by Schow, Ryan
“How do you know all this?” she whispered as voices outside got closer to their mobile prison.
“Because I’m the guy who sabotaged them,” Ryker said.
The second the lock was thrown on the back end of the paddy wagon, Skylar’s insides were like a race car at the starting line. Her heart was officially rumbling like a V12, a thousand horsepower with nitrous oxide on tap. At least, that’s what her mind was telling her.
Her body, on the other hand, sat in stark disagreement.
Instead of just sitting there, eyes wide like some crazy woman, rearing to go, she slumped over, let her head loll to the side. Closing her eyes down to a pair of slits, she prayed there would be a right moment, because there was no way in hell she was staying there with those clowns.
The back door broke its seal and a shotgun barrel was the first thing she saw. It went right to her, but then it slid over to the creeper across from her.
“They’re not expecting you to do…what you’re about to do,” Ryker said.
She didn’t move a muscle. Looking as ragged as she felt, her face smashed up, a knot on her forehead, she had a small advantage. She was going to use it. Rather than lamenting her dire situation, she waited for her opportunity. The doors finally opened up wide, filling the inside of the paddy wagon with sunlight.
“Back up!” the man screamed to the pedo.
Outside, there were two guards and two men who looked like they’d taken a face full of pepper spray. From what she could see, there was also a fair amount of blood splatter over them. Were they next to those in the firing squad? Had the Chicoms sought them out specifically?
This was all bad, she thought.
The minute the first guy was jostled into the paddy wagon, the prisoner behind him began to squirm, jerking his arms and body in an attempt to get loose. The screaming started. First it was the prisoners screaming, and then it was the Chicoms.
The guard struck his prisoner in the side of the thigh with butt of his shotgun. Hobbled, crying out, the man fought to stay on his feet. The Chicom’s partner turned to see what the commotion was about and that’s when she moved.
Skylar rushed past the beaten prisoner on the floor of the van. She dove for the guard, slightly off balance due to the human obstacle. It didn’t matter. She caught him high on the body, taking the smaller, surprised man to the ground.
They hit, his head bouncing off the asphalt with a hollow thud. She landed hard, too. Her right knee, the side of her thigh and her elbow mashed into the pavement, road-rashing the hell out of her.
The second guard moved fast, thrusting the butt end of his shotgun at her. She swung her head sideways, the recoil pad cutting open the cheek of the Chicom beneath her.
He thrust the weapon again, but his attention between her and his squirmy prisoner now slapping the back of him weakened the shot. Skylar grabbed the shotgun by the stock and started jerking it like crazy. Flustered, still being whacked by the prisoner, the guard could not keep up with Skylar’s frenzied tantrum.
She was getting the shotgun out of his grip when the guard beneath her moved, sending her falling forward. She clung to the weapon, half her body being dragged over the guard’s body. Fists from below started hammering her ribs in short, hard bursts. She clung to the weapon, drove a knee into the nuts of the maniac below her, then locked her legs on him and pulled her body back down.
The maniac prisoner finally broke loose. Cursing wildly, unable to get his shotgun back, the guard standing over her retaliated with force. He started kicking her in the shoulders, the head, the arms. The guy under her was still squirming, too. She adjusted her body to his every attempt, digging her weight into him in places like his crotch, his gut and his throat, but she was losing that fight as she struggled to take the weapon.
That’s when rocks and bottles started hitting the street all around them.
People were mobbing the Chicoms.
Renewed, she dug down deep inside herself and fought even harder. The rush of feet all around told her the guards were under attack. He finally let go of his shotgun, whipped out a pistol and started shooting everyone.
Beneath her, the guard she’d tackled bucked her off him. She rolled with it, came up on one knee and spun the weapon around. He looked at her with ferocious animosity. Grimacing, she racked the shotgun. As he was scrambling to his feet, she squeezed the trigger.
The bean bag round caught him in the chin and he went down hard. She racked the shotgun again, feeding in a fresh load, but it was too late. She was doused with pepper spray.
The savage, stinging burn of oily chili resin and rubbing alcohol nearly blinded her. She pulled the trigger, aiming to where she thought the Chicom guard was. That’s all she had. He oofed, but then he hit her again with the pepper spray.
Breathless, her shaky hands dropped the shotgun, the tips of her fingers exploring the burning flesh of her face. A scream in her throat dislodged, tearing free in a glass breaking howl the likes of which she never heard before.
As she laid there wailing, holding her face, blinded by rage, by the vicious capsaicin mix, she realized that she was not as strong as she thought she was.
She was not so tough.
A pair of boots started stomping down on her body. The cursing, growling, raging hatred from her attacker was cruel and unrelenting, matching the brutality of his physical attack. She was too hurt to lash out, too weakened by blindness and fear to know who to fight, or how to even wage that war.
Hands grabbed her arms, hauled her up. A fist drove in her stomach, bending her over, hobbling her.
Her shrieking turned to crying, which was embarrassing, catastrophic to a person like her. She was no warrior. Another shot to the stomach softened her, sapped the strength from her legs. Wobbling, the guard hustled her back to the van.
With her hands out like a sightless person feeling for obstacles, scared of what she was going to run into, her blurry vision was full of abstract shapes, colors that ran together and everything wet and burning.
“If they did not want you alive,” her attacker’s enraged voice growled in her ear, startling her, “I would have gutted you like a fish.”
With her face on fire, she knew she’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have done that. The big black shape before her was the paddy wagon. She could barely discern the edges, let alone see clearly. Another gut punch doubled her over, causing her to cough mightily as fresh pain radiated up through her.
Before she could retaliate, or even get her bearings, one hand grabbed a fistful of her hair while another gripped her crotch from behind. She was both lifted and tossed into the back of the vehicle like garbage. She landed on her side, crying out. Her dangling legs were shoved inside rather harshly. The door slammed on her heel, the pain bright and crippling.
The Chicom guard cursed once more, then grabbed her foot and pushed it in. When the heavy doors slammed shut behind her, she felt all her weakness boiling to the surface. She started crying now, unable to stop.
For a second, she thought she heard a low, syrupy giggling coming from the pedo. She couldn’t be sure. It was too dark and she didn’t have the energy to look up. Aside from some light coming through the mesh rectangle cut in the metal barrier between the back of the paddy wagon and the cab, they were in near darkness.
The snickering continued.
If the super creeper was laughing at her, if that was in fact him, she swore to herself she’d make it so he could never laugh again.
When she heard movement in the vehicle, she tried to look up, but someone’s hand grabbed her and dragged her forward. She cried out, and then it was a frenzy of commotion, guys yelling at the pedo, him practically hyperventilating with nervous, anxious laughter.
“I will kill you,” a rough voice said through it all.
Ryker.
She started to move, but the pedo punched her in the cheek, her head slamming back down on the floor of the van. He got on top of her, pinning her legs down.
S
wirling, her eyes burning, a new kind of dizzying sensation overtaking her, she felt the pedo walking his two fingers up her leg. The little tippy-toed fingers walked toward her privates, like she was a child and this was a game they only played in the darkness.
Restraints were rattling then snapping tight. It sounded like dogs charging their targets but hitting the end of the chain. Ryker was cursing the pedo, saying some truly awful things, but her vision was still swimming, the moment as surreal as it was frightening.
She jerked her leg, unbalancing him. She tried to get away, but he regained his balance, snickering again as he walked those little walking fingers north.
She twitched, but he slapped her so hard the sting seemed to reverberate even her bones. Then, gently, he grazed the pads of his fingers along the inside of her thigh, closer to her center. Teeming with revulsion, she hit his arm, said, “Get your damn hands off me!”
This time, instead of slapping her, he punched her in the face, so hard that only blackness and the cold rush of fear followed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Stephani formally introduced her to Vladimir, Harper didn’t expect to feel so shy. She could infiltrate SocioSphere, manage much of the Resistance and even attack and kill the Chicoms, but she couldn’t string together a solitary thought looking at this man.
He wasn’t the Resistance, the enemy or something in between. She told herself he was just a guy who built things for a living with a crew of other guys. So why did she feel like such a twelve year old girl right then?
Maybe because he didn’t seem interested in her before, but now he was, according to Stephani.
“So this is like some sort of survival shelter?” Vlad asked when Stephani left them alone. “Because if so, it’s the coolest shelter I’ve put together so far.”
“It’s more like a place to stay,” she managed to say.
“Skylar wanted the inside built to her exact specifications,” he said. “When I asked about comfort level, she said the setup should be more tactical than practical.”
“She’s from the big city, so she gets worried,” Harper said, feeling a little more relaxed than she first felt. “Have you been in the big cities?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Eugene.”
“Is it Chicom occupied?” she asked.
“Not as bad as Portland and Seattle, or worse, San Francisco or Los Angeles. Those places turned into sewers real quick.”
“That’s the truth,” she laughed.
“Someone said they won’t let anyone leave,” he said. “Is that true?”
“Yeah. That’s why she’s asking for this. Even if it feels like overkill to me,” she lied, “but whatever Skylar feels is best works for me. It’s her money, and its work for you and your guys.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of these types of jobs lately,” he said, his eyes now freely scanning her face. “It’s like someone knows something we don’t.”
“I guess,” she replied.
She was about to expand on that when he moved a strand of hair out of her eyes and said, “You have a really pretty face.”
“I don’t, but it seems your poor eyesight might work to my advantage,” she teased, her voice playful. She touched his arm and said, “In fact, I think blindness just might be your finest quality.”
“Serious though,” Vlad said. “Does Skylar know something the rest of us don’t?”
“You’d have to take that up with her,” she said, shrinking back down.
“I’ve tried to reach her.”
“She’s busy.”
“Will she have a way to get me paid for this job?” Vlad asked. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t take this up with you, but you’re her friend. This is going to be your place.”
“I thought she’d already paid you.”
“Just a deposit. Don’t worry about it though. By the way, are your eyes blue or green? I can’t tell in this light. But wow, they definitely sparkle!”
“Thanks. They’re blue. How long have you been doing this?”
“Long enough to appreciate a woman like you coming around the job site,” he said, gazing longingly into her eyes. She wet her lips, diverting his gaze. He looked at her lips just a second too long, and then he glanced back up into her eyes. “I’m sorry if I’m being a bit forward. It’s just, with everything going on out there, and me staying here alone, I just…I…”
“What?” she said.
He leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t an impatient kiss, but the heart of him was in his need, not in the emotional connection she wanted him to make first.
She backed up, pressed a hand to his chest to let him know there were boundaries, and she said, “Look Vlad, I appreciate your interest in me, but just because the bottom has fallen out of America doesn’t mean a lady’s forgotten the merits of romance.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, nervous, a touch of his accent coming out. “It’s just, I don’t know, I’m sort of into plain girls. They’re hot to me. I know guys shouldn’t have a type, but you’re my type.”
Creating even more distance now, she looked at him, aghast. Dripping with sarcasm, but laced with anger, she tempered her response. “When you say things like that, boy it sure gets the broiler down there scorching hot.”
“Yeah?” he grinned, taking her wrist in a decent grip.
“No,” she said firm.
“Whatever.”
He moved back in for the kiss, but she backed up, rolled her wrist out of his grip, then grabbed his fingers and spun him into a painful joint lock that dropped him to a knee.
“When I said romance wasn’t dead,” she said as she looked down on him, “what part of that message missed the hypothalamus?”
The way he was looking at her, she felt bad for hurting him. What am I doing? She let go, stood back.
“The hypo what?” he asked, rubbing his wrist.
“The hypothalamus, which works with the pituitary gland to control various behavioral functions having to do with sexual stimulation, aggression and pleasure, in addition to other things. Yours seems broken.”
“So yeah, I guess my hippo thingy is off some,” he said, standing back up. “What did you do with my wrist? That freaking hurt.”
“I made sure it didn’t do what you wanted it to, what you didn’t have permission to do.”
“I just wanted to touch your face.”
“You crushed my lips after I said no.” Letting out a deep breath, realizing she was not only overreacting, but she was screwing up the entire night, she said, “Now that doesn’t mean it’s a permanent no, it just means slow down a bit, take some cues.”
“I’d think you’d be happy,” he said, finger brushing his hair back in place.
“I got laid twice last week,” she said, selling the lie. “It was kind of like a squirrel storing up her nuts for the winter, you know? So whatever you think you have as a man, you’re no mystery to me. And you’re certainly nothing I need.”
“Every woman says that,” he replied. “They try to tell us we’re a dick and a paycheck, that the rest of us is just something they tolerate. But that’s not true, is it?”
“What I have, you’re going to have to earn. I don’t just give it up to anyone. I mean, you’re plain, too, bro. And grabby.”
He laughed, raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “Guilty as charged.”
For a second, she didn’t know who was playing who, but in that moment she was lonely enough to let him have her, jerk or not.
“So what’s acceptable then?” he asked.
“Kissing, maybe. But slow. And if you don’t rush it, if you treat me right, maybe I’ll let you squeeze my tits.”
Smiling, nodding, he said, “Okay. So why don’t you come fifty percent, I’ll go forty-five, and when you’re ready, you can close the distance with a kiss.”
“Math major?” she said, taking his hand and cutting the distance between them in two.
“Something like that,” he said, moving in to her. W
hen she closed the distance, she felt him sigh the minute their mouths met.
The night got off to a bumpy start, and even though she wasn’t feeling super Kosher about Vlad, the last time she was laid was never, so she wasn’t about to blow her chances at sex.
“You can hold my boob, if you want,” she said against his mouth.
He went right for it, kneading it like dough, as if it was some sort of silly putty and he was bound and determined to change its shape. When he squeezed too deep around her nipple, she jumped back and hit his hand out of instinct alone.
“So that’s a little rough,” she said, straightening her shirt out.
“Jesus God,” he said, a bit uptight. “Make up your mind.”
Pushing out of his arms, she then said, “What happened to gentle or seductive? I’m not a toy you can just manhandle.”
Blowing out a breath, frustrated and clearly exasperated, he said, “I’m a carpenter, I bang things in holes all day long.”
She fixed him with a disappointed frown.
He just ruined it.
“Well, on that note,” she said, heading to the barn door, “have a nice sleep and good luck with those nails tomorrow.”
When she left, he didn’t follow.
Thankfully.
Back at the house, Stephani sat at the kitchen table, surprised to see her back so soon. When Harper walked in, the blonde-haired woman said, “Well, did you get your you-know-what popped?”
“My cherry?” she whispered.
Stephani laughed and nodded her head, her chin bobbing up and down gleefully.
“I got my tit squeezed and he told me he was into plain girls,” she said.
“Well at least you got some action,” Stephani said, disappointed. When she saw the growing shine in Harper’s eyes, she said, “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been with Cooper all night.”
“That actually sounds better than what I just went through.”
“Yeah? Well he’s been farty for the last half an hour and it hasn’t been pleasant. I’m not sure what the hell he ate, but I can tell you it traveled through his system on a hot trail of stink.”