Page 9 of Passion's Wicked Torment

Kristin only thought about this for a brief while, though, for the instant they were back in his room, he began tearing off her clothing. And then the hard virility of him was pressing against her, his naked skin searing her own, drowning out all thoughts in

a wave of sharp sensuality.

CHAPTER 6

Living with Hunter was like being on a constant voyage of discovery. Kristin soon learned that he was a far more complex man than he let on; not at all merely the common hood he took pains to appear to be.

At first, she was his moll in only the loosest sense of the word. She hardly saw him at all, except at night, when he called her into his bedroom to sleep with him. Occasionally he would have breakfast with her in the morning, but more often he would simply hurry away to begin his day’s business. Kristin was given free run of the club, except for his office, but there was no one to talk to.

Hunter’s men regarded her with irritation. She was a beautiful girl whom they could make no effort at trying to seduce, since she was the boss’s woman. The girls who worked in the club were generally cool to her, and some were unabashedly hostile. Kristin understood why: Many of them had had designs on Hunter themselves. Kristin came onto the scene, seemingly out of the blue, and dashed their hopes without “paying her dues” first.

After the first week Hunter’s resentment at having Kristin forced upon him by Ironman seemed to diminish, and he loosened up a bit toward her. He became increasingly intrigued by her view of things and with her conversation. He liked talking to her. At first, he had been very closemouthed and had not been interested in anything more than having her satisfy his sexual needs. Now, though, instead of leaving quickly in the mornings, he began to spend more time with her, taking her to breakfast, enjoying her company.

Soon he was taking her to dinner with him too. He only ate two meals a day, she learned. Dinner was always in one of the swankest restaurants in the city. And Hunter was always given the best table and was personally welcomed by the maitre d'.

This was not just because he was such a generous tipper. It was because he had such a sense of style and, beneath his rugged, tough exterior, a subdued sophistication. He was a valued addition to any restaurant’s clientele. In addition, he was a celebrity in his own right, recognized as one of Ironman Gianelli’s top lieutenants.

After dinner, Hunter sometimes took Kristin to a play or to the newest movie from the film colony in Hollywood, California.

Often they argued about various things. This did not seem to upset Hunter though. He enjoyed it. He liked having someone to talk to who had a head on her shoulders. Evidently most of the women in his life— and the men too—were not very bright.

During their talks Kristin realized that he had a far greater sense of personal honor and morality than she had suspected. His morality, though, was based on his own values, not on the values of society.

Once when Kristin mentioned the questionable morality of running a speakeasy and casino, Hunter defended it by saying: “Look, babe, if a guy comes into my speak for a drink of whiskey after a hard day’s work, why should I say no? Just because Congress passed the Volstead Act, making it illegal? That’s crazy.”

When she questioned him about gambling, he told her: “People have been gambling for as long as there’ve been people. They’re not going to stop now just because it’s against the law. If they want to gamble for entertainment, fine. I’ll supply the cards, the dice, the roulette wheels. If I didn’t, they’d just go somewhere else. And at least at my speak the cards and dice and wheels are legit.”

She had seen him refuse to take people’s money. If a customer was just a common workingman and began getting in over his head, Hunter would stop him. If the man insisted, Hunter would throw him out of the club. He wouldn’t let any middle-class worker gamble away his entire paycheck or his wife’s grocery money.

There were certain kinds of underworld activities Hunter refused to participate in, despite Ironman’s urging that he help out in these areas. Hunter did not own the Crimson Club. He just ran it for Ironman, who owned it as part of his vast underworld empire. Ironman also had operations in loan sharking, drugs and— it was rumored—murder for hire. He had brothels in the city, and he even had a famous one far afield, in the Canadian Yukon, to take advantage of a lucrative trade from the resurgent gold rush.

So far as Kristin could find out, Hunter had no part in any of these operations. Gambling and numbers and assorted odd jobs were all he would handle. Despite Ironman’s pressuring him to oversee a broader range of activities for him, Hunter kept refusing.

The more Kristin came to know Hunter, the more she began to feel that this was not the kind of man who could have ordered Chad beaten and abducted. She had seen Hunter become violent, but never to men who had not wronged him first. Also, he had a code that “civilians”—those not involved in the underworld—were to be left alone. And further, she had met all of Hunter’s henchmen, and none of them had been the ones who had beaten Chad that night.

Had Hunter been responsible for Chad’s abduction? she wondered desperately. She couldn’t find out. She tried to talk around the subject several times, flitting near enough to find some hint, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she backed away. She knew she could not ask about the subject directly without giving her identity away.

Time was running out. In only another few days she would have to take part in Ironman’s warehouse raid. If she did not learn Chad’s whereabouts from Hunter by then, she probably never would. Hunter had made it clear he didn’t want to have anything to do with her after the warehouse escapade. This was in spite of the fact that he seemed to be growing quite fond of her. Kristin could sense the emotions he felt for her, especially in the awkward way he tried to hide his feelings. Still, he had no intention of letting her get mixed up in his life. Once the day of the raid was past, Kristin knew he would have nothing to do with her.

This caused an agony of mixed feelings for Kristin. On the one hand, she wanted nothing more than to learn information about Chad quickly, before it was too late—and then get away from this vile life among outlaws of the underworld. On the other hand, though, she had discovered that she was beginning to feel quite close to Hunter.

There was danger here, and she recognized it. The danger lay in the fact that Hunter was more intensely appealing to her than any man she had ever known. He was handsome, intelligent, rugged and dynamic. He was exciting and radiated a powerful sexual energy. He was sensitive and honorable, though he went to pains to hide these traits.

Kristin could feel herself responding to him on an emotional level that was tearing her apart. But she always tried to fight down her feelings for him as best she could.

And then, so swiftly that it made her head spin, there was suddenly no need to fight her feelings any longer. For the day of the dangerous warehouse raid arrived— the last day she would spend with Dallas Hunter. She could not even run away and refuse to participate, for she had failed to learn where Chad was being held. She might need to deal with other gangsters later in order to find this out—possibly even Ironman—and if word of her betrayal surfaced, she would not be trusted. Reluctantly, fearfully, she let herself be used.

CHAPTER 7

Right from the start, everything went wrong. The French baker refused to let Kristin wear the swimsuit she had brought. He became indignant and vociferous and began gesturing wildly, insisting that she jump out of the cake naked. Finally, at the last minute, they compromised on a revealing, lacy chemise.

She sat in the rickety delivery van with the baker, the huge cake in the back, as they drove to the warehouse. Ironman’s men were in several cars following them. When the delivery van reached the warehouse, the cake was transported to the upstairs offices by three of Rooney’s men. Kristin was placed inside just before the cake was brought into the room where Rooney and his party were dining.

Things continued to go wrong. Rooney, a big, ruddy, elfish faced Irishman, was delighted when Kristin burst through the top of the hollow cake. But he was not content to just ogle her. He began grabbing at her, gleefully yanking down the top of her chemise, fondling her shamelessly. Kristin tried to resist, but it was impossible. Rooney satisfied himself, laughing boisterously.

/> Finally, he let her go. But first he told her to wait for him in the downstairs part of the warehouse, by his car. He intended to take her home with him after the party. Instead of letting her remain in the warehouse alone, though, he sent one of his henchmen down with her.

That was the worst of it. She had endured all the humiliations in order to reach this point, where she was near the warehouse doors so she could let in Hunter and Ironman’s men. But the young thug Rooney sent to accompany her, Marty, would not leave her alone. He stood with his foot up on the running board of the Pierce Arrow, rolling a Bull Durham cigarette while talking to her. “Yes sir, doll, a dame like you could really go far with a guy like me. I’m not going to be a small time punk always. No, sir, I’m just waiting for my chance. I’ll go far with Rooney, and when I do, I’ll have dolls like you all the time. They’ll be falling all over me. Yessir, that ain’t no lie.”

Kristin stood away from him, near some crates containing bootleg bottles of liquor. She was hugging her arms across her breasts, shivering in her tom chemise. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and give me your coat?” “Why don’t I be a what?”

“I know the word is foreign to you. But, still, you could do it to be nice to me. One of these days maybe I’ll be nice to you in return.”

Marty leered at her. “Why one of these days? Why not right now?”

“How do you think your boss, Mr. Rooney, would feel if you ‘handled the merchandise,’ as you say, before he gets a chance to?”

“He wouldn’t have to know,” Marty said slyly. Still, her words had made him think twice. He knew that if Rooney ever did find out, he would be murderous. The thug shrugged, maintaining his tough expression, putting on a show for Kristin. He took off his coat and tossed it to her. She put it on quickly, pulling it close around her. She glanced at the warehouse doors. They were double doors, like one would find in a barn.

“What you looking at the doors for?” Marty asked suspiciously.

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