Reaper's Fire
Page 28
“Let me up and I’ll show you,” Talia said suddenly. “I have it on my phone.”
That startled me right out of the fantasy. “What? Why the hell would you have that?”
“I knew she was watching you,” she told me, obviously pleased with herself. “Fat bitch doesn’t know you’re out of her league. Marsh got a copy and I told him to send it. Thought it might be useful. Like I said—it’s funny. She looks really stupid and then the guy gets really pissed off. She probably had to pay him and he knew he wouldn’t get his money since they got interrupted. Oh, and Maisy Braeburn tried to attack her or something. It’s hysterical.”
I’d bet my Harley nothing Tinker did could look stupid, although I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of actually seeing her with the guy. Imagining her screwing some random stripper was one thing, but a real person? Not so much. On the other hand, it’d be a chance to look at her naked.
“Okay, show me,” I said, rolling off Talia. “Although I still think it’s weird you have it.”
Talia sat up and reached into her jeans, pulling out her phone. She thumbed it on, then flipped through it, laying back against me as she held up the tiny screen.
The video started with a bunch of women dancing around with a couple of male strippers, obviously drunk off their asses. They were all about Tinker’s age. Carrie walked by and looked at the camera, frowning.
“Turn that thing off,” she said. “Nobody wants you taking pictures in here.”
“What’s the matter?” a female voice asked, sounding louder. Had to be the one holding the phone and recording. “Afraid Darren will be pissed?”
Carrie rolled her eyes, then flipped her off casually. Another woman shouted, “I need more tequila!”
The phone swiveled to show a short woman with long, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a bright red dress so tight it must’ve been shrink-wrapped around her. On her head was a red veil with two little devil horns, and in one hand she held an empty liquor bottle turned upside down. She frowned at the camera, shaking her head like this was the most tragic event in the history of time.
“So sad . . .” she whimpered.
“There’s more in the bedroom,” someone said off camera, then the scene shifted abruptly, images rising and falling as its owner walked across the room. I saw flashes of leg and wall and generic hotel door opening, then a whispered, “Holy shit.” Suddenly the camera snapped up, zooming in on one very naked Tinker Garrett.
She was straddling a man across a bed, facing the camera as she arched her back, eyes closed and face full of bliss. My cock hardened in an instant, because Jesus fucking Christ. Her tits were amazing—round and natural and bouncing as she rocked her hips across his once, twice, a third time. His hands tightened around her narrow waist and his body clenched, moaning as he came with an agonized groan. Tinker kept moving, reaching down between her legs and I nearly came myself, just from the sight of it.
Goddamn. Cancel Christmas. This was the best spank bank material ever.
“What the fuck? Tinker? Jesus, Heather, stop filming!” someone shouted.
That was Carrie’s voice. Tinker’s eyes flew open, a look of shock and utter horror taking over her face. She screamed, arms coming up and across her chest in a pathetic attempt to cover herself. A hand flashed in front of the phone. The video perspective jerked upward, showing the ceiling, as Carrie snarled, “Heather—I’m serious. Put the fucking phone down.”
“What’s going on?” Someone else called off camera. The phone suddenly dropped back down to show the couple, who’d just realized they’d been caught. More women’s voices rose, and I heard a feminine laugh of pure delight. The red-veiled woman stumbled into the frame, clapping her hands in approval. “Go, Tinker—you kick ass! Wooohoooo!”
“Get out!” Tinker yelled, eyes wild and frantic. The man rose upward, wrapping his arms around her body protectively before turning to glare at the women who’d invaded the room.
“Don’t worry about it,” the red-veiled woman said, flapping her hand at the two of them. “Carry on. I’m just gonna grab some of this . . .” She stopped next to the bed, kneeling down to dig through a brown cardboard box.
“Heather Brinks, I will kill you!” Carrie said, her voice full of feral rage. I caught a glimpse of her face as the phone jerked again, this time flying across the room. Miraculously it landed sideways on a chair, still filming. This gave me an excellent view of Tinker’s ass, which was just as ripe and juicy looking as I’d imagined. Her hair was wild and tangled, flowing down her back. Would’ve been perfect if there weren’t another man between her legs.
He rolled her over, grabbing the corner of the bedspread and dragging it up and across her body. Then he was on his feet, facing down the gaggle of women staring in from the doorway.
“Get the fuck out of here!” he shouted, and I heard a muffled thump near the phone. A hand reached up, flashing across the screen and then another caught it, jerking it back down.
“Bitch!” Carrie hissed, and there were more thumps. Wow. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like she and Heather were in one hell of a wrestling match. The stripper grabbed the woman with the red veil by one arm, pulling her toward the door.
“Jesus, look at that ass on him,” Talia whispered in my ear, her voice admiring. “She’s a cow, but he’s incredible.”
“I’ve already seen more of him than I ever wanted,” I replied. Didn’t like him. Didn’t like him at all. Tinker had every right to fuck the guy—I couldn’t argue with that—but I wasn’t a fan. What I really wanted more of was Tinker. And yeah, that probably made me a piece of shit human being, but I’d come to Hallies Falls specifically to fuck my way into a motorcycle club and spy on them. When I’d first gotten here, I’d even helped my club brother, Painter, kill a guy, so it wasn’t like I’d started on the side of all things good and true.
“What the hell is going on?” a new woman demanded, pushing her way through the crowd at the door. She was tall, probably mid-thirties and sort of frumpy looking. Big, teased up hair with the claw on the front, straight out of a Whitesnake video. I flinched, my dick softening.
“That’s Maisy Braeburn,” Talia said, her voice deeply satisfied. “This is the good part.”
That startled me right out of the fantasy. “What? Why the hell would you have that?”
“I knew she was watching you,” she told me, obviously pleased with herself. “Fat bitch doesn’t know you’re out of her league. Marsh got a copy and I told him to send it. Thought it might be useful. Like I said—it’s funny. She looks really stupid and then the guy gets really pissed off. She probably had to pay him and he knew he wouldn’t get his money since they got interrupted. Oh, and Maisy Braeburn tried to attack her or something. It’s hysterical.”
I’d bet my Harley nothing Tinker did could look stupid, although I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of actually seeing her with the guy. Imagining her screwing some random stripper was one thing, but a real person? Not so much. On the other hand, it’d be a chance to look at her naked.
“Okay, show me,” I said, rolling off Talia. “Although I still think it’s weird you have it.”
Talia sat up and reached into her jeans, pulling out her phone. She thumbed it on, then flipped through it, laying back against me as she held up the tiny screen.
The video started with a bunch of women dancing around with a couple of male strippers, obviously drunk off their asses. They were all about Tinker’s age. Carrie walked by and looked at the camera, frowning.
“Turn that thing off,” she said. “Nobody wants you taking pictures in here.”
“What’s the matter?” a female voice asked, sounding louder. Had to be the one holding the phone and recording. “Afraid Darren will be pissed?”
Carrie rolled her eyes, then flipped her off casually. Another woman shouted, “I need more tequila!”
The phone swiveled to show a short woman with long, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a bright red dress so tight it must’ve been shrink-wrapped around her. On her head was a red veil with two little devil horns, and in one hand she held an empty liquor bottle turned upside down. She frowned at the camera, shaking her head like this was the most tragic event in the history of time.
“So sad . . .” she whimpered.
“There’s more in the bedroom,” someone said off camera, then the scene shifted abruptly, images rising and falling as its owner walked across the room. I saw flashes of leg and wall and generic hotel door opening, then a whispered, “Holy shit.” Suddenly the camera snapped up, zooming in on one very naked Tinker Garrett.
She was straddling a man across a bed, facing the camera as she arched her back, eyes closed and face full of bliss. My cock hardened in an instant, because Jesus fucking Christ. Her tits were amazing—round and natural and bouncing as she rocked her hips across his once, twice, a third time. His hands tightened around her narrow waist and his body clenched, moaning as he came with an agonized groan. Tinker kept moving, reaching down between her legs and I nearly came myself, just from the sight of it.
Goddamn. Cancel Christmas. This was the best spank bank material ever.
“What the fuck? Tinker? Jesus, Heather, stop filming!” someone shouted.
That was Carrie’s voice. Tinker’s eyes flew open, a look of shock and utter horror taking over her face. She screamed, arms coming up and across her chest in a pathetic attempt to cover herself. A hand flashed in front of the phone. The video perspective jerked upward, showing the ceiling, as Carrie snarled, “Heather—I’m serious. Put the fucking phone down.”
“What’s going on?” Someone else called off camera. The phone suddenly dropped back down to show the couple, who’d just realized they’d been caught. More women’s voices rose, and I heard a feminine laugh of pure delight. The red-veiled woman stumbled into the frame, clapping her hands in approval. “Go, Tinker—you kick ass! Wooohoooo!”
“Get out!” Tinker yelled, eyes wild and frantic. The man rose upward, wrapping his arms around her body protectively before turning to glare at the women who’d invaded the room.
“Don’t worry about it,” the red-veiled woman said, flapping her hand at the two of them. “Carry on. I’m just gonna grab some of this . . .” She stopped next to the bed, kneeling down to dig through a brown cardboard box.
“Heather Brinks, I will kill you!” Carrie said, her voice full of feral rage. I caught a glimpse of her face as the phone jerked again, this time flying across the room. Miraculously it landed sideways on a chair, still filming. This gave me an excellent view of Tinker’s ass, which was just as ripe and juicy looking as I’d imagined. Her hair was wild and tangled, flowing down her back. Would’ve been perfect if there weren’t another man between her legs.
He rolled her over, grabbing the corner of the bedspread and dragging it up and across her body. Then he was on his feet, facing down the gaggle of women staring in from the doorway.
“Get the fuck out of here!” he shouted, and I heard a muffled thump near the phone. A hand reached up, flashing across the screen and then another caught it, jerking it back down.
“Bitch!” Carrie hissed, and there were more thumps. Wow. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like she and Heather were in one hell of a wrestling match. The stripper grabbed the woman with the red veil by one arm, pulling her toward the door.
“Jesus, look at that ass on him,” Talia whispered in my ear, her voice admiring. “She’s a cow, but he’s incredible.”
“I’ve already seen more of him than I ever wanted,” I replied. Didn’t like him. Didn’t like him at all. Tinker had every right to fuck the guy—I couldn’t argue with that—but I wasn’t a fan. What I really wanted more of was Tinker. And yeah, that probably made me a piece of shit human being, but I’d come to Hallies Falls specifically to fuck my way into a motorcycle club and spy on them. When I’d first gotten here, I’d even helped my club brother, Painter, kill a guy, so it wasn’t like I’d started on the side of all things good and true.
“What the hell is going on?” a new woman demanded, pushing her way through the crowd at the door. She was tall, probably mid-thirties and sort of frumpy looking. Big, teased up hair with the claw on the front, straight out of a Whitesnake video. I flinched, my dick softening.
“That’s Maisy Braeburn,” Talia said, her voice deeply satisfied. “This is the good part.”
