Not just any defendant, but one of the mobsters who has a reputation for bludgeoning and murdering people who piss off his boss.
“Get out or I will pull the trigger!” I warn him. I’ve never shot anyone before, but if I had to, I wouldn’t miss him.
Still, he doesn’t move, as if he thinks I’m bluffing.
“Fine. Stay. Wait for the police to show up so they can haul your ass away to jail! I’ll make sure youneversee the light of day again.”
He chuckles. “Aww, your little threats are cute, sweetheart. But they’re a waste of time.”
Why won’t he fucking leave? Why isn’t he scared of me shooting and killing him or having him arrested?
I need to find my phone. Whatever is going on with him, I’m embarrassed and a little terrified. A lot terrified since there have been death threats. I need backup.
Glancing around my bedroom, I search for my phone. Where the hell is it? Last night, I turned it over when I checked into the club, as required, and then…
The gangster in my bed snaps his fingers. “I forgot to grab your phone before we left last night. Just got your purse and coat. Oops.”
“Stop doing that!” I shout.
“Stop doing what?” He places his arm over his head again and squirms deeper into the covers, getting more comfortable inmybed.
“Stop answering me before I ask questions.”
“Sorry. I’ll just lie here and wait for your pretty mouth to spit them out.” He eyes my lips with an arched eyebrow, waiting…
“Give me your phone.”
“Sure, thing, sweetheart.” Ugh, that fake term of endearment grates on my nerves. His grin is about to split his face before he leans over, opening my nightstand drawer and digging inside. The sheets slip down with his movement, showing me his broad bare back and enough ass crack for me to realize he’s naked. He’s naked in my bed and was just pressed up against me while I was sleeping!
“Here you go.” He tosses the device on the bed near me without hesitation.
This has to be some sort of trick. He won’t actually give me his code to unlock his phone or use it…
“Code’s one-one-one…and, you guessed it, one,” he tells me without prompting.
Keeping the gun in my right hand, I snatch the device with my left and use my thumb to punch in the passcode, which works.
“Before you call the police, how about you take a look through my camera roll,” the son of a bitch says calmly. “There are some videos I think you’re going to want to see.”
I should ignore his comment and punch in 9-1-1, but my curiosity gets the best of me. Besides, what’s another minute going to hurt? I need a little more time to figure out how the hell I’m going to explain to the cops why a defendant is naked in my bed.
The most recent video in the camera roll is taken in a dark room. At first, it’s hard to tell what I’m looking at. Then, when I can, I nearly drop the device.
It’s me, strung up in the sex swing, my thighs spread wide open. My head is tipped back so far, I can’t see my face, and I’m not moving, just hanging there. The camera moves closer, closeenough to see the arousal dripping down my inner thighs and every-fucking-thing in between. Then the view moves up to my bare breasts before a man’s hand reaches out to lift the mask from my face.
That stirs me, but with my arms still fastened above, I just shake my head with a mumble, and the hand puts the mask back in place.
A flush that had spread across my cheeks races down my throat, to my chest, until it encompasses my entire body. I think I may erupt like a human torch in the middle of my bedroom.
“It was you all along…” I state, feeling like an idiot.
If he responds, I don’t hear him as I scroll to the next video. This one is taken from farther away, but the man on his knees, his face between my legs is clear. I startle at the sound of my loud moans before scrolling to the next video, unable to watch another second.
But the third one is even worse.
I’m on my knees with my mouth full of the man in my bed as he thrusts so deep into my throat I gag and try to pull away. He lets me but only for a second before he roughly shoves down my throat again and again, faster and faster, as if he’s enjoying my discomfort and being in complete control.
“Do I really need to spell this out for you?” the asshole in my bed asks. “You’re a smart woman. I bet you have it all figured out by now.”
