Fraud: A Stepbrother Romance Read online

  “Move it!” Derek shouted.

  The man called Randy spun out and drove away from Bayside, as Tanner came flying after us.

  The Mercedes smashed across the sidewalk and almost hit an old lady pushing a shopping cart! She’d jumped back out of path of the car, just in time.

  Tanner drove up the ramp to I-95, and then he was out of sight.

  “This is Alpha One Romeo,” Randy said.

  I noticed he was wearing a Bluetooth headset.

  “We have a black Mercedes-Benz, license tag BCD-104, northbound on I-95. Suspect is armed and dangerous, likely a Glock 18, suppressed. May have other weapons as well,” he spoke into the microphone.

  “Aren’t you going to call an ambulance for Margaret? For Peg?” I asked.

  Derek shook his head.

  I was shaking all over.

  Derek was alive!

  Oh, thank you, God!

  My love was here with me!

  I grabbed hold of Derek, and hugged him as tightly as I could manage.

  “Derek! Oh, Derek! Thank God you’re all right!” I cried.

  My eyes were flowing tears, of joy!

  My Derek was alive!

  Then, I started to sob.

  There was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Derek hugged me tenderly, but firmly.

  I never wanted to let him go.

  Ever again.

  “Shhhh! Baby, it’s ok! You’ll be ok, Megan,” he said.

  His voice was very soothing, almost hypnotic.

  I felt myself getting warm.

  Suddenly, I remembered the horrible visage of Peg being mowed down by the bus.

  I gulped and then began to cry loudly.

  The poor woman never knew what hit her.

  “Oh my God! Poor Peg!” I cried.

  “Where’s your gun?” Derek asked.

  “In my purse,” I replied, still sobbing.

  I must have reflexively dumped it in there, when Peg had been hit.

  Derek reached over, and rummaged through my purse.

  He pulled out the airsoft gun.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said.

  It came out angry, as if I had done something very stupid and wrong.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked.

  “Don’t you know could have gotten yourself killed!” he shouted at me.

  His face was pale, and I think he was more scared than I was.

  “I just wanted to scare Tanner off! I didn’t think he’d try to kill us!” I said.

  I finally saw what he meant, and that’s when everything came into sharp focus.

  I was short of breath, and my eyes started to dim with tunnel vision.

  I began to shake all over, and couldn’t stop this time.

  “Randy, we still have the emergency blanket?” Derek said.

  “It’s in the glove compartment, amigo,” said the man named Randy.

  Derek opened a package and then wrapped me in some kind of tin foil wrap.

  “Here, baby, put this around you, for warmth,” he said.

  I felt like a baked potato.

  But, I got warmer, and the shakes were going away.

  Maybe I was having a shock reaction?

  As we drove, Randy and Derek spoke to each other in some kind of professional shorthand.

  These guys are fucking SEALs, I thought.

  The baddest of bad asses.

  It made me feel a lot better, and I decided that I was probably in good hands.

  That made me think of Derek’s hands, which I peeked at.

  They were rugged, yet held me tenderly.

  I could feel myself getting wet.

  In spite of all this awfulness, being this close to Derek was awakening my old feelings.

  “Any pursuit? More vehicles?” he said to Randy.

  “Negative. And, Tanner ditched the Mercedes off 112th, and is gone. They think he might have gone onto a boat in the canal over there,” said Randy.

  “Or maybe he’s headed out to the airport,” Derek said.

  I perked up.

  I knew where that fucker was going!

  I tried to speak, but my thoughts kept intruding.

  Derek, Peg, Derek, King, Derek…

  My mind whirled, visions of me fucking Derek mixing with Peg’s head bursting like a watermelon, King’s leering grin, Tanner’s eyes as he shot at us, the cop getting shot in the chest…

  I heard myself intone words, but their meaning eluded me.

  “King has a Sikorsky S-76,” I said, sounding like a robot for some reason.

  I recited the information I had seen on the safety card, because it made me calm.

  I wanted to scream.

  “It seats eight, and has the capability for a water landing. The flotation devices are under the leather seats.”

  I continued, feeling like the world’s worst flight attendant.

  “There is a red handle for exiting the aircraft in case of an emergency. Only people who are physically capable of operating the latch should be seated by the window…” I droned on.

  Derek ignored me, and talked with Randy for a few minutes.

  They spoke to their commander, I guess, because someone kept replying to them.

  Derek spoke into a headset, that he’d put on at some point.

  My head leaned against his strong shoulder.

  I could smell his sweat, and the heat in the truck, and Randy and the leather of my purse.

  My senses seemed hyper alert.

  I could hear the tiny noises of the air conditioning fan motor, and the whirl of the tires on the road.

  My own heartbeat…

  “This is Alpha One Romeo, there is a strong indicator that suspect may be fleeing to the Miami International Airport. I need a manifest of all helicopters, specifically the Sikorsky S-76 and variants, business-class, that are currently inbound, outbound, or stationed there, over,” said Randy into the headset.

  “King’s chopper is black, with orange trim,” I said.

  Then, I snapped to attention.

  “Derek, oh, Derek!” I cried.

  “I’m so confused, right now! How can you be here?” I asked.

  Derek grabbed my chin and tilted my head up, so that I could look into his eyes.

  I saw the love there, but I was still too unsure of our situation to commit to anything.

  “Megan, I missed you,” he said.

  He leaned over and gave me a brotherly kiss on the tip of my nose.

  And something broke loose…

  *****

  I grabbed Derek by his hair and kissed him. Hard.

  Pulling him close to me, my tits pressed against his strong, muscular chest, I devoured his mouth.

  My tongue leaped out of my mouth, feeling around his lips and the stubble on his chin before diving into him.

  He seemed startled, but only for a second, and then his tongue was in me.

  We licked and sucked on each other, our saliva mingling with our tears and sweat.

  Randy cleared his throat, politely letting us know he was still there.

  He gave us some kind of weird look, his eyebrow raising.

  I ignored him, kissing Derek even harder.

  Derek grabbed my hair, his fingers winding deep into its folds, as he leaned into me.

  I could feel myself nearing orgasm, already, and I began to make the moans I knew so well from my self-pleasure.

  Derek sucked my tongue, stroking it with his teeth.

  I plunged my own tongue deep into his mouth, again and again as I came, my hips gyrating and pulsing.

  I felt his heat against my cheek.

  I reached down to grab his cock, and he was rock hard for me.

  My nipples felt like they were going to tear themselves free from my heaving chest and shoot into his mouth, feeling his warm lips and his tongue swirling across them until he plunged his tongue into my… what the fuck?

  Derek was pushing me away!

  H
e was on fire, I could tell.

  He blazed with passion, and I couldn’t help but notice that his huge cock was hard and erect underneath his blue jeans.

  I wanted to wrap my aching pussy around it, or have him shove it all the way down my throat, so I could empty his balls, and drink all his milky cum.

  My own nipples were poking out from the sheer fabric of my blouse.

  And that lacy, tan bra begged to be unclasped, to release my tits for Derek’s use, as I gasped my pleasure at having been ravaged by this giant man.

  I wanted to just tell Randy to stop the truck so I could throw him into the bed of the truck and fuck Derek’s brains out.

  But, suddenly, there were more pressing matters to which to attend.

  *****

  Randy drove down 112 to the airport, the Metrorail on the north keeping pace with the F-150 as he sped along the toll road. He roared down the off ramp, going off-road past a line of cars trying to exit. We spun around in some mud, and knocked over a barricade, as the truck blew through the traffic signals.

  I kept wondering when a Miami-Dade police car was going to chase us down, but there weren’t any following.

  Randy got to the far west end of the airport, where the warehouses were stationed, and pulled into the parking ramp leading to Building 706. He raced around the tight spiral ramp to the roof.

  Derek and Randy jumped from the cab of the truck, and sprinted along the parking area.

  “There he is!” shouted Derek, pointing at a black S-76 that was parked next to a huge 747 cargo jet.

  “Call for backup!” said Randy.

  “Roger, that!” said Derek, and he thumbed a button on his headset.

  “Alpha Hawk, meet us west end of MIA, vector forty-five, runway two seven,” he said.

  I couldn’t hear the response, but suddenly Derek reached behind the seats of the truck, and came out with two short rifles.

  “Randy, here!” he yelled, and Randy caught one of the guns on the fly.

  “Megan, stay here!” he shouted at me as he and Randy went running across the lot.

  They raced to the stairway, and leapt three stairs at a time down to the ground floor.

  Ignoring Derek, I followed as best I could, and saw them run into the Air Cargo offices.

  They burst through a door marked “Secure Area. Authorized Personnel Only” and into the warehouse, guns held at the ready.

  They had some kind of badge on a lanyard around their necks.

  I pushed past all the confused people, trying to keep up with them, but they had outrun me in seconds.

  “Hey!” yelled the security guard as I ran past.

  “I’m with them!” I screamed back, but he stopped me from going further.

  Suddenly, I heard gunfire.

  People came streaming out of the warehouse, panicked and yelling to get down.

  A few stray bullets shot into the walls behind us, and one window shattered.

  I heard the helicopter engines revving up, and hot air and dust whooshed into the warehouse doors, blowing papers and debris all around.

  There were about a hundred gurneys, all marked “USPS International POST” on them.

  This was a post office? I thought.

  Who knew?

  Amid all the flying dust, I sputtered, trying to see what had happened.

  In a few minutes, Derek walked back in, cradling his weapon.

  Randy was beside him, swearing up a storm.

  “This fucking close, Derek! This close! God damn it!” he roared.

  He had a cut on his forehead, and a small rivulet of blood ran down his cheek.

  “You’re bleeding, man,” said Derek.

  Randy swiped at it with his hand, smearing it.

  “Whatever,” he said.

  They stopped at the Homeland Security station, and spoke with the guard for a few minutes.

  We waited while he checked out their credentials.

  Derek walked over to me, where one of the guards was keeping an eye on the dangerous chubby woman wearing Van’s.

  “She’s with us,” said Randy, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb.

  The guard gave me a look.

  “Lucky you,” he said to them.

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Derek and Randy laughed, and even the guard chuckled.

  “Nice guns,” he said. “Are those UMPs?”

  “No, these are Kriss Vectors,” said Randy.

  “Nice,” said the guard, in the manner of a man who loves guns.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Men and their toys, I thought.

  *****

  We got back in the truck, and Randy spoke at length to someone, reporting what had happened.

  He looked at Derek, who’d been rifling through the first aid kit to find a bandage.

  “Derek, we have clearance to go to Vector 12. What do you think?” said Randy.

  Derek looked as though he were deep in thought.

  He handed a package to Randy.

  “Here, tidy yourself up, bud,” he said.

  Randy took the pack and went to the bathroom to tend to his injury.

  Randy spent some time cleaning his wound, and came back.

  Derek and I spent the time getting to know each other a little more.

  This involved some very close contact sitting in the cab of the truck.

  We rubbed against each other, and soon Derek’s hands found my breasts.

  My nipples pressed into his palms like nails, as we kissed.

  His hot breath against my neck made me wild, and my eyes were bright with passion and need.

  I grabbed his crotch, again feeling the massive thing waiting for me underneath his blue jeans.

  Derek growled against my throat.

  It was a good thing the windows had dark tint, I thought crazily.

  I decided I was going to go down on him, but he pushed me away again, at the last moment.

  By this time Randy had come back, and Derek was getting very worked up, indeed.

  We gathered ourselves, and tried to look innocent.

  I tucked my shirt back in, muttering something about how it must have come loose when I was running down the stairs.

  Derek was having a bit more difficulty in trying to hide his erection.

  He’d managed to pull himself together, but still had an arm around my waist.

  Randy got in, and we drove back along 112, towards the bay.

  We peered out as we passed the Port of Miami.

  The cruise ships were all lined up, waiting to be allowed to leave on their magical journeys.

  I had been on one a few times.

  Cruises were fun, but they all ended up sucking every last dollar from your wallet. I felt like a bunch of pirates were secretly in command of the ship.

  Which made it sexy and exciting, but still…

  I goggled at the size of the floating hotels.

  Those things were fucking HUGE.

  *****

  Soon, Randy merged with the traffic on SoBe, and then we drove some until we finally were parked in front of the Fontainebleau Hotel.

  It was notorious for being featured in movies, like “Goldfinger”.

  Many famous people had stayed there over the decades. It smelled of old money.

  When we exited the truck, the service staff noticed the marks where the bullets had hit the truck.

  “Love bugs,” said Derek, deadpan.

  I stifled a laugh, and we ducked into the lobby.

  My legs were still wobbly from our impromptu make out session.

  Randy drove away.

  I barely got to say anything to him, and wanted to thank him for saving my life.

  We walked into the lobby, where there was a hotel manager and another giant black man, who looked like a reggae artist. He smiled, and had a gleaming gold grill to set it off.

  “Mr. Reagan, so good to see you again!” said the woman, whose skin was like Caramel. I immediately hated her, for her
familiarity with Derek.

  He just smiled and laughed at her, and asked how she had been.

  Her name tag said “Sandra”.

  Sandra was gorgeous in that specific Island girl way. I thought she was just a bit too cute. Her little nipples were perky and eager.

  But, she won me over with how enthusiastic she welcomed us.

  We took an elevator to the penthouse suite.

  When we walked up to the door, the big black dude nodded at Derek.

  Then the door opened, and four burly men came out, and made a beeline for the stairs. They disappeared without a sound.

  All of them had been wearing shorts and Cuban shirts, and wore crepe-soled deck shoes.

  I wondered if they carried weapons, because I couldn’t see any.

  Mr. ‘Gold Grill reggae dude’ entered the penthouse and then came out about a minute later.

  He made some kind of hand signal to Derek, and then carried our luggage into the back room.

  I stuck close to Derek, holding him tight. I was shivering, but not just because I was cold, as it was freezing in the hotel.

  It was something else… something I hadn’t ever felt before.

  It was the anticipation of getting fucked by a real man.

  Reggae dude came back out of the bedroom, and thanked Sandra.

  He told her we were not to be disturbed, and handed her a crisp $100 bill. Then he gave her another one, and whispered in her ear.

  She blushed, and giggled slightly. Then, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and scooted off.

  Derek said something to him, rolling his eyes.

  “Really, dude? Are you sure this is a level 12?” he said.

  What the hell was a level twelve? I wondered.

  The guy just grinned, his white teeth shining from behind his gold grill.

  He had to be at least three hundred pounds of linebacker, with a bristly black beard that probably would scratch a girl’s thighs all to hell.

  He was jovial, like a big black Santa Clause, if Santa had tattoos and dreadlocks.

  “What can I say, ‘Mister Ray Gun’,” he said, being sure to make it sound sarcastic.

  I liked him.

  “Are you and ‘Nancy’ going to be okay here?” he asked.

  “I think so,” he said, to no one.

  It was odd, but you could tell he was all SEAL.

  “There’s some gear in the satchel, as you know, and clothes in the duffel. Plus, some sundries. If you need anything else, just whistle,” he said.

  I looked at Derek, and the reggae dude walked out of the room.

  I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, quivering with want.