Enforcer (26 page)

With nine seconds left, the face-off was to the right of Mondin. The crowd was in a frenzy, three thousand minds willing Gansy to win the face-off and get the game into overtime. Three thousand and twenty-five counting the Bombers on the ice and on the bench, as well as the trainer and two coaches. The puck dropped from the linesman’s hands, bouncing off the ice and over the blade of Gansy’s stick. The Titan center flicked the puck back to his defenseman at the point, who immediately lined up a slapshot and let it rip.

The ring of the puck as it hit the right post before making the back of the net puff out took the air out of everyone in the arena except the Titan players. Three thousand twenty-five humans stood, stunned at the cruelty of it. Four and a half seconds were left on the clock, and the puck was to be dropped at center ice. Connor ground his teeth in frustration, knowing that without some kind of supernatural intervention, they were headed home and the Titans were headed to Indiana.

*****

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Dana said as she drove them to his apartment. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say, and Connor had barely mumbled two words since he had met her in the parking garage.

He sighed heavily. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she said angrily. “It sucks. You guys were winning.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said, giving her a smile that was only half-fake. He wanted to forget about it already, just another string of failures in a long rope made of them.

“I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

“Not really.”

“If it helps, you were great.”

“I barely played, but that’s still talking about it.” Connor gave her an exaggerated frown.

“Right, right. So… do you want to go get something to eat?”

“Nah, let’s just stop and get some beer. I feel like I could stand a drink or ten. My stomach is too knotted up for food.”

“But not too much for alcohol?” she asked.

“Being my girlfriend means you get to nag me?”

“No, being your girlfriend means I
have
to nag you. If I don’t, who will?”

A few minutes later, they pulled into his apartment complex. As she parked in front of his unit, he noticed the extra black Lincoln parked one space over. Connor’s hands clenched into fists. He hadn’t even been able to get home and enjoy the rest of the evening.

“What’s wrong?” Dana asked, leaning forward to look around him out of the side window.

“I think I’m being sent back to work,” he answered.

“What? Tonight? Maybe it’s not one of their cars. No way would they make you go in after you just lost like that. Would they?”

“Who knows?” he asked, getting out of the car.

When Dana opened her door, he turned and waved her back. Connor didn’t want his
visitor
to see him with anyone, especially not Dana. Connor was worried that whoever was waiting for him had already seen her. She hesitated and he gave her a wave of his hand again to get back into her Toyota. He walked around to her side and she rolled down the window.

“Go home, but don’t go directly home. Go get some coffee or something, get something to eat. If this is nothing, I’ll text you right away and you can pick me up down the block,” he told her, his tone offering no room for argument.

“What if it isn’t ‘nothing?’” she asked, wanting to reach out and put her hand over his as he leaned on the Toyota’s door.

“I don’t know. Just go. I’ll find out what they want. I’ll text you either way. I’m sorry.”

He walked away from her car, not leaning in to kiss her goodbye, not even offering the slightest friendliness. She knew it was in case anyone was watching, but it hurt her. The thought that they were being so paranoid as to jump at shadows made her angry. Her anger caused her to stomp her foot down on the accelerator for a split second. The noise of her tires chirping before she caught herself made Connor look back. She didn’t like the look on his face.

He tested the doorknob before fumbling with his keys. The knob turned and he walked into his apartment. Dracul sat in his recliner, watching a news show on the television. The Romanian looked up at him before looking back at the TV, changing the channel with the remote. Connor closed the door and stood in place, not sure what was going on. Dracul looked up again and pointed to the bedroom with his thumb. He gave Connor a cold smile as he walked by.

Jera was asleep on his bed, or at least pretended to be asleep. An overnight bag was on the floor next to the bed. She stirred when he walked in and began to get out of his suit and into a pair of sweats and a hoodie. When he was done, he stood next to the bed, watching the girl.

“What?” she asked.

“What are you doing here? And why is he here?” Connor asked, nodding his head toward the doorway.

“I have an appointment at one, and he said you were taking over again tonight.”

“You have an appointment at one? I just got home from a game, and I am supposed to take you?”

“You will,” Dracul said from the doorway.

Connor glared at the man, and Dracul’s lips curled as if he were blowing Connor a kiss from across the room. The Romanian turned and walked back toward the front door, the sounds from the television replaced by silence. Five seconds later the front door closed, and a second after that, Connor heard the deadbolt slide into place. The bastard was letting him know that he had a key, and Connor wasn’t safe anywhere.

He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost midnight. “Where do we have to go?” he asked Jera, not even bothering to get upset.

“South Cloverdale, out near Lake Hazel.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“No.”

Connor was surprised she wasn’t already screaming at him, or at least opening with a tirade of insults.

“Go get ready. I want to get this done and get home. I’m tired, and pissed, and now I’m stuck with your miserable ass again,” he said.

Jera looked down at her lap. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah? Too bad. You have to go. Just like I have to drive you. So hop to it.”

“I don’t want to go,” she repeated, refusing to look at him.

Connor sat on the edge of the bed. “Why not? His cock too big for you? He makes you do twisted shit? Should be no problem for you.”

“He hurts me,” she answered.

“Yeah? Like how?”

“He… puts things in me,” she replied. “He makes me bleed sometimes. Mostly he pays extra so he can hurt me.”

“He slaps you around?” Connor asked. He’d never bothered to ask her what she did with a client. He’d decided that knowing she fucked them was too much information already.

“Slaps, kicks, punches. He has a wide leather paddle that he uses. It doesn’t leave any bruises most of the time, but it hurts worse than being hit with his hands.”

“This is just fucking great,” Connor said, rising from the bed. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Because you were too stupid to keep your mouth shut?” He reached down, grabbed her bag, and threw it in her lap. “Get your ass in the bathroom and get ready. If you don’t, I’ll call Ojacarcu right now and let him know you refuse to go so he sends your ass off instead of coming after me again.”

Jera broke down into tears, unable to control herself. She hugged her bag tight while Connor stood, uncomfortable as he watched her cry, pissed off enough to not comfort her. He thought about it for a fraction of a second, until he remembered how painful it had been to eat and shit for a few days after Dracul had laid into him. Because of her.

“You don’t even care!” she cried when her sobbing had subsided enough to let her get words out.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t give a shit about you. I did once, when I thought you were just helpless and stupid. But not now. You aren’t helpless. You’re just stupid.”

“I fucking hate you!” she shrieked, attempting to throw her bag at his head.

The strap caught on her hand and it rolled off the bed, landing at Connor’s feet. He picked it up and threw it on her lap again. The clock showed less than forty minutes to get to the client. He pointed at it, but she didn’t move. He stepped closer to the bed and reached down to grab her by the arm but she jerked back, trying to crawl away from him to the other side of the bed. Connor’s hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck, pulling her off the bed to stand next to him.

“I don’t want to go!” she wailed. “He hurts me worse than Larry ever did.”

“Bullshit,” Connor said, less than two inches from her face. “I witnessed what that asshole did to you, and for weeks on end.”

“Larry’s a loser, a piece of shit limp dick. He hit me because he couldn’t get it up, and could only get hard when he hurt me,” she said, and began to cry again. Connor didn’t want to hear any of it, but couldn’t stop her. “This guy, he hurts me because he likes it. He’s good at it, good at making me scream without leaving any marks. I don’t want him hurting me anymore. Please don’t make me go.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” he asked, not putting it past her to set him up.

“Fuck you!” she screamed in his face. “How would you like a giant dildo up your ass? You think it feels good? You think it feels better when someone is laughing at you, calling you names because you scream every time it tears you? You want to know what it feels like to have your nipples squeezed until they bleed and you can’t feel them anymore? You want to know what it feels like to be choked to death while a cock is ramming you in the ass, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop yourself from coming?”

Her fists lashed out at him, a tornado of knuckles and fingernails. Her words turned into incoherent screams as her voice rose to the shriek that he hated more than anything. Connor pulled her in toward his chest, crushing her face into his hoodie to muffle her screams, afraid one of his neighbors would call the police.

He had almost slapped her to get her under control when she’d shouted the part about being choked to death. Now he was holding on, keeping her wrapped up, looking at the clock and seeing less than half an hour before she had to be at her appointment. The vision of her being choked while some faceless man fucked her from behind, her face turning black, blood seeping out from under the rope he imagined the man using, broke something in him.

“Get dressed,” he said, pushing her away. Jera looked like she was going to collapse to the floor and refuse to move until he gave her a shove toward the bathroom. “Get dressed. Don’t bother arguing with me or I’ll treat you worse than this guy ever fantasized about. Do it. NOW!”

She flinched at his shout, but grabbed her bag and went to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway while she washed her face and made herself up. The pants she put on were tight enough to almost need her legs greased to get them on. He wondered how she or any woman could be comfortable wearing some of the things she had to wear for her clients. He supposed that was beyond the lack of comfort at having to have sex with strange men, sometimes men who enjoyed hurting her, willing to pay extra for the opportunity.

Jera almost started crying again until Connor told her to pull herself together or they would both end up paying a high price. He grabbed the keys and ushered her out the door and to the back seat of the Lincoln. The late May night air was still cool, making him glad he had put on his sweats and hoodie. It wouldn’t look professional to the client, but that was the least of his worries.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of a house that looked like it had a tee-off spot for a golf course barely ten feet from the garage. As he looked around, he realized the house was in a subdivision built around a golf course. He turned the car off, got out, and helped Jera out. They walked to the front door, Connor holding her elbow in case she tried to bolt.

The door opened as they stepped up to it. A mean face that could have been either fifty or seventy scowled at them.

“You’re late,” the client said, his voice almost exactly as Connor had imagined it. When Connor said nothing, the man stepped back and let them in.

“There has been a change,” Connor told the man, after the door closed.

“What? What change?” the client asked, looking from Connor to Jera with suspicion. “Don’t you try to rob me, I’ll blow your fuckin’ heads off, and if I don’t, Costie will have your balls,” he said to Connor, “and your tits.” He directed a glare that was mixed with lust at Jera.

“We aren’t here to rob you,” Connor explained. “I’m here to let you know there has been an adjustment of the rules. You may call Mr. Ojacarcu if you wish to confirm or dispute this.” Connor waited to see what the man would do. The client licked his lips once but made no move to grab a phone. “Good. The last time we got this whore back,” he said, jerking Jera by the arm to stand in front of him, “she was in bad shape. You were the last one to see her.”

“Wait, I didn’t—”

“Listen to me carefully, sir. If you wish to take up the cost of replacing one of these
slits
with Mr. Ojacarcu, that’s your business. I’m responsible for the meat, and so my ass is the one that gets chewed up when you allow the meat to come back to me with bruises and cuts. She can’t work for a couple of days when you make her bleed like that. If she’s bleeding or hurt like that again, I’ll have to tell Mr. Ojacarcu, and then you can work out the debt with him.”