Pockface grasped the waistband of
her trousers to pull them down. Fontana kneed him in the balls. Pain blasted
from her kneecap as it contacted something hard. A cup, she realized as her
knee gave way. She dropped to the floor. The asshole was wearing a cup!

He grabbed her hair and pulled
her to her feet. Tiny splinters of pain shot through her scalp. She grunted.
Laser-beam Man appeared at her side, and she glanced to the right to see Brent
on the floor, hands tied behind his back. He pulled against the bindings, his
gaze locked on her face. She mouthed the words not real as Pockface held her
motionless while Laser-beam Man yanked her trousers to her ankles. Pockface
spun her around so that she was facing Jimmy.

He rounded the desk toward her.
Thankfully, he no longer held the revolver. Fontana scanned the desktop, but it
wasn’t in sight. He’d probably put it back in the drawer.

He unbuttoned his vest. “I’m
going to show you why they call me the Bull.” He jerked his head toward Brent
as he unfastened his trousers. “Your friend might learn something.” Jimmy
pulled out a massive cock, big as any bull’s penis, with blue, pulsing veins
that thickened as she stared.

“What the hell?” Brent cursed.

Fontana grimaced. The damn thing
hung nearly to the Bull’s knees.

He gripped his flaccid dick
around the middle. “They say bulls are jealous of my cock. You’re going to love
it inside you. All the women do.”

She snorted. “You can’t.”

“I will.” He stroked himself, and
his dick began to harden.

Laser-beam Man laughed. “All the
women love the Bull so much they scream for more.”

Fontana stared. The mammoth cock
was thickening. It had to be enhanced. This couldn’t be real. She split a
glance between the Bull’s two smirking men. There were only three of them. That
was one and a half against three –- if Brent was of much help. His heart was in
the right place, but how much fighting experience could an engineer possibly
have?

Stephaney would say she’d made a
mistake in assuming even a staged operation wasn’t dangerous. Stephaney would
say she’d made a mistake in accepting any operation as being staged. Fontana’s
hands were tied behind her back, her pants were down around her ankles, and
Jimmy the Bull was threatening to fuck her with his monster dick. Stephaney
would be right.

Pockface took two steps, squatted
beside Brent, and yanked open the front of his shirt. Brent’s white tie lay
stark against his tanned flesh. Why strip Brent? Given the two times he’d
streaked naked in public, she’d thought it was funny earlier. But this didn’t
make sense. A mental picture flashed of Pockface and Laser-beam Man taking
turns fucking Brent as the Bull pinned her beneath his behemoth body. Her
stomach roiled; then anger shot to the surface. These actors needed to be
treated the way she would treat assholes in the real world.

Fontana dropped to her ass and
kicked Pockface. He tumbled over Brent, face-first. Pockface shrieked and
rolled to his feet, his hand cradling a bleeding nose. Brent jumped up and
charged Jimmy like a ram. Fontana kicked off her pants as Brent buried his head
in Jimmy’s gut. They crashed into the desk.

Laser-beam Man lunged for her.
Fontana leaped up. She planted a roundhouse kick across his jaw. He staggered
back. She rammed a shoulder into his gut, and they both went down. She drove
all her weight into his sternum on impact. His skull hit the floor with a
hollow thud. He went limp.

Fontana sprang to her feet.
“Let’s go!”

Brent stood over Jimmy, who lay
on the floor beside the desk, blinking as if trying to focus. Brent gave him a
vicious kick in the kidney, then whirled toward the door. Pockface was rising
to his knees, moaning. He clutched his bloody face. Fontana kneed him in the
nose. He screamed in pain.

Brent appeared at her side. “Come
on,” he ordered.

She turned and followed him out
the room and down the hall. She and Brent looked at each other, and she knew he
was thinking what she was: What about the two other thugs who’d been playing
pool with him earlier?

Hands tied, she and Brent burst
out into the poolroom. A young man stood behind the bar. His mouth dropped
open, but he didn’t move. Fontana gained the lead and shouldered out the door
onto the well-lit sidewalk. Brent followed. A couple to the left stopped and
stared. A man in a Model A slowed, his gaze glued on Fontana. An autonomous
taxi approached. Fontana lunged into its path. The cab screeched to a halt.
Brent twisted so that he could grab the door handle and yank it open.

“Get out!” he shouted to the male
passenger wearing a zoot suit.

The man’s eyes widened, and he
scrambled from the seat.

“Get in,” Brent ordered Fontana.

She jumped in and snapped to the
cabbie, “Hotel Baba Ghanoush,” as Brent fell on the seat beside her.

Laser-beam Man burst out of the
pool hall, a Tommy gun in his arm. He halted, his stare on them.

“Go!” Fontana shouted at the
cabbie.

Laser-beam Man fired the machine
gun. Rapid-fire muzzle flashes shot from the weapon and lit up the night. The
man Brent had ejected from the cab dove for cover in the street. Brent shoved
Fontana down and covered her. No glass broke, and no thump of bullets striking
the car sounded. Fontana became aware of the thunder of Brent’s heart and his
bare legs tangled with hers.

An urge shot to the surface to
wrap her legs around his waist and rub her pussy against him until his cock was
rock hard and she came in blinding pleasure. He pushed upright and peered out
the back window. Fontana followed suit and stared as the pool hall receded into
the distance.

He turned his back to her. “Untie
me.”

Fontana turned her back to him
and worked loose the ropes. He shook them off, then startled her by seizing her
shoulders and turning her to face him.

“Where the hell did that real
weapon come from?” His fingers flexed on her skin. “And Jimmy—”

Brent glanced through the back
window again, and Fontana was struck with the idea that he was thinking of
going back to finish what he’d started with that vicious kick to Jimmy’s ribs.

“It was all staged,” she said,
despite her doubts.

His head snapped back around.
“Was it?”

His anger had turned to fury. He
was furious because he thought she had been in danger. She stared. When was the
last time someone had tried to save her? Fontana caught sight of the bulge
pressing against the white fabric of his underwear. Adrenaline was working
through him in a bad way. And she wasn’t unaffected. Her heart raced, and her
pussy throbbed with need. Just like his cock must be throbbing. She started to
reach out to stroke his erection but was stopped by the ropes that still bound
her hands. Aw, well, a girl worked with what she had.

Chapter Ten

Fontana lowered her head.

“Fontana.”

Brent’s spoken word turned to a
growl when she nipped the mushroom head of his cock through the fabric of his
underwear. Her body clenched. He was rock hard and smelled of pure male musk.
Fontana gingerly snagged the waistband with her teeth and pulled it back. His
cock sprang free, slapping her cheek as it bobbed to attention. He was
magnificent. Velvety flesh over hard, long steel and already leaking precum.
Brent grasped his underwear, and she released the fabric. Before he had it
shoved past his hips, she was swiping her tongue around the tip of his cock and
licking it clear to the base.

He dragged in a harsh breath. She
sucked the sensitive underside on the way up and took him in her mouth. He
thrust, shoving the rod deep into her throat. She pulled back, and her nipples
brushed his naked thigh through her shirt. One large hand fisted her hair while
the other reached between them and brushed a thumb across her right nipple. The
fabric of her shirt rubbed across the granite peak. She took him inside her
mouth again. His groan filled the small space as she moved faster. Brent
pinched her nipple. Dammit, she needed her hands free, needed to touch herself.
Fontana pulled back, raking her teeth across his shaft.

“Fawn.” His fingers tightened in
her hair as he fucked her mouth.

Her clit throbbed, and she
wondered if she would come just from listening to his moans. He palmed her
breast, kneading the flesh. He thrust faster, and she took all he had to give.
His breath hitched. He had to be close. Brent seized her shoulders and yanked
her mouth from his cock. Her head swam. He clasped her waist and hoisted her
onto his lap. He fisted his cock and held her steady as he shoved her panties
aside and jammed her down on him.

Fontana cried out in pleasure.
She wobbled. Brent clasped her waist tighter. She lifted on her knees and slid
down on him until her mound collided with his pelvis. She lifted again, and
this time, he thrust to meet her. His cock rammed into her cervix.
Pleasure/pain radiated through her. Brent yanked loose the fasteners on her shirt.
Her white tie swung between them as she rose and fell on his cock. With a
growl, he leaned forward and sucked a nipple through her bra. Fontana gulped
for air.

Brent groaned and released her
nipple. His thrusts grew frenzied. In the corner of her eye, she caught sight
of a woman in the cab one car-length back in the lane next to them. There was
something about the woman—orgasm washed over Fontana. Pleasure flooded her
senses. Brent groaned. Her vaginal walls milked his cock with a more intense
spasm.

His shaft swelled inside her. His
fingers tightened on her waist as he held her in place when his thrusts
threatened to shove her into the roof. He ground his cock into her with a final
shudder, then collapsed back on the seat and pulled her against him. She lay
motionless, the thunder of his heart all she was aware of until, at last, his
breathing slowed.

“I still want to kill that
motherfucker,” he said.

Fontana laughed and slid off him.

Brent grasped her arm. “Let’s get
those ropes off you.”

She turned, and he undid the
ropes. When he was finished, she straightened her panties, then leaned back
against the seat. Brent grasped her wrists and examined them. Red marks marred
her skin where the rope had rubbed.

“I should have taken these off
you before…” His gaze lifted to her face. “Your mouth was on me, and my mind
went blank.”

Feminine pride surfaced. “I can
live with that.” She remembered when they’d been at the Roman bath and his cock
had hung between her legs; she couldn’t think of anything either but shoving it
inside him. They really had to try that experience again.

His brows snapped into a frown;
then he grinned. “You okay?”

“Better than okay.” Did she dare
suggest going back to the baths?

Something flickered in his eyes
but was gone before she could define it. He kissed each wrist, then released
her and leaned against the cushion. “What happened back there?”

“Jimmy was waiting for me.”

“Waiting?”

Fontana closed her shirt and
began buttoning it. “He had that revolver a little too handy. I figured he was
playing the part of a 1920s mobster so was in the habit of keeping a weapon
nearby, but there was something in his eyes when I showed up. He wasn’t
surprised to see me.”

“No one knew we were working
together,” Brent said.

“We assumed no one knew. But Jimmy
was ready with a real gun.”

Brent’s mouth thinned. “I heard
the shot but thought it was sound effects.”

Fontana recalled Jimmy shooting
the pool cue from her hand and became aware of the dull throb in her arm. She
felt along her forearm down to her hand. The wrist and ball of the thumb shot
pain up her arm when she touched them. This would take the bionanobots a little
longer to repair than the tweaked ankle.

“He shot the cue stick out of my
hand,” she said.

Brent’s eyes darkened. “You’re
hurt? Fawn—”

“I’m all right. It’s no more than
a sprain at most. I can always see the hotel medi-bot. You’re in worse shape
than me. They banged you up pretty good.” Though the way he was pumping into
her, she would have never known he’d been punched.

Brent shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Fontana shifted her attention to
his neck where Pockface had slugged him. She traced the darkening spot on his
flesh. “This bruise says otherwise.” He hadn’t so much as grunted when the men
had hit him, or even when she’d been riding him like a Symbian bull.

“Really, I’m okay.”

She studied him. “What skill
level did you tell them you had when you bought this adventure package?”

“I listed my experience on the
university track team and the Ironman Triathlons I compete in every year.”

“That’s athleticism. Nothing
special.”

“I did tell them I had moderate
experience in combat training and self-defense.”

Fontana stilled. “Where does an
engineer get that kind of experience?”

A sheepish smile spread across
his face. “I fibbed.”

“You what—why not just throw in
weapons, surveillance, and operations for good measure?”

“I did, as well as the fact I can
run a three-minute kilometer.”

She stared. The fool. When
programmed into the gaming algorithm, his answers would—had—created a
high-level challenge. High enough to account for the use of real weapons and
brute force? Stephaney would be more than right. Fontana had miscalculated
right down the line—including not taking into account Brent’s part in this
fantasy.

The only truth he’d told was that
he could run. She recalled the bunch of his ass muscles that day at Spacer
Jack’s. Running, biking, and swimming had gotten him into phenomenal shape. Did
being in such great shape really prepare him for this fantasy? A thought
struck.
She
was made for this type of fantasy, had wanted rough play,
which was exactly what she’d gotten. She shook her head. The gods were laughing
their asses off.

Fontana recalled seeing the woman
in the car a few minutes ago and realized what had caught her attention; the
woman was the Lauren Bacall look-alike. All amusement vanished. What were the
odds of seeing her a third time in twenty-four hours in a population that never
fell below three million? Was she part of the Track Cartel, or was Stephaney
having Fontana watched? The upper floors of her hotel came into view though the
front windshield, bright against the nighttime backdrop of streets.

“Give me your shirt until we can
get to my room,” she said.

Brent looked shocked. “And go
into public half-naked?”

She gave him a narrow-eyed stare.
“For you, an underwear-only ensemble is overdressed. I, on the other hand,
could get arrested going into the hotel in my underwear.”

“Anything for you, Fawn.” He
began unbuttoning the shirt.

They drew closer to the
four-story glass facade with onion-tipped spires on both sides. The guest
suites, shops, pools, and restaurants extended behind the huge lobby in a
two-story sprawl that couldn’t be seen from the street. On her first day there,
she’d gone halfway around the curve to see what the property looked like from
above. The hotel was in the shape of the letter H with the lobby in the shape
of a hat topping the H. The pool area was inside the top half of the H, and a
Babylonian garden lay inside the bottom half.

The taxi stopped as Fontana
finished wrapping Brent’s shirt around her waist. They exited the taxi and
started toward the entrance. They’d entered the hotel and had almost reached
the inner hallway when the patter of sandaled feet echoed toward them.

“Miss Fontana. Please, Miss
Fontana,” Ahmed called. “He can’t walk in here half-dressed.”

“We’re going directly to my
room,” Fontana said.

“Oh.” He raised a finger. “A man
was here, asking for you and the coat.”

She exchanged a glance with
Brent.

He addressed Ahmed. “If I bring
it here, can you give it to him when he returns?”

Ahmed bowed with hands clasped at
his ample stomach. “I would be happy to, Mister…”

“Yari.” Fontana grasped Brent’s
arm and started them forward again.

They hurried from the lobby and
turned down the deserted corridor leading to her room. “We’ll have to order you
some pants,” Fontana said.

They approached a T in the
hallway. He slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her close as they
walked. A laser flash fired to Brent’s right. His arms locked around her, and
he dove for the hallway leading to the left. Another flash hit the wall as they
landed nearly around the corner. Brent rolled them away with the momentum of
his weight. Their shoulders slammed into the wall. Pain radiated up the arm
she’d wrenched when Jimmy had shot the pool cue from her hand. Brent shoved to
his feet, dragging her with him, and leaped for the opposite wall out of view
of the shooter.

Fontana peered around the corner.
At the far end, the edge of a man’s face was visible around the corner of the
wall. He fired. Fontana jerked back as the beam bit into the wall beside her
head. What the hell?
Another real weapon on the fantasy planet?

“Who is it?” Brent demanded.

She shook her head. “I don’t
know.” Was the shooter part of Brent’s fantasy package, or had the New Kenyian
sent the man? Maybe the cartel?

Brent snapped his fingers. “Of
course. They have me under surveillance. They know you’re helping me. I bet
they’re amping up the challenge on my package.”

“My room is five doors down,” she
said.

“Is it safe?”

“Safer than being out in the
open.”

At the sound of pounding feet on
carpet, Fontana peered around the corner. The man was racing toward them. He
fired another shot. She yanked back and grabbed Brent’s hand.

“Time to test those legs of
steel.”

They started at a run down the
hall and came to a skidding halt at her door. Fontana thumbed the lock. The
door dematerialized, and Brent shoved her through, then dove in after her as
another laser shot hit the wall. The door flickered into solidity, then
vanished. Sparks erupted from the doorjamb. The door became translucent amid a
shower of sparks, then vanished again. A heartbeat passed, but the door didn’t
rematerialize.

They sprang to their feet and met
each other’s gazes.
No door, no security
, they mentally agreed.

They sprinted toward the French
doors. Fontana felt an unexpected urge to laugh. This was the second time Brent
was running from her room nearly naked, and this time he was dragging her along
with him. They reached the doors, and he pushed them open. Laughter and the
sound of water splashing filled the air. Brent started forward.

“Wait,” Fontana said. “We can’t
let him open fire on innocent people.”

Not to mention, she wanted to
know who the asshole was. She hesitated, suddenly realizing she couldn’t chance
revealing to Brent the fact the Corps had her in hiding on Sagitariun or her
personal mission. She’d have to let the man get away. Would he willingly
go
away
? No, she decided. She and Brent would have to run together. But if
anyone got hurt…

Fontana’s pulse accelerated.
There had never been so much as a hint of crime on Sagitariun. Yet she’d been
here all of five days and might get herself or someone else killed because
she’d used the space station as a contact point for finding out what the Track
Cartel was up to. Wouldn’t the Corps love the fact that one of their soldiers
single-handedly brought crime to the fantasy resort?

Yeah, Stephaney would be right
yet again.

Fontana silently cursed, then
grasped Brent’s hand. “Leave the doors open. He’ll think we ran.”

They hurried back to the wall
that butted up against the bathroom. If the man entered the room, he wouldn’t
be able to see them until he was even with the wall. She would have to be fast,
but she could disarm him before he got off a shot—she hoped. Fontana pushed
Brent against the wall, then pressed close beside him near the edge. She lifted
a finger to her lips. He nodded.

A second later, the man raced
past them into the room. Fontana leaped on him. He twisted as they went down,
the weapon pointed at her. She seized his arm, but another larger arm seized
the hand with the weapon, wrenching it back the second before they hit the
carpet.

Brent was on the floor beside
them, his fist crashing into the man’s face before the man could react. Blood
spurted from his nose. Brent seized her shoulder and yanked her to her feet.
She blinked. He had the weapon in his hand.

Fontana stared. “You sure you
haven’t had Corps training?”