BAKER Read online

“Ten minutes,” Tito said.

  “Not fifteen, or twelve?”

  He shook his head. “It’ll take one minute to get in. Four to penetrate the vault. Two to load everything. Three to get it humped up the ladder. Ten.”

  I raked my fingers through my hair. “Eight?”

  “Ten,” he said flatly. “Maybe nine. Depends on contents and weight. Not eight. Definitely not eleven.”

  I gave a slow nod. “The jewelry shop is on Main Street, but it’s not in the path for access or egress to or from the highway. I’ll have Reno blow up something on the other end of town as soon as we cut power. Any cops coming or going to the site of the explosion won’t drive past us. A nine-minute response time will get us out of there just in time.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Tito said.

  Cash clapped his hands together. “I can’t wait to see what this fucker has in his vault.”

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to feel my cock sliding in and out of Andy’s tight little pussy one more time. I tilted my head from side-to-side and popped my neck. “Alright. I’ve got some shit to do. We’ll discuss this further on Wednesday.”

  For once, I was more concerned with getting fucked than I was with planning a job. Normally, I would find the change in my demeanor alarming.

  Considering how Andy’s pussy felt when it was clenching my stiff dick, I viewed it differently.

  It was migraine therapy, and nothing more.

  EIGHT - Andy

  My cousin, Holly, stood in the center of the kitchen with her eyes bulging. Her reaction to Baker and I having sex wasn’t at all what I expected.

  I counted my steps as I cut through the silence.

  One. Two. Three.

  “No. You. Didn’t!” She spat each word out as if it tasted awful.

  I paused, met her wide-eyed gaze, and smiled. “I did.”

  “You just did it?”

  “Just. Did. It.” I rinsed my coffee cup and then turned to face her. “Then, I did it again. Maybe a third time, I can’t remember. I was brain dead after the second time. Everything got really confusing. There was a lot of intermingling sweat, and his tattooed hands seemed to be everywhere. And, there was that manly scent thing, and my shaking legs. There was a lot going on.”

  She squinted. “Brain dead?”

  “He screwed me until I couldn’t think. I was a wreck. Wobbly legs, everything.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t think you were, you know, like that.”

  I gave her a look. “Those two kids that got on the bus earlier. Were they yours?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

  “Nicky and Dickie or whatever their names are. The two hellions. They’re your kids, right?”

  She pressed the web of her hand against her hip and looked me over. “Henry and Helen, Andy. You know their names. I can’t believe you called them hellions, they’re just kids. And, you know they’re mine, why?”

  I did know their names, but she was wrong about them being hellions. The twins were possessed by the devil, as well as a few other evil spirits. It wasn’t Holly’s fault though; all children were malevolent.

  “Did you get pregnant with a syringe?” I asked.

  She glared.

  “Turkey baster? Immaculate conception?” I widened my eyes comically. “Was it an accident, like on Jane the Virgin? Did your gynecologist accidentally squirt sperm in your twat?”

  She continued to glare for some time, and then raised one eyebrow slightly. “What are you getting at? You know Hank’s their dad.”

  “You had sex?” I shrieked. “With Hank?”

  “Stop it, Andy.”

  “Did it feel good?”

  She gave me the stink eye.

  “Did he make you come?”

  The stink eye continued.

  “Did you close your eyes and bark out a breath each time he shoved himself in you, or did you fight him, screaming for him to stop because you hated it?”

  “Stop it, Andy,” she hissed.

  “Seriously,” I said. “Before he left you for the girl with the big fake boobs at the chicken wing place, did you like fucking him?”

  “Stop it.”

  I knew the comment about the chicken wing waitress would piss her off, but I wanted to piss her off. She deserved it after making the I didn’t think you were like that remark.

  I lowered my tone to a plead. “C’mon, Holly. Seriously. Did you like fucking Hank? Back when you used to fuck him? You know, when your relationship was good?”

  She let out a breath. “I loved it, why?”

  “You said you didn’t think I was like that. It sounded like you were against having sex. Kind of funny, considering you and Hank were bumping uglies since you were in high school.”

  “I didn’t screw him the day I met him.”

  “Having sex isn’t like buying a gun,” I said, scowling as I made claim. “There’s not a waiting period required.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Screwing a guy on the day you meet him is gross.”

  “No, it’s not. There’s the entire element of not really knowing who he is that makes everything that much more exciting. Being boned by a stranger is awesome. Once you get to know a guy, things change. They get comfortable. Sex gets boring. Then, they lie.”

  She sighed. “Tell me he wore protection.”

  “He left his socks on. They had guitars on them. Does that count?”

  “Eww. That’s gross.”

  “His cock was like velvet. A lot of things came to mind while he was fucking me with it. Gross wasn’t one of them.”

  “Are you going to do it again?”

  “I hope so. Maybe until I get to know him.” I chuckled. “Then, I’ll have to find another stranger to screw me.”

  “Don’t bring him here,” she warned.

  “Never crossed my mind.”

  She huffed out a phony sigh. “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where’d you guys do it?”

  “In the pink,” I said with a smile of reassurance. “I won’t let a guy run it in my butt unless we’ve been doing it for a while.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Her mouth fell open. “That wasn’t what I…never mind.”

  “It’s true. If you let a guy poke it in your butt on the first date, you’re a skank. I’m not a skank. Not even close.”

  “You weren’t on a date,” she howled. “He just strolled into your office.”

  I shrugged. “If he strolled into your office, you’d be the one walking funny, not me.”

  “I doubt that.” She said snidely. “I wouldn’t let him--”

  I cut her short with an exaggerated scoff. “You wouldn’t be able to tell him no.”

  “Oh really?” She gave me a look of disbelief. “I think I could.”

  I shook my head. “One word describes him. Only one.”

  “What’s that?”

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “Irresistible.”

  I chained my bike to the lamppost and took a quick glance at Baker’s window. As with each of the days that had passed since we met, he wasn’t there. I wondered if I was alone in my belief that the sex was awesome, or if he was simply busy doing something entrepreneurial.

  Becoming attached to men wasn’t something that I let happen. My relationship with Baker, if anything, would remain sexual, and that would be the extent of it. I didn’t expect him to provide me much more than a little conversation and a lot of dick. If my expectations were met, my life would remain uncomplicated, and I wouldn’t be let down when he eventually lied to me, cheated on me, or left me.

  I dismissed his repeated absence and rushed up the stairs. After unlocking the door and kicking it open, I relaxed into my magical chair. I found it difficult to believe someone was going to pay me for the time I spent at work, as there was nothing meaningful for me to do.

  I looked around the room. Although my first few paychecks were allotted to reducing old debt, I daydreamed abou
t the day I could decorate my office with pictures, vases, and other items that would personalize it.

  While I was in mid-thought, there was a faint bang against the door. Then, another. And, another.

  The door burst open.

  Wearing skinny jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, a delicate man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. His product-infused bangs were situated high above his pale forehead, and pointing skyward.

  When our eyes met, the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. “Oh. Wow. Are you the new manager?”

  I smiled in return and straightened my posture. “I sure am.”

  Donning a huge grin on his boyish face, he stepped inside and pushed the door ajar. “I’m Stephen Hinkle. I live in 2-A.”

  “I’m Andy.” I looked him over, and wondered how much he weighed. Less than me, I decided. “Andy Winslow. What can I do for you?”

  “There’s been some odd noises coming from upstairs.”

  I felt if he continued to stand, that his bones may break from the stress. I gestured toward the empty chair in front of my desk. “What kind of noises?”

  He looked the chair over, brushed the surface of the seat clean, and then sat down. “Strange ones. Drilling sounds. Pounding.” He crossed his legs. “And an awful scraping sound. You know, like when the construction guys were cutting the concrete sidewalks across the street.”

  I was intrigued. Before I could comment, he continued.

  “You weren’t here when they were doing that, so you probably don’t know what it sounds like. It’s nothing short of hideous.”

  His fingernails were freshly manicured, and looked much better than mine. I hid my hands beneath the edge of my desk. “I can only imagine. Maybe the tenant above you is making something. Have you heard any odd noises before now?”

  “When Preston lived here, there were always noises. Arguing, shouting, people coming and going throughout the night. But nothing like this. Since he left, it’s been quiet. At least until this week. I thought someone had moved in, but Michael and I knocked on the door. No one answered.”

  I realized he lived below Preston-Todd’s former apartment, and found it odd that he heard anything from the unoccupied space – short of Baker’s hips slapping against my ass on Monday afternoon.

  “That’s weird,” I said. “3-A is empty.”

  “Well, something’s going on up there.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t from one of the other spaces?”

  He looked at me as if I were foolish. “Quite. I went to Michael’s – he stays in 3B – and he said he heard it, too. He went with me to see if someone was in there.”

  “But there wasn’t anyone there?”

  “No.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “It started on Tuesday.” He counted on his fingers as he continued. “So, Tuesday, Wednesday, and then again last night.”

  I removed a business card from my desk and wrote my cell phone number on the back. “I’ll go up there and look around.” I handed him the card. “If you hear it again tonight, you can call me on my cell. Don’t worry, I’ll get it resolved.”

  He stood and slipped the card into his pocket.

  “Is there anything else?” I asked

  Before he could answer, the door flew open.

  Dressed in a white tee shirt, jeans, and black leather boots, Baker stood in the opening. He raked his fingers through his hair, looked at Stephen, and then at me. “Bad time?”

  “I was leaving,” Stephen stammered.

  Baker sauntered toward the chair. Upon reaching it, he looked over his shoulder at Stephen. The air in the room thickened with tension. Then, without saying another word, Stephen left.

  That was weird.

  “Do you know him?”

  He gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve seen him around, why?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed kind of…” I glanced at the door and then at him. “Nervous.”

  “Look at me.” He let out a light laugh as he sat down. “I’m sure he felt intimidated.”

  It was a valid point. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He looked me over as if he’d never met me before, making no attempt to hide his thoughts as he did so. Eventually, his eyes became fixed on my cleavage. As he peered into my blouse, his mouth curled into a grin.

  I crossed my arms and peered down my nose at him. “Did you make a decision about that apartment?”

  “I haven’t.” He rested his tattooed forearms against the edge of my desk. “Maybe we should look at it again.”

  I’d never played hard to get in my life, but for some reason, felt doing so was a good idea. I relaxed against the back of my chair. “Maybe I’ve got a few other people scheduled to go look at it.”

  He lowered his chin. “Like who?”

  “Like whoever I want,” I said in a snide tone. “Just some guys that came in over the last few days. I hadn’t heard from you, so I scheduled them to look at it. In fact, I’ve got back-to-back appointments up there all day with six different interested parties.”

  I was failing miserably. Instead of coming off as hard to get, I looked like an overeager hooker who was going to be shuffling my clients in and out of my upstairs brothel. While I struggled to devise my plan of redemption, he stood.

  “Stand up,” he said in a commanding tone.

  I gave him the deer in the headlights look. “Excuse me?”

  “Stand.” He cleared his throat. “Up.”

  I did as he asked.

  He sauntered in my direction, and then wedged himself between me and the edge of my desk. Standing so close I could taste the sweetness of his breath, he locked eyes with me. I wanted to look away. Despite my desire, I couldn’t break his gaze.

  As I peered into his eyes, the familiar smell of his cologne caused my mind to chase thoughts of him fucking me senseless in the upstairs loft.

  The memory of his face being buried between my legs while I was sprawled out on the kitchen island overwhelmed me. I stared back at him nervously as a tingling sensation engulfed me.

  In what seemed to be a slow-motion gesture, he extended his middle finger, lifted it to his face, and then laid it against his flattened tongue.

  My mind went aflutter. I wanted to say something, but I managed to say nothing. He reached for the waist of my pants with his free hand. While I stood on shaking legs and waited for the inevitable, he pulled his finger from his mouth and lowered his hand between us.

  As much as I wanted to look down, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I cinched up my big girl pants, stood firmly in place, and held his gaze.

  With his eyes locked on mine, he unzipped my pants. As much as I expected my mouth to blurt out some form of sarcastic opposition, it never came. He slid his hand beneath my panties. I could hear my heartbeat, and wondered if he could, too. If he could sense how anxious I’d become. If he had any idea of how aroused…

  He pushed his finger deep inside me. I sucked in a choppy breath. Although I didn’t want to be, I was weak in his presence. I chewed against my bottom lip and embraced the fact that I was being finger fucked in my office by a man I barely knew.

  He lowered his forehead until it met mine. “Show the motherfucker to whoever you want, little girl.”

  A stuttering breath escaped me. “O…Okay.”

  “But. If anyone touches this pussy? You’ll need to add a wheelchair ramp to that loft.” He curled the tip of his finger against my g-spot and raised his eyebrows. “Because I’ll break both his legs.”

  He pulled his hand out of my pants and took a step back. After looking me over, he sucked my juices from his finger, and then turned away.

  He opened the door and glanced over his shoulder.

  I gazed back at him with the waist of my pants around my thighs, my panties pulled low enough to reveal my soaking wet pussy, and my mouth wide open. I made no effort to collect myself. I simply stared at him as if waiting for his instruction.

  Then, it came to me. It w
as his eyes.

  His mysterious eyes. I was being held hostage by them.

  He scanned me from head to toe, and then grinned. “Pull your pants up, Andy. You never know when someone might barge in here.”

  I zipped up my pants. I wasn’t weak in his presence.

  I’d become powerless.

  NINE - Baker

  I stood at the window and gazed blankly at Andy’s bike. I needed to get rid of her, and I knew it. If any of the men found out I’d fucked the girl from the bank, they’d question my loyalty, and my ability to act as President of the club.

  My life’s biggest fear had become Cash seeing and recognizing her. If he did, he’d put a bullet between her eyes. Afterward, he’d cut my throat. The answer was to stop fucking her. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary. The thought of never fucking her perfect little pussy again troubled me much more than I wanted it to, and had been haunting me since I woke up.

  I shook my head, scanned the street, and then turned around.

  Our clubhouse looked more like a frat house than it did a motorcycle club’s meeting room. Three 1970’s pinball machines were equally spaced on the left wall. Beside them, a black refrigerator decorated with hand-painted hotrod pinstripes was filled with bottled beer. On the opposite wall sat a pool table that doubled as a ping-pong table. Centered over the pool table, a vintage Lone Star Beer light hung. It was one of the few items Reno brought with him from Texas.

  On the farthest wall was a commercial grade kitchen suitable to cook for the entire Naval fleet stationed at Point Loma. Goose demanded that the equipment he used on be of high quality. Considering depth of his menu, I gave no argument. The man could cook like no other, and volunteered to do so for each of our club’s feasts.

  In the center of the room, a comfortably worn u-shaped leather sectional capable of seating twelve was where our meetings were held.

  Contrary to the beliefs of outsiders, there were no stripper poles, no tables with the club logo carved into the wood, nor were there by-laws or regulations posted on the walls.

  The club’s rules were easy to follow and even easier to remember. Getting in the club required that you didn’t lie, cheat or steal. A one-way ticket out was promised if a member killed the elderly, a woman, or a child – unless the act was in self-defense or deemed permissible by a club vote.