Chapter 342 - - 342
Dust filled the air. The rooftop restaurant was a warzone of shattered glass and broken wood. The deafening echo of the explosion still rang in Rick’s ears.
Rick lay on the floor, his body covering Rachel. He coughed, waving the thick grey smoke away from his face.
Beneath him, Rachel was trembling. Her hands gripped his black shirt tightly. Her chest heaved up and down against his.
"Oh my god," Rachel gasped. She looked around at the destroyed restaurant in pure panic. "Rick... what was that? Are we under attack?"
"Yeah. Some asshole just blew up the floor below us," Rick muttered. He brushed a chunk of plaster off his shoulder.
"Terrorists," Rachel stammered, her eyes wide with terror. "It has to be a terrorist attack. They are going to kill us all."
Rick let out an annoyed sigh. "It’s not terrorists, Rachel. It’s just my luck. I finally get a hot doctor in a tight dress to agree to come to my hotel room, and the whole damn building blows up."
Rachel stared at him, bewildered. "Are you insane? We could have died! How can you think about sex right now?"
"Because I have my priorities straight," Rick smirked. He shifted his weight, pressing his hips deliberately against hers.
"Stop it! Get off me," Rachel hissed, though she kept her voice low.
Before Rick could move, the heavy emergency doors leading to the stairwell burst open.
Loud, heavy combat boots crunched on the shattered glass.
Rick peaked over the edge of the overturned leather booth. Five men stormed into the dining room. They were heavily armed. They wore thick tactical vests, black combat fatigues, and black ski masks covering their faces. They held automatic assault rifles tightly against their shoulders.
"Nobody move!" the lead goon screamed. He pointed his rifle at the ceiling and pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Bullets tore through the expensive plaster ceiling. Debris rained down on the screaming patrons.
"Everybody face the floor! Hands on your heads! If you look up, you get a bullet in your brain!" the goon yelled.
The rich businessmen and their dates scrambled to comply. People cried and begged, pressing their faces into the dirty, glass-covered carpet.
Rick rolled off Rachel and crouched beside her. "Keep your head down," he whispered.
Rachel quickly put her hands over the back of her head, shaking violently.
Then, another figure walked through the stairwell doors.
It was a woman.
She was also wearing a black ski mask, but her outfit was very different from the hired muscle. She wore skin-tight black leather tactical pants that hugged every curve of her lower body. She wore a specialized bulletproof vest over a tight black shirt.
The vest couldn’t hide her massive, heavy breasts. Her cleavage was clearly visible near her collar. She had thick, powerful thighs and a perfectly round ass that swayed aggressively with every step she took. She held a sleek submachine gun in her right hand, resting the barrel on her shoulder like a baseball bat.
She walked into the room like she owned it.
Rick let out a low, appreciative whistle.
"Damn," Rick whispered. "Look at the ass on her. That leather is holding on for dear life. And those tits... I bet she gives a mean tit-job."
Rachel snapped her head to the side. She glared at Rick with pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"Shut up!" Rachel hissed through her teeth. "Are you completely out of your mind? They are going to shoot us! Stop looking at her ass!"
"I can’t help it," Rick whispered back, a cheeky grin on his face. "I appreciate a good figure. Sue me."
Rachel slapped his arm hard. She quickly buried her face back into her arms, terrified that the robbers had heard them.
The female leader stopped in the center of the ruined restaurant. She looked around at the cowering billionaires and socialites.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the one percent," the female boss announced. Her voice was confident, dominating, and dripping with mockery. "I know this interrupts your overpriced steaks and your cheap affairs. But we have a schedule to keep."
She gestured with her free hand.
"We are here to relieve you of your heavy burdens. Diamond necklaces, Rolex watches, platinum credit cards, and thick wallets. Put everything in the bags."
The five goons pulled large, black duffel bags from their backs. They fanned out across the room, moving from table to table.
"Hurry up! Take it off!" a goon yelled, kicking a chair out of the way.
Rich women sobbed as they unclasped their pearl necklaces and dropped them into the bags. Men handed over thick wallets with trembling hands.
The female boss walked slowly down the main aisle. She tapped her submachine gun against her leg to a silent rhythm. She was clearly enjoying the power trip. She loved watching these arrogant, wealthy people squirm in the dirt.
"You see," the boss taunted the crowd, "you people spend your whole lives stealing from the poor. You rig the system. You buy the politicians. Tonight, we are just balancing the scales. Think of it as forced charity."
A few tables away from Rick, a fat, balding politician was lying on his stomach. He was trying to discreetly slide his gold Rolex off his wrist and kick it under a fallen table.
One of the goons saw him.
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" the goon yelled.
The goon marched over. He grabbed the fat politician by the collar of his expensive suit and hauled him to his knees.
"I... I wasn’t doing anything! Please!" the politician begged, raising his hands.
The goon didn’t hesitate. He swung his heavy assault rifle like a club. The hard plastic butt of the rifle smashed directly into the politician’s face.
Smack!
The sickening sound of breaking bone echoed in the room. The politician screamed. Blood exploded from his nose, splattering across his white shirt.
The goon hit him again. A hard backhand to the jaw. The politician collapsed onto his side, spitting out blood and teeth.
"Take the watch off, you fat pig!" the goon screamed, kicking the man hard in the ribs.
The politician sobbed pathetically. He fumbled with the clasp with bloody fingers, ripping the gold Rolex off and tossing it into the duffel bag.
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a small gasp, pressing her body closer to Rick’s side in pure fear.
Rick casually wrapped his arm around Rachel’s waist. He pulled her flush against his side. He let his hand drop slightly, resting his palm firmly on her hip, his fingers brushing the curve of her ass through the emerald dress.
Even in a hostage situation, Rick wasn’t going to miss a chance to cop a feel.
Rachel noticed where his hand was. She opened her eyes and glared at him again, but she didn’t push him away. She was too scared of the men with guns to make a scene.
"Relax, doc," Rick whispered in her ear. "They’re just standard thieves. They only want the shiny rocks."
"They just broke that man’s face," Rachel whispered back, her voice shaking.
"He was trying to be sneaky," Rick said bluntly. "Rule number one of getting robbed: don’t try to outsmart the guy holding the automatic weapon."
The goons moved closer to their booth.
"Wallets! Jewelry! In the bag!" a goon demanded, shoving the black duffel bag in Rick’s face.
Rick calmly reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of cash and tossed it into the bag. Rachel quickly unclasped her silver earrings and dropped them in too.
The goon moved on to the next table.
The female boss continued her slow patrol. She stopped right next to Rick and Rachel’s overturned booth.
Rick looked up. He let his eyes slowly travel up her tight leather boots, over her thick thighs, past her rounded hips, and stopped right on her heavy, vest-covered breasts.
The boss looked down. She noticed Rick staring openly at her body.
She pointed the barrel of her submachine gun directly at Rick’s face.
"Keep your eyes on the floor, pretty boy," the boss commanded. Her voice was cold, but there was a hint of amusement behind the mask. "Unless you want me to shoot them out of your skull."
Rick smirked. He didn’t look away.
"Just admiring the view," Rick said casually. "It’s a crime to hide a figure like that behind a bulletproof vest."
Rachel violently pinched Rick’s leg under the table. She was silently praying for him to shut up before he got them both killed.
The boss let out a short, distorted laugh. She leaned down slightly, pushing the barrel of the gun against Rick’s forehead.
"You’ve got a lot of nerve," she said. "I like that. But keep your mouth shut, or I’ll blow your brains all over your date."
Rick finally lowered his head, feigning compliance. The boss stood back up and continued walking down the aisle.
Suddenly, the loud wail of police sirens pierced the night air.
Red and blue lights flashed from the streets below, reflecting off the remaining glass windows. The heavy, rhythmic thumping of a police helicopter echoed outside, a searchlight sweeping across the ruined rooftop.
"Boss! The cops are here!" one of the goons yelled, zipping up a heavy duffel bag. "They got the building surrounded. The blast must have triggered a silent alarm downstairs."
The female leader checked a heavy tactical watch on her wrist. She didn’t look panicked. She looked annoyed.
"Right on schedule," she said calmly. "Alright boys, grab the bags. We’re heading for the extraction point."
"What about the cops in the stairwell?" another goon asked, gripping his rifle tightly. "They’re going to push up any second."
The boss scanned the room of terrified, bleeding hostages.
"We need a VIP pass to get through the barricade," she announced loudly. "An insurance policy. If the cops see us holding one of these rich snobs, they’ll hold their fire."
She walked back toward the center of the room. She looked at the crying women in their torn designer dresses. She needed someone who looked important. Someone the police wouldn’t want to see with a bullet in their head.
Her eyes landed on Rachel.
Rachel was stunning. Even covered in dust, her tight emerald-green dress, her bright auburn hair, and her heavy cleavage made her stand out like a sore thumb in the dim lighting. She looked like exactly the kind of high-society woman the cops would bend over backward to save.
The boss pointed her finger directly at Rachel.
"Her," the female boss commanded. "The redhead with the big tits in the green dress. Grab her."
Rachel’s blood ran cold. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. "No," she whispered.
Two large goons rushed over to the booth. They grabbed Rachel by her arms and yanked her violently off the floor.
"Get up, bitch!" a goon yelled.
"No! Please! Let me go!" Rachel screamed, struggling against their grip. Her high heels scraped uselessly against the broken glass.
"Shut up and walk, or I’ll break your legs and drag you," the goon threatened, pressing the cold barrel of his rifle against her spine.
Rachel stopped fighting. She sobbed, looking back at Rick with terrified, pleading eyes.
Rick let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.
He brushed the dust off his hands and slowly stood up from the floor. He stretched his neck, popping the joints loudly.
Every gun in the room immediately snapped toward him.
"Sit the fuck down!" the lead goon screamed, raising his rifle.
Rick completely ignored the hired muscle. He kept his hands relaxed at his sides. He looked directly at the masked female leader.
Rick flashed her a bright, shameless smirk. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, striking a confident pose.
"Hey, sweetheart," Rick called out, his voice smooth and mocking in the tense room.
The boss tilted her head, staring at him through the slits of her ski mask.
Rick winked at her.
"Why take a screaming girl," Rick said cheekily, "when you can take this handsome hunk with you instead?"