Vivi Anna - Alluring Tales

The next few moments were mostly a blur. She didn’t remember jerking on the steering wheel and ramming into the side of the semitrailer. Or the flipping of the vehicle, as it turned over and over, landing-remarkably-back onto its wheels in the ditch. All she could remember were the grunts and groans she heard resounding in her ears. Surprisingly, it had sounded like more than one voice echoing around her.

Sangria didn’t know how long she sat still strapped into the driver’s seat, blood dripping down her forehead, until reason and awareness slapped her in the face. Putting a hand to her aching head, she surmised that she had a large cut on the crown. Looking at the red-splattered spider-webbed wind-shield, it wasn’t hard for her to guess from what.

Turning in her seat, she took inventory of the damage to her vehicle. The black bag was still there, jammed under the passenger seat. Her personal effects were strewn on the floor and seat from the glove compartment that had flown open. Seeing that triggered a horrible thought, and she spun in her seat.

The trunk door of the Hummer was open, and so was the hidden door in the floor. Damn it, she’d forgotten to padlock it!

Unhooking her seat belt, Sangria tried to open her door. It wouldn’t budge. The frame was bent inward, and she was very lucky that it hadn’t rammed into her side. Shuffling across the passenger seat, she tried that door, and discovered the same damage. She slid between the front seats, crawled into the back, and peered down into the false bottom of her vehicle. The compartment was empty. The case was missing.

With a cry of alarm, she jumped out of the back. Pain-immediate and sharp-ripped up her side, making her head spin. Looking down, she noticed blood blossoming on her t-shirt from under her arm. She lifted her shirt and noticed a long cut on her left side. Guess the car door didn’t miss.

Letting her shirt fall, she scanned the surroundings near the accident. The semi was nowhere to be seen. He obviously fled the scene. The driver was probably driving drunk, or had fallen asleep at the wheel. But when her eyes settled on something only three feet away, her injuries and everything else was immediately forgotten.

The case lay on its side all banged up, with the lid wide open.

She stumbled toward it, realizing that the cut on her head was making her a tiny bit woozy. As she neared, all the breath left her lungs, and she doubled over almost throwing up. She was in deep shit, and she didn’t have a shovel.

Lying on the ground a few inches from the case was a man. Bound and gagged but alive, he looked straight at her with wide vivid blue eyes.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she collapsed to her knees beside him. Her legs were quivering too violently to support her any longer.

Rolling over, he shuffled to her on his side, his eyes beseeching her to end his misery. Blood streaked his chiseled face and dampened the cloth gagging him.

With a trembling hand, Sangria reached over and pulled the gag out from between his full lips.

He sighed. “Oh thank God.” He moved his mouth open and closed, stretching out, what she assumed, were cramped jaw muscles.

“Who are you?” she asked, shock slowly creeping over her.

“Vance Verona.” He raised his bound hands behind him. “Can you cut these, please?”

“What-” She paused, rubbing a hand over her face in frustration, and then started again. “Why…what the fuck is going on?”

“I have a one-way ticket to the Blue Room district in Vegas,” he explained as he tried to pull apart the ropes binding his hands. “I’m a sex worker. Usually I entertain the most powerful women in the country, but I must have pissed someone off.”

“Do you think?”

Chuckling, he continued to squirm, jarring his shoulders back and forth trying to free his hands. “I do believe Lady Maxine Madison is mad at me.”

Gasping, Sangria made a grab for his gag. “No, no, no. Stop fucking talking.” He moved his head, but wasn’t quick enough. She shoved the cloth back between his lips and scrambled to her feet.

She marched back to her vehicle, mumbling under her breath. This could not be happening. The man did not say what she thought he did. He must have been mistaken. There was no way in hell that the First Lady, Maxine Madison, was involved in the sex industry.

Crawling back into the Hummer, Sangria slid into the front seat and turned the ignition. Nothing. The engine wouldn’t turn over. She tried repeatedly, to no avail.

“Fuck!” She banged the steering wheel with her fist. The situation was getting worse by the second. And she had no idea what to do about it. She didn’t have the contact’s number, and even if she did, using it might not be the wisest course of action, if she wanted to stay alive. She had broken her number one rule, and the only thing that could get her killed…she had seen what was inside the package.

Glancing in her side mirror, she could still see him on the ground near the case. He had ceased his futile efforts to release his hands and was just lying there staring toward the vehicle. Sighing, she glanced toward the road. So far, no other vehicles had stopped to inspect the accident. Didn’t surprise her, not in this day and age. No one stopped for anything.

However, it wouldn’t be long before her smashed-up vehicle attracted attention from the law. Unwanted attention that could get her killed.

She crawled into the back of the vehicle and lifted another hidden door in the floor. Pulling out a black bag, Sangria unzipped it and took inventory. She had her passport, some clothes, a roll of cash, a first-aid kit, and a gun. All the things she packed in case of emergencies. This was definitely one of those times.

Reaching over the passenger seat, she started grabbing the items spilled from her glove compartment and shoved them into the bag as well. When she was finished, she took a cloth rag and wiped down every inch of the vehicle, erasing her fingerprints. She took the moneybag and her pack, and jumped out of the vehicle. Bending down, she used her pocket screwdriver to take off the license plate. She shoved that into her bag too. It wouldn’t keep her hidden for long, but at least it was a start.

Marching back to the package, Sangria knew without a doubt that she was going on the run. There was no other way to avoid the inevitable. No matter her excuses, Ms. Madison would not keep her alive. She had seen too much. By accident mind you, but still she didn’t think the First Lady was going to care much about that. Her position was much too powerful and influential to have Sangria running around with the knowledge of her involvement in illegal sex trading.

Staring down at the cargo, she took in his handsome face and lean sculpted body. He had obviously been taken from his bed as he wore only a pair of black silk boxer shorts. Disheveled dark hair curled around his ears and hung over his forehead, covering one of his beautiful blue eyes. He was indeed exquisite to look at. He had probably been one of Ms. Madison’s prized studs.

Maybe I should leave him here. The thought crossed her mind then fled just as quickly. It didn’t matter anymore. She was a dead woman. She might as well have company along the way.

Using the pocketknife she had strapped to her ankle, Sangria cut through his ropes at his wrists and his ankles. Breaking free, he quickly sat up and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

“I thought you were going to leave me,” he sputtered.

“I thought about it.” She slung the moneybag over her shoulder. “Can you walk?” She held out her hand to him and pulled him up.

Standing, he flexed both his legs, rotated his shoulders, and then nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to have a t-shirt in that bag would you? I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now.” He splayed his arms out, indicating his bare chest. He didn’t need to do that for her to notice. He was the kind of man that all women noticed.

She unzipped the bag, and tossed him one of her tank tops. “I didn’t think that would bother you.”

Smirking, he yanked the shirt over his head and pulled it down over the straining muscles of his chest. “Why? Because women pay me to service them?” The shirt was tight and clung to every ridge and ripple he had. Smiling he cocked his head. “Honey, that just means I’m good at what I do. It doesn’t mean I don’t have any humility.”

“Sorry,” she said grudgingly.

He shrugged. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to get the fuck out of here and stay alive. Valley Wells Station is just over that rise. I know of a little shack we can hold up in. Then we split up. The rest is up to you, cowboy. You’ll be a free agent.”

With that, Sangria turned and walked toward the road, not caring whether he followed or not. She wasn’t any good with other people. She’d been alone for most of her life. She liked it that way. Fewer attachments, less complications.

But as he moved in next to her and matched her stride for stride, she felt a strange feeling of comfort wash over her. She was almost elated to have a companion. An emotion she couldn’t recollect ever experiencing.

The shack barely lived up to its name.

There were four wooden walls, dilapidated but still intact, a single lumpy mattress with surprisingly clean sheets on the dirty floor, a cracked linoleum table with one equally crumbling chair, and a bathroom, consisting of a toilet sans lid, and a shower stall without a door. The amazing thing was, the place had running water.

Sangria tossed her bag onto the floor and sat with an exhausted sigh on the chair. In the throes of lust, an old lover had told her about this place. He had been a gunrunner and had used the place years ago when he had to disappear for a few weeks. He had invited her along. She had refused. And that was the last time she’d ever heard from him. She wondered how long he lasted out here, with his big mouth that couldn’t keep his own secrets.