Page 20 of Hitch
He wrecked his own mushrooms, just to destroy my phone. To ruin the evidence. Photographs that could get him into trouble.
I’m in way too deep.
My palms drip with sweat. He squints his eyes down at me like he can smash me under his boot. The stupid part is that Iknowhe can, and I came here by choice. The back of my throat is on fire like I’m swallowing burning coals.
“I don’t even know what kind of mushrooms they are,” I whisper.
“You’re smart, Hitch. You can put it together. That’s why I like you.”
My heart pounds in my chest. But a low heat travels through my ribs, slithering down between my legs. My thighs are jelly.
Duane likes me?
He thinks I’m smart?
Why am I so caught up on those words?
“How do you like being on the other side?” he murmurs.
He’s right. Just six months ago, I aimed a gun at his head. Now, I’m the one about to die.
I try to open my mouth, but my tongue is dry. “I—” I stutter, “I—”
His tongue flicks across his lips like a snake.
“Get on your knees,” he says, “and open your mouth.”
Air pants out of me as I try to contemplate my options. If I refuse, he may kill me. And if I obey, there’s a chance that he won’t shoot, but he’ll still have the upper hand. He’s got a gun, for fuck’s sake, and I’ve got what, a stun gun in my purse?
But it’s something.
He presses his palm between my legs, and I jump with sensitivity. The tip of the pistol presses against my forehead, and I’m ice from the inside out.
“You like knowing that I could kill you at any second, don’t you?” he says.
But those words startle me out of my trance. Maybe this is part of our ‘beneficial arrangement.’ How I’m going to earn five thousand dollars.
What kind of sick, twisted game is this?
I start, “You seriously don’t think—”
He moves the gun to the side of the building and shoots, blasting a hole right through one of the hanging bags. Dirt and mushroom caps splatter the floor. If this is illegal, just like I’ve got this gut instinct it is, then he destroyed his product to scare me. To show me he’s serious.
My chest pounds with adrenaline.
“On your knees, Reggie,” he says, my name slimy on his tongue. I kneel, the concrete scraping against my knees. A tear slips down my cheek as he presses the metal barrel into my forehead.
“Aren’t so brave now, are you?” he murmurs. He lowers the gun, pressing the barrel to my lips. It’s cold and weighty, and my breath brushes the metal with fog. “Suck it like a good girl.”
His blue eyes are filled with an iciness so deep, I shiver. There’s no soul in this man; only a cruel, dark heart that needs to feed on fear to get off. And I’m fucking scared. I open my mouth, and he slides the barrel deeper. The metal scrapes against my teeth.
“Wrap your lips around it,” he orders in a hoarse voice.
I close my eyes, my cheeks blazing with shame. My lips suction around the gun. All it takes is a flick of his finger, and I’ll be gone. And yet, here I am, on my knees, while he makes me suck off his gun.
“Goddamn,” he growls. “You’re so fucking hot like that. Try and hide it all you want, but I know what you like, Hitch. Your pussy is dripping for this.”
With that, I narrow my eyes. He’s got a smug expression, like he knows he’s right.
