Lover Unleashed (50 page)

Except then he felt her fangs teasing around his head.

He jacked her up fast on that one, capturing her mouth in a hard kiss while he held on to her face and started to lose it all over her hands. But that didn’t last. She jerked out of his palms and went back to where she’d been, catching him in midorgasm, lapping up what his body seemed to have in spades for her.

When the kicking spasms stopped, she pulled back, looked at him . . . and slowly licked her lips.

Manny had to close his lids at that, his erection pulsing to the point of pain.

“You are taking me to your home now,” she growled.

Not a request from her. And the tone suggested that she was thinking exactly as he was.

So that was going to lead to one and only one thing.

Manny gathered himself from the inside out and then opened his eyes. Reaching up, he touched her face and then rubbed her lower lip with his thumb.

“I’m not sure we should,
bambina
,” he said roughly.

Her hand tightened on his cock and he moaned. “Manuel . . . I think that is very much where we need to be.”

“Not . . . a good idea.”

She pulled back farther, and retracted her hand, her glow fading. “But you are aroused. Even now.”

You think?
“And that’s my point.” His eyes raked over her face and went to her breasts. He was so desperate for her, he was tempted to rip her scrubs in half and take her virginity in his car. “I’m not going to be able to hold back, Payne. I’m barely doing that now. . . .”

She purred in satisfaction and licked those red lips again. “I like when you lose control.”

Oh, God, that was soooo not helping.

“I . . .” He shook his head, thinking this was pure fucking hell—denying them both hurt that badly. “I think you need to do what you have to and leave me now. While I can still let you go—”

The knocking sound on the window made no sense at first. It was just the two of them in the empty parking lot. But then the mystery was solved:

“Get out the car. And give me your grip.”

The male voice snapped Manny’s head around to the window . . . where he stared into the barrel of a gun.

“You heard me, man. Out the car or I’ll shoot you.”

As Manny moved Payne back into her seat and away from point-blank range, he said softly to her, “When I get out, lock the doors. It’s right here.”

He moved his hand over to the dash and tapped the button.

“Just let me handle this.” He had about four hundred dollars in cash in his wallet and plenty of credit cards. “Stay inside.”

“Manuel—”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond—as far as he was concerned, that gun held all the answers and made all the rules.

Snagging his wallet, he was slow in opening the door, but quick about his up and out—and when he shut Payne in, he waited to hear the locks go down.

And waited.

Desperate to hear the punching sound of Payne getting as safe as she could, he only half heard the guy in the ski mask bark, “Your wallet. And tell the bitch to get out the car.”

“There’s four hundred—”

The wallet disappeared. “Tell her to get out or she comes with me. And the watch. I want the watch.”

Manny glanced over to the building. There were windows everywhere, and surely that guard had to take a wander to check shit out from time to time.

Maybe if he went slow with the handover—

That gun muzzle pushed right up into his face. “Watch. Now.”

It wasn’t his good one—he didn’t operate with his Piaget on, for chrissakes. But whatever—asshole could have the fucking thing. Plus, as he feigned hands that shook, he figured it would eat up—

Hard to say what happened in what order.

In retrospect, he knew that Payne had to have opened her door first. But it seemed like the instant he heard the horrific sound of the passenger side getting cracked, she was behind the robber.

And another bizarre thing was that it wasn’t until Manny cursed that the bastard seemed to realize a third party had entered the scenario. Except that couldn’t be true—he would have seen her coming around the car, right?

Whatever—however it all went down, Ski Mask ended up leaping to the left and going back and forth with the weapon between Payne and Manny.

That tennis match thing wasn’t going to last. With god-awful logic, Manny knew the guy was going to zero in on Payne because she was the weaker of the—

Next time the gun muzzle swung back in her direction, Payne . . . disappeared. And not as in ducked or dodged or took off at a dead run. She was there, taking up space one moment—and gone the next.

She reappeared a split second later, and caught the man’s wrist as he went to put the gun back in Manny’s face. The disarming was just as fast: One, she twisted the weapon away; two, she snapped it out of the SOB’s hold; three, she tossed it at Manny, who caught the thing.

And then it was beat-down time.

Payne spun the guy around, grabbed the back of his head, and pounded him face-first into the Porsche’s hood. After she polished the paint job a little with his piehole, she repositioned him and got a grip on the SOB’s baggy-ass jeans. Hefting him up by the hair and what was either his waistband or his rectum, she hauled him back and threw him . . . about ten yards.

Superman didn’t fly half as well—and the robber ended up knocking on the side of the horse-pital with his forehead. The building didn’t have much to say in response, and what do you know, neither did he. He landed facedown in a flower bed, and stayed there, his limbs going dead meat and then some.

No twitching. No moaning. No attempt to get up.

“Are you all right, Manuel?”

Manny slowly turned his head to Payne. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Jesus . . . Christ . . .” he whispered.

As Manuel’s words drifted away on a breeze, Payne fussed with her baggy top and her loose pants. Then she smoothed her hair. It seemed like the only thing she could do to make herself more presentable in the wake of the violence.

Such a wasted effort at trying to feminize herself. And meanwhile, Manuel was still just staring at her.

“Will you say nothing further?” she asked in a low tone.

“Ah . . .” Manuel put his free hand on his head. “Yeah. Ah . . . let me go see if he’s alive.”

Payne wrapped her arms around herself as he walked over to the human man. In truth, she did not really care in what condition she had left the robber. Her priority had been to get that lethal weapon out of Manuel’s face, and she had accomplished her task. Whatever happened to the thief was immaterial . . . but she clearly didn’t know the rules of this world. Or the implications of what she had done.

Manuel was halfway across the grass when the “victim” rolled over with a groan. Hands that had been on the gun went to the mask that covered his face and shoved the knit weave up to his forehead.

Manuel knelt down. “I’m a doctor. How many fingers am I holding up.”

“What . . . ?”

“How many fingers?”

“. . . three . . .”

Manuel put his palm on the guy’s shoulder. “Don’t get up. That was a hell of a belt to the head. Do you have any tingling or numbness in your legs?”

“No.” The guy stared at Manuel. “Why . . . are you doing this?”

Manuel waved the question off. “It’s called medical school—creates a compulsive need to treat the ill or injured regardless of circumstance. I think we need to call an ambulance—”

“No fucking way!”

Payne dematerialized over to them. She appreciated Manuel’s good intentions, but she was concerned that the robber had another weapon on him—

The instant she appeared behind Manuel, the guy on the ground shrank away in horror, raising his arms and cringing back.

Manuel looked up over his shoulder—and that was when she saw that he wasn’t naive. He had the gun pointed at the man. “It’s okay,
bambina
. I got him—”

In a sloppy scramble, the robber got to his feet and Manuel let the muzzle follow him as the human stumbled and caught his balance against the building. Obviously, he was getting ready to run.

“We’re keeping the gun,” Manuel said. “You understand. And I don’t need to tell you, you’re lucky to be alive—you don’t aggress on my girlfriend.”

As the human tore off into the shadows, Manuel rose to his full height. “I need to turn this weapon in to the police.”

Then he just looked over at her.

“It is all right, Manuel. I can take care of my presence with the guard so naught will be known. Do what you must.”

On a nod, he took out a small phoning device, opened it, and hit a few buttons. Putting it up to his ear, he said, “Yeah, my name is Manuel Manello and I was held up at gunpoint in my vehicle? I’m at the Tricounty . . .”

As he spoke, she looked around, and thought she didn’t want it to end like this. Except . . .

“I have to go,” she said as Manuel hung up. “I cannot . . . be here if there are going to be more humans. It will just complicate things.”

His phone slowly lowered to his side. “Okay . . . yeah.” He frowned. “Ah, listen . . . if the police are coming, I need to remember what just happened or—shit, I’ve got a gun in my hand for no reason I can give them.”

Indeed, it would appear that they were trapped. And for once, she was grateful for an imprisonment.

“I want you to remember me,” she said softly.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “You are the most important piece in all this. So you have to take care of yourself and that means wiping me—”

“Dr. Manello! Dr. Manello—you okay?”

Payne glanced over her shoulder. The first human male they had seen at the desk inside was running across the lawn in a panic.

“Do it,” Manuel said. “And I’ll figure something out—”

As the scampering guard came up to them, Payne faced the new arrival.

“I was on my rounds,” the man said, “and when I was checking the offices at the other end of the building, I saw you through the window—I ran as fast as I could!”

“We are fine,” she said to the guard. “But would you look at something for me?”

“Of course! Have the police been called?”

“Yes.” She touched below her right eye. “Look at me, please.”

He was already locked on her face, and the extra focus just made her work easier; all she had to do was open the way into his brain and put a mental patch over everything that pertained to her.

As far as the human knew, her surgeon had come and gone alone.

She kept the man in a trance, and turned to Manuel. “You need not worry. His memories are so short-term, he will be fine.”

From far off, a howling sound rang out, high-pitched and urgent.

“That’s the police,” Manuel said.

“Then I shall go.”

“How will you get home?”

“In the same manner as I got out of your car.”

She waited for him to reach for her . . . or say something . . . or . . . But he just stood there with the cold, silent night air between them.

“Are you going to lie to them?” he asked. “And tell them that you scrubbed me?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, in case you need to come back to do that, I’m at—”

“Good night, Manuel. Please be safe.”

With that, she raised her hand and quietly, inexorably disappeared.

FORTY-THREE

A
s tricks went, this one was fucking weird. “So where’s your friend at?”

Karrie Ravisc, a.k.a. Kandy on the streets, had been doing the whore thing proper for about nine months so she’d seen a lot of shit. But this . . .

The huge man by the motel room’s door spoke softly. “He’s coming.”

Karrie took another toke and thought, Well, at least the one in front of her was hot. And he’d also paid her five hundred and set her up in this room. Still . . . there was something off here.

Weird accent. Weird eyes. Weird ideas.

But very hot.

As they waited, she lay buck-ass naked on the bed with all the lights off. It wasn’t totally dark, though. This john with the heavy wallet had set up a big boxy flashlight across the room, over on the cheapie dresser. The beam was pointed so that it shone on her body. Kind of like she was onstage. Or maybe a piece of art.

Which actually was less weird than some of the things she’d done. Shit, if prostitution didn’t make you think men were nasty, sick bastards, nothing else would: Aside from your run-of-the-mill cheaters and the types who were on power trips, you had fuckers with foot fetishes, and those who liked to get spanked, and others who wanted to get pissed on.

Finishing up her White Owl, she stabbed out the stub and thought maybe this spotlight thing wasn’t so bad. Some jackass had wanted to eat hamburgers off her two weeks ago and that had just been gross—

The click of the lock turning into place made her jump, and she realized with a start that someone had somehow arrived without her knowing it; that was the door
being
locked. From the inside.

And now there was a second man over by the first.

Good thing her pimp was right next door.

“Evenin’,” she said, as she stretched mechanically for both of them. Her breasts were fake, but they were good fake, and her stomach was flat even though she’d had one kid, and she was not just shaved, but electrolyzed.

All of which was how she got to charge what she did.

Man . . . another big one, she thought as the second guy came forward and stood at the foot of the bed. Actually, this fucker was huge. Absolutely mammoth. And not as in fat and sloppy—his shoulders were so square they looked drawn on with a ruler, and his chest formed a perfect triangle into his tight hips. She couldn’t see his face, given the light that streamed from behind him, but it didn’t matter as the first john stretched out on the bed next to her.

Shit . . . she suddenly found herself turned on. It was the size of them and the danger of the darkness and the scents. Jesus . . . they smelled amazing.

“Roll onto your stomach,” the second one demanded.

God, that voice. The same foreign accent as the guy who had set this up, but so much deeper—and there was an edge to it.