Matilda Wren (18 page)

“Thought I told you to be sitting on your chair, with those tits and legs on show.” Ray sneered at her.

He slowly licked the length of her face and she pulled away in disgust, wiping her cheek with her hand.

“Ray… don’t… please…”

“Ray, don’t please… what?” He imitated her voice in a high pitched tone, mocking her.

“Don’t talk to me like that. You know I hate it when you are like this. Foul mouthed and dirty minded.”

Truth was, she actually craved the way he spoke to her.

His rough handling of her only turned her on more. Shoving her against the wall, she heard the ripping of material as he tore open her blouse; buttons blasted off in all directions.

He pushed her white lace bra up around her neck and ignoring her cries as the wire grated over her supple downy skin, he watched as her huge tremendously shaped breasts sprung free.

There was no drooping from them at all. They looked tight and firm, not the breasts you would expect on a middle aged woman. But then, Bonita was not the average woman in so many ways. Even Ray appreciated that.

He grabbed her breast brutally and squeezed her nipple tight. The dark areolas surrounding his fingers bulged under his pressure. She let out another cry and he put his free hand over her mouth, stifling her moans of pain.

His touch changed, from the fierce abrasive handling, to a more controlled teasing stroke. Keeping his hand over her mouth, his other hand slowly massaged her breast and nipple simultaneously. He watched her close her eyes in pleasure and felt her body relax against him. She wanted him, she always did.

No matter how hard she tried to fight it, he could always make her succumb to his touch.

Maybe it was because he made damn sure she didn’t allow anyone else to touch her, so she was so desperate for the contact on his visits that she allowed him his way. He didn’t really care why. He just enjoyed the control he had over her.

He grinned sleazily when she bit down on his hand; the pleasure he created in her caused his groin to protrude from his trousers. He dropped her breast and unzipped his fly.

Grabbing his penis he began to pleasure himself. His hand that was covering her mouth moved down to her shoulder, in an attempt to force her to her knees.

“Show me how much you’ve missed me then.” The deride sounded just as disrespectful as it was intended.

Bonita fought back slightly. She grabbed at his hand that was gratifying himself and pulled it between her legs.

His rough fingers automatically finding their way under her lace panties. She moaned out loud, as he thrust them inside her.

“Please…” She begged, her voice gruff from the way he made her feel. “ Please make me come… I’m so close…

please…”

She gyrated against his hand; his fingers became wetter and wetter as they slipped in and out of her with ease. He put his other hand back over her mouth and slammed her back against wall.

“I want your fucking lips around my cock.” He barked at her.

His demands made her wetter, he could feel it. “You like the dirty talk really.” The sneer and the final thrust inside her made her explode all over his arm. He liked making her come. He felt the absolute power he had over her and it made him feel like a god. It was probably the closest he had ever come to actually loving someone, not that he was aware of it.

Just as demanding and as rough as he made her orgasm, he grabbed hold of the back of her neck and this time physically coerced her to her knees. Her rounded globes for breasts bounced from his force. He imposed her mouth with his penis, compelling her to take the full length of him, which she did with no trouble.

There was no gagging and spluttering like with the whores. Bonita’s throat didn’t reject him and when he shot his warm salty load into her there was no spitting it out like they did.

Their sex wasn’t unusual for them. It was frenzied and rough, always rough. There was never kissing or caresses.

There was no loving spooning afterwards. It was primal, animalistic sex and nothing more. But for those few minutes that it lasted, Bonita knew that he was solely hers.

Ray pulled his trousers back up and tucked in his shirt.

Within seconds he was smartly presented again. He grabbed his packet of cigars out of his back pocket and lit one.

Bonita watched him, knowing her time was over. It was back to business now and back to the real reason he was in her office.

“So all the papers are signed and the nephew scrote is now the new owner of Anderson Industries?” He asked her formally; the villain now firmly back in the room and her man gone.

She looked down at her dishevelled state. Her blouse was ripped and ruined and her skirt sat around her hips. She pulled her bra back down over her breasts and stood up to straighten herself out.

Her hair had fallen from the perfect bun she had arranged that morning and now hung down around her shoulders, giving her normal sultry look more definition.

She really was beautiful and it took Ray’s breath away that she loved him. For a short while he almost felt guilty of his treatment of her, but it didn’t last very long.

“Yes Ray. Everything is in place. All you need to do is get hold of Peter Mambridge and get him to sign it all over to you. There is nothing George Anderson can legally do about it. Officially, he no longer owns the properties or the businesses; Peter does. I have all the paperwork ready so, as soon as you have Peter, we are good to go.”

Ray grinned, showing those crooked yellow teeth. They would put any woman off him, but not Bonita.

“Just what I wanted to hear.” Rubbing his hands together, rather like a small squirrel who had just found a hoard of nuts. “I think this deserves a celebratory drink.”

Bonita reached for her suit jacket. She had taken off her torn blouse and replaced it with just the blazer. She looked the epitome of class. With her six inch high heels and tight knee length skirt, she didn’t look like the average gangsters mol .

Ray took two glasses from the small drinks cabinet and poured out a generous measure of straight gin into each. He handed one to her and she took it smiling. She perched her bottom on the edge of the desk and watched Ray down his in one gulp and then pour himself another. The thick smoke from his cigar curled away in the ashtray, filling the office with a Cuban aroma.

“It feels good doesn’t it?” Ray sighed, after downing the second shot. “After three years of planning and you infiltrating Anderson’s crew, we are finally at the end. In a matter of hours, all he owns will be mine and he will be nothing more than another rotting corpse in Epping Forest.”

“We certainly pulled it off. I admit I didn’t hold out much faith, when you first came up with this crazy plan, but George Anderson fell for it all.”

“Don’t underestimate me Bonnie. I’m a shrewd prude when it comes to business and even more so when it comes to Anderson.” Ray pointed his finger at her and she knew it was a hidden warning. “A pair of tits, long legs and an intelligent brain is a lethal combination for any man; even me. Anderson never stood a chance. What with you, slowly convincing him that Customs and Excise and the bloody Inland Revenue were hot on his tail. You single-handedly turned him into a paranoid loon.”

He reached her within a few steps and shoved his hand inside her jacket, gripping hold of one of her breasts and giving it a hard squeeze. “He trusted every fucking word that comes out of your pretty mouth, the mouth that sucks
my
dick. You, Bonnie girl, pulled a blinder.”

It was Ray’s, not so subtle, way of ensuring she knew; she had signed George Anderson’s death warrant, just as much as he had.

“Make sure you’re available later tonight. I’ll call when I need you.” He slapped her cheek and then, grabbing her chin, bit her lip in a kiss like action. Then he was gone, leaving her alone once more.

* * *

Peter Mambridge was in a right mess. His hands wereliterately tied. His face was a bloody mess and some of his teeth were on the floor in front of him. He had been beaten to within an inch of his life and was now sitting on a chair, in a kitchen of a house he didn’t know.

He didn’t know where he was either. He had been set upon in the car park of his office in Kempston, where he was blindfolded and gagged and then bundled into a dark green Range Rover. He tried to figure out the direction he was being driven but they had gone round roundabouts three or four times before turning off and he got confused. They drove for what seemed like hours, but for all Peter knew, he could still be in Bedford.

He had never been so scared in his entire life; he didn’t know why he was there or what he had done. He got no answers to his questions but when Ray Jarvis walked into the kitchen with the attractive lawyer he had met with earlier that day and another meathead dressed from head to toe in black with a pick axe in his hand, he actually thought he was going to die of fright. It slowly dawned on him, that he had somehow got himself mixed up in one of his wife’s uncle’s exploits.

“Hello Peter old boy, fancy seeing you here.” Ray said to him in a very jovial manner, like he had just walked into his local pub and bumped into a friend he hadn’t seen for a long while.

The two brutes who had shoved him into the car and then proceeded to bounce him around the house burst out laughing, amused at their boss’ humour and the horror that was written all over his face.

His trepidation was unmistakably palpable; you could almost smell the fear. Ray felt sorry for him; Peter was a good man. He was honest, he paid taxes and had never broken the law in his life. His only crime, was guilt by association.

Ray never real y understood why people were good. He understood why people were bad, but the good fascinated him and he did have passing moments of empathy for them, when they wound up involved in the murky world he existed in.

“I don’t believe we’ve met in person. I’m an old acquaintance of George’s.” Ray said. “Corrr… they messed you up a bit, didn’t they. My boys get a bit rough sometimes.

Still, your hands are okay aren’t they? I mean you can still write can’t ya, just your signature like? That’s all I need, then you can be on your way.”

Peter finally had the light bulb epiphany; that clarifying moment when the fog cleared. For a millisecond he felt euphoria as the confusion vacated, until the fear and horror set in, at the realisation of what he was involved in.

“No… Please… Fucking hell… I can’t. He’ll kill me.”

The two thugs that had pounded into him laughed out loud behind him. It wasn’t so much as Peter’s fear that they found amusing, it was more the spluttered attempt at pleading with a mouthful of blood and missing teeth.

“He won’t kill you Peter; because he won’t be alive to.”

Ray shook his head, his voice cajoling. Then with a malicious snort he added “The others will probably get you though, the moron brothers who will peck and fight over the scraps that I leave behind, like vultures.”

Peter begun sobbing, long snotty tendrils hung from his nose. He knew he sounded pathetic but he really didn’t care.

If crying saved him his life, he would cry for England.

“Please…” He wailed.

“Of course.” Davie,
the meathead
with the long grey plait
, started to speak. “We’re not going to let that happen. We look after our friends and as you are going to assist Mr Jarvis, we look at you as our friend. You are our friend Peter, aren’t you?”

Davie’s voice was calm and gentle. It had a soothing quality to it. Peter nodded frantically, like Davie knew he would. Fear, terror, dread and panic all make a man incredibly willing and agreeable. It was a magnificent weapon to yield.

“Good lad. All you have to do is sign your name where the lovely Miss Mashek tells you too and you’ll be on your way, with half a million squid. That should be enough to get you and your pretty, expectant wife far away from here.

Don’t you think?”

Peter looked up at the man standing in front of him.

He grasped the hidden indications in what had been said to him. He took in the fact that he was no longer safe with his wife’s family. He also took in that he was being told he was not safe with the men that were in the kitchen with him, but the hint towards his pregnant wife and her safety was enough to make his decision.

He cursed the day he ever met his wife’s family. He had no idea who George Anderson was until his wedding.

Now, he was unwittingly involved in a gangland turf war.

He didn’t want to have George’s assets signed over to him.

It was a dodgy tax evasion and he wanted no part in it, but he had no choice. You didn’t say no to George, the same as you didn’t say no to Ray Jarvis or Davie Newman.

Peter knew he was screwed either way, but he also knew that, if he didn’t take the money, he was dead and he couldn’t do that to his wife, not his Patsy. The woman he adored over anything else. He couldn’t leave her alone to raise the baby.

He looked over to Bonnie, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled at him politely, like this was just a normal business deal. She had been the same that afternoon, in her office. She was as villainess as the men in the room. A few hours ago he thought she was just a professional and that somewhere along the line, what George was doing was legal.

It had to be. He had a top notch lawyer and everything seemed above board when she had explained how it all worked to him earlier.

It dawned on him just how naive he had been, but then again, so had George. He obviously had no idea that the beautiful lawyer was working for Ray Jarvis, anymore than Peter himself did. She had done the pair of them over.

It briefly crossed his mind, when would she screw the main man himself over, because, in his eyes, she would eventually. This was a comforting thought. He tried to return the smile but due to the broken jaw, it wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Looking back at Davie and Ray, he gave a loud resigned sigh.“Show me where to sign.” He said, slowly shaking his head; the product of a beaten and defeated man.

Ray smiled and clapped his hands together. “Miss Mashek, do the honours.”