Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance Anthology (10 page)

Patrick's lips found mine as he increased his pace, flowing with me in perfect harmony, like no other lover I'd ever had. The image of Scott Pressman flashed through my mind only to be shattered and obliterated as Patrick kept going, right there with me. Scott had played me emotionally, set me up. Patrick was doing nothing of the sort, but just staying with me, his body in tune with mine.

Pulling on me, we rolled so that I was on top, filled deeper than ever by Patrick's wonderful cock. Holding my waist, he planted his hips and thrust hard and deep, his eyes still looking into mine. My body tensed again as another wave of orgasm swept on me and I cried out, my body singing joyfully to the universe as pleasure and release shot through me all the way to the tips of my fingers and back again. It felt like my hair was almost standing on end it was so electrically wonderful, and still Patrick kept up his thrusts, even as sweat stood out on his forehead and beaded on his chest muscles.

I lost track of time, of the world, of everything except the feeling inside me and the wonderful, stupendous man underneath me. I rode him, pleasured myself on him, feasted on his body and his cock with carnal, unbidden need until I could feast no more. My breath tore from my throat as I lost count of the number of climaxes he gave me, still maintaining iron-willed control, until tears were coursing down his cheeks from the effort of his restraint. I couldn't take any more, and I looked down at him.

"Now," I mouthed, my voice having failed me. "Come for me."

"As you wish," he said through gritted teeth, pulling me tight and rolling me over so that he was on top. His hips sped up even more, and in moments I could feel the trembling in his back and his thrusts that told me he would be mere seconds.

I'll never forget the image of Patrick as he came, the way his eyes flew open like it was a holy, ethereal experience. As he came, and my body tensed one more time, coming with him as we found that final level of perfection that I'd never found with anyone before. For the first time in my life, I'd found my total, complete sexual partner and equal, and as we collapsed on the carpet, too exhausted to even disentangle ourselves, I knew that I would forever be bound to this man.

I
wasn’t so
much upset that Tabby was having sex with Patrick in the entertainment room as I was worried. It wasn't about the furniture, mind you.

I was worried because, as far as I knew, the last man before Patrick to have sex with Tabby was Scott Pressman, the Knave of Hearts. His chicanery had left her an emotional and mental wreck, and while she wasn't the same woman who Sophie had brought home and cuddled on the bean bag chair a whole night using classic Ben & Jerry's therapy, I cared about her enough to still worry.

"You knew she had to get back in the saddle eventually," Sophie said the next day after they'd both left. We'd loaned Patrick one of the Mount Zion cars so that he could get to his apartment to change in time for work, while Tabby just called Vanessa to say she was running late. Being the President meant you got to do that sometimes.

"Don't say that," I groaned, trying not to smile. "Because knowing Tabby, she has a literal saddle somewhere that we don't know about. I guess just, after Pressman, I was kind of hoping that Tabby would find a boring, non-criminal past sort of person. Better yet, an accountant who likes cats or something."

We were sitting in my home office, the Dow Jones and Nasdaq numbers running by me, Sophie on her computer composing an e-mail to some of the media outlets we knew. Bennie Fernandez had gotten back to my blind-drop e-mail saying that while he was too busy to deal with Gerald Traylor, he knew a good guy down in Washington with the IRS who would be able to handle the information we'd given him. Hey, when you’re hiding two mistresses in million dollar apartments, the IRS will find you if they want to. In the meantime, Sophie was using the media to blow up Traylor's facade even before the Feds got to him.

“I’m sure you would,” Sophie joked back as she typed. "That way there'd be no way to have any lingering issues."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I just, I'm worried that she's exposing her heart again before it's ready."

Sophie clicked the mouse she was using and stood up, coming over and kissing my cheek. "Mathew Mark Bylur Marcus Smiley Mark Snow, you are the kindest, sweetest, most protective man I've ever met," she said. "But relax. I've seen Tabby before, and yes, Pressman screwed her up bad. But I've watched, and she's been right here with us. I wouldn't have set up the room the way I did if I didn't think she was ready."

"I guess. I suppose you know her better than me and I know she’s like a sister to you,” I said.

“While it was a terrible experience, she’s become a stronger person now."

I turned in my chair, pulling Sophie down into a hug. "You're too beautiful, you know that Sophie? Just too damned beautiful."

We held each other for a minute before Sophie kissed me and then patted me on the cheek, climbing out of my lap. "Well, if you want to have more than just a hug, give me a half hour to finish my work. If you can get through the market session, we can do a lot more than just a little playtime too."

"Oh?" I asked, turning back to my computer. "Why's that?"

"Because anticipation makes it all the sweeter," she breathed into my ear, her warm breath sending chills down my spine. "Besides, after listening to those two for most of last night, I'm needing a lot of satisfaction."

She reached between my legs and gave my cock a gentle rub and squeeze through my shorts before kissing my ear. "After lunch, this is mine."

As it was, after lunch playtime lasted until slightly before five o'clock, when both of us woke up from a sex induced nap. Showering quickly, I started a hearty meal and was about halfway through my preparation when Tabby came in the door.

"Hey bro," she greeted me, setting her briefcase down and giving me a kiss on the cheek. She'd been calling me that a lot frequently.

Her eyes were glittering with happiness, and I had to admit there was a bounce to her step that she hadn't had even the day before.

I went back to chopping vegetables and looked over. “By the way, our Traylor issue is on its way to being solved, and I cleared nearly fifty thousand profit on the market today. I wish I could do that every day, we'd make fifteen million a year easy just on the market. So what made today so special?"

"Nothing much, really. Just normal office stuff. I guess, well, you know."

"I do," I replied, "and there's no reason to be shy about it. Listen, Sophie's in the back taking a quick shower, so I'll keep this short. Yeah, I'm concerned. You know why. But I also trust you, and will be there to support you however it happens. If emotions get involved, I hope they're good ones. If not, we'll both be there for you. And if you need the guy's ass kicked, you know who to call."

Tabby laughed and wrapped her arms around me from behind in a hug, leaning her cheek against my back near my neck. Without her heels on, she is kind of short. "That's why I love you so much, Mark. You're the best big brother I wish I'd had my whole life. Thank you."

Letting me go, she looked down at dinner. "Wow, work up an appetite?"

"I've got a patrol tonight, I need the energy. I studied the pattern of the amateur up in Filmore Heights, and I suspect he's going to be out there," I said, taking my vegetables and pouring them into the large soup pot I had simmering on the stove.

"Why are you so worried about this guy, anyway?" Tabby asked, leaning against the counter. "He's just a guy trying to do what you do."

"What I do is quiet, although a loud sort of quiet. Nobody talks to the cops, and everyone knows that if I come around, to get the hell off the streets and to stop their stuff. But I'm always safe in what I do. Normal patrols, surveillance, even most of the hits I've done, I've never taken the risky route. This guy though.... he's flashy and he's rash, which is great for getting attention, but not the type he's hoping for. He's going to get himself killed at some point. When that happens, the cops are going to be on the streets hard, and they're all going to be looking for me. Not because I killed him, but because I'm another rumored vigilante out there, even if the TV doesn't have reports on me."

Tabby nodded, then crossed her arms over her chest. "You sure it's because you don't actually like this guy? He's out there trying at least, which you have to give him credit for."

I didn't answer, and Tabby chuckled after a minute. "I'm going to change. Patrick's got a community event that he said would take up a chunk of the evening, and if you're going out, I figure I can help Sophie with her load of the housework. Then the two of us are going to sit back and relax, have some girl talk, and think of all the ways we're going to spoil your daughter. After all, I have to spend that two hundred K a year you're paying me on something besides Chinese food for my secretary."

T
he early fall
air was chilly against my cheek, and I was glad I'd switched to the slightly more thermal compression top I was wearing under my tactical vest. The city, while not one to get tons of snow during the winter, still had more than its fair share of nights that dropped below freezing and I didn't want to have to worry about wearing heavy garments if I didn't need to. The hood hugged my head more too, which helped with my disguise.

Despite his amateur actions, I had to admit the new vigilante was having a positive effect on the neighborhood as I surveyed it using binoculars from the top of St. Patrick's Church. Its slate roof was slippery, but clinging to the steeple just below where the cross was, I could see a lot of Filmore Heights, and what I saw was encouraging.

The gangs were spooked, that was for sure. The Latin Kings, maybe as a side effect of our interrupted eavesdropping earlier, were quiet, while the 88's, despite being out, were sticking to their territory.

I played a hunch and headed over to GD territory. The amateur had hit the 88's once, and the Latin Kings once. If he was trying to actually lower the overall gang presence in Filmore Heights, he'd come after the Gangster Disciples next. After the gang wars of the nineties, they were the last of the big powers left. It was what I would do if I were in his position.

Rappelling quickly down from the steeple, I slid down the church's roof before freeing the rope and then reattaching it to the side of the building and descending to street level. I got on my cycle and drove off, heading towards the east side of Filmore Heights. The GDs had their headquarters in the east side, and they controlled the area with an iron fist. Part of it was due to their numbers. Vastly outnumbering both the 88s and the Latin Kings combined, the GDs were the oldest of the three big gangs in the area. Mostly African American, they also had Hispanics, especially Puerto Ricans which for some reason the Latin Kings didn't accept in their ranks. They'd also absorbed a lot of the remnants of the Filmore Crips at the end of the gang war, boosting their ranks even more.

I stopped my bike while in the border zone between GD and 88 territory, parking it in an alleyway behind a dumpster. I found an old discarded tarp and pulled it over the bike, hoping it would be enough. The electric motorcycle wasn't registered, so if it was stolen there was no way I'd get it back, although the price of replacement didn't worry me. It was the principle of the thing that bothered me. Well, that and having to go rooftop to rooftop or through back alleyways out of Filmore Heights and then somehow still getting my way to my nearest strike base where I had another vehicle in order to get home.

My bike stashed, I headed up the nearest fire escape to the roofs. Staying near the edge so I could still see the streets below, I took off at a light jog, looking for the GD headquarters.

I was two blocks away when the sound of a car engine below caught my attention. This car was tuned up, whatever it was, and I stopped, dropping down to a knee on the rooftop. Pulling out my binoculars, I caught sight of an old compact car down the street. It pulled into a parking lot and out of sight before I could make a clear identification, but something about it tickled my attention. Maybe it was in the shape, but I swore I'd seen a similar vehicle to it before.

Shaking my head, I turned back towards the GD territory, quickly making my way along the rooftops to just across the street from the GD leader's house. Tweak Petersen had been head of the GDs for about three years, after the previous leader had been killed off in an 88 attack. Tweak had consolidated his territory and pulled back, which in the short term weakened the GDs, but allowed them to eventually halt the advance of their rivals. By actively recruiting the young men of his territory, he had plenty of street soldiers.

Tweak was famous for running his operation out of a donut shop that was in his area, which was strange. Not only was the shop fronted by plate glass, making it easy to see him, but also Tweak was a Type 1 diabetic. Insulin dependent, Tweak was almost never seen indulging in the shop's specialty, but instead sipped endless cups of coffee that left him with such a caffeine addiction that it had earned him his nickname.

I was watching the shop for nearly twenty minutes when I heard the movement behind me. I dove to the side and rolled, pulling my Glock to see what it was. "Amateur."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that," the other man said. "By the way, I almost snuck up on you."

"You were a whole building away," I retorted. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Same as you it looks like," he whispered, kneeling next to me. He was carrying a large duffel bag, which was what had made most of the noise, slapping against his back when he jumped. He had something large and either metal or plastic, or a bit of both, in there. "So what is Tweak up to?"

Something in the amateur's voice tickled something in my brain again, but I dismissed it temporarily. Other things to focus on. "Normal night's work for a gang leader," I said, "but I just got here. You going to do anything stupid?"

The amateur shook his head and set his bag down. "Not this second. You can put the gun away."

I holstered my Glock and looked back across the street. It took a little while, but a pattern became evident. A donut shop, even one that was open twenty four hours a day, tends to have very clear peaks in business, especially in the morning hours as you'd expect. It was rare, even at a Krispy Kreme that had fresh hot samples, to have a line after six at night.

While the donut shop Tweak was sitting in never quite got packed, there was a constant line of young men coming in. They'd buy a single donut or sometimes two, then while they were waiting, they'd talk with Tweak for a minute before leaving. It was much higher than normal, as the last time I'd spied on Tweak he had maybe a dozen visitors in a night.

That night however, the visits were almost constant, and Tweak was busy issuing orders directly to the street level. "This is weird," the amateur said. "He shouldn't be talking directly to the soldiers, but his lieutenants. What the hell is going on, Snowman?"

"I have no damn clue," I said, reaching into my leg pocket. "If you shut up, maybe I can find out."

When I'd caught the amateur before, he was using a standard parabolic mic that you can get in any of a hundred stores or websites. About a hundred and fifty bucks, it works well if you have line of sight on your target and there is nothing in between you, like plate glass. What I pulled out was much smaller and higher technology, using a laser to pierce any window and allow me to hear what was being said. The set I was using cost somewhere in the five thousand dollar range, and while great, wasn't perfect. I had to be able to get a surface that I could bounce the laser off of that would reflect back to me, or else I wouldn't be able to detect the changes in the light.

I was slowly trying out potential surfaces when I heard something next to me. Turning my head, I gawked as the amateur clicked something together and stood up. "Fuck it," he said, bringing the device to his shoulder. "Take out Tweak, we wear down the GDs."

He pulled the trigger on his device, and I realized he had a compressed air rifle of some type. The front window of the donut shop shattered as whatever the amateur was shooting impacted and GDs scattered like rats from a fire. In the dim night light I was able to see what the man was holding, and I ducked back. I was willing to help the man, but if he was suicidal, I couldn't do much to help him. "Stop, you fucking idiot!"