Little Bird (Caged #1) (3 page)

At the door, the peephole only gives me the view of the back of a dark head of hair and I sigh. Doing a few quick muscle-stretching exercises of my face I then plaster on a smile while pulling open the door.

I quickly look from head to toe at the back of this man before forcing a bubbly, "Hi," from my mouth.

When he turns around, I'm not expecting a younger man. All my tenants are fifty-five and older. This man is at least twenty-five years younger than that. He's smiling but it's morose and I'm waiting for him to say he hit one of my decrepit tenants or something fucked up. It wouldn't be the first time.

  "Hi." His voice seems strained and I can't tell if he's forcing it to sound that way. He looks like he'd have a much more masculine voice. "I'm Luke." Stretching out his hand, he holds it there waiting for me to return the gesture. 

My brows furrow but I catch myself before my face falls to complete aggravation.

  "Luke?" I gently place my hand in his.

  "Sorry." When he chuckles it exposes more baritone to his voice and leaves me wondering why he's talking so nasally sounding. Maybe he's sick. "Luke Milkey. My aunt and uncle, Ron and Liza..." He trails off and looks towards their house down the block. "I'm their only living family. I'll be here for the next few days cleaning out their place. They have a lot of things to go through."

Milkey. Before I ask this asshole what the fuck he wants, it hits me that that was the couple that died a few days ago in a car crash. 

  "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss." I place my hand on his firm bicep that's hidden under a blue polo and catch myself looking toward the muscle. Bringing my attention back to his face I tell him, "They were such nice people. Don't tell my other tenants, but The Milkeys were my favorite." Pushing my bottom lip out, I pretend I care about his family that I couldn't tell you what they looked like or when they moved in. I think they were some of my first tenants.

  "Thank you. It was a shock, to say the least. It'd been awhile since I last came to see them. I'm not sure we've ever met, but my aunt and uncle always had nice things to say about their landlord every time we talked. I just wanted to introduce myself. I'll be in and out and I didn't want you to think some young kid was in here looting." He smiles and shakes his head. "Hopefully it doesn't take too long." 

  "Young kid." I smile softly. "You look like a sophisticated gentleman to me, Mr. Milkey. There will be no problems. And if you need anything, just let me know. If you need help clearing out their things, I know a great moving service." I start to close my door as indication to get the fuck off my porch. The man's nice to look at but I've looked long enough and this smile hurts.

  "Hey," he blurts, his arm leans on the door frame, showing no intention of leaving me alone any time soon. "I never got your name." 

  "Ms. Porter." I'm not sure how much longer until this smile cracks and my face shatters into bitch mode.

  "Well, Ms. No-first-name Porter. It was nice meeting you. I guess I'll get out of your hair and start cleaning house." He extends his hand again and waits, yet again, for my hand. 

  "Take your time. I won't put their place up for sale for about two weeks." I keep a smile so my eviction demand stays hidden under a layer of nice and let my fingertips shake this time because it's too much contact with a stranger and I can only play nice for so long. 

  "You won't even know I'm here." He smiles at me again and nods gently before making his way down the front steps of my porch. 

I shove the door but catch it last minute before it slams, remembering the role I'm playing.

***

"If you don't show up, Regina, you become an issue. It's once a month. You shouldn't have a problem finding a babysitter once a month."

Regina is my best employee as far as sales go, but she's unreliable when it comes to the smooth system I've created for my operation.

Once a month I hold a dinner for the tenants in the community and on that day I expect my twenty-five dealers to show up clean, well dressed, putting forward a façade so they can collect the month's profits. It's easier and safer for me this way. Especially because it helps my newest venture that brings my willing employees more of a profit. Sometimes my tenants want a spice of life and it's easier to obtain a prostitute from me than it is for them to drive around the streets looking for sex on their own. These are rich tenants that have images to uphold; if they were caught buying a street hooker, their CEO statuses would probably leave them faster than their families. So any of my employees looking for more profit will also flaunt their availability and I generally have a new inquiry from one of my tenants a day later. 

  "Birdie, I'm trying here. Believe me."

Taking on a darker tone, I move my mouth closer to the receiver. "Do you know what happens if I don't believe you?"

   "Y-yes."

God I love it. The stutter of fear.

   "You're expected to come pick up your monthly sales. I don't make house calls and I'm not meeting you out on the streets. Do you know why my operation brings in the most revenue and least police activity out of every organization Jasper runs?"

  "No," her pathetic voice comes over the phone.

   "Because I'm not a fucking crack whore running a circus. I'm a business woman and I demand the respect of my overly paid employees. Regina, I know you know what happens when you lose your job."

   "I lose my life."

   "That's right. Lose your job, lose your life. Don't I take care of you? You're paid well enough to have a sitter six days a week, eight hours a day, unless you're using. Tell me you're not using, Regina."

I know she is. 

She's the only one of my employees that can't keep their hand out of the honey pot but I don't hold it against her. She was using when I employed her and she made several honest attempts at getting clean, but then she got knocked up and now she has a four year old that she can't leave for a month long stint in rehab. 

  "I'm trying here, Birdie. It's hard. You don't know how hard it is with a kid."

   "Because I'd never put myself in that situation. I don't want excuses, I want you at the dinner. You are the most sought out for my side project. My customers want to fuck you, you want extra money. Be at the dinner." I hang up because there is no room for compromise. 

Inhaling a breath through my nose, I exhale out of my mouth and when my phone chimes with a text, I growl.

REGINA: Can I bring Bronson?

Bronson is the child, and as much as I hate kids, old people love them in small bouts.

BIRDIE: This ONE and ONLY time

I won't admit this to anyone, but I don't exactly have a choice in the matter. I need her there selling her body, because she alone brings in triple what the other two girls and one male I sell do.

Grabbing my purse, I enter the garage slipping into my newest present from Jasper. The yet to be released F-Type Jaguar. Whoever brings Jasper the highest profit from all regions combined at the fiscal year gets a gift. It's not usually as extravagant as a hundred and fifty thousand dollar car, but I've been fucking him for the past seven years. He usually gets me something a little more special. Not to mention I've brought in the most profit the past two years in a row. Last year he bought me a Hyacinth Macaw. A fucking bird. A fourteen thousand dollar bird. But regardless. He bought me a responsibility I didn't want. And then I fell in love with the bitch. She calls me Little Bird and I call her Pretty Bird. She tells me "I love Little Bird" and my heart melts for the fucking thing every time. This year I had a little more say about my incentive. 

The garage door opens and with an easy flex of my ankle, I have her at the end of the drive in a second, almost hitting someone.

  "Shit!" I blurt slamming the brakes.

The jogger pats my trunk before he keeps going and I wrench my neck to see him because that view isn't generally one I get around here. It's that Luke. I completely forgot he was cleaning out his aunt and uncle's house. Looks like he's making himself at home. And I'll admit, I wouldn't be offended by that shirtless view jogging by daily, but I have a rule: No tenants under fifty. And no tenants whose income is less than one hundred and seventy five thousand a year. I don't think he abides by either of those rules.

Twisting in the seat so I can get a look at those muscles tensing with every forceful step, a zap to my clit has me contemplating going back inside and getting out my toy collection. 

Shit.

I blink a few times. I need a better fuck than Jasper. He used to be the best. Even with the pain. He's either losing his touch, or the hatred I have toward him has spread to my pussy. The easiest part of me to please.

This community is small as hell and in the few days I've been here I think I've been introduced to the same fucking person eight different times. I can't deal with something this close knit and small. This place is like the motherfucking Stepford community for old people. It blows my mind that anyone in their right mind would want to live like this... especially someone like Megan. 

That name. So simple, but one look from her tells me she's anything but simple. Sure she thinks I'm here playing the grieving nephew, and I'm sure she's just waiting on me to take whatever money was left aside for me and leave. That's not at all what I'm here for though, sweet Megan. I can play the same shit she is as long as I have to, but I saw right through her façade. She's playing every one of these old folks here, and I'm here to find out just how deep her shit goes. What sort of money is she making off them that she's not reporting, and there's been a talk of filtering drugs through so many people that profit for her would be astronomical. And, well, I've seen her numbers. She's good at what she does, but she's not at astronomical sales figures.

I chuckle to myself and stop at the end of the Milkey driveway as I watch her car leave. I saw her second look after she almost hit me. I saw it, and I can't say I hated it. It's been too long since I've fucked anything worthwhile. Seeing Ms. Stick-up-my-ass Megan Porter, the snot that wouldn't even tell me her first fucking name, show some type of interest in this body gives me hope my dry spell might be ending soon. She might be a bitch, but she's a sexy one. I jog every fucking day, and now that I've got her on my radar, I'm sure I'll be jogging past her place every fucking day. Why not? It's not going to hurt one damn thing to sleep with the enemy.

I've never been on a long-term commitment like this job is requiring. Moving into a new place, living in an old folks' community with the only pussy in sight being the bitch I'm here to end doesn't sound very promising. I could get an answer from her in one minute by simply placing a gun to her forehead. I'm not allowed to do that though. 

This mission needs total secrecy. The ONLY people that know who I am and why I'm here are me and Jasper. I can't just run in and start shooting up the place, especially before I even know the truth. 

Maybe getting close to her in any way I can will help this mission go faster and I can get back to the job I enjoy, not babysitting. 

Looking around at the neighborhood, I cringe at the old man walking down the street. Why is everyone here so goddamned old? 

  "Don't forget your mail," the decrepit piece of death yells over to me. I think his name's Norm, but honestly I don't have time to remember any of these geezers' names. They won't be on this earth much longer and I have no use for them while they are. I'm sure they don't know what Megan's mixed up in or else they wouldn't look so goddamned cheery all the fucking time. 

  "Got it, thanks," I mumble jogging straight to the mailboxes bunched by the street in front of the house I'm in. Gotta keep up the charade of the mourning family member looking after things here and getting shit squared away. 

Tossing the day's old pile of mail on the counter, making a mental note to shred that shit later, I strip off the rest of the sweat soaked clothes I'm wearing and head to the shower, making quick work of getting cleaned before my mind starts to travel to what it would feel like putting that sexy fucking bitch Megan in her place. 

And Jesus Christ do I want to put her in her place. 

On her motherfucking knees in front of me. 

Fuck. I need to fuck someone... and soon. I've always hated getting myself off when there's a slew of women willing to do it for me, but being here for a few days now has put me in a terrible spot to find women to fuck. 

Letting my hand slide down my abs, I brace myself on the shower wall with my other arm and start stroking myself, envisioning her lips wrapped around my dick and her hand pumping me at the same time. I picture her moans as I thrust as hard as I can to the back of her throat. I picture what she would look like underneath me, eyes squeezed shut as I slam into her over and over again. My hand keeps pumping and soon I'm on the edge of release and all it takes is remembering her tits yesterday and how fucking perfect they would look in my palms while I fuck her senseless to bring me over the edge. 

  "Fuck," I hiss leaning my forehead on the shower wall, letting the water hit my back until it turns cold.

I sigh turning off the water, then wrap a towel around myself. I need something else to do other than sit here and wait for her to fuck up. I can't take too many more of those self-induced orgasms or I'm going to go fucking insane. 

I'm in the middle of filling my glass with water from the fridge when I see it; the bright yellow postcard that fell on the floor, probably because that pile of mail is annoyingly large. 

Towering, really. 

I reach over and pick it up, cringing as I read the peppy lettered flier.

Fuck, this girl has too much time on her hands. 

DON'T MISS THE MONTHLY DINNER

WHEN: THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 6 PM

WHERE: COMMUNITY CENTER (HALL LANE)

JOIN US FOR A NIGHT OF GOOD FOOD, GREAT MUSIC, AND CATCHING UP WITH ALL OUR FRIENDS. 

That's tonight...

Her number is listed below and I have to stop myself from calling her. 

What the hell is that about? Why the fuck would I call her? I have no goddamned clue... then again, I would like to see that gentle curve of her neck again in person. I'd like to be able to better imagine just how gorgeous it would look tightened under my grasp while I fuck her senseless.

It's decided. I'm going to this fucking dinner, I'll meet the neighbors, maybe learn a little more about our little Miss Priss, and maybe, just maybe, learn just how soft her skin really is. 

About an hour before showtime my phone rings. Only one person has this number. Jasper.

  "Yes," I clip into the phone just as I finish off shredding the last of the mountain of paperwork left in this house. 

  "Anything yet?" his deep voice comes through the receiver and for the first time ever, I'm glad I'm not with him in person. 

Why the hell is he so antsy about this? She's just a woman and if all systems are go, she'll be six feet under soon.

  "Nothing out of the ordinary, Jasper. It's only been a couple of days though. I'll know more once I get in and start to communicate with her and her friends."

  "She's sneaky, Ace. Don't let your guard down around her."

  "Lucas," I growl. I fucking hate the nickname he has for me. "I told you I'd tell you when she fucks up. If she's stealing money and trying to traffic drugs outside of her jurisdiction, she's bound to fuck up. Just give it time." 

He chuckles then groans. I know he's been fucking her on the side, and I don't blame him. She's hot as hell and I can't wait to get my hands on her. He's not involved with anyone, but I know he likes to brag about his many conquests and she was definitely one at one point in time. He's treating this like it's much more personal though, and I guess in a way it is. She's trying to ruin this entire empire. But she gets under his skin in a way I've never seen before. Normally he'd just take care of this himself. Kill her, she's gone, but something about her makes him want to keep her around. I'm betting it's because she's a great fuck, so I think I'll see for myself. At any rate, the only reason I'm handling this is because, in not so many words, he's said he can't. I don't ask, I just take care of issues.

  "She's tough, Ace. She's not one to back down from anything she believes in, even if she makes you think she is. She's not as weak as she comes off. Don't fucking let your guard down." 

  "Give it time. If Vince had enough balls to come to us about it then there has to be some merit to his words. I'll keep an eye on her and update you when I find something."

  "Just get to the bottom of this." His voice ends with a growl, leaving me with a very silent house that smells like mothballs and twenty minutes before I have to leave.  

By the time I make it to the party there are already a good amount of cars outside. Scanning the lot, just as I was taught to be aware of all of my surroundings at all times, I notice a mixture of wealth here. If your vehicle is anything that shows your income, we have a range of Millionaires to paycheck-to-paycheck attendees tonight. 

The community center is a massive piece of construction, bright white and lit to the rim with decorative lights. I can see some people outside on the patio, loud and obnoxious and probably already drunk from the sounds of it. The music playing as I enter the doors is anything but obnoxious though. Some type of piano classical music fills my ears softly as I scan the room. To my left there's a bar with a few middle-aged people standing next to it. I've noticed only a handful of younger, good-looking tokens here tonight. There's a man that can't be older than twenty-three mingling with the group by the bar. To my right there's a blonde girl that I'd love to see what's hiding under that long dress she has on talking to a man in his mid fifties like they're best friends. It's a random mix of people, I'd say, but they all seem to be having fun. 

I'm not here for fun though. 

  "Luke, is it?" I hear a voice behind me and paste on my pleasant smile before turning around to see the man that just spoke to me. Fuck... Alfred? Adam? I smile and reach out my hand to him, tired of this game already. 

  "Yes, how are you Alfred?"

He smiles and looks relieved when I said his name out loud. Bingo. It's like if the young kid remembered his name, he's set for the rest of the night. What a sad, pointless life.

  "Oh, you know, the hip has been acting up lately but nothing I can't handle. What's a young man like you doing here tonight? I didn't see you as the type of person to be mixed up with something like this?" 

  "Something like this? Like... a social gathering?" I smile at him as I watch the people in my peripheral vision.

Holy fuck, who the hell is that? A woman, dark hair pulled back to a low ponytail, the dress on that body is skin fucking tight and begging to be ripped off. Her back is to me and I know Alfred is talking to me but my brain has switched modes to trying to get its dick wet and I have one mission now. 

  "I'm sorry, Alfred, I have to go. I just saw someone I know." I pat his shoulder and smile gently, forcing myself to move closer to the sexy piece of ass across the room. 

Just as I'm approaching her, I hear her laugh and know that I have to abort this mission. 

Fucking Porter. 

She's talking to a group of people and from the sounds of it, her conversation is dull and void of anything worthwhile. Something about a flower garden the Olds want to start. I watch and listen, and in doing so I notice she has some of the same traits as myself in a crowded room. Her eyes have been scanning the area in front of her the entire time. She's got a plain view of the door from here so she can see who's coming and going. Her stance isn't a weak stance, rather one that would keep her grounded if someone were to come for her. 

Who the hell is this girl and where the fuck did Jasper find her to run this section of business?

  "Ms. Porter?" I move closer as I say her name, getting her attention from the group of people.

Her ass in that dress is begging for my palm. Just being this close to her has my dick thinking it's time to go, but I don't even know this chick. Not like that's ever been a problem previously, but I've never fucked a job before. There's something sexy as hell thinking about screwing a bitch that deserves to die.  

  "Luke?" Her furled brows indicated more anger than surprise by my presence. "What're you doing here? Everything okay with the clean out?"

  "It's going slow. They kept way more paperwork than they should have. And I never knew someone could fit that much junk in their closets." I laugh, trying to pull off a nervous vibe and maintain this stupid pitchy tone I initially thought would be good for my faked persona. "Looks like quite the party."

Someone walks behind me, slightly bumping me so I move a little closer to her. 

Closer to the source. 

  "It's my monthly get together for my tenants and some of their family," she lies and gestures to a younger woman mingling with an old couple. "But... what're you doing here? Did you need something from me?"