The Ox Who Got the Cream Ch. 03

Besides, she had another point to make. She knew Truce's abysmal patronising was just an overreactive concern for her safety. Yes, she was reckless and cocky at times, but she could also be trusted not to react with childish immaturity and endanger herself. It wasn't as if she would scream a battle cry and throw herself into a group of dangerous men. She wasn't a complete idiot.

As though the universe decided to immediately test her, the trio below slightly turned to observe a black car pull up. Zole and Reggie continued their conversation while Bork when to speak with the driver.

Layla narrowed her eyes and adjusted the earpiece she'd stolen from Truce's gadget collection, one which allowed her to eavesdrop on conversations from a distance with perfect clarity. She wasn't confident enough to use Truce's miniature bug-sized drones.

After capturing one of the little silver bastards hovering above her in the shower, she'd angrily confronted Truce, who reluctantly promised to only stalk her in person before promptly ripping the towel from her body and fucking her on his desk. In hindsight, she should have known better than to storm into his office half-naked and still dripping water.

Blushing from the memory, Layla shook her head and paid attention to the audio.

"What girl?" The Poker asked, his brow gently pinched with curiosity, slowly releasing his arms from their crossed status to peer at the car's tinted windows. "Oh, yes. Bring her to me."

Layla watched two men exit the car, pop the trunk and lift a girl out of it. She was in her pyjamas and younger than Layla, possibly in her late teens, with her wrists and ankles tightly bound. Layla could hear the girl sobbing around the gag in her mouth.

The men placed the writhing girl on the ground in front of Zole and Reggie. As soon as she felt flat ground, the girl stopped struggling and lay stiffly with her eyes closed.

Layla imagined she would have done the same; lying still and hoping not to be tortured or killed. Deciding it was a good time to summon backup, Layla felt for her phone in one of her suit pockets, which she was reluctant to admit were way more practical after Felix repaired her outfit.

Unlocking the device, she saw a text from Truce.

'YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE.'

Layla rolled her eyes and replaced the phone. There was no point responding, he would already be on his way. She resumed watching the scene below.

Bork crouched behind the girl and seized her hair, pulling her to an upright position. Sinisterly muttering something Layla failed to catch on audio, Bork untied the girl's gag and tossed it aside.

"You look very much like your mother," The Poker smiled kindly, as though he weren't towering over a terrified girl. "Do you know why you're here?"

The girl shook her head. Her eyes were exotic and a unique-coloured brown, like her bob-cut. She was pretty, and too young to be in the midst of the city's scum.

Zole tutted. "Your mother guaranteed that Oxman would be busy putting out a petty fire last week," he explained. "Instead, the police diffused the ruse and Oxman showed up at my meeting like a rotten odour and scared away an important prospective partner." His cold blue eyes lifted to another sofa travelling through the air. "But I can accept none of that was your fault. So, I am going to give you three choices, Chelsie."

Still shaking, the girl gulped.

The Poker gestured to the sofa making its slow way onboard the ship. "I can seal you in one of those, dump it in the harbour and let your mother watch the police pull your bloated body from it on the news tomorrow."

Layla gasped angrily and the girl burst into tears. Zole shrugged.

"Or, I can film Bork having his way with you for a few hours and ensure the footage fills every screen and monitor in Gothic City. Or..." he paused thoughtfully, "you can lose your virginity to this." The cane sharply jabbed the floor, and the girl jumped, even with Bork holding her.

"I wouldn't film such a thing, of course," The Poker reassured her. "But you probably wouldn't survive it."

"I'd pick me, if I was you," Bork sniggered into her hair, then smoothed it back to lick her ear.

"Well?" Zole prompted, twirling the cane between his fingers, spinning the blade against the concrete. "If you can't decide, we can do all three."

"B-Bork!" The girl sobbed, twisting slightly as Bork's hand began to grope its way across her chest.

"Reggie," The Poker shrugged, and Reggie pulled out his phone.

Layla realised her teeth were clenched so tightly it was bringing on a migraine. She watched Reggie angle his camera for the best frame as Bork drew a mask over his face.

Bored, Zole checked his watch and wandered to the edge of the wharf to observe the remaining transfers.

Layla's eyes darted to the ship. There were three men visible, all very preoccupied with the cargo, and probably more on board. Very slowly, she assembled a mechanical crossbow and loaded an arrow into it.

Chelsie cried out as Bork ripped the front of her pale-blue shirt and began to play with her nipples, ignoring her small hands feebly pushing against his arms.

"These are nice," he announced for the camera. "What a pretty colour. They're going to be very pink when I'm done..."

Layla fired, the arrow zinged through the air and pierced the rope looped through a hook holding one of the couches mid-air.

The Poker swore and leapt back just in time as the sofa crashed onto the wharf and toppled into the water.

"It's Oxman! Get out of here!" Zole shouted at the men gawking from the boat's edge. "Go! Go! GO!"

The boat's engine roared to life and began to edge away from the wharf. The man operating the crane hastily abandoned it and ran for it, the others did the same.

"He's here!" The Poker snapped, briskly twirling the cane and clenching his fist around it. "Honestly, I haven't even killed anyone. He has no etiquette."

An arrow pierced the shoulder of Bork's shirt, grazing his skin without penetrating it, and yanked him off Chelsie. He screamed as it dragged him across the ground. Zole speculatively narrowed his eyes at the dark place from where Layla was currently pulleying Bork.

"This isn't about the drugs," he frowned, his eyes cut to the girl cowering on the ground. "It's about... Chelsie? Now, that can't be right."

"Boss!" Bork shouted.

"Lose the shirt, numbnuts," Reggie called.

Scowling, Bork gripped the hook and managed to rip himself clear on the third attempt. By this point he was a few metres up the building wall, and he didn't land gracefully.

"Fuck you, Oxman!" Bork screamed into the ground, coiled in pain from the impact.

Layla pressed a little button on her hip, releasing thin layers of wing that slid neatly down her arms. Then she spread her arms wide and took a running jump from the building, was airborne, and prayed for a safe landing. The wing-function hadn't been tried yet. Naturally, Truce forbade her to use any of the new benefits without her testing it under his supervision. Truce was going to be pissed.

Zole's jaw dropped when Layla swooped, deliberately kicked Reggie in the face as a landing step before touching down. She managed a decent roll to recover, the specialised wings curled protectively about her.

"What the fuck is this?" Bork snarled, lurching toward her.

Layla was back on her feet and directed an excellent twirl kick that caught Bork right on his jawline. He spun back to the ground and didn't move.

Reggie pulled a gun and fired, the bullet rebounded off Layla's neck armour and almost skinned The Poker's left temple.

Until then, Zole had been gazing at Layla, completely dumbstruck, until the bullet almost took him out.

"Enough, Reggie!" he said sharply, and faced Layla, who had assumed a defensive position. "Put the gun away. I'll handle this."

Layla's eyes followed Reggie's movement to Bork, then slid back to The Poker.

"I don't believe we've met before," The Poker said smoothly, his eyes shrewdly running over Layla's tight, black suit, the thick belt, and coming to rest on the Fox ears of her mask. "Had I known to expect such a delightful visitor, I would have suited up for the occasion." He pointed his cane to Chelsie's curled up figure. "I presume you are here to rescue her?"

Layla slightly adjusted her stance for a fight. She didn't like the deceptively refined tone of Zole's voice, or his polite flirtation.

"Your costume is rather high quality," Zole purred. "I wonder if we have a mutual friend?" He tilted his head, his eyes burning at her silence.

"You won't even tell me your title? Shall I call you 'Foxy'? You are a bit of a darling," he grinned, his eyes raking her saucy suit that was built for combat but undeniably sexy.

Layla remained silently watchful, her mind spinning to process a disaster unfolding. She didn't plan to end up in this position, potentially out of her league. Worst of all, she didn't want to admit how right Truce was. She could feel The Poker's heightening interest in her, radiating from his pale-blue eyes; his fascination crawling across her skin like an army of flesh-eating insects.

"Very well," he beamed, and Layla managed to suppress a shiver. "I'll question you later."

Layla was ready when he charged forward, though not quite prepared for The Poker's fighting prowess. She'd presumed he was the mastermind behind sinister plots, leaving henchmen to fight dirty for him.

But for someone accustomed to giving orders, Zole was considerably athletic in person. His physique almost rivalled Truce's; tall, broad shouldered, solid muscle.

The hard shell-coat on her forearms was a very welcome adjustment to her suit; Layla managed to directly block every cane hit without breaking bones. The Poker moved swiftly, not going easy on her, but not exactly giving his all. He seemed more interested in using the cane to test her defences, rather than jump straight to a fistfight. He was evaluating her skills.

"Ouch!" Zole huffed when the heel of Layla's boot briskly connected with his chest. He seized her calf on impact, his fingers repulsively massaging the delectable shape. Layla's other foot pushed off the ground to swing a kick at The Poker's face. She twisted in the air to land on her front, like a cat.

Lithely straightening to continue, Layla pulled up and froze.

"Definitely on the hero side, then?" Zole breathlessly teased, his fist closed around Chelsie's hair in a merciless grip, unconcerned by the side of his face swelling from Layla's kick. "The new feminist of Gothic City, perhaps? This field does lack a woman's presence, I'll be the first to lament that."

Chelsie whimpered when the tip of Zole's cane pressed into her neck. Layla scowled at her introduction to a standard hero setback; civilians who lay idle after having every chance to run.

The Poker's eyes gleamed when Layla grimaced. "And what a delicious heroine you are."

To Layla's surprise, Zole released Chelsie. "Get home, and be sure to tell your mother how lucky you were tonight," he said carelessly, his interested gaze never leaving Layla's face.

The girl scampered off into the night, clutching the front of her ruined shirt. With the cane tucked under one arm, The Poker made a show of dusting his hands. "Now I have started with a gesture of good will. It's your turn, mystery-girl. Who are you?"

Layla scathingly narrowed her eyes.

Zole's smile widened to something rather manic. "Your silence is utterly provocative," he breathed, unfazed by the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"And you should know better than to transport drugs in public," Oxman said curtly.

The Poker spun to perceive Oxman standing a few metres away, with a firm hold on Reggie. Imposingly muscled in black leather as usual, there was something very different about Oxman's temperament.

Zole noticed, and thoughtfully took his time retrieving a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face.

"Here's a spoilsport," he sighed, with a resigned wave of his cane. "They're not my drugs, really. I inherited them from a loser who tried to doublecross me. I was doing your job, come to think of it. Perhaps with a slightly wider profit margin," he finished with a lazy half-smile.

Clearly not in a bantering mood, Oxman just glowered. Zole's eyes perceptively darted to Layla. "Bit of tension here. Is this your girlfriend, Oxy?"

Truce opened his mouth to answer, and hesitated, suddenly aware that his hostage was gently drawing a blade from his pant pocket.

"I'll find you. Don't think for a second that I won't," Zole softly threatened Layla. He shivered with exaggerated delight when she still didn't speak. "Goodness, she knows how to intrigue a man, doesn't she?"

Oxman roughly threw Reggie into Zole and ran forward.

Layla didn't complain when Truce lifted her across his shoulder and continued his run. She looked up as they went over the wharf, taking in Reggie's flushed anger and The Poker's frozen smile.

"Ouff!" Layla huffed, staring at the stars. The surface she lay upon came to life with a fierce rumble. Dizzily recovering, her initial relief at Truce's arrival began to dissipate as she sensed his hostility.

"Truce?" she called warily, daring a peek to see him standing at the wheel of the speedboat, his tall frame stiff with rage.

"Truce?" she tried again, louder against the spray of water as they zoomed across the surface.

"I warned you. I warned you about him," Truce replied in a voice seething with anger, not trusting himself to turn his attention from steering. "Stay down!" he barked, when Layla rolled onto her front to get up.

"Truce-" Layla attempted to reason with him but shrank into the base of the boat when he briefly glanced her way, his eyes flashing black fury.

"I obviously didn't make myself clear about The Poker," Truce said through his teeth as they zoomed into a tunnel out of the open. "I am going to take care of that oversight the moment we get home, Layla."

***

Ralphred was discreetly absent from the Ox-wing when Truce stalked through the halls with Layla across his shoulder. He'd roughly discarded his Oxmask, but still wore the armoured suit and cape, clearly in too much of a hurry to bother changing.

Layla might have given up trying to debate her position, but her trepidation about the punishment in store was building to something intense.

"Come on, Truce, I wasn't planning to engage him!" she insisted, trying to lift up enough to see his face. All she could see was the back of his head, but the tension coming off him was quite sinister. "It just happened!"

"You agreed to play by my scarce rules," he flatly accused. "Then you lied to me and went behind my back to do the one thing I forbade." His fingers tightened on her legs at the reminder. "And now you're on Zole's radar. If you're nervous, you're fucking right to be."

"W-Well, okay, maybe I screwed up a little bit-"

"Try monumentally, Layla."

"Oh, like you've never made a mistake!" she snapped, understanding she wasn't getting out of whatever he had planned.

"I've definitely made mistakes," Truce acknowledged, his calm tone very unsettling. "We're all entitled to the occasional lack of judgement, and I'm a forgiving man. But let's not get confused - your fuck-up was entirely wilful."

They had reached the playroom. Truce didn't bother with the lights, obviously accustomed to working in the dark, the hallway light was enough to know what he was doing.

Layla's vision was more handicapped, plus being unfamiliar with the room didn't help. Struggling got her nowhere; Truce easily dodged every assault attempt and aptly pinned her limbs one by one. Before Layla could gauge anything about the surrounds, she found herself strapped belly-down onto some kind of padded table, her wrists locked to her sides.

Once satisfied Layla was secured, a metal clasp clipped about her wrists and ankles, Truce went to turn on the lights. Layla blinked, dazzled by the sudden brightness, then noticed she was comfortably restrained in a slightly bent over position, facing a wall mirror.

"Oh, this is bullshit!" she cried, her voice cracking with alarm.

"I told you what would happen if you broke my rules, and you agreed to those conditions," Truce said bluntly. "Then you went out of your way to break them."

"Them?! I only broke one-"

"You stole my intel and went after The Poker without testing your suit features. You could have killed yourself." Though Truce kept his voice level, his jaw was fiercely clenched.

"This isn't just about my boundaries," he clarified. "You endangered yourself. The worst part is the danger you created is ongoing. But I think you've already figured that out."

Layla lightly shivered, recalling the fixed way Zole stared at her. "Well, I thought you were just being territorial!" she exclaimed, as Truce removed her Foxmask. "You never said The Poker was an obsessive psycho!"

"Really, Layla?" Truce growled forebodingly, irked by the seductive effect of Layla's long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her cheeks prettily flushed with frustration. She was so irresistibly sexy, the weakness that she roused in Truce aggravated him. "I don't think I could have been clearer about that."

"Yeah...well..." Layla said desperately, wishing his memory was more flawed. "Okay, I was in the wrong. But I think w-we should talk about it."

"Nope," Truce replied with forced cheer. "You may have broken your word, but I'm keeping mine."

When Layla began to protest further, Truce gripped her chin and kissed her ruthlessly. Then he pulled back and shoved a glossy red rubber gag into her open mouth.

"AWWFFFF!" Layla complained.

"No more back-chat from you," he murmured, holding something up and watching Layla's eyes dart to it and widen. "No begging, either."

"Aaaaarrrit! Aarrrait, aaaiiit!" Layla shook her head and strained against the binds.

"Sounds like 'wait'," Truce mused, releasing her face. "But I have no fucking idea. That's the beauty of the gag."

Layla snarled and bit into the rubber, watching Truce in the mirror as he went to stand behind her.

"You were probably too disinterested in your father's business to know about these aspects of it." Truce held up the rather pretty butt-plug; it was dusky pink, with a glittering diamante border around gold letters engraved 'GB'.

"You might call this a party favourite," he said carelessly. "Ironic that GB can stand for both 'George Brandles' and 'GangBang'. Boy do those businessmen like to party."

Truce straightened when Layla sharply gasped, looking devastated. Truce immediately read her mind and the anger in his eyes gentled, though his mouth was still grimly pursed.

"No, he never cheated on your mother," he softly clarified, watching Layla slowly release a breath with the sudden rush of emotions. "But even a fiercely loyal man has to cater to the more sordid tastes of his clients."

Layla's distress switched to revulsion as Truce drew closer, dangling the obscene toy at her. "A token from the family business. I personally prefer the little fox-tail hanging out your rear, but this is just the perfect punishment for you, since you appear to have a serious issue with authority and good sense."

Layla rolled her eyes and groaned. Truce stepped back to admire her long legs, feebly trying to kick out of the restraints. He couldn't resist touching then, running his hand from her ankle up the lengthy, toned limb to finish with his fingers splayed across a round, taut buttock. Then he began to work on the fastenings of the suit.

"Glad you wore this one tonight," he purred, peeling sections away to expose her ass and thighs. "I had Felix repair it to be more easily dismantled. I didn't exactly say I wanted to spontaneously fuck you, but I guess it was implied."