The Hunted (Sleeping With Monsters Book 2) Page 2

  Either the condom had lube, or the tone of his voice – like he was used to giving orders and being listened to – had made me a little wet. I settled myself down and the sound I made as he fit inside me wasn’t fake.

  I looked to him for what he wanted to happen next.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” he said.

  I shook my head.

  A wicked smile crossed his beautiful face. “Use me like a fuck toy,” he repeated. “I’m paying you to be happy. Nothing fake. And don’t think you can pretend. I can see you – and I can feel you.”

  I stared down at him, with his cock hard inside. I’d never had a john like this before – and I had to admit the him-being-crazy thing made him hotter. I rose up, experimentally, made him move inside me, and saw his eyes close in brief contentment, like a cat.

  I’d just fuck him until he came and all of this would be through.

  I leaned forward, putting my hands by his shoulders, so I could ride my hips up and down. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked him, taking him inside me again.

  “You already know what I want,” he answered me, and closed his eyes.

  What a strange kink this was, finding poor hookers to pay to fuck you until they came, thinking you were like some perverted Santa Claus. But whatever it took for him to get off. And as for me getting off -- his cock would do just fine.

  I rocked back on him and groaned, sitting up almost straight, feeling him fill me, grinding my clit against his stomach’s flatness. He moaned – and I could see the outline of his triceps bulging against his dress shirt – maybe his arms wanted to grab hold of me and take control, to make me fuck his dick how he wanted to be fucked.

  But too bad. This was my ride now. I licked my fingers and sent them down to rub myself, pulsing my ass against his thighs to make his cock rub me the same.

  His eyes opened and looked up.

  “Is this what you want to see?” I opened my mouth and pulled my skirt higher so he knew where my hand was.

  “If looking helps you out,” he said, one eyebrow quirked.

  I snorted and closed my own eyes, riding him in long smooth strokes, feeling all of him, and deep inside my pussy began to clench. I brought my free hand up across my chest to hold my right breast and pinch it’s nipple through my tank top. I moaned and beneath me he moaned, feeling things tighten and change, leaning over so that his cock rubbed me just right, my fingers slippery on my clit –

  I gasped out, once, twice, and came like I always did.

  The ‘orgasms’ I had for johns were shouting, thrashing shows, but when I really came I did it for myself, hissing and panting, like I’d touched something that burned that I couldn’t let go of. I writhed and rocked and whimpered and hissed and felt him groan below me at seeing me come, and feeling me massage him. I moved my hands out to hold myself and stayed squatting above.

  “There. Happy now?”

  “Very,” he said, staring up.

  “What…about you?” I asked him. He hadn’t come.

  “You can use those keys to unlock me now.” He looked over at them on the bed.

  “But –“

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he quietly warned. That voice – it was all southside, what I was used to. I got off of him and reached for the keys, unlocking him quickly.

  He took the condom off with one hand and stood, tucking himself back inside his pants.

  “You’ll come in time to learn you can always trust what I say,” he said as he refastened his belt. I nodded, because I didn’t know what else to do.

  “This is your thing? Confusing prostitutes?”

  “No.” He threw the condom away, and put the cuffs in his back pocket. “My thing is finding interesting people and fucking them.”

  “Am I interesting?” I hated myself for asking it half-a-second too late.

  “Oh yes.” He put his hand out – and I handed his wallet over to him. He opened it and took the rest of the cash out and gave it to me.

  “I work for the family,” he said, by way of explanation. “Same time, next week?”

  I nodded again.

  He waited for a moment, looking down at me appraisingly. “Good. But next time you’re going to let me use the cuffs on you.”

  #

  A car slowed, and I looked up. The man on the other end of the line hadn’t told me what he’d be driving. The window rolled down and I started up from the building’s side to walk over.

  “Hey,” the driver shouted. He was shadowed by his own car and I couldn’t see him.

  “Hey,” I said back.

  “I ain’t seen you down here before, baby –“ he said, clucking his tongue at me.

  Some john, or a pimp, Christ – “Fuck you,” I flipping him off.

  “Come on baby, I got cash –“

  I turned away.

  “Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on come on come on –“

  I whirled and ran at his car, momentarily insane. “Didn’t you hear me? Go fuck yourself!”

  I kicked out at his door. The anger I hadn’t gotten to take out on the Carminos I released now, swinging my backpack off my shoulder and out at him, missing as he drove away. I spun off balance in the middle of the street as he shouted, “Crazy bitch!” and peeled off.

  Vincent had promised me that life was behind me – and I’d believed him. And now here I was, just hours after --

  “Hey. You.” There was a truck parked across the street. I could only see a sliver of a man inside, glowering at me from inside the cab. Without thinking, I flipped him off.

  “Hey, you,” he said, slightly louder.

  I stood up straight. “What?”

  “Get in the truck.” He leaned over and opened up the passenger door.

  I hesitated. I hadn’t introduced myself on the phone. It could be him. Or it could be another hopeful john. Or a hopeful serial killer.

  I would have followed Vincent into hell – but who the hell was this? I wish I’d asked for a code word.

  “Get in,” he commanded. I hitched my backpack higher. I had to get myself together. I had ID, money – I knew how to get more money if I had to –

  The light changed and the car behind the truck honked its horn. The truck drove off, too fast, angry, I heard tires squealing. I sagged against the building.

  Had it been him? Had I missed my chance?

  Chance at what? What was there left for me now that Vincent was gone?

  I stood there, breathing raw, the whole world pressing in. I had to get out of here, out of town, away – I’d buy a flight to Mexico and start over again, somehow.

  The sound of an engine roared up behind me. I turned just in time to see the truck pass me and hop the curb.

  It was the Carminos – my God – I tried to run but before I could the driver was out on the sidewalk with me, grabbing me. I screamed as he threw me bodily into his truck, knowing that screams down on the southside were ignored, and he slammed the door shut.

  I curled up into a protective ball on the passenger seat, still wearing my backpack, no seatbelt on.

  “You called me, remember?” the man behind the wheel complained.

  The truck was old and it smelled like dog. He had dusty blonde hair, short-ish but shaggy, and a five-o-clock shadow from at least two days ago. He took the next three turns angrily, looking into his rear-view mirror after each one, before he calmed down.

  “Were you followed?”

  I shook my head. If I’d been followed, I’d be dead by now. The Carminos weren’t fond of witnesses.

  He grunted at that. I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was the kind of guy who gave you reasons to tip your bouncers when you danced. I didn’t feel any safer inside the truck with him than I had out on the street.

  “Who are you?”

  He didn’t answer me, he just kept driving.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, still trying – and failing – to sound tough.

  “Max.”

&n
bsp; I noticed he didn’t ask for mine.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  I hoped safe wasn’t a matter of opinion, as he took the next turn.

  I lost track of where we were when we left town and major highways. The fact that it was dark didn’t help – and that this man drove down logging trails like they were actual roads. When he parked and turned the lights off, I knew we were surrounded by forest for miles around.

  “It’s up there. Can you make it?” he pointed up a hill.

  “Sure,” I said, not really. What choice did I have? I got out and he reached for my bag. I didn’t want to give it to him – my clothes, my cash, my ID were all I had – but I’d be hard pressed to walk up the hill in daylight, muchless in the dark. The waxing moon illuminated a goat trail up. He started for it with my bag, and I followed close behind.

  I made it to the top of the hill through some sort of miracle, and found a small cabin with a wide porch. Max unlocked the door and moved around inside lighting small oil lamps, and then opened up the front door wider. “Come in.”

  For a safehouse, it was oddly well lived in, with a bed and a couch, table and chairs, all one room, with a wood stove against one wall. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t a safehouse, but his actual home, way the hell wherever we were at right now in the woods.

  Oh Vincent, baby, were you so sure this was a good idea? How could you trust a man so much that I never met?

  “How long does he want you safe, for?” Max asked, his back to me as he stoked the stove’s fire.

  I licked my lips. Word wasn’t out yet. Should I tell him? Was it safe? “I’m not sure,” I said, which was true at least. He frowned.

  “The water will be hot soon -- it’s safe to drink and wash with.” He pointed to a heating kettle. “I’m not set up well for company. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll give you a bit – I need to check on some things outside –“ he said, and left. I noticed he didn’t take a flashlight.

  I sat down on the edge of his bed. Great, Sam, now it’s just like you’re at safehouse summer camp.

  I did have some decisions to make. Sleep in the only outfit I had? Or change into the robe?

  I pulled off my clothes and tucked them back into my bag. I didn’t have any personal hygiene products with me, but I splashed some water on a corner of the robe and used that to wipe my face. I found a glass of his that didn’t look dirty and filled it with warm water, sipping it like weak tea. Anything I could do to be doing something, not to pause or think about where I was now, or what had happened earlier this night. I paced, and found the room smaller with each turn. An hour later I was sitting on the edge of the bed again, lost in my own thoughts, when I heard footsteps outside the door.

  I didn’t want him to talk to me. I threw myself into bed and pretended to be asleep.

  I heard him walk around the cabin, blowing out the lights. And then, through half-closed eyes and the one remaining light, I saw him lay down on the couch, fully clothed, watching both me and the door.

  Time passed slowly as crickets sang outside. He wasn’t sleeping. And I was never going to sleep again if I could help it. Without Vincent, what was the point? Scrabbling for a month here until things blew over, and then what, become Sarah somehow? And do what with my life – go become an elementary school teacher? I stirred restlessly in bed. Any chance I’d had at a normal life had passed a long time ago – before Vincent, before dancing, before foster care – when my parents had died and as good as left me to the street. I wouldn’t know how to be normal if I’d tried. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be.

  I waited another five minutes, another thirty, and then I got out of bed and crossed the room to the couch.

  “Hey,” I said, standing in front of him in just my robe.

  “Hey,” he said, not even pretending I’d woken him up.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” I told him, looking down, one hand on the robe’s sash.

  “Okay,” he agreed, his voice low, and he watched the robe fall open.

  I didn’t want to see his face, because then it’d be too hard to not remember what’d happened – I knelt down as he stood, not to take his cock into my mouth, but to face the old worn sofa, spreading my legs, putting my face and chest into the cushions, giving the rest of myself to him.

  I was wet because it was dangerous and a bad idea – the perfect ending to an unbearably fucked up night.

  He made an appreciative sound behind me, and I felt his hands touch me and fought not to jump away. This was what I was good at, I knew it. This would fix things, not forever, but for one brief moment in time –

  I heard him kneel down and his pants unzip, then felt him line himself up to push in, and heard him groan as he got inside.

  This. I felt him start to thrust, like I was a different person, not even there, the part of me that’d run away tonight lifting up, floating overhead, leaving behind just my fucking body, the one I wanted him to roughly take. I moaned as he made his next stroke, felt the push of his weight shove me, making my breasts pull against the short nap of his couch. I spread my knees wider so he could get in deep, deeper the better, the more I could forget.

  He didn’t take liberties with my body, or try to kiss me, it was as if he knew my pussy was the only place I’d let him touch.

  “Just fuck me hard,” I whispered.

  He didn’t answer – he didn’t need to.

  His hips pounded into mine, and I felt the length of him each time he rode in and out. I didn’t want to close my eyes and I didn’t want to keep them open – I cupped my hands in front of my face like I was at a horror movie, my fingers the only thing I could see. His hands reached for my hips and pulled me back onto him, pinning himself, and I felt my traitorous body stir. Times like these always felt like it was an animal inside me, wanting what it wanted, not caring who it hurt. But I wanted this now, for him to fuck the pain away, to fuck away the memories, I wanted to come and for that moment not know anything or care – he held me tight to him and I started, at long last, to fuck him back, feeling him stretch me.

  “No,” he whispered to himself, hoarse, trying to hold on. Who knew when the last time he’d gotten fucked was, living out here like a mountain man? I didn’t care. I was close, and I wanted it, I needed it, no one deserved it more than me – I squirmed against him, his thick cock stretching me wide --

  He growled something incoherent and then he threw me against the couch again and reached over both of us to hold the back of it, fucking me wildly. I came around him with a gasp, grabbing hold of the couch cushions, his cock keeping me trapped there.

  “It’s okay,” I promised myself and him. “It’s going to be all right.”

  He made another sound, agreeing, disagreeing, I didn’t care, and then he finished himself inside of me.

  Chapter Two

  The phone rang.

  It’d been so long since I’d heard it, I thought I was imagining things. I sat up and rubbed a hand across my face, as feelings long dormant woke. I kept my phone for only one reason -- for one man. I crossed the room to it and picked it up, not willing to admit how badly I was hoping it would be him.

  It was a woman’s voice on the far end. Of course it was. Vincent would never break and call me himself. For seven years I’d been hoping – and he knew it. Goddamn him and his fucking certainty.

  She sounded weak and scared. Was that what Vincent was into nowadays? Or who? Maybe it was his sister, or a cousin.

  I wasn’t jealous, but I was disappointed. I told her where I could pick her up. I had serious doubts about her being able to safely get across town on her own.

  “And destroy this number,” I told her before I hung up.

  I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Vincent calling me again.

  #

  My eyes scanned until I found him, the stranger who’d watched all of my recent fights. He was out of place against the rest of the wild crowd, them i
n their colors and gang tattoos, him in his suit, the calm in the center of the storm. I shouldn’t have read too much into it -- fights brought out all kinds, money was money, and people liked blood.

  But it was fun to pretend that he was there to watch me. Even when he brought women along, and they clung to his side trying to keep his attention, I imagined I still felt the weight of his gaze.

  A guy like that – he was an alpha. Whether or not he knew it though….

  I shook my head to get back in the game. I needed to concentrate. I wasn’t scared of losing – I was scared of winning too quickly. I had to focus on hiding my skill, pulling my punches, and remember to take enough blows that the men who lost to me thought that I was as human as they were.

  “You got this,” Javier said, his hands on the front of my shirt, after wrapping my hands. “You got this.”

  My gaze caught the stranger’s, looking on calmly. He was alone tonight and he nodded noticing my attention. “I got this,” I told Javier, and smiled wolfishly at him.

  We were the headlining fight at the parking garage tonight, and I could see why. The man they brought in to fight me was twice my size in every direction and incredibly sure of himself. I recognized the scars he had from rougher brawls, and could read his history in and out of prison in his elaborately shitty tattoos. The ten people who trailed behind him had likely bailed him out of jail for the occasion and it seemed they were eager for him to earn out.

  We both stepped into the ring. “I’m going to bite your nose off,” he threatened.

  I didn’t bother to respond, just stood out of reach and smiled.

  “Go!” shouted the referee for the match – the last thing he’d likely bother to say for the night – and the fight began.

  The Mountain waddled forward. The wolf in me saw everywhere he was weak, the heat of the blood running near the surface at neck and groin, the way he exposed his kidneys when he turned, if I felt like running up and pummeling them – or chewing them out. The wolf part of me liked kidneys, bloody, warm and soft – I pushed my wilder side back. I needed him, but without the moon overhead, I was in control.