Each red light felt like a countdown, amplifying the tension coiling in my gut. Bronson Riddick had called, he wanted to meet me at La Verité, a high-end restaurant in the heart of the city, and against my better judgment, I was on my way. Part of me clung to a desperate hope that maybe he would consider forgiving my gambling debt, but I knew that was a long shot.
After finding a spot in the crowded parking lot, I turned off the engine and sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the city outside drowning out my racing thoughts. I took a deep breath, running through the conversation I anticipated. I had to play it tough; there was no other choice. Fear pulsed beneath my skin, but not as fiercely as it once did. I had already faced threats from his hitmen, and those words no longer held the same power over me as they once did. But threats turning into real-world violence did scare me. As I gathered my resolve, I envisioned how I wanted the conversation to unfold. I’d stand my ground, and show no weakness. I was no longer the scared girl who had stumbled into this mess. I was a survivor, and I’d face whatever Reddick had planned with unyielding strength. It was time to reclaim my narrative before he had the chance to write it for me.
As I walked into the restaurant, a heavy certainty settled in my stomach, as undeniable as the ticking of a clock. I knew he was going to give me one last chance to repay my debt, an amount I couldn’t possibly scrape together. It was like a freight train barreling down the tracks toward me, loud and unrelenting, and no matter how much I wanted to ignore it, the impending collision felt inevitable. The stakes were clear: pay up or face the consequences, and deep down, I knew Bronson wouldn’t hesitate to threaten my life if I couldn’t deliver. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I braced myself for the storm that was about to hit.
I entered the restaurant and got sat at a corner table, the plush fabric of the chair a stark contrast to the cold knot in my stomach. The restaurant was opulent, with chandeliers dripping with crystal and soft jazz wrapping around me like a velvet noose. I scanned the room, my fingers tracing the rim of the wine glass, and wondered if this was all just a game to Bronson Reddick. He had summoned me here, but I felt more like the prey waiting for the predator.
After twenty minutes, he still hadn’t arrived, so I got up to take a piss, I was seriously regretting the strong cup of coffee I had before coming here, I was now anxious and jittery as a result. I was already nervous about meeting Riddick who was likely about to threaten my life, I didn’t need caffeine making it any worse. In the washroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and for a moment, something was striking about my reflection; my face was bare, raw like the rough cut of a band’s live performance. The contours of my cheekbones were accentuated, and my skin was glowing with a natural radiance. I leaned closer, studying the slight bags beneath my eyes, a testament to the rising stress. This unpolished version of myself felt more authentic than any carefully crafted look I’ve ever worn. This is the side of me I wanted Riddick to see.
I returned to my table and the minutes dragged on, my annoyance simmered. He was deliberately late. The kind of late that screamed power play. Just as I was about to check the time again, the atmosphere shifted. I caught sight of him entering, flanked by two hulking figures who moved with the silent menace of trained protectors. They turned towards the bar, leaving Reddick to glide across the marble floor with an unsettling ease.
He was dressed in well-worn blue jeans that hugged his frame just right, and a crisp white T-shirt that contrasted starkly against his tanned skin. His white sneakers looked almost brand new, adding a youthful touch to his otherwise relaxed appearance. The way he moved, with a relaxed gait and a subtle swagger made it clear that he was entirely comfortable in this space, and that made my stomach twist. As he neared, the smile on his face felt both inviting and ominous, as if he was just as likely to share a laugh as he was to issue a threat.
“Ashley,” he said, his voice smooth like silk but carrying an edge that sent a shiver down my spine. “I hope you didn’t mind the wait.” I forced a smile in return, masking my irritation, aware that every interaction was another step in this dangerous game. I managed a tight smile as he slid into the chair across from me, his presence dominating the space between us. “Nice place you picked,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “Very… lavish.”
He chuckled softly, leaning back as if settling into a throne. “I like to surround myself with the finer things in life, Ashley. They remind me that everything has a price.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “Including people.”
The speed with which he had turned to subtle threats made my stomach churn as I studied his face, searching for any hint of humour. There was none. “We’re not here to discuss décor, Bronson,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tension creeping into my chest. “Are we.”
Riddick was about to answer when a young waiter approached our table to take his order. He waved his hand, dismissively. “Ain’t hungry.”
“Very well, sir,” the waiter said as he abruptly turned away.
Riddicks smile faded, replaced by a chilling seriousness. “You know Ashley, you still owe me a considerable sum for your little gambling escapade, and I’m afraid debts don’t just disappear. You understand? Not with men like me.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, the playful façade gone. “It’s a simple equation. You either pay up or face the consequences. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt, but… well, sometimes, unfortunate things happen to those who don’t take their obligations seriously. It’s not my fault you’re a degenerate fucking gambler.”
“Was a gambler,” I said defensively.
Riddick leaned back in his chair, a sardonic smile curling at the corners of his lips as he waved a hand dismissively. “You know, Ashley, there are some basic rules to blackjack that even a novice should grasp,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Like, for instance, hitting on seventeen. I mean, come on, it’s practically the cardinal sin of the game. If you’re standing there at the table, staring down a decent hand, and you still think a little more risk is the way to go, that’s not just a poor decision—it’s a neon sign flashing ‘I have a gambling problem.’ You might want to take a moment and reflect on that.” His eyes glinted with mockery as he leaned forward, clearly relishing the moment, waiting for my reaction to his pointed jab,” It’s your fault you’re in this situation, not mine.”
I squared my shoulders, locking eyes with him. “ You know Bronson, at first, your hitman’s threats rattled me, I’ll admit it, I was scared. But now? Those words ring empty. If you’re up for this game, then stop hiding behind phone calls and prove it. Show me you’re more than just talk. It’s your move now. I’m tougher than you think, Bronson. You should know that by now.” Every word was a challenge, daring him to push me further.
“I know you are. I have to admit, that’s what I liked about you when we first met. You put off a strong, confident vibe. You’re an alpha female, and I like that.”
“What do you mean, alpha female?” I inquired.
Bronson leaned forward, his voice smooth yet piercing. “It’s not just about being dominant or assertive. An alpha female is someone who owns her power and commands respect without needing to scream for it. She knows her worth and isn’t afraid to show it, whether in a boardroom or a back alley. It’s about confidence, resilience, and a certain fierceness that intimidates those who don’t understand her.”
“Is that so?” I replied, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair, intrigued despite myself.
He shrugged, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Those threatening phone calls from my hitman didn’t rattle you as much as I thought they would. Honestly, I thought you’d call the police. Most people would crumble under that pressure, but you stand tall. That’s the essence of an alpha. You’ve got the strength to fight back, even when the odds are stacked against you.”
“You know, you might be right about that, Bronson.” I leaned in closer, my voice steady despite the tension crackling between us. “I’m not ready to die, and I have no intention of letting that happen. I’m not about to let some piece of shit like you decide my fate. I’ve bought a gun, I just thought you should know that.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and a smirk came over his face. “A gun? What kind?”
“It’s a Glock 18.”
Bronson’s lips curled into a slow smile, and I could see the flicker of respect in his dark eyes. “A Glock 18,” he said, his tone shifting to one of genuine admiration. “That’s a good choice. Reliable. Powerful. You’ve got taste, Ashley. Are you sure you know how to use that thing?”
“Maybe we’ll find out,” I said, holding his gaze.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “You know Ashley, my crew? They’re not just any thugs. They’re hardened, ruthless men, each one built like a tank, with a serious tendency towards violence. My operation is vast. We’ve got cocaine flowing in from every corner of the world, and I’ve got some real scumbags working for me, Real scumbags, the kind who don’t know the meaning of mercy. Do you think they care about your gun? You’re up against a cartel, a machine that doesn’t stop for anyone. You think a little gun will protect you from me?”
He leaned back, contemplating. “You know, I’m getting bored of this conversation. It seems you and I are at an impasse. I can’t let your debt slide, so we either negotiate a new arrangement or find a more… permanent solution.”
“What kind of arrangement are you talking about?” I asked, immediately regretting the question.
A slow smile spread across his face, one that creeped me out. “Let’s just say I could use someone with your spirit. There are ways to settle debts that don’t involve money. I could handle falling asleep every night with my hands on those big tits of yours. I bet you suck a mean dick too.”
I felt a surge of disgust at his implication. “Keep fucking dreaming,” I said flatly, “ I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth. The thought alone makes me sick.”
As I refused him, I saw his expression shift, the warmth in his smile evaporating. A coldness settled in, and I felt the weight of his gaze sharpen. At that moment, I realized he had made a decision—a dark, final decision. At this point, there was no turning back
As he inhaled loudly through his nose, his tone shifted from arrogant back to threatening. “I don’t regret lending you that money Ashley. But you have to understand as a matter of principle I have to do something about this unfortunate situation you and me are in. There are only a few options available to us here if you can’t pay me back, and if you don’t want to suck dick, then there’s only one option left. You understand that right? How would it look if a man like me let somebody slip on a debt of hundred grand? How would that make me look like someone to be feared in the criminal underworld? Imagine if word got out that I let some skank like you renege on a debt. It would make me look weak. I can’t allow that.”
I stared straight into Reddick’s cold, calculating eyes. The fine linen tablecloth between us felt like a flimsy barrier compared to the danger that thickened the air. “I guess it was always going to come to this, huh?” My voice was steady, even though I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs. “I can’t repay you and I’m not going to beg you for anything. So, do what you gotta do, Bronson.” The words left my lips like a dare, thick with defiance.
As he turned around and walked away, I heard him say in a voice as cold as ice, “Take care, Ashley.”
I watched him stride out of the restaurant, flanked by his towering bodyguards, I sat frozen at the table. The opulence around me felt like a cruel joke, the soft jazz continuing to play as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. The reality of what had just transpired sank in like a stone in my stomach. I had finally run out of luck. Reddick’s words echoed in my mind: he was done playing games. No more threatening phone calls or veiled warnings, this was real, and it was deadly serious. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing at the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath me. Reddick was about to put a hit out on my life, and I knew it. This was a different level of danger now, one that left no room for error. My heart raced as I realized how quickly my world had spiralled into chaos. It was time to prepare for the storm that was coming.
*******************
As La Verité faded in my rearview mirror, Bronson Reddick’s words echoed in my mind, each syllable a chilling reminder of the stakes at play. The looming threat of Bronson was a shadow, dark and oppressive, filling me with a cold resolve.
My phone buzzed incessantly in the passenger seat, the screen lighting up with messages from both Jay and Brad. Jay wanted to see me more, his insistence pulling me toward familiarity, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos that had suddenly become my life. I could almost hear his voice, casual and warm, promising comfort. But then there was Brad, his texts were urgent, almost desperate, suggesting I move in with him. It was a significant leap, one that spoke to a deeper commitment I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
I felt the weight of my choices pressing down on me, each option a double-edged sword. The thought of betraying either man twisted my insides into knots. With Bronson’s threats hanging over me, I had to consider my safety. Jay’s strength and loyalty were appealing in their own right, but Brad’s wealth represented something I had never truly experienced: security. It gnawed at me that I was weighing them against each other, reducing emotions to a game of pros and cons. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. The glow of my phone felt like a beacon, drawing me in, but I hesitated. I glanced at the screen again, fingers hovering, heart racing. Should I text Jay and agree to see him, letting his warmth wrap around me? Or should I respond to Brad’s urgent plea? Each decision felt heavy, laden with implications.
I leaned back in my seat, the cool leather grounding me, and closed my eyes for a moment. Memories flickered through my mind—nights spent with Jay, laughing and joking until the world felt light, contrasted with the intensity of my time with Brad, where every touch seemed charged with unspoken possibilities. My heart ached at the thought of losing either of them, yet I knew I couldn’t keep spinning this web forever.
I parallel-parked in front of my favourite adult sex shop, ‘Cravings Sex Shop & Lingerie’. Even with the growing chaos in my life, I was horny as hell. Even the threat of danger coming from Riddick and his gang of thugs did nothing to quell my raging sex drive, I was hornier than ever. I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. I quickly sent off texts to both Jay and Brad, crafting my responses with care. To Jay, I typed, “Hey, I’m really busy tonight. Can we catch up another time?” And to Brad, I sent a similar message, “Sorry, I’ve got plans tonight. Let’s talk soon.”
The reality was that I didn’t want to deal with the weight of their expectations right now. As I hit send, a wave of guilt washed over me. I hated lying, but the truth felt too complicated to unpack that night. I needed Sarah’s laughter, the longer I delayed, the harder it would be to unravel the mess I was creating. With a sigh, I stepped out of the car, glancing down at the phone, wondering if I should expect any replies. But deep down, I knew I needed this, an escape from the mounting pressure.
I walked into Cravings, the familiar jingle of the doorbell welcoming me. The small store felt like a secret haven, its warm lighting and intimate layout wrapping around me like a soft blanket. Mannequins adorned in sexy lingerie caught my eye, their sultry poses almost beckoning me closer. I navigated past shelves lined with an array of colourful sex toys each more enticing than the last. In the back, the DVD section full of adult movies felt a little bit dated, but there was a certain charm to it, a nostalgic nod to a different era when a person had to leave the house to get porn.
As I browsed, I tried to push aside the looming threats from Bronson. Here, I could momentarily forget my troubles and embrace a different kind of power—the power of desire. Even amidst the chaos of my life, my sex drive surged with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. It was a constant hum in the background, pulling at me even during the most mundane moments. My Hitachi Wand vibrator had become one of my most cherished possessions, a reliable escape that offered both pleasure and release. There were nights when the weight of the world pressed down too hard, and no one could soothe my needs like that powerful little device could, I love bringing that thing down onto my throbbing clit.
Nothing calms stress for me like orgasms, and I loved the fact that I could have so many. A good solo session with my favourite vibrator could go on for hours. I loved surrendering to a few orgasms with my vibrator before ramping it up and sliding my big vibrating dildo into my hot pussy which sends me into overdrive. The combination of G-spot stimulation from the dildo and the wonderful vibrations hitting my clit always took me into a wonderful run of multiple orgasms; it was like riding a wave that never ended. I loved it. I lost track of time when I was cumming my brains out like that, and by the time I was done, my legs felt like Jell-O, my bedsheets left soaking.
I wanted a new dildo to add to my collection, preferably one that vibrated since those are my favourite kind. One caught my eye almost immediately, a big chocolate brown dildo. I took it off the shelf, studying it before turning it over and reading the back of the package. Not only did it vibrate, but it even came with two AA batteries. I was sold.
A younger woman covered in piercings and tattoos was working the cash register, young, wide-eyed, and a bit fidgety, like she was waiting for an invitation to speak. I could sense her insecurity radiating off her, the way she glanced at my body with a mix of admiration and envy.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” She asked.
“Yeah, I did,” I replied.
“You’ve got great taste! This is one of my favourites. That’s a solid brand right there—they know how to deliver.” She explained as I rifled through a small basket of novelty condoms.
“Really? I’ve been searching for something that can pack a punch. My toys often have to work overtime,” I said, a teasing lilt to my voice.
She leaned in slightly, her enthusiasm infectious. “I’ve had mine for a few months, and it’s still going strong. No weird noises or anything, just solid performance.”
I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, I can’t stand it when they start to sound like a dying engine during a long session. You know what I mean?”
We both laughed, the lightness of the moment washing over me like a refreshing breeze. For a brief instant, this casual girl talk pulled me away from the dark reality waiting just outside the door. Before I left, I spent some time in the porn section, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. My fingers brushed over the spines of the old DVDs, each one a time capsule of classic porn stars. I lingered on the familiar titles, their covers faded yet still able to invoke memories of late-night masturbation marathons and vibrator-induced orgasms that went on forever.
The DVDs were turning me on, and briefly, my mind wandered. I’ve always had a fascination with porn, the idea of starring in one and having millions of people watch me fuck has always been intriguing to me. To think that my orgasms could be on the Internet forever, even when I’m dead and gone is crazy. Even though that would bother a lot of people, to me it’s a huge turn-on to think my body and my sexy voice screaming out in orgasm could be enjoyed for hundreds of years.
I walked out of the sex shop and back out into the real world.
