Breaking Hammer Page 6

  hoping it would numb me to whatever was about to happen. "Can I ask where we are going?"

  "You can," he said, "but it's a surprise." He looked at me, his eyes glazed, and I forced a smile, swallowing the rest of the liquid, searing as it made its way down my throat.

  Behind me, he traced his finger down the middle of my back, across the open expanse of my skin. I shuddered at his touch, which only seemed to encourage him. He reached for my glass, took it from my hand and set it on a table.

  Then his breath was on the nape of my neck, causing the tendrils of hair to brush against the bottom of my neck and sending a shiver up my spine. "I allowed you to talk to your son," he said.

  "Yes." I feared what he might be about to say.

  "Do you see how I reward you when you behave?" he asked. I was confused for a moment, not sure whether he was saying that my reward was talking to my son, or what he was about to do now. Because being with him was certainly not a reward.

  But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I said, "Yes. I am grateful for your kindness."

  He lifted the hem of my skirt, reached between my legs without waiting for me to spread them. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

  "I never do, Aston." I would never mistake his behavior for kindness. I felt him pull his hand away from me, and for a moment thought that perhaps I was getting off easy tonight, being let go untouched. But from behind me I heard him unzip his pants, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper. I felt his hand in the middle of my back, pushing me toward the bed, and bending me over.

  I looked at painting hanging in the center of the wall in front of me, some abstract piece of art all reds and purples. I lost myself in the colors of the painting.

  When he put his hands around my neck, I felt myself begin to feel dizzy, hazy. The old man who had bought me first, my son's father, was the one who had choked me over and over, who had brought me to the brink of death again and again. He had made my life dependent on his touch.

  What Aston did now was child's play.

  I felt lightheaded, but I didn't fight it. I had learned a long time ago not to fight it. When it was finally over, my head was still spinning, but I hadn't blacked out. Aston let go of me and walked into the bathroom.

  "Pull yourself together," he said. "We're going to be late."

  Smoothing my trench coat, I looked around the entry to the foyer. It was elegant, the massive entryway open and airy, with ceilings so high they seemed to belong in a cathedral, not a home. But this was no ordinary home. This was the home of Dennis Stanton. This was the home of one of the most prominent men in Las Vegas. One of the most well-connected men in Las Vegas, someone who knew people, who had his finger on the pulse of the political system, politicians under his thumb.

  This fact alone made him very powerful. And very dangerous.

  And, rumor had it that his predilections tended to be rather...extreme.

  My breath caught in my throat at the thought that Aston had brought me here.

  I couldn't know what he had in store for me, but it wasn't good.

  Before I could think about anything else, someone was immediately behind me, removing my jacket, and I felt my shoulders bared, the cool of the air on my skin.

  Aston appraised me, his lips turned up in a smile. "Fantastic," he said, his gaze lingering on me.

  He'd chosen lingerie for me specifically for this occasion- black lace, thigh-high stockings and heels, the outfit the price of a month's rent, I was sure.

  "Madam." The girl sauntered up to us, dressed only in heels and panties, her breasts perky and too large for her frame to be natural. She presented a tray with flutes of champagne and I took one, holding it but not sipping. I needed to keep my wits about me at a place like this.

  "Thank you." I turned to Aston, and felt his hand at the small of my back. I cringed at his touch, the touch of my captor, but I reminded myself not to pull away. He guided me forward, through the people mingling in the house. It looked like any other cocktail party held by the city's upper crust - except for the fact that no one was wearing much of anything. The air felt charged with electricity and lust, and I could sense eyes on me, the little bit of clothing I had providing no protection from their stares.

  Aston laced his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the curved staircase, my heels clicking on the marble as we walked. I followed him wordlessly toward the rooms upstairs, my heart rate increasing as we got closer.

  "You know this place well?" I asked. But it was less of a question than a statement. He was obviously familiar with this house, and with whatever the rules of this event were. Of course, rules didn't apply to Aston.

  "It's not your place to ask questions," he said.

  He led me down a hallway, pausing with me to stop at each room we passed, most of them with open doors. I didn't want to know what was happening behind closed doors.

  "What interests you, doll?" he asked, gesturing toward one of the rooms. He asked the question, his voice excessively polite, as if I had a choice in the matter at all. It wasn't even pretense- it was sarcasm. He liked reminding me that I never had a choice.

  Inside the room, a man led a woman on all fours on a leash across the room, a blindfold covering her eyes. I watched as she was led to another man, who stood in front of her, his dick erect near her face. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back as she arched up on her knees to reach his cock, using her tongue to lick the length of him. From behind her, the man bound her hands, rendering her powerless.

  "Perhaps you should join her," Aston said.

  My heart skipped a beat, but I wouldn't show Aston any fear. "Perhaps," I said, keeping my voice even, measured. Calling his bluff.

  He watched me through narrowed eyes. "A little more browsing."

  I wondered what special torture he was trying to find for me.

  In the next room, a woman clad in a black vinyl cat suit stood, a man on the ground at her feet, his mouth at the toe of her stiletto boots. A couple standing just inside the door watching them turned toward us, the woman's diamond earrings flashing in the darkness. She looked like someone famous, but I couldn't place her. Maybe a socialite.

  Aston pulled me away quickly. "Not my scene," he said. "Maybe something less private."

  He pulled me back into the hallway, toward the balcony that wrapped around the foyer. We would be front and center entertainment for anyone walking through the hallway, as well as for anyone looking up from the foyer below. It's what he wanted, to show me off to everyone here. To humiliate me.

  I bit the bottom of my lip, willing the shakiness inside me to abate. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was ashamed. Afraid. I would let him take me, do what I had to do to survive.

  I heard the sounds of the music from the foyer downstairs, classical, a piano piece I didn't recognize, but the equivalent of a white noise background. The murmurs of voices, hushed whispers and moans of pleasure, added another layer of white noise. Aston touched me, his finger trailing up the back of my neck. His touch chilled me to the bone.

  I sometimes wondered if sex could be anything other than how it was for me, all mixed up with rage and hate and shame. I envied the people who could enjoy tender lovemaking with someone they cared about, who could look into the eyes of a lover and feel like they were sharing a piece of their soul. Not like me, with the layers upon layers of protection I'd built into my very essence. For me, there would never be that kind of sharing with another person.

  I felt Aston's hand trail up my behind, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my panties, wandering down between my legs. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You're not enjoying this? I would hate to think that you weren't." He laughed, the sound harsh.

  You know I hate you, I thought. But I said, "Yes, of course, I'm enjoying you."

  I felt Aston’s hands on my shoulders, as he turned me to face the stairway. I watched as a man made his way up the stairs, shirtless, clad in black silk pants. With his dark hair, greying at the temples,
and chiseled jawline, he looked every inch the politician.

  Except for the whip in his hand.

  "Good evening Dennis," Aston said. "Wonderful party tonight. I've brought you a gift- the finest specimen from my personal collection."

  The man approached, his eyes too glassy, his excitement palpable. He looked me over like he was evaluating an object at a market. "Remarkable, Aston," he said, his eyes still lingering on me. "This will be a most memorable night. For all of us."

  And then I began to feel panic.

  “Mr. Holder.”

  I looked up to see the head of casino security standing beside me. A barrel-chested man with a bulbous nose and hands so large they looked like they belonged to a giant, Mark was exactly what you’d expect the head of security at a major casino to look like. He was intimidation on two huge legs.

  “Mark,” I said. “How are you? How’s the wife?”

  “Doing good, Joe,” he said. “Mr. Anders would like to see you.”

  If my consulting firm hadn't been hired by the casino, those words would strike fear into my heart. Mr. Anders was one of the most powerful men in Vegas, known for his intolerance of cheating and disloyalty. And here I was, working in his casino. With my kind of background.

  It was all Benicio’s doing. The Panamanian smuggling kingpin who hired the Inferno MC to run his protection was fiercely loyal to his family. Since his daughter, Dani, was married to the Inferno MC President, anyone who was close to Blaze was close to him. And with all that had happened, I knew Blaze still felt responsible for April’s death, despite being in another country when she was murdered. I didn’t say no when Benicio put in a word for me with a small, secretive consulting firm that specialized in white hat hacking and security testing for casinos all over the world.

  What the hell else was I going to do? I was a hacker and embezzler who had been caught. I had a record. No legitimate business was going to hire me, and a fucking criminal wasn't going to trust me with his financials, not after what I'd done. Benicio had stepped out on a limb for me, told this firm to hire me. It was the reason I was living in Vegas. It was the only job I could get.

  To say I was grateful to Benicio was an understatement.

  “Does he want me to finish testing the equipment, or see me when I’m finished?”

  “He says to come up when you’re done,” Mark said.

  “Will do,” I said. “It should only take me a few more minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, I was headed out of the casino, making my way through the machines, and I ran into a woman.

  Literally.

  "Hey!" she said, her eyes wide as she stumbled on her heels, losing her balance. I grabbed her by both arms to steady her, meeting her gaze for a moment.

  Holy shit, she was gorgeous, with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders in waves, framing her delicate features. She was tiny as a bird, but I could tell she wasn't delicate.

  "Sorry," I said, not moving my hands from her arms. I found myself not wanting to move, too mesmerized by the intensity in her dark eyes.

  She didn't respond, instead yanked her arms out of my hands, her eyes darting behind me like some kind of scared animal. I realized what I was seeing as intensity in her eyes was really fear. And then I saw the red welts on her arms, raw and angry on her skin.

  "Hey," I said. "Are you okay?" I reached for her arm again, about to pull her away so I could talk some kind of sense into her. Whoever she was looking for, whoever she was afraid of, I couldn't just send her back to him.

  But before I could say anything, I heard someone clear his throat behind me, and I turned to see Mark, the security guard, standing there, shaking his head. When I looked back, the girl was gone, walking toward a man in a suit who stood on the other side of the room, his arms crossed in front of him.

  "Mr. Holder," Mark said. "That's not someplace you want to go."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Did you see her? She looks scared out of her fucking mind."

  Mark shook his head. "You know that phrase about sleeping dogs," he said. "Let it go. Don't even think about it. That's trouble you don't want to be involved in. Not with her. Not with who she’s with."

  But even after I turned to walk away, I could feel her tiny body in my hands, the tremble as I gripped her arms.

  And later that night, I couldn’t quite shake the way I had felt looking at her. I felt protective. Like I wanted to kill whoever had frightened her.

  I had also experienced the unmistakable rush of attraction.

  It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  And, almost immediately, a feeling of guilt washed over me, so strong it nearly took my breath away.

  Later that night, I lay in the bed, awake in the darkness, listening to the creaking of the ceiling fan. Most times were okay now, but nights were the worst. It was the time when I couldn’t shut down my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried. Lying awake in bed at night was when I missed April the most, when I questioned whether I could keep doing this every day, the rinse-lather-repeat of the same thing over and over again. Sometimes I truly didn’t know what the answer to that question was.

  Tonight, I kept seeing the face of the girl from the casino when I closed my eyes. And felt my heart race, thinking about her.

  And then I felt the unmistakable feeling of guilt and shame.

  There wasn’t anyone for me but April. There never would be.

  It was going to be fucking ridiculous, showing up to the clubhouse in a fucking car. But I didn’t give a shit. I was only going because I still considered Skunk a good friend. He’d stood by me, especially after April died. I’d known him from way back years ago, but he’d joined the Vegas chapter of the Inferno MC and I’d been out in California with the Los Angeles chapter.

  He’d been showing up at my house, pretty regular. Even when I first came back to Vegas, when I’d cleaned myself up but things were still really dark.

  The first time he showed up was a year ago.

  ~ ~ ~

  When I saw him standing at the front door wearing his leathers, I felt a rush of anger at the sight of the Inferno MC logo. I’d let the brothers come out to April’s burial, but fuck, I was in such a daze then I didn’t give a shit about what anyone else did. After time away with MacKenzie in Puerto Rico, time away from all of the club shit, I didn’t want to see it anymore. I couldn’t be around it.

  “I don’t want to fucking see the colors, Skunk,” I said. “I’m not a part of that shit anymore.”

  He nodded. “I can see that. But you and I go back farther than that, Joe. You know me.”

  “I know you,” I said. “And I don’t need you fucking checking up on me. I don’t need the goddamn club checking up on me. You understand what the fuck retirement means?”

  He shrugged. “Understood,” he said. Then he turned, got back on his bike. I listened to the motor rev, and watched him ride away. Good riddance. I didn’t need a reminder of the shit that had killed April. I had a new life now. I was a goddamn white collar worker. My job didn’t involve anyone getting killed. It didn’t involve beating anyone to death.

  Still, later that night after MacKenzie was in bed, I sat in the garage, drinking a beer, looking at the bike, the one I wouldn’t ride, but couldn’t bring myself to let go of.

  ~ ~ ~

  And then Skunk came back again two weeks later. Showed up on my doorstep, just like before. He just shrugged when I opened the door. That time, I didn’t turn him away. And then he showed up two weeks after that.

  It had taken a year for me to consider associating with the club again. And even now, I still wasn’t sure about this shit. I'd gone out to see Blaze, let him talk me into doing that job for the club.

  Now all of a sudden I was about to fight, in an actual fight, next week. I can't say there wasn't a small part of me that liked the idea of getting set up for another fight. Liked, hell. I was fucking craving it. I was itching for it like a junkie who needed a fix.

&nbs
p; I told myself that just because I was going to the clubhouse didn't mean I was coming out of retirement. It didn't mean I was getting back into the lifestyle. I wasn’t the same person I was, back when I was a part of the MC.

  At least, I hoped I wasn’t.

  “Shit, man,” Skunk said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “Fucking great to see you here.”

  “Crunch.” Pipes walked up to us, clasped my hand. “Fucking A.