Tousle Me Page 11

  For the second time that evening, I wriggle out of my Uggs (now dry), leggings and Kermit panties. The bed is covered in that cheap paper lining you get on examination tables, the stuff that always rips a little as you try to get comfy.

  “Um…what do you do with the stirrups?” I call, confused.

  “They’re just like foot rests. Let your knees fall open and put them in. It’s like riding a bike, only just before you’re needlessly violated.”

  “Aha!” I slip my feet into them. Wait. “Isn’t there meant to be, um, a blanket or something? For my modesty?”

  He puts his dark and handsome head around the curtain. “Your what?”

  “My modesty,” I repeat, blushing.

  “Ah yes, conejo.” His eyes dart left and right. “Nice try.”

  At this point, I realize I’m looking at him muff first. And he’s gazing right back. Oh my God.

  “W-what happens now?”

  He strides through the curtain, yanks on latex gloves with a loud snap, and flicks on a lamp which he swings between my thighs like a spotlight. “The moment of truth.”

  So I’m lying here an hour after the slave auction with sexy man number two between my thighs. Who am I, Enid? And how does this work when I’m a virgin, anyway? Should I be a little more worried about this?

  The delicate sound of Chopin still floats through the air. Dr Emuson’s cheeks have gone kind of pink, and his eyes are bulging. He loosens his tie and mutters something about needing a drink. You and me both, my friend. Then he closes his eyes, raises his gloved hands, takes a dramatic pause and then lets them descend between my legs until—Hunter’s fist collides with his face!

  “Bollocking bloody hell cor blimey, guvnor!” Hunter growls Britishly.

  “Dios mio! What are you doing?” shouts Dr Emuson, clutching his jaw.

  “You’re meant to be examining her!”

  “I am examining her! How else am I meant to check for thrush?” the doctor protests.

  Hunter glances at my jelly bean, which began to protrude as soon as I caught sight of him. “I don’t know, stick a needle in somewhere? Scanny…thing? This is just sick!”

  “It’s how we normally do it, Mr von Styles—”

  “Fucking liar!” Hunter smacks him across the nose again.

  Then I just lie there, my knees still a good two feet apart, while this pair of brutally handsome but well-dressed men battle it out in front of me to soft classical music. I’m guessing it would be inappropriate to masturbate right about now, but it sure is tempting. This must be why black widow spiders eat their mates; it saves having to watch this kind of thing while you wank yourself to death.

  Dr Emuson is thrown for a second, but dude can pack a punch. He gets Hunter on the ground and starts kicking him in the stomach.

  “You don’t want to see my rage, boy,” he sneers.

  Hunter projectile-spits a mouthful of blood at him. “Is it as small and pathetic as your penis?”

  “No smaller than yours!”

  “Why don’t you go back to making tacos, you pretentious—”

  “Boys!” I shriek.

  They both freeze, Hunter now on his knees while Dr Emuson holds a fist aloft, ready to smack down. I remember to close my legs and then clamber off the bed. If I don’t do something, I really will have to masturbate.

  “Seriously, both of you,” I plead. “It’s not worth it.”

  “She’s right,” Dr Emuson pants, dabbing at his blood-spattered lab coat. “A truce?”

  Hunter gets to his feet, clearing his throat. “Hmm,” he says. “Okay.”

  “Well then. Let’s complete the examination.”

  I glance at the bed. “Uh…I get back up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the stirrups?”

  “Please,” he says.

  Hunter, standing beside him, raises his eyebrows and gives me a thin-lipped smile. And then decks Dr Emuson right between the eyes.

  “Hunter!” I shout, clasping my hands to my mouth. “What have you done?”

  “Changed my mind,” he says gruffly. “No truce.”

  The doctor staggers backwards and crumples to the ground.

  At that moment, the nurse flies in, battering the curtain away to drop to her knees beside the doctor. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaims, mopping up the blood with her own sleeve. “Gabriel’s ruptured!”

  “Gosling,” Hunter says, his hand on my shoulder. His lip is bleeding and he’s a little short of breath, but is otherwise okay. “Get your knickers back on. We’re out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  He turns to the nurse. “So when do we get the results?”

  She blinks up at him. “What?”

  “The thrush test. When do we find out?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to wait until he wakes up.” She strokes the dark hair from the doctor’s forehead, which is rapidly turning purple. “That’s if he wakes up,” she snaps.

  Hunter looks pained. “God damn my violent and unpredictable possessive tendencies. Damn them to hell!” He casts me a stoic look. “I won’t let him take the secret of your yeast situation to his grave, gosling.”

  “Oh Hunter.” I pull my leggings up and reach for my Uggs. “You’re so sweet.”

  He takes my hand, leading me away from the struggling heap of doctor and nurse, and toward the exit. “Fancy some enchiladas on the way out?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Y’ellow?” I say into my cell as the limo pulls away from Gabriel’s Wrapture.

  “Cammie? Oh my God!” Enid gasps in a raspy voice. “Why haven’t you been picking up?”

  “Emergency trip to the VD—I mean, uh, I was talking to Hunter,” I manage. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” she whimpers. “A warehouse. I think. Cammie, you have to come get me!”

  “Whuh?” I sit bolt upright. “Is something wrong?”

  Hunter glances up from his own cell, his super sexy green eyes narrowing in concern.

  “They’ve tied me up. I think they’re going to…I don’t know, but it’ll be bad, I’m sure of it. One of them looks like McKenzie Crook and the other one’s really fat. You know what that means.”

  “Oh shit.” I lean in to Hunter. “We have to do something. Enid’s been captured by a dastardly duo!”

  He frowns. “What can we do?”

  “It was Anonymous,” she wails. “We were, you know, having the sex…and then he’s drawing me, that’s what he does, you know? Until he gets this weird look on his face and he’s like, duty calls! Next thing I know he’s got this cape on and we’re driving to this warehouse…and then they have kryptonite, only it looks like bananas—”

  “Creeptonight,” I say, sighing. “It’s Creeptonight. Enid, there’s something you need to know about Anonymous.”

  “Oh really? Is there? Could have fooled me!”

  “Okay. You need to stay calm, let us find out where you are—”

  “Calm? I’m tied to a chair in the middle of rapesville and you want me to stay calm?”

  “Keep her talking,” Hunter mutters. “I’ll get her call traced.”

  “Is this what your Facebook status was about earlier?” I ask. “The Russian mafia?”

  “They’ve captured him. Anonymous, E.Z., Captain Purity. Whatever his name is. They’re trying to extort money out of him and they’re using me as bargaining chip,” she whimpers.

  “Listen to me, Enid. Hunter’s tracing your call right now. We’ll be there as soon as we can, and we’ll get you out of this.”

  Hunter grabs my wrist. “Got it.”

  I try to put on my best reassuring tone. “We’re on the way, okay?”

  “You better hurry!”

  I hang up and take a deep breath. This is followed by a pleasingly outward sigh. “Oh Hunter. What are we gonna do?”

  “Don’t worry, gosling. We’ll get her out of there.” He leans forward to pull back the privacy screen. Labron’s Jordin Sparks CD booms through
the gap. “Dude! Emergency.”

  Labron turns the music down and glances at us in the mirror. “Wassup?”

  “It appears we’ve been hijacked by a poorly foreshadowed thriller subplot.”

  “Dang.”

  “Comes with the territory.” Hunter holds up his cell. “Think you can spin us around and find Warehouse Fourteen, on the quayside? Near Dublin Street.”

  Labron gives a single nod. “It’s a done deal.” Then he goes back to singing along to Battlefield.

  I have a little sniff at how relevant the music is.

  “You’re shaking.” Hunter wraps his arms around me and brushes a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Maybe—maybe Captain Purity will escape, and save her,” I whisper.

  Hunter snorts. “Not likely. Enid’s a whore.”

  “Or maybe she’s just safe anyway. The virgins always die first,” I point out.

  “Only in horror. This is new adult.”

  I flinch. “Is there a difference?”

  While we drive, I play around on Hunter’s iPad to take my mind off Enid’s imminent doom. Sparkles von Fancypants has Instagrammed some cupcake shots, which I instantly Like (unicorns sure can bake up a storm). Then there’s a blog hop where we’re making wish lists of our fantasy titles; Clamtasy’s Erotica has gone with a steamy romp called Ten Cock Summer, while Pegworth25 wants a college romance about losing your virginity to your AA sponsor—Skintervention. My own personal contribution is a tale of ghosts and dark love called Fingering Echo. Somebody needs to write these books.

  Hunter gives my knee a squeeze. “We’re here.”

  I peer out of the limo’s tinted window at a dock yard resembling the one from Dexter because that’s the only one the author is remotely familiar with. Storage spaces sit in lines of wind-worn wood, seagulls bleating atop them. As we get out, the night air is crisp and tinged with sea salt, the sky shot through with inky ribbons.

  Wow, the description really improves when we’re stealing stuff from TV.

  “So which one is it?” I ask Hunter and Labron.

  “We’ll need to count them down. Start at Warehouse One, over there.” Labron points.

  I grab Hunter’s elbow. “A little help here?”

  “Hmm?”

  “English major, remember?”

  “Gosling. We need to teach you to count.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve counted on at least two occasions already. Still.” I smile knowingly. “Who am I to ruin a running gag?”

  We stalk down the walkway between the warehouses, using our cell phones to light the way. When we reach Warehouse 14, there’s a battered van parked outside, and a low, twangy bass line plays somewhere close by.

  “You hear that?” Labron hisses. “Stakeout music.”

  Hunter rolls his eyes. “You’ve been watching too much Starsky and Hutch.”

  “I know stakeout music when I hear it!”

  “And this is a hostage situation, knobhead. Get your mystery clichés right.”

  “Dang.” Labron’s upper lip twitches. “Looks like Velma’s panties are in a bunch.”

  “Will the two of you snap out of it? We’ve got to help Enid!” I ball my fists.

  “She’s right.” Hunter pauses. “Never thought I’d say that.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, I give him a soppy grin. This is what I love about badly foreshadowed thriller subplots—they’re guaranteed to bring us closer together.

  “Guys?” Labron, who’s now standing behind the van, gestures for us to come closer. “Around here. I can see a way in.”

  Hunter’s eyes light up. “I love a good back entrance.”

  My butthole contracts. Calm yourself, anus! This is no time to panic!

  Together, we creep around to the half-open trade door at the back. Labron holds a finger to his lips.

  “Reeks of piss around here,” he hisses.

  I guess that would be my Uggs. Cringe.

  We can see McKenzie Crook guy and Fat Guy through the crack in the door. They’re standing over a chair, waving handfuls of what look like bananas.

  “Think you’re really ‘ard, dontcha, eh?” McKenzie sneers. “Captain Purity. Gonna catch a little Creeptonight?” He tosses one of the banana things and it lands with a crash on the floor. “No? Bahahaha!”

  McKenzie and Fat Guy laugh their evil laughs together, scaling octaves with maniacal skill.

  “This is worse than the Russian mafia,” Hunter says darkly. “So much worse.”

  “Who are they?” I ask, grasping his arm in fear.

  “Cockney rent-a-thugs.”

  Tears swarm in the corners of my eyes. “Oh God. Poor Enid.”

  “Time to break out your cagefighting skills, bro.” Labron glances at Hunter, his brown eyes wide with worry. “Think you can handle them?”

  “Oh, I can handle them.” He lands a fist in his wide palm. “Dr Emuson was just the warm up. Now I’m going to really kick some arse.”

  “It’s ass,” says Labron. “You kick ass.”

  “And I’m English,” Hunter says through his teeth, “so I kick arse.”

  I could strangle the pair of them. “I don’t care what you kick, so long as it’s those two guys.”

  “Okay, okay.” Labron holds up a hand. “Let’s just calm down before they he—”

  Too late.

  Holy Mexican-cantina-slash-VD-clinic, Fat Guy is LOOKING RIGHT AT US.

  “Sure hope he’s not hungry,” Labron mutters.

  “Oi!” Fat Guy yells. “Whaddaya doin’, ya little shits?”

  He steps aside to reveal Captain Purity, who is dressed in his black onesie and cape, and is bound to a chair with thick chains.

  “Anonymous!” I yell. “It’s okay, we’re here to save you!”

  He scents the air. “I smell…virgins.”

  McKenzie Crook looks sheepish. “Shaddap.”

  “You!” Anonymous spots me. “The one with the evil unicorn!”

  “You can talk,” I shout back. “You dragged my friend into your sorry mess! Where’s Enid?”

  “You looking for that bint?” Fat Guy booms. “You’ll never find her. We locked ‘er up good, didn’t we?” They do their deep, dirty laugh again, clutching their bellies.

  Hunter grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You go back and ring Enid—she’ll be able to tell you where she is. Hunt her down.”

  “Unless she’s tied up,” Labron interjects. “Then she can’t answer the phone.”

  “You’d think they’d have taken her phone, or tied her tight enough to stop her answering,” I muse.

  “Gosling. Do these look like men of strong intellect?”

  “I—”

  “No,” he answers for me, “they don’t. Labron. Dude. Can you grab some of your emergency chocolate from the glove box?”

  “You want me to sacrifice my imported Cadbury’s?” Labron says, horrified.

  “How else do we distract Chubbers over there?”

  “With cheaper candy,” Labron grumbles as he wanders back to the limo.

  “Hunter.” I take his beautiful face in my hands and stroke along the dried blood on his chin. “I already lost you once tonight. Don’t make me lose you again.”

  “You won’t, gosling. I swear.”

  I stand on my tiptoes and give him a soft kiss. “I hate this place we live in,” I murmur. “I don’t want to live in a world full of only sexual predators. And sluts. And token gays.”

  He buries his face in my neck, all tousled fudge hair, and then breathes over my ear. “Come into my world, where there’s only one sexual predator. And one gay.”

  “I’ll be safe there?”

  “Oh, Cammie.” He kisses me hard. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

  Except I don’t get to finish the kiss because Fat Guy has me by the tunic, and he’s yanking me back into the warehouse.

  �
�Hunter!” I scream.

  “Gosling!”

  “Cadbury’s Dairy Milk!” Labron yells, hurling the purple bar of chocolate into a dark corner of the warehouse, where it skitters to a stop with a rustle. “Share size, bitches!”

  Fat Guy shoves me on to the floor and goes wobbling toward the chocolate. “It had better not be fruit and nut!” he bellows.

  Hunter hurries over and kneels to pull me up.

  I brush the sand off my leggings, trembling. “I’m going to find Enid,” I seethe, “now.”

  “We’ll save Captain Purity.” Labron pauses, his eyes darting about. “Just checking I said that right. Dang.”

  Good thing I wore my Uggs tonight, whether they’re piss-soaked or not; these be action shoes, people, and I sure as hell couldn’t run away from Cockney thugs in Louboutins. Besides, everyone knows that girls only wear heels when they want to have sex (and yeah, I wanted to have sex tonight but also, I wanted more than that. Like one of those Hob Nobs. They were lush).

  I stand on the other side of the battered van and dial Enid’s number.

  “Cammie?” she pants, evidently terrified. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Outside. We’re outside the warehouse!”

  “You know what would help? If you were inside. Preferably before McKenzie Crook violates me with one of his freakishly long fingers.”

  “Okay. Ew.”

  “We don’t have time for ew. Fucking rescue me, already!” she pleads.

  “I am, I am! Hunter and Labron are going to distract Little and Large so I can get past them…but this place is huge.” I stare up at the three stories of the warehouse, feeling hopeless. “I need a way to find you. What do you remember?”

  “Mostly I remember boning the good Captain.” She sighs wistfully. “He has a cock like a lightsabre, you know. He fucks for justice.”

  “Well that’s very nice. But since I can’t magically detect the trail of your overstretched snatch, it’s hardly a bucket of help and a half.”

  “Cammie. This is not the time for your poor taste in jokes.”

  “If I had a hammer,” I sing, “it could be hammer time. Stop. HAMMER TIME.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Enid shrieks. “They took me up to the second floor. I’m opposite the stereo playing the stakeout music.”