Her parents took a huge step back from her life. They didn’t have to explain themselves to me; I knew why. Cindel didn’t. But I was here for the long haul, no intention of leaving Cindel to face this city alone. She is the one who insisted on staying here in Boston, after her parents left. I may not agree with her uninformed choices, but I’m here for her.
When Brodi disappeared, a part of my best friend went with him. Now, it feels like I have to reach deep inside just to get any idea of what’s going on with her. I desperately want to uncover the Cindel I once knew in there. I swear that fucker Brodi better be dead, because if I find him alive, I’ll kill him myself.
Cindel and I barely speak until our meals arrive, both of us are lost in our thoughts.
I dig into my veggie hummus wrap while she douses her meal in sticky amber colored goo. Girl is gonna have diabetes before forty at the rate she consumes sugar.
We eat, I pay, and we find ourselves once again at a loss for words, just outside the diner. I look up at my best friend, who is even taller than me with her beloved Doc Martens on.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She chews on her bottom lip while she thinks about my question. She looks so… broken. Long minutes pass before she finally makes eye contact with me. Her tired eyes wrinkle at the corners while her mouth strains into a smile.
“No… thank you. For always being there for me.” She throws her arms around me in a tight embrace, before she leaves, heading to her other shit job.
The giant calendar on the fridge in our apartment displays her work schedule for the month. Today, she’s at Star Mart. A supermarket chain with multiple locations. She started working at the one off Washington Street about a year or so ago.
I make sure I always know where she is, but she can’t say the same for me. Cindel rarely knows my whereabouts. In fact, I have an important errand to run today that she, thankfully, has no idea about.
CHAPTER
THREE
BRODI
Six months ago…
It’s just after midnight, and I’m still at the shop. I’ve been a mechanic at Rick’s Rides for damn near four years, but it didn’t pay worth shit. Not like being a bookie for the Murray’s. Sure, they were a bunch of seedy assholes, but I knew an opportunity when I saw one. As long as they stayed in the dark about what I was doing, things were going swell. I’ve been busting my ass for too long and I deserve to eat better than a steady diet of microwaved noodles with saltines. Plus, I like boxing in my free time, keeps my mind sharp. Especially when I become so bored of the same remedial tasks.
Bike comes in; replace the filter, empty the old engine oil, refresh fluids, and inspect the rear drive belts. Same shit day in and day out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at what I do, but I know I’m destined for better things. Rick was a good guy and that’s why I stayed loyal to him for so many years.
Rick tossed me the keys an hour ago, after he threw an arm around his old lady and headed home. I sit behind my boss'swooden desk, lounging in a worn, ripped leather seat. Between my legs bobs a raven-haired vixen that smells of cheap perfume and cloves. She has wicked curves in all the right places and an even more wicked mouth. My phone buzzes with a text; Doe-eyes looks up at me.
“Everything okay?” she coos.
I suck in a short breath through my teeth from the sudden loss of her warm mouth around my dick. “Everything’s fine. Fuck, don’t stop.”
I collect her hair in my hand and force her back down, encouraging her to work me faster this time. Her cheeks hollow out, allowing my cock to slip deeper into her throat and she attempts to swallow, tugging on the head of my dick, while her hand fondles my balls. I firmly press the back of her head down, as she starts making a gurgling sound. Knowing this bitch is choking on my cock causes a tingling sensation to start at the base of my spine. She hums, knowing exactly how I need it, vibrating the sensitive tip.
“Fuck. Right there.”
I can feel my balls draw up and I close my eyes, lost in the feeling. With a final wet gag from her, I unload down the bitch’s gullet. I hold her head in place as the once forceful jabs become slow, shallow pumps until she’s consumed every drop of me. She pops off and leans back onto her bargain heels.
“Damn, woman… do you always have to tag my dick with your hooker paint?”
She giggles in response before she retrieves a tissue from her purse, and hands it to me.
Like this could possibly help.
I fervently rubbed the traces of her lipstick off my cock, as I watched the little minx reapply her crimson stain.
This one came with me to one of the fights this past week but bailed early. I told her she owed me a blowjob for it, so sheshowed up at Rick’s to deliver. If I couldn’t get my dick wet in an alley behind The Bay Boxing Club, I had to wait until my boss had me close the shop.
Cindel was in my bed currently, so going back to my place was out of the question.
I tuck myself back into my pants before I fasten them and lean back in the chair, propping my boots up onto Rick’s desk. It’s such a relic; he won't even notice any wear to its surface.
“Don’t wait too long to call me this time, sugar.”
