Dirty Villains

by Cheri Marie

  I just stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He took a deep breath, stood up and walked a few steps to the railing, looking out into the darkness towards the ocean.

  “I heard a voice calling me. A voice that could not be calling me, but, it was.”

  “James, you’re not making any sense. Would you just please…”

  “Rave, I’m trying to explain. Please, don’t interrupt.” He had turned to me and he had an expression that was of pain.

  “The voice was calling me Logan. Logan was a name from a time that holds a lot of memories for me… some good, some bad.” He moved back in front of me, again. Kneeling, he took my hands and held them to his lips.

  “The voice was of my dead wife. That’s why I left. I wasn’t thinking straight and actually thought that, somehow, she was really summoning me. It wasn’t until I started thinking straight again and started trying to figure out who, or what, could be calling me.” He looked up to me with such pain in his eyes that all I could do was look back.

  “Raven, I would never have left you if I thought you were in trouble. I swear my hand to all that is Holy.”

  “Can I speak now?” I said after a moment of silence between us.

  “Please.” He nodded, a tear falling from his eye and sliding down his rough cheek.

  “I understand. Believe it or not, I do understand what it feels like to want a love so bad that I would do anything to recapture it.”

  “Rave…” I placed my finger across his lips to stop him.

  “I do understand, James. No need to explain any further. I also know who it was that called you away from me.”

  His brow furrowed, and he stood up, pulling me with him.

  “You know who it is?”

  “I do. Do you remember Senator Kelly?”

  “Of course. He was against all mutants until he came to his senses. But, he was killed at a rally or something, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was. He was speaking at a college rally when a man named Alan Lewis assassinated him. Alan Lewis is an anti-mutant activist. He saw Senator Kelly as a traitor to humanity.”

  “Okay, but why do you think it’s him?” James seemed uncertain.

  “Because. He has made his headquarters at the same college. He’s been there for a few years now, and…”

  “And?”

  “And, he swore he would eliminate me at all costs.” I looked at James dead on and continued. “I’ve kept tabs on this piece of scum, and, he’s very sick. Apparently, he’s about to die, and he wants to keep his promise of eliminating me.”

  James finally understood. I can see the realization cross his features before he pulls me into his arms.

  “Well, then, my darling, I guess we better go pay our respects to the soon to be departed Mr. Lewis.”

  “James? You don’t mean…” I trailed off as he kissed me hard and passionately.

  “Yes, I do mean. But, not now.”

  “Not now?” I questioned with a little smile.

  “No. Now, we are going to walk down to that beach and I’m going to make love to you in the sand.”

  “Oh. I like the sound of that. But, James?”

  “Yeah?”

  I took his hand and started leading him down the path.

  “I don’t want you to make love to me.”

  He stopped and pulled me to him.

  “You don’t. Why?” He was looking at me with a hurt in his eyes.

  “Because I want you to fuck me, James. I want you to fuck me.”

  That’s all it took. He swept me up into his strong arms and carried me to the beach. I didn’t mind him carrying me this time, I reveled in his essence, in his strength. When we got to the beach I stripped the bloody jeans I had on and stood there in front of this mutant man in all my blue glory.

  James removed his clothing, and we both just stood there, admiring each other’s bodies until the heat between us took over. Pulling him to me, I lowered our bodies to the ground, making sure we were far enough away from the foamy waves, and I began to kiss him with a hunger only a mutant can possess.

  After what seemed like hours of unbridled, passionate filled, down right fucking, we went back to the little house. We took time to gather what little we had, set the house on fire, including the goons that came after me, and took to the mainland in the little skiff that brought us here.

  We found the scumbag, Alan Lewis, but, we didn’t make it to him in time. Death found him first. If you ask me, he got out easy.

  As for James and me… well, let’s just say that our nights are filled with passion and our days are filled with adventure. Who would have ever thought that two mutants that were so different, and didn’t agree on some of the important things, would be able to make a relationship work.

  We spent decades hating what each other stood for, meeting once a year because we couldn’t stand to be apart, to living under the same roof with one another.

  Life is an adventure, that’s for damn sure. This adventure I’m willing to ride to the ends of the earth and back.

  Before you judge a person, or mutant, whichever the case may be, to be a “villain,” try to remember that even villains have hearts.

  Not the End… But a Beginning.

  Scars of My Brother

  Chelle C. Craze

  Chapter One

  Glas

  I kick my leg over my ride and adjust the leather cut on my shoulders, giving myself a few seconds of relief from this muggy weather. The smoke rolls up my windpipe and bellows outward from my lips as I breathe out the last of my cigar, flicking what’s left of it over the silver handlebars. Embers drop off along the way and then scatter across the pavement. A sadistic smirk creeps onto my lips, thinking of the countless times my brother, the doctor, has given me his speech about how smoking is knocking years off my life. In actuality, I really could give two shits less about the number of breaths I’m cheating myself out of when the truth is, I consider myself to be one lucky bastard every day I wake up and see the sun. Given the amount of bullshit I’ve put up with to get to where I am, any amount of time I walk this Earth is borrowed. Eventually, I’ll pay the maker a visit and receive my judgment. Until then, I’ll wreak havoc.

  I’ve brought some type of chaos to most situations my whole life. Although, I don’t remember anything prior to being adopted, and truthfully, if I claimed to, I’d either be a certified genius or a liar. My brother is the older of the two of us, by three months, but Memphis has always been the golden child. When we were growing up, we were almost on level playing ground, so to speak. Once he and I chose different paths after graduating from high school, the scales were tipped in his favor. When I use that cliché, I don’t mean slightly. He’s a plastic surgeon and a damn good one at that. I’ve seen his work, and as fucked up as it sounds, held a glorious pair of tits that I found out he was responsible for, after the fact. I may or may not have motor-boated them, too, but I’ll never admit that to him. Even though, he probably knows I did, without me saying it.

  I, on the other hand, am miles high into the lesser end of the road, in our dad’s eyes anyway. The fact of being the adopted child was never really the problem. It was the fact I chose to chase my creative side and joined a band. Our basement to garage band that every local thought wouldn’t amount to anything really didn’t. But, through that, I found my true calling: writing lyrics and music.

  The amount of money I’ve earned from just “wasting time” as my dad would refer to it is definitely somewhere between the millions and billions. It depends if I’m counting how much money I spend daily. Dad is probably one of the only people who is blind to the level of success I am at, but it doesn’t matter. I sound bitter when it comes to the subject of my dad, but I’m not entirely. Do I like the son of a bitch? Hell no. I don’t know if I ever did. Hating him doesn’t mean I’m bitter. I use that hate and put it to good use. Lyrics. Motivation. Determination. You name it. You’ll never hear me admit that out loud to another person, though. If it got
back to him, he would find a way to sue me for half of my royalties or something equally stupid.

  My brother and I disconnected from our parents ten years back. The reason to forget Dad was obvious. He’s a horrible excuse for a person, but the decision to leave Mom was a bit more difficult. She is a great mom and a phenomenal person. She just isn’t strong, and I don’t mean physically. I think at one point in life, maybe she believed in herself, but that was long before Memphis, Dad, or me. Despite the many times Memphis and I have offered to move her away from Dad and out to Louisiana with us, she always has an excuse. “It’s just not the right time.” It’s the reason she gives us most of the time. After a while, I just kind of left her in the dust along with all the bad memories that linger around her. Most likely, she is still helplessly brainwashed by Dad’s bullshit. He always had a problem with her doing things without his say-so. I guess I’ll never understand how such an amazing woman wound up with a colossal dick.

  One of the most memorable times Mom did something without his consent was when she gave me my nickname, Glasgow. Even if I wanted to forget that memory, it’s physically impossible. Despite having shit for a father, I was an otherwise happy kid that smiled every chance I could. When he wasn’t around, everything made sense. The world was right.

  Seeing all of the life inside of me at a young age, she gave me the nickname after her favorite childhood bear because she said we both brought joy to her life when she needed it the most. Even though at that time I was far too young to understand what a Glasgow Smile was, or the reason he kept repeating, “Smile, Glasgow. Fucking Smile,” each time he ripped my skin with the jagged glass until my mom managed to pull him off me.

  Dad had, and I’m sure still has, problems with rage and the ability to control his hands not to seek relief in someone else’s flesh as an outlet. I run my hand over the scars his rage left behind when he took a piece of the mirror I broke to each corner of my mouth and can’t fight the sick laugh that falls out as I rev my bike and give the kickstand a nudge with the tip of my boot.

  Often, I think I was punished for the times he thought Mom wronged him. That time, in particular, was for trying to make me more of a pussy by giving me the name, which didn’t even make sense, if you ask me. The truth was, he was just an asshole looking for a reason to tell himself it was okay to hit one of us.

  The avenues I use to release my pent-up aggression are not at a loss with me. I know being a reaper for the CRMC isn’t exactly the healthiest choice if some bullshit poll is asked of the majority of people. But, I don’t care. It’s what’s best for me. I love my brothers and will die a Chained Rebel.

  Chapter Two

  Glas

  Huge personalities must be something that is a learned behavior because both Memphis and I have them, and as much as I’d like to deny we have anything in common with our asshole of a father, we at least got that much from him. There’s no getting around that fact. The males in our family seem to take up a lot of the space in a room. My brother and I love one another, but seem to end up in a fight over one thing or another more often than not when we’re around each other. That and the fact that we have conflicting schedules, we don’t typically do the whole loving family sentiment.

  We are both silent partners in The Den, but he’s a little more silent than I am. My involvement with the club would be easier for people to accept than it would be if his patients found out what Doctor Magnificent does to get his rocks off. My opinion is hell. Everybody has their own kink. Some people like to feel dominate, and some like being smacked across the ass with leather. I don’t judge. Every sick bastard, myself included, has a fantasy. I don’t see why it has to be a huge issue. Controversially, I think if the artists who buy my lyrics find out I have my toes not only in this club, but in the Chained Rebels, too, I bet they would rip our contracts to shreds and the only notification I would get would be the burn of the sulfur circling my nostrils as my career went into flames. Fuck them if they’re that closed-minded. They don’t need to sing the words that are inspired from the life I live if they can’t handle the lyrics’ origin. The thing is plainly this, without pain and suffering, the emotional music would die.

  Scarlette greets me in her usual passive-aggressive way. “Are you going to help some poor girl with her daddy issues today, Glas?” she sarcastically questions, letting her attention flicker momentarily to me and then back to zipping up her black thigh-high boots.

  “Maybe,” I answer in a deep voice, reminding myself she’s the mother of my nephew, and I can’t do anything about the amount of frustration she evokes inside me. Even though I can’t decide from one minute to the next if I want to fuck her or fight her, there’s nothing I can do about either of them. Irritation boils beneath my skin and begs to bubble over the rim, but I grit my teeth as I focus my eyes on the laces woven through my boots to simply get my attention on anything other than her.

  “Of course, I could take a day off and we could try to fuck the bitch out of you,” I growl, letting the frustration surface a little, despite my efforts of suppressing it.

  “Your brother tried that once. Remember? We both know where that got him,” she points out nonchalantly with a smug pucker of her slick lips and straightens her back.

  Of all the girls here, she is the only one I would lose my job over, just to get her to submit. It’s funny, I’m not a dominant or really anything other than a security guard here as far as most people know, but she makes my thoughts run wild with ideas. Sick, dirty, twisted thoughts.

  After she wound up pregnant, we wrote a strict no fraternizing with the staff policy. Of course, I don’t stick to that shit, other than with her. But, it looks good on paper, right?

  “Fuck you,” I complain under my breath and clench my fists, quickly securing them to my sides to keep myself from pinning her against the wall and doing just that. Scarlette brings out my inner asshole, not that I need much help with that, but I am usually respectful to women in this aspect.

  “You’d love to.” She smirks and pushes past me, slowly dragging her hip across my crotch and I hiss, biting my lip. My cock groans to life and pushes against my boxers in response to her. Briefly, I close my eyes and breathe out heavily, telling my soldier to assume the at ease stance. She loves to tease me, but she doesn’t know what a broken beast I am. She doesn’t know what sickness is brewing within or how to tame it. If she were anyone else, she would find out, but even if I have little restraint, I have to cling to that tiny sliver when it comes to her. She should be scared of me, but she isn’t.

  If I’m being honest, I know what runs in my veins is cold, when it should be warm. My bones hold the sins of the secrets I’ll take to the grave. Most people are made of marrow and bone. I’m a little more complex than that. I can’t explain it. I just like the things that most look down upon, and the shock that usually leaves others breathless is what excites me. I like pain. Inflicting it and sometimes being on the receiving end of it. I’m certain Scarlette isn’t someone who can be labeled as I am. Twisted.

  Memphis has no interest in her romantically whatsoever. They’re best friends, but she’s an absolute bitch. My nephew thinks she’s a receptionist at Memphis’ office, which I guess technically, she is, so it all works out for everyone. Except for me, that is. I just wish she really did work at his other office, so I wouldn’t have to deal with her in this facet of my life. I can handle her being Sam’s bitch of a mother, but not here. At least if she really worked at his actual office, the one where he sees patients, I wouldn’t have to be around her much. Every moment we spend together, I can feel myself losing control a little more with each passing minute, slipping closer to forgetting the self-control I need to retain when it comes to her. As if she holds my restraint within something as simple as a watch and she’s fucking flicking the arms to prevent them from ticking forward, just to hold me at a standstill.

  I rake my hands through my hair and lick my teeth, trying to think of anything else other than being balls deep, f
ucking her senseless. As quick as humanly possible, I get out of the common area and into the office I share with Memphis.

  “Scar is picking up a late shift today,” Memphis points out, looking over the schedule in his hand.

  “She’s already here,” I huff, running my thumb over my eyebrow, the sheer annoyance getting the better of me in this moment.

  “Why don’t you fuck her and get it out of your system?”

  “What?” I blurt out of disbelief and try to act like he hadn’t just called me on my shit…again. Memphis has a way of always seeing through whatever meek façade I try to surround myself. “She is Sam’s mom.” I slowly explain something neither of us needs reminding of.

  “Sam’s dad.” He dramatically bows, after standing up from the black leather chair, and tips his imaginary hat. “Nico, you’re not fooling anyone. I know she’s not a pass around, because yeah, you’re right, she is my kid’s mom, but you don’t have a back warmer currently. Really, an occasional fuck could do both of you some good.” He rolls his neck and shoulders and blankly stares at me as if what he is saying isn’t totally mind-fucking me. It is.

  I drag my fingernails against my scalp as I run my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out what alternate universe I awoke in today. My brother, although he is considered an honorary member of CRMC not only for being my blood, but stitching up my brothers when shit goes south, has never referred to any woman as a back warmer or a pass around, much less suggest I fuck his best friend. I would recheck the calendar to make sure it isn’t April Fools’ Day, but I know better. I slide my phone out of the front pocket of my denim jeans and glance at the date momentarily just in case.

  “What’s the catch?” I ask, instantly suspicious, and glare at him for using my civilian name.

  “No catch,” he clarifies in a bored tone and pushes the long vertical blinds to the side, peering out onto the street below. “I just know you…and her.” He turns to face me and smirks. “You both need a release. Maybe then you all could at least be civil at Sam’s upcoming birthday party. We both know what is going on between you isn’t working,” he points out and clears his throat as he looks down to his gold wristwatch.