Just Curious Ch. 09

Only 2 more chapters after this one. I might be a bit biased, but the end of this chapter is pretty hot. Enjoy, my pervy readers, enjoy.

Chapter 9 (Wednesday)

I'm being jostled. The room I'm in is light. More jostling. Uuughh, Marcus. I curl into a ball. Every morning he's woken me up by dripping sweat on me. "No." I'm grumbling.

The blanket is pulled off; more grumbling. Did I mention I am not a morning person? He grabs my ankles and slides me to the edge of the bed. I cover my face with my arms. "Come on. Not today."

"Not today, what?" His voice is soft and gentle.

"It's gross when you drip sweat on me."

Silence, then laughing. "You don't seem to mind it when I'm using you. In fact, you're usually begging for more."

"Perv. That's 'cause something funner was going on. I wasn't begging you to sweat all over me." He helps me stand.

"Funner? I don't remember ever being called 'funner' before. Not sure it goes with my carefully cultivated reputation as a bad-ass. I wonder if I should punish you for the 'funner-ish-ness' of it."

I slap him lightly on the chest as he pushes me toward the bathroom. "You got thirty minutes. Don't get your hair wet."

I put my hair up and shower quickly. As expected, there is another dress on the bed. This one I've never seen before. My curiosity is peaked. Where did he get it? Why? And what is it? I take a closer look before putting it on. It's a short, very short pleated white, blue, and hunter green skirt with a thin white button down shirt. I roll my eyes and it dawns on me. It's a Catholic schoolgirl outfit.

I put it on. It's as bad as expected. The skirt is shorter than I'm comfortable with. The sheer white shirt is tighter than tight. It barely reaches the waistline. I'm almost scared to breath. What if a button, ... or multiple buttons, pop off? I'm still taking in the outfit when Marcus comes in and checks up on me. He has long khaki shorts and a polo shirt on. His muscles fill out every inch of the shirt. Why does he get to look so good, and I look like a high-schooler who went through a sudden overnight growth spurt.

I turn to face him and he has this glint in his eyes. I stick my tongue out at him. "Seriously? What grown man still has this as a fetish? I thought you were a higher level of perv than this?" I indicate the schoolgirl outfit.

"You should know by now that I prefer you completely naked and begging for more, but unfortunately, that is not an option this morning. So the next best thing is to have everyone else begging for more." He grins mischievously down at me. Ah crap! That is not good.

Without breakfast, he leads me down to the garage and we leave the strip behind. We chat easily as we drive to a golf course. He parks, hops out and opens my door for me. I look up at him, hoping for a reprieve. "Come on. You'll be fine. The dress is not as bad as you think it is. Trust me."

I hop out, he grabs two golf clubs from the back seat, and we walk into the clubhouse. Marcus registers and pays before we follow the smell of food into the restaurant/bar area. My first Las Vegas buffet! I look around the room to see if anyone is watching me. Not really, but then I see the black man from last night's poker party. I tug Marcus's arm and indicate Theo. "Good girl, let's go have a seat." We walk over to him, he stands to greet us and we sit down for breakfast. Marcus orders me a mimosa and he has orange juice mixed with cranberry juice.

I'm only allowed a small amount of food from the buffet; some fruit and an English muffin. I'm starving, so I'm not happy about that, but I'm not going to question him in front of his friend. A man walks in and announces we're beginning. He calls three teams; one is up, one is on deck, and the last one is on call. Six men stand and follow the announcer out a glass door to the golf course. They each have only two golf clubs.

I'm checking out the other people in the room, "Marcus, why does everyone have only two golf clubs?"

Marcus looks around. "Actually a few have three, but most people prefer two. Two are easier to carry?"

OK, technically that was an answer, but I still don't get it. We eat and chat as more teams are called. People get up by twos and head out the glass doors. Finally Theo and Marcus are called. They grab their two clubs, and all three of us walk to the golf course. We get to the first tee and stop at a small table. There's a skinny man sitting down in front of a laptop, and another older man standing behind him. The guys register, are given three golf balls each, and a numbered race bib they tape to their chest. Marcus is purple 216, and Theo is green 71. Two other men are waiting to tee off. We stand by the desk while the guys discuss strategy. The man standing behind the desk calls out a countdown: Five-Four-Three-Two-GO!

The two guys waiting to tee off hit their balls simultaneously and sprint down the golf course after them. The man, who called the countdown, uses his cell phone to call out the next group from the clubhouse. I look behind us, toward the clubhouse, and another pair of men are half-way here.

Marcus and Theo pick a tee and set up to tee off. Marcus hands me a putter. "Don't get hit by a club or a ball, and keep up, OK. You'll need to hand me the putter when we get close to the cup."

The man sitting at the desk pipes up. "Excuse me sir, only two players per team."

"She's not playing. She's my caddie." Marcus doesn't even turn to look at him; he's focused on teeing up his ball.

"Sir, caddies are not allowed. This is a timed event, an extra person on the course would slow down this round, and progress through every round after it. I'm sorry, but I can't..." Marcus has turned to glare at the pip-squeak. The man standing behind the desk hits the little guy on the shoulder. When the guy turns to look back, the other mans shakes his head and leans in to whisper something in his ear. The pip-squeak looks back at us and swallows. "That'll be fine, sir. Proceed."

Marcus nods to the older man, and re-tees. As the next group arrives and starts signing in, the older man calls out the countdown: "Five-Four-Three-Two-GO!" Marcus and Theo whack their golf balls in unison and take off down the course after them. I stand there like an idiot for a second or two before my mind catches up and I race off after Marcus.

For the next hour, I'm running around a golf course in this stupid little dress and a pair of slippery-soled sandals. I wipe out twice; once I end up doing splits, the other time is almost a faceplant in the sand. It's not till the fourth hole before Marcus and I find our rhythm. I figured out to run toward the ball, not Marcus, and that seems to work better than blindly chasing after him. People are shouting occasionally, ourselves and the others. Screaming when a ball gets lost, shouts to warn their partners of incoming projectiles, egging and boasting, and apparently random swearing. I can't stop to see what's going on, I just keep running.

The 18th hole is in sight. There is another man sitting with a laptop. Marcus gets his ball in the cup before Theo. I'm standing with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath, as we wait for him to finish. "What's my score?"

I look up at Marcus. "What? You didn't say I was supposed to keep track! I don't know."

"Why do you think I brought you along? So you're saying I don't have a score for this morning?"

Theo is just now finishing the final hole and coming toward us. "I'm sorry Marcus. I wasn't keeping track. I couldn't even give you a good guess at this point."

Theo joins us breathing heavily and asks Marcus for his score. Marcus answers instantly. "I had a 102. How about you?"

Theo got a 109. I'm about to start shouting at Marcus, when he winks down at me. "I was just fucking with ya. Did you have fun?"

I try to punch his chest, but he grabs me and hugs me instead. "Dork. You scared me to death. I thought I was going to get punished again." Theo has caught on to the prank and both men laugh. We go get our times from the guy with the laptop. Marcus had 77 minutes 32 seconds, Theo had 80 minutes 4 seconds. Marcus has a total score of 179 with a tiebreaker of 32. Theo's total is 189 with a tiebreaker of 4. Holy crap. I ran around a golf course for an hour and 17 minutes. No wonder I'm out of breath. We head back into the clubhouse. Marcus lets me dry my shirt in the bathroom before we sit down for brunch. Now I get to eat whatever I want. I get the bananas foster crepes, bacon, a muffin, and some kind of cheesy hash brown concoction. Marcus, Theo and I sit and chat until my yawning becomes distracting. Both men are looking at me. "Sorry. I can't help it."

Marcus and Theo wrap up their discussion, and we head out. "Home and sleep for you, little minx. You did great this morning."

"Thank you, Marcus. I'm exhausted."

We say our goodbyes in the parking lot, and climb in the SUV and head back home. "That was fun. Thank you for taking me, even if caddies aren't allowed."

"You are more than welcome. I enjoyed watching you scamper around the course. I especially enjoyed the splits you did. Quiet impressive." He winks at me, and I punch his arm. He's a dork sometimes.

He pulls into the underground parking and parks in his spot. He gets out of the SUV, walks over to my side and helps me out. Then all hell breaks loose. Cops swarm over Marcus; a few are trying to pull me away. "You bastards!" Marcus eyes lock on mine. "Ask for a lawyer and keep your mouth shut. They're trying to get to you." The men pull Marcus up the ramp and out the parking garage. Oh shit! They want me?

There are two men surrounding me. I feel completely underdressed. A third man walks up and introduces himself. "I'm Captain Williams of the LVPD. And you are?" I don't say anything. He waits then continues. "I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind?"

"I'd like a lawyer now, please." I can hear my voice cracking.

"You're not under arrest, nor are you suspected of committing a crime. I'm just here to talk to you."

"Where's Marcus?"

"He's talking with some officers outside; I'd thought it'd give us some privacy. See, I don't think you know who he is. I don't think you have a clue what he does."

He pulls a folder from inside his bulletproof jacket. He shows me multiple pictures of men and woman. "All of these people had dealings with Marcus. All of them are missing. All of them! Gone. Off the face of the planet." He shows me maybe two dozen photos in all.

"I also suspect you don't know who employs your 'friend'. Drug dealers. Mob bosses. Mexican Cartels. Russian Bratva. Even the Japanese Yakuza on occasion." With each new criminal organization named, the captain shows me more pictures of Marcus with different people. He lets that sink in for a while.

More pictures. These are all of women. Beautiful women in dresses like mine. With each picture, the captain says a name and a date. I try not to let it show, but those pictures hurt. They probably already have my picture to add to the pile. "I'd like a lawyer now."

"I haven't asked you any questions. Nothing here implicates you in any crimes. I see you're a tough nut to crack. Let's try these pictures. No commentary is necessary." The next group of pictures are all dead people. Some old and dry, some new and bloody. Some in water, some in sand, and some burnt beyond recognition. Old, young, men, women, all races and colors. "You don't have to stay with him. You can walk out of here right now, with us."

There's a flurry of activity around me. Marcus grabs me and pulls me away from the captain. He goes on an all-out tirade; threatening lawsuits, questioning masculinity, condemning morality, reproaching integrity, and berating their intelligence. If I would have been listening, it would have been quite impressive.

He pulls me out of the parking garage and into the elevator. We don't speak as we rise to the third floor. Quickly out and down the hall to his condo. He unlocks the door and ushers me inside before he starts swearing again. Like full-blown drunken sailor swearing. I stand against the kitchen wall, trying to be as small and quiet as possible, my mind still processing what the captain said to me and what he showed me. I sink to my knees and start crying, softly. Very softly.

Marcus is on the phone, short, brunt orders are shouted. "I need sweepers. Now... The condo...Yes." The next call. "Find out who signed off on this... File a harassment claim... Yeah yeah. I want the paper trail, damn it. I want to know who's rolling the ball on this shit," The third call. "Elliot, Captain Dick-up-his-ass was just fucking with me, but they were after her...Sweep the office and make some calls. I want to know if it's a blind grab, or if they have something...No, the sweepers should be here within an hour...Sunshine in the mountains...The Christmas tree is upside-down...The panther is on the bookshelf. Got it? OK. Quick quiet on everything and I'll talk with you later."

Oh joy, he has codes for this. I hear him sit at the kitchen table. I know he's looking at me. I try to stop sobbing and sit as quietly as possible. He doesn't move, doesn't talk; he just sits there. Minutes go by. I hear him getting up off the chair. He gently takes me by the arms and helps me stand. He tries to hold me, but my instincts make me pull away from him. I still can't look at him. Does he really kill people?

He takes my wrist and leads me to his bedroom and into the bathroom. He turns on the water and starts unbuttoning my sheer white shirt. It drops on the floor. He turns me around and unbuttons and unzips the skirt. That joins the shirt on the floor. One by one, Marcus's clothes join mine. He checks the water temperature, and then guides me inside the shower. I'm not chained up this time, so I just stand there. Marcus washes me first. From top to bottom he shampoos and soaps me down. Then he cleans himself. He dries us off and we go into his bedroom. I stand there naked, with my hair dripping, as he gets dressed. He then looks through my bag, but he seems frustrated so he drops it onto the bed. He produces a large soft bathrobe and helps me into it. It's his, so it hangs off me. He grabs my cell phone and his laptop and we go back to sit in the kitchen. He pulls a chair for me, and another sits empty across from him. The electronic devices sit quietly in the middle of the table.

We wait in silence. Marcus's cell phone buzzes. He answers it, but doesn't speak. He gets up and pushes the button by the door. A short time later there's a knock, and Marcus lets three men in. They're dressed casually, carrying backpacks. They enter without saying a word. One man sits at the table with me, another goes to the living room, the third goes down the hall toward the bedrooms.

The man in the living room pulls out something that looks like a hand-held metal detector and starting in a corner, methodically goes over every inch of the room. The man at the table starts up a small laptop then takes Marcus's cell phone and slips the backing off and pulls out the battery. He searches it visually, before replacing the battery and plugging it into his laptop. Wordlessly, these men systematically go through the entire condo. Every electronic device is searched, including my cell phone. It doesn't take long for them to finish. The man who checked the electronics is the first person to speak. "The apartment is all clear. The security footage from the hallway isn't quite done yet, but he went back two weeks, and nothing unusual so far. The SUV had a tracker on the rear wheel well."

"What kind?"

"A Trax. Real-time tracking. It has a two day history, so it was placed Monday." He puts a finger to his ear and cocks his head to the side. "The security footage is done; no one is seen entering your condo from the hallway camera." Monday was the spa. They've been following us since then.

"Does he have the garage footage from earlier?" Marcus seems to be handling this like it's an everyday occurrence.

"Yes, sir."

"Let me talk to him." The man pulls out his cell and hits the speed dial, then hands it to Marcus. Marcus asks what the cops did to me in the garage. Then he asks for it to be sent to his e-mail. He hangs up and thanks the men. The leader says he'll check the SUV randomly for the next week. The men leave. It's just Marcus and me now.

Marcus sits down again. Silence. I know he's watching me. I know he's livid, but he's not mad at me. I hear the screech as he scoots his chair forward. I've had over an hour to think and process the situation. Finally I look him in the eye. I catch him with his mouth open prepared to speak. "Don't. Just don't. I am exhausted. Having a S.W.A.T. team attack me scared the living crap out of me, which is what it was designed to do. I was shown pictures of people. First they said they were missing, but for all I know they could have been shoplifters at Wal-Mart. Then pictures of you standing next to people. Again, that could have been anyone; lawyers, politicians, your baseball team, anyone. Third were pictures of you with tons of women; just like me. I knew you don't get to be like you without a lot of practice, but I didn't need that 'practice' thrown in my face. The last group was gory and disgusting, and I hope they don't show up in my nightmares. But if they knew you had killed all those people, you'd be in jail already. Wouldn't you? It was just a shock tactic by the cops."

I struggle to my feet. "Am I happy right now? No, not at all. Do I feel safe? I'm not sure how I would define 'safe' at this particular moment, but I don't think you'd hurt me. I don't like the thought of cops stalking me and harassing me. I know you're a bad man, but you haven't shown me anything illegal or shady yet. Do I want to go home? I know there's a soft, comfortable bed at my house. So if you don't get me some sleep soon, I'm going to go there to get some sleep. I just want to go to sleep, OK." His mouth is still partially open and he's just staring at me.

I roll my eyes. I stomp my foot down. The scream comes from somewhere deep down inside me. "Close your mouth and do something! You're supposed to be in charge, remember?"

In an instant he launches at me. My arms are wrenched above my head. His bulk slams into me, pressing me against the wall, my breath whooshing out my lungs. One arm wraps around the small of my back, pulling my body against his. We stay motionless like this for a small eternity; I feel his hot breath rhythmically bearing down on my ear. "When you have the nerve to give ME orders, I get an overwhelming need to BREAK YOU. To make you crawl. To make you beg. To make you scream."

He keeps me pinned to the wall until he regains control. With a hand on the back of my neck, he guides me to the bedroom. The bathrobe is unceremoniously stripped off me and tossed on the floor. "Bed. Now." I walk carefully to the bed, pull the sheets back and climb in. Marcus turns the baby monitor on and glares down at me for a while before finally turning to leave. My mind is swirling around dozens of thoughts and ideas, but not able to focus on any particular one for long. I haven't have a good sleep in what seems like ages, I was running around a golf course earlier, and my tummy is full of decadent, sleep-inducing food. My mind doesn't stand a chance and soon I'm slipping into a deep, healing sleep.

*********

The veil of sleep is slowly lifting off me. My eyes flutter open, the curtains over the windows drowning out the bright Nevada sunlight. Vegas. I'm in Vegas. Marcus. Where's Marcus? I try to move, but I'm stuck. A large arm is under my head, another is wrapped around my stomach. Our legs are so intertwined that I don't know where mine begin and his ends. The slow regular breathing behind me turns into a low soft growl. The arm around my stomach moves higher up and tugs me closer into his body. How did he wrap himself around me without waking me up? "Marcus."