Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance Page 5

  She turned the thick leather collar over in her hands a few times, frowning. "I don't… know yet."

  "You either do it, or you find the money you owe me."

  He paused once he was halfway out the front door, then looked back over his shoulder at her. She was still frowning at the collar, her little brain no doubt considering her choice.

  "Sandy," he called. "Thanks for the massage."

  And with a winning smile, he shut the door, setting into motion part one of the plan that would set Missy free.

  Chapter 7

  "Sandy, baby, I'm just gonna take a quick nap," she heard Dan groan from her bedroom. There was a pause as she waited, which was punctuated by a burp. "Be outta your hair in a few hours, I promise."

  "I don't mind," she told him, fidgeting with the leather straps cutting across her tits. "Sleep as long as you want."

  And she meant it. How often was anyone on first name terms with Dan of all people? Even if she hadn't initially intended for the outcome, her stock was rising in the gang now that its leader was her number one client, and she had Red Parker to thank for that. Of course, she kept that little tidbit to herself. Because if she admitted that Red was the one who pressured her to dragging a drunken Dan back to her place for a night of rough sex, she'd also have to admit that she did it initially because she was supposed to kill the guy.

  With a collar. Nibbling her plump lower lip, Sandy tip-toed into her kitchen, then rummaged through the drawer that usually held her spare batteries, cable ties, and other oddities that just didn't fit anywhere else. At the bottom of it all, she found the thick strap of leather Red had given her almost two weeks ago, before she'd started fucking Dan every other night. The guy had a thing for the BDSM lifestyle, though he wasn't very good at playing by the rules. Sometimes he wanted to be all macho and dominant, and other nights, like tonight, he wanted her to put on her bondage gear and punish him to next Tuesday.

  At some point soon, within the next few days, Sandy was supposed to latch that collar around his neck—tight—and watch as he was strangled to death. Red had apparently tampered with the piece so that once it was on, there was no way anyone could get it off without a serious heavy-duty knife. Something with the clasp was busted, though for the life of her she couldn't see anything wrong with it. But she trusted Red and his hatred for Dan: if Red said the collar would kill him, then the collar would probably kill him.

  Why Red wanted Dan dead was beyond her. There were rumors floating around the bikers that he had a thing for Dan's girl, but at some point almost everyone had a thing for Dan's girl. Missy was a stunner, but obviously boring as shit in the bedroom if Dan had to use prostitutes to get his rocks off.

  Gripping the collar, Sandy gave a glare before throwing it back in the drawer. In the bedroom, Dan snored loudly, and she waited, tensed, to see if he'd wake up. Nothing. He'd been pretty drunk when he showed up at her door tonight, coming to her totally unannounced, and throughout the whole ordeal she—the dominant—had been plying him with booze at his request. Not exactly a great bondage scene, but the guy paid well, and, to her, seemed like he genuinely wanted to be there.

  And that was why she couldn't do it. Sure, she barely had half the money she owed Red in her bank account, but she couldn't go through with what he wanted. Dan might have been an asshole to everyone else, but when he was in Sandy's apartment, he was her little drunk pussycat. She enjoyed the sex, and he never tried to stiff her. Besides, none of the shit he wanted to do was too crazy—he could easily become a preferred regular client, if she had her way.

  But Red was fucking her, metaphorically, right in the ass. He'd given her such an impossible task: kill the head of the DBD crew. If the others found out what she did, she'd be about as well off as she would have been if her drug dealers had caught up with her before Red intervened. Dan's ominous inner circle of guys… They'd string her up and cut her apart, piece by piece, when they pinned the murder on her.

  No thanks. She'd rather keep fucking Dan, as terrible a lay as he was, and use him for protection against Red.

  Grabbing her phone, she punched in Red's number and crouched down by the door, far enough away from the bedroom so that Dan wouldn't be able to hear her. The guy was passed out hard anyway, but there was always the worry that she'd be discovered.

  Red picked up on the second ring, grunting into the phone.

  "I can't do this, Red," she snapped, her eyes darting to the bedroom door. Her outfit was giving her a rash, and she held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she started undoing the buckles. "I can't… do what you want."

  "Sandy…" He sighed heavily, and it sounded like he was moving around somewhere on his end of the phone. "Sandy, we had a deal. You either do this, or I come to collect."

  "Oh, what are you going to do if I don't have the money?" she spat, rolling her eyes. Red was a gnat compared to some of the other guys in the gang. A sexy gnat, sure, but she could probably handle herself with him. However, the tone he took with her made her think twice, and she swallowed hard.

  "Sandy, you do not want to test me on this," he told her, practically growling through the phone. "I swear that if you push me, I'll show you that I can be even worse than Dan, and that's saying something."

  "But—"

  "Sandy, don't make me prove how serious I am about this." She pressed her lips together, eyes watery. Fuck him. Fuck him straight to hell. Just because she owed him a big chunk of money over a problem she had dragged him into in the first place, didn't mean he owned her. "Do you have the collar?"

  She nodded, and when he sighed heavily, she managed to get out a meek, "Yes."

  "Good. Tomorrow night… Go to his place and make it work. If the deed isn't done by midnight tomorrow, our deal is done, and the original debt is doubled."

  Her stomach dropped at the threat, and she fell back against the door, grinding her teeth, infuriated.

  "Am I clear?" he asked, some of the malice gone from his tone—it had transferred to Sandy instead, and if he was here right now, she would have stabbed him with a kitchen knife. But he had her cornered… For now.

  He didn't realize what a soft spot Dan had developed for her. What a rude awakening that was going to be.

  "Yeah, Red, I'm sorry," she lied, shaking her head and exhaling loudly. "I just got cold feet. I'll do everything you need tomorrow night. I promise."

  "I'll be watching to make sure you do."

  And with that, the line went dead. Sandy gripped her phone tightly, slowly rising to her feet with shaky legs. Oh, watch all you want, Red. He could watch her go straight in to Dan's house tomorrow night, and then he'd see Dan marching straight back out with a shotgun, ready to blow his traitorous brains out.

  Chapter 8

  "You know what, Red?" Sandy picked at her nails in the front seat of her car, studying Dan's front porch from the driveway. The light had flickered on as soon as she arrived, and she figured he was expecting her. On the phone, Red Parker was practically gnashing his teeth together. "I'm not going to kill Dan today. I brought the collar like you said, but you know… I think the gang will kill me when they find out what happened. No thanks."

  "Sandy, I'm going to make sure you're safe once this is all finished, I swear—"

  "Somehow I don't believe you," she sighed, then twisted her car mirror to double-check her make-up. She'd dressed up a little tonight, hoping Dan might notice. "So I think I'm just going to tell him your little plan, and then we'll go from there."

  "I wouldn't do that," he said, and she swore there was a hint of panic in his voice. "Sandy, Dan tends to be a… shoot the messenger kind of guy. Don't put yourself in that situation."

  "Your bullshit might have worked on me before, but not anymore." And with that, Sandy disconnected the call, an overwhelming sense of pride rising up through her chest. As far as she knew, Red hadn't followed her here. It would take him at least ten minutes to drive out into the wooded countryside, and by the time he got here, Dan would be ready to put
a bullet in his head.

  Unfortunately, some of her ego deflated as soon as she was actually in Dan's house. He was so drunk that she marveled at his ability to string a sentence together. Bumbling over and covering her with sloppy wet kisses, he groped everything he could within thirty seconds of her arrival, pinching her tits and ass, grunting his approval.

  "But I really need to talk to you," she protested, squirming out of his reach. However, the glazed over look in his eye told her he wasn't going to digest anything she had to say right now anyway. Sighing, Sandy did a quick check out the front window, ensured that they were still alone, then bolted the front door shut. If Red just happened to show it, she could probably slap Dan around enough to sober him up for a fight.

  Then they could go back to screwing afterward like it never happened.

  "Fuck first," Dan demanded, tugging at her clothes, "then talk."

  Well, at least she didn't have to beg him to sleep with her. Her fee was already sitting on the coffee table, and since she figured she'd be safe if Red showed up, there was no harm in screwing first, then talking. At least after they fooled around he might be a little more sober.

  "Have you been a bad boy today?" she asked, trying to gauge who he wanted her to be that evening. As soon as he nodded his head sheepishly, she knew that she was supposed to be the dominant. She'd been dominant yesterday too—a preference was appearing. Even if Dan did backstab her someday, at least she had dirt on him: big strapping Dan liked to be tied up and paddled by hookers.

  "Yes, Mistress," he slurred, blinking his glossy eyes at her. Sandy smirked, then shoved her bag of toys into his hands.

  "Go ready yourself then. Mistress doesn't want to see your face," she instructed, adopting a fake British accent that she liked to do when she was in charge. "No clothes, get my handcuffs, and Mistress will join you in the bedroom."

  He toddled off like an obedient little boy, hugging her bag close to his chest. In it was the tampered collar, the one she was supposed to use on him tonight, but she just couldn't bring herself to use it. Not only did she not want, or need, the wrath of the other bikers raining down on her, she needed someone to put Red in the ground to clear her debt once and for all. Squealing on him got her everything she wanted.

  Grinning, Sandy sauntered over to the coffee table to collect her fee, counting out the hundreds with delight. Dan was willing to pay whatever she demanded—all because she marketed herself as a professional dominatrix. Idiot. Attractive idiot. Idiot who was finally going to get her somewhere in this gang, in life. Once she was sure everything was there, she slipped the cash in her boot, then peeled off her brown trench coat. She'd come prepared in a leather corset, frilly panties, and thigh-high boots.

  Since he was almost belligerently drunk, she figured he could use a little extra time to get everything ready. It was a power play, forcing him to wear the outfit of a submissive, and she wanted it done right. A full twenty minutes had passed when she finally moved toward the bedroom. Red was nowhere to be seen: if he was smart, he would have high-tailed it out of town.

  "Are you ready for Mistress?" she asked as she pushed open the bedroom door, wincing at the smell. Clothes everywhere. One of the bedside tables was clean and organized—she always assumed that was Missy's side whenever she bothered to sleep here. Dan had done an adequate job at getting ready. He was naked, his dick semi-hard, and had sprawled out across the bed. She shook her head, clucking her tongue noisily. "Mistress prefers you on your knees."

  When he didn't move, she stalked toward him and slapped his thigh. Still no movement. Rolling her eyes, she leaned down and shook him, calling his name. Had he passed out already?

  It was then, as she hovered over him, that she saw where all of her plans would shoot straight to hell.

  The idiot had put the collar on—and a mask she'd never seen before.

  "Dan!"

  She scrambled across the bed and tried to yank the strap of leather off, her body stiffening in panic. The mask was new. In fact, she couldn't remember ever buying something like that. She never would: it was made of totally unbreathable material, and there were no airholes. He'd been so blitzed on whatever he'd taken, he must have found it somewhere and put it on, then added the collar.

  Because she'd always used a collar on him. But her collar was thin and pliable, easy to detach if things ever got too rough.

  "Dan! You fuck!" She pounded against his chest, and as she did, she realized he wasn't breathing. Horror struck, and she tried her best to pry the restraints off his face. Her efforts were useless, however. Even the plastic mask had no give to it, and by the time she scrounged up some scissors and snipped the thing open, he was gone.

  Dead. Eyes bulging under the plastic. Face pale. Lips purple-blue.

  "Oh m-my god…" She backed away from the bed, her knees buckling. She'd done it. She hadn't meant to do it, but she'd killed Dan, head biker of the Death Before Dishonour motorcycle gang. The cops would put her away—they'd been itching to pin something on her. She couldn't call an ambulance. Red had probably skipped town already.

  They were going to dismember her when they put the pieces together. No matter how hard she tried to cover her tracks, the gang would eventually catch up with her. All the members knew what would happen to traitors—she'd seen the gruesome outcome before. Sobbing, she curled over, brain to muddled to think of a coherent plan.

  Hours passed like minutes, until finally Sandy pushed herself to her feet and wobbled into the bathroom, knowing exactly what she had to do. Trembling, she popped open every pill bottle she could find, guzzling them down with swigs from Dan's vodka, until her stomach cramped so much that she couldn't stand.

  There was no escape—no escape but one, and Sandy planned to ride it into the great beyond.

  ******

  "I fucking hate coming out here."

  "Especially after it rains."

  Tony rolled his eyes as he set his helmet on the back of his bike. It wasn't like he actually liked going out to Dan's place either, especially after a storm. The unpaved driveway had a tendency to make his bike dirty as all hell, but they hadn't heard from the guy in two days—and Dan never missed their boozy brunches at the coffee shop on Main Street. In fact, the guy always made it out like that was the highlight of his week, so when he didn't show up yesterday, Tony knew something was amiss.

  He'd gathered all the inner circle that morning, minus Red. Apparently his mom died or some shit, and he'd gone up north for the funeral. Not the worst excuse to get out of work Tony had ever heard, but he didn't particularly care what the fuck Red Parker did on his off-time either. The guy was a biker wallflower—if that was even a thing.

  The front door was unlocked when Tony approached, and as soon as they got the thing open, the smell hit them like a ton of bricks. Shielding his face with his arm, he slowly entered the home that stunk of dead people. In the back, Dan's hounds were wailing for attention, and he told one of the guys to check if they'd been fed.

  "Jesus fucking Christ…"

  They found him in the bedroom, totally naked and wearing a bright green plastic mask. There was some kind of sex collar around his neck, and a whore surrounded by vomit a few feet away. Neither had a pulse. Tony backed away in a hurry, careful not to touch anything, as a million scenarios ran through his head. First thought: Dan choked to death and the hooker over-dosed. There was always two sides to every story, however, and this was one he was determined to solve before the news hit the rest of the biker peons in town.

  "Call Missy," Tony ordered, his eyes never leaving the bodies. Funny how Dan's girl hadn't noticed he was missing.

  She showed up about a half hour later by cab, and when they met on the front porch, she apologized: apparently someone had rear-ended her, and her car was in the shop. Tony waved it off, not interested in any excuses.

  She screamed when she saw him—and it sounded real. Genuine horror. Grief. Tony kept her from touching the body, telling her that he had a guy who would sweep D
an for fingerprints or handprints or whatever the fuck those CSI nerds did. Missy collapsed in his arms, shrieking and crying. Her eyes were bloodshot when they met his.

  "H-How?" was all she managed to get out. Tony looked away, unable to take the snot dripping out of her nose or the way her lips shook.

  "We'll figure it out," he promised, and then sighed heavily as she started to cry harder. Damn it all. He shouldn't have brought her here. Probably would have been just as easy to give her the bad news over the phone, but in a way, Tony had wanted to see her reaction to the body. Judge her right then and there. Missy had never been much of an actress. He gritted his teeth and patted her shoulder, wanting to move her out of the bedroom but not entirely sure how.

  If there was one thing Tony truly hated in this world, it was dealing with a hysterical woman.

  Chapter 9

  Dan's funeral took place on a cool day in early September. Even if he wasn't the best guy in town, a hefty crowd turned up to pay their respects. Most were gang members, but there were community leaders there too, perhaps wanting to earn favour with the notorious biker crew. His girlfriend Missy said a few words, quoting romantic poems and crying openly while the casket waited to be lowered into the ground. She thanked those who took time out of their busy schedules to be there, and insisted that she knew those who couldn't make it were there in spirit.