Vice(28)

“You really are a handful, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“You certainly don’t seem like a straight laced businessman, Mr. Garrett.”

“I never said I was. Why the f*ck would my employer be hiring a straight laced businessman to come out here on a trip like this?”

“True.” He grunts. “If you have nothing to hide, why are you railing against being searched, then?”

“I wouldn’t have given a shit if you’d knocked politely on the door and asked, motherf*cker. When you sneak up on a guy in the dark, pin him to a bed while he’s naked and start messing with his stuff, of course he’s gonna react f*cking badly.”

Suit Guy smiles. “I guess you’re right. How about this, then? We would like to look through your belongings, Mr. Garrett. Do you consent?”

“Let me go, and then ask me.”

He ponders my demand, then seems to agree to it. He jerks his head in a terse, irritated motion, and then his lackeys let go, releasing me from the bed. I hop up, grabbing the towel that had been wrapped around my waist when I passed out on the bed. No one bothers to look away as I cover myself. I have zero modesty left; I’ve been naked in front of so many people in college, in the military and at the club that I couldn’t give a shit if some guy gets an eyeful of my cock and balls. What pisses me off is that none of the *s hide the fact that they’re checking out what I’ve got, assessing me. I suppose they’ve all been in that room upstairs. They must have seen what goes on there. They must have watched so many naked men and women f*ck in there that it’s all just meat to them by now.

I fold my arms across my chest, clenching my jaw. “Have at it, jackhole. I don’t have anything to hide.”

Suit Guy smirks savagely, twitching a finger. His men get to work. I only had my small backpack with me when I arrived, filled with the clothes I bought at the airport and the money I knew I would need at some point. The guys go to town, tearing the bag apart, looking for hidden pockets or zips that might be concealing nefarious secrets. The bag is in pieces by the time they’re satisfied that there’s nothing to be found there. They quickly move on to my jeans, my leather jacket, and the Adidas sneakers I was wearing when I arrived. Soon the pants are destroyed, as is my leather, and the brand new shoes. One of them holds out my wallet to the guy in the suit, who shoots me a sly glance as he flips it open.

“Any surprises in here, buddy? Anything you’d like to get off your chest before I empty this thing?”

“Nope. Go for your f*cking life.” I’m not stupid. It’s not like I have a Widow Makers MC membership card in there or anything. The wallet is still kitted out with my ID from the airport. The credit cards have Sam Garret’s name on them. The driver’s licence also his. I’m not dumb enough to have plastered the inside of my wallet with pictures of Laura, thank god. Suit Guy looks visibly disappointed when he doesn’t find anything that proves me to be a liar.

“You realize we’re going to have to search you personally, Mr. Garrett?” he says. That seems to put a smile back on his face.

“You think I’ve got a wire shoved up my ass?”

He shrugs. “Could be the case. We can’t be too careful.” He nods to one of his boys, signalling that he should come forward and check me, and I growl low and deep in the back of my throat.

“You can search my bag and my clothes and my cell phone, motherf*cker, but not a single one of you is going near my ass.”

“I’m afraid you really don’t have a choice.”

“I guess we’ll see about that.” I will never submit to a cavity search. Never. I’m on my feet now, and I am f*cking ready. I can take all of his guys without a problem now that I’m not half asleep, flat out on my back. I flick a warning glance out of the corner of my eye to the guy who is slowly approaching with his hands out, and I bare my teeth. “Do you know how to break every single finger in a man’s hand in under three seconds, with nothing more than a towel?” I ask him.

He stops dead, blinking at me. “No, I don’t,” he mutters.

“That’s a pity. Because I do.”

The guy looks back at the redhead, lifting both eyebrows. “Harrison?”

Harrison doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He’s still holding his gun, but it’s loose in his hand, pointed at the floor, and he doesn’t really seem to be paying attention to the situation. His lackey swallows and resumes his approach. I kind of feel sorry for the poor bastard. He tries to jump me as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, but I grab hold of him by the wrist, spin him around so that his arm is trapped behind his back, and then I do as I promised. I lean my kneecap into the small of his back, pushing, and I pull his arm back toward me at the same time, straining it so that it’s almost popping from his shoulder joint. It’s very easy from there to snap the bones in his fingers. Index, middle, ring and pinkie. I must be getting soft in my old age, because I don’t break his thumb. I could. It wouldn’t take more than a second, but without his thumb he’s useless for six weeks. He’ll lose total use of his dominant hand, and who the f*ck knows what happens to guys who suddenly can’t even hold a pen or wipe their own asses around here?

I let him go, and he tumbles to the floor at Harrison’s feet, screaming, holding onto his hand for dear life.