The Family Business 2 Page 9

  I closed the gap between us, trying to comfort him. “Vinnie, baby, please lower your voice before the others hear you.”

  “No, I’m not gonna calm down. I’m horny and I want you to suck my dick. I bet you if I was Orlando Duncan you’d be down on your knees by now.” The veins on the side of his head were throbbing at this point. I was starting to become fearful.

  He reached into his pocket, but luckily it wasn’t for a weapon. “Do I have to pay you for it like he did? Is that what I have to do to get some action around here?” He pulled out some dollar bills and threw them on the floor. “Well, there’s the money. Pick it up and get to work!”

  I felt the tears welling up in my eyes at the same time my baby started to cry.

  “Vinnie, phone!” Our fight was interrupted by my brother’s bitch, Natasha, holding out the phone for Vinnie. She looked at me then looked down at the money on the floor with a smirk on her face. I knew she’d heard what Vinnie said to me, and I was humiliated.

  She looked back to Vinnie and said, “It’s Randy. He says it’s important.”

  Vinnie brushed past me and took the phone from Natasha. I sat down at the table and tried to soothe little Vincent, watching Vinnie pace back and forth as he talked to my brother briefly.

  “Your brother’s one crazy motherfucker,” he said with a laugh when he hung up.

  “What’d he say?” I asked, relieved that Vinnie seemed to be less agitated and our fight was over for now. Apparently he didn’t need that blow job now, because he had other things to excite him.

  “Randy just told me that Junior Duncan is across the street from the house, and he’s about to walk over there and kill him.”

  Sasha

  13

  It had been a long time since I’d been on a real vacation—and this was definitely what I would call a real vacation. When I asked my employer for some time off, I figured I’d go home to see my family, visit my father’s grave for the first time, and then get back to work. I had no idea they’d send me to the luxurious Koa Kea Resort in Kauai. The place was five star all the way, neck and neck with the Four Seasons on the Big Island.

  My first order of business when I arrived had been to invite my occasional fuck buddy, Manny Calderon, to join me. Normally I wouldn’t be taking sand to the beach, so to speak, but this was the kind of place where people showed up in pairs. Not that I wasn’t open to being the occasional third wheel, but for this trip I wanted a little one on one with someone who already knew how to ring my bell.

  Manny and I had met five years earlier at school in Europe, where he deflowered me during my freshman year. Unlike most of the guys there, who seemed to shrink upon witnessing my high-level skills in the field of mercenary, Manny actually enjoyed my confidence and capabilities. Not many men wanted to bed a woman who proved time and again that she could be a better man than him on the battlefield, but Manny took it in stride—probably because, as he liked to remind me, no matter how well I did in school, I would never be able to overcome the power he had over my body. Which, I admit, was absolutely true. I guess that’s what happens when a man takes your virginity and gives you multiple orgasms all in the same night.

  After the way he got me off that first time, I lost all desire to argue about it. I just took advantage of whatever time we could spend together. Unfortunately, this week in Hawaii wouldn’t be one of those times. He’d just started to work for his uncle and couldn’t get away.

  I wasn’t going to let Manny’s absence stop me from having a good time, though. After my in-room massage, I planned on taking a trip down to the bar to see what trouble I could find. After all, a vacation would not be complete without some illicit hookup of some kind. The guests at the hotel might have been mostly couples, but there was always the bartender, or maybe someone working at the front desk. I also wasn’t ruling out the masseuse, which was why I’d requested a man.

  Speaking of my massage, a quick peek at the time had me jumping in the shower to wash off the sea salt before he arrived. Reminiscing about Manny, coupled with the intensity of the water spraying down on my clitoris, had me worked up. I spread my legs, rubbing my fingers against my sweet spot in a slow, circular motion as I fantasized about all the things I wanted done to me—licking, sucking, fucking, smacking, and tussling. I’m not going to pretend I’m not into rough sex, which is part of the reason I was hoping Manny would come see me. He knew how I liked it, and he was always ready to give it to me.

  The doorbell rang before I could make myself come. Figuring it was the masseuse, I shut off the water and threw on a robe. Maybe if I was lucky he’d be willing to help me finish what he’d just interrupted. I answered the door to an Indian man carrying a shoulder bag.

  When he spoke, he reminded me of the outsourcers who gave me my assignments over the telephone. “I am Raja,” he said. “You ordered a massage?” He wasn’t the cutest Indian guy I’d ever seen, but he could make a few fantasies come true. I gestured for him to come in.

  Raja got right to work in the bedroom, setting up his portable massage table and all the extras he’d brought with him. He lowered the lights, lit some candles and incense, and placed an iPod on the speakers. John Legend’s voice crooned over the sound system, and I felt myself starting to relax. This wasn’t starting out half bad.

  He turned around so that I could remove my robe and get under the sheet, lying face up. Then he placed a soft mask over my eyes to block out any light, and began with a scalp massage.

  There was a knock on the door, and Raja said, “Miss, I took the liberty of ordering champagne and strawberries for after your massage. I’ll go get that set up. Please turn over onto your stomach and we can begin when I come back.”

  “Sounds good,” I murmured as he left the bedroom to let the server into the suite. I turned over and buried my face into the doughnut-shaped headrest, looking forward to my full body massage. He’d barely touched me, but I was already feeling totally relaxed. The coolness of the mask was soothing, and the sound of John Legend’s voice was taking me to another place. I enjoyed the sensations as I waited for Raja to come back and start my massage.

  I heard him open the door and say good-bye to the person who’d brought in the champagne, and then his footsteps let me know he was back in the bedroom. The scent of lavender wafted into my nose as I felt his soft hands begin kneading the muscles in my shoulders.

  His touch was hard, just the way I liked it. He wasn’t a big guy, so I was a little surprised by his strength as he worked his way down my back. And then things got interesting.

  The sheet that had been covering me slid off completely as he massaged one butt cheek then the next. Raja made no move to pick up the sheet and cover me again, and I didn’t ask him to. He moved his hands down farther, until they were at the tops of my inner thighs, way too close to my pussy. This motherfucker had no idea what he was doing to me, as turned on as I already was from my shower. I had to stop myself from arching my back and offering it up to him.

  Suddenly, I felt his hands between my legs, separating them until I was exposed. That’s when I understood that Raja knew damn well what he was doing to me. He massaged my inner thighs, creeping closer and closer to my wetness, and then without warning he slid not one, but two beefy fingers inside me. This motherfucking Indian was no amateur, either, because instead of sliding his fingers in and out, he curled them up, rubbing my G-spot. By now I was moaning loud enough for the entire resort to hear, but I didn’t give a shit, because I was about to come.

  When the wave hit me, it was powerful as hell. I let the world know it when I started yelling,“Oh, shit!” at the top of my lungs. I wanted to protest when he removed his fingers, but I was too busy riding the wave of ecstasy. He took hold of my wrists until the spasms of pleasure subsided and my body collapsed on the massage table.

  “Raja, if you massage the front as well as you did the back, you will have earned yourself one hell of a tip,” I told him as I lay there totally spent. I was on the verge of no
dding off, my face still buried in the headrest. “Do me a favor and put the sheet back on me, will you?” I asked. When I didn’t get an answer, I called out, “Raja, you still there, hun?” and then tried to turn over. That’s when I realized my hands wouldn’t move.

  I had been handcuffed.

  “What the fuck?” I jerked my arm to try to get free from the handcuffs, but that only served to alert me to the fact that my legs were also cuffed. What a feeling—handcuffed face down and buck naked. A million different scenarios ran through my head, and none of them were good. I wasn’t sure what this bastard was up to, but he had better kill me, because if I ever got free, I was damn sure going to kill him.

  “Why are you doing this?” I yelled, not even sure where he was.

  I heard no verbal response, but there was a hard slap and then the stinging pain of his hand coming down on my ass. He spanked me hard, repeatedly. I struggled to avoid the blows, but I was completely at his mercy.

  “Arrrrrgh! You motherfucker! I’m gonna kill your fucking ass. I swear to God I’m going to kill you!”

  He stopped hitting me, and there was silence for about five seconds. I felt a sense of relief, but it didn’t last long, as I felt his finger poke me in the back then run down my oily spine until he reached the crack of my ass. I knew what he was planning, and I tensed my body in preparation. He jammed his finger in my ass, making me jump. It didn’t go very far in, and he didn’t leave it in long, but I got the message loud and clear. He was letting me know that he was in charge, and what I wanted or didn’t want did not matter.

  “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with, because if you put your dick in my ass, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you slow. I can promise you that.” My voice was calm now. I was no longer going to show this motherfucking Indian any fear. “So do whatever the fuck you’re planning on doing. It’s not going to matter. Truth is, I enjoy pain, and I love getting fucked in the ass. I get off on it.” I waited for his response but got nothing. Not a sound, not a movement came from him. He was really fucking pissing me off. “But I’m gonna get off even more when I cut your fucking balls off and watch you bleed out until you’re dead,” I told him.

  Suddenly, I felt his hands at my wrist, and then one of my hands was freed. I reached up and ripped the mask from my face, struggling to adjust to the light.

  “That’s some serious shit you talking about doing, ma, but killing me would hurt you a whole lot more in the long run, don’t you think?”

  “Manny!” I shouted, and I swear I felt my pussy jump at just the sight of him. “Oh my God, Manny, what are you doing here? I was about to kick your fucking ass.”

  He laughed as he reached over and removed the restraints from my other hand and my feet.

  “How did you get here?” I asked, rubbing my wrists and sitting up on the massage table.

  “You mean, Gaining Entrance 101? Did you skip that class?” he teased as he reached out and brushed a hand against my hard nipples.

  I shuddered with pleasure at his touch. “But you said you couldn’t make it. Work, remember?”

  “Let’s just say I killed it and my uncle gave me some time off,” he explained as his hand wandered down between my legs to begin massaging my clit. “Glad to see me?”

  “Yes, but not as much as I’m going to be when you fuck me,” I said, grinding against his hand. Damn, I wanted his dick so bad.

  He laughed. “A few seconds ago you didn’t want me to touch you, and all of a sudden you want me to fuck you.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s when I thought you were some Indian motherfucker and not my favorite Latin lover,” I purred. “So what do you say? Pick a hole, any hole, and your dreams will come true.”

  With a huge grin on his face, he made his choice. “I choose all of them.” He dropped his pants. His dick was already standing at attention.

  “An excellent choice.” I smiled happily and leaned back, spreading my legs wide. “Go for it, Daddy.”

  Junior

  14

  I walked into the coffee shop and sat at a table near the window, which would give me a great view of the newly renovated row houses across the street. They were easily worth half a million dollars apiece. This was a Philadelphia neighborhood on the rise. Once populated by homeless people, addicts, and thieves, it was now home to middle class families, art studios, and upscale restaurants. It was the perfect place to hide in plain sight, which was what Randy and his Jamaican crew had been doing ever since he got out of jail. If everything went according to plan, that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

  A waitress came to the table and I ordered a pastry and a cappuccino. While I waited for her to bring the order, I watched the three dudes who stood across the street, each one in front of a different one of Randy’s row houses. One rocked a red, green, and yellow knit cap, an homage to Bob Marley; the other two looked like they were trying to be incognito but weren’t doing a very good job of it—at least not to anyone with a trained eye. It wasn’t hard to tell that they were hiding something under their coats, most likely automatic weapons or sawed-off shotguns.

  I took out my phone and speed-dialed my father as the waitress set down my pastry and coffee.

  “Yes,” Pop said.

  “I’m here. It should go down in about five minutes. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call,” he replied before ending the call.

  I sipped my cappuccino, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched two cars pull up in front of the row houses. Just like that, the three sentries had become nine. Nine big, dumb Jamaicans who were probably all dying for the chance to be the one to take me out. I knew I’d be recognized by Randy’s people the minute I hit the block. Funny thing is, I wasn’t trying to hide. I wanted the Jamaicans to see me; but even I had underestimated just how much my presence would freak them out. They were all scrambling around over there with no idea what was about to happen. Things were going even better than I’d planned.

  I checked my watch. It wouldn’t be long now. When this was all over, I’d round up my guys and take them out for a drink. Right now they were parked in different spots around the neighborhood, away from Randy’s houses, just in case things went awry. My plan was shaping up to be pretty damn foolproof, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

  Just as I set down my coffee cup, I saw six black SUVs with dark tinted windows come screeching to a halt in front of the row houses. They were followed by two black vans that pulled in directly behind them. Show time.

  “Another cappuccino, sweetheart,” I called out to the waitress, whose eyes were glued to the window, watching the scene unfold across the street.

  At least six people scrambled out of each SUV wearing full assault gear and carrying automatic weapons. Their flak jackets bore the letters ATF, for the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.

  These boys weren’t playing around. Within seconds of stepping out of the vehicles, they had taken out six of the nine sentries. I almost felt sorry for the poor Jamaicans because they didn’t have a chance. If you ask me, those brothers committed suicide by not surrendering the second they saw what was coming at them.

  Once the sentries were down thing just seemed to escalate from there. Three pairs of men jumped out of the first van holding battering rams. They rushed the row houses. In the blink of an eye, all three doors were busted down and the remaining agents were in the houses.

  The waitress brought my cappuccino, but she didn’t go back to the counter. She stood by my table, staring outside. There wasn’t much activity out there now that the agents had gone into the houses, but we heard screaming and shooting—a lot of it. Poor girl looked like she was in shock.

  Not long after that the streets were alive with police activity: cop cars, ambulances, and drug-sniffing dogs. From my seat in the café, I watched as at least thirty people were escorted out in handcuffs or on stretchers. There was no doubt in my mind from the amount of gunfire that
there were at least twenty more that would come out in body bags.

  Six cappuccinos and a dozen pastries later, the entire operation had been wrapped up neatly. All that was left was some crime scene tape and a few Philadelphia cops watching over the houses until carpenters could board up the splintered doors.

  A while after everyone had cleared out, a black Buick sedan pulled in front of the coffee shop and Wilson and Stevens stepped out. Stevens was dressed in the same gear I’d seen on the ATF assault team, instead of the crisp white shirt and slacks he’d worn during that first meeting with me and Harris. He looked more comfortable now and exhibited total authority. Wilson was still wearing a white shirt and slacks, but he had on a windbreaker with the insignia of the INS. They entered the coffee shop and sat across from me.

  The waitress started to come over to the table to take their orders, but I gave her a look that made her back up and head the other way. I’d have to give her a big enough tip later to make her forget she’d ever seen me.

  “That was quite an operation,” I said with a smile. “You gentlemen were very impressive.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without your help. Thanks for the tip.” Stevens stuck out his fist and I gave him some dap. “We found a small arsenal of weapons from M16s to M60s, and they had enough military issued explosives to blow up the entire block. What the hell were these guys gearing up for—war?”

  “Something like that,” I replied, knowing that the war they planned was against my family.

  “Mr. Duncan, we also found a lot of drugs. Enough so that my bosses at the ATF are gonna be kissing my ass for the next two years for beating out the DEA. I’m pretty sure my next promotion is in the bank,” Stevens said with a laugh.