Indecent Intent (13 page)

Tom pushed his hands deep into his pockets, shuddering; it had been a close thing though. Only two weeks before he had been almost broke, almost in the gutter, and if Sonny Campbell had not found him that was where he would have ended up and stayed – forever.

Up until that miserable, soul-destroying low in his life he'd felt he had done well to keep the Verity money for so long – sometimes winning, more often losing – but finally worn down to his last few hundred dollars he'd had no choice but to move from the splendor of his hotel to the squalor of a downtown motel.

Then a few mornings later he woke up with the mother of all hangovers and looked at the girl who lay naked beside him. Young, with hair dyed in a variety of vivid colours, she wore a silver ring through her navel and a matching pair through each nipple. A tiny diamond stud sparkled at a nostril and there were two more on her eyebrows. He'd had her the night before, taken her roughly, as though he was venting his anger towards that slime ball Verity on her; and his anger at himself for being so stupid as to give his wife away.

She was a whore – plain and simple. He had paid her for the night with the smallest bill he could get away with, leaving him with even less of the stash the millionaire had given him. He had been hungry for sex, insatiable, and she encouraged him, her eyes bright and challenging, and there was a craziness about her, probably fuelled by drugs. He ripped off the leather bodice that served as both bra and midi-top, and threw her against the motel room wall, causing some guy in the room next door to complain that he was trying to sleep.

‘Shut the fuck up!' Tom had growled, and lifted the girl's miniskirt. Breathing hard she snaked her legs around his waist, urging him to fuck her.

‘Yes!' she growled, with too little grace and too much enthusiasm for his liking, but he tore at her panties anyway, ripping the silky material to shreds, fumbled a condom onto his cock, stabbed it up into her with one shunt of his hips, and fucked her there against the wall.

Now she lay asleep and naked with the sheet thrown back; an undernourished whore who worked the streets to feed her drug habit.

But that didn't matter too much to Tom; he had an early morning erection like a mule and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. He shook her by the shoulder but she scarcely stirred. So he rolled her onto her back and fingered the nipple rings, tugging them inquisitively. She moaned, her eyes fluttered open, and her brow furrowed as she tried to remember who he was and where she was.

‘It's six o'clock in the morning,' he said gruffly, ‘and I want my money's worth.'

‘Get lost,' she said, and tried to roll into a ball on her side, but Tom easily held her on her back.

‘Look at this,' he ordered, nodding towards his proudly standing penis. ‘I've paid you good money so now you'll earn it.'

‘Ten bucks?' She curled her lip in a disdainful sneer. ‘You had more than ten bucks' worth last night.' She wrapped herself in the thin bed cover, pulling it over her head and crazy hair.

‘And you had a bed for the night,' Tom reminded her, tugging at the sheet and baring her pale body again. With surprising speed he knelt up, rolled her over, wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her bottom. His cock throbbed with yearning and he growled, drew his free hand back and swept it down in a wide arc onto her pale flesh. He was oblivious to her squeals of pain and shock, and he spanked her again and again until she sobbed and wailed.

‘Okay!' she sniveled, sprawling onto her back as he released her, panting heavily from his exertions. ‘Okay, you win!'

Tom flung her arms over her head, held her wrists together in one hand on the limp pillow, shuffled between her legs, nudged her thighs further apart with his knees, lowered his sweating chest to her breasts, and gritted his teeth as he penetrated her fully, surprised by the strength in her slim body as her back arched to meet his thrusts.

Afterwards he sat on the edge of the bed and shook a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the bedside unit. His hand trembled as he held a match to the tip and took a long deep drag, but he didn't know whether this was because of all the booze he'd consumed over the past few days, or the realization of what he had done with the girl, his cock naked, unprotected. He was crazy to fuck a girl like her without a sheath. It was madness. What was he thinking?

He drew deeply on the cigarette again and felt the satisfying warmth of the smoke in his lungs, the relaxing comfort of the nicotine, then vowed he was going to kick the habit. But then he sniggered at his own lack of logic, causing the girl to cast him a suspicious look. Which was more dangerous – smoking, or fucking a drug addicted whore without protection? Shit, he had to get a grip on himself! Somehow he had to sort himself out!

Dressing quickly he left the girl in the grubby motel room, hoping to never see her again, and walked, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, to a nearby diner.

Sitting deep in thought, nursing his second coffee, he felt annoyed when someone sat opposite him at his table; there were plenty empty, so why choose to encroach on his space?

Still feeling depressed and nauseous from too much booze, Tom looked up to tell the stranger in no uncertain terms to get out of his face, but the confident smile that met his bleary eyes stopped him from saying anything.

‘The name's Sonny Campbell,' said the big man, without being asked. ‘And you're Tom Turner.'

‘What…?'

‘But introductions ain't what I'm here about,' the man went on casually. ‘You and me got something in common, and it ain't the colour of our skin.'

‘What are you talking about?' Tom snapped. ‘Leave me alone and go and bother someone else.'

But the big man just looked amused and sipped his coffee, his large brown eyes studying Tom the whole time, clearly having no intention to move to another table.

‘That Marshall Verity…' he eventually said, just dangling a morsel to ensnare Tom's attention – and it did.

‘Yeah, you know the guy,' Sonny Campbell went on. ‘You know who I'm taking about. Sick guy. Collects women like other guys collect beer labels. This shit thinks he can buy any woman in the world and use her however he wants.'

He had Tom's full interest now, the nausea and the headache forgotten, anger and sadness and heart-wrenching memories of Gabrielle replacing them. ‘So – so what if I do know the man?' he asked guardedly.

‘Well, Tom Turner,' the man said slowly, the amused sparkle never leaving his eyes, ‘I might just have a little proposition for you.'

‘Oh yeah?' Tom could see some kind of a catch coming, and he did not like it. The last proposition he had accepted was the catalyst to his current thoroughly depressing state of affairs, and had lost Gabrielle to him into the bargain. ‘What kind of a proposition?' he asked.

The big man sipped his coffee again, taking his time, and then lowered his cup, which looked small and delicate in his large hands. ‘You need a stake, right?'

Tom bristled; how did this man know so much about him; his name, the fact that he knew Verity, the miserable state of his finances?

‘I make it my business to know,' the man answered the unspoken question. ‘There's not much goes on around here I don't know about.'

Reaching into his pocket Tom held up the crumpled dollar bills, the last of Marshall Verity's two million, and dropped them disdainfully on the table. ‘Yeah, I'm broke,' he said aggressively, ‘if that's what you want to hear. Now will you just fuck off and leave me alone to drink my coffee?'

But the man just sat there, his eyes smiling. ‘Yeah, you need a stake,' he repeated, but this time it was not a question. ‘And I'll stake you…'

Tom nearly spluttered on the dregs of his cold coffee. ‘You'll… but… but why would you want to do that? You don't even know me!'

But the man did not answer in words. Instead he produced a thick roll of bills and placed it on the table, allowing Tom to see it but obscuring it from any other prying eyes with his hand.

He permitted Tom a little time to absorb and digest what he was offering, and then said, ‘Well, what do you say?'

‘But, I've got no security – no house, no collateral.' He looked suspiciously at Sonny Campbell, but with a new respect too. ‘What would you want from me in return?'

The black man shrugged. ‘Just a little help to get back at Marshall Verity,' he explained vaguely.

Tom's blue eyes narrowed with hatred, and his thoughts went back to the time when he and Gabrielle had rolled into town. That first day only the best would do, and that first day they met Marshall Verity…

‘He's the biggest shit in the world,' Sonny Campbell's deep voice broke into his memories, ‘and one of the richest, too. He took my woman, just like he took yours. Paid for her, said he'd keep her for a year and then she could come back to me. That was eighteen months ago, and I've not seen her since.' For the first time his poise cracked a little and the humour left his eyes. ‘Man, I miss her,' he said sadly, shaking his head, gazing down into his empty coffee cup.

‘Anyway,' he went on, the dark cloud immediately lifting, ‘he's about due to come into town any time now. All you've got to do is wait for him, and our girls. As far as I can find out he only has one black girl, and she's my baby. But he's smart and he's sharper than a razor, so we've got to be careful.'

‘I seen my honey here in Vegas about eleven months ago…'

‘Eleven months ago?' Tom echoed.

‘Yeah, the guy travels all over; wheeling and dealing, setting up takeovers, mergers, and creating new companies… buying women whenever the fancy takes him.' His voice lowered to a dangerous hiss and he leaned a little closer to Tom, ‘Who the hell does he think he is?' Then his expression changed again and he eased back in his chair, looking disappointed that he'd allowed his anger to the surface. ‘Together we can give him his comeuppance, Tom Turner. Together we can get our girls back.'

Tom was warming to the man, but he had his doubts. ‘I like what you're saying…'

‘Sonny,' the big man reminded him amiably.

‘Sonny – but what makes you think I'm up to it? I've all but lost Verity's original stake. How do you know I won't lose yours?'

The big man smiled warmly. ‘That's a good question, and I like your honesty, Tom Turner,' he said. ‘And the only answer I can give, is that I believe you've learned your lesson – and learned it the hard way. And I'll be there, watching and helping wherever I can. This time that heap of shit ain't going to ride off into the sunset with our girls. Right, Tom?'

Tom's spirits were suddenly lifted. Sonny Campbell had a natural infectious ability to motivate, and he had not felt so excited about something for a long, long time. So what if they failed? At least they would be doing something positive instead of wallowing in self-pity. ‘Do you… do you really reckon we can do it?' he asked as the large man stood up.

‘Better than that, I know we can do it, Tom Turner,' he said, with a confidence and determination that utterly convinced Tom that they could. ‘I used my two million to set up a string of businesses, and in return for your help I'm giving you another chance to do the same. We'll play this Verity guy at his own game. Let's do it, man.' He tossed some bills onto the table to cover the cost of the coffees. ‘Let's do it for both our sakes – and for our girls.'

Robbie stared into the neck of the freshly opened bottle of beer, which Gail had just placed in front of him. ‘I miss her, Gail,' he muttered. ‘Shit, I miss her!'

‘She was real cute,' agreed Gail, placing a hand over Robbie's. ‘And sexy, too,' she added. ‘And as for her cute little…'

‘And that bastard is taking her to Vegas with a bunch of his cronies.'

‘That so?' said Gail, taking a glass from the dishwasher beneath the bar and making herself look busy by using a towel to dry and polish it.

‘Yep,' confirmed Robbie, with a nod. ‘He goes there every year at this time, apparently.' He took a long swig of beer and then stared at the bottle, his shoulders slumped and dejection written all over his tanned features.

With a furtive glance at the boss, sitting at the end of the bar and reading the sports section of his newspaper, Gail knew it was safe to stay and chat with Robbie for a while, as long as it appeared that she was working. ‘How did you find that out?' she asked, reaching up to place a freshly polished glass on the shelf above the bar. It meant she had to stretch a little and her cropped top rose to show her trim belly and just a hint of the underside of a lovely firm breast. The boss looked up from his paper and smiled at her, and used to his lecherous ways, she returned the leer with a smile of false sweetness.

‘Oh, I was talking to some guys who know of him,' Robbie told her.

‘Yeah?' Gail polished another glass and looked thoughtful – and then mischievous. ‘You ever been to Vegas, Robbie?' she asked.

Robbie took another swig of beer. ‘Nope, ain't never been further north than Boca Chica,' he said.