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Note ... Long week with no computer access. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Both Kevan and I send our love and appreciation.
If Handcuffs Could Talk 14By Marilyn (Ranger Hunters) and Kevan
Uploaded by Alfonsina.d
Dance with the Devil (Morelli)Walking into Shorty's for dinner, I realized it had been a poor choice. Several men-in-black, including Ranger, occupied the table in back that Shorty kept reserved for them. Nothing unusual about that; the table was reserved for them because there was almost always one or more of them present. Had I thought about it, I would have gone somewhere else. Or had I thought about it subconsciously and decided to go there hoping to run into Ranger?
"Morelli."
I waved to acknowledge Shorty's greeting. "Medium meat-lover's and a soda," I called out. There was a table open that provided a good view of the back one, and I slid into a seat.
All Ranger's crew looked over at me, registering my presence, assessing. Ranger nodded. I recognized Bobby and Tank, and also one of the newer men that everyone called Az. I had no idea what it meant. He'd been around about a year-and-a-half but I'd had no direct contact with him so far. He fit the typical RangeMan mold—dark, indeterminate origins, well-built but not bulky, reserved, watchful, quietly confident. And likely deadly and devoid of any shred of a conscience.
I'd been avoiding talking to Ranger for several weeks, since the incident with the gang murders and the inevitable ensuing media circus. The politicians and civic leaders had publicly been outraged, although I suspected most of them had privately approved. The sticking point seemed to be proof—or the lack thereof. The street didn't need proof that would hold up in court. Most of those people approved of what had been done. If the chatter about a kidnapped girl and the gang selling her to a pedophile were true—and I felt they were—then I had to acknowledge a grim approval of what Ranger's guys had done. Much as I hated to admit it, the police would never have found her in time. We were too encumbered with legal niceties slanted toward the rights of the sleazoids instead of justice for the victim. The majority of the people, those whose lives never came into contact with the seamy underbelly of the city, seemed confused at best, indifferent at worst.
"You going to eat or stare at Ranger's men all day?"
Shorty's question startled me. I realized he'd set my pizza and soda on the table in front of me. Great. Now Ranger and his psycho gang were making me lose my focus.
"They won't bite—much." Shorty chuckled. "Matter of fact, they're the best mannered customers I've got. Lost count of the times they kept the peace in here. That's why they get their own table. They get a guaranteed place to eat and I get free security, so don't fuck it up by trying to arrest them." The bell on the door announced new customers and he headed off to deal with them.
I grabbed the first slice and let my mind go back to wandering. The murders had left me conflicted—and with an itch that needed scratching. In the past I had simply waited until the itch grew bad enough and I eventually admitted I couldn't fight it and got in touch with Ranger. Now though, he was seeing Stephanie and, from a few things she'd said and the way she was acting, had introduced her to some of his more exotic sexual tastes. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I'd been out of her life for a while and had no right to say who she saw or what they did together, but I couldn't bear the thought that she might find out about what I got up to with Ranger. Sure as the sun would rise in the east, I did not want to run into her in that dark bedroom. It would be humiliating. But I still needed it—and him. The irony wasn't lost on me that I'd spent years resenting Ranger over interfering with me and Steph, and now I resented Steph because her presence in his life was keeping me away from Ranger.
As I ate, my attention kept returning to Az. What was his story? Ranger's men were mostly a collection of misfits and castoffs from various branches of the military from several countries, gangs, ex-cons, and just general wild-asses. He somehow rode herd on all of them and, in truth, they never started trouble—nothing that had been proved at least—but they would sure finish it. Az gave off an odd vibe; he didn't quite fit any of the typical RangeMan stereotypes. He reminded me strongly of Ranger himself; a predator lying motionless, watching lazily, waiting for you to prove yourself prey before slicing you open. Was he as darkly dominant? Did his sexual tastes run in the same direction as Ranger's?
Mentally, I shook myself. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from? Now I was starting to wonder about Ranger's men. That dark itch I had really needed scratching. Food lost its appeal and I shoved the rest of the pizza away, dropped money on the table, and left.
xoxoxox
The night air was cool and refreshing. I stood beside my truck, dropping my head back and breathing deep, taking time to gather my wits and refocus my thoughts away from Ranger, Az, and dark rooms filled with pain and pleasure where everything could be had for a price—even if the price was sometimes your soul.
Without warning, a body shoved me forward, against the side of my truck, trapping me, and two muscular, black-clad arms reached around me, grasping my wrists and holding them immobile. Had to be one of Ranger's men.
Shit! How many times had I berated Steph about not being aware of what was happening around her?
Lips brushed against my ear. "If you want to dance with the devil, I can help you with that. I can dig a grave no one will ever find and, unlike Ranger, I have no qualms about putting you in it. Detective." The voice wasn't Ranger, or Tank or Bobby, so it had to be Az, unless yet another one of Ranger's crew had shown up. I was betting on Az.
"Az," I said, hoping I was right, going for the unexpected rather than protesting his assault on a police officer or responding to his not-so-subtle threat. "What does that stand for?"
A hesitation. "Azrael." He shoved against me, raking my feet out from under me, released my wrists, and in the time it took me to regain my feet and turn around, he was gone. Vanished like black smoke.
Great. Azrael, the angel of death. Hell of a nickname. The scary thing was there might be—probably was—a reason behind it. Ranger's men were seriously crazy. As if the thought of his name conjured him, my phone beeped and I saw a text from Ranger.
One hour. The person you're worried about won't be there.
xoxoxox
"How did you know?"
The curtains were open; our game done. If Ranger was ever going to talk to me and answer questions, it would be now. I was naked, on my knees, handcuffs still attached to one wrist. Spent, body worn out and sore, soul depleted. Dried sweat and semen smeared over me. As always, he had owned me, possessed me, used me in whatever way he wanted. I had been at his mercy, by my own choice, and I knew he derived satisfaction from that, and from how I looked after he was done with me. If he was feeling generous, I hoped he'd respond.
Rather than answer my question, Ranger merely raised an eyebrow.
I sighed. Of course, he was going to make me say the words. There was nothing he couldn't turn into a demonstration of control, however slight.
"Stephanie. How did you know I was avoiding coming here because of her?"
Ranger studied me for a moment, then beckoned me to follow him. He strode into the bathroom, turned on the shower with its multiple oversized shower heads that was the size of my entire bathroom, and pointed to a spot on the tile floor. He didn't say 'sit' or 'stay' or 'kneel' but he might as well have. He also never looked at me, knowing I wouldn't dare disobey him, even now when the game was done.
He showered leisurely, soaping his muscular body, strong hands moving over it, touching and exploring in a way I hungered to, but that I knew he would never allow. It was an exhibition. A blatant display of a beautiful, sexy, intensely masculine body that I would never be allowed to touch in that way. Ranger finished by washing and rinsing his hair, tipping his head back and running his hands through the dark, shoulder-length strands as water poured down his body. Watching him made me wonder about myself and my professed heterosexuality.
My knees ached from the hardness of the tile, but I didn't move as he stepped out of the shower enclosure and roughly dried himself off. Water still gleamed in his hair as he ran his hands through it again, and tied it back with a thin leather strip. He grinned at me. It made me think of a wolf eyeing dinner.
"You've been following me for weeks, turning up lots of places I do, but you keep running away, not calling." He put a hand under my chin and lifted. His dark eyes held me immobile. "Call yourself straight or bi-curious or bisexual or whatever else you want, but you like sucking my cock and you like me fucking you."
He moved into the bedroom and I could no longer see him, but it sounded like he was getting dressed.
"You haven't accepted it yourself, so it stands to reason you don't want a woman you slept with for years to see you like you are right now, and certainly not like you were a few hours ago with your legs spread and my cock drilling your ass and you screaming for more."
Hot embarrassment washed through me at his crude words and the image they painted, at the same time they turned me on.
"In here," he commanded.
Before my brain could protest at being treated like a dog, my body obeyed, and I was back in the bedroom.
Ranger was wearing his basic all-black, badass uniform of boots, cargo pants, and tight T-shirt.
"You need to get over being embarrassed. Next time, I'll have someone here who can help with that."
My mind shied away from the implications of his words. Someone else there with us? Someone who would know me? No way was I okay with that. Someone who would see me debased and abused and begging? Hell, no! What he had done with the hood and letting some of his guys fuck me had been bad enough, but at least I'd remained anonymous, or I hoped I had. I hoped he hadn't shared my identity. I was not going to volunteer to advertise what I did with him, not to anyone.
"Friday, midnight."
I could refuse to come. I was busy or, if not, I could arrange to be. I could make sure I was in a woman's bed, my cock buried in her pussy, reinforcing my masculinity. I wasn't gay. It wasn't the sex I craved from Ranger, it was the dominance, the relinquishing of control.
Ranger gestured for me to get dressed so I pulled yesterday's clothes on over my sticky, bruised body.
Besides, Friday was only four days away. I wouldn't have another itch that needed to be scratched for a couple of months. I simply wouldn't show up. And if I avoided him for a while, the need would go away.
He must have seen what I was thinking, because, without warning, he slammed me back against the wall, pinning me there with his body. "If you're not here, I'll hunt you down. And if I have to come looking for you, this," he jerked the handcuff still attached to my wrist up over my head and shook it, "will be the least of what I'll do to you."
He released me, and I lost no time crossing to the door. I had my hand on the doorknob when he spoke again.
"Just so you know, Morelli, it is the sex you crave. Time to admit it."
xoxoxox
Adjusting my rear-view mirror as I drove away, I grimaced at the handcuff still dangling from my wrist. I'd forgotten to take the damn thing off when I got to my truck. Hopefully, I wouldn't run into anyone I knew because I didn't feel like stopping and taking the time to fish out an extra key at the moment.
Looking in the mirror at the RangeMan building receding behind me, I wondered—not for the first time—just what the hell actually went on in there. No one knew; no one got beyond the entry lobby and public conference rooms on the first floor. Not even high-dollar clients got a tour of the nerve-center from where their premises were monitored and guarded, much less the rest of the building. Speculation was rife.
There was a gun range. More than likely since no one had ever seen any of Ranger's men at any gun range in the area.
There was a storage room holding enough weapons—up to and including missiles and a Predator drone—to take out not only all of Trenton, but the entire state of New Jersey. Huh. Maybe a bit exaggerated, then again, maybe not. Difficult to say with Ranger.
There was a portal to another dimension where elves labored non-stop to produce new, shiny, black vehicles for Ranger. No comment.
There was a gym. A given, as no one had ever seen any of Ranger's men in a gym in the area either, and no one developed and kept bodies like theirs without serious gym time.
There was a kitchen with a live-in chef who used to cook in a 2-star Michelin restaurant. Debatable. A kitchen made a certain amount of sense, but a 2-star Michelin chef? Not even Ranger had that kind of clout and money. The problem was, if there was a kitchen, who did the shopping? When did they have deliveries made? No one had seen evidence of either. Of course, a lot of windowless, black panel vans went in and out of the underground garage and once they were inside and the solid-metal gate rolled down behind them, who knew what was unloaded.
There was a cleaning crew of illegal immigrants that were forced to live in the basement. There was a cleaning crew composed wholly of French maids, complete with the stereotype skimpy uniform, who also provided a wide variety of sexual services for the men. The interior was a pigsty because there was no cleaning crew and what could you expect from a bunch of mercenaries? I didn't venture an opinion on any of those.
There was a vault with millions of dollars in cash, in currencies from all over the world, loose jewels, coins and rare stamps, and stacks of fake IDs for each man. I didn't know about the millions, but I was pretty sure Ranger could lay his hands on enough ready cash, or something that could be easily and untraceably converted into cash, for pretty much any contingency and I had no doubt that a fake ID or three hundred existed.
There was a secret jail with a hidden entrance from the sewer system. Ranger used it to force answers from uncooperative individuals. One unfortunate man had been imprisoned there for years and was now quite insane as a result of extended solitary confinement. The unfortunate man was either—Ranger's brother, the real Ricardo Carlos Manoso, an employee who attempted to take Ranger out and take his place, Jimmy Hoffa, the 2-star Michelin chef. I reserve judgement on the presence of some kind of holding facility although it would be risky if the place was ever raided. On the other hand, people had disappeared after talking to Ranger's crew.
One of the wildest rumors was that the building contained a kind of POD-storage for people. That Ranger's men weren't human, or not totally human, and had to be recharged and tuned-up from time-to-time. That one always made me laugh. Having seen some of his men, maybe it wasn't so far-fetched.
It was no secret that a number of the men employed by RangeMan lived in the building, but whether it was in luxury or a dormitory, no one knew because, again, no one had ever seen their quarters. No visitors ever.
The last made me wonder what did go on with the men who lived there. Were they all visitors to Ranger's private playroom? Did any of them ever fuck Ranger? Were they all gay, or bisexual, fucking each other when they were bored or because there were no women allowed?
Did Az live there?
Whoa! Stop! Enough. Why did my thoughts keep drifting back to Az? For that matter, why was I obsessed with Ranger and his band of psycho mercenaries lately?
xoxoxox
Sleep eluded me tonight. Again.
I'd slept like shit for the last two nights and tomorrow night I'm supposed to go back to Ranger's where I definitely won't get any sleep. My sheets were twisted and sweat-soaked. Pillows thrown across the room in frustration. My mind constantly betrayed me, calling up images of Ranger and Az naked and aroused, and doing all manner of things to me, as soon as I started to drift to sleep. Then my body would react to what my mind was showing, and I would wake sweaty, groaning, thrusting my rock-hard cock into my hands. My legs spread, hips lifted. Begging to be fucked.
Staggering to the bathroom, I dumped myself into yet another cold shower.
Five a.m. I saw when I made my way back to the bedroom, shivering. I looked for the thousandth time at the handcuffs laying on the bedside table, the ones Ranger had left on me after our last encounter. Please, just let me sleep three hours! Two hours even. Without sleep there's no way I'll make it through the day, much less the night.
xoxoxox
Instructions (Lester)The knocking on my front door continued, even after I'd determined I wasn't going to answer it. I rolled over, plastered myself to Mal's side, and tried drifting back to sleep. I did try, but it wasn't working because whatever asshole was knocking on my door wouldn't stop. Mal shifted against me, and I knew it was close to waking him up too.
Damn it! I was off shift today. What was so important that it couldn't wait? Groggily, I reached out and hit the switch that activated the speaker on the wall outside my door. "Fuck off. I'm not on the schedule today."
"I can arrange for that to change."
Ranger. Crap! I bolted upright in bed, suddenly wide-awake. Ranger could—but almost never did—override the lock on every door in the building, including our apartments, or he could have whoever was in the control room do it. He preferred to give us our privacy, or the illusion thereof, unless it was an emergency.
As I groped around on the floor, eventually coming up with a pair of gym shorts to pull on, I noticed Mal was awake and looking at me. He'd obviously heard and recognized Ranger's voice too. I shrugged and walked to the entry, closing the bedroom door behind me. I didn't care if Ranger knew we were sleeping together sometimes, and Mal wouldn't either, but it was a question of manners.
Ranger's smile, when I opened the door and he took in my disheveled state, spoke volumes.
"Hey, boss man." I tried for bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but it came out sleepy and surly.
Ranger shook his head as he stepped past me. "You never disappoint, Lester."
"Yeah, whatever." From sleepy and surly to petulant teenager. Brilliant.
He looked at the closed bedroom door. "Mal?"
Why am I not surprised? Mal and I hadn't done anything to keep it quiet, and anyway, Ranger always seemed to know everything that went on in the building and with the guys.
"Uh-huh," I confirmed and shut up. If he wanted details, he could join us sometime. Which could, mind you, be a lot of fun.
"Got a job for you tonight."
Tonight? There was nothing on the schedule when I'd gone off-shift at midnight. Something that came up that fast could be very bad news.
"Personal job," Ranger clarified.
I frowned. Over the years, I'd done a number of personal jobs for Ranger. All the guys had. They ran the gamut from picking up a present for his daughter to 'helping' someone disappear.
"I've been hooking up with someone every few months for the last year or so," he said.
No secret there. When Ranger shut down the feeds so that even the control room couldn't see who was entering or leaving his private floor in the building, word got around. Sure, he'd been seeing Stephanie, but he no longer bothered to kill the feeds when she came over, so all the guys knew there was someone else. Who wasn't our business although Tank was running a book on their identity.
"They've reached the breaking point," he continued.
Well, well, well. I knew what that meant. It meant that all the guys who had bet on Ranger's mystery 'visitor' being a woman had just lost. At least I was still in the running. Initially, I'd bet on a woman too, but after three months I'd placed a new bet. I'd never known Ranger to spend more time than that on a woman—and usually far less. He got bored if the chase was that prolonged, and there were too many other women more than willing to play. Besides, when he wanted to bed a woman he usually went to her place.
"I want you to push them over it. Tonight. Midnight."
Tonight. Crap. "Can't. I'm busy," I replied, thinking of the plans Mal and I had.
"Get unbusy," he ordered. "I've worked too long on this one to blow it now, and they need special handling. I need you. You've done it before and done it well."
To give myself time to think, I walked into my small kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice, set it on the counter, and started filling up the coffee maker. Caffeine might not help, but it couldn't hurt. Special handling. Lovely. That meant whoever was involved was either having second thoughts or wasn't convinced yet—or didn't want to admit the truth. In any event, it was a situation that called for tact, understanding, and finesse. It was stressful. It was hard work. It was usually not very enjoyable for me. It was—
I was pouring the freshly ground coffee into the strainer when Ranger moved so close behind me that his body skimmed mine.
"Wine him and dine him." He said quietly, his breath tickling my ear. "Play Dr. Phil and talk all night. Fuck his brains loose. Let him fuck your brains loose. Beat the shit out of him. I don't care. Do whatever it takes, Les. Just make sure that when I unlock that door in the morning and let you out, that Detective Joe Morelli knows—and admits—he's no longer heterosexual and he knows I own his ass."
Ranger stepped away and the loss of his body heat made my body shiver. My mind, meanwhile, was chattering like a squirrel who'd had his last nut stolen the day before the first winter storm hit.
"Midnight tonight, Lester," Ranger said, and then he was gone. The front door closed behind him, the lock clicking as it engaged.
Morelli. A cop. Ranger had been… he was playing with… a cop. With Morelli. Ranger was insane. This had the potential to be a disaster. It could blow up in all our faces.
"This is such a bad idea," I told the coffee maker. "I want you to remember I said that. This is a bad idea. He's lost his mind."
"What's a bad idea?" Mal asked, joining me in the kitchen. He'd obviously heard the door lock via the control panel in the bedroom when Ranger left. "Who's lost his mind?"
"Ranger."
"Oh, what's he done now?" Mal's bland tone of voice indicated that Ranger doing something that called his sanity into question was not uncommon.
"That someone he's been playing with?"
"Yeah?" Mal's interest sharpened. "Who won the pool?"
"Nobody won the pool. Nobody even got close. You're not going to believe who Ranger has on the verge of breaking."
"Breaking?" Mal whistled. He knew what that meant in Ranger-speak as well as I did.
Ranger hadn't done it to him. Mal had already been bisexual when he arrived at RangeMan, but he'd witnessed Ranger take more than one straight guy and 'expand their horizons' until they were bisexual. It was his way of making the crew even tighter than we already were, depending on and looking to each other not only for work and friendship, but for sexual satisfaction. It worked too, because except for those few guys who were totally straight, we never had to look beyond the team for anything, and we all, regardless of sexual preference, banded together against outsiders, guarding our secrets better than any family or secret society.
"He wants you to finish the job?" Mal guessed.
I nodded.
"So, this somebody is still reluctant to admit they like cock and needs a lighter touch than Ranger can—or is willing to—supply." He thought a moment. "Probably because he doesn't want to give away a bit of his control over them, which means they're pretty dominant usually."
"Spot on," I agreed.
"So, who is it that I'm not going to believe? I didn't know he was thinking about bringing anyone else on the team. Doesn't he usually discuss potential hires with you and Tank and Bobby?"
"Yeah, but I don't think he's looking at this guy as a potential hire. I'm not sure what the hell he's thinking about." I shook my head. "This could be a whole lot of trouble."
"Well, who?" Mal prompted, when I didn't continue.
I turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye. I didn't want to miss a bit of his reaction. "Joe Morelli. Detective Joe Morelli."
Mal froze, the glass of orange juice I'd poured earlier half-raised. His eyes widened. He swallowed, hard. "Tell me you're kidding," he begged.
I shook my head. "That's what Ranger said. Tonight. Midnight. Finish breaking Detective Joe Morelli."
"Maybe he's kidding," Mal sounded as if he desperately wanted to believe that.
"I don't think so," I said carefully.
"Ranger has been playing bedroom games with Morelli—"
"Topping," I corrected. "You know the kind of bedroom games Ranger plays. He's been topping Morelli for months."
"Ranger has been topping a police detective for months. Ranger's been fucking Morelli's brains out for months."
"Yep, looks like," I agreed. By this time, I was sort of numb to the idea.
"This could be so much trouble. What are you going to do?"
"Do?" I snorted. "As if I have any choice. I'm going to do what Ranger ordered me to, and make sure Morelli accepts that he's now bisexual and that Ranger owns his ass. But first, I'm going to round up a few more sets of handcuffs. I'm probably going to need them."
xoxoxox
Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. Hoping it is a great week. (Alf for Kevan)