Page 31 of Too Old for Love

His breathing immediately quickened, the sweat now dripping from his body. He touched himself, trying to push his erection down.

“Please. If you’re not going to help me out, let me leave,” he said in pleading tone.

“We can help you, Jordan,” said Bron. “The drug you’re taking is going to kill you unless you let us help you. Tell us about Colt.”

“I can’t. Don’t you understand? I can’t. They’ll kill me,” he said in a panicked voice. It had turned from sexy god to almost whimpering child.

“The drug will kill you, Jordan. Let us help you,” said Piper. “Who killed Colt?”

“How do you know? Who told you?” he said finally taking a seat. It did nothing to help his groin situation but he lowered his head into his hands.

“He whispered your name before he died. Who did those terrible things to him? Samantha and Abigail?” asked Addie. His head jerked up and he realized just how much shit he was actually in.

“They’re brutal. They like it rough, really rough. I get women that want to be spanked or tied up but those two, they want more than that, in reverse.”

“What do you mean?” frowned Rory.

“Most women are the ones that want to be tied up or spanked, you know, living a fantasy their husband’s won’t give them. Those two are different. They want us tied up. I was always okay with it, mostly because I was taking the drug and I knew they would help ease my situation.

“But they were into more than we bargained for. We’re talking brutal shit. The kind of stuff you’d read about from the mafia or some biker gang.”

“That might be insulting to bikers,” frowned Magnus.

“I’m serious, dude. I’m talking spankings with wide wooden paddles until your skin blisters and sick shit shoved…”

“Stop!” said Bron. “Who killed Colt?”

“All of them,” he said quietly. He stood, gripping his chest and stared at the group of people in front of him. “I-I’m sorr-y.”

His body thumped to the floor like a fallen tree and Rory leaned over him, feeling for a pulse. He began chest compressions as Piper called for an ambulance, Lucia running out to the manager to let him know.

By the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone. Dead of a massive heart attack before the age of thirty. With his body leaving on a gurney, women stood outside the club. All but two. Samantha and Abigail were gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The bar was three neighborhoods away from the strip club, tucked behind a payday loan office and lit like the bottom of a dirty fish tank. It was not something either woman would be caught dead in, although that could be a problem in the future.

Samantha chose the back booth because it faced the door, then checked the mirror behind the bottles to make sure no one had followed them. Abigail sat across from her, both hands locked around a glass of water the waitress set in front of her. She hadn’t touched it, in spite of being completely parched and needing the water.

“Say it again,” Samantha whispered.

Abigail stared at the amber liquor between her fingers.

“He’s dead.”

The word vanished beneath the bass from the jukebox, but Samantha still felt it strike the table. A bartender laughed near the register. Ice cracked in a shaker. The crack of balls on a pool table being hit against one another made them both jump.

Somewhere behind them, a phone vibrated twice and stopped. The whole room went on living as if the two women in the corner had not just crossed into a different world.

“You checked?” Samantha asked.

“No I didn’t fucking check! There were a million people around him,” Abigail said. “I heard the EMT say there was no pulse, no breathing at all.” She finally drank, swallowing hard.

Samantha pressed her knees together beneath the table until they hurt.

“Who were those damn women that got his private room before us? I didn’t like the look of them at all. If they were with him, what did he say?”

“How should I know? I was with you, remember. And you didn’t like the look of them because they were beautiful and obviously rich,” scoffed Abigail.