CHAPTER FOUR
Caleb
The next morning, I woke early, sun streaming in my bedroom window, stabbing me in the eyes. I hadn’t drunk too much last night, but enough that I felt heavy and lethargic. It was Saturday, and I wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, maybe sleep all day, but an image of last night’s Cherry Bomb flashed through my mind.
She’d been beautiful, entering the ring with so much confidence. Then making that backflip and actually beating the crap out of Andrew the Giant. I snorted. I wasn’t sure if even I could knock down that guy.
I couldn’t believe I’d offered to sponsor her, had told her she’d be a prototype. What had I been thinking?
I knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
My cock jumped as if to agree. I’d been thinking with my dick. And I needed to stop. Chances were good that she’d call, and I’d actually sponsor her, or my company would. She could be an interesting new investment that opened the door to similar investments. Investments in people. I liked it.
I’d had an interest in investing in people ever since that fateful day of the accident. Up until then, I’d been a spoiled brat who couldn’t see past his next party-boy weekend and barely realized other people had feelings and hopes and dreams, most of which they would never achieve due to finances.
My thoughts went back to Cherry again, and I wondered what it was about her that made me act so impulsively. It was more than that she was drop-dead gorgeous. I’d met plenty of beautiful women in my life. There was something else about her. Self-possession. Pride. Hope.
And maybe the fact that she didn’t seem the least bit interested in me had increased my interest that much more. Because of my money and position, women usually fell all over me, but the great Cherry Bomb kept her distance. Still, there was something that made me want to be in the same room with her again. Needed to be. My cock pulsed, and I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower, determined to put all thoughts of Cherry out of my head.
But the problem was, my erection just would not go away. And when I decided to take care of the problem in the shower and wrapped my hand around it, the deliciously sweaty image of Cherry lodged itself forefront in my mind. As if she were in front of me, her image became a fantasy in which she stepped into the shower stall as large as a walk-in closet, shutting the glass door behind her and turning to give me a questioning look.
Her eyes flicked to my lower regions, her pupils darkening, which made my abdomen muscles tighten in anticipation.
“Let me,” my phantom Cherry purred, closing the distance between us and commandeering my cock, sliding her soft hand down my length as I let out a hiss and gritted my teeth, trying to arch into her touch.
She tightened her grip and locked eyes with me. In hers, I could see that she was enjoying herself, was turned on by what she was doing. Her tongue flicked out, ran over her lower lip.
My wonder at her joining me in the shower darted away, and I pulled her closer, smashing her breasts against my chest, the contact making her gasp before taking her mouth with mine. I plunged my tongue in, clashed with hers, spiraling and sparring, until I finally won the battle and explored her mouth as her hand increased its speed.
Abruptly, she pulled her mouth from mine and stepped back, the cold air harsh after her soft warmth. I blinked my eyes open and realized she’d gone to her knees. A feeling that could only be described as a punch to the gut staggered through me.
“Cherry, you don’t—”
“I want to taste you, want you to fill my mouth.”
A strangled groan escaped me as she acted on her words before I could object further, opening her mouth and taking in the head, sucking and swirling her tongue across it before dipping it into my slit. I actually felt blood leave my extremities as my dick hardened further.
She pressed her head forward, opening her mouth and taking half my length in, pulling back and sucking as she went. My growl was lost in the sounds of the water hitting the tile and our bodies, the pounding of my heart in my ears. Then she took me deeper, all the way, until I was hilted in the back of her throat, and she moaned as she pressed her tongue against my shaft on her way up.
My hand went to the back of her neck, encouraging her to continue as she feasted on my ever-hardening cock.
Her movements became faster, my hips pumping desperately as she opened, laving me with her tongue. My other hand twisted in her hair, and I heard myself groaning her name.
I let her take control, sliding my cock in and out of her mouth, the popping sound each time she reached the end raising my excitement until I was panting. The tension in my lower belly reached a pinnacle, and the air went white-hot as she latched on and sucked, taking all of me. Shouting her name in surprise, I burst into her mouth. Even then, she didn’t stop, only slowed as she drew out every last drop and made a show of swallowing, a sexy smirk on her face as she did.
Smiling like the cat who had snuck the last bit of the cream, she sat back on her haunches, and her darkened eyes met mine. I drew in a shuddering breath and stepped back to catch my balance, and the vision disappeared.
Once again, I was in my shower, the hot water turning cold as my lungs heaved and I tried to expel the fantasy from my mind.
But even at the office, it wouldn’t leave. Not entirely.
Hours later, I still couldn’t concentrate on the numbers I was trying to come up with for my new “prototype” to present to the ever unhappy accountants. Each time my attention wandered, I ended up staring out the window at the view of the Ohio River and the Second Street Bridge. The third time that view changed to what I had envisioned in my shower that morning, I slapped the pen down on my desk and stood.
Sometimes when I couldn’t concentrate, I wandered the halls, talked to the guards or the receptionists. Owning a skyscraper wasn’t all shits and giggles. To make clients happy, it involved knowing what was going on in its depths, listening to complaints about how the cleaning crew was doing, how someone had to call the police because some crazy came off the street threatening people with a machete in Panera Bread. By now, most of the people I talked to trusted me, knew I was more than a suit sitting at the top of the tower.
Today though, I had a different subject in mind. The tunnels.
Before the fight, I’d heard of the tunnels running in a decrepit network underneath the streets of Louisville, but I’d always assumed they weren’t used anymore. Or were only used when some plumbing issue came up at the water line main arteries. After last night I knew there was more to them, and I planned to find out what. If they were being used as a transportation way to illegal fights — which was fine by me, delightful even — I wondered if the ones that must’ve been underneath my own building were in use, and why.
And I knew just where to go.
Down on the main level where the trucks came in for delivery, there was a guard who had somehow managed to remain at his post through several guard company buyouts and maybe a hundred employee changes. He was devoted, showing up during blizzards and holidays when no one else did. On top of that, he was a character.
“Neddie.”
The wiry, bald guard turned, his face lighting up when he saw me. “Mr. Birchmeir. How’s it going up there on the thirty-fifth?”
“Running smoothly.” Or it would be if I could get my mind off a certain boxing beauty. “I wanted to pick your brain for a minute.”
“Pick away, man. There’s not much hair here to protect me from that these days.” Neddie cackled and rubbed his bald head. He was a jokester, but Neddie knew everything that happened on the street, almost as if by osmosis.
I could tell by the apologetic expression in his hazel eyes that he didn’t have any news for me today. Sometimes he did. He knew my history. Knew who I searched for.
Some days, he’d give me a snippet about a woman seen in an alley, dark blonde hair, eyes bluer than the ocean on a perfect summer day. Some days the news wasn’t so hopeful, when somebody had found a body. Those days I added a bit of something extra to my morning coffee and called it Irish.
I laughed and shook my head. “Do you know anything about the tunnels that run underground here? Maybe even under the building?”
Neddie frowned and gestured toward the sidewalk just outside his office. “Sure do. Why, last winter the police lifted up the manhole cover just out there on the sidewalk, and out came five people. Homeless. Been living underground, trying to not freeze to death.”
“Really. I never heard about that.” I couldn’t hide my shock that people had taken to climbing into a manhole to escape the bitter cold that gripped Louisville in spells in the winter.
“Probably the police never made a report, and if there’s nothing to tell, well… why talk about it?” He gave me a sympathetic look. “And they didn’t come back. Jails are so full of the drug problem in this city, they probably just warned them off.”
“Hmm.” I rocked back on my heels. “That’s just a storm drain out there though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s probably in the network of tunnels, connected to others. Some of the tunnels are waterways, some are electric and plumbing access, others used to have a function back in the day.”
“I’m really interested in these tunnels, Neddie. How would I go about finding out more about them? Not the ones out there on the street, but any that might have an entrance or one that’s been blocked up in the basement here? I might go down there and take a look, actually.”
Neddie stepped closer and held out a hand in a stop gesture. “Well, Mr. Birchmeir, it’s dark and damn dirty down there. You don’t wanna muss that fine suit of yours. Why don’t you just let me handle that? I can take my lunch and—”
“That’s a great idea, but stay on the clock, and we can go down to the lower level, take a look around. I’m not worried about this suit, just want to make sure everything’s secure.”
Neddie looked away, and I guessed he wasn’t too keen on skipping lunch for an outing in the basement with the building owner. And I was pretty sure I’d just insulted his capabilities, even though his station was on street level.
“I know you keep things secure, but the basement isn’t your turf. I’ll make sure you still get your lunch when we get back.”
He waved my words away. “Eh, the less you eat, the longer you live, scientific studies say. Let’s go.”
I chuckled and shook my head as I followed Neddie into the basement, then through another door marked sub-basement that led to stairs. A basement under a basement. That was creepy. It got damper as we went, the ceiling lower and the lights dimmer, seemingly with bulbs leftover from an era that didn’t know about LED. When we had almost reached the far side of the subbasement, Neddie stopped and clicked on his flashlight.
“There ya go. There’s one entrance to a tunnel here.” He spoke loudly as he flashed his light on a large, rusted door then flicked the illumination to the adjacent wall. “There’s another. Both secure.” A door similar to the first was visible in the dim light.
“Damn. How can you tell they’re secure? Looks like a weakness to me.”
Neddie huffed as if I’d personally insulted him. “They’re secure. I’ll show you.” He went to the first, fiddled with the locking mechanism, which must have been stuck, then banged on the door with his fist, ending in a kick. “Damn thing,” he shouted. “Damn fucking old doors don’t wanna open even to the building owner, no sir.”
When the door finally did swing open, a breeze filtered in, smelling of dank and mold and piss. I covered my nose with my hand but stepped closer, peering in.
Inside, in the pale cast of light from the subbasement, were someone’s things. A pile of raggedy blankets, some magazines, a dirty pink bike with training wheels.
“Looks like somebody’s trash got washed down. Best shut this up before the rats get the scent of fresh air.”
“Rats?”
Neddie’s eyes lit up in the faint light. “You ain’t never seen the rats ‘round here? Big as possums and wouldn’t think twice about runnin’ up and chompin’ on your shoe. Damn pesky things, need at least a .22 to kill one. Ain’t allowed to carry a gun though.” His eyes huge with his own talk of rats, Neddie swung the iron door shut and smacked the lock into place, announcing, “Secure!”
Neddie turned and headed back for the elevator, but I stood in what was left of the rank air. The old guy was a stellar employee, and I wouldn’t think he’d pull one over on me unless he had a reason. Or several. But he was acting strange, or stranger than usual, and I wanted to know why.