How to Deal With Unfaithful Clients
1671 Words
Damon
It’s not that I enjoy being violent. It’s not that I look forward to my clients not paying up so that I can hurt them. It’s not that I hope they’ll betray me and help the police attempt to arrest me so that I can kill them and rape their wives or girlfriends. It isn’t something I take pleasure in.
But when it’s necessary, I have no reservations about doing what needs to be done.
The man’s name is Felix Velasquez, and he barely speaks a word of English. He’s been buying oxy in bulk from me for several months, and my mistrust of him only recently started to fade. His wife, Alejandra, is the better English speaker, and has been assuring me from the start that I have nothing to worry about.
I almost believe her, until Matt Billings comes knocking on my door.
“You’ve got a problem, man,” Matt tells me. “A big one. You know that Latino guy you’ve been selling to? The one with the hot wife—doesn’t speak much English.”
I knew before the description, of course, who my problem would be. I’m usually very careful with any clients I sell to in bulk, and Felix is the only one at the moment who I remotely distrust.
“Apparently he's been working with us since the beginning,” Matt explains. “I just found out. Apparently they’ve been trying to gather up evidence on you for weeks. Your next deal’s gonna be the big one, though. He’ll be wearing a wire, for sure.”
“Well,” I say evenly, “he’s a dead mean.”
“I figured as much.” Really, for a cop, he’s got an appalling lack of virtues—and that’s saying something, coming from me. “Well, you’re gonna need a lot of help.”
“What’s it gonna cost me?”
It’ll cost a lot, I learn. Free coke for Matt for the rest of his life in exchange for destroying the evidence they have at the station; ten grand to Matt’s supervisor to convince him to put a broken wire on Felix when the time comes; and, of course, a murder weapon and ammo that can’t be traced back to any of us.
I can handle it. It’s not the first time I’ve had to cover for myself, and it won’t be the last.
I own this town, and I always will.
- - - - -
It takes a little longer than expected. Felix is an easy target, shot on sight. He doesn’t die right away, but that’s okay with me. In fact, I take quite a bit of pleasure in forcing Felix to watch what I do to Alejandra before killing her, too.
I know, I know. I said earlier that I don’t take pleasure in this s**t.
I lied.
By the time I finish, it’s two-thirty. I was already late to pick up Fallon once this week, and she still hasn’t quite forgiven me for how hard I f****d her the last time. I hate being on thin ice with her. It’s not like she can do anything, really, but the s*x isn’t nearly as good when she’s in her moods. Besides, the way Fallon looks at me when she’s happy with me—when she wants me—it’s the sexiest thing in the world.
It’s a bit of a hike from the alley I leave their bodies in to the club, but I’m there by three. As expected, she’s waiting out back when I pull up. I can tell from her expression that something is wrong—something more than just me being late.
“Baby,” I say, stepping out of my Range Rover and walking over to her. “I’m sorry I’m late. What’s wrong?”
She glares at me. She looks like she’s been crying. “I saw it. On the news. What you did.”
It was on the news already? How did she automatically assume it was me who did it? Is it possible someone slipped up—even set me up? “What do you mean? What did you see?”
“I saw their bodies, Damon!” she shouts, standing up and shoving me back. I resist the urge to hit her for that. “The man, shot three times, and that poor woman—half dressed—”
“Baby,” I say, reaching out to take her hands, more gently than I probably ever have before. “Calm down; you’re hysterical. What are you talking about?”
“Your clients, Damon!” Tears are streaming down her cheeks again. “You told me they were yours. You kept talking about that Hispanic guy, Felix—”
Finally, I relax. She’s making assumptions. She didn’t see my name on the news. This will be easy. “Felix Velasquez?” I ask her innocently. “He was killed?”
I’m far too good of a liar. Really, they should give me some sort of award. Her tears stop almost instantaneously, and she looks up at me with renewed hope. Is she really that gullible, or is she just so desperate to believe her boyfriend isn’t a monster?
“Don’t lie to me,” she says, even though I can see in her eyes that she’s just about ready to believe me.
“Lie?” I ask, pulling her close to me I put my hands on her cheeks, wiping away her tears. This whole sweet boyfriend thing isn’t normally for me, but it’s kind of a turn-on at the moment. She’s putty in my hands. “I’m not lying, baby. It’s awful that they died. I told you I’m not in the killing business anymore.”
“Damon,” she warns.
Already, the turn-on is wearing thin. But this, like her dancing, is one of the few things I can’t control with her; if she really thought I killed a man and raped and killed his wife, she’d leave me. At least, she’d try. And I’m not done with her yet. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever will be. “Look,” I say, leading her to my car. I open the passenger door and let her step inside. I’ll have to invite her back to my place, I reckon, and treat her well for once. At least I was halfway planning on it, anyway. “Why don’t we go back to my place and talk for a while? It’s obvious we have some trust issues, and I know a lot of the blame’s on me for that.” I sound like such a p***y. Are we done yet?
“I don’t know,” she says, giving me a sad, pouty little look. God, those eyes. I’m turning hard just looking at them. I can’t wait to f**k her. “Maybe I should just go home.”
I resist the urge to hit her again, as I normally would for suggesting such a thing. It would only make things worse at the moment. She’s still thinking about Felix and Alejandra, I can tell. Her morality really bothers me sometimes. Then again, I can’t stand women with no morals; they’re so weak.
“I can’t have you going to sleep upset with me,” I coo at her, leaning forward to give her a short, gentle kiss. She flinches, and I can tell I’ve still got a ways to go. “And I won’t be able to fall asleep knowing that you are. Please come home with me. We’ll just talk, baby, I promise.”
Lies, of course. All I can think about is what I’m going to do to her that night. She’s somehow even hotter when she cries.
She waits a second or two, and the suspense kills me, but finally she nods. “Okay. Just to talk.”
- - - - -
I pick her up bridal-style the moment we step inside and carry her straight to the bedroom. As soon as I close the door behind me, I rip off her shirt.
“Damon.” She takes a step back. “You said we’d talk.”
I smile softly at her, then take her by the waist and shove her against the back wall, hard. I can’t help myself. Her round, perky breasts are staring at me, chocolate-colored n*****s screaming to be touched, and the clothed parts even more so…
But I know this will be twice as much fun if she reciprocates. “We are talking,” I murmur into her ear as I lean down to kiss her neck. My hands knead and squeeze her breasts, then trace down her flat, toned stomach and down into her panties. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to talk about boundaries.” Her voice is weak; I’m getting to her.
“Okay.” I slip three fingers inside her as I press against her clit with my thumb, using my other hand to yank her skirt and underwear down. I kiss her once, then again, this time biting her lip as I pull away to speak. “Here are my boundaries: I will do nothing to displease you. I will do nothing you disapprove of. I will do nothing but make you the happiest woman alive, because you are the most beautiful and perfect woman I have ever known.”
My fingers pump harder and harder inside her as I give her my speech, and her breaths become choppy and uneven as she resists the urge to whimper. She sounds like a f*****g porn star when you get her going, and it’s ridiculously hot.
She sighs. Her perfect breasts rise and fall with the movement. I release my fingers from her long enough to remove my shirt and unzip my pants. I can’t take it any longer.
“Damon,” she whispers. “Mean it.”
She says it so desperately, so painfully, that I almost feel guilty for feeding her such an obvious line of bullshit. But she’s wet and naked, and I’m hard and naked, and there isn’t much room in my mind for guilt.
“I mean every bit of it,” I lie as I place my hands on her waist and spin her sharply around, pressing her up against the wall so I can take her from behind. My hands slide over her round, smooth ass cheeks, and I actually feel my eyes roll back in my head at how good it feels. I want to spank her, but I know to wait a few more minutes for that. “God, you’re so sexy, baby. All I want is you. All I ever want is you.”
Whether she believes me or is too tired and weak to fight me, she stops talking and spreads her legs for me.
Finally.
- Writer
