Grease Monkey

by Tymber Dalton

  “Go ahead and make him come, baby, and then I’ll take pity on you.”

  She increased her licking and sucking, cupping Roscoe’s balls with one hand and gently playing with them. He started arching his hips against her, rocking in time with her movements. As his cock grew harder, heat pulsing from it, eventually his balls drew up in her hand and she tasted him filling her mouth with his cum.

  His moan of pleasure triggered one last climax in her, a chain reaction that Niner profited from.

  “Oh, yeah.” He picked up the pace, hurrying to catch up, then finally burying his cock deep inside her pussy with a soft groan of release.

  Roscoe wiggled his way out from under her, kissing her as she collapsed onto their bedrolls with Niner’s cock still embedded inside her.

  “And that’s how you create a distraction,” Roscoe said with a grin.

  She smiled, nodding, now exhausted.

  Sleeping wouldn’t be an issue tonight for her that night, thank goodness.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next morning, Dolce slipped into the house before dawn to use the downstairs bathroom and freshen up. She felt unsettled, even beyond the confirmed deaths of her friends.

  Like there was something worse on the horizon and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, she was pleasantly surprised to see Doc sitting at the kitchen table. Pandora and Tango were working to get coffee started, but Dolce suspected it was more a case of them hovering around Doc, assuring themselves he was okay.

  “Hey, how you feeling?” she asked him.

  He smiled. “Tired. Hungry as hell. And ready to get our asses moving out of this area. Sorry I slowed you guys down.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. We’ll get this circus on the road soon enough, now that you’re back on your feet.”

  “We already have the monkeys,” he joked.

  “True dat.”

  Outside, she heard a couple of vehicles fire up.

  “What’s that?” Doc asked.

  “The recon mission,” she said. “They’re going to see what’s up in Santa Clarita and beyond. We’re hoping earthquake damage doesn’t extend that far.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Tango said. “If it did, that would be unprecedented.”

  “Maybe it’s Reverend Silo’s apocalypse,” Pandora snarked.

  “Wish he’d get Kite,” Clara griped. She was definitely not a fan of the minister. Her parents, who lived in the St. Louis area, had fallen under the reverend’s spell and wasted their retirement funds by tithing them to the Church of the Rising Sunset.

  Dolce had an intuition. “I’ll be right back.” She jumped up and ran outside. The two vehicles still sat idling there, Papa giving the men final instructions.

  She walked over to where Mark was riding shotgun in the lead car, with Echo in the backseat and Omega driving. Mark rolled down his window.

  “Hey,” she said, leaning in to hug him, “you come back. That’s an order.”

  He smiled, but looked puzzled. “What’s that for? Just some recon.”

  She shrugged. “Lots of things I’d wished I’d said to people in my life. People I sort of took for granted would be there. You realize I’ve dubbed you my adopted dad, right?”

  He smiled, reaching out the window to squeeze her hand. “Yeah, well, I never had kids. So you’re my adopted daughter. Don’t worry. These guys will get an old man with a gimpy hip back here safe and sound.”

  Omega nodded. “You betcha.”

  She smiled, ducking her head down so she could see the large, black man behind the wheel. It looked like he was wearing the small solar sedan instead of him driving it. “You be careful, too. Everyone comes home.”

  “What about me?” Omega’s partner Echo joked from the backseat, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Yeah, and you.” She slapped the car’s roof. “Get yer asses back here before evening chow. I want to be able to leave this shithole city in the morning.”

  Then she walked back to the other car. She hadn’t had time to get to know Kilo and Foxtrot very well yet, but they seemed like nice enough guys.

  “Whatcha need, Annie?” Kilo asked after rolling down his window.

  “Same thing I told them. Get back safely.”

  “Will do.”

  She slapped the roof of their car, too, and stepped back. Roscoe and Niner walked over to her as she watched the two vehicles roll down to the street, where they turned and drove out of sight.

  “You all right?” Roscoe asked her.

  She slowly nodded. “I will be when they return safe later today and we’re all together again.”

  * * * *

  Finally able to take a mental breath, Dolce didn’t bother trying to relax, even though Papa told her to grab a little downtime if she needed it.

  Problem was, she didn’t want it. Downtime meant thinking.

  Instead, she chose to do what she did best, to be a grease monkey and go through their growing fleet, vehicle by vehicle, checking them all out, making adjustments to their solar systems, or doing small repairs as needed. Roscoe helped her, actually impressing her with his ability to take direction from her without mouthing back or pissing her off in the process.

  Fuel, both diesel and gas, might be difficult for them to come by on the road. They needed the vehicles’ solar systems to take up the slack. It meant slower going, but they wouldn’t have to leave a vehicle behind.

  Sometime before noon, Niner brought her and Roscoe lunch. They sat in the shade of a tree and ate their protein bars and sipped water from canteens, Dolce between them.

  “So what’s going on?” Niner asked. “I can tell there’s more on your mind than just repairs.”

  “I feel…unsettled,” she admitted.

  “About them going out on recon?”

  “Yeah.” She took another bite of her bar and chewed it slowly, buying her a little thinking time. “Something’s wrong. Something’s off. I had this same feeling when I knew…” She took a deep breath. “I’m just paranoid, now. That’s all. Don’t mind me.”

  Niner slung an arm across her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to be paranoid about. If it helps, Papa heard from them. They’re almost through Sylmar. Making good time and reporting that damage does seem to be getting better the farther north they go. Looks like that will be our escape route out of hell’s happy acres.”

  Dolce knew that should have relieved her, but it didn’t. “Make sure he tells them to watch their six.”

  “That’s a given.”

  She turned to glare at him.

  “But I will ask Papa to pass that message along in his next communication with them.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gentled his voice. “They’re not vulnerable like your friends were. Mark was in the military, too.”

  “Yeah, like nearly forty years ago. And he’s got a bum hip.” She felt guilty she hadn’t had time to go through the two vehicles that morning to clear them for travel. The mission had to come first. They’d had to get on the road early.

  “Those guys are good,” Roscoe said. “As good as any of us. They’ll take care of Mark.”

  She leaned her head onto his shoulder, grateful that he’d read her mind so well. Surely she was simply paranoid, right?

  She hoped.

  She hoped so hard, it made her heart ache to think about it.

  * * * *

  After lunch, a thick, choking layer of smog and smoke from the fires to the south of them drifted into their part of the valley and kept the sunlight at bay. Deep shadows lay under the trees, where she stood waist-deep inside the engine compartment of one of their trucks, tweaking its solar system.

  Dolce heard a vehicle rapidly approaching. She was already boosting herself up and out of the engine compartment, over the truck’s fender as the car, driven by Kilo, raced down the street and up into the driveway with a squeal of tires.


  She jogged across the backyard to join Papa, Alpha, and the others who gathered around. Scanning the street with her eyes and ears, her pulse jacked up when she realized the two men were alone.

  Papa wasted no time. “Where are they?”

  “Santa Clarita,” Kilo said, launching into the story.

  They’d been detoured by what looked like an impromptu roadblock when they were penned in by a mob of about twenty heavily armed men. Not Kiters. They weren’t sure at first if they were vigilantes, a gang trying to jump them, or rioters. Then the other vehicle stalled, and the two cars got separated as Kilo and Foxtrot tried to retreat to a better tactical position where they could pick off the mob from more secure cover. Then the local sheriff’s department, backed by a National Guard unit, had come in from the north, on the other side of where Omega, Echo, and Mark’s car had stalled out. They started picking off the mob from behind, penning them between their guys and law enforcement.

  Last they saw, Mark had been killed by one of the mob, and Omega and Echo had been handcuffed and taken into custody by the deputies, while the National Guard dispatched the rest of the mob.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Kilo said, sounding and looking pained. “It was too hot a situation and we were way outnumbered. Omega ordered us over the radio to retreat and return here immediately for reinforcements. Before their radios cut out, we heard something about them being detained at the local jail with the survivors from the group who ambushed us.”

  Papa listened to this with a grim expression and his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He slowly nodded. “Okay,” he softly said. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Lima, I want full digital recon of the area—maps, locations of the sheriff’s station, jails, any intel we have of the area—ASAP. We’ll send a team out in a couple of hours. We need to get the rest of this outfit packed up and ready to move first.”

  Dolce was still trying to process the news. “Mark’s dead?”

  Foxtrot looked miserable. “One of the assholes from the mob got behind them and flanked them. Omega turned and blew the fucker’s head off, if it’s any consolation. I know it’s not, but…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

  She slowly backed away from the group. When Niner and Roscoe tried to approach, she held up her hands, warding them off. “Not yet,” she croaked. “Give me a few.” She turned and bolted from the group, around to the far side of the house, where she slid down the wall into a crouch, rocking herself.

  It’s not fair!

  No, she knew from a very young age how unfair life was. But worse, she’d just started getting to know Mark. Hell, if she had never gone up to his apartment and knocked, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

  Then again, he might have died in the earthquake or violence.

  She tried to think and couldn’t, her thoughts a jumbled mass of agony and heartbreak.

  Why, for once, couldn’t she have someone stay in her life and not be ripped from her?

  Did that mean she’d end up losing her men the same way?

  That was something she didn’t want to contemplate when she couldn’t even process this news.

  Slowly staggering to her feet, she headed for their tent.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dolce felt numb, her emotions scrubbed beyond the point of being raw. Not only had she lost Mark, but two of their men now needed to be rescued.

  Worse, she felt in a way it was her fault because she hadn’t gone through the vehicles before they’d left.

  Rationally she knew it wasn’t her fault, but that feeling remained. Mark was her friend.

  One more loss.

  Now what do we do?

  It was bad enough Mark had died, but they couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon the other two men.

  Niner joined her in their tent a few minutes later. He sat down next to her on the bedroll and held her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “I wish I’d gone.”

  “Why? You might have been killed, too. Or arrested.”

  “Maybe Omega and Echo could have gotten away if I’d been there to lay down cover fire. Or maybe the damn car wouldn’t have broken down in the first place.”

  “Huh?” He made her look at him. “This is in no way your fault. And as bad as this might look to you, trust me, this is not the worst situation those two, or any of us, have ever been in. Jailbreak? That’s a piece of cake. We’re going to send a team in there and get them back. Easy-peasey.”

  Roscoe stuck his head inside. “How you doin’?”

  “Get in here,” Niner said. “I need backup.”

  He climbed in, zipping the flap closed behind him before he stretched out on her other side. “I’m going to apologize in advance for accidentally being an asshole in any way.”

  While she hadn’t thought it would be possible, she laughed.

  Okay, chuckled, but still, close enough.

  Roscoe smiled. “There’s our girl.”

  “Do they need you out there right now?” she asked.

  “Not right now,” Niner said. “Papa told us to take a few. If shit goes down, they’ll call us out to help. Everything’s quiet. We’ll start packing our own stuff soon enough. Not much to do except strike the tent and roll the bedrolls. Our gear’s ready to go.”

  She hated feeling weak. For so long, most of her life, she’d had to be strong. After losing her parents, her time in the military, then after.

  Now, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball in the arms of her men and let them hold her.

  Feeling weak sucked. But at least she had them.

  “What can we do?” Roscoe asked. “Tell us.”

  She didn’t know, honestly. Not like anything could bring Mark back. Or her friends. Or…

  She drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out again. “Hold me?”

  They snuggled her tightly between them, and didn’t even try to cop a feel in the process.

  She didn’t know if she loved them more for that, or the fact that they’d flat-out asked what they could do for her.

  It felt good to be able to let go for a little bit to not just one, but two guys, who could take care of her while the world did its thing out there.

  This was a true luxury. She didn’t care about money, or about a roof over her head, or about anything else at that moment. All she cared about was curled up on either side of her, holding her, wanting to be there for her.

  Had asked to be there for her.

  She didn’t realize she was crying at first, until they both tightened their grip on her, holding her, trying to quell her trembling. Her cries came out as quiet, hitching gasps as she buried her face against Niner’s chest, her hands fisting his shirt, Roscoe’s breath warm against the back of her neck.

  She couldn’t change the past. She knew that. For a little while, though, she wanted to forget it.

  * * * *

  Roscoe felt like he’d been gut-punched.

  Scratch that, nut-punched.

  It hurt deep inside him as he listened to her grief welling up, knowing he was powerless to do anything but hold her. It wasn’t anything he could shoot or fight or kill or fix for her.

  All he could do was wrap his arms around her and pray he didn’t fuck it up.

  He desperately did not want to fuck this up with her.

  They could joke and banter forever about his ineptitude. About how he couldn’t not piss someone off.

  Right now, he wanted to help soothe her pain, not contribute to it. He felt horrible now for that morning when he made the comment about Ak needing to learn to keep up.

  He got it.

  Boy, did he ever.

  He was just lucky Quack and Lima hadn’t heard him. He likely would have gotten a fist in the side of the head instead of a pancake from Pandora.

  Damn, that felt like years ago instead of days.

  He caught a glimpse of Niner’s green eyes on the other side of her, focused squarely on him.

  Yeah, he could read that look.

/>   Don’t fuck this up.

  He couldn’t help it. The same survival skills that had kept him out of hot water with his dad and brothers, and kept him alive in Brooklyn, did not translate into making him popular with women. Hell, the longest relationship with someone he’d had besides Niner had been a deaf girl he’d dated for a few weeks in high school.

  Until he’d accidentally pissed off the girl’s older, non-deaf sister.

  That was all she wrote.

  High school felt like eons away, instead of a decade. He’d seen a lot since then. Done a lot.

  Killed more than a few people.

  He’d never really cared about what happened to him before now. His unit—that was his family. His brothers. Do or die for them.

  And now they had Dolce.

  She would always be Dolce to him, even when everyone else called her Annie.

  Sweet, beautiful Dolce. She lived up to her name, even if she didn’t think she did.

  Not just him, but Niner had it bad for her, too. Every bit as bad as he did.

  Roscoe placed his hand over hers, gently coaxing her into letting go of Niner’s shirt, lacing his fingers through hers.

  As if reading his mind, Niner placed his palm against hers, also lacing his fingers through theirs. They gently squeezed, together.

  “We’re here, baby,” Roscoe whispered. “We’re all yours.”

  “All yours,” Niner echoed.

  * * * *

  Niner hoped Roscoe knew what the hell the glare that he’d sent him meant.

  Keep your farkin’ yap shut.

  He hoped his partner would be emotionally intelligent enough not to say something and add to Dolce’s pain and grief, but he couldn’t be sure.

  This was new to both of them. Yeah, he’d always had an easier time with women than Roscoe, but dammit, it was like the guy tried to piss them off sometimes.

  But he could see the difference in the man now, since Dolce walked into their lives and became a part of them. Part of their team.

  He’d never thought about his emotions for Roscoe before, other than he knew they’d lay down their lives for each other. He’d never labeled it before.