Rocks (12 page)

“Let me... agh! Ugh! Let me go!” Haden was bucking wildly now, trying to throw her off with his violent motions. Holding the scarf in one hand now, Karla used her other to balance on his chest and let out a strange laugh, her eyes wide.

“Wow! Just fucking wow! That’s what it must be to ride rodeo! Fuck! I didn’t think you could get any bigger!” Regaining her composure slightly, though with the flush in her face now spreading down her neck and across the tops of her breasts, which were beginning to glisten with sweat, she pulled harder on the scarf.

“Tell me!” she hissed. “Where is it?”

“
Unagh! Aargh! Aa-yooo!” Inarticulate noises were all that escaped Hayden’s lips now. He felt darkness creeping to the edge of his vision and there was a burning sensation in his lungs as he struggled to breathe. She was right about one thing, however. It was making him even stiffer than he’d ever been before.

“Concentrate!” she snarled, banging her buttocks down on him so that he thought he’d explode. “Where... oh shit! Where is it? Oh fuck!”

For a few moments, she asked no more questions, grinding herself down as she fucked him on the bed. Her eyes screwed shut and her mouth opened in a silent O until, at last, she let out a low, groaning cry that became a series of sharp, piercing yells.

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh, fuck, that’s it! Yes! Yes! YES!” She ground down on him, forcing her pubis against his, her legs trembling and her breasts shuddering in orgasm. Her grip did not lessen on the scarf, however, and Hayden felt the blackness encroaching further as his own erection swelled and throbbed, rippling before it too finally burst.

She collapsed on him after this, almost sobbing. Sweat was pouring from her and as her face came close to Hayden’s he could taste the salt on her skin, her natural scents mixed with her perfume.

“Bloody hell!” she whispered. She kissed him, hungrily sucking his tongue into her mouth. The scarf had loosened around his neck, and between the rough pressure of her lips Hayden swallowed in the air before she suffocated him again.

“Now, are you going to tell me?” she asked. “I don’t think you can die from this, but I don’t mind making you black out and waking you up to do it again—as many times as we need.” Her fingers began to move around his throat, filling Hayden with both trepidation and desire.

For a few seconds, he said nothing. What the fuck!
a voice suddenly burst inside his mind. Are you actually considering doing that
again
?

“There’s a safe,” he gasped. “In the living room. Set... set in the floor... in the right hand corner. You’ll find it in there. I swear it!”

She frowned at this. “You’re telling me already?” she asked, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I thought I was going to have to torture you a hell of a lot more than that.”

He lifted his head to kiss her and she let him, cupping his cheek with one hand as the other let the scarf fell away. For a long time neither of them moved from that position
—he straining up as far as his handcuffs would let him, she hunched over him, her face pressed to his.

“Very nice,” she said laconically when she finally pulled her face away. “Even your kisses are something to remember.” She winked at him and then winced slightly as she lifted herself
from his now flaccid member. “Mind you, I’m not sure who’d be torturing who if we carried on. You’re a pretty impressive lad.”

“Aren’t you going to let me go?” He yanked one leg up, causing the rope to burn his skin slightly.

Karla staggered from the bed and had to use a hand to support herself for a moment. “I haven’t got what I want yet,” she told him. “Let’s see if you’re a good boy first. Who knows? You might get more of a reward than you deserve.”

As she slowly walked, somewhat gingerly, from the bedroom, Hayden lifted his head and stared at her retreating back, the muscles twitching slightly as she swung her arms, her buttocks clenching and unclenching as she walked. Somewhere down below, his traitor twitched.

“You bloody bastard,” he hissed at it, watching it stir into life again. “Look what a mess you’ve got me into this time!”

He was still seething when Karla returned into the bedroom. From her fingers dangled a pair of electronic keys. Hayden was not so much staring at those as switching his gaze from her brightly shining eyes and her perfect breasts, which still glistened with
a sheen of perspiration.

“Well
lookee here,” she said in triumph. “I recognise this one—so sweet of you to keep it as a memento of our time together.” She lifted the second key instead. “Now, where’s this one for?”

“Untie me and I’ll tell you.” As he looked at her glorious body, his cock twitched again. Seeing this, Karla laughed.

“No. Here’s what happens. You like the card table—I know that—so let’s just say that you’ve been dealt a bum hand of cards, I hold all the aces, and you’ve just taken your best shot which leaves you with nothing.”

“Thank you for the mixed metaphors,” Hayden replied sarcastically. “Now what exactly is your point?”

She came across to the bedroom. That swaying of her hips and the gentle movement of her breasts made Hayden feel as though he were a small mammal about to be devoured by a serpent. She sat down beside him on the bed. Despite his anger, all he could think about was the smell of her perfume mixed with the strong, pheromonal scents of her body.

Leaning forward, she moved his empty gun to the bedside table before placing an arm on either side of him, her face inches from his, her nipples
—stiff again, he couldn’t help but notice—brushing his chest lightly.

“You and I won’t ever see each other again after today, so I need you to tell me what I want.”

“I realise my technique today left something to be desired,” he retorted, “but I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

She smiled, a vulpine expression with hunger in her eyes. “Oh no, sweetheart. You were perfect
—and that’s the problem. I’m a girl with a one-track mind, and that track is fixed very much on the Wallenstein diamond. You’re a distraction. Too much of you, and I’ll forget what I came into this business for.”

Pulling back, she looked down at his crotch. With an ironic expression on her face, she reached across and lazily plucked the condom from his half-burgeoning erection, an utterly
demeaning motion that caused Hayden to fall back on the bed. She had no intention of fucking him again.

“I like you, Charles
, or Hayden—or whatever your name is. Ah ah!” She raised one hand as he lifted his head to look at her. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Really, I don’t. The less I know about you the better. When I look in your eyes, I see too much of myself.” She shook her head, averting her gaze from his and talking quietly, as though to someone else in the room.

“Se
x has always been easy for me, a way to get what I want.” The expression on her face was peculiar now, but she shook her head again and stared at him fiercely.

“Just tell me what I want
to know.”

With a sigh he looked at her. He understood entirely what she said
—and what was unspoken. This woman was worth a hundred Wallensteins. A thousand.

“It’s at Euston, locker 114.”

She frowned at this. “Euston? Why there?”

He shrugged. “I had my reasons. I don’t need to tell you that. You’ll find what you want there. Now let me go.”

She stared down at him thoughtfully, rotating the key around her fingers like prayer beads. “Please,” he said, pitifully.

Without saying anything, she turned, giving him an eyeful of her perfect rear as she bent over to scoop up her clothes. Letting out a yell of frustration, he began to hit the back of his head against the mattress savagely. She didn’t look back as she walked out of the room, but to Hayden’s surprise he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom as the shower was turned on.

When she returned, he was pulling at his hands, attempting to free himself but instead merely chafing his skin. She smiled at him, not entirely unkindly, and he stared at her: she had washed off most of her makeup and looked even more gorgeous now, the red dress clinging to her figure. His cock gave another twitch.

Coming to the bed, his heart leaped up as he thought that she was about to free him. Instead, she kissed his forehead.

“You know,” she told him quietly, “there’s a moral to this. You should stop sleeping with hookers.”

“Thank you very much, Mother Theresa. Now, can I get out of these bloody handcuffs?”

Not replying, she patted his cheek and he stared incredulously as he watched those astonishing buttocks and hips sashay away from him for what he felt was going to be the last time. His anger was suddenly mixed with something much more painful. She must have felt something similar because, before she left, she paused in the doorway, looking back at him.

“Thanks,” she said, quietly. “I’m sorry it can’t work out. Who knows
—perhaps in another life.”

The regret in her eyes was plain for him to see, and when she left he howled despairingly. That howl became a roar as he heard the door to his apartment close, and he writhed and yanked at his bonds, not caring how much he hurt himself.

His despair gave way to anger, and then to despair again. How long would he have to remain here, tied up like this? It was humiliating! His cleaner, a fussy, busy woman by the name of Misses Melrose, would arrive in the morning, but Karla would be long gone by then. Still, he had the means to find her again. All he had to do was get out of these bloody handcuffs!

He was still fulminating about his predicament when, to his surprise, he heard the front door close
—very quietly. Had she had a change of heart? Had she come back?

“Karla!” he called out. “Is that you?”

His initial surprise was as nothing compared to his astonishment when, a few moments later, a man walked into the bedroom. The man was tall and thin, though Hayden had the suspicion that beneath his long, dark coat he was wiry and muscular rather than reedy. His face was very pale, any colour remaining in it drained away by his closely-cropped, dirty blond hair. A pair of grey eyes regarded Hayden from above a twisted nose. It was hard to tell his age from his angular features, but the lines there indicated some seniority. What troubled Hayden most, however, was the fact that although it was summer the man wore a pair of black, leather gloves.

The man’s face registered surprise for a moment when he saw Hayden bound to the bed, but he quickly mastered this, his grey eyes registering amusement for a second before even that was hidden behind the mask of his features.

“Who the hell are you?” Hayden asked, indignant and furious. “How the hell did you get in?”

The man made no response but instead crossed to the bed. Straining his head sideways, Hayden saw him pick up the gun.

“Answer me!” he demanded. Still the man didn’t respond to him, but instead clicked the safety latch on the side of the pistol and, with a swift, sure motion, slipped out the empty magazine.

“Taurus 700 slim,” he remarked. His voice was foreign
—Scandinavian by the sound of it, a slightly hollow sound as though he was a man used to speaking in whispers. “9 millimetre calibre. Looks as though it’s never been fired.”

“That’s… that’s very interesting,” Hayden remarked, attempting to crawl sideways across the bed as far as the cuffs and ropes would allow him.

“It’s not much of a gun, to be honest,” the man continued in his quiet, matter-of-fact voice. “The slide tends to jam when you have a bullet in it. That’s not what you need when you’re facing someone who’s armed. Now this,” he reached into his pocket and drew out a black, evil-looking pistol, “this
is
a gun. A Walther PPK, .38. Not as flashy as some of your other guns, but very, very reliable. And this one, I can assure you, has been fired.”

“I’m… I’m fascinated.” Hayden was sweating now and gulped. “Why are you telling me this?”

“So that you will tell me what I need to know, Mister Robeson. I am right in assuming you’re Mister Robeson, aren’t I? Though of course, that’s not your real name, is it.”

Sitting down slowly, the stranger placed his gun on the sheets so that the cold tip of the barrel touched Hayden’s ribs.

“Who the fuck are you?” he gasped. “What do you want? Why are you looking for me?”

The man looked back over his shoulder at Hayden’s naked lower half. “Actually, I wasn’t looking for you
—not just yet. I was going to come for you later. I was searching for someone else. A Karla Pietersen. I see that she got here first.” A thin, cruel smile spread across his lips.

“I
—I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”

The stranger raised a gloved finger to his lips. “Tut tut,” he said. “That’s not true at all. Now, I can do something very, very nasty with this gun, or we can start being honest with each other.” He patted Hayden on the shoulder, his smile coldly patronising now. “And to show our… mutual respect, I’ll answer your question. You asked who I am. My name is Lars Torkelsen. Now, why don’t you show me some respect back, Mister…” Lars’s voice trailed away and his eyes glittered with a hard light.

“Charles Peace!” came the reply, a little too quickly. Lars tightened his hand on Hayden’s shoulder.

“Now that’s a lie, isn’t
it. Why don’t we try again.”

“Carter,” Hayden gasped. “Hayden Carter.”

“Very good, Mister Carter!” Lars said, slapping the bound man’s chest in a comradely fashion. “And you know what’s so good about this conversation? I can see immediately from your eyes that you’re telling the truth. Excellent!”

He stood up, pocketing both the Walther and Hayden’s pistol. For a few seconds he looked around the room before returning his attention to Hayden in a cursory manner.

“I can see you have been busy,” he remarked. “And I’m sure that Ms Pietersen found what she was looking for, but I need to ascertain some facts—and I need to ascertain them very quickly.” He frowned and raised a finger to his cheek, tapping it thoughtfully. With a brief smile, he glanced back down at Hayden. “I don’t need to tell you not to move.”

When he left the bedroom, Hayden struggled frantically with his handcuffs but it was no use. He could hear the stranger moving around somewhere else in his apartment.

“You see,” said Lars, re-entering the room with a large, very sharp knife in his hand, “the problem with Ms Pietersen is that she used pleasure to try and extract the information she required from you.” The knife was a long, curved kitchen blade that Hayden frequently used to prepare food. He liked the way it sliced through vegetables and diced meat so easily. It had always been his favourite. Until now.

Hayden was sweating profusely and the bed, once a scene of some of his sweetest nights, now felt like an iron maiden beneath his naked back.

Tapping the flat of the blade against his gloved fingertips, Lars gave Hayden a thin smile, as sharp as the steel he held in his hand. “I’m sure that the exploitation of pleasure has always been a very effective one for Ms Pietersen before. By the way, do you know that she’s not Danish?”

Without thinking Hayden nodded. “When she has an orgasm, it’s with an Irish accent.”

Despite himself, Lars laughed at this. “Does she indeed?” he said softly. For some reason, when he spoke even more quietly than usual this made Hayden more afraid rather than less. “She speaks the language quite well, and I’m sure she’s a woman of many talents—evidently, by the sight before me—but extracting information is not her speciality.” Suddenly his smile dropped away and his face took on a stony blankness that was utterly terrifying. He was no longer tapping the knife in his hands, but holding it with a purposefulness that made Hayden sweat even more.

“For me, on the other hand, it’s a matter of professional pride.”

Without warning, he smiled again, waving the knife negligently in his hands so that it swung near Hayden’s foot, causing him to flinch.

“I knew immediately when I heard her voice on Maarten’s phone that she wasn’t Danish. I’m from Norway, you see. It’s not that I spend a lot of time with Danes
—frankly, I can’t stand them, though that’s not so very special. There aren’t many people I can stand.”

“Yeah,” Hayden murmured. “I bet you’re the real life and soul of the party.”

Lars frowned at this but decided to ignore it, sweeping the knife up so that it brushed against one of Hayden’s toes. The bound man almost squealed at this but clamped his mouth shut instead.

“However, I stray from the point, Mister Carter. As I was saying before, this woman may have found pleasure a useful means of discovering what she wants, but I have always felt that pain is much more efficient.” As he spoke, he held the knife in front of him and moved up the bed, standing at the halfway point. To Hayden’s horror, he then reached out and patted the bare cock that was flopped sideways on Hayden’s lap. The scrotum was shrivelling up as fast as it could but was not retracting anywhere near as quickly as Hayden would have liked.

“I am sure that this gave Ms Pietersen, as you know her, a great deal of pleasure—and that she returned that pleasure with great gusto. Unfortunately for us both, Mister Carter, I am not one given to homosexuality, and so my own interest in your private parts will take a very different form.”