Stricken Resolve (20 page)

Turning to keep them from ogling my junk, I
leave the room and find my way to the couch. Sitting down, I pull a
book from the coffee table, kick off my shoes and prop my black
sock covered feet on the brown coffee table. I’m not socializing
any longer.

Immersing myself in another Dan Brown book, I
let my growing anxiety wane and faintly listen to the group of
three socialites chatting it up in the kitchen. Something about
chocolate lasagna. Whatever that is. I’ll stick to my trusty
Snickers bars—
that
, you can never go wrong with.

“Wade, honey, can I speak with you?” Gonzales
calls me from the kitchen.

“I’m in the living room,” I answer over the
music and she comes and sits down beside me.

“We need to talk.” She leans in, lying her
head on my shoulder so I can listen to her whispers, to keep prying
ears away.

“Okay? Shoot.”

“I’m a little, you know…,”

“Drunk?”

“Well, yeah… that and...”

“You’re suggesting I give into those sickos,
you’re sorely mistaken. My manners and the fact that they are part
of this job, are the
only
reasons I’m not kicking them out
of this house for making me uncomfortable. And let me tell you,
Marie,
that is putting it lightly,” I chastise her, my tone
low, but I know she can feel the weight behind my words. I can’t
hide my disdain. Not with this.

“Jo propositioned me before you came home.
Telling me they were swingers. I told her that you weren’t into
playing but that I could. However, you will have to watch.”

“What!” I roar, throwing my book into the air
and standing up. Unable to control my outburst.

Mike and Joanna rush over, standing in the
doorway between the kitchen and living room.

“Is everything alright?” Mike looks to
Gonzales and back up to me. His eyes lingering at my bulge
again.

Okay, sicko, I realize I’m not small. But
could you please stop it? I really don’t want to put a bullet in
the back of your skull for this. You’re testing my patience.

“We’re great, don’t you two worry.” Gonzales
assures them, smiling their way. Her hand brushing flirtatiously
over her bottom lip and Joanna sighs. And not a bad one, it’s a
sigh that says only one thing; I-want-that. What have I walked
myself into and why would Gonzales agree to this?

Reeling in my anger, I sit back down next to
her and they retreat back to the kitchen. Listening, I hear them
setting the table. Making themselves right at home. Oh boy, and I
thought the rest of this assignment was already testing my ability
to stay cool under pressure. I don’t know if I can keep from
cracking.

“Listen, I knew from my paperwork they might
be swingers. That’s why they hired me. Me to lure them in and you
to investigate. You’re not exactly a people person but you’re the
man for the job.”

No shit! It’s no mystery that I’m not a
people person. I’m more of one now than I’ve ever been. Emily
brought that out in me. But still, I’m no Mr. Socialite.

“Didn’t you find it a bit odd they hired me?
If they wanted a sheer professional they would have the FBI in
here. But from my record they know I swing both ways. They also
know I’m good at the art of seduction. Apparently with everyone—but
you. So I need to do my job and get close to them, in my own way,
to find out what
I
can. And you have to help me follow
through, since you’ve done a
shit
job investigating them
yourself.”

She’s right, I’ve barely done a thing. I
haven’t bugged their house or tapped their phones. Nothing. I’m way
off my game.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, but it
doesn’t mean I will agree.

“Dinner's ready,” Jo announces from the
kitchen and I turn to face Gonzales to get my answer before we have
to eat.

“I want you to follow my lead. I didn’t think
they’d want you, too. So you’re going to have to watch, and play
the part. Trust me, I’ve done this a hundred times, usually alone.
But I’m a pro. Let me do my job and you get off that fuckin’
bullshit of a whiny ass of yours and do yours. The sooner were
done, the sooner we can go back home.” She gets stern with me.

A woman with cojones, good for her.

I nod, in agreement. I hate this, I really
do. And it doesn’t make me feel any better that I’m the executioner
and she’s the harlot. A government trained harlot. Now
that’s
what they meant by specialist. Greeeeaaatttt…..

***

Clearing the table, I place the dishes in the
sink for the maid to wash them when she drops by around nine
tomorrow. We have a very young maid; her name’s Chelsea. It’s a
part of the image we are trying exude and having a maid comes with
that territory. Johnathan’s had a maid the entire time I’ve known
him. So I’m well aquatinted with this high dollar lifestyle. Just
don’t agree with it.

Dinner went by smoother than I expected. Mike
didn’t come on to me. Jo didn’t try to undress me with her eyes. I
drank some orange juice that I pretended to pour vodka into when I
made Dr. D one as well. But into his glass I poured a generous
amount. Maybe if he gets too tanked he will get the well-known
ailment that we all like to call, the dreaded whisky dick. However
if this happens to him tonight, it won’t be dreaded; it will be
welcomed.

The ladies drank glass after glass of red
wine, ate lasagna and flirted. Gonzales, placing a flirty touch
here or there on Jo’s hand or arm. And Jo’s eyes lighting with
complete joy and the more alcohol the friendlier they became. It’s
not hard to feel the sexual tension in this room. I could cut it
with a knife.

Mike and I carried on normal conversations
about the stock market, investments, cars and other various things.
All of which I’m well-versed in and I kind of enjoyed talking to
someone who actually knows the ins and outs almost as well as I do.
Whoever chose my job for this assignment as a financial advisor was
spot on. I could turn a penny into Benjamin without batting an
eyelash. Not that I’m tooting my own horn or anything. Ok, maybe I
am. I’ve secured a substantial nest egg for me and my Mama Bear. Or
I did. All I can do is pray that the pretense isn’t set in the
past. I’ve got months to wait and find out.
Months
. Now if
that doesn’t fill me with dread I don’t know what else will. Oh
right, the swingers. Yep, those too.

Turning around to leave the kitchen, I find
myself alone. Where did they go?

“You-who, sexy husband, we’re down here,” my
‘
wife
’ calls.

Downstairs? Why would they be down here? Our
bedrooms are up. Oh…, the guest bedroom is down here. Good, at
least she’s smart enough to deter them from realizing we don’t
share a bed. Nice to know she’s not
just
a government
harlot. I’d hate to see her entire file. Mine is dripping in blood
and I’m sure hers is dripping, but not with blood, more like a
sticky substance that comes from men. The thought of doing that
versus killing. I’d pick the killing. It’s less degrading. Wait, if
she was in the desert in a small group living in poverty, that
means her group was a group of American harlots, sleeping with the
locals for information. It makes complete sense. I wondered why
they’d leave her in such terrible conditions….

Extracting my overactive mind from my
musings, I follow the hall to the guest bedroom on the first floor.
Outside the door, I stop and listen to the wails of powerful moans
coming from a woman inside.

“That’s right Marie, let my Jo suck your
pretty pussy,” I distinctively hear Mark order.

You’d think situations like this would be
commonplace with me, having lived with Stricken all those years.
But it’s never the same, and just when you think you’ve seen it
all, you’re rudely awakened with another sick and twisted antic,
position or toy. Johnathan’s sex life is a colorful one. Including
but not limited to pussy pumps, nipple clamps, whips, various anal
toys and a plethora of other items. All of which I’ve had to watch,
if it included more than two people or multiple bandmates. It was
in my signed contract, to keep him from getting sued.

Here goes nothing.

Turning the knob, I push open the door.
Sprawled out on the queen sized, white linen covered bed, is
Gonzales with a naked Jo loudly slurping her lady parts. And
Gonzales looks like she’s enjoying every bit of it. Her hands are
threaded through the back of Jo’s short brown hair, pressing her
firmly to her core. Grinding her sex to Jo’s mouth.

This would be the perfect sight for men who
love lesbians. Fortunately, I’m not one of those men. One woman,
curly red hair, lithe body, kissable lips, dazzling green eyes,
pale skin and perfectly sweet honey scent of her arousal. That’s
all I want or need.

Mike is standing next to the edge of the bed,
stroking what I’d call an average penis between his legs. His hand
is gently stroking his woman’s large, round butt, as she continues
to dive into Gonzales's wetness.

Taking a seat opposite the bed, in which I’m
still able to see from if I choose to. I reach under the chair and
quickly retract the gun I put there, sliding it behind me and under
the cushion so if the situation calls for it, I have it readily
available. I don’t trust these sickos for one second.

“Hey baby,” Gonzales smiles at me, with one
of those lazy sated smiles. I’ve seen my Mama Bear adorn one of
those a time or two.

“Hi.” I don’t know what else to say.

Mike turns to me and his eyes light up. Sick
fucker. Pardon the language, but this situation calls for it.

“Take off your shirt, honey. Just your
shirt,” Gonzales moans, her body shaking the bed.

What doesn’t she get about the fact I don’t
even want to be in this room?

“Please,” she cries out and I’m pretty sure
that’s another orgasm.

Still panting, she pulls Jo’s lips from
between her legs and Jo sits up, mouth actually dripping with
Gonzales’s juices. Gross.

“Your turn,” She gives the come-hither finger
to Jo and she complies with a giddy little sound.

Turning to face me before she muff dives, she
stares right into my eyes.

“Shirt baby, you know you like it when I eat
a woman out. Play with yourself inside your pants. You know how hot
that makes me. Please baby, show us that hot body and get off to me
sucking her.” She motions her hand towards an anxious Jo, about to
jump out of her skin. Just before she breaks our eye contact, she
winks and gives me a stern nod.

Fine. I have to remember this is for the
government. To keep scumbags like Mike from dealing to children.
And tomorrow I’m going to call and bitch to Brewer and start my
investigation into these sickos. I have to stop slacking. I need
them behind bars. If I’d done what I was supposed to, I would have
accomplished that already. But I’ve been stuck in my own head, with
Emily. That’s still not going to change but I can’t let this go on
with Mike. He’s got to go to jail.

“Yeah Wade, I wanna see your hot body,” Mike
adds, knocking me out of my thoughts.

With Gonzales laving Jo’s vagina, I get the
horrible pleasure of watching Mike sitting on the edge of the bed,
looking straight at me. Throwing my shirt on the floor, and
reaching into my pants I fake playing with myself. I couldn’t get
hard if I tried. I’ve seen so much of this working with the band.
It’s nothing new. Except for the fact that I have a bisexual man
eating me alive with his eyes and I want nothing more than to pull
the gun that’s behind me under the cushion and shoot him in the
forehead at point blank range. This is some sick crap and I’ve seen
a lot of gross stuff in my days.

“Oh fuck Wade, you’re damn hot. Look at the
big muscled body of yours. I bet it tastes so good. I bet your cock
would fill my mouth.”

Keep talking sicko, and I
will
put a
bullet in your brain.

“Oh yes!” Jo screams, coming from getting
licked and whatever else they are doing on the bed.

“How big is that dick, big boy?” Mike moans,
fisting his member fast, his eyes watching me. I’m glad I have an
iron stomach or this would make me puke.

Absentmindedly I pretend to stroke my
manhood. Ignoring him.

“That’s right big man, stroke that. I wish
you’d whip it out and fuck me with it. Oh fuck, Wade. I’m going to
come just looking at your hot body. See this dick Wade. See how
hard I am for you?”

I’ll whip something out alright. My
motherfucking gun, you sicko. Just letting him watch me makes the
tension in my build and I know if I don’t cool down, nothing will
stop me from killing him. Killing a man for finding me attractive
and masturbating in front of me as he talks dirty.

“Are you hard? Let me touch that big cock.”
Mike stands and starts to walk the short distance and I can’t take
this sickness anymore. Yanking my hand from my pants I grab the gun
and point it straight at his head.

“Whoa big boy, I didn’t mean we had to play.
I just wanted to touch him.” He doesn’t stop moving forward, hands
held in the air.

I stand up and the chair crashes to the
ground behind me.

“I don’t touch men, you sick fuck. Don’t even
think about touching me,” I warn, flipping the safety off with my
thumb.

The woman both stop and stare at us.

“Wade, put the gun down,” Gonzales
orders.

Hell no I won’t.

“It’s okay, he likes a challenge,” Jo soothes
her lesbian lover, both of them naked, wrapped in each other’s
arms.

I don’t want to blow this man’s head off. Not
in front of his wife. I haven’t killed a man in over five years.
Decisions, decisions…

Another step and Mike has the barrel of my
gun pressed to the middle of his forehead and he doesn’t even
flinch. This isn’t his first time in this situation. He must have
the same assumption a lot of men with his wiry muscles do. That,
‘the bigger they are the harder they fall.’ But what he doesn’t
realize is I never fall.
Ever
.