Hooked Up: Book 3 (14 page)

The man flinched and swallowed hard. I could smell his fear; he was a coward.
Bullies are always cowards.

“Get in the car, Jim.”

“How do you know my name? You’re accent . . . are you like . . . one of those Romanians, the guys from the mafia? Look, I already said I didn’t want to do that deal—”

“Shut the fuck up, Jim, just get back into your vehicle. If you do as I say, I won’t kill you. If you fuck with me, I will. You’re driving, by the way.”

“You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

I pushed the gun in his back a little harder. “I don’t think so. It’s payback time, buddy.”

The man let himself be bundled into the driver’s seat and panted with fear. He had tears in his eyes and sweat was dripping from his brow. I carefully got into the back seat, keeping the gun pointed at his spine, maintaining the pressure close so there was no doubt I meant business.

“You know, this country’s gun control laws really need to be revised. Where I come from, you have to be part of a sporting club or a hunting club to get a gun license. They don’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry go around with arsenals of lethal weapons.”

The man stuttered, “Where are you from?”

I replied quietly, “That would be telling. Now start the car and drive.”

“Where are we going?”

My gloved hand pushed the weapon harder into the man’s back, making a dent in his cashmere overcoat. “Somewhere nice and quiet. Don’t try anything smart, remember. This baby is still nuzzled right on your spinal cord.

Jim squeaked, “I swear I won’t try a thing.”

“So you live here just on weekends?”

“Weekends, holidays. I work in Manhattan.”

“Yes, I know. You do well?”

“I’m proud of my capabilities, yes.”

“Capabilities . . . hmm, that could be disputed. How much money do you earn a month, Jim?” I already knew the answer to my question.

The man’s breath hitched. “It depends. You know, on bonuses and stuff, but I make a good fifty grand a month.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s how much I make every thirty minutes, more or less.”

The man sniggered uneasily as if he thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

I went on in a low voice, “I don’t like people telling others how much money they earn; I think it’s tacky. But I thought you might be interested so you understand whom you’re dealing with. So you understand that, not only could I have you killed at any moment but, right now, I have an alibi. I have three people who can testify I am
not
here . . . with you. That is, should you get any smart ideas. Should you want to call the cops at a later date, or tattle-tell on me. You see, I am way, way richer than you are. And you know what money buys, don’t you, Jim?”

Jim nodded.

“It buys power,” I whispered.

“What do you want from me?” the guy asked edgily.

“I want you to make a donation. Not much at all. I’m going to be really fair. All I ask is that you donate two months’ salary.”

Jim squealed, “I can’t give you a hundred thousand dollars just like that! I don’t even know who you are!”

I replied calmly “Oh, I think you can, Jim. Here’s the thing. I’ll make you a deal. You give me the names and phone numbers of all your rapist friends who were there that night. When was it? Yes . . . about eighteen years ago. All those assholes who violated a beautiful young woman called Jane Doe, and I will give you a ten percent discount.”

“You’re nuts. Completely nuts.”

I poked the gun into the man’s back even harder. “You’re absolutely right. I’m so nuts, I’m capable of killing you.”

“I can’t even remember who was there!”

“So you admit what you did?”

Jim wailed, “She wanted it, man. We were all drunk. She was asking for it. I can’t even remember that far back.”

“So all these years have gone by and you’ve never felt a drop of shame or remorse?”

“What would you have done? A naked chick with her legs splayed open . . . ouch, that hurts!”

I released the pressure of my middle knuckle, just under the man’s ear lobe and spat “Okay, your choice. A hundred and fifty thousand, then. Or you die here tonight.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you names and take the ninety grand discount option. How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?”

“Because I’m a man of my word. And right now, that’s all you’ve got. I want the payment wired tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Jim squeaked, his voice like a terrified boy.

“I’ll give you until Wednesday. If it doesn’t arrive, I will hunt you down, Jim. Do you understand? You can hire bodyguards, but I’m a very patient man. I’ll wait quietly. Silently. You will never know when I might strike. It could be years from now, it could be days. Do you want to live that way? Constantly in fear?”

The man’s breathy response was weak. “No.”

“Do you want your wife and kids to know who you are, what you did?”

He shook his head pitifully. “Where am I to send the money?”

“To young girls who have been abused by men like you—I’ll give you the details. Men who thought their actions held no consequences. Now, pull the car over, right here.”

We were on a remote beach, miles from anywhere. With one hand still holding the pistol, I handed Jim a bit of paper with the bank account number of the charity I’d set up. “Now you have a choice. We’re going to get out of the car. You can either strip naked and walk home in your bare feet in the snow, or we can fight this out, man to man. Whichever you choose, the donation will go ahead as planned.” I chuckled facetiously. “Hey, don’t look so glum, it’ll be tax deductible—the fact I need you to make that donation means I’m not going to kill you now.”

“You have a weapon!”

“I’ll put the gun in the trunk of your car. We can fight it out weapon-free just using the tools that God gave us. Or, Jim, you can strip naked and walk home.”

“I’d catch hypothermia, are you crazy?” The man began to wheeze.

“That’s just what I thought you’d say.”

“Give me a break, man!”

“Oh I
am
giving you a break. You’d already be dead if I weren’t such a reasonable man.”

“This is crazy. It was nearly twenty years ago. What kind of fucked-up vendetta is this?”

“The Sicilian kind. You know, if you’d just said one simple word beginning with S and showed some kind of remorse, some kind of feeling for the woman you hurt, I would have felt so much more compassion for you.”

“Jesus! I’m
sorry,
okay.”

“Too late, Jim. I know what kind of person you are. The kind who thinks he’s the master of the universe, the kind whose ego gets the best of him. Now find those numbers of your friends in your Smartphone and tell me their names and any extra details you have. Here, you can write them on this piece of paper.” I got out a scrap of paper and handed the man a pen from my coat pocket.

Jim was shaking uncontrollably but managed to scrawl down some names.

“If none of this makes sense, if these names are false, or you happen to be playing any kind of game with me, remember, I know where you and your family live. I also have your New York address. I know where you work. I know everything about you, Jim. Give me your cell phone.”

“Why?”

“I said we’d leave all weapons behind. I leave my gun, you leave your phone. Get out of the car . . . slowly.”

Jim opened the car door and exited carefully. A gust of icy wind blew into the vehicle. It was crisp outside, and pitch-black. I quickly got out, too; I noticed the man’s large shoulders were shaking. “Hand me your phone,” I said quietly. My breath was making steam in the frosty air.

Jim handed over his cell. My black gloved hands took it and I proceeded to frisk him all over; just in case the guy had two phones, or even a gun or knife on him. But he was clean.

I said, “Now hand me over your car keys.”

Jim obliged. I took the Smartphone, then threw it, with the gun, into the trunk, took off my long coat, which I chucked over the back seat, closed the car doors, zapped them locked, and pocketed the car keys. “We’re both weapon-free now.” I smiled.

“You still have my car keys, man!” Jim replied with a sneer.

“Come and get them. Come on, you’re a big man, throw me one of your best punches and you can have it all. Me, the car keys, your car, your phone—even the gun.”

Jim eyed me suspiciously and rocked from one heavy foot to the other as if weighing up his options.

“Come on, you pussy,” I taunted. “If you’re the big, bad money-maker, Wall St. master of the universe footballer, come on! Show me what you’re made of! Come and get me.”

Jim launched himself at me, flailing his fist as it caught the air, because I ducked and side-stepped so fast. Jim swung again, and I dodged to the left. A third swing had Jim’s punch meet the edge of his SUV and he shouted out curses, then shoved his bashed hand in his mouth to ease the pain of his bleeding wound. He then pushed his feet on the side of the car to give himself momentum and threw himself at me, smashing hard into my torso, but I didn’t fall. I simultaneously elbowed my adversary in the face and drew up my knee sharply into Jim’s crotch. He stepped backwards, buckling up in pain as he cupped his testicles protectively.

“You need to lose weight, you rapist scum,” I shouted.

Then it happened so quickly. I moved my body with fierce momentum as my leg swung in a semi-circle, landing like a bolt of lightning on Jim’s head. Jim toppled over instantly, groaning in agony. Blood was pouring from his ear.

I bent over to check the damage. “You’ll live. That was for Jane Doe. Remember, the money. No fucking about. You might want to warn your rapist buddies to have their money ready, too. Two months’ wages, each one. They’d be advised to give a little extra as a bonus just so I know they’re showing good will. Call it a heartfelt apology. In fact, I’ll leave it to you, Jim, to collect the money. Within a few hours, I’ll know who they all are, what they all do for a living, how much they earn, so no bullshit.” I gave the man one last kick in the kidneys. “Have a nice walk home, scumbag.”

Jim was moaning in pain, hunched into a fetal position, the icy ground blotched red with his blood. He moaned, “You can’t leave me to walk back, it’s freezing!”

“Leaving people to lie like garbage in a heap when you’re done with them? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Jim?”

I zapped his SUV unlocked, got in and drove off. In my rear-view mirror I saw Jim get up and collapse on the ground again, still cradling his groin. I sped off, back to my own rental car. I’d rented it in a false name, just in case. Jim couldn’t prove a thing and he’d be an idiot if he tried.

I parked his SUV, took the gun out of the trunk, leaving his cell phone inside, and the keys on the windshield wipers, changed vehicles and screeched off back in the direction of New York. I smirked to myself about the gun. The “gun.” It was one of those cigarette lighters—pretty convincing—but if you pulled the trigger all that happened was that an orange flame ignited. I laughed out loud, then turned on the radio. It was that song again. The one Elodie kept listening to:
Little Things
by that boy band,
One
Direction
. It was uncanny, as if the song had been written especially for Pearl,
the dimples on her back, the crinkles by her eyes
—the lyrics spoke of a woman’s insecurities, but how the guy loved her despite her faults, even
for
her faults. A beautiful song . . .

Pearl . . . fuck I missed hanging out with her; it was driving me crazy. I could feel my cock expand just thinking about her face, her peachy ass. I had in my mind’s eye her soaking wet pussy and I could almost taste her, just thinking about it. So sweet. Always tight and hot, and always, always ready to be fucked by me. Nothing in the world gave me more pleasure than making Pearl come . . . nothing. No woman had ever desired me as much, and that was the biggest aphrodisiac of all.

Jesus! My cock was rock hard now and it ached. I thought of that last time when I’d had her moaning as if she had a fever, squirming on the bed beneath me. I loved the way she was always so vulnerable; tried to act like a tough cookie, but always eventually gave in.

Except for now. Lately, she’d been really stubborn. I wanted to fuck that stubbornness out of her, make her scream my name. I’d have to get her alone, without Daisy there. Damn Daisy, always hovering about, and Amy, too—even worse. I could hardly just barge into the apartment with a five year-old there, even though I still had keys. My mind ticked over, thinking of ways I could get Pearl alone, whisper into her ear, push her up against a wall and kiss her so she couldn’t . . . wouldn’t want to get away. My heart was beating like a drum out of rhythm, imagining how I’d fuck her again, how I’d tease that little pearlette, prize open that glistening oyster with my big hard cock. I needed to control the beast in me, though. Needed to sweeten her up a bit more before I pounced. I
had
to have her, had to fuck her . . . Jesus, this was torture.

My dick was flexing and throbbing. I stopped the car and pulled over. I unbuttoned my jeans. Freed my cock from its prison as it sprang through my boxer briefs, rock hard and wet with pre-cum. It was huge, even I realized that. I knew the size of men’s dicks in general—seen them in the gym—I knew I was big (the only decent thing I’d inherited from my father). Girls had told me so, too, all my life. More than once, I’d been too much for them to handle, I’d even scared some women away on occasions.

I let the car seat go all the way back and relaxed into it. I thought of Pearl kissing Alessandra Demarr, and I gripped my hand around my pulsating phallus and squeezed hard. Ah, that was better. I moved my hand up and down my smooth length, with images of Pearl’s wet pussy and her mouth sucking my cock, flitting like photos through my brain. I imagined the two women kissing, and wished for a second I’d been there, too, not enjoying a threesome but just to be a fly on the wall—because a threesome would have hurt Pearl. Not in the moment, no, she would have been turned on, but afterwards—she was too sweet, too easily wounded. Other men had screwed her over enough for several lifetimes’ worth. I wouldn’t go there. She was too vulnerable to experiment with. Besides, I’d been there, done that, had my fun with threesomes in my late teens; they weren’t all they were cracked up to be: two’s company, three’s a crowd. I didn’t like it when women felt hurt or jealous from feeling left out, which is invariably what happened, at some point, when there were three.