Chapter 3: 'I'm not your boy!'

*Warning: This chapter contains material you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of sex, rape, abuse and violence. 

*****

RUM

An hour earlier… 

“HARDER! HARDER, RUM BABY!” 

My hand shot out to cover those pretty red lips as I continued slamming into her, hard and fast… and wild. “Shut the fuck up!” I hissed. “You want people to hear us!” 

She shook her head as more moans slipped through her greasy lips. “Oh God… fuck, you’re so good, baby! It’s so big… it’s tearing me apart!” 

“Really?” I got onto the conference room table, clamped her knees together and pressed her down, and pounded into her, swift and rough. “How’s this? Like this, Annie?” 

“Mmm!!!” She nodded fiercely. “Mmmm!!!!” 

“Who says you’re loose down here, huh?” I lifted and plunged into her, deeply and viciously. “Take all of me, you slut.” 

“Yes, I’m your slut! Give me, Rum baby. I love it so… OOH!” The thirty-something divorcee groaned, tormented bliss spread across her features. “OH GOD… OH YEAH… Yeah! Give it!” 

I rammed into her. There, you slut! 

Her lips were so wet, her insides so slippery, I could easily take a little inch more each time I drove into her. Fuck… this old bitch still has it. Her ex-husband sure is missing out on a lot. I’m taking this sweet, moistened blossom as much as she needs it. 

SLAMMED. 

There! I grinned proudly as she screamed into my palm and convulsed like a fucking earthquake. 

I pulled out and let it all out onto that tattoo ‘ERIC’ on the insides of her left thigh. 

Ha, ha, ha… That the name of your ex? I’d remember that and share some tips with him on how to fuck a thirty-year-old stylist—it’ll come in handy when his current model girlfriend comes of age. Then I’ll stand like a boy’s scout and watch his face change into that marvellous expression of rage and jealousy. Can’t say no to a face that says its owner wants to smash mine. 

“So… we got a deal?” She swallowed and then continued gasping for air. 

I pulled up the zip of my pants. “What deal?” 

The stylist jolted to a sitting position on the table, fury in her eyes. “You sick son of a bitch. You’re not backing out on this after what we did.” 

A laughter tumbled from my lips. I leaned in and kissed lightly on her lips then pulled back to smile at her. “You know I love you, babe.” 

She chuckled dryly. “You love anything you can fuck, Rum. I know you.” 

“Really? You know me that well, huh?” I stroke her crimsoned, damp cheek. “Then, you’d probably know that I’ve got this.” 

I held up my phone and pressed the green button, and the audio file started playing. The stylist’s voice and mine blared from the speaker. 

“... You want me to pick you as my assistant? They won’t allow it. You’re an A-list stylist, Annie…. Are you crazy?” 

“But you’re an international superstar, Rum. I need that platform. Or I’ll forever be stuck in this shitty place…. My talent is different from yours. Stages like yours don’t come easy for me. You know that….” 

And then my sexy voice chuckled its sexy chuckle. “What do I get, huh?” 

“I’ll take care of this… you know I’m good with my mouth too…..” 

“YOU!” That hand and its sharp, glossy nails shot out to snatch the device from my hand. 

But I was much faster. Once it was tucked safely in my back pocket, I beamed nicely at the vicious woman naked from toe to top and wiggled my index finger in her fuming face.  

“Uh-uh, Annie… naughty, naughty. Phones are private property. Can’t touch that. I can sue you, you know?” 

“Fine! No deal then! Get the fuck out of my face.” She turned away from me to get dressed. 

But I turned her back and cradled her face with my large, incredibly powerful hands. “There, there, babe. I’m just teasing you, huh? Don’t you get it.” 

Her face fell deadpan. 

“Now that’s an ugly look. Don’t do that. It gives you wrinkles. Can’t give your age away that easily, can you?” 

“RUM!” 

I laughed heartily. “You’re so adorable when you’re angry. Did anyone tell you that?” I kissed her again and felt her body relaxed once more. Then I pulled back and caressed her cheeks. “I’ll pick you as my assistant, I swear. But if they say no… you can’t threaten me like you used to, OK baby? You know what I got, right?” 

And the glare was back on her face. The winning smile settled on mine. 

****

“Yeah, got it. Tomorrow, nine. Studio 9. Jesus, Danny, stop nagging! You’re the CEO for God’s sake.” I waited for the car door to lift then slid into the driver’s seat, slotted my phone into the holder and pressed the button beside the wheel. 

The beautiful roar of the magnificent Lamborghini burst through the silence of the parking lot and then the voice of that fifty-year-old nag came back on over my head. 

“You’re taking the car again! You can’t drive! It’s late at night. You promised, Rum!” Danny groaned in exasperation. “Goddamn it! You don’t even have a driver’s licence!”  

I kneaded my forehead. “Why give me a damn car if I can’t drive it!” 

“It’s for your image, Jesus Christ! We’ve had this talk many times so get it into your thick skull! Eject and go home! I’ll get your driver!” 

“FINE!” I cut the engine. “THERE! YOU HAPPY?” Fucking asshole. 

“That’s my good boy. Now, get out of the parking lot and David’s waiting for you at the lobby, alright?” 

“Fuck you.” I cut the call and slammed a palm on the steering wheel. “ARGH!”

I’m not your boy! I’m not anyone’s boy! I want to do whatever the fuck I want! The past five years since I’ve been here, I’ve brought in revenue far more than any artiste he’s ever signed and I’m just a fucking ‘good boy’! 

I waited impatiently for the door to lift up once more, then stomped out and walked away, leaving the car door wide open. 

I need to find a thug and steal this piece of crap.

**** 

I crouched low in the shrubs, my eyes on David the boring driver standing in attention next to the limousine. 

Irritation burst through my chest and I glared at that idiot. What does he think he is—the special ops? What’s with the black suit and tie and shades? Are we shooting a mafia film? It’s 1 a.m in the morning, for fuck’s sake!

Jesus… 

Stealthily, lying low to escape that nincompoop’s diligent eyes, I slipped out of the bush and took the left turn—because something smells extremely nice in that direction, and I never say no to a nice scent. Hastily, I reached for my back pocket for my phone to switch it to silent mode, in case Danny tries to call again. 

I felt my pockets. Left and right. Wait a sec. 

Oh, fuck! My phone’s still in the car. Damn it! Damn… it. Well, I’ll be damned. 

A mischievous chuckle slipped into the cold air. “Sorry, Danny.” I pretended to be in the office talking to that old fuck, which usually happens when I screwed things up. “I left my phone in the car. And it’s probably gonna get stolen. What? What’s in that phone?” 

I was moving further away from the B.A.D premises. Feeling free…but still ranting my frustrations. 

“Nothing. Just some videos of me drinking and fucking some really hot models. They threw themselves at me! What was I to do, huh? Send them to church? Oh, and there’s your favourite stylist too. The one you’ve been fucking for years, even after she got married. Even now when she’s divorced. You’re one loyal man, huh? Yeah… I got a taste of her….too?” 

I halted in my footsteps. Thugs. Two of them. Just nice. I’ll give them some cash and tell them to drive off that Lamborghini. They can do whatever they can with it—wait, I need to get that phone first. 

I tried to turn away. But then, I recalled something and turned back. What if they took off? I better get them first—. 

“Ah!!” A female voice pierced the deafening silence. But it was too weak and the streets were too empty. 

I stepped closer and watched the events unfold from behind a lamppost. 

One of them was holding the girl’s head. The other had his arm around her shoulder. From afar, it looked as though they were helping a drunk friend get home. 

Shit… they’re gonna rape her.