What I Wouldn't Do (Hunter Hayes - Rated R)

A Black Waterfall

Hey, I'd just like to say up front here, since it's probably going to confuse people: her name is pronounced Mah-rin-nay. And that's "rin" that rhymes with "fin". May-rin-nay. Okay, carry on! :D 

"Marine?" Frankie gasped, backing into the house with her hand pressed to her mouth. Oh no. Oh, fuck no. Oh fuck oh shit oh God oh no.

The other woman, tall and dark like an amazonian goddess, strode into the room, her signature leather trench-coat clinging to her curvaceous form like a black waterfall. She grinned with her blinding, too-white teeth, her velvet red lips pulling back into the most perfectly faked friendly expression anyone had ever seen. This woman was a danger to men and women alike. She had everyone hooked from the moment her eyes, the deepest green and twinkling with mystery and mischief, took notice of their existence. 

"Hello, Francesca," Marine purred, waltzing into the room and closing the door resolutely behind her. "How have you been, dearie?" 

She didn't wait for an answer. She didn't want an answer. Frankie knew this, so she kept her mouth shut and watched as Marine pushed passed her into the kitchen, where she pulled out a chair and kicked her feet up on the table. She sat picking at her French-tipped nails as Frankie fumbled to get into her silk robe, which only vaguely disguised the outline of the sexy red lingerie.  

A long moment of charged silence ensued, until Marine finally looked up, saw Frankie standing there awkwardly, and kicked out the chair beside her. "Have a seat," she commanded, waving at the chair like it was a fly hovering over her meal. 

Frankie sat timidly, perched on the edge of the chair as though she was ready to take flight. Oh no. What is she doing here?

The last time she'd seen Marine had been the day she'd left the whore house. She hadn't been happy with her then, and it was obvious that the hard feelings were still thick as concrete. Marine may not work on the right side of the compass, but she was a pretty powerful woman. If she was pissed at you, you better be afraid. Really fucking afraid.

Frankie gulped and waited, knowing Marine would get to the point if she stayed silent long enough. She'd known her for near five years, and she'd learned that it was best to hold your tongue, or you ran the risk of incriminating yourself even further. 

"I hear you've been stealing business from us," Marine finally stated, drawing out the words as if she was bored, and still not looking at Frankie's face. "It was pretty funny, actually, when I called Jud Ricter the other day for his bi-weekly phone fuck and he told me...what were his exact words?" She tapped one polished nail against her chin, then looked straight at Frankie. "Oh, right. 'I've already been taken care of,' he said." Marine tilted her head inquisitively, raising her eyebrows sarcastically and glaring at Frankie with plain, unadulterated accusation in her eyes. 

"I thought to myself, 'Who could possibly have taken care of Jud Ricter?' And you know what? I couldn't think of anybody. Not for a long time. But then I remembered you, and how you left because you were too much of a pussy to handle the job. 'It couldn't possibly be her, though, could it? She wouldn't have the balls to steal my customers, would she? Francesca? That little slut who quit after one night on the town? It couldn't possibly be her!' I thought."

Frankie gulped again. 

"I can see now that it was, in fact, Francesca who stole Jud Ricter from us." Marine looked her up and down, making her squirm in her seat. With a suddenness that stole Frankie's breath, Marine slammed her feet onto the floor and leaned into her face, those green orbs only and inch or so from hers. She flinched, and Marine caught it, smirking at her obviously scared attitude. 

"You know you have to stop, don't you, Francesca?" she whispered, her voice soft as silk. Her hand gripped Frankie's chin like a grandmother visiting for Christmas, turning her face from side to side, inspecting her porcelain skin for flaws. 

Frankie nodded. Marine smiled. "Good. You always were far more clever than the other girls, weren't you, Francesca? I like that about you." 

For a long, intense moment, Marine just stared into her eyes, making her shift uncomfortably. Marine shook her head infinitesimally, tsking under her breath.

"Such a pity. Such a beauty," she whispered. Marine leaned forward and kissed her straight on the lips, then pulled back and swept out of the room, leaving Frankie to melt into a puddle of nerves at the kitchen table. 

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About half an hour later, though Frankie hadn't moved from her spot on the kitchen floor and had all but forgotten that time even existed, the doorbell rang again. The sudden, shrill ringing drew her out of her reminiscence and back into reality. She flew off the floor and ran to the door, making sure to check through the peep-hole this time. 

It's my customer, she thought, checking her watch and seeing that they were late. Should I take them? 

Her thoughts flashed to Marine, and all the damage that she could do to her if she continued to "steal business" from them. Was it worth it? Was she prepared to deal with the consequences so that Hunter could continue his musical path? 

She drew herself up and puffed out her chest. She threw off the silk robe and tossed the door open. The man behind the frame looked her up and down appreciatively.

"Sorry I'm late, I was - " She held up a hand to cut him off, ushering him into the room quickly and taking the envelope from his hand.

"It's an extra two hundred for the outfit, and I don't kiss on the mouth," she announced. 

Hunter is worth anything.