Indulgence (7 page)

Her hands fisted around the base of my cock and she began
bobbing up and down my length, her gaze finding mine as I guided her over my
dick. She licked and sucked, her eyes watering when I forced myself to the back
of her throat. I didn’t care if she liked it, I didn’t care if she hated
sucking cock, I was the one in control.

Shoving her away before she could take my orgasm from me, I
pushed her back onto the bed and she spread out. Her fingers found her clit and
she began pleasuring herself and I fisted my cock, kneeling over her. How would
I do it? Vanilla? Fuck her from underneath? Force her ass into the air?

Without thinking about it, I slid between her legs,
spreading her wide. Her lips parted in a delicate sigh as I rubbed the
underside of my cock against her clit.

Finally, I drew back and pushed into her. I should’ve thrust
hard. I should’ve pulled her onto my cock and pounded and pulsed my release
into her pussy, but instead I filled her with my cock and held steady, delighting
in the sensation of her around me.

Delighting
.

My heart twisted, my black broken heart, and I pulled out
and pounded into her.

Mercy cried out at the sudden sensation, her fingernails
digging into my back, adding more marks to the ones she left earlier. I
couldn’t feel.
She made me feel
. I fucked her mercilessly, chasing away
the feeling, fucking it into oblivion. I slammed into her again and again until
my name was falling from her lips in ragged cries. Until her pussy convulsed
and squeezed my cock. Until my balls tightened and my cum shot deep into her
core.

Until I forgot how to be tender.

X

I was a killer.

Simple as that.

I pointed a gun at somebody's head and I pulled the trigger.
It didn't go like that all the time, but they always wound up dead one way or
another.

Did I feel bad? Was I remorseful?

No.

I'd learnt how to shut that part of myself off a long time
ago.

Some people had beautiful talents. Art, music, science. I
wasn't beautiful. I was dark and twisted...
unfeeling
. My talent was
taking life away. I never got off on it, it was nothing more than a job.

Mercy didn't deserve to be a part of that life. I could
never care for her more than physically. I wasn't capable of using my heart
anymore. Anyway, I was pretty fucking sure it stopped beating with the first
mark I did in.

I was a monster and I'd eat her alive.

*****

Mercy slid her hand over my stomach, murmuring in her sleep.
Her tits pressed into my skin and I resisted the urge to palm my own cock.

She was close. Too fucking close. She clung to me like a
lover, like an attachment I didn't need.

My balls ached even after fucking her twice more in her bed.
I was still coated with her arousal and fuck, she’d been so wet and warm, I’d
just slid right in. She smelt like sex and vanilla… My cock began to thicken
and I thought about fucking her awake. The look in her eyes when they would fly
open as my cock filled her pussy. Good fucking morning.

I couldn’t do that. It was impossible.

Why the hell did I think it was a good idea for her to bring
me to her
home
? I knew where she lived, I could see her things, not that
she had many, which was an indicator of something a little sinister. Weiss said
she was looking to get lost and it pretty much confirmed she was hiding from
something or someone. Jilted lover? An asshole wife beater?

Screwing my eyes shut, I forced my over analytical brain to
shut the fuck up. Mercy wasn’t a hit. She wasn’t a project. She was just a fuck
that had gotten out of hand. A fuck that should never have gotten this far. I
should have left her naked in Weiss’ office and never looked back, just like
the rest of them.

I
slept
with her.

I lived and worked alone. I did not need Mercy Reid, no
matter how amazing her tits were.

Warmth. I felt…warm. Asshole. Monster. Murderer.

Sliding out from underneath her lithe little body, I scooped
up my clothes, turning to stare down at her.

Mercy was a bitch. A stunning fucking bitch with a pussy
that I could fuck for days, but when she was deep asleep? She was… Hissing, I
padded out of her bedroom and started dressing in the lounge.

Attachments. I didn’t do them. I wasn’t capable.

I wasn’t broken. I was made this way.

I was made empty.

Hollow.

I didn’t have a soul. I was beyond saving.

*****

My apartment wasn’t anything fantastic to look at.

It was empty, save for a bed in the other room, a sofa and a
coffee table in the lounge and a refrigerator in the kitchen. The built in
robes in the bedroom were another story entirely.

Clothes hung in one of the four doors, the other three had
an assortment of racks and hangers full of all kinds of diabolical tools of the
trade. Guns, knives, chemicals, ropes and toys that caused the most
unbelievable pain with the least amount of effort. It was the closet of a
madman.

There were no personal touches, no photographs or keepsakes,
no memories. All the memories I needed were locked away deep in my subconscious
and they were all faces. The scratched out faces of my victims. Marks sounded
better. Less personal.

There was a reason they called me X. When my mark was dead,
when the job was done, I took the photo that had been given to me as visual ID,
and scratched it out. Scratched it with deep gouges. X marks the spot. I
crossed them out.

It was a compulsion, nothing more, nothing less. I needed to
do it for closure. It was the ultimate full stop.

Xavier Blood wasn’t the name I was born with. I don’t even
remember what I was before this. If I was good or bad, if I had dreams. All I
knew was death and blood and that suited me fine. I was good at it and when
you’re good at something, you stick with it.

I sat on the sofa, the contents of the envelope spread out
before me. It was an unbelievable puzzle and even I couldn’t get my head around
it. Standing, I took the photograph of Alison Crawford and stuck it to the
blank white wall across from me.

Alison Crawford.

The photo hadn’t changed from the other day of course, but I
stared at it with fresh eyes. My balls had been emptied into Mercy’s slick
little pussy and now my mind was clear.

Alison Crawford was the only solid lead and she’d
disappeared into thin air. A missing persons was out on her, but so far had
never been solved. She was either hanging in a tree someplace with a noose
around her neck, or wanted to escape the legacy of her dead family and her fuck
up of a brother. Probably had taken up a new identity and a new life.

If you knew the right people, it was easy to disappear.
There were ways around the system that knew everything about you. Numbers,
photos...it was all just locked away in a computer network someplace. If you
knew the right kinds of people, numbers could be changed and erased.

My phone began to ring, vibrating across the papers on the
coffee table. Glancing at the screen the display read,
Blocked
.

Blocked calls always meant business, no one was dumb enough
to call the hitman hotline without using a blocked burner phone. Most people,
that was.

Picking up the annoying piece of circuitry I hit the screen,
put the phone to my ear and said, “What?”

“You’ve been slacking off,” Sykes drawled. Cocky bastard.

Just my fucking luck, but at least it wasn’t Greggor calling
to hand me my ass. Weiss chewed me out the other day and no doubt he would’ve
reported my comings and goings at The Gambler’s Inn to Greggor. I was a pro,
but I still had to answer to higher powers. I was made that way.

“The job will get done,” I said.

“It better.”

“You will have your kill, Sykes,” I hissed. “I work on my
terms, not yours or Greggor’s. Mine.”

“That’s the thing, pretty boy,” he said. “You have no terms
to bargain with. Not on this hit.”

Fucking…

“I know you’ve been burying your dick in that bar bitch, X.”

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. Of course he knew
what I was getting up to. My life wasn’t my own, not until I gave Sykes what he
wanted. Until then, my every move was being watched, everything I said and did
was being reported back to both clubs. Weiss was my best mate, but he knew not
to shit where he slept and right now I was taking a big dump in my own bed.

Fucking Mercy was an obsession I had to stop. I’d gotten
what I wanted from her, now it was time to get back to business.

“Does she know what you do, X?” Sykes went on. “Does she
know you’re a killer? Does she get off on it like you do?”

“I don’t get hard putting bullets into people’s heads,
Sykes. Not like you.”

“One day,” he said, his voice even, “someone will hold you
down and cut out your tongue, then sever your cock and shove it up your ass.
And you know who that person will be?”

Yeah, it’d be him. The sentiment went both ways. I’d do
Sykes’ fucking hit and if he took a swipe at me, I’d do all of those things to
him.

There was silence down the line as neither of us spoke, the
threat plain and clear. There wouldn’t be a war between clubs if I was
successful, but there’d be a war between Sykes and I regardless.

I’d made an enemy for life.

Well, he better join the fucking queue and take a number.

“The next time I see you,” I said evenly, the tone of my
voice even chilling my own bones, “it will be when your mark is dead.” I hung
up the call and pocketed my phone, my blood beginning to thicken with another
kind of arousal.

Curling my aching fingers into tight fists, I squeezed,
soothing the sinew. I needed the game. I needed the thrill of closing in on my
mark. I needed the thrill of planning a murder.

It had been too long since I’d seen the life slip from
another human being’s eyes.

It was time to forget my cock and feed the beast what it
needed to survive.

Blood.

Mercy

When I woke, X was gone.

Couldn’t say I was surprised, but I couldn’t say I was
disappointed, either.

I didn’t know shit about X, but the one thing I did know,
was the fact that he couldn’t seem to express any kind of feeling. Not the
feeling that came with fucking, that was an animal instinct. The basic need to
reproduce. The feelings I meant were those that came with the basic human
genetic mark up.

Happiness, sadness, pain, anger, jealousy...

He knew how to fake it. He was a master at faking.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that
blank space around his heart was actually a mirror for what was within. His
heart beat because it was the way his body worked, but it was broken in other
ways.

Shaking my head, I turned as a group of rowdy men pushed
into The Gambler’s Inn.

I could still feel X. Where he’d grabbed me with his hands,
where he’d slapped my ass, where he’d bitten my skin. I could feel where he’d
put his finger in my ass. I could feel his cock between my legs.

The men stopped by the bar and I stood to attention. There
were five of them, all ugly, mean looking asswipes. So, just the regular
clientele then. They all wore leathers, but there was no visible logo on the
front of their jackets, but only Royal Blood came here. It was clearly stated
on the sign out front.

“What can I get ya?” I said, putting on my bitch face. They
didn’t usually harass me too much if I was a bitch.

“Well, well, well,” the biggest, fattest, ugliest biker I’d
ever seen drawled. His beady little piggy eyes settled on my tits.

“I’m up here asshole,” I said, pointing at my face. “What do
you want to drink?”

“Nice tits on this one,” one of the other men said. “They’d
fit nicely around my cock.” He made a lewd gesture, thrusting his hips back and
forth.

“I haven’t got time for your bullshit,” I snapped, trying
not to vomit. “What drinks do you want?”

“Drinks?” the big ugly one said. “I want a half of scotch,
in your pussy.”

My skin began to prickle. This must be one of those times
where I’d have to get the shotgun out from the rack underneath the bar. I
hadn’t had to use it yet, but I stupidly thought I didn’t have to. Weiss hadn’t
been fucking around after all.

“We only serve in glasses here,” I spat.

Ugly leaned over the bar and went to reach for me and I
jerked backward. The men laughed at my reaction, getting a kick out of toying
with me. My gaze flickered down to the gun and back again. I’d have to go
within groping range to get it, so it’d have to be quick. No hesitation.

“Either you order a drink, or you get the fuck out,” I
snapped. “We don’t take kindly to assholes here.”

The men fell silent, glancing between each other.

“Did Sykes say we had to be hands off?” one said,
rearranging his filthy cock in his pants.

“Rough her up were the orders,” the one on the right
replied.

“Send a message,” Ugly said with a grin.

Sykes? As one of the men angled away, that’s when I finally
saw the logo on the back of his jacket. A Grim Reaper stared back at me, hollow
eyes and death, a scythe held over its head. The banner read, Necromancers
Motorcycle Club.

Necromancers
.

My blood ran cold and I froze. They couldn’t know. They
couldn’t be here for-

Ugly went to circle around behind the bar and I made a grab
for the shotgun. My hand wrapped around the barrel and I yanked it free,
cocking it right at the fucker’s head.

“Get out,” I hissed.

“A bitch with a gun,” one of the men laughed.