The Mogul (Necessary Lies Book 2) (25 page)

T
en hours ago
…

I
leapt
, putting a foot on the bed for an extra boost, and flew through the air toward the giant. My target was his throat, an attack he partially parried, but my forehead connected with his left eye. If I was lucky, he’d have a fractured orbital bone and impaired vision. Anything to buy me space and time.

He was staggered but still on his feet so I quickly dropped and kicked at the knee of Apolinar, the shorter man, knocking him off his. I was aware of Malcolm and Spencer behind me, and I’d need to keep them within my peripheral vision, but so far they seemed intent to spectate. The seven footer, Monte, grabbed for me and I let him lift me, allowing me to kick his partner across the jaw. I attacked pressure points on the big man, jabbing and chopping, using techniques that would never be allowed in a regulated professional fight, but he just kept coming. I was like a quarterback trailing by a touchdown late in the game needing to go the length of the field. Short passes were out the window, the time for conservative play-calling over. It was time to spread the field and go for broke.

I felt Apolinar behind me and kicked him again, this time my heel into his groin. Monte and I were exchanging haymakers, both of us shrugging off shots that would drop a rhinoceros. Everything I hit him with was full power, but all he did was smile at me.

“This isn’t Mullins’ Gym, Atlas. This is the big leagues,” Malcolm’s mocking voice and laughter echoed through the small space.

Apolinar was back on his feet, and he was ready for me this time. He aimed for my kidneys, battering them with punches while my attention was on his partner. The shots were crippling, dropping me to a knee, and for the first time I realized this might be it. The endless hours training, working out, becoming a SEAL, it might all end on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic. My money couldn’t save me, and there was no airstrike to call in. The element of surprise was gone, and I had no more tricks up my sleeve. If I could stand the pain, and deliver my own, I had a chance. If I blacked out, I’d never wake up again. Put up or shut up, one of the instructors at SEAL school used to say.

Kicks came from the front and the back, and my attempts to fend them off couldn’t last long.

“Don’t kill him yet. Your boss deserves to get a little payback, fellas.” It was the sound of Malcolm’s voice, and then over the grunts and impacts I heard a door close. Evidently, he’d returned to the cockpit.

My ribcage felt like it was on fire, as I’d had to abandon it to protect my face from the boots of Monte and Apolinar. I tried to get to my feet, to create some distance, but they were having none of it, and I was sprawled on the carpet in short order.

Just as they had me in dire straits, the kicks stopped and I was being pulled to my feet, held on both sides by Spencer Cameron’s thugs.

He stood in front of me, sizing me up. “I should have wasted you in Dushanbe, rich boy,” he said, coldly. “You remember Dushanbe, don’t you? I had a good thing going there with the locals. But no, noble Atlas had to save the day. And was saving a few Tajik sluts really worth it, now? It’s going to cost you your life. And Piper’s and your father’s. So you’re ultimately happy trading those three lives for some Tajik girls who nobody would have known or cared were missing, anyway?”

I thrashed against my captors, but they held fast. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Spencer produced a knife, pressing the flat of blade to my cheek. “This girl here is so sharp I swear she can split atoms. Picked her up in Nagoya. One of these days I’m going to get over there and sample a geisha girl, see what all the fuss is about. But I can vouch for Japanese knives. They’re top-notch, wouldn’t you agree?”

With that, he plunged the blade into my left thigh. It wasn’t any sort of precision attack, not aimed for my femoral artery, more an exploratory stab, designed to inflict pain and get me bleeding. He withdrew the blade and watched me for a reaction, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Maybe if I carve a little off the shoulder…” Spencer left the sentence hanging in the air, swiftly slicing into my shoulder, and this time I grunted and recoiled, trying to escape the knife.

“Ah, you see there? The mighty Atlas Titan can feel pain after all.” Spencer smirked and cleaned the blade on my shirt.

“Why don’t we get your girlfriend out here to watch this, after all, what do you say, big fella?”

I knew no amount of protestation would change his mind, so I remained silent. I just hoped the changing dynamic in the room would give me an opening.

P
resent-Day
…

I
woke
up to find that while we slept Atlas had rolled onto his back and I’d wrapped myself around him. My knee was bent up across his thigh and my arm across his chest. I just lay there and stared at him for a long while, sunlight streaming in around the edges of the curtains. I rolled as quietly as I could to the edge of the bed and sat up, stretching and yawning softly. It was hard to believe that this was my life, that I was some sort of a fugitive, or at the very least a “person of interest” in the investigation into the death of Spencer Cameron.

Malcolm and Spencer were gone, but with QB still out there, what would the future be like for me? For us? Were Atlas and I really an “us”?

I went through the duffel bag and found a pair of jeans and a light green t-shirt my size. I put them on, finding that, naturally, they fit perfectly. I just finished tying my hair back in a loose ponytail when my “husband” startled me by sneaking up on me and whispering in my ear.

“I don’t know why you bothered getting dressed. You know those clothes are just coming right back off, don’t you?”

I turned to find the glorious sight of a naked Atlas Titan standing there, half-erect. I reached down and took him in my hands, pumping him to full hardness as he stood silently, both of us watching my hands on his manhood.

“Just what kind of girl do you think I am, Mr. Porter?” I asked, batting my eyelashes and feigning innocence, never mind the hard cock my hands were busy stroking.

“The kind I love falling asleep with and waking up to,” he replied, taking my face in his hands and kissing me, long and deep, my hands leaving his cock only to move down to his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze and tug.

Atlas gasped and looked at me with surprise.

“I thought you were supposed to be so tough. And little old me has you by the balls,” I laughed mischievously and retained my grip. My right hand pumped his shaft while my left rolled and pulled at his balls, causing him to moan, a sound that went directly from my ears to my clit.

As I continued to work on him with both hands, he reached down and unbuttoned my jeans, working them down over my hips. He reached between my legs, finding me wet, and pressed his thumb to my clit, circling it slowly as I increased the speed on his cock and pressure on his balls.

“Fuck, Piper, my balls. What are you…oh!” He threw his head back as I gave a long pull and then released them. His cock was drooling out precum everywhere, making him slick in my hand.

The way he’d pounded me last night, after the wicked way I woke him up with my mouth and then my pussy, had me feeling naughty.

I took his tightening balls in my hand again as he refocused on my eyes.

“Remember when I told you I needed a break last night? But you made me keep fucking you?” I punctuated my question with another pull and release, buckling his knees momentarily.

His voice was hoarse. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Well, you made me come hard.
Very
hard. And now I’m all sore down there because of this.” At the word ‘this,’ I let go of his cock and gave it a slap. Not hard enough to really hurt, but not playful either. Enough to show I meant business. And, as always, I kept a firm grip on his precious balls. He still had a hand between my legs, but he was so flustered he’d forgotten to keep working on my needy clit.

“But my balls. Oh fuck, my fucking balls.”

I squeezed harder. “They feel really good in my hands, Atlas. I don’t think I ever want to let them go. Lay back on the bed.”

He stumbled backward, both my hands on him. It was awkward, but I let him sit on the edge of the bed and then lay back as I moved to a position straddling him, facing his feet. I pointed his wonderful cock toward the ceiling and mounted it, my back to him, and soon had both hands on his balls as I rode.

His hands were on my hips and then massaging my back as I shamelessly fucked him, seeking my orgasm like a drunk needing a cocktail in the morning to stave off a hangover.

The position was good for me, hitting every spot inside that needed hitting, and my climax wasn’t long in arriving. I bit my lip through it, shuddering as he reached up and took a handful of my hair, pulling it back as I shook.

“I can feel you coming. Tell me how good it is” He commanded.

I fought to regain my composure, the hair-pulling and dirty talk driving me to a place beyond where his cock had already taken me. “So fucking good. So good I need you all the time,” I said through gritted teeth.

“What do you need, Piper? Tell me exactly what you need.”

He was lifting his hips and had a hand at the curve where my ass meets the small of my back to make me drop onto him harder and faster. My hair was now wrapped around his fist, my head back as I rode him.

“I need to get fucked. I need your cock, I need your mouth, I need……Oh!”

The first orgasm became a second, my body unable to cope with what I was saying and feeling and all my endorphins released at once.

“That’s my good girl. Tell me your name.”

I was confused by the question at first, but I realized he was testing me.

“Vicki Porter. I’m Vicki and you’re Paul.”

He was rotating his hips beneath me, changing his point of attack as I came again and again for him. He made me recite our address on James Island and both our birthdays.

“Very good. Do you want your reward?”

“I want it! I want you, I need you, oh fuck yes!”

With that he erupted inside me, my hands gently caressing his balls as he emptied them into my eager body.

I fell back into his arms, dismounting him and laying down next to him, nuzzling into his chest. He held me a long while, kissing my face and head.

Finally, reluctantly, we separated and Atlas took a well-deserved shower. Once he was out, we dressed and packed up our things. He checked in with Odin and found that while we slept, search teams had discovered wreckage from the downed plane and were reporting the tragic death of United States Congressman Spencer Cameron. Conspiracy theorists were already coming out of the woodwork with the supposed reasons he was on that plane in the first place, who it belonged to, and what business he had in Dubai. No mention had been made in the media regarding any survivors or mysterious people plucked from a weather buoy nearby. Which, as Atlas explained, didn’t exactly mean the authorities weren’t searching for a couple who met our description, rather that they were likely keeping it quiet so as not to alert us and drive us further underground.

We returned to our SUV and hit the road, destination unknown.

“Odin is working on a semi-permanent place for us to lay low for a while. I can disappear easily. I could drop in on some Kurds I know or call in a favor in half a dozen places all over the world and I’d never be found. But I have you to consider,” Atlas explained as we reached the outskirts of Columbia, South Carolina.

“How much danger are we really in? And what about your father?” I asked.

“Well, two people were pulled out of the water near a plane crash that killed a Congressman, right? So naturally those two people are being looked for. The cover we have is top shelf. I’m not so worried about that side of things, as long as we’re careful. There’s no record of either of us being on that plane, so barring some C.S.I.-level detective work, we have nothing to worry about. QB is an entirely different kettle of fish. He isn’t motivated by things as petty as revenge, so I don’t think he has a team of hitters out there looking for us solely because we eliminated two of his soldiers. But in his chess game, we’re pieces he might decide he needs to use again, or eliminate. There’s no telling with him. I’d like to think that with an extra layer or two of security that my father can resume his life in the not too distant future. He’s connected, in his own way, just as high up as QB is. They’re like two mob bosses in the old days. For one to make a move on the other is to invite all-out war and the accompanying bloodshed. He knows that if anything happens to my father, he’ll be the one who’ll be looking for a cave in which to hide.

“That said, I don’t want to make things easy for him, either. What would you think about going dark with me for a while?”

What Atlas didn’t know, although I think he could have guessed, is that I’d go anywhere with him. No matter the danger, I was his for as long as he’d have me.

“What do you mean by ‘dark’?” I asked.

“I mean we’d go somewhere and start a new life. A quiet life. We’d have very little, or maybe no, contact with our family and friends. I can’t say for exactly how long. I’d work to make it as cushy as possible, after all you’re used to a certain level of comfort and opulence. And I have the money to do it. But we might be isolated. It wouldn’t be the Four Seasons. But it also wouldn’t be the place we just stayed, either.”

Atlas lay a hand in my lap, which I took and squeezed. I said with no hesitation, “There’s nowhere I feel safer than with you.”

We bypassed Columbia and were headed toward Augusta, Georgia, and beyond that Atlanta. I held my “husband’s” hand and hummed along with the Cranberries on the radio.