Free THOR by Sasha Gold

can make her remember the silly, fun and sexy thing we did yesterday.
    I keep my gaze on hers as I recall the kiss we shared. She’s all I can think about. I can tell by her expression that she’s thinking about me too. Her bravado falters and she breaks her gaze for a moment. When she looks back, she gives a small shake of her head. She’s asking for mercy. Tapping out. But I’m not letting up for a moment.
    “Okay, let’s give this a little heat,” the hairdresser says and whisks Olivia off.
    My smile fades as I watch Olivia cross the salon. According to the lawyer, my father was up in arms about something. Dad’s supposed to be relaxing on the Queen Mary, not working deals over here in Texas. This isn’t even his deal to worry about, but I know he’s upset because Olivia is Julia’s kid. He’s got it bad for Julia. I never thought he’d settle down again, but if he’s happy, I’m happy.
    The lawyer said my father didn’t know the half of it, that even he’d gotten a strange letter making vague threats about the sale of Olivia’s club.
    I’m guessing this is all about a rejected admirer or lover. Maybe she had a sugar daddy. Now that she has some money coming her way, she’s snatched away his supply of sugar, so he wants to torpedo this sale. Keep her dependent.
    A few of the girls ask if I want a haircut. I tell them no and one of them brings a glass of water with a piece of cucumber in it. The little wedge actually does make the water taste like cucumber. I drink it down and feel my anger ebb.
    I wasn’t raised with cucumber water or visiting high-end places like this prissy salon. We’ve always had plenty, but while friends from school were touring European museums over summer break, I was driving a dozer at one of dad’s construction sites. Or wiring a high-rise. Or swinging a hammer.
    Olivia is crossing the salon with a look of pure venom in her eyes. She’s moving so fast some of her little silver shingles blow off her head.
    “You took a picture of me while I slept?”
    “Why the hell would I do that?”
    She shoves the phone at me. “You’re the only one who had the chance.”
    This has the attention of every hairdresser in the salon. Even the customers look from their phones or magazines.
    I take the phone and swipe the screen. It’s a picture of her, taken at night. The flash has washed out her skin. Her lashes rest on her cheeks and her lips are parted. She wears a nightie that dreams are made of and I can see the curve of her breast. A groan escapes my lips but then I see the words below.
    Can’t stop watching you.
    My mind slips gear and I look from the picture to the words and back to the picture.
    “Fuck!” I’m on my feet and striding out of the salon, jamming my thumb against the call button. The call picks up on the third ring.
    “Who is this?” I snarl.
    There’s a pause. The guy didn’t expect another man to call him, I’m sure. The line goes dead.
    I look at the image again. Whoever took it was probably a couple of feet away from her, but maybe he was across the room and zoomed in. Olivia always has a certain vitality that makes her come across as confident and poised, but when she’s asleep or passed out like she was the other day, she looks smaller, younger and fragile.
    I scrub my hand over my face. Something inside me goes pure fucking Neanderthal. One of her boyfriends, a boyfriend she claimed not to have… one of those fuckers was at the house and took this picture. I linger on the outline of her perfect breast barely visible on the gritty picture. I want to kill this guy. But then I realize the bed in the photo is not her bed upstairs. The sheets have a design on them, but hers upstairs are solid blue. This wasn’t taken at Dad’s house. Also, I want to see her in this just so I can tear it from her. With my teeth.
    The door to the salon bursts open and Olivia erupts, her black cape streaming behind her. She looks so mad, I half expect sparks to fly from