“Why the fuck were you spying on me? Who do you work for?”
I couldn’t even eat a decent meal in peace without someone casting spying eyes on me, but thankfully, I had discovered this one lurking. He had no idea at the time that he was loitering his ass up on a bullet, because I made it my business to know who was keeping tabs on me.
The base of the motel’s cheap lamp became the whipping stick I continued to use to beat…his…ass. I pounded into his flesh, not caring where the licks landed as long as they connected.
His pale skin was now marred with a rainbow of bruises and cuts. The lamp’s cord, torn pieces of the white stained bed sheets, and the man’s belt were used to secure him in place.
“If I talk, I’m dead,” he managed to push out the words through his cries as his wide anxious eyes followed my every move. Despite his situation, I had caught him looking up my skirt twice. Men... This one was on his death bed but he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek while I, the personification of death in Versace, stood over him.
“If you don’t talk, I’ll make your death a long, painful one versus the quick relieving bullet to the head you’ll receive from your people for being a rat. And please, whatever you do, don’t make me raise my voice.”
My gaze fell to my nails as my foot tapped out the seconds near his bloody quivering lips. “I was thinking of soaking you overnight in a tub of gasoline, high octane, and lighting you on fire just to see how crispy you can get.”
I lifted my cold, dead I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-your-life eyes and set them on his wide searching gaze. “Your choice. Talk and die in seconds, or die in pain keeping a secret for a group of people who probably don’t give a flying fuck about you.”
His hard breaths released his rancid stench against my toes as he lay there, shaking, bleeding, and thinking.
“What the fuck is there to think about? You’re dying either way. Stop wasting my time and tell me what I need to know. Who’s keeping tabs on me?”
Silence.
The sound of laughing hookers and their john’s slamming doors and running in and out of rooms made its way into our unscheduled party. Thankfully, I had a way of tuning out the noise by pouring my concentration into pulling an answer from the worthless sack of shit at my feet.
There was no doubt in my mind, even though I had managed to sneak into his room, overtake him, and tie him up by each limb, the man still underestimated me because I was a woman.
The act of getting him into the compromising position had taken a lot of effort and determination on my part, but I was not one to shy away when faced with a hard task. I wasn’t arrogant enough to fight him hand-to-hand either, so clubbing him upside the head with the wooden base of the lamp was an easy choice. If not for the information I wanted from him, he would have already been dead.
He peered at me with both curiosity and an anxious glint in his eyes, hinting that my actions surprised him more than they scared him. A relaxing breath did nothing to calm my heightened urge to put an end to the useless bastard. I stepped closer to him, wincing as one of my heels sank into another wet spot on the stained carpet.
His arms were spread wide, each tied to the metal legs of the bedframe. He was laid out on the floor, butt ass naked, his pudgy body not offering much of a view. Each of his spread legs were tied to the old-fashioned thick wood entertainment center that was bolted to the wall. The scent of mildew and pine oil permeated the room, mixing with his body odor.
The sexy, black peep-toe stilettos on my feet left my toes vulnerable to the funk his body was constantly producing. When I finally decided to send a foot over one of his open legs, the sight of my foot being so close to his taint, caused my gag reflex to twitch. His shriveled-up dick sat jiggling atop his balls as he begged me to untie him.
I placed the ball of my foot against the soft layer of fat on one of his stomachs, the lower one, as the point of my heel hovered above his dick.
“Unless you want to know how it feels to have your dick pierced by a four-inch heel, you’d better start talking.”
My tone rang low and calm, but with each passing moment, more of my patience was eaten away.
Silence.
The grip I had on my forehead tightened before my eyes fell close. In my line of work, you needed to have eyes, not only behind your head, but pointed at every angle. When someone was keeping tabs on me, I needed to know who and why before the shit came back to kill my ass.
I stood on that motherfucker, allowing my weight to press down as my heel rammed into his dick. The extreme pressure I applied didn’t produce a sound, but the damage vibrated up my leg as he yelled like a pig stuck in shit and bucked like a wild stallion.
At least a nut was crushed as his flesh did a mushy slide under the weight of my heel. There was no doubt that I was giving him a gift as his dick would likely swell to twice its size. He continued to thrash hard to get the pressure off his dick. His frantic movements caused the entertainment center he was tied to, to rock as I hopped on one leg to keep my balance.
His high-pitched screams vibrated through the dirty room, likely shaking dust from the dingy drapes. In the kind of dive he was renting, his screams and yells would translate into a hooker giving her john the time of his life.
Curious to see the damage I had done, I lifted my foot. There wasn’t much blood, but one more of those would render his ding and berries out of commission for good.
“Who…the…fuck…do…you…work…for?” I asked. “Why were you watching me?”
“The Cardenas Cartel,” he forced out. “I was ordered to keep an eye on you, Mecca Evans, with specific instructions not to engage unless they ordered it.”
The fuck?
The Cardenas Cartel supplied our coke. Why would they be watching me? I had never given them a reason to suspect me of any wrongdoing unless my uncle, Raymond Evans, with his double-crossing ass, had done some shady shit that caused them to cast watchful eyes on me.