Trainer meets His Goal PT4 Blacken
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BetrayalChapter 21 free porn video
Max pulled up to the Sheriff's house and gritted his teeth. The place smacked of trailer park elegance. All Sheriff Warner needed was a giant felt Elvis welcoming visitors and it would be perfect. The house, a custom job, was a gaudy combination of Swiss Château, hunting lodge and Mediterranean excess. Parked out front were several vehicles. In addition to the Yellow Hummer, there was a golf cart with chrome wheels, a classic Ford Mustang, and several four wheel drive trucks from the mining company.
Guess I'm late to the party, he thought. The second act of Castor et Pollux ended abruptly as Max ejected the CD. He stashed the disc in his suit coat, in a pocket next to the Desert Eagle. He carefully adjusted his suit. After four years, transforming himself into Max the Enforcer was easier, but it still took a moment to fully get into character. He took a deep breath and got out of the truck. He strutted up to the house. Max knocked on the carved wooden door. Moments later, Sheriff Warner answered, a half empty beer bottle clutched in his chubby right hand.
"'Bout time. We figured you weren't gonna show your ugly little head." The Sheriff laughed, waving the bottle in Max's face, middle finger wrapped prominently around the neck.
Max grunted and pushed past the Sheriff. Today was bad enough without having to deal with this pompous redneck asshole. In the living room, horns and heads covered the log cabin style walls. An elk horn chandelier dominated the space. Max always shuddered at the sight. Some people shouldn't have money.
At the sight of Max, the men lounging on the brown leather couches stopped talking and sat ramrod straight. Each of the assembled men respected and feared him. Max's ever-present Desert Eagle weighed heavily on their minds. His temper was famously short, but he paid well and rewarded their good behavior as surely as he punished bad behavior.
"Where's O'Donnell and my fucking Jeep? And where the fuck is that Driscol girl?" Max roared. Each man cowed when his gaze stabbed in their direction. It was good they feared him. The combination of fear, the comfortable life he gave them, the small amount of power each wielded and the belt system made them extremely loyal. They would follow any command Max gave.
It was important that they were loyal. Some of these little shits scared the crap out of Max, though he would never admit it. The cowering men had one thing in common, they were killers. Each had to have killed at least one man before they were considered for recruitment. None had ever expressed remorse. A few killings had been justified or in self defense, but most were simple cases of cold blooded murder.
Before joining, they were hand selected by a panel of psychologists who identified candidates that were pliable and would work together as a pack. Max pulled a toothpick from his breast pocket and chomped down on it.
"You," Max growled. He whipped the Desert Eagle from its holster and pointed it between the eyes of the man who had pursued the Driscol girl and O'Donnell earlier that day. "Where the fuck did they go Jamal? If she somehow makes it out alive, I will hold you personally responsible! If I find that O'Donnell used her to play out one of his sick little fantasies and you knew about it, I will also hold you responsible." Max pulled the hammer back. He felt intense satisfaction as the large black man started shaking with fear.
"I'll take care of the problem boss, or die trying," Jamal promised. Max knew the man would be true to his word and relaxed his grip on the pistol.
"Easy there, Maxie Pad. No blood in the house. Boss's orders," Sheriff Warner's nasally voice interrupted. Max whirled around, furious. He didn't bother threatening the portly man with the Desert Eagle. Warner knew he was immune. He was a key part of the operation and it would be too risky to replace the fat bastard. As long as the cash kept flowing, he would do anything they asked. He had proven his worth many times in the past, covering for missions gone awry.
"You bring the dough?" Sheriff Warner mashed one of his fat fingers into Max's chest. "I looked all afternoon with the search and rescue helicopter, but I didn't find a damn thing. Went up and down that goddamn canyon until it got too dark. The only wrecks I found were old ones that we already knew about. I'll take the chopper out again in the morning once the sun comes up. But until then, the boss man said you were bringing ol' Tom a little something-something," he rubbed his hands together greedily.
"Here," growled Max. He reached into his jacket pocket and shoved an envelope into the Sheriff's plump belly. "Boss said to tell you thanks, asshole. Don't spend it all in one place."
"Asshole? Aww come on, Maxie, you and I both know the boss man don't use that kind of language."
"I added that last bit on my own."
"Max, Max, Max, you ever hear the saying that you catch more flies with honey?" Warner asked mockingly.
Jane
- 30.01.2021
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