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STALK ME
PUGILIST
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PUGILIST - Copyright © 2017 Peter Hallett. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for a mature audience.
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LEVIATHAN ENTERTAINMENT PRESENTS
A PETER HALLETT BOOK
PUGILIST
I sat in the corner of the diner, my back to a wall. I had a large window to my right, the neon sign that advertised the joint was open for business flashing above me, casting sporadic pink streaks of light across the table, collaborating with the blue hue from the insect killer to birth purple. The humming sound the murderous device gave off, and the sizzle of the dying bugs as they burnt to a crisp in a flashing indigo-instant, broke through the depressing country song crackling out of the old radio next to the register.
The entrance to the diner was clearly visible from my position, so was the door to the kitchen. I had two routes of escape marked on the map in my head and two possible routes of attack, entrances, which unsavory characters could use to enter the AO. They’d easily be caught in my line of sight as soon as they set foot inside, making it possible for me to PID and mark my targets.
I was sitting with one heel raised, my weight predominantly on one ass cheek. It was easier to get up quickly that way, to defend myself, to attack, and to bolt, or drop and take cover, if needed.
Only a few people were in the diner, mostly drinking coffee, the majority of them sitting at tables on the far side of the room. A young punk couple had occupied a booth and were eating each other’s faces, kissing as if they didn’t get much time away from their parents’ prying eyes, their lip piercings clinking together as they fucked each other’s mouths.
A few of the other people were chatting bullshit in hushed tones, as if the other people in the diner gave a shit about their lives and what they had to say, like they were somehow protecting themselves from a security breach. I’d witnessed noisier covert operations by black ops teams.
An old guy was reading a newspaper, shaking his head at a headline, a story covering the closure of a local factory. He was an ex-smoker, he was chewing gum like it was going out of style, and constantly taking sips of coffee, or rubbing two of his fingers together.
Someone must have ordered a burger; I could hear the grill sizzling in the kitchen and smell the meat scorching on the metallic surface. The smell of burning cow reminded me how hungry I was, how long it had been since I’d had any kind of food, never mind a good meal, and how short of cash I was. I’d long since run out of rations, the last of them consumed on the first day in my new apartment.
When a new customer entered the diner and sat at the bar, my eyes locked on him for the whole of his short walk to the stool, the hands in his pockets causing some minor concern, but not enough to go weapons up. The cold night air that blew in chilled me to my core and made me wish I had a thicker coat, but coats cost money.
The guy at the bar shouted through to the kitchen for some service, removing his hands from his pockets as he did, which allowed me to breathe and relax my tensed muscles somewhat. A waitress exited the kitchen, carrying a pot of coffee, and my jaw hung low.
She placed a cup on the bar and poured the hot liquid, the florescent light that was shining through the hatchway to the kitchen illuminating the steam to a spouting vapor of an apparition, swirling, intertwining, and dancing in an ebbing, dissipating embrace.
The young waitress was the picture of perfection, her surroundings black and white compared to her technicolored radiance. Her dark hair was tied in a bun, her bangs framing her delicate features and highlighting the pale porcelain nature of her flesh in a glorious way.
Her eyes were jade-green, piercing, and hypnotic, the type you’d imagine a temptress siren would have to lure sailors to their deaths, forced into the shallow waters and ragged rocks by their lustful urges as waves crashed and broke their wooden boats apart while they cast their oars aside, too entranced by the promise of the heavenly song the beautiful young girl sang to give a flying fuck if they lived or died.
The pink uniform, the white apron that was stitched to the front, and the neckline she had open just enough of a ways to show the frilly lace trim of her white bra had been able to break through my paranoid behavior and had me completely distracted.
She walked from behind the bar and toward me, her hips swaying slightly, the uniform short enough to show me her beautifully smooth legs. She smiled, her thin, pink-painted lips slowly rising at the sides until they formed an attractive and welcoming shape, ordering my cock to stand at attention and salute her beauty with a dewdrop of precum.
My heart began to race, beating a thunderous tribal rhythm like muscled men were pounding animal skin drums with the thighbones of fallen enemies, a mass of primal, lustful, sweaty, and naked natives watching the ritualized performance with hedonistic and sexualized glee as the virgin is dragged toward an alter by the perverted and wrinkled hands of witch doctors with painted faces, as she’s strapped to the thick stone by high priests adorned in ceremonial garbs made of tiger-striped fur, the stunningly youthful woman, an offering to appease their god.
Her naked, fledging flesh lit orange from the burning flames of the torches that illuminated the bleak darkness of the surrounding jungle, casting shadows from the trees on the dirt-ground, long crooked fingers of black on more black, waving menace, and the fiery waves and kissing flames of the torches, spitting embers into the sky.
I wasn’t in the prong of people, climaxing from just the mere sight of her flesh; I was the god they were trying to satisfy with her young body.
“No one sits here. They hate the sign and the buzzing noise.” She placed a cup on my table, the sound wiping the thought of her naked innocence from my mind for a brief moment. “Coffee?” I nodded and she poured.
“I like this table, ma’am,” I said, my eyes delving into her cleavage as the last of the dark liquid filled my cup, my thoughts lost again to the idea of her being a sacrificial virgin, her untouched velveteen insides penetrated by my cock, impaled on my large size... I had to have her. I had to claim her.
“And why’s that?” She placed her free hand on her hip. She looked so cute, a little attitude, but not too much. She was the perfect balance of innocence and sass. I’d not looked at the entrances and exits since I’d seen her. My heel was flat to the floor. I’d relaxed into my chair. No one had ever had that effect on me for a very long time, if ever. I’d not been able to drop my guard since the incident at the checkpoint.
“You really want to know?” I raised my eyebrows and basked in the glow she emanated as my cock twitched from just being in close proximity to her. She smelled divine, an angel just waiting for me to tie her to a bed with her halo and to clip her wings.
“Sure.”
I pushed the chair across from me out from under the table with my foot. “Have a seat, ma’am.”
“I’m not a customer you’re serving, a school official, your damn mother, or a superior in the mi
litary... You don’t have to call me ma’am... I can’t sit... I’m working.” She forced a smile but she looked somewhat annoyed, more from me kicking the chair out for her to sit than the fact I’d called her ma’am.
“I sat here because I have a good line of sight at the two possible entrances and exits, and no one can come at me from behind, launch a rear assault, because of the wall. I also have good visibility of my flank because of the window. A quick recon of the establishment via a darkened corner of the parking lot alerted me to this vantage point.”
“This is somewhat a stupid question, but you’re ex-military, aren’t you?” She placed her coffee pot on the table and locked her green eyes on mine as she tried to figure me out, tried to read what I was thinking, to create a narrative, my story, my reason for being in that diner on that night and why I no longer worked for Uncle Sam.
I held her stare for a moment, wondering what it would feel like to have my lips on her flesh, to taste her sweat, to sample her arousal, savor the tones of her youth, and what her tongue would feel like as it worked the head of my aching and throbbing cock, as it danced over my sensitive flesh and soaked it with her wetness, as it warmed with the heat of her panting breath, as her wide, pretty eyes looked up at me, begging me to claim her.
She looked away. I answered her. “Yes ma’am.”
“Can I get you some food?” She looked uncomfortable, as if she could tell what I was thinking about her, like she knew I wanted to take her there and then, bend her over the table, lift her uniform up, and pull down her panties, own her with my hardness, take my offering, my godly right, her silk insides sure to massage my bulbous cock head to a volcanic explosion, enough to shake the pillars of heaven themselves.
“I’d love to, but I don’t have the cash.” I cursed myself for being honest. I could have just said no, kept my answer short and sweet, but the truthful idiot in me had to point out I was flat broke. I figured a pretty girl like her wouldn’t be interested in a guy if he didn’t have cash to flash.
“Well, you get free refills on the coffee, so fill up with that... I think the whole town is struggling for money at the moment. Did you lose your job at the factory?” She smiled, the type you do when greeting relatives at a funeral. She still looked beautiful though, perhaps even more so because of the concern she was showing for me.
“No. I’m new to town, ma’am. Although, I am seeking employment.”
“You don’t have to call me that, remember, soldier? I don’t know why anyone would want to move here.”
“Responsibilities.”
She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off before any words could escape her pretty lips by the sound of a plate smashing in the kitchen. She sighed and picked up the coffee pot. “Excuse me.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes at me and then walked away. My eyes instantly found her ass and my breathing sped up as my heart continued to beat its tribal rhythm, matching her march to the kitchen.
I had visions of standing up, running toward her, grabbing her hair from behind, forcing her over a stool to make her mine, holding onto the taut flesh of her hip as I powered into her, filled her with my seed, marked my territory, leaving enough scent to warn off other predators.
Once she vanished out of sight into the kitchen, I moved my gaze to the window and the parking lot beyond as I shook my head, trying to get the image of her young body from my mind.
I had to refocus, get my head back in the game and make sure nothing got past me. It was because of a lapse in concentration while at the checkpoint close to the FOB that the car was able to drive right up to us and detonate its explosives.
Another plate smashed in the kitchen and I heard the waitress curse. My eyes locked to the door she’d gone through as I primed my ears. Something didn’t feel right. I didn’t know why, it was just a gut feeling, a hunch.
Next a few hushed words were spat with venomous intent. Then sound of a possible argument erupting broke through the grating voice of the DJ as he introduced the next song, but the hushed words were too quiet for me to be able to make out what was being said.
I slowly stood, my eyes narrowing as I tried to see if I could get an angle and make out what all the commotion was. I didn’t have a clear line of sight so I changed position, walked past the bar, and to a spot where I had an unobstructed view through the door to the kitchen.
The dishwasher had the waitress pressed to the wall with his chest, his sweaty face right in her own, their noses practically touching, his rotten and crooked teeth on show as he smiled at her.
As she tried to turn from him, to move from him, to get some space between her and the ugliness he had to offer, he grabbed her wrists and forced them onto the wall too, making sure she had no chance of escape.
The old guy who’d been flipping burgers moved toward them. The dishwasher backhanded him in the face. As the chef stumbled backward the waitress took the opportunity her attacker had given her by letting go of her hand and slapped him in the face, forcing his head to whip to the side from the impact.
He raised his fist at her.
I caught it before he was able to hit her and pushed him away. He fell into some pots and pans and they clattered to the floor. “Who the fuck are you?” he screamed at me as he regained his balance.
“Reinforcements.” I stood in front of the waitress so he couldn’t get to her. Nothing would harm her with me around. She had her own personal bodyguard, a protector. I nodded at the chef to check he was okay and he nodded back at me as he rubbed his cheek.
“Reinforcements? Is that so?” He took a step toward me as he moved his greasy hair from his eyes until it stuck to his sweaty forehead.
I raised a hand to stop him coming any closer. “No closer. Back off!” I commanded.
“The only perk of working in this damn diner is getting to touch that pretty little bitch.” He mimed squeezing her breasts as he licked his teeth.
“I’ve warned you who my daddy is,” the waitress said as she tried to push past me to get at him. I held her back with my arm, not taking my eyes off the dishwasher. The situation was too tense for me to be able to fully enjoy having her flat stomach pressed to the palm of my hand, but even that fleeting touch reinforced my desire for her body, for her heart.
“Do I look like I give a shit, little lady?” He sniffed snot into the back of his throat and then spat on my boots before showing me his bad teeth again, a shit-eating grin, forcing me to taste his tobacco-infected breath.
“I think we need to take this outside.” I motioned with my head for him to move toward the door, noticing a few of the customers had left their seats to get a better view of what was happening.
Nothing draws a crowd quicker than the threat of violence. I had the experience of having to disperse countless onlookers from dangerous situations during my tour. You wouldn’t think they’d want to be near a location where the possibility of a stray bullet was all too real, or where the accidental detonation of an IED was a prospect.
Some people just want front row seats when it comes to sordid, repugnant shit, I guess.
“Take it outside? Who the fuck talks like that? You don’t get to choose where you fight in this town, dickhead.” Some of his spittle hit my face as he spat the words from his mouth.
I moved like lightning and grabbed his apron. As I dragged him toward the door, he began to hit me in the back of the head. All his shots did was make me nod on each impact and grit my teeth as my anger grew.
The customers parted like the Red Sea and I kicked the diner door open and threw the dishwasher outside. He landed on his face, a fleshy slap sounding on impact, air expelling from his lungs in a grunt jam-packed with agony.
“I think I speak for this pretty lady,” I said as I threw a quick look over my shoulder at the waitress, she was standing in the doorway, rubbing her wrists where he’d grabbed her, “when I say you’re fired. Am I right, ma’am?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” The punk
couple was standing behind her, massive smiles on their jewelry-adorned faces, excitement growing over the impending violence.
The dishwasher stood up, his legs not quite going where he wanted them to at first, but once he was settled he removed his apron and threw it at me. I leaned to the side, my eyes not leaving him, and as the material fluttered to the ground behind me, he charged.
I raised my fists and slapped his jab past my head. I hit him in the face with my own jab, and quickly followed that shot with a cross and hook. The hook connected flawlessly with his jaw and he fell back to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. He spat some bloodied teeth from his mouth.
It was at that moment I heard a car door open. The light inside the vehicle flashed to life and a massive guy got out of the driver’s side door, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. He walked to the rear of the vehicle he’d exited and opened a door.
An older gentleman in an expensive suit, a much more expensive outfit than the big guy he was with had on, got out of the car. “Good punches, son.” He nodded at his hired muscle and the big goon walked toward me. I readied myself to fight again but the big man just smiled at me when he was close and bent down to pick up the dishwasher by his slimy hair.
He dragged the groggy guy to the car and held him down, his face pressed to the hood. He tried to fight, to get free, but the mass of a man only had to use one hand to keep him pinned.
The gentleman smiled at me and then looked beyond to the diner. “I’ll dispose of this idiot, sweetie, and then I’ll be back for my coffee. I think I’d better have it to go, this prick is going to put me behind schedule.”
He got back in the car and the muscle he’d brought with him dragged the dishwasher to the trunk. He opened it up, smashed the dazed man in the face with a head-butt, splashing his nose and Pollocking his face in blood, and then threw him in the trunk and shut it.
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