Page 66 of Small Town Hunter

“B-baby,” she chokes.

“I know darlin, I know.”

She sucks a deep breath in and then in one cry squirts everywhere; all over my tongue and my nose and my whole fucking face. I roar and lick the sugar off her thighs and cunny one last time.

My dick is fixing to blow. I didn’t bust my whole nut; barely half. My balls are tight and aching. There’s the dark urge to take control of her, to get her mouth sucking on it, but she’s no whore. I don’t see a world where I put Trina on her hands and knees for me.

I rise up and stare down at her dazed face, her legs still parted. I pull up her panties with a shaking hand.

“Crash, did I just...”

“Hush,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms.

Trina’s hand goes under my shirt and feels the muscles of my chest.

Better we stop it here, on the high note.

Better I don’t let these fantasies drag me like wild horses any further. There’s no future with her. This is just a necessary release… Leave it at that.

Around midnightthe pace of my thoughts drives me away from Trina. I extract myself from our tender embrace and dress quickly. Boots, jacket, keys, phone. On second thought I take off the jacket. She might get cold again, unless that was all was a ruse to get me into bed. I smile wryly and lay the jacket on the dresser where she can see it.

Well played anyhow, princess.

I have one foot out the door when Trina moans and turns over in her sleep. “Crash,” she mumbles.

“Yeah,” I answer, but her reply is a snore.

I wonder if she’s dreaming of what we just did. If I should wake her and tell her I’ll be gone.

The moonlight’s making a slow curve on her cheek. I double back.

“Hey,” I say.

She mumbles something again and turns over.

I stare at her a long time before I slowly take out my knife. She feels nothing when I cut a small curl from her head.

The GPSin McCall’s car is still blinking back in Tippalonga right where I left it.

There’s a chance McCall could replace the tires on the Crown Vic instead of getting a new ride. I doubt he will. If he truly recognized me back there while I was dealing with Trina, it’s unlikely he’d stick around with the same vehicle when he has unlimited money to do so.

So, very likely, I’m headed back for nothing.

Roman told me that McCall is a creature of habit. He seeks familiarity. McCall’s owned that Crown Vic since he got out of jail and he spent good money restoring it. He loves that fucking car– says Roman. Refused many offers of a better one.

That’s fair and all, but creatures of habit don’t suddenly rob their boss and flee from their home in the middle of the night across state lines.

Hell, if Roman was such a great judge of character he wouldn’t have let McCall within a mile of his gold in the first place. At least he had the sense to put a trace on him.

I’d lay odds that McCall has flown the coop and left the Crown Vic crippled. That would be the smart thing to do.

But I still need to make sure. Right now the tracker is the only lead I have. My last chance to get my money.

I know that Trina’s hometown is still hot for me. There’s liable to be a stack of charges waiting over what happened with Wilson. If it’s true about that freak knowing the judge— which I have no reason to doubt—then I can’t get be caught off my square.

A few hours later I’m back in Tippalonga, circling the Serenity Motel where I left McCall and whupped the Reverend’s ass. I turn off my headlights and spin the block a few times. Everywhere is closed and not a living soul is out. Jada never did call with a tip. Figures.

As I pull into the motel lot, a solution to the Trina problem pops into my mind. It’s so simple I wonder how the hell I didn’t think of it first.

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