She tried to dig her heels into the threadbare carpet without success. The guy could really move. “Hey! Let go of me! Hold it! Who the fuck are you? What boss? You’ve definitely got the wrong person. You probably want the drug dealers in the basement or Lola the hooker up on third. Wait! Who are you looking for? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”
“I’m here to collect the whore who was at the hotel.” He gave her arm a rough tug. “That’s you. So shut your yap and be a good girl.” He made sniffing noises in her direction. “You smell like sex.”
Tempest was being towed down the hall like she weighed nothing, and the man’s words sent a chill up her spine. The
whore
who was at the hotel? Could this nightmare get any worse? The neurons in her brain refused to cooperate. No helpful explanations or escape scenarios came to mind so she grabbed a passing doorknob to try to delay their forward motion. Holding on as tightly as she could, she heard the man laugh before he effortlessly wrenched her hand from the knob.
“What do you want with me? Who is this boss person? What the fuck is going on?”
“No questions, girlie. If you don’t walk under your own power, I’ll just drag you down the stairs. Put bruises all over that sweet ass. I don’t think you’d like that. If the boss wants to tell you anything, he will. If not, you’ll just do as you’re told.”
“At least let me go to my apartment and change clothes. It’s cold!”
He turned his rodent eyes to her and smiled wide, showing brown teeth. “You shoulda thought of that before you stripped down in the hotel room, slut. Now you can just hope those prime tits don’t freeze and fall off.” He choked out a phlegmy laugh.
The guy sounded like a reject from a casting call for
The Godfather
. Her stressed-out, overwhelmed brain finally started to connect the dots. More mob guys. But what did they want with her? She hadn’t seen anything. She didn’t know dick about what had gone on after she’d passed out. Was she actually going to be dragged out into the blizzard and taken to some mobster’s lair, or would the psychopath with the Paul Bunyan boots just attack her in the car?
She tried grabbing onto the handrail on their way downstairs, but the big guy seemed to have such a good time yanking on her arm, that she was afraid he’d gleefully rip it out of its socket. He’d been serious about dragging her if she didn’t cooperate. She knew his type. She was just a piece of ass to him. Better to shut up and go along until an option showed up.
If
an option showed up.
The door at the bottom of the stairs was magically opened by a clone of her escort. The new guy shuffled over to a black van parked in the alley with the engine running. He pulled open the side panel, and Brown Teeth pushed Tempest inside. She landed on her back with her legs splayed. Both men laughed as she closed her legs, sat up and tried to pull her coat down. The fall had twisted her back, and she couldn’t find a comfortable position. The door opener cupped his cock, made a licking motion with his tongue, and said, “I’ll ride in the back with the merchandise.” Brown Teeth shoved him aside. “You got shit for brains? The boss wants her.” He slammed the sliding door, and they both climbed into the two front seats.
As the van rolled along the alley, Tempest searched for anything she could use as a weapon, something that might give her the opportunity to buy a few seconds to make a getaway. But the only thing sharing her space was a collection of crumpled fast-food bags, empty cigarette packs, and a suspiciously red-stained towel in the corner. She didn’t relish the idea of running half-naked through a blizzard, but the alternative seemed worse.
One of her captors turned on the radio and heavy metal blared from the over-sized speakers, causing her to briefly cover her ears with her hands. The music was so loud she couldn’t hear what the two mob guys were talking about, but they seemed to be having a heated discussion about something. One of them pointed a thumb in her direction. She had a bad feeling about the topic.
I
t was a short ride. Just as Tempest’s exhaustion wrestled down her fear, and she started to nod off, the van came to a sliding halt. When her abductors killed the engine, the music blaring from the radio suddenly ended and the silence was thick. It was almost surreal, like all sound had been sucked from the universe. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach fluttered with anxiety. As a musician, Tempest was used to attacking her eardrums regularly with a wall of sound, but in her present anxious condition, the silence felt like instant deafness. Maybe the heavy snow created an additional acoustic damper, or maybe she was just so tired she was about to lose it completely.
The whole thing was weird. Not only did she have the sense of floating in a soundless void, but the two goons in the front seemed to be motionless, as if her brain had pressed an inner “pause” button. Nothing had felt normal to her since her brief time with Malveaux. Her reality train had definitely derailed. He must have drugged her.
She was startled out of her altered state by the slamming of the front doors. Her entourage had gotten out of the van, and Brown Teeth tugged the side door open. A blast of cold air triggered an adrenaline rush and set her teeth chattering again.
“Come on, girlie. End of the line. Haul ass.” Brown Teeth grabbed one of her ankles, and dragged her by one leg toward the opening. She didn’t have time to brace herself, so her upper body slammed back against the floor. Her coat was bunched up around her waist. The other evil Elvis snickered as he leaned in and slid a finger along Tempest’s exposed clit.
“I’m gonna get me some of that, one way or another,” he wheezed.
Tempest didn’t even blink. Her free leg kicked out, and her foot caught him between the eyes. He went down like a skyscraper in an earthquake and didn’t move. Her martial arts training was the best investment she’d ever made.
“Fuck,” Brown Teeth growled, releasing his grip on her ankle. “He’d better not be dead, or it’ll be your ass.”
Tempest jumped out of the van, pulled her jacket down and got up in Brown Teeth’s face. She couldn’t see any benefit to playing victim.
“Yeah, you’re big and bad. I get it. If you’re gonna kill me, just do it, but nobody touches my pussy without an invitation, and you two assholes don’t have one.”
He took a step back and laughed. “I wouldn’t touch that pussy with somebody else’s dick. All you working girls got cooties.” He looked down at the stunned mobster crumpled in the deep snow. “I’ll take you downstairs then come back for him. The boss don’t take kindly to chicks knockin’ out his second cousin. You better hope he’s feelin’ generous today. Let’s go.”
Tempest didn’t care if the idiot thought she was a hooker. It wasn’t a news flash that most men she met hated women. They thought the only thing women were good for was fucking and sucking cock. Of course, the housewife version had to do the cooking and cleaning bit, too. In the inner city, it was still 1950, but if she was going to get wasted by some mob boss, she’d at least go down fighting.
They’d pulled up in the alley behind an old, multi-story building. The nearest door was labeled “deliveries,” and she guessed that’s what she was.
Strong smells assailed her nostrils. Spicy smells that her head said should be mouth-watering, but her queasy stomach disagreed. As Brown Teeth steered her into a large area filled with food-piled tables, she saw a sign in the corner that read, “Motor City Catering.” Well, that explained the aromas. Her stomach growled reflexively and she realized it’d been almost a full day since she’d eaten anything. No wonder her brain was mush.
Nobody seemed to pay much attention to them as they passed through the room. Women of various ages stood at the tables and along large sinks, chopping, arranging and packaging food that Tempest ordinarily would’ve killed for.
They passed through a doorway at the far end of the room, and stood at the top of a set of stairs.
“Try not to fall, girlie. I wouldn’t wanna havta tell the boss you had an accident.” He yanked on her arm, and they climbed down a long staircase. She didn’t know how far underground they were, but she suddenly felt cold and clammy, like walking down into a crypt. Not that she knew what it felt like to be in a crypt, but she had a vivid imagination.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Pee Wee Herman – or a guy who looked just like him – met them and gave Tempest’s body a serious eye scan. “The boss had to run an errand. He said to put the merchandise in the spare room.” Pee Wee was shorter than Tempest, but he managed to work up a good leer. “I’ll take her.”
Brown Teeth must have been lower on the feeding chain than Pee Wee, because he nodded and stepped away, then trudged back up the stairs.
“This way,” the small man said.
He escorted Tempest to a room at the end of the hallway and opened the door. Reaching into the room, he clicked on the overhead light and extended his arm in a sweep like a game show host.
“Here’s your crib for the next few hours. There’s a couch and some blankets. Turn on the TV if you want. Somebody will bring you some food. I’m sure the boss doesn’t want you to starve to death, at least not until he talks to you.” He found that so amusing he squeaked out a hiccupping, high-pitched laugh. “In you go.”
He shoved Tempest, and she saw his eyes fix on her thighs and the glimpse of ass that no doubt flashed as she caught her balance.
“Maybe I’ll come back down and keep you company,” Pee Wee said.
“Yeah, you do that,” she said, smirking. “And if you find any men on your way down, bring them along, too. I don’t do gnomes.”
Pee Wee’s face twisted into an ugly mask, exposing the true character hiding behind the insipid exterior. He backed away, and slammed the door. Tempest heard the key turn in the lock.
M
alveaux’s eyes opened, and he shoved his hands against the top of the coffin, slanting the lid back against the wall of his lair. He sat up.
Something felt wrong.
He usually arose with all his hungers riding him like a ravenous beast, and his only concern was which desire to sate first and where. The beast was tormenting him, as always, but he felt strange. In all his many years, he’d never awakened with someone else’s voice in his head before. Absently rubbing his rigid cock, he mentally scanned the environment inside his hiding place, and outside in the cemetery, seeking the source of the foreign thoughts and emotions. Perhaps some of the superstitious juvenile delinquents had decided to visit the graveyard after all. He’d have to give them a big enough scare to send them away, permanently. Maybe he’d drag one of them inside for breakfast.
But the voice – the emotions – seemed female . . . and familiar.
He climbed out of the ornate coffin and strode into the bathroom, the odd remnants still floating through his mind. He stepped into the large, glass-enclosed shower, turned on the hot water, and lathered himself with soap, replaying the events of the night before. On automatic pilot, he grasped his erection, stroked vigorously, and recalled the sensation of pounding into Tempest’s snug pussy. He imagined what it would be like to have access to that succulent slit for all eternity. The enticing vision pushed him over the edge, and he growled as he exploded in pleasure, sending a thick spray of semen dripping down the glass.
Tempest. The voice was hers.
He froze under the hot water, listening to the dream-like dialog running through his mind. He didn’t usually pick up the thoughts of his victims from such a distance unless he intended to. Being a passive receiver hadn’t ever happened before, but then he’d never come so close to making anyone his offspring. Perhaps she’d gotten more of his blood on her tongue than he thought before they’d been so rudely interrupted. The notion of already being so connected to her was exciting.
Her thoughts were chaotic. She was enraged about something.
Malveaux turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried himself. He sat down on one of the marble benches in the dressing area and closed his eyes, concentrating on Tempest’s thoughts. She was yelling at someone holding her prisoner. A man she identified as Pee Wee in her thoughts. Intrigued, he willed himself into her consciousness and watched through her eyes as a small man came toward her and grabbed her arm. “I’m takin’ you to the boss, now. Be a good little slut or else.”
“Get away from me, asshole!” Tempest pushed the man, and he went down on his ass. The look on his face as he climbed to his feet told Malveaux that his offspring wasn’t safe in that place. Tempest didn’t know what kind of sick fuck she was dealing with.
But Malveaux did. The twisted weasel was his employer’s pet psychopath.
Malveaux strode over to the closet, pulled various pieces of black clothing from the hangers, and dressed quickly. He’d considered morphing into one of his alternate forms immediately so he could get to Tempest right away, but he needed to take his car. He didn’t think the bond between them would extend to her being able to morph with him, so human transportation was necessary to retrieve her.
He decided to collect his few personal items, just in case he didn’t return to this location. He filled a small suitcase, gathered the rest of the clothes from the closet and surveyed the area, making sure he hadn’t left anything behind.
His anger built, and his stomach tightened, as he made his way to the garage. He couldn’t wait to wrap his fingers around the maniac’s neck. That kind of disrespect was intolerable. The small man had to know that Tempest was connected to him. There was no other reason they would have collected her. He couldn’t understand what his employer was up to. The mobster boss was the only one in his organization who understood what Malveaux really was. He’d hired him on purpose for that very reason, and since he was aware of what The Assassin was capable of, he had to know he was playing with fire.
Malveaux clicked on the lights, opened the car door, and threw his possessions into the back seat. He did a double-take as he recognized Tempest’s guitar case and briefcase, which were still where he’d stashed them at the start of their evening. She’d probably been frantic when she woke up in the closet, saw the condition of the room, and then realized her guitar was gone. He smiled. She’d be much easier to persuade since he had something she valued. He really didn’t want to overpower her if he didn’t have to. Seduction was so much more interesting.