The Strip Ch. 07

This is a rewrite of 'Vegas', combining both Books. While maintaining the theme, it offers a completely different and fresh take for the main characters.

Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world -- thesoundandfury - not only for his editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 7: Rosie's in Trouble

The infrared binoculars told Holly that the licence plate on the black gas-guzzler was the one she was searching for. In the vicinity Samuel had told her. Experience told her to focus, allowing her eyes to get used to the darkness. Eventually, the moving shadows in the car became clearer.

"The girl's a decoy," Samuel had told her. "Not to be harmed." Holly hoped the woman knew what she was doing. As far as she was concerned it was an added complication, not a help.

Reaching for the balaclava—her standard wear for such occasions—the tap on the driver's window interrupted her thoughts. Damn, how could she have been so careless? The gun pointing through the glass made her heart beat a little faster. A trap? No sudden movements, she told herself.

The barrel moved in an upward and downward motion and she obeyed the silent instruction, lowering the window to allow the well-worn face to peer in.

"Watcha doin'?" a suspicious, high-pitched voice asked, the gun trained on her. Holly began to move but stopped as the weapon waved gently from side to side. "Uh-uh!" the guy uttered in admonishment. "I asked whatcha doin'!?!"

The blonde smiled brightly, slightly tugging open her jacket as she did so. His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts above her thin black top. It paid to dress with a diversion in mind. The momentary distraction allowed her hidden hand to pick up the silencer at her side.

"I'm looking for a little action," she softly breathed. "Are you?"

The well-worn face broke into a grin and he glanced across at the gas-guzzler, as if contemplating his options. The split second distraction gave Holly all the time she needed. Her swift movement was as deadly as her aim.

The bullet hit him directly between the eyes. The soft spit broke the silence, followed by the dull thud as his body collapsed to the ground.

Holly's eyes returned to the vehicle across the street. If they'd seen anything, this was going to become complicated. Thirty seconds silence confirmed they'd been too busy to notice. Within seconds, she'd slipped the balaclava over her head. Flicking off the ceiling switch so as to ensure she'd remain in the dark, she opened the door. It moved only a couple of inches.

Damn! The thug's fallen body must have lodged itself against the door as it fell to the ground. Reaching across with her right leg, then left, she manoeuvred herself into the passenger seat and exited that way.

Half a dozen silent strides saw her cover the distance to the driver's side, within a few seconds; the thin body was pulled to one side.

Staying in the shadows, she stealthily slipped across the open space, listening to her soft pants as she continually checked around her. No more unexpected disturbances! As she approached the vehicle, she could hear the groans inside. The girl, whoever she was, seemed to be enjoying her job.

It wasn't difficult to remain out of sight of the wing mirrors. A half-minute's pause allowed her to adjust her eyes to the shapes inside the vehicle. Desmond and his entertainment were in the back. The dark haired woman was riding him gently, but the way her head rotated indicated what was on her mind.

She was waiting for the assassin. The man would make an easier target that way. Holly grimaced to herself. This was quite a woman, but despite her interest in making life easier for Holly, she wasn't one she warmed to. Experience told her to keep her distance from thrillseekers.

Still, use the help if it was there. Holly moved so that her shadow fell across the woman's eyesight. Inside the car, she checked her movements for a brief second, as if her brain was assimilating what was about to happen. Then she was moving again, only faster this time.

"Come on, baby," Holly heard. "Cum for Carly. You'll never have another one like this."

The assassin understood. The woman wanted the man's orgasm, but it was also to be a signal to Holly. Fuck, she was a cool customer!

The vehicle began to rock under her exertions and then the timing was perfect.

"I'm cumming doll," he groaned, "I'm fucking cummmmmming—"

Holly knew the woman had ensured the door was unlocked, not that it made any difference. She'd shoot him through the glass if necessary. It opened in one movement just as the man was ejaculating. The woman's face stared at Holly, alive with excitement. "Do it!"

Her grunt as Holly put the gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger was that of a wild animal. The bitch had cum, actually reaching her own orgasm!

"Wait," the woman breathlessly gasped as Holly turned away. "He's got an accomplice, outside somewhere."

"Not any more," Holly answered, immediately cursing herself for forgetting the Irish accent.

It made no difference, she told herself as she covered the distance back to her hired car. She was speeding from the vicinity even as Carly was pushing herself away from the dead body and wondering how she'd get home.

***

"Mmm, I'm going to grab a shower before the flight. Join me?" Rachal asked as Meredith and Kay began packing up for the day. Kay watched Lauren carefully, smiling to herself as the young blonde took the exotic model's hand.

Their final session had taken place indoors at the top of the South Rim. Walking across to the small trailer with the more experienced model, Lauren was shocked to see it was dark. Where had the time gone?

The small vehicle was barely large enough to accommodate one person, let alone two. Rachal was already sliding out of her squaw outfit not two steps into it. All Lauren could do was follow, her eyes glued to the warm, chocolate brown skin of her bare back. With a slow cock of one hip, Rachal's thong joined her clothing on the floor.

Glancing at the blonde just outside, she arched a dark brow. "Pussycat got your tongue?"

The flimsy door of the trailer slapped shut and the sound of the shower flipped on. Lauren glanced over at Kay, although the Agency Head appeared to be preoccupied with the early proofs on her open laptop. Deep breath, she entered.

When she opened the door, Rachal was bending over—her slender body presented in profile—as she undid the straps of her sandals. Her long, glossy black hair was already out of its braids, hanging in silky waves around her face.

Rachal smiled playfully at the gawking young model. "Come on," she said, straightening to full height. "I'm not sure how much hot water we'll have."

Lauren's mouth went dry. She couldn't help herself as she scanned this other woman's full, frontal nudity. She thought of their kiss earlier. She thought of her sister's confession to being bi. And she knew that she wanted this woman before her.

"Want to soap me?" Rachal asked Lauren, smiling mischievously at her through those luminous, almond shaped eyes. Before Lauren could answer, the other girl stepped into the shower, swaying her ass as the hot water cascaded down her body.

Lauren gulped, quickly stripping off her skimpy attire. Rachal was ready for her, pushing a bar of soap over her shoulder. Lauren took it and stepped beneath the spray. The shower left barely enough room for them to manoeuvre and Lauren couldn't help it when her large breasts brushed along the other girl's back.

"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. Her nipples scraped Rachal's shoulder blades; there was no way she'd miss that.

Rachal smiled to herself and said nothing. Instead, she closed her eyes and looked up into the hot spray, letting its warmth and the hesitant touch of Lauren's fingers relax her.

"Were you born in Vegas?" Lauren asked the black haired model, more for something to take her mind of the softness of Rachal's skin and the heat rising from their intimacy.

"No," Rachal softly answered. "You have such soft hands, Lauren. I love your touch…" She let the blonde trace her shoulder blades up to her slender neck before answering. "No, I was born in Rwanda."

"Rwanda?" Lauren wouldn't have guessed Africa; not with those almond-shaped eyes, although she'd been struggling with the girl's ethnicity all day now.

"Mmmm, lower please," the exotic model murmured, pushing her buttocks back. "I think my back's clean now." Lauren took the hint, running her soapy hands down the sweep of Rachal's spine until she had one firm buttock in each hand. It was all Rachal could do not to turn around—to pretend like they were having this conversation in a coffee shop, not naked in a tiny shower.

"Yeah, my father was a Philippine missionary who got a little overzealous with 'spreading the word of god' through western African. Particularly with the African women, if you take my meaning. I never knew him. Then when I was two, my mother was killed during the genocide." Lauren gasped. "She gave her life to get me out of the country."

"You're joking!"

Rachal turned into Lauren, her large, dark eyes shimmering with emotion. "It's not a joke," she said huskily. Resting against the wall of the shower, she glanced down her wet body. Lauren had stopped soaping, enthralled by the other woman's tale, although she realized now that her right hand was resting on Rachal's smooth mound. "How about my tits?" Rachal suggested, the corners of her lips curling wickedly. "We can get to… that later."

"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry…" Lauren blurted, averting her eyes as heat flooded up her neck and across her face.

"S'ok, baby. I liked it."

Lauren felt her own pussy flood. This woman was so sexual! Hesitantly, she returned her hands to the warm skin just beneath Rachal's swollen breasts. They were nice. Large enough to fill the palms of her hands, and capped with hard, dark brown nipples that reminded the blonde of Hershey Kisses.

"The rest of my story's not very interesting. Same as so many other girls here in Vegas. Grew up in the Midwest, but I always had a hard time because I looked different. I fled to Vegas before finishing my last year in high school and I'd have ended up in a brothel somewhere if Kay hadn't found me and taken me under her wing."

"Geez," Lauren grunted, again lost in Rachal's narrative. Her hands idled on the dark-skinned model's soft breasts. "I guess Kay's your fairy Godmother…"

Rachal began to laugh, thrusting her tits forward. Reminding Lauren that they were naked together. Her pussy let off another surge of heat. "Not unless it's okay to fuck a Godmother. That woman's hot!"

"You… you and Kay?"

"Sensational," the exotic beauty answered, leaning forward to run the tip of her tongue across Lauren's lips. The blonde gasped, although didn't pull away. Some part of her had been waiting for this since the moment they set down in Las Vegas. She felt Rachal's hands on her hips, pulling her closer. She opened her mouth to allow the soft tongue push between her lips. For the second time that day, their tongues touched and glided against one another.

Lauren moaned into the wet mouth. Her fingers flicked across the wonderfully hard nipple, consumed in the drug that was this sexy woman. Her soapy hands kneaded the wonderful, buoyant globes.

"So good, babe," Rachal breathed, her right hand sliding down the blonde's stomach. Her long fingers skirted her swollen clit, caressing the smooth curve of her vulva. "Want it?" the exotic beauty asked; she wanted to hear the blonde say it.

"Yes," Lauren gasped, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to force the fingers inside her. "Oh yes!"

"Say, 'Please,'" Rachal teasingly prompted, circling Lauren's clit. "'Please, Rach.'"

The blonde's voice was as out of control as her body. "Please! Please, Rach!"

"Please what?"

"Make me cum," Lauren panted, almost sobbing with desire. "Please make me cum…"

When the exotic model stiffened two fingers and pushed them into her oily pussy, she screamed, widening her legs to accept the wonderful intruders. The soft touch was perfect. Rachal knew the precise pressure to apply.

"Oh, shit!" the blonde gasped as the model teased her. Two fingers inside, a thumb on her clit. Then the beauty had her tongue, too, sucking it into her mouth like she was sucking on a cock. It was too much!

"FUCK!" the blonde cried, cumming harder, longer and louder than anything before in her young life.

"Just think," Rachal murmured, her arms helping the blonde stay on her feet as her body gave way. "If that's what my fingers can do, just wait till you experience my mouth…"

***

"I have to congratulate you," Samuel growled softly into the phone. Her call was later than expected, but that was okay. Carly's earlier phone call had told him all he needed to know.

"Thank you. I take it the girl contacted you?"

"She did. A very professional operation from what I understand," he told her. "One second, please!"

He hurried away from the bar area, through a door into the corridor leading to his office. The sound of Grace's singing dulled behind him. The news of the new English country acid house singer had quickly spread after her first two nights. The club was full to bursting. She'd be a little gold mine for him - the more punters she attracted, the more potential clients he had for his girls.

"Problem?" Holly asked, her voice suspicious.

"No," his deep voice chuckled. "I was in the bar and couldn't easily here you. And I gather you had no problems either. Congratulations."

"That's what you paid me for," she responded. "You expected anything else?"

"No," he laughed.

"You should congratulate the girl, too," Holly said, thickening her false Irish tones. "She made it easy for me, though she clearly enjoys her work—"

"Good, good," his deep voice responded, missing the touch of sarcasm. He'd arranged transport back home for Carly, but he'd really have to give her some sort of bonus when he saw her again. "The money reached your account okay?"

"Mm-kay," she answered. "I wouldn't have executed the plan otherwise."

"Quite," Samuel's deep voice grunted. "And I believe I got two for the price of one..."

"Consider it a bonus, no extra charge," she told him, knowing the call, had lasted too long, even if she had stolen the cell phone. "You know how to contact me if you need me."

***

Rosie hated the thought of not being able to see Daniel tonight. Hated even more that Big Eddie was forcing her to do a private party. Forcing? That wasn't quite true. He'd left the final decision to her, but only after reminding her that each assignment brought her a step closer to repaying her debt.

So tonight, instead of continuing her morning conversation with Daniel, she'd be at her first private party, dancing for whoever was there, and fucking the host, too. She really did hate this life. Hate Big Eddie. And hate that useless ex-boyfriend who'd left her in such a mess.

Her text message to Daniel had been brief, but what else could she say? She'd find some way of explaining this to him when she saw him again. Her heart raced as she made a beeline for the elevators, cutting through the Rio's lobby. She'd die if she ran into the Englishman!?!

Despite the crush of people at the late hour, her paranoid mind imagined every eye was cast in her direction. Judging. Criticizing. Condemning her as the whore that she was. She felt another lick of heat sear across her scalp. If they were looking with a cluck of disapproval not far from their tongues, she could hardly blame them. Last week, she felt the same way: she'd shake her head and think, "I'll never be like that…"

She'd built this illusion that what she did at Midnight Hot was different than this. Somehow better. She danced in a club, turned tricks on the side, but always in the relative safety of the club. This felt different.

Her finger shook as she pressed the up button in the elevator lobby. A couple of elderly tourists got into the mirror-lined lift with her. She took a deep breath and refused to meet their judgmental eyes, imagined or not.

The reflection in the bevelled mirror of the elevator doors said it all. Maybe they thought she was a business exec, she thought hopefully. Big Eddie had explained what she should wear and had paid for the slutty power suit she'd chosen himself. She'd be wearing it a lot, he told her.

Charcoal grey and clinging to her curves, the tight skirt barely covered the tops of her black thigh-highs and the short, matching blazer offered a scintillating display of freckled cleavage.

Her long, red locks had been swept up into a messy bun, held in place by a pair of black chopsticks. She adjusted her fake, plastic-rimmed glasses and thought, "Yeah, business exec my ass." The way their eyes scowled as they exited made it clear that they were nobody's fool.

As she headed for a huge suite on the top floor of the Rio, she wondered what was in store for her. Honestly, she had no idea. Some of the girls like doing these private parties. The thrill, the money. They were the girls Rosie had little in common with. Inside, she knew this just wasn't a good idea!

The elevator emptied her into a short hall with only three doors. She could hear loud music thumping behind one. Room P100. Her destination.

She froze. Could she do this? Could she really do this? She hesitated outside the door. Last chance, honey, a voice in her head whispered. Turn and leave now 'cause there ain't no going back.

The redhead took a deep breath to steady her quivering heart. When she wrapped her knuckles against the dark, wooden door, her hand no longer shook.

The sound of partying was a low roar on the other side of that door. For a moment, she thought that no one heard her knocking—the need to leave increased. Maybe fate was giving her one last chance.

Then the door opened.

A shirtless man leaned against the door jam, giving her a slow once-over. A hand-rolled cigarette hung from his mouth, but it wasn't tobacco burning on the tip. "Well, well," the man leered, plucking the joint from his mouth and finally meeting her eyes. "You must be Rosie. Come on in!"

The redhead suppressed a shiver of disgust as he stepped to the side, averting her eyes from his, but knowing they'd returned to her tits.

The interior of the high-roller suite was much more opulent than the doorman would have led her to believe. On the far side of the enormous space, tall windows offered a one eighty-degree view of the City That Never Sleeps.

She lost count of the people in the large room, mostly guys but a few women, too. The loud music reverberated around her head. And everywhere, the air permeated with the saccharine sweetness of marijuana smoke. This was a much heavier scene than she'd anticipated. "Through there," the shirtless man told, her, nodding at a side room.

Three guys and a young looking blonde sat on the plush sofas of the lounging space. A fifty-inch flat panel television was mounted to the wall. A close-up shot of a vein cock going into a glistening pussy was showing, although the recorded sounds of sex were drowned out by the hard-pounding music.

A young man with bed-head hair and slim-cut black suit approached her, one hand in his pocket. His smile was too smooth for Rosie's liking. "Well hello there, pretty one," he said with an affluent accent that made her think of spoiled rich kids. "Rosie, right?"

"And you're Mr. Lyons?" For some reason, she'd imagined a much older man. Not this guy. She'd consider him attractive were he not paying for sex. He had an Indy-rocker look to him.