Fuck. This must be related to that checkpoint bomb a couple months ago, the one where the media got involved. It was a damn IED, a home-made explosive, not an up-close, personal kind of deal. Bombs leave collateral damage all the time. That’s just the way they work.
“But not you, Adrian. You don’t feel shitty at all, do you?”
Silence wasn’t gonna cut it. He went for faking it, like he always did when forced into this kind of corner. “I don’t feel good about blowing someone’s face off, and if you’re referring to that explosion at the checkpoint, there was nothing we could do about it. These people send their kids out into the streets with AK-47s and IEDs, and it’s our job to stop them.”
“Yes, it is. And you did your job well. Shot the kid right in his arm, bomb went off in his face before he could get near the guard shack. Saved your whole unit.”
Adrian had purposely avoided looking at the kid’s face after the fact, but this asshole shrink was determined that he should know. He slipped a photo loose from a file on his desk and slid it across the table to Adrian.
Yep, there’s a meaty looking kid, face half gone. Yuck. He felt like washing his hands just looking at the disgusting photo.
“Yes sir, that’s my job, sir.”
The shrink gave him the deep searching look. “You know that most of the guys in your unit had nightmares about that kid? They had a group counseling session over it.”
Damn, he knew he should have gone to that session. Strike one more on the inappropriate tally.
“I know what you are, son.”
Why do old military men always call younger men son?
“The word psychiatrists used a few years ago was psychopath. You know, like that movie about Norman Bates and the hotel.”
Adrian stopped nodding. There just wasn’t any kind of appropriate response to this shit.
“Now we call you guys sociopaths. Has a better ring to it.” The old man grinned at his own bit of snark. “You’re a pretender, Adrian. You pretend to be like everyone else, but its situations like this, when people die in ugly ways, you just can’t pretend well enough to hide the fact that this shit doesn’t affect you like it affects everyone else.”
Adrian sat there, watching him. Cornered, busted.
“You’re not in trouble, son. The military can use sociopaths with some decorum and sensibility. Men like you do quite well in the field, as your record shows. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if half of the politicians running the U.S. have sociopathic tendencies. But it’s a damn shame, Corporal.”
What was the shame? The fact that he didn’t feel guilty? The fact that he actually enjoyed killing people, probably a lot more than he should?
“Sociopaths are the loneliest people in the world. They don’t really care about anyone else, and they don’t know how to love. They don’t ever really connect with anyone. They pretend to be like the rest of us, but they don’t even understand what it means to be human.”
That’s me, the big pretender. Corporal Adrian Faulkner.
* * * *
Cool fingers traced along his stomach. Cool, wet lips touched his collar bone. Soft fabric covered breasts squished against his chest as eager lips suckled up the line of his neck. The prick of sharp teeth slid into the left side of his neck while cold arms with a wiry strength gripped him firmly around his torso.
He moaned in pain as the teeth dug in deeper, a pincer of small needle-points, but then the pain washed away in a flood of wondrous euphoria. As if dropped into a gushing river of joy, Adrian’s body was wracked with throbbing happiness.
His cock hardened, standing straight up in his boxer shorts and his hips bucked with the phenomenally awesome experience. Cool, strong limbs wrapped around him to hold on tight, riding his convulsive joy. Fingers gripped his erection and stroked his full length.
Her skilled, steady hand milked him as he shuddered in explosive release. “Oh My God!” The cascading pleasure threatened to drive him out of his mind. It just wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.
She tugged on his cock, harder and faster, as her teeth seated deeper into his neck. Adrian could feel her powerful suction draining away his life fluids, but he didn’t care. He floated in a new plane of reality, lost in the tempest of the most overwhelming experience of his life.
His cock firmly in her hand, her needle-sharp teeth slid off his neck. A cool wet tongue cleaned his neck thoroughly while her hand continued its pump-squeeze-slide routine. The woman knew how to give a hand-job.
He emerged from the fog of euphoria into the dimly lit reality of his bedroom and the crazy chick’s face mere inches from his own. She grinned at him as she licked her lips, revealing the oversized canine teeth of a predator. This was no dream.
The woman had taken a solid bite out of him and stroked him off in the process.
Her low, sultry whisper vibrated in his gut. “I wanted to show my appreciation for your help.”
“Sure is good to be appreciated.” Regardless of her freaky chompers and the red sheen of his blood on her lips, he couldn’t help but grin back at her.
I must be high or losing my mind.
She snuggled in close and pressed her breasts against his arm while wrapping her legs around his thigh. Her lips just barely brushed his earlobe. “A little later, after I rest some more, I’ll prove to you just how much I appreciate your help.”
He considered her warm hand around his wet cock to be solid proof, but he held his tongue. Adrian had learned a long time ago to take what he could get. He’d take that crazy piece of ass any day of the week.
* * * *
The sensation of being wrapped around his strong, warm body infused her with a feeling of contentment, satisfaction. She had this man to help her, and he didn’t seem to mind if she bit him. Well, he had complained a little, but nothing major.
This man was her only touchstone with reality. With no name, no history and no place to go, this man seemed her only source for answers. He was her entire world, and he trusted her enough to let her sleep on top of him, fondling his erection. And he didn’t try to maul her. Trust is something earned, rarely given freely. She would have to give him the same trust in return.
Not much choice in the matter.
But for the first time she felt safe enough to sleep, to know that he would be there when she woke up. To know that she could feed when she needed to.
This man covered all her bases, even as his hand covered her ass in a warm squeeze.
* * * *
Chapter 7
A pounding on the door woke Adrian from a sound sleep. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His parents never once showed up unannounced, and they knew he slept in from working the night shift.
Bang, bang, bang.
Fuck.
“What the hell!”
He pushed the covers off and encountered a cool body wrapped around his torso, one hand down his shorts. “Goddamn.” The girl hadn’t wasted any time making herself at home.
He peeked under the covers to see if she was wearing anything. Yep, still in the t-shirt and shorts he had put on her earlier. So … the hand-job wet dream wasn’t actually a dream.
Interesting.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Son of a bitch!”
He shoved her to the side and flew out of bed, straight for the front door. Somehow a cast iron skillet found its way into his right hand as he snapped through the locks and opened the door. He was cocked back and ready to swing. Full-on battle mode.
Luckily, he recognized Detective Coronado’s pudgy face just in time to avoid smashing him to a bloody pulp.
“Whoa, tiger, take it easy!” Coronado tried to step out of reach, but Adrian kept moving in on him, pushing his fat ass out to the edge of the front porch railing.
“What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know I sleep through the day? Don’t you know I work for a living?”
“Hey, calm down! Drop the frying pan. I just want to talk.”
He still had that thing
cocked back for a nose-crusher. Adrian knew the weight of the pan would easily turn Coronado’s face to mush. He’d done it with the butt of his rifle several times in Iraq, and a cast iron frying pan was more substantial. But this was not Iraq, and the detective would lock him up for months if Adrian let that baby fly like he wanted to.
Man he wanted to so bad. Who did this son of a bitch think he was, waking him up in the middle of the day – especially when Adrian had a sweet piece of ass in his bed?
Ooops. Girl, bed, cops, bad situation. Like flipping a switch, Adrian turned it off, went straight into cover-your-ass mode. He set the pan down and turned to close the door behind him. He made certain his body blocked the detective’s view of his apartment.
Adrian turned back to Coronado, channeling all the calm he could find. “Okay, now that I’m awake, what the hell do you want?”
The detective stared at him, a bit of surprise and shock on his face. Oops, another one of those inappropriate moments. Adrian often found himself struggling to meet with people’s expectations for civility and propriety. Someone always had their panties in a bunch, no matter what he said or did.
Coronado frowned then stood up straighter, away from the railing. “I need your report, now. We have a serious situation. The woman you picked up the other day, the multiple gunshot victim, she escaped the hospital last night. We need to know anything she might have said, anything you noticed. Every detail counts.”
Adrian smiled. He couldn’t help it. “You lost her, eh? Don’t have a clue where she is?” The idea they didn’t know where to look gave him a perverse sort of pleasure.
Coronado frowned again. Chalk up another one on the inappropriate tally.
“No, we don’t. And every minute she’s on the streets is another chance for whoever tried to kill her to finish the job. We are pretty certain we know who she is. There are warrants for her in multiple jurisdictions, and she’s also wanted by rival cartels. There’s a chance this woman is the one they call La Reina, some kind of mythical drug queen out of South America.”
Adrian filed that away for later discussion, sometime after he tapped that ass good and hard.
“So, you just want to arrest her, right? That would look pretty damn good on your resume. Maybe catch a raise, your picture in the paper. Big, bad drug lord taken down by San Antonio PD. Coronado saves the day.”
The detective frowned even more and started to protest, “Listen you little –”
“No, you listen. I will get over to your station and make a report when I get there. You know damn well all I saw was blood on the tile and fucking cockroaches. You know damn well that woman was out cold, almost died on us in the ambulance. She never said a word, not one single word. So, unless you have a reason for standing here, ruining my day off, go shake down somebody else to get your drug bust. I ain’t the one.”
Coronado stared Adrian down, a cold, calculated glare. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are with your frying pan, running around in your boxer shorts like a goddamn MMA fighter, but you would be wise to have some patience and respect when you deal with me or anyone else on the SAPD. Smartass gringos like you get bagged for six months just for talking shit to a police officer.”
Adrian glanced down at the cast iron, considering how easy it would be to get that frying pan wrapped around this asshole’s face before the detective could pull his gun and click off the safety. These fat pigs don’t even know what it means to be in a real war. They ran around with their flashing lights and spit-shined shoes, and they have never once been to a place where every corner, every street, every window, hides an enemy with an automatic weapon or an IED filled with nails and homemade explosives.
He could take this cop down in a second and hand him his ass on a platter. But, he knew that would be stupid, foolish, a huge mistake. Still …
Times like this Adrian longed for a return to the combat zone, where the rules of engagement were clearly defined and usually in his favor. Just for the hell of it, he grinned again. “I said I’d be there, and I’ll be there.”
“Better watch yourself. Take your meds or whatever you need to calm down. Get rid of that shitty attitude.”
Adrian stood there staring at him, his hand itching for the cast iron that would flatten Coronado’s face permanently. Not too many guys get up after having their skull caved in. Adrian hadn’t seen one yet.
The detective waddled off, shaking his head, hurt pride in action. Adrian double-bolted the door behind him and watched out the peephole as the detective made his way to his unmarked police car in the parking lot.
A split-second later a smiling-tanned visage passed across his view and tapped on the door.
Fucking Crenshaw.
So much for getting any damn sleep, or a piece of ass.
Adrian groaned, unlocked the double bolts, and jerked open the door. Crenshaw retreated hastily with his hands in the air. “Don’t hit me with a frying pan, bro.”
Crenshaw grinned like an idiot. Must have watched the whole thing from his peephole. Of course, he wouldn’t come out to say hi when the cops were around. Crenshaw’s probation officer had a zero police contact policy.
Adrian couldn’t help but laugh. They would probably be laughing over this one for days. “You know how I am when I get woken up too early.”
“Dude, I swear you’re a fucking vampire the way you sleep all day. I thought you were gonna brain him for sure. Wish I coulda recorded that shit. Sure you’ve never been to prison? You got balls the size of Texas.”
Blue balls maybe. Adrian looked back over his shoulder, to the open bedroom door, and the glimpse of pale forearm draped off the mattress. All he wanted was to go back to bed, but the world had conspired against him. The world and Crenshaw.
Adrian was wide awake now.
“Yeah, I was sleeping pretty good. Last night was rough.” Adrian recalled the woman in his bed as she had clamped around him, sucking on his neck, so much stronger than she should be …
“Cool. I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“A little late for that. I’m up now.”
Crenshaw looked like he was headed back into his apartment door, but then he stopped and pegged Adrian with a searching look. “You didn’t have nothing to do with that woman he was talking about, did you? The drug queen?”
The question struck Adrian as odd. Crenshaw must have been listening to their every word, stalker bastard. Maybe it was time to rent a house, somewhere the neighbors weren’t attached to the front porch.
“No man. It’s a girl who was shot the other day. A 911 call we responded to. The cop knows I don’t know anything, he’s just an anal-retentive bastard about getting his reports.”
“Did he say she escaped last night?”
What the hell was Crenshaw after? Why would he give a shit?
“I guess. I don’t know. All I do is bundle people into the truck and try to keep them alive long enough for the emergency staff do their thing. I don’t know shit about anything else in that hospital.”
“There ya go, bro. Do your job and stay out of it. Good call.” Crenshaw nodded approval and headed into his apartment.
A concrete worker, Crenshaw liked to moonlight as Adrian’s personal counselor and spirit guide through the realm of white supremacy. Adrian laughed at him as often as he laughed with him.
* * * *
Chapter 8
She nuzzled into his chest, loving the warm man flesh at her cheek. She couldn’t seem to get enough of the soft curls of hair and thick bunches of muscle cording his chest and thighs. Her hands explored, learning all his contours, seeking the throbbing veins beneath the skin, the juiciest points for feeding. His scent, distinctly male, only added to the ripe, strong flavor of his blood, as delicious as the body it came from. Her mouth watered and filled with teeth as she inhaled the wondrous aroma of her food.
“Don’t even think about biting me again. I know that’s what you want.”
She looked up at him and couldn’t help
but grin. Oops, showing too many teeth. She felt so comfortable around him, like she could be herself, no need to hide.
He eyed her fangs, and his brow crinkled. “What’s up with those chompers? Are you one of those True Blood fanatics with dental implants, like that vampire coven out of Austin?” He chuckled. “You’re a goth chick right? Pale makeup and black eye shadow? Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever tapped a goth before, usually too weird for my tastes.”
She opened her mouth to protest and then thought better of it. Let him have his illusions a little bit longer. People are happier with their illusions. She needed him happy.
She’d bite him again, very soon. She needed to feed, but more, she needed to bind him to her irrevocably. One more bite. He might already be hers and not even know it.
How did she know? She couldn’t say. All of her past life was a void that echoed vacantly in answer to her questions. Her memories began in the hospital, as if she was birthed into the world a new soul. She wondered if she had died and come back, memories erased in the process.
“You have such a way with words. I’m gagging on the flood of romance pouring from your mouth.” She continued grinning wide, giving him the full measure of her elongated teeth, a predator’s smile. She wondered why he wasn’t afraid. The man was a constant puzzle.
He looked pointedly down at his crotch. “Romantic or not, we got something going on. The hand speaks louder than words.”
Her hand, operating with a mind of its own, had slid into his boxer shorts and stroked his semi-hard cock. She knew how to do this, how to please a man. She hadn’t even realized she was fondling him until he said something. To her, the man’s body had become her property, and she was of a mind to fully explore her property.
I am certainly not a virgin.
She worked the full length of him, feeling a hefty cock harden in her grip. His eyes drifted closed as she pumped and stroked, a little bit of squeezing tug. Not too hard, not too soft, just enough to raise an impressively solid erection. She knew he was large, larger than most men, but again, she couldn’t say how she knew. There was no recollection of any former lovers.
The Nightlife: San Antonio Page 5