Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (8 page)

“Ah, yes. That’s better. You missed me?”

The slave swallowed around the plump head, inviting the Master into his throat.

“I couldn’t come sooner. Your failure angered me. I would have broken you.”

The slave froze, terrified the Master would leave him again.

“But everyone makes mistakes. You will atone for yours.”

Harsh fingers gripped his hair, tugging painfully to hold him in place as the Master fucked his mouth. The rocking set his nipples and balls on fire as the rigging enhanced the vacillation. He could service the Master like this for days on end. When the Master’s abdomen tightened before the slave’s eyes, the Dom yanked his cock away, abandoning his slave’s throat. Spittle from the slave’s mouth stretched before breaking to the glistening strand draped onto the nest of graying pubic hair that ringed the Master’s ultra-thick shaft.

“So, tell me. Have you done as you were instructed?”

“Yes, Sir.” His raw whine had been caused half by the rough treatment of his throat and half by his terror of disappointing the Master. “I hired…”

“I do not wish to know the details. Plausible deniability.” The Master paced toward his rear. The slave hung his head to watch between his legs as the Master took his place there. “Just tell me it’s been done. No fuck ups this time.”

The Master accompanied his stern command with a hard slap on the slave’s ass. He writhed, nearly begging for more.

“No, Sir. No fuck ups. I’ve done as you asked.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than the Master released the straps and extracted the plug from his gaping ass. The Master plunged inside the partially opened orifice until he buried the enormous length of his cock in one long thrust. Sparks of pain and pleasure radiated from the slave’s channel as he imagined himself impaled on the glorious erection.

“Then you may take me.”

“Yes! Thank you, Sir.” He wept as the Master began to fuck him with brutal strokes, exactly how he loved it. This is what he lived for. This is what he had bargained so much of his soul for. The dark craving he’d always possessed, this man had recognized and began fulfilling more than fifteen years ago.

As the Master exited his prime, things had gotten shady for a while, until they had funded development of the drug. The savior of all they both needed. Yes, it had made the Master edgier than ever, but the slave welcomed the return of their sessions. How could he live without this? He wished the untamed fucking could last forever.

All too soon, the Master’s balls grew taut where they slapped the slave’s tense sac. The Dom’s fingers tightened on his slave’s hips as he rode with wild abandon. Though forbidden to come without permission, the slave edged toward the point of no return. At the last possible moment, the Master turned rigid behind him, spewing his come into the depths of the slave’s bowels, searing the slave’s prostate with seed as he roared out in completion.

The slave panted, dying for the single touch—the single word—that could have him joining in the rapture, shooting his own meager load to the bench beneath him. He was not granted such a reprieve.

Instead the Master withdrew, wiping his cock on the slave’s thigh. When he turned to leave, the slave could not stand to be silent no matter the punishment he might have to endure for speaking out of turn. “Please, may I come for you?”

The Master sneered in disgust. “Absolutely not. Until you return my daughter to your household, you deserve no reward. Have you forgotten the terms of our arrangement? You keep the bitch close, and I give you what you need. I’ve upheld my end for over a decade, fucking you, training you, making you the centerpiece of lavish orgies. You’ve had responsibility for her for four short years, and you’ve already lost control of one tiny girl. You say you’ve done as instructed. Soon she will be scared right back into your arms, if not your bed, but who can blame her there?”

The Master stared pointedly at his slave’s crotch.

“She is mine. She is valuable. Take her back. Her and
everything
she left with. This time I’ll make sure she earns her keep. We’ve already strengthened the formula of the drug and prepared a list of clients who are willing to pay top dollar for a turn with her. We’ll secure a lifetime supply for ourselves. You cannot afford to disappoint me again, Malcolm.”

Isabella figured the odds of Razor showing to be one out of ten at best after the way she’d bungled things. Still, she dressed and styled her hair with more care than she’d taken in weeks. She tried to convince herself she did it to prepare for the stop she had to make before going to the mall. That didn’t explain why she chose the sweater closest to the color of her student’s eyes from her sparse stack of clothes, folded atop the broken chair in the corner.

She sighed in regret when she opted for classy pumps instead of her highest heeled boots, which she hadn’t been able to leave behind. The confidence boost would have come in handy, but she’d overdone things the day before and her ankle protested. Loudly. The ace bandage she’d supported it with at her practice with Razor didn’t seem to help as much today. Maybe because the flesh around the joint had swelled to epic proportions before she could ice and re-wrap it.

It’ll be better by this afternoon.

She hoped she wasn’t lying to herself about that one.

For now, she shoved aside her lingering dread. If she could execute her plan for the morning, maybe her ability to dance wouldn’t matter as much by lunchtime. At least, not as more than a matter of pride.

Isabella appraised her handiwork in the speckled mirror, making a mental note to pick up some cleaning supplies on her excursion. From what she could discern through the grime, she’d done a respectable job of painting on her high-class camouflage. She marched over to her unlevel coffee table then refolded the certificate there along the existing creases before slipping it into her purse next to the envelope containing her leverage. Her stomach churned when she touched the documents. Using them could mean the difference between long-term escape or surrender.

Isabella gulped to swallow the knot in her throat, which threatened to strangle her. She strode out the door, engaging the half-assed lock behind her. Her mind zipped between choreographing more difficult transitions in the waltz, her insane attraction to the hot-headed—and hot-bodied—cop and anything else that would keep her occupied so she didn’t have to consider nightmares that paralyzed her with hurt, terror or disgust.

Distracted, she failed to notice the shady guy lurking behind the stump of a dead oak tree at the bottom of the half-rotten staircase, which led to the street where she’d parked her get-away car. He stepped directly into her path. An undignified squeak burst from her before she could catch it. The panic she attempted to repress must have shone through, regardless.

“Hey there, pretty lady. No need to freak.” When he held out his hands—covered in fingerless gloves, which might get cleaner if he rolled them in the dirt—Isabella tried not to cringe at the odor that wafted her way. The man could have a story not so different from hers for all she knew.

“I’m sorry, sir. You surprised me, that’s all.” She attempted a smile. The expression morphed into a grimace when the gap between her lips allowed her to taste his rankness as well.

“Sir!” The man doubled over with a hoot. “Ain’t nobody ever sir’d me before.”

Isabella edged closer to her car, eager to jump into her errands. She had limited time since she intended to reach the Pyramid by eleven, even though she expected James to stand her up.

“I like you, pretty lady. Was gonna shake you down for some spare change. You know, piss on your mailbox when you blew me off. But you ain’t nothing like the other rich-bitch types I seen downtown.”

When she winced, he waved his hands, amplifying the toxic fumes surrounding them like a black cloud.

“What’s your name?” She cut him off before he could apologize. Why should he when she’d seen her father or Malcolm trod past less fortunate people like they didn’t exist. Hell, half the time, she hadn’t been treated much better.

“People call me Stinky,” he grimaced. “But my momma named me Leo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Leo. I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry. Are you planning on being around tonight?”

“Nowhere else to go.”

“I’ll bring dinner. What’s your favorite?”

“I ain’t had a juicy steak in years.” His dull eyes sparkled for a moment before he grunted. “I’d be glad for anything I don’t have to dig out of the dumpster. Something warm would be heaven.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Isabella gave him a wave as she beeped open the car. “I might be late, sorry.”

“Something to look forward to. Almost as good as food.” He peeled his holey knit cap from his matted hair then fashioned her an awkward bow. “Drive safe, pretty lady.”

Isabella darted in and out of traffic, loving the growl of the engine. It turned the heads of men—young and old alike—as she passed by. She ignored the pointing or gawking when a couple recognized her behind the wheel.

One of her greatest worries had been that her partner would hound her, asking uncomfortable questions she wasn’t prepared to answer about her personal life. Razor hadn’t pressured her much, and she hadn’t pestered him for the gruesome details of his fiasco. Maybe that had created the foundation for their instant bond.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to discuss what had happened with anyone. Except maybe her lawyer, if Malcolm didn’t cave under the pressure of her bluff to splash his indiscretions from newsstands to billboards unless he did as she demanded.

Isabella thought of the grainy black and white pictures in her purse. Clear enough to damn but fuzzy enough to allow room for doubt. Her husband could afford a whole team of high-priced lawyers to refute her claim.

She’d be lucky to snag one.
If
her meeting went well this morning.

After double-checking the flashy titanium sign against the page she’d torn from the phone book, she unfolded herself from the low-slung beast of a car. How did any man—never mind a tall, heavy one like her father—fit in the contraption? Hell, he’d probably never touched the toy. He simply enjoyed owning what others could not.

The whir and zing of power tools screeched into silence as she progressed to the building. Before she’d gotten halfway there, three men in suits had appeared out of nowhere to hold the door. From inside the garage, a smattering of mechanics practically drooled. She grinned when she realized they leered beyond her, to her ride. Perfect.

“Ms. Buchanan.” A salesman greeted her by name. It behooved luxury businesses to familiarize themselves with the high rollers in their city. She thought he took it a little far when he bent to kiss the knuckles of the hand she extended in greeting. The middle-aged brownnoser attempted to steer her toward a plush office, but she didn’t have time for the requisite coffee and chit chat before getting down to business.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m on a tight schedule.” Besides, it’d be better if he knew she meant to play hardball. Just because she looked like a freaking powder puff didn’t mean she had to act like one anymore.

“Of course. How may I help you today?”

“I’d like to sell my car. Quickly.” Isabella thought she might have heard the cha-ching of an imaginary register as the man calculated his potential bonus. She gave him credit for managing to keep his shit-eating grin from showing. Mostly.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, miss. If you’ll leave it here for us to detail, I’m sure I can line up a buyer within days.”

“I’d prefer you to solicit bids for a sale by the close of business today.”

The salesman’s faux smirk wilted a smidge. “Ma’am, rushing this kind of transaction is not in your best interest.”

“Thank you, I realize it won’t maximize either of our profits. However, I’m in a hurry. I’m willing to sacrifice a bit in order to tempt someone into buying something ridiculously overpriced, which they could never justify in a thousand days of deliberation.”

When he continued to drone on about return on investment as though she hadn’t expressed her opinion on the matter, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toe on the marble tile.

“Can we cut the crap, Mr. Nathwell?” she read off the embossed business card he’d handed her. “I realize you’d like a big fat commission from this sale, but something is always better than nothing. And that’s what you’ll have if you can’t execute my wishes in the sale of the vehicle by this afternoon.”

The older man’s jaw hung slack as he reevaluated her. After several long seconds, he granted her a terse nod. “I understand. Let me take down a number where you can be reached then I’ll arrange for someone to drive you wherever you need to go while we show the Enzo.”

After no more than five minutes, George—they were now on a first name basis—shook her hand with a firm grip as he looked her straight in the eye. “I appreciate your business, Ms. Buchanan. I hope you don’t mind me saying this… You’re really nothing like I assumed you’d be. You remind me of my own daughter.”

The sincere smile he flashed transformed his somber features into a kindly visage more appropriate to her ideal of grandparents—she’d never known any of hers—than a high-end auto shark. Tears pricked her eyes in an instant of weakness when she could least afford it. Instead of pouncing on her, George patted her wrist. He murmured, “You’re going to do fine on your own, dear.”

“I’m trying my best.”

Chapter Six

The pounding in Razor’s brain punished him for his overindulgence. He should know better than to attempt to drown his bad judgment. It had never worked before. When he flipped up the visor on his helmet, sunshine stabbed the recesses of his skull like a red-hot poker. What the hell was he doing here when he should be crashed on the floor of his apartment like JRad?

Oh yeah, he was working. Stupid piece of shit.

If he could have kicked his own ass for forgetting that yesterday, he would have done it. Twice. He’d wasted the entire day flirting, dreaming and dancing with the enemy when he should have been gathering intelligence to lock the conniving bitch away for the rest of her long, lonely lifetime.