The sensation had been so overpowering that she was numb for long seconds afterward.
The other strange man stepped forward and he examined her torn and bleeding cunt with his fingers while she writhed and cried out as he did it.
Then he moved against her.
Renee was ready for a new assault. Nothing could be as bad as the one she had just gone through. She was more than ready, in fact. The violence of the attack had left her body hungry for more.
So she only groaned contentedly when the second man lifted her butt with his hands to bring her hole into line with his rod.
And then she was sinking down, down, down as if deep into a feather bed. And she started screaming and thrashing as she felt his rod begin to demand admission.
He wasn't driving into her sore and tender cunt. He was slowly lowering her to impale her from her ass hole. She sobbed bitterly as his swollen rod pushed into the tight back entrance. She had never had it done to her before.
His prick pounding into virgin flesh ripped and tore her open. She pulled her legs up, trying to get away. But that only opened her ass more and put more weight on it to drive his prick inexorably deeper.
Then he was humping her, flinging his weight into her while she struggled to catch his rhythm as her body was caught up in the sensation of pleasure that was coming out of the hot pain in her ass. He held her legs up, presenting her ass in perfect form to drive his rod in with furious hammer blows.
"Give it to me!" she was begging with realizing she was saying anything. And then his hot cum was smashing brutally through her bowels making her whole body convulse in response.
"More," she said weakly, as he backed off. In her delirium all she really wanted was for one of the men to get back on and ride her to control her. All she was aware of was the hot fire of her body demanding that she be satiated.
As his prick pulled out of her tender ass, he patted her thigh gently and said, "We'll take them," in his oddly accented Spanish.
Dimly, Renee heard Fran screaming in the distance with a high note of ecstasy quivering in her voice. The thick prick was slugging his penis into her slit and the blonde girl was insane with it, writhing on the floor and tearing at him.
Talking together, as if nothing were happening, Manuel and the other man stood by the door smoking. "They are all ready to go?" the man said, softly.
Manuel shrugged. "I haven't put them downstairs yet, to test my control."
"Bueno! When will you be doing that?"
"Maniana, in the evening. Is that soon enough for you?"
"Perfect! I will have the merchandise then, if all goes well. Say, we will come and watch. About eight?"
"Eight is fine."
"There will be no trouble?"
"Trouble, hombre!" Manuel's tone was injured. "Have I ever failed you in the past?"
The stranger shrugged. "We will have a lot of heroin with us. Enough for a long jail sentence if we are caught."
"Why worry? What can happen?"
"Nothing, I suppose."
"Of course not." Manuel slapped him on the back. "Look, your friend is almost done with Fran. Why don' you…?"
"Porque, no?" the stranger said. "Porque, no?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Life was one big throb. Alex awoke on the cold floor of the bathroom with his head beating a tattoo all its own.
He stood up stiffly, feeling twinges of pain ranging through his body.
Delicately, he unwound the blood-clotted shirt from his body, wincing as the scabs tore away from his body. He finished stripping and stepped into the shower.
For long moments he stood under the warm water as it washed the dried blood off his flesh. After a while he looked down where the stinging of the water let him know he had been cut.
It wasn't as bad as he had thought. There was a long, red streak of puckered flesh on his belly, but not deep enough to do more than be uncomfortable. And there was a second short, raw wound that set him on fire when he touched it.
His side ached dully as his fingers traced the outline of puffed flesh. The knife had cut just under the skin. If it didn't get infected there would be no need to see a doctor, which was a damned good thing.
Somehow, he didn't think there was any profit to be had in bringing up the matter of the two lead Mexicans he'd left behind him in the street.
He walked into the bedroom and lay down, still naked. Over and over what he had gone through passed through his mind. He felt each step of the unfurling drama – the fear, the surge of strength. All of it. Killers were supposed to feel remorse, he thought, amazed, but he felt nothing but strength and power.
It was dark when he awakened again. The swelling was down on his side and he felt more clear-headed than he had the last time he was conscious.
Dressing awkwardly, trying to avoid bumping the painful wounds, Alex tried to think of what he was going to – how he was going to do it.
The police were out. He shuddered to think of the grilling they would give him over two bodies found lying in a dusty Tijuana street.
No! Whatever was going to have to be done, it would have to be done by him.
On the way out, the clerk looked at him and, for a moment, Alex's heart stopped beating. Was he going to say something about how he stumbled in drunk and bleeding, covered with the blood of two men later found dead?
"Your key, senor?" the clerk asked.
"Oh, si, si!" Alex dug the room key out of his pocket and handed it to the clerk who gravely hung it on a nail in the wall aligned with the rest of the hotel's keys.
"Buenos noches, senor."
"Buenos noches."
Alex stepped into the street and hailed a cab. "Case de Los Angeles," he told the driver.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The deaths of Jose and Antonio had driven Manuel into a frenzy. They were the arms and legs that made his name feared throughout Tijuana, not to be easily replaced.
According to the periodicos, the two had killed each other in a senseless fight. True, they hadn't any fondness for each other, but there was no reason for them to fight.
Of course, and that was one of the reasons Manuel was chewing his fingernails to the quick in his upstairs room, if the police knew about that Americano they would think of another possibility.
But Jose and Antonio were not paragons of virtue. And the police would be quick to close the books on the matter, happy to stamp the word muerte across their files.
If it were not for other things to be considered, he, Manuel Ramos, would finish this thing personally. Only… and that only was what glued Manuel to his chair… only right now was not the time for a flea to move wrong. With two kidnapped American women upstairs and the two Uruguayans with their suitcase full of merchandise in the other room, police interference was not desirable.
Manuel shrugged into his charro jacket and looked at himself critically in the mirror, admiring his clean profile and classical Roman nose. It had done very well for him in the past – captivating the ladies.
He smiled and the image in the glass smiled back, showing lustrous white teeth. It was his fortune, really. It was something nobody could take away from him.
Stepping into the other room he told the two men to come with him and they could watch the demonstration. Manuel's skin prickled slightly over that. The women were not quite ready, but he couldn't take any more time, because of the low state of his finances. So he must take a chance on them. But not without precautions! Those he had taken. Si!
Alex spent twenty minutes pacing around the building, keeping well to the shadows and out of sight. The second time around he returned to the back window which was open a fraction to let in the cool, night air.