Sake Bomb (46 page)

The suction on his cock stopped altogether,
replaced moments later by the press of tiny thighs against his
hair-roughened legs. The littlest Maria guided him into her tight
pussy and Lennox didn’t even bother masking the breathy
“
Fuuuuuck
.”

“Tate!” Bill growled from the other end.
“Get your head out the hooker and focus.”

“Hook…
ers
,” Lennox hissed through
clenched teeth and squinted eyes. “With an
S
. And I’ve got
way more than just the head in her…”

Connolly sighed. “New York, tonight.”

“Need…more motivation than…ooooh
shit
,” he said, the words riding on a shiver. The line went
dead and Lennox almost broke the phone, squeezing so hard the
plastic casing creaked.

Maria rode him harder, and he bucked his
hips up to meet her, nearly tossing the other one off his chest.
She worked her hips too, grinding her shaved pussy against his
stomach while fingering the Maria who stood near the twin bed.

Short of the Apocalypse,
nothing
would get him out of Maria, or Mexico, for at least a week—Maria
screamed—make that a month.

Lennox came close to yelling himself, and
would have if two sets of mouths hadn’t descended on his in a wet,
sloppy, wildly erotic three-way kiss. He hooked each arm behind a
neck, reveling in the feel of four hands skating over his chest and
head. Tongues were everywhere, and there was still a woman doing a
damn-fine job of molding a curve into his cock. Everything built to
pounding at the base of his skull and then exploded, locking his
whole body as he shot his load, the other Maria belting out a
sultry “
Ay
,
ay
,
ay
…” and squeezing around his
dick.

He relaxed against the bed, the last
vestiges of his orgasm streaming out of his body. Too spent to kiss
back, Lennox lay still while the women lapped at his lips. Made
sucking down air kind of hard, but so what if he was
light-headed.

Connolly could shove the Big Apple right up
his wrinkled old tailpipe. Lennox was staying put.

The phone vibrated in his hand, which was
still hooked around the blonde’s neck. Laughing, she uncoiled from
his hold and went to help the petite Maria off his lap, leaving
just the plump one on his chest. She leaned forward and nuzzled his
cheek, brown hair partially covering his eye as she sighed
contentedly.

Gaze hazy on the screen, Lennox brought up
the text with one hand, already calculating how he’d wiggle out of
the flight info he was sure to find in the encrypted message. The
program worked it’s magic, spitting out… a surveillance photo?

The shift was damn-near instantaneous.

It took all of two seconds for his vision to
clear. His blood went cold; the warm woman on his body became
another hindrance to breathing.

The photo.

That face.

An ache he hadn’t felt for too many years
wormed its way into his chest and he growled low in his throat.

“Goddamn you, Bill,” he muttered. Maria
lifted her head and frowned. Lennox sat up, taking her with him,
shooting up so fast he had to snag an arm around her back to keep
her from falling to the floor. He helped her steady herself before
wriggling out from under. Where the hell were his clothes? “Damn
you straight to hell, you graying old piece of shit.”

Lennox snapped off the condom and tossed it
in the vicinity of the trash can; found his jeans and slid them on,
yanked his shirt over his head. The three Marias looked between
each other and then at him with concern.

“Señor Gomez.
Enseguida
,” he grunted
to the blonde, jerking his chin toward the door. She left
immediately to get the proprietor, an older gentleman who made a
pretty penny off these women’s deliciously creamy thighs.

Lennox tamped his feet into his boots and
dug in his rucksack, still mumbling curses at a man who couldn’t
hear them.

“¿Es todo?” the littlest Maria asked, a
frown on her face.

He ignored her, still searching in his bag.
Roughly two hours out from Mexico City. He’d have to high-tail it
if he wanted any chance to catch a flight. He’d be cutting it close
though. His hand closed around his passport, he dropped it, kept
fidgeting.

Footsteps sounded on the landing and then
the blonde came through the door, the brothel’s squat owner on her
heels, a mile-wide smile on his oily face.

“I trust they were to your lik–”

The bullet entered Gomez’s forehead before
he could finish. His head snapped back; eyes froze; body dropped;
the Maria’s screamed; Lennox shoved the silenced weapon back into
his rucksack, zipped it, and slung it over his shoulder. He dug in
his pocket for a fistful of greenbacks to cover the bill; tossed
them to the frightened women huddled together on the bed.

If only Gomez had paid for the protection
the cartel’s leader had so kindly offered, Lennox wouldn’t have
been hired to kill him. Such was life.

He sent confirmation of the kill, operating
with his usual efficiency as though the women weren’t there. Should
probably off them too, but he wasn’t being paid extra. And besides,
he had no plans to set foot in this town ever again.

Fuckin’ Connolly…

He’d vowed to never get mixed up with the
old man again either. The contracts he took these days paid much
less, but they were easy work with semi-decent perks. Going back to
Connolly would only be trouble, and Lennox really didn’t need the
kind of trouble Connolly had to offer.

That settled it, he wouldn’t go.

Another glance at the photo the crusty old
CRU leader had sent and Lennox sighed. He pushed the phone into his
back pocket and slid a pair of dark aviator sunglasses into place.
Minutes later he was in a rusty truck, speeding toward Mexico
City.

He’d told Bill he needed more
motivation.

For Lennox Tate, Kizzie Baldwin was
motivation enough.

* * * *

Coming Soon

On The Rocks

About the
Author

Sable Jordan: Stories so Whet, you’ll want
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Quick and dirty, I’m a writer of
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