A Far Better Thing, page 13
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Bo stalked toward her, her movements calculated, predatory. She was on the hunt and Tiffany was on the menu. Bo’s breathing was hard, fast, shallow. Her dark T-shirt was soaked through with sweat and the zipper of her jeans was stretched tight over a thick strap-on that rubbed her higher with every step toward her goal.
Tiffany gasped as Bo shoved her back against the wall, quickly pressing against her hard enough for Tiffany to feel the thick prominence between her legs. She moaned and arched into Bo, rocking her hips into it.
A part of Bo wanted to run, wanted to get away, but she growled deeply and closed her eyes against it. “Open my pants. Take it out. Now.” Tiffany did as she was told, one hand gripping the stiff cock as her other dug into Bo’s shoulder.
Bo’s entire body twitched as Tiffany began a rapid up and down motion on the strap-on, her hands firmly planted on the wall on either side of Tiffany’s head as she leaned down and captured Tiffany’s mouth—her tongue exploring, plundering, owning. She heard the soft whimper of pain but couldn’t make herself stop. She reached down with one hand to push Tiffany’s barely-there skirt up, shoving her panties aside as she thrust her fingers deep inside, claiming her there even as her tongue claimed Tiffany’s mouth. She kissed her way frantically up Tiffany’s jaw and whispered hoarsely in her ear, “Let me in here, Tiff. Let me fuck you here. How I want. Say yes, Tiff.” Say no! Make me stop!
Bo’s voice was like gravel to her own ears, and a distant memory of drug fueled agony surfaced as Tiffany gasped her acquiescence, moaning as Bo forcefully turned her and reached down to spread her ass, sliding a finger in there as the thick head of the strap-on replaced her other fingers.
“Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me watch you.” She’d said those words before. She thought she was done with that.
Tiffany moaned and threw her head back as she shoved herself back, filling herself with Bo before pulling almost all the way off and slamming back down again. She muffled a scream by biting her lip as Bo dug fingertips into her hips to stop her movements before she thrust completely inside, fingers and cock, at the same time as she bit down on the sensitive skin on the side of Tiffany’s neck. She could feel the skin breaking under her teeth as she started fucking Tiffany in earnest.
“You’re going too slow to make me come, Tiff. You know what I need. Now give it to me.”
She could feel her thrusts growing more frantic as she tried to fuck away the memories of the past and present blending together in a maelstrom of pain and confusion.
“Come on, Bo, fuck me harder, baby. Make it hurt when I come. Make me scream!”
Bo groaned gutturally and yanked her back to meet her hard thrusts while slamming her into the wall in front of her, her hand clenched around Tiffany’s throat. “Come. Now!”
Tiffany screamed as they both came, and Bo tried her hardest to push the face of the beautiful blonde out of her head.
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Cass breathed deeply and shook herself, trying to act as best she could like the encounter with the detective hadn’t affected her just as badly as it had Bo. She’d known when she told the bartender to slip Bo some Molly that it would make her more receptive to Cass’s advances, but just how receptive she would have never guessed. Bo’s body had been so strong, so powerful. The way her hips had moved against Cass’s hand, and she smelled so fucking good. Would it have been just as good without the Molly? Would Bo have been as receptive? The slip had been a calculated move to ensure the detective was easily pliable and wouldn’t notice her surroundings but… Damn. Cass almost wished she would have stayed and let Cass make her come, and Cass had no doubt she could have. No doubt at all. She had been so ready when Cass opened her pants. For a moment, Cass once again let herself get swept away in the fantasy of another life. What if she caved and gave the detective what she wanted? What if she wasn’t a Voleur at all? What if she had let me touch her? So hot and wet and—
“Miss Halliburton.”
Cass looked up at Billy, who was currently acting as a bouncer to ensure that anyone who caused trouble while moving their product was swiftly removed. Her inside source at the PD had ensured no undercover officers would be staking out their business and had been sure to mention that Bo would be there watching, as usual. Billy was there to help with the less than savory patrons and to be her eyes when she wasn’t there. For the moment, she was inordinately glad that the low lights in the club ensured he couldn’t see that he had startled her.
“Yes, Billy. How can I help you?” Even to her own ears Cass’s voice sounded distant and distracted.
He looked as if he were going to comment on something that was completely not his business. Instead, he simply said, “I just wanted to let you know that everything went according to plan. Sty’s information was correct and all eyes were on Heartbreakers tonight. They didn’t see shit. The Demons have held up their part and our product is where it belongs. The first phase is complete and if we’re correct and they cross Heartbreakers off their watch list, we can proceed to phase two.”
“Good. That’s perfect. Now we can start moving through Classic. Have the boys get ready to sell some cars.” When he didn’t move, she looked up at him. “Yes, Billy?”
“I was just going to suggest, ma’am, that if you needed to…relax, there might be a back room available.” She eyed him sharply, but didn’t say anything, so he continued, “There’s a really pretty brunette that’s been eyeing you all night.”
“No!” She could tell by the look on his face that she had startled him with her vehemence. “No, sorry. I’m not really into brunettes. You’re right, though. I could use some stress relief. Find me a blonde and have her meet me in room three. Thanks, Billy.” With that, she turned on her heels and stormed into the shadows. She was getting tired of the hiding and tired of the games. She wanted to be free from the weight this whole operation had put on her shoulders. Maybe a good fuck was all she needed.
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A bull dancing the flamenco on Bo’s head woke her up the next morning. It only took three hits of a nonexistent snooze button for her to realize that her alarm was actually a ringing phone. She moved through the sludge of a drug induced hangover to answer it and hold it to her ear. “Zander.”
“Detective, this is Barri Holt. I’m a friend of Alyssa’s.” Bo opted for a grunt in lieu of a response, so the young woman on the other end of the line continued. “Anyway, Alyssa told me that you were looking for anyone coming in connected to the Voleurs, right?”
Bo groaned, still not willing to open her eyes. “Who did you find?”
“I, uh, found a girl. A woman. I found a woman. Well, she’s eighteen.” It was obvious by the jailer’s lack of conviction in her response that she was both extremely new and completely unsure of whether or not calling the lead detective on a major investigation was, in fact, a good idea.
Bo risked opening one eye to glance at the clock and was surprised that she had slept in until past ten. “Why does this concern me?”
“She’s an eighteen-year-old girl from Nigeria who barely speaks English, but I specifically understood the words, ‘Detective Alexander’ and ‘Voleurs.’ I figured at that point it was best to call you in case something important popped up in an interview.”
Bo slid her legs out of bed and slowly rolled to a sitting position. Nausea from the hangover battled with the fury at having been so fucking preoccupied she’d allowed herself to be taken advantage of. What a fucking rookie move. She took a deep breath to restrain her temper and then said, “How long can you hold her for?”
“Probably not very long. It’s Mardi Gras and she didn’t do anything except solicit an officer.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Make sure no one else talks to her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up the phone only for it to immediately ring again.
“What?”
“Try again, Alexander.”
Bo took another steadying breath before gritting her teeth together and muttering, “Yes, ma’am, Sergeant?”
“The bartender from last night has been arrested and Cass’s club has been fined. She denies all knowledge of his intentions and he corroborates her story. His reasoning is asinine at best. He says he chose a random drink, which means we can’t touch her. I’m not so stupid that I would have forced you to write a report last night, but I need one now just to make the charges on this guy stick. The gloves are coming off, Zander. Our guard is up, and our hackles are raised, and I want this bitch off my island now. We didn’t see shit last night at Heartbreakers so I’m about to take Topher to task for his faulty info getting one of my officers in a bad way.”
She hung up without needing a word from Bo, and Bo continued getting dressed. When she saw her truck, she realized with a start she had no idea how she got home the night before. That was a problem for future Bo.
When Bo arrived at the county jail, she had to fight not to keep her sunglasses on when the fluorescent glare hit her eyes. The Molly had exacerbated the dehydration from the whiskey, and she was paying the price with her sanity. The interrogation room wasn’t any better, but she put on her game face when she stepped in and faced a young woman who may have been only eighteen but had the poise and presence of an African queen. Bo cocked her head slightly and said calmly, “Comment t’appelles-tu?” What is your name. Thank God for high school French.
The young woman smiled. “My name is Grace Njikeu. You do not have to speak French to me, though I appreciate your consideration.” It may have been accented, but her English was perfect.
Bo took a seat in front of Grace as she spoke. “I apologize. I was under the impression that you didn’t speak English very well.”
“It has been my impression with police officers that unless you give them something very specific to work with, they will not give you what you want.”
Bo had to stop herself from laughing at the grunt of offense from the deputy keeping guard on the door behind Grace. “I understand, Miss Njikeu. Can I ask why you specifically requested to speak to me, though? As I understand, you aren’t in much trouble.”
Grace drew herself up taller and tilted her chin up as she spoke. “Tonight, I had sex with a man I did not know so that I could make money to survive. When he was done with me, he forced me to stand out on a street and give my body to any other man who asked. I was not allowed to keep the money the other men gave me.”
Bo felt the contents of her stomach turn sour and remembered talking to Chubby about the possibility that the Voleurs were getting into the trafficking game. She took a deep breath and then said, “How did you come by my name?”
“There was another woman on the street, Tiffany. She asked if I had been on that road before and I told her the truth, that tonight was my first time seeing America from anything other than a van or a window. She told me that I should find a police officer and ask for you.”
Bo understood. Grace hadn’t been soliciting a police officer, she had been asking to go to the police station. “Grace—may I call you Grace?” The young woman nodded, and Bo continued. “How did you come into contact with the man who forced you to be on the streets tonight?”
“It is not as if I could make money some other way. The man who took my money, he has not given me any other way to survive.”
Bo shook her head slightly. “Let me rephrase my question. How did you get here, Grace? To America.”
She laughed then, as if Bo had just asked her the most stupid question in the world. “It is not obvious? I have seen enough of your American television to know that the same methods seem to apply to everyone. Someone comes to my village. They pretend they are there to help, to teach us their language, to teach us their customs. They pull us aside and they promise a new life if we want to come with them, that we will be able to send money to our families.”
“And then you’re theirs and you’re trapped.” Grace nodded. “So, then you must know that talking to me will put your life in danger.”
“I am aware, but I am no one’s slave. I would rather be dead.” Her jaw clenched and though tears filled her eyes, she seemed adamant they would not fall. “This is not the life I want. My ancestors would be ashamed.”
Bo ran her hands through her hair and sighed deeply. “Can you give me a description of anyone? Anything that could help me?”
Grace shook her head sadly. “No. All I know is that one wore the Voleurs on their back and the others were Demons, the ones who came for me. Tiffany said that was important to you.”
Tiffany was right. If they could identify the Voleur, they could bring him in for questioning. It could lead somewhere. “The Voleur. Can you tell me if it was a man or a woman? Long hair, short hair? Tattoos or scars? Any little detail could help.”
“It was a man. They did not exchange names, and the Voleur wore a mask around me, but the Voleur man said, ‘The boss will be pissed if this doesn’t work.’ His voice was unremarkable. As for the Demons, well, they all look the same, no? Nothing remarkable about them either.”
Bo frowned and wondered what “this” was and how it fit into her investigation. “Okay, Grace. I just have a couple more questions.”
“May I have a glass of water?”
Bo nodded at the deputy who grabbed a glass for her. Once she had downed the contents, she motioned for Bo to continue.
“How many girls came with you from your village? And do you know the names of anyone who brought you here?”
Grace shook her head. “I could give you names, but they would be of no help. John Smith. John Doe. I know enough of your customs to know these were probably fake. And as for how many? They only brought four of us. The one, the Voleur, he said that as long as everything went right this time that there would be more next time.”
Jesus Christ. That answered that question. The Voleurs were using the Demons’ connections to bring in women from other countries and force them into the sex trade. “Okay, thank you so much, Grace. Let me ask you…do you want to go back home, or do you want to stay here in protective custody? I can also recommend a women’s shelter that I have some contacts at, but that’s going to involve a lot of paperwork because you didn’t come here legally. That’s not something we’re inclined to hold against you, just so you’re aware.”
“I would rather see the sunlight from my own prison. I will go home.”
Bo nodded and told the deputy to cut her loose. One thing was damn certain, she needed to call the sergeant. Topher may have gotten intel on drug manufacturing, but he seemed to have missed the big picture.
She went home to try to sleep off the remainder of her headache, but she couldn’t get comfortable. Her sleep was fitful and plagued by dreams she didn’t want to be having. She couldn’t stop thinking of the way Cass’s body had molded to hers, the way Cass’s hand had felt in her pants. She had been so close to coming it hurt, and when she had Cass against the wall, thrusting into her, Cass’s moans had filled her every thought until she couldn’t have stopped if she tried.
No, it wasn’t Cass’s body she had pressed against the wall, it was Tiffany’s. Tiffany had been the one she had taken her rage out on, and Tiffany would certainly have known she was high and definitely deserved an apology. Regardless of Tiffany’s chosen profession, Bo refused to be someone who simply used a woman just to get off, especially considering they had a past.
She sighed as she once again rolled out of bed and waited for the room to stop spinning before she stood up and straightened the clothes she had fallen asleep in. She glanced at the clock and realized she had slept longer than she thought, so Tiffany should be out on the streets now. As she walked out of her house, she contemplated the ramifications of being drugged. The bartender had freely admitted to it, which was something. The question was why. She couldn’t be certain, but she was almost sure that there were no drugs moving through the club last night, and the officers outside said the same thing: no one important came in or out. That meant that whoever had given Topher the intel was wrong, and he needed to be looked at. If all that was true, though, why go through the trouble of drugging her? Just to prove they could? Just so Cass Halliburton could… She closed her eyes against the onslaught of images and feelings. There was no way. Of course, if there was a dirty cop feeding them information to make them turn the other way, her being drugged would go a long way toward her not being sure she hadn’t seen anything. She scratched at a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had a feeling she was on the right track and she didn’t like it.
She also didn’t like that her immediate reaction had been to run to Tiffany. She’d thought that part of her life was over.
Chapter Eleven
The streetlights were harsh and made Bo’s headache worse, but she found Tiffany standing around in the same spot she usually frequented. Tiffany saw her immediately. The look on her face told Bo she had been expected, and the open palm slap laid across her face told her she was late.
“I don’t mind sleeping with you, Bo, you know that. I never have. But I refuse to be used by someone who was high as a kite last night without so much as a hello. Especially when you promised you would never touch that shit again.” The tears rolling down her face, and the fact that she obviously didn’t mind them being out in the open, were a testament to how hurt she was. “And you know what the worst part is?” As she spoke, her voice cracked. “You didn’t just promise me. You promised Kelly, too. And—”
“And that’s a promise I would never break, Tiffany. They drugged me!” Bo tried to stop the rant, but Tiffany wouldn’t have it.
“And you think that gives you an excuse, Bo? You came here completely out of your mind, fucked me blind, and then left. How do you think that made me feel, Bo?”
