The Rise of Ferryn

by Gadziala, Jessica

  I usually didn't wait.

  I trusted my ability to accomplish the task, then went ahead and lowered them to the ground, leaving them to die there alone like the beasts they were as I went in search for more prey.

  But there was simply no way to communicate in the darkness with Vance, so he held the body until it went heavy, life leaving it, then he slowly lowered it down to the ground, not even paying any mind to the blood soaking through his shirt.

  Standing, he gave me another nod, jerking his chin toward the end of the hall.

  There was no more time to think, to analyze, to make a mental plan.

  Because a man was pulling the back room—an old storage space, metal racks and all—open, moving into the doorway, casting us in light.

  "What the fu—"

  My arms went up, grabbing the back of his neck, jerking it violently down as I slammed my knee upward, landing my mark to his nose with relative ease, sending pain shooting through his system, distracting him.

  I shoved him to the side, leaving him to Vance, as I charged into the room as men started to gain their feet, cards and chips flying.

  From there, it was all instinct.

  Uppercut to a chin, sending a body of a smaller man flying backward.

  Punch to the liver, incapacitating another while I made my way toward the one I had been tracking for years.

  The leader.

  A man so vile I wasn't sure hell would even accept him. But I was going to send him there just to be sure.

  He wasn't a good fighter, per se. He was just big. Big and strong and angry.

  I took a punch to the stomach and one to the jaw before I could scuttle back far enough to use my arm, to slice my blade through his hand as he raised it.

  Deep.

  That was fucking deep.

  If I could have been just an inch closer, I might have been damn near able to sever the fucking thing.

  But it was enough.

  To take him down for a moment just as uppercut guy came up behind me, arms encircling my upper chest and neck, pulling me clear off the floor, my legs peddling in the air for a second before I could get enough momentum to jerk my body downward. Feet planting, I pushed off, propelling myself upward, loosening the hold on me, so that when my feet would have touched down again, I fell to my knees instead, bowing him down with me, breaking his hold completely, allowing me to slam my blade upward into his throat.

  It wasn't a slice.

  A slice was clean and easy and quickly fatal. Like the guy back out in the hall.

  This was a stab.

  A stab to the neck that seemed to jab a hole in his throat, judging by the horrific, rasping sound coming from him.

  The following slice wasn't mercy. Not in the least. It just took one thing off my plate.

  His body didn't slump to the ground, it crashed, slamming headfirst into one of the metal racks as I spun around, a deafening sound.

  Turning, I sought liver-guy, noticing Vance engaged with someone else, some guy who must have come running from somewhere else in the building because he hadn't been in the room when we'd surged inward.

  Liver guy put up a pretty decent fight given the pain he had to have been in. A shot to the liver was one of the injuries I hated the most. I'd take a broken bone over a liver shot any damn day.

  In the end, my jaw was hurting, my eye would be black, there was a trio of deep claw marks in my arm, and there was another body at my feet.

  I was just about to gain my feet when I felt a hand grab me at the wrist, yanking hard and fast, nearly dislocating my shoulder before I found myself tossed onto the makeshift pool table, an ashtray jabbing me in the lower back as money fluttered into the air around me.

  It was a bad angle. On your back with no easy escape. A giant, angry man towering over you.

  He had giant hands, one making its way around my throat, crushing so hard I was sure he could manage to break my neck before he actually strangled me.

  I was just grabbing the sides of the table to try to toss my body off the side when I saw two bloodied hands raise, one grabbing the hair to angle the head back, the other slicing across the entire man's meaty throat.

  The blood spilled downward, gruesome as the life slowly left a man I had been hunting for ages.

  It wasn't my kill.

  There should have been a sense of defeat in that.

  But as the body was tossed to the side, leaving Vance there towering over me, chest heaving, arms and shirt bathed in blood, eyes burning bright with the fight and what I could only call a sort of... protectiveness, well, I couldn't seem to muster any sense of disappointment about it.

  The man was dead.

  His operation would die with him.

  Only for a short time, of course, before someone else stepped into his place, but it would save an untold number of children in the meantime.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked when I continued to lay there, staring up at him, feeling a sort of squeezing sensation in my chest that should have been off-putting, but it was almost, I don't know, comforting. "Ace?" he demanded when I couldn't seem to muster words. The knife fell from his hands onto the table, his fingers grabbing at my clothes, dragging my shirt up, looking for the gaping hole, the flowing blood.

  "I... I'm fine," I managed, swallowing hard. "It's all surface," I added when the worry didn't immediately leave his eyes. "Are you hurt?"

  "Just a graze on my arm," he said, giving me his hand, helping me fold up on the table. "The water isn't off."

  "What?"

  "The water isn't off. That other guy, he came from the bathroom. I heard the water running. We can clean up," he added as I started up at him a little dumbly. Not because I didn't grasp his meaning, but because I hadn't heard the water. Why hadn't I heard the water?

  "They're all dead?" I asked, glancing around at the scene scattered around us. Blood. A lot of blood. There always was. But this seemed like more than usual.

  "Yep."

  "You checked?" I demanded.

  "No one's chest is raising, Ace," he told me, but I had to check myself. "Satisfied?" he asked, rolling his eyes at me.

  "We did a good thing here," I told him, feeling the need to reassure him as we moved back into the hall, as I shouldered in the door to the bathroom.

  "Yeah," he agreed, both of us moving in at each sink, flicking on the water, scrubbing. "Your shirt," I mumbled, glancing over at him, making sure he got all the visible blood off his body.

  "I got another one in the bike. I can change when we get back," he told me, cutting off the water, moving over toward me.

  I watched in the mirror as he came up behind me, as his gaze held mine.

  "What?" I asked, not sure what the look was in his eyes. It was deep, though, almost blazing, even.

  Anger? Was he angry at me for involving him?

  His hips pressed forward then, jabbing his cock into the flesh of my ass, making a gasp escape me.

  Not anger.

  Heat.

  He was turned on.

  Maybe to someone else, that would be insane, would have been revolting to know that he was hard after a fight and murder.

  Me, though—I got it.

  The adrenaline, the fear, the uncertainty.

  It was still all there after the fight was over.

  It raced through your system, making your skin feel electric, making your belly swirl.

  It needed an outlet.

  And you sometimes needed an affirmation-of-life fuck.

  It was stupid and reckless, but then again, so was I, but I planted my hands on the sink, angling my ass out toward him, an invitation if I had ever seen one.

  Vance didn't need more than that, either.

  His hands moved around me, grabbing my pants and panties in hungry hands, yanking them down so hard I heard a rip, but couldn't bring myself to care as I felt them gather down below my knees.

  Vance wasted no time reaching around me, pressing his fingers between my thighs, rubbing his thumb ov
er my clit, sinking his first two fingers into me with a barely-contained violence, something that made my walls tighten, that made my ass angle out further.

  His other hand worked his button and zip free.

  A low whimper escaped me just as something flew into the sink in front of me.

  His wallet.

  I understood that silent demand.

  My hand fumbled with it, finding the condom, handing it back to him as I finally felt his bare cock glide against my pussy, making a shiver rack my system.

  A rumble moved through Vance's chest, as he pulled back, focusing on protecting us for a second before his gaze found mine in the mirror, eyes molten, making my sex clench hard, enticed by the dark promise he was showing me.

  "Vance," His name rushed out of me, airy, needy.

  Whatever control he'd had snapped at the sound, one hand sinking into my hip, holding me still as he slammed inside me.

  Hard.

  Rough.

  An aching, brutal sort of pleasure gripped me, making a strange whimpering moan escape me as my gaze held his in the mirror.

  His free hand reached for one of mine, pressing it between my thighs, guiding it over my clit until I took over fully, then moved upward, closed over my hand braced on the wall, holding on as he started to fuck me.

  There was no other way to describe it.

  This wasn't slow and sweet and explorative.

  This was hard and fast and dirty.

  Each thrust jammed my hips forward into the unyielding sink, guaranteeing bruises when we were finished.

  It didn't take long.

  His cock, my fingers, the tension buried deep inside.

  "Come, Ace," he demanded, eyes on mine in the mirror as he thrust deep.

  And I fucking shattered.

  If it wasn't for his arm going around my center, I was pretty sure I would have collapsed to the floor. My legs lost any semblance of structural integrity. I wouldn't have been surprised if I looked down and didn't even see them there as the orgasm crashed endlessly through my system, stealing my breath, wiping my brain of any thoughts.

  "Fuck," Vance hissed, his body curving over mine, forehead pressing into the back of my neck.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I forced some strength back into my legs, pushed myself upright as Vance slid away from me.

  "We have to go," I said, leaning down to pull my panties and pants back into place.

  "Yeah," He agreed, dropping the condom into the trash, then taking the bag with him.

  It was probably weird that I found myself turned on by his forethought, but there was no denying I was.

  "Wait," I said, stiffening.

  "What?" he asked, tensing too. "Is someone here?"

  "Do you smell that?" I asked, moving toward the door.

  Something was burning.

  "No," Vance growled when I went to reach for the door, slamming his hand down on it, keeping it closed. "Look," he told me, nodding down to the bottom of the door where a small bit of smoke was wafting in. "Window," he said, jerking his head over toward it. "Here," he called, slamming it open, holding his hands down for me to step onto.

  I didn't need to be told twice.

  I hauled myself up and out the window, waiting for Vance on the other side.

  "Should we do something?" he asked, reaching for the bag he had thrown out ahead of him.

  "Let it burn," I decided, reaching for his hand, and hauling ass back into the woods.

  Both seeming to sense the urgency of getting as far away as fast as possible, we didn't speak, didn't plan on anything. We just got on our bikes and drove blindly away.

  Sirens wailed, but none followed as we got one town away, two, five, over an hour outside of the area.

  "We have to stop for the night," Vance told me after we fueled up the bikes again.

  "Yeah," I agreed, taking my first real deep breath since before we'd gone into the building.

  "I tossed the gloves in this dumpster when I went in to pay," he told me, nodding over toward them. "We will get rid of the garbage at the hotel."

  "We need clothes too. And to get rid of these clothes."

  "And call your father," he told me, brow raising, daring me to object.

  "Okay," I agreed.

  "Are we heading back tomorrow? Or do you need time?"

  "Me?" I asked, feeling a smile pull at my lips. "I think you're the one who would need time."

  "Maybe I would have. If you hadn't told me what they specialized in. Could have taken them down by a thousand cuts my fucking self."

  "Is my black eye coming in?" I asked, knowing it was only a matter of time.

  His hand reached out, fingers nagging my chin, lifting and turning it to the side to inspect me.

  "It's getting there. Has a bit to go still."

  "What am I going to tell my mother?" I asked, then felt a hysterical little laugh bubble up inside me.

  "What?"

  "I just... I haven't thought that in so long. Like I missed curfew or something."

  "Think you can count yourself lucky that you have parents like them, Ace. You really lucked out in that department."

  I was not prone to displays of affection. Not even before I went away. I always accepted them from those I loved, but I rarely initiated unless someone was upset or something like that.

  But I felt myself moving toward Vance, sliding my hands around his side, circling his back, resting my forehead against his chest.

  "I'm sorry your parents kinda suck, Vance."

  There wasn't a moment of hesitation in Vance's arms going around me. He was someone who hugged pretty readily. I think it was something he did because his parents never showed them any sort of affection, so as the bigger brother, he felt the need to compensate, giving Iggy hugs on bad days or when she had done something he was proud of.

  He used to give me one-arm hugs when I showed up somewhere. Casual. Friendly.

  This was not a casual or friendly hug.

  This was long and tight and perfect.

  "It's okay. I get to kind of have yours here and there."

  "Think they might have preferred another daughter, but..." I said, smiling into his chest when he slapped my ass.

  "What? With the royal pain in the ass you chose to be? They'd welcome a dozen sons."

  I was smiling still when I pulled away. Vance's finger traced over my lower lip.

  "Missed that smile, Ace."

  I was finding I had missed a lot of things about him that I didn't even realize I missed.

  "And there it goes," he said, shaking his head, but shrugging it off. "Come on. Let's go find some clothes and a room."

  "And food."

  "Yep," he agreed, chuckling. "And food. Grilled chicken and steamed sweet potatoes?" he suggested, making me small eye him. "Sicilian pizza and a side of garlic knots?"

  "That's more like it," I agreed, hopping onto my bike.

  "What happened to you two?" the nosy cashier who had already critiqued every single item we had purchased, making me desperately wish we had gotten a value pack of condoms and a big old tub of lube, asked as she bagged out items.

  "Bar fight," I grumbled at her, taking the bags as Vance reached for cash.

  "The lady next to us looked at me," Vance went on, shaking his head.

  "No one looks at my man."

  "She was eighty if she was a day."

  "Did I stutter? You look, you pay," I told him, having to press my lips into a firm line when the cashier ducked her head, carefully avoiding any chance she might glance at Vance.

  "You're mean," Vance informed me as we walked out, leaning over to sink his teeth into my shoulder.

  "Hey, she's the one who had to imply that I was going to get fat if I kept eating Devil Dogs."

  "Had it coming, huh?" he asked, then glanced at me from the side of his bike.

  "What?"

  "Do you get jealous?" he asked.

  I wasn't going to pretend I didn't know what he meant. Or that he'd called me
his. Or that I had just called him mine.

  "You remember all those girls at all those shows when we were younger?"

  "Vaguely," he admitted, having the good sense to look chagrined at the sheer number of them.

  "I wanted to claw their faces off."

  "Well," he said, grinning. "It's a good thing you didn't find your killer instinct until later in life."

  "So many lives saved," I agreed.

  "You ready?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the hotel. We'd already checked in before we headed to the store. We'd ordered our food to be delivered to. I think we both knew that once we got in that room, once we cleaned up, once we refueled, we were going to pass the hell out and not wake up for a solid twelve hours.

  "What?" Vance asked a couple hours later, our bellies full, our bodies cleaned, our clothes changed, our evidence-filled clothing tossed, my father called, everything handled.

  I pressed my lips together, looking over at him in the bed, not sure how real I wanted to get with him right then.

  "Come on, Ace. Give me something without making me pry it out of you," he suggested, lying flat, placing a hand behind his head.

  That was fair. Especially after the night he'd just had because of me.

  "I've never slept with a guy before. In the literal sense," I clarified, since it was clear I was no virgin when we'd hit the sheets.

  "Really?" he asked, eyes going soft.

  "Really," I agreed, nodding. "Men, ah, you know... things were always casual. For obvious reasons."

  "I know a thing or two about casual too," Vance agreed, clearly trying to remove some of my discomfort in the admission. "But you know what?" he asked, waiting for me to answer.

  "No, what?"

  At that, he knifed up, grabbing me, pulling me down onto his chest, anchoring me with his arm as though I had any intentions of moving.

  "I like this infinitely more. And don't try to tell me there is no this. Because we both know there is. And you can't say I only want it because I don't know what you've been up to, or because I haven't seen it with my own two eyes. Because I know. I've seen. And guess what, Ace?"

  "What?" I asked when he waited again for my answer.

  "I still fucking want you."

  My heart and belly skipped and fluttered at that, those words I had wanted so badly to hear for so many years.