“Smile, you fucking bastard,” Austin says as he steps into the living room. There are four of his security guys with him, men in dark suits with a hard edge in their eyes. One of them has a camera in his hands, and he starts snapping pictures left and right as me and Strokes keep making the dirtiest faces of pleasure we can think of, pretending we’re having the time of our lives.
Yep, Mr. Commissioner, you’re fucked now.
“Girls, you can get away from him now,” Austin tells us with a victorious smile, and Strokes and I get off of the couch as fast as we can. I put my bra and thong on and step inside my dress, then turning to Lester and grinning.
“How do you like it now? You fucking bastard,” I hiss, and then walk up to him and kick him as hard as I can in the shins. He barely registers it; he simply looks around, his wide eyes now full of terror as his gaze jump from me to Strokes, and then from Strokes to Austin. He has lost, and he knows it.
After kicking him, I walk straight to Austin and fall into his embrace, closing my eyes as I try to push the memories of Lester’s touch to the back of my mind. The man disgusts me, through and through, and I think I’m going to have to take a very long shower after this. But what matters right now is that we’ve pulled it off. Lester played right into our hands, and now we hold all the cards.
If he comes after us, we’ll ruin him. About to fuck his stepdaughter and another woman. Audio recordings from my bag of him soliciting me for sex. Yeah, his career is gonna go down the drain, and all of his political clout will serve him for nothing. He will be discarded by the people above him like some filthy rag. And, of course, he would deserve all of that. And worst.
“We did it,” I whisper at Austin, kissing him on the lips.
“We did it, babe,” he smiles at me, and then he turns serious, taking one step back. “Now, I’m going to have a fucking conversation with that fucking asshole.”
24
Austin
“Lester boy,” I hiss, standing right in front of him. I tower over him, my shadow over his body, and he starts cowering. “Sit up, you pathetic excuse of a fucking man. I’m not going to beat you.” He relaxes at my words, sitting up straight, but his eyes are still wide with fear.
“You can’t do this… You can’t--” Before I can continue, I just punch him straight in the face. Fuck, that felt good. “You told me you wouldn’t hit me,” he cries out in pain, both his hands covering his nose. A straight line of blood starts dripping down from his nose and onto his lips.
“I fucking lied,” I simply shrug, and he turns his eyes up. He’s angry—oh, Lester is a very angry boy right now—but there’s nothing he can do about it. Unless he really wants to kick his ass in such a way that he’ll have to be dragged out of the house in a stretcher. Don’t get me wrong, he deserves all that and so much more, but I’m not a fucking savage. There’s nothing to gain from beating his ass, and my real purpose here is shutting him down for good.
“What do you want?” he cries out again, wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand. I’m almost tempted to punch him again, but somehow I restrain myself.
“What I want? See that young lady there?” I point toward Mistress Strokes, and Lester’s eyes go straight to her. He narrows his eyes into slits, and I don’t think I have ever seen someone so filled with hate. Strokes has been ruining his plans for months, and Lester tried like a mad man to put an end to it. He just didn’t count on me backing Strokes.
“You fucking bi--” he starts, his teeth stained with blood as he curses at his own stepdaughter. I stop him before he can continue and you probably already know how I did it, with a punch to the face, that’s correct. He still hasn’t learned his lesson.
“Be nice, Lester. There’s more where that came from. Anyway, as I was saying… You’re going to leave her alone for good. You’re going to forget that she even exists. If I ever hear that someone’s looking for her, someone remotely involved with you… I don’t care if it’s just because of a parking fine, Lester. Anyone goes after her, all of this will be leaked before you can jerk yourself off and cum. And from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty fast at that.”
He now turns his angry eyes toward Destiny, but I don’t even want him looking at her. I raise my fist in the air and that’s enough to grab his attention. He makes himself smaller, protecting his face with his arms, and I just drop my fist. Slowly he’s starting to get it.
“I’m not done, Lester, so pay attention. I don’t like repeating myself,” I fold my arms over my chest, confident that he won’t act out anymore, and then continue. “The moment Strokes, Destiny, and I leave this place, you’re going to make a few phone calls. You’re going to grab your cell phone, put it up to your ear, and you’re going to call whoever you need to so that Destiny’s club can reopen. I want it to happen so that there are no more suspicions around her or her club.”
“That’s not that easy --”
“Shut the fuck u
p, Lester. I don’t wanna hear it,” I spit at him. “You’ll think of something. You shut down her club, now you’re going to fix that. No excuses. And I’m far from being done.”
“Jesus,” he breathes out, sinking in his seat. He’s slowly starting to realize that we have him by the balls, and that there’s nothing he can do about it. He lost.
“I want you to get Python a license to operate in Manhattan as well. I’ve been trying to get one for months, and I know you’ve pulled some strings to block it. Now, I’m going to give a timeline; you have one month to get Destiny’s club reopened and Python’s licenses. Not a second more.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, still seething. “Fine, I’ll do that. I’ll get it done,” he finally submits, but I’m far from being done. If he thinks that all we want is for him to leave both our clubs alone, he’s very mistaken.
“And after that month is up… You’re going to leave New York City. For good.”
“Leave? I can’t leave, I’m the fucking Police Com--” This time I don’t punch him. I just slap him with the back of my hand as if he’s just a misbehaving schoolboy. This coward doesn’t even deserve my fists.
“You’re leaving,” I stress the ‘leaving’ part, making it clear that this is not up to discussion. Okay, to be honest, nothing of what I’m telling him is up for discussion. Not a word. “I don’t care where you go. Just make it someplace far away. I’d suggest Siberia. Seems like a fitting place for a piece of shit like you.”
The look on his face tells me that if he could he’d just murder me in cold blood right now. That’s when I realize that his threatening look isn’t just a look; he jumps off of the couch in an instant and, before any of my security guys can do a thing, he pushes me back. He reaches for something under his coffee table, and I see the cold metal of a police revolver shining in his hands. He takes his finger to the trigger, blood dripping out of his mouth as he snarls, and time stops; I see him squeezing the trigger in slow motion and I can almost imagine the bullet leaving its chamber and making its deadly way toward me.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I hear Strokes yell and, still seeing everything unfold in slow-mo, I watch as she runs toward him and kicks him straight in the balls with her heels. He drops the gun just before the trigger reaches its limit, and then he falls to the floor like a crumpled piece of paper. He has gone pale, and the only color in his face is the bright red still dripping out of his nose.