“You didn’t think this through, did you?” She says, still not flinching. This big-titted bitch is way too calm in the face of my gun.
“No. Hasn’t been much of a problem before, and I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem now, either,” I say. “So, why don’t you just tone down your bitch attitude and go fetch me my money?”
Anna doesn’t move. Her eyes narrow to snakelike slits, and her smile turns to a smirk. “No.”
Tiffany shifts in my grip, ever so slightly, and, in a barely audible hush, I hear her whisper, “Silent alarm.”
Our eyes meet for a second.
Is she helping me? Or does she just hate Anna that much? Not that I blame her — Anna’s kindness always ran opposite her looks.
With a pull of the trigger, I send Anna jumping as the tile at her feet explodes in a cloud of shards.
“I don’t like your attitude,” I say.
“And I don’t like that you’re trying to rob my bank. You always were a dick, Declan.”
Another shot — this one that tears a hole in the desk just an inch from her thigh — makes her jump and let out a scream that’s music to my ears.
Music that quickly fades beneath the sound of approaching sirens.
“You have a minute before the cops get here,” Tiffany says. “You obviously didn’t plan this. You should just do the logical thing and just leave before this situation gets any worse.”
“For once, Tiffany is right,” Anna says. “Leave, Declan. Before you fuck up your life any more than it already is.”
“Shut up, Anna, you soulless bitch. You’re not helping anything with your attitude toward the man who has a fucking gun and his arm around my throat,” Tiffany snaps.
“You’re fired,” Anna says.
“Fuck you, this is the worst fucking place to work, and I once worked at Cutco.”
Nice ass, same intoxicating scent, and a great attitude — she might still be a stuck up priss, but I like Tiffany Santos a lot more than I did all those years ago.
“I like you, Tiffany,” I say, shifting our stance so we edge closer to the door. “In fact, I like you enough to take you with me. Let’s go.”
“No. Please don’t. You don’t need to do this. Just go.”
She squirms in my grip, rubbing her ass against my hips and her tits against my forearm. My day might’ve been going to shit earlier, but this is making up for it.
“I do. You’re my hostage. Now, come on, it’s time for us to leave.”
Her struggling intensifies, grows wild, feral with fear, as she throws her luscious body around in my grip while I drag her toward the front door to the bank. Then, halfway to the door, she freezes, still as a statue.
“Are you hard right now?” She says in a mousy whisper.
“How else am I supposed to be with you rubbing yourself against me like that?”
“Oh my God,” she starts.
“It’s time to go,” I say, and I throw her over my shoulder and, to quiet her struggling, I give her a hard slap on the ass. “Stay still. And keep your mouth shut.”
I fire a few more rounds throughout the bank — one toward the guard to remind him to keep his dumb ass on the floor, one at Anna to remind her she is, and always has been, a malignant whore, and one at the ceiling, because fuck this stupid bank — and then charge outside to my waiting bike.
Hurriedly, I set Tiffany down next to my bike.
“Get on.”
Sirens wail. They’re close.
Tears brim in her eyes. They shimmer with wild fear.
I hate the sight of tears in her eyes. I brush one off her cheek and wish there were some other way this could go.
But I hate even more the thought of going to jail. And, with how close those sirens sound, I don’t have time to coax this quaking woman into calming the fuck down and doing as she’s told.
Instead, I grab my helmet off my bike, shove it into her hands, and then growl. “Put that on and get on my bike or I swear to Christ you will not like what happens.”
She stays frozen.
Unable to help myself, I crack her across her plump ass.
“Move,” I snap.
She does.
The helmet goes on, one long leg slides over the back seat of my bike, and her lovely ass rests itself on my leather seat.
Fuck, if this was under any other circumstances, I’d take a moment and just appreciate the view. Saint Tiffany, you’ve sure grown up in all the right ways.
Instead, I get my ass in gear and hop on in front of her.
“Hold on to my chest. Not too tight, or I’ll crash and we’ll both get fucked up. Now, come on, Saint Tiffany, hold on, wrap your sweet legs around me, and let’s ride.”
There’s a second of hesitation and, in my rear view mirror, I swear I see a lovely blush cross her cheeks.
Sirens wail, so close they’re nearly on us. Then her legs clench against me, and her lips brush my ear.
“Where are we going?”
I fire the engine to life and pull away from the curb, leaving a trail of rubber and smoke in my wake. As the bike squeals down the street, chugging thunder and spitting fire, I grin at her over my shoulder. Just for a second, just long enough for my eyes to drink in her delicate oval face, fine cheekbones, and those lips that look made for sucking.
Saint Tiffany, you’ve sure grown up.
“I have no fucking clue. I’m making this shit up as I go.
