Masked Innocence

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He wore a black hood, simple dark loose fabric with two eyeholes cut out. She wasn’t sure if it was the hood or his body, but danger radiated from this man. His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, were dark brown pools of sexual intensity, blatant arousal in them. She paused, scared of him and the sexual heat that emulated from him, even with ten feet between them. Then she felt a hand on her back.

Mr. Gunter’s voice purred in her ear and she stiffened, closing her eyes briefly. Thin hands ran down the sides of her body and then moved up her front, squeezing her breasts and massaging them. She opened her eyes, looking into the eyes of the hooded stranger briefly, then looked away, ashamed, her lip trembling. She tried to be strong, tried not to cry. The hands moved up and gripped her neck, turning her face, and she felt Mr. Gunter’s pursed lips on hers.

* * *

I WHIRLED, RUNNING into Beverly’s big breasts, our faces almost colliding, and she took a step back with a wince. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” The girl’s squirting pussy was imprinted in my mind, and I clenched my legs together, wanting Brad here, now, instantly.

“Sure,” she said slowly, looking at me intently. “Is this too weird for you? It can be a lot to take in—”

“No,” I interrupted her, shaking my head and trying to smile. “I like it here. I just remembered something I wanted to ask Brad about.”

She shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need to see the last room. I can just tell you about it.” She looped her arm through mine and leaned close, her breast touching me. “It’s called the snack room, and is a lot of fun to visit during the party. It has lots of fun food you can eat off each other, or you can lie on the buffet table and have everyone nibble and lick things off you.”

I smiled politely, trying to listen but not able to get my mind off the woman in ecstasy and the circle of hard, waiting cocks.

The bedroom hall led back to the crowded foyer, and as we eased through, Beverly was stopped by several people. I finally leaned to her and whispered in her ear that I would see her later. She nodded gratefully to me and started chatting up a couple by the bar. I moved quickly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact and beelining for the great room. I stopped at the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, trying to find Brad in the dark, pulsating, room.

I saw him, alone by the window, huge and imposing, and felt a flood of relief. He was watching a couple on the couch—a young blonde with an older man—Brad’s eyes unreadable but dark. I quickly walked to him, and he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me to him.

“How was the tour?”

“Good. Interesting.”

“Good. Interesting,” he mocked, his hand trailing down my hip, teasing the skin at the bottom of my dress.

“Stop that,” I muttered, trying not to lean into his touch. “Yes, it was interesting. Beverly is very sweet.” A breath caught in my throat as his hand traveled higher, pushing up my hem. His attention was focused on me, thoughts of everything else disappearing, and the intensity was unnerving. “Why don’t we find a private place and—”

He grabbed me, shoving me hard against the wall, yanking my dress up till my lace panties were exposed, and spread my legs expertly with his knees. I sputtered a protest, but all that came out were whispered curses, my desire to not draw attention to us overriding my need to get him to keep his fucking hands to himself.

“Why don’t we skip the private place?” he said, his voice strong in my ear.

He slid two fingers in me, his eyes flickering at my soaked wetness, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb gently making delicious circles around my clit, the sheer fabric increasing the pleasure. I protested, quietly but fervently, but my words dropped off and my legs weakened. Sagging, I let my head drop back as I entered an unworldly plane of pleasure and arousal. He pulled on my dress, sliding the red fabric off my shoulders, and I felt the silky material fall away from my skin, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples puckering in the open air. I looked around desperately, worried about who might see. My eyes met with one man, then two, who watched with aroused interest before my head dropped back and I felt an orgasm hovering.

Brad did incredible things, his fingers and thumb making my clit stand hard and juices ooze from between my shaking legs. I gasped, gripping his shoulder and looking gape-mouthed into his smoldering eyes. “Do you like people watching you?” His voice was authoritative, demanding, and my rebellious side tensed at the tone. I protested weakly, my words turning into unintelligible moans, his words ringing true in my slutty core. “Do you?” His voice was now a rough whisper, and I moaned, opening my eyes for a moment, long enough to see another face, another pair of eyes on me. A man walked by slowly, close enough to hear, and I let out a strangled cry despite myself.

His fingers disappeared for a moment; then I heard a ripping sound as my panties became victim to his strength. I sagged against the wall, waves of pleasure growing in time to the vibrating bass, the slow circle resuming around my clit, the fingers sliding back inside my soaking pussy.

“God, you are wet,” he growled in my ear, and I could hear the wetness, the slick sound of his actions. “Almost as wet as I’m going to make that sweet little blonde on the couch.” Opening my eyes wide, I saw carnal activity all around and tried wildly to focus, to see who he was talking about. Perverse snapshots of different possibilities battered my mind. Brad with me, Brad’s hands, cock, mouth on someone else, her pleasure, my possession. My mind desperately tried to grasp on any form of sanity, but the sexual need, the slutty side of me that was in full unadulterated glory, took the thoughts and savored them, the competitive side of me feasting on the challenge. Then I saw her, the young blonde on the couch, her body lying back, perfect cream tits exposed. The sight, the thought, the jealous arousal sent me over the edge, and an explosion of pleasure erupted in my core, my screams bursting out, unable to control myself.

My orgasm was long, hard and insanely good—visions filling my head, my eyes opening intermittently, seeing faces, hearing words, knowing that a room was watching—the knowledge stretching out the orgasm, and I was close to sobbing when it ended, my body collapsed against him, legs useless.

I sagged in his arms, my thighs wet, body quaking. I had just come, in front of this whole room, men staring, my breasts hanging out, my panties ripped and tossed on the floor. I should have felt like a slut, a dirty whore. But instead I felt liberated, aroused. It was an interesting discovery, to know that I liked being dirty. I wanted to be stared at, pointed to, to have men lining up to fuck me. Inside, I felt a release of some tie, some leash undone, and I knew my descent into sexual awareness was just now starting. I wasn’t sure if I could ever tie it back into orderly place.

Eleven

Kate watched the hooded man as he stood in front of the brunette beauty. She slumped against the wall in front of him, her legs shaking, small breasts heaving. Her scream had broken through Kate’s mental block and caused her to look over, to see his fingers inside her, his mouth at her ear. Her face a masked vision of orgasmic pleasure.

The image caused Kate to tighten, aroused despite herself, and Mr. Gunter groaned, feeling her body twitch. His hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching them, moved downward, and Kate winced, shutting her eyes tightly. “No,” she said softly, too softly, and he laughed above her. “No!” She said it louder, pushing on his shoulder, and began to cry a bit in spite of herself, her body shaking and tears beginning the path down her face. She tightened her eyes, and willed herself to be strong.

When she heard it, loud and clear despite the noisy room, she froze, body stiff and rigid. The sound of him unzipping his pants, the rustle of clothing as he pulled out his cock. She glanced down, whimpering slightly, his thin, stubby dick already hard, sticking out like a dagger from his body. He was leaning over, his hands at her opening, preparing it for his bareness, and then he was gone. She blinked her tear-filled eyes, and saw the hooded man.

He had Mr. Gunter by the throat and was pressing him back, against a column at the entrance to the room. He whispered something in Mr. Gunter’s ear, something that made the old man’s eyes go wide in response. Kate sat up, pulling the sheer dress quickly down and standing, the room spinning briefly from the sudden movement. She sat, willing the room to still and searching for the strength to be able to go over, stop him, fix this. Whatever the big man was doing, he had to stop, had to leave Mr. Gunter alone. She couldn’t go back to Russia. Couldn’t go back to her family.

The brunette, beautiful, her eyes still glazed in euphoric pleasure, her skin flushed, sat down next to her, taking her hand. “I tried to stop him,” she whispered. “When he saw your face...” There was a loud crack and they both looked up. The big man stood over Mr. Gunter, his hand bloody, Mr. Gunter limp on the floor. A redheaded lady appeared and spoke urgently with the hooded man. The brunette put her arm around Kate and gripped her tightly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.

They carried Mr. Gunter away. Kate saw him move, in their arms, and wondered what was going to happen now. The big man appeared in front of her, his eyes dark, and Kate felt a curl below her stomach, a tightening in her body. He bent, a question in his eyes, and when she nodded, he picked her up, cradling her small body against his. He carried her through the party and out the back doors.

* * *

BRAD CARRIED THE blonde, her head curled into his chest, her hand gripping his large biceps. She was Russian, from the sound of her accent. He took her outside, down the side of the pool, and headed to a pool house at the end. I opened the door for him, and we walked inside miniature opulence. The pool house was a baby version of the mansion, identical in style and appointments. There were two bedrooms, and he laid her on the bed in the smaller room. I hung back, not sure what was going to happen next.

Brad’s earlier words, his muttered threat to pleasure the Russian, now, in the elegant light of the bedroom, seemed as insane as the bloodied man that they had carried away. So much had changed in that one instant. He had been standing before me, my eyes struggling to focus, legs trying to stand. Then a sound had come from behind us, a cry. Out of place, asexual in tone. Brad had frozen, his eyes meeting mine, face hardening below his hood, a coldness coming over his entire being. Who he became, in that instance, was almost scary. It was a hardened Brad, the light gone from his eyes, his hands turning unintentionally rough. He had lifted me, helping me find my balance, ensuring that I could stand on my own. Then he had turned, taking in the scene in one glance, as did I. Then he was gone, a blur of movement, violence and protection.

What I had envisioned during the throes of my orgasm, the images of Brad and the Russian that had taken the fire of my arousal and doused it with gasoline, wasn’t this. Wasn’t her lying damaged on the bed, him as her protector. I had actually wanted him to be with her, wanted to see how I felt when his hands touched her skin, when his lips brushed hers, the feeling of possessiveness when I watched his cock claim her tight body. I had, as ridiculous as it sounds, embraced the opportunity to watch him, to feel that competitive drive as it warped my arousal into new levels. But this, his concern, her vulnerability, was too personal, and I felt the evil tendrils of jealousy snake into my mind. He could fuck her, but he couldn’t care. My psyche wouldn’t allow that, despite the compassion I felt for her.

Lying back on the bed, she stared up at him, confused and wary. He started to speak, his words muffled, then reached up and pulled off the mask.

* * *

KATE INHALED INVOLUNTARILY. The black fabric pulled away to reveal an Italian god. He had olive skin and a thick head of black hair. Strong, handsome features, he would have been too beautiful if it weren’t for the overwhelming strength of his features. The man smelled intoxicating, and reeked of masculinity and sex. He spoke, his voice deep and gruff.

“Beverly said you can stay here. Get some rest. In the morning she will help, find you a new place to stay. It will be okay. Are you Russian?” His voice had gentled but was still dangerous to her, to any clear thoughts in her head.

She nodded. “My visa is almost expired.” Her voice sounded weak, broken, and she hated her stilted English.

He nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t worry.” He brushed his hands lightly, almost accidentally, over her as he pulled a blanket over her body. She pushed herself up, grabbing his shoulder, a question in her eyes, and he shook his head.

“I’m not here for that. I was just trying to help.” He pushed her gently down, his fingers caressing her almost imperceptibly and she inhaled, his touch sending desire in hot streaks throughout her body. He turned, his strong silhouette filling the doorway, and closed the door gently, sending the room into darkness. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts jumbled and fighting for attention.

Twelve

We spoke in hushed tones, in the second bedroom of the pool house. Beverly had joined us, hanging up her cell as she entered the room. I paced, worried. “Is that man okay? Did you really need to punch him? Are the police being called?” I asked rapidly.

He leaned back against a dresser, his arms crossed, looking impossibly sexy despite his bloody knuckles. “Julia, everything is fine. That scumbag will be fine, and will not press charges.” His wry tone calmed me down somewhat, but my nerves were still on edge. “Beverly, can you assist her in the morning? Get her clothes and breakfast, give her a ride?”

Beverly straightened, fixing Brad with a glare. “I’m not tossing her out like a lost puppy. She can stay her indefinitely. The guesthouse is available. I can always use someone to help out around the house.”

“If you need my help...”

Beverly waved off Brad’s offer. “Stop that, Brad. You’re a guest! I never should have allowed him to come with her. The invitation was a favor to my husband, and we didn’t know who he was bringing. This is my fault, and I’ll fix it.” She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, thinking, and then walked over to us, kissing me briefly on the cheek and squeezing my arm. “I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of the party. Brad, I expect a bill for your security services.” She winked at him and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I walked over to him and he took me into his arms, holding me tightly, and I relaxed against his chest. I wondered if he was still in the mood. A noise caused me to turn and I rotated in his arms, still pressed against his body.

The Russian stood, now naked, in the doorway. Her tight body and firm tits were goose-bumped in the cool room. Her eyes were pools of dark want and she stood, unsure, nervous in cheap heels. “I need you,” she said clearly, only a slight accent in her voice, her eyes locked with Brad’s. “Please.” I felt his thickness harden against my body and I stepped aside, watched him walk forward and stop in front of her. Guess that answers my question.

Brad looked down at the girl, his eyes sweeping over her naked body before coming to rest on her face. Her lips were full and pink, her eyes dark and longing. She licked her lips, her tongue lingering before disappearing in her mouth. He grabbed the back of her hair gently and pulled, tilting her head back so that she looked into his face.

“Why?” he whispered.

She frowned, confused. Her lips moved without speaking for a moment, and just a small gasp of air escaped her mouth. He loosened his grip on her, and she relaxed slightly, then spoke.

“Why what?” The accent was still there, her voice young and sweet.

“Why do you need me?”

“I don’t know. I just, watching you, with her in the other room...” Her eyes darted to me, then returned to his face, her expression searching him to understand. I understood. I knew the effect that Brad had on me, how I yearned for his touch, for the release he could give me. But I also knew what Brad was asking, what he was worried about.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his hand releasing her hair and traveling down, trailing on her skin until he broke contact, almost brushing her nipples. She sagged a little, exhaling softly, staring into his eyes.

“This isn’t for what you did. I wanted you earlier, thought of you then. Please,” she begged, her small hands reaching up and unbuttoning his top button. “Please,” she whispered again, moving down to the next button, her hands exploring his strong shoulders and sweeping under his shirt.

Yes. This was what I had wanted. I understood his concern, his desire to not take advantage of her vulnerable position. But I wanted my Brad back, I wanted the sex god who had taken my innocence and turned me into this deviant slut. I saw the need she had and my pussy panted for him to fill it, to be the man who I was falling uncontrollably for.

I took control, making the decision for him, closing the door and locking it, the loud click causing him to look up and meet my eyes. Staring at him, I tugged on one strap and then the other of my red dress, sliding it down my hips until it dropped to the floor, nothing but me underneath. Stepping over to a plush chair set in the corner of the room, I sat, facing the bed. Spreading my legs, I ran my hands over my inner thighs, squeezing, then gently teasing my already wet slit. I raised my chin and stared defiantly into his eyes. I know you are in there, baby.

He looked at me darkly, his eyes following the motion of my fingers, then studying my eyes, reading them, my confident stare meeting his. A slow, sure smile spread over his features. He shook his head, looking upward as if to heaven, then down at the petite blonde still grasping his shirt.

He walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her backward onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the bloodred duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes. I looked inside myself, tried to read the swirl of emotions that filled my core. Had I been right? Was this what I wanted? Jealousy was there, a hint of it, wandering outside the peripheral of my mind, trying to decide if she wanted to join in on this party. But a stronger emotion, lust, was first and foremost. It was like watching a disaster, and not being able to turn away. You know you shouldn’t look, but you ache for it so badly. Yes. I wanted to watch. A perverse, competitive part of me wanted to see him in action, to watch, and then join in the passion. Brad lifted his hand from her body and spoke, his words quiet, commanding. “How many men have you been with?”

She stiffened, tried to speak, then licked her lips, and words came out. “I never been with a man.”

Uh-oh. This might be a problem. My dreams of a hot and heavy sex fest faded slightly. Brad’s eyes darkened at her response, and he looked over at me, meeting my eyes, his face unreadable. Don’t stop, baby, I begged with my eyes, taking my fingers and pushing them inside me, my breath increasing in time with the thrusts of my fingers. Please. Just give her something.

He reached forward again, running his hand from her knees, up her inner thigh, past her apex, over her stomach, and brushed it lightly over her breasts, her nipples standing at attention under his strong hands. He exhaled deeply, placing a hand over each breast and squeezing them, watching them swell under the pressure. She gasped, arching her back a bit, and a sound close to a whimper came out. He straightened, looked at me again and beckoned with his hand.

“Julia. Come here.” I shook my head at him, my fingers moving slowly inside me, and he frowned, his expression unyielding. I finally stood, stepping over the crumpled pile of my dress and crossed the room until I stood next to him, and looked into his face questioningly. He turned, looking down at my nakedness, my breasts upturned to him, my heels tilting and displaying my body in a way that made beautiful all my curves. He ran his hands over me, not gentle and discovering, as he did with her, but possessive and demanding. Yes. He grabbed me as though he needed me, as if he were a man in the desert and I were his mirage. He pulled me tight to him and feasted on my neck and mouth, and when we finally separated, we were both panting. “On the bed,” he ordered, and I kicked off my heels and climbed onto the softness, brushing against the soft skin of the girl. On my knees, moving farther onto the bed, I paused, over her body, our eyes meeting.

There is something extremely sensual about eye contact. It is often more penetrating than physical sex. I looked into the pale blueness of her, and saw only wanton need. Need that, ever since I met Brad, I was very familiar with. I smiled, and her mouth curved in response, her eyes glued on me. Then she gasped and they shut, our connection severed. I looked back and saw Brad, his fingers moving with slow and steady precision in and out of her.

I turned, straddling her body, facing him, my ass to her head, and looked into the depths of his eyes. He was aroused, and I smiled at the dark look on his face. Possessiveness and desire lay in the lines of his face. I leaned forward, claiming his mouth with mine, and ground softly against her writhing stomach, my pussy leaving wetness on her skin. I felt small, soft hands tugging from behind me, pulling me back, and I parted from Brad, staring into his eyes as I allowed her to pull me, and lay back, atop her, my back hitting her soft breasts.

Her hands explored me, and I felt her lithe fingers running down the gully of my stomach, up the curve of my breasts, squeezing the flesh of my nipples. She was unashamedly curious, and her soft pants increased in cadence with Brad’s fingers, her body arching beneath me.

“Switch places.” The order was gruff, and Brad’s eyes were black with need. “I want to fuck you.”

I rolled off her, and he unbuckled his belt, watching us hungrily as she climbed on top of me, not lying as I did, but instead faced me, her knees on either side of my stomach. Brad groaned, his pants gone, moving close to us, and pulling me slightly so that my pussy lay flush against the edge of the bed. He ripped open a condom packet, his cock popping hard and ready, and my world went black when he entered me.

I came up for air, my senses reengaging all at once, her beautiful face above me, her breasts soft against my mouth, long hair tickling my neck. My legs, up in the air and spread, Brad inside me, then out, then in, the delicious friction of his pelvis on my clit. She moaned above me, eyes closed, and I realized he had fingers in her once again.

“God, she is so tight.” Brad’s voice floated down to me, and I looked up at the girl, her moans growing as she rocked her body above me. She looked down, her eyes meeting mine, then focusing on my mouth, and she hesitated, then leaned down to me. Brad’s statement was so erotic, the sum of all things present too much for me, and as her breasts touched mine, her mouth so close, I came, one of those stiff, tight, every-muscle-in-my-body-is-immobile orgasms. I gasped against her mouth, tightening around his cock, and he groaned my name as he increased his speed. It was long and hard, and I lost reality for a while before coming back to earth. My senses regained, I reached up and pulled her head down to mine.

She tasted like peppermints, her tongue small and delicate in mine, so different from the possessive kiss I had shared, moments before, with Brad. Then her body stiffened and her mouth was gone, and she threw back her head, her rigid body telling me what was coming.

When she came, it was strong, her moans turning to yells, a string of Russian words that we instinctively knew the meaning of. Brad somehow managed to keep up the furious rhythm with his fingers till she collapsed, shaking and quivering, ragged breaths on top of me, and he never stopped the delicious rhythm of fucking me, his speed increasing once she rolled off my body. He reached the point of pounding, my body shaking with the force of it, his face beautiful in its sexual intensity, and I was close to coming again when she finally recovered from her climax. She propped herself up, watching me, watching my face as it clenched and I bucked, and as my hands reached out to grab on to something, anything, she was there, her hands on mine, her greedy mouth on my nipples, and I exploded again, every muscle in my body tensing as waves of pleasure rocked my core.

Thirteen

After Brad thoroughly touched, licked and coaxed the Russian through three orgasms, she fell, exhausted, on the bed, a smile plastered to her face. She reached for me, pulled me to her lips and kissed me once, gently. Her hands turned my head and I felt her breath on my ear, her accented voice speaking. “Thank you. For sharing.”

I tried to think of an acceptable response, but my mind was useless, drugged with champagne and sex. I smiled, and she rolled over, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her body. Brad gathered our clothes and pulled my arm, tugging until I was upright and naked in front of him. He looked down, staring at my nakedness, then leaned over, kissed me gently along my cleavage, scooped me up and carried me out of the room and into the other bedroom. He avoided the bed, setting me on the floor, and I looked up at him in puzzlement.

He lay on top of me, completely bare, his arms keeping him light on my body. “I haven’t come yet,” he whispered.

I smirked. “I know. But I’m a little tired. I was thinking about going to bed.”

He nuzzled my neck, biting it gently while he pushed against me, his shaft sliding up between my legs, almost inside me, but a fraction too high. I groaned, untangling my legs from underneath his body and wrapping them tightly around him, my pussy now impossible to avoid, my need wet against him.

“Going to bed, huh?” His arrogance in my ear, my moan in response. His cock, so close, so teasing, there but not yet inside, lying hard against my ass instead.

“Maybe I’ll stay up a little longer.” I gasped as he was finally there, just the tip of him inside me, and I dug my heels into his back, panting, trying to push him farther in. He leaned down, whispered something against my mouth, then kissed me, softly, sweetly. As un-Brad-like as anything I could imagine. He tasted my mouth, trailed kisses along my jaw, sucked gently on my bottom lip. And when I finally relaxed, finally surrendered to his mouth and kiss, my legs going slack, he pushed his cock all the way in, taking my breath. I almost orgasmed right then, my need had been so great, then so fulfilled, his cock insanely perfect inside me. It took about a minute of deep slow strokes, almost painful in their perfection, and then I was done, shattering into pieces in his arms, my mouth open, frozen, as the swells washed over me. I was whimpering by the time I was done, and he held my face in his hands, looking into my eyes, his fire burning into me.

What had just happened, in the other room, that had been us, an experience we had shared, the blonde somehow an extension of our union. But now, alone in the room with each other, I was captivated, held in his arms, him filling me, his strokes quickening, our eyes locked in identical pools of lust. Then he took in a quick breath, closed his eyes and buried himself deeper, his thrusts stronger. I wrapped my arms and legs tight around him, riding his wave of orgasm, burying my face in his neck, his strong heat inside me.

He rolled over, pulling me with him, and I lay limp across his chest. I ran my hands down the clefts of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his muscles tight from exertion. His eyes were closed, and I pulled myself up until my face was above his. I ran my fingers lightly over his face, awestruck at the beauty in his strength. God, I was in trouble. In more ways than I could count. I didn’t know what I would become if I stayed with him, to what further depths I would plunge inescapably into, a slave to his sexual drugs. And I didn’t know what I would become if we parted, and how I would ever again find sexual satisfaction without the man.

We could just stop in, see how it works and leave. I made a mental note not to fall for that one again.

Fourteen

The limo moved quietly through the dark streets. Curled into a ball in Brad’s arms, my body limp, weakened by orgasms, four-inch heels and champagne, I watched passing streetlights flickering by, softened by the car’s dark tint. I closed my eyes and let my body go limp, kept warm by Brad’s jacket tented over me.

A few minutes later, on the verge of sleep, I heard him talking, softly, and my ears strained to catch his words.

“I need you to take care of something.” Brad spoke into his cell, looking out on the passing lights.

“What, a body?” The voice laughed roughly, loud enough that I could hear it. He shifted, and I saw his jaw tighten, face hard.

“There’s a Russian girl, at 42 Hemingway Drive. In the morning, have Maria call Beverly Franklin—I’ll text you her number. Tell Maria to offer assistance to Beverly, see if there is anything she can do to help out with the girl’s situation. Have her mention our contacts in immigration.”

There was silence for a moment. “You fucking this girl?”

“No. Not that it matters.” Brad’s voice changed when he was on the phone. Softer in volume, but harder in tone. The smooth cadence and cultured voice were gone, replaced with a rough brogue and steely tone. He ordered rather than asked.

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”