THE HARDEST YARDS (A BAD BOY FOOTBALL ROMANCE)

by Andrea Rose

  Shawn groaned softly as I wrapped a hand around his shaft, the deep sound penetrating my neck and vibrating my skin as he kissed my throat. His fingers found it’s way inside me, dipping down into my wetness. My brain was melting with desire, every ounce of my body wanting to force myself upon him, to make him speed up.

  “You’re gonna kill me sweetheart…”

  “Fuck me Shawn. I need you inside me.”

  His body towered over me as he stood, the object of my desire twitching against the skin of my palm. I arched my back against the bed, guiding him downward as he pressed it hard against my hidden lips, sliding home in a way that was as familiar as it was distant. Cries escaped me as we came together, a tangled mess becoming a single being with only one thought. We moved like new lovers, exploring each other as if it were the first time.

  “I love you Callie,” he whispered, the dark voice in my ear and our own desperate cries drowning out the world.

  “I love you too…”

  Those words had escaped my lips before. With Jude… With the string of bad boys before him…

  I’d never meant them, not really, not until today.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  Ash met us outside by the bikes, and he laughed his ass off.

  “Leave it to you Break. All our asses on the line and you spend the morning fucking your girl raw while I’m trying to fucking sleep. Think you can get her something to bite down on next time?”

  I blushed fire engine red, but DJ and Ash both had a shit eating grin on their faces. Motel rooms aren’t known for their thick walls, and I hadn’t exactly been shy about crying out every little thing I wanted Break to do to me.

  “Still twelve hours out of Austin, but the drop is in Fredericksburg, an hour and a half closer,” Ash said, relieving me of my embarrassment.

  “Tell me Ash, why’s Carcetti so hard up on the drop being in Texas,” Break asked, packing gear away in the saddle bag on the bike.

  “He owns the sherif out there. Has since your father ran the club. Make no mistake, we’re walking right into his house. Try not to break anything…”

  Break chuckled, reaching out and slapping a hand over Ash’s arm before turning back to the bike. In no time at all, we were on the road again. Time flew by ticked off with each passing mile marker and long strip of asphalt. We ate dinner in El Paso, but didn’t stop there, opting to continue through the darkness. You’ve never really lived until you’ve had a chance to fly down a deserted highway on two wheels beneath a clear starry sky. It was like riding into the universe, the flat land ahead of us blending with the universe. Sometime well after midnight, we pulled into a little dirty motel in Texas and hit the beds. Not even my desire could overwhelm my need for sleep. Just like that, it was morning again.

  The day of the drop…

  Maybe if I stayed here, curled up in Break’s arms, we could escape it all. This drop would go smooth, the money would come, the club could go legit. Nothing could hurt us. Nothing…

  A slamming fist pounded roughly on the door, crashing through my peaceful existence. Fear gripped me as Break rolled off the bed, lifting a gun from the nightstand. It wasn’t as big as his usual firearm, just a simple little black glock 9mm. I instinctively reached for my purse, hand inside gripping the beretta. DJ came crashing through the door hard, taking the chain right off the hinge and damn near getting himself shot in the process.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Ash needs you up now. Acre’s on the line. The Kings moved back into LA and they’re out for fucking blood.”

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  “What the fuck do you mean he’s dead,” Break shouted into the little cellphone. Ash pulled me away without a word, shutting the door to his room and muffling the sounds.

  “Don’t need to be hearing that,” Ash said, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. We stood silently for what seemed like an eternity before Break finally came out of the darkened room with a cane in hand, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” I asked fearfully, my body still shaking.

  “Somebody’s talking. Kings know we’re divided on this drop and they rolled in. They torched our apartments and claimed territory on the west side by the docks. Killed a prospect to send a message and mailed us his fingers in twenty little fucking boxes.”

  “What do we do?” DJ asked, a certain amount of uncertainty and fear evident in his voice.

  “We make this drop. I’ve set up plane tickets back into LAX. We’ll dump the bikes and get to the airport. I’ve got some heads to fucking kick in.”

  “This was supposed to be it. No more blood!” I said, my voice catching in my throat as my little future unraveled.

  “Sweetheart, you know I can’t let this go. The Kings took this beyond personal. They’re coming after my brothers, and they won’t stop unless we bloody their fucking nose.”

  “It’s fucked! It’s all fucked. Jude is out there somewhere. The Kings want to kill us. There’s some crazy Mexican gang ready to cut people’s heads off. Don’t tell me you can’t let this go!”

  I was screaming inside and out, my body raged as I lay into Break with fists, tears streaming from my face. No. Not this, not again. I’d learned my lesson about broken promises a long time ago.

  “Ash, put her in the truck. We’re finishing this goddamned drop Callie, and when it’s over, I’ll make this right with you, I promise.”

  Ash didn’t have to do anything. I ran to the truck, settling into the passenger seat as I hyperventilated. Break had me wrapped more than any man ever had. I needed him to stop, but he only knew how to run…

  “This club is all he has…” Ash said quietly as he climbed into the drivers seat and fired the truck up. We rolled out as tears streamed down.

  “He has me…”

  “Maybe someday, that’ll be enough,” Ash replied, reaching over and brushing a tear off my cheek.

  I let my purse slip off my shoulder, falling to the seat beside me heavily and drawing my knees up against my chest. The truck turned onto the highway, Break’s bike rocketing ahead of us along the black strip of asphalt.

  “Maybe.”

  The miles ticked off, the little makeshift convoy breaking off the main road and turning into a quiet ranch. A dark brown sheriff’s office ford bronco pulled out of the way and let us through, blocking the exit as we moved. I shivered in place all the way up to the middle of an empty field, shaking just a bit harder as I saw the men waiting for us in front of their trucks. Six of them, two armed with shotguns, the rest with vicious looking handguns held at their side. Front and center, an older man with white hair drawn slickly back.

  Carcetti…

  “You don’t want to be going out there…” Ash said, nodding at me as I gripped the door handle, the truck coming to a hard stop. “Something isn’t right here, you don’t go greeting guests with guns drawn.”

  Ash reached up, knocking twice on the metal behind his head. A soft reply rang out in the metal…

  “What’s going on,” I whispered, wide eyed. “Who’s in the truck?”

  “That’s our insurance policy. Just keep your head down, it’s too pretty for this. Count yourself lucky you’re not down on that bike. Things are about to go to shit really fast.”

  I stopped listening. My hand drew the pistol from my purse automatically, transferring it to my left hand and swinging the door outward. Ash let out a little sound of protest but it was already done. I leaned out past the door, standing on the side rail with the gun hidden as a man raised a shotgun in my direction.

  “Break!” I shouted, the fear draining out of my body.

  “Get in the truck Callie,” Break called back, stepping carefully off the bike. I wasn’t listening. My ears rang, the world crashing down around me. Ash’s hand gripped my arm, hauling me back up into the seat with unexpected strength.

  “You trying to get somebody killed? He’s handling this. Let the man work a
nd maybe we’ll all get out of this in one piece.”

  Above me, I could hear something scraping along in the cabover space of the truck. I rolled the window down, ignoring Ash’s protest.

  “So this is how you’re gonna repay good service?” Break said, his voice carrying softly in the desert wind.

  “You’ve gone soft Break. A little birdy tells me you’re not going to be running our product anymore. Did you think you could just drop things off and walk away? Your father would be ashamed.”

  The white haired man paced menacingly around Break, an evil smile plastered on his face.

  “I’m not my father. You know the score Carcetti. I’ve been moving the club out of drugs since I took over.”

  I glanced over at Ash, his hand pulling a weapon from the edge of the seat. It was larger than a pistol, with a large clip extending out the bottom. My fingers shook against the beretta in my hand. I’d seen an UZI in movies, never in real life. Ash flashed me a little smile that did nothing to help my nerves. “I fucking love this stuff,” he whispered under his breath. The voices drifted up from below, my eyes swinging forward again. The man was insane…

  “You did us a little favor coming here Break. Goddamn shame I can’t let you live. Why don’t you call your little friend there over, and have those two step out of the truck for me? Get them to put down their weapons and I’ll let them walk away.”

  Carcetti nodded toward DJ who had stayed mounted. His hands had been in the air the entire time as one of the Italians kept a gun pointed in his direction.

  “And what about me, Carcetti?” Break asked.

  “Your head is worth more than your body. Now tell them to put down their weapons or I’ll start by putting a bullet in your fucking girlfriend up there in the truck.”

  “I can’t do that Carcetti. You know if you don’t pay for this drop the Los Locos will gut you,” Break shouted angrily at the circling man. “They will hunt you down, and they will fucking end you.”

  “So dramatic Break. All the Locos care about is getting their money, and I’ve already paid them every last penny. You’re nothing but the middle man. We’ve made new contacts for shipping and receiving. I don’t need you.”

  “In that case, look into my eyes,” Break said, turning his head to stare at the tall elderly Italian with the silver hair and the impeccable suit. “Look deep Carcetti. Look deep inside and know you’re already dead.”

  The white haired man started laughing, a deep penetrating laugh as his hand reached into the suit jacket and pulled a long barreled pistol free.

  “Break… Just one last thing,” Carcetti said, the grin widening on his face. “Jude says hi.”

  Break must have flashed recognition, because a deep laugh overtook Carcetti again, building with every breath. He wasn’t the only one laughing. The whole lot of them were laughing. A great cacophony of laughter rolled up, and I saw it even if they didn’t. Break was laughing right along with them. He was laughing louder than any of them.

  And the world ended. Explosions went off above me like so many fireworks. The windshield exploded, a shower of glass pieces spraying the interior of the cab. Ash pulled me down on the seat, gunshots ringing out from every angle. He kicked the door open and rolled, his old weathered body falling out of the truck with a sickening sound, the sudden buzz of machine death rattling out of his firearm.

  Get out there… I thought, my brain fighting my reflexes. Every part of my body wanted to curl up into a little ball, but I knew what I had to do. Break was out there. He needed me. My fingers wrapped tightly around the beretta and I reached out, pulling the door open and stepping out onto the edge of the truck.

  Carnage met me.

  Seeing the two dead men inside the clubhouse couldn’t prepare me for this. High powered weapons had dropped most of the Italians, and Break was crouched down next to Carcetti’s body, pulling something from his bloody suit as a burst of Ash’s submachine gun felled a limping man trying to get away from the killing field.

  “Two more!” Ash shouted and my head swiveled. The sherif Bronco was bouncing across the field, a man stretched out the passenger seat with a long black shotgun aimed toward Break. I didn’t have time to think, only to react. The beretta rose up, lining the iron sight on the brown and gold just as I’d done so many times at the gun range. There, I’d imagined Jude, a little fantasy to get me through my days… Now, I couldn’t see anything.

  A stream of bullets poured out to the tune of my scream as I pulled the trigger wildly. The truck swerved, lifting up and crashing down on it’s side, the man hanging out the side smashed into the ground as an eery silence fell. The only sound was a sputtering engine that quickly died.

  “Jesus Christ sweetheart… Remind me never to piss you off.”

  I looked to the left, Break staring up as my finger kept right on pulling the trigger on the long since empty pistol.

  “I just killed a cop…. Break… Two cops! Oh my god…”

  He was moving toward me slowly, his damaged leg tender with every step.

  “Those are Carcetti’s men. They stopped being cops a long time ago,” Break said, reaching out for me.

  “I don’t want this… I don’t want any of this Break,” I sobbed, drawing myself in hard to his embrace.

  “You’re part of this now, for better or for worse,” he said, pulling the gun free of my death grip. “Get your head on straight.”

  I jumped at the sound of the metal door on the back of the moving truck rolling up, three men stepping round the edge of the vehicle slowly with guns drawn and swinging across the field. I recognized Dig even with the handkerchief tied round his face, the others turned before I could identify them.

  “Ash, you ok old man?”

  A coughing laugh came up from the ground on the far side of the truck. “Snapped an arm trying to play Rambo.”

  My head spun round as Break held me, looking toward the second bike.

  “DJ!”

  Break let me go as my legs carried me toward the man slumped over the handlebars. It was only once I closed in that I heard his breathing.

  “You hit?” Break shouted from behind me. DJ Lifted himself up painfully from the tank.

  “I’ll be fine. Fucker grazed me.”

  I stared at his side, a plume of red pouring out from a slice in his leather.

  “Let Dig take your bike. Get in the truck and get that shit wrapped up before you bleed out,” Break said, having come close enough to see the damage.

  I turned round to Break, a new panic setting in as I listened to his words.

  “He knows Jude…” Break whispered. “We’re in some deep shit. Least now I know who’s talking to the fucking Kings.”

  “Won’t they come looking for us?” I asked, staring at the bodies spread out across the field.

  “The Italians? Don’t you worry sweetheart. Carcetti is another middle man. Nobody wants to know the whole supply chain. Too much exposure. There’s no honor in thieves anymore. Anybody still breathing from Carcetti’s crew is going to be busy stuffing his pockets with the leftovers and getting the hell out of Texas.”

  I helped DJ off the bike. He threw an arm over me, walking slowly back toward the truck. A part of me felt sorry for him, empathetic to the pain. The other part of me needed this little embrace. His arm around me was the only thing that felt safe. I looked back at Break as he surveyed the horizon, a smile plastered across his face.

  He’ll never change… I thought, my conscience playing devils advocate.

  Break pulled a cellphone from his pocket, dialing a number and lifting it to his ear. I listened quietly as I walked.

  “Drycleaning for pickup. Eight bags. Blue and red ink spilled all over it. Yes. I don’t fucking care what it costs.”

  His voice drifted as we closed in on the truck, nothing but a series of quick directions to the ranch.

  Red and blue… He’s calling someone to clean up this mess.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  The
ride into Austin was tense. Ash and the gang split off and headed north toward a Broken safe house, while I held onto Break as we continued alone into the city. The plane ride back into LA was something I dreaded. I could barely hold my hands calm, let alone get through TSA screening without screaming out loud. They knew, they had to know. They could smell it on me. The death, the lives I’d taken…

  They let me board the plane.

  They let me get off it too.

  A pair of men were waiting near the entrance at LAX, clearly keeping an eye on us, but they let us out of the airport as well. There was nothing to do except follow Break as he walked slowly leaning heavy on the wooden cane. A cab sat waiting and we climbed on board. Break seemed disinterested in our tail, asking the driver to go easy for the sake of his leg. I sat back and pretended everything was OK all the way to a building I’d never visited. It was in the seedier part of LA, close to hollywood. The side was painted a garish pink, clearly the makings of some kind of adult business…

  A strip club… One of Break’s ‘legit’ businesses…

  Everything was not ok.

  The club was in an uproar and it didn’t take a genius to see we had serious problems as I followed Break into the open space. Ash wasn’t back yet, and without a boardroom table, Break wasn’t taking any time to honor the dead.

  “Broken, you know we’re at war now,” Break said, his voice silencing the room. Men stood round a dance platform with solemn looks on their faces. There were new recruits and veterans, but all stood with concern evident on their faces.

  “Carcetti’s dead. The Kings moved in on two of our properties in LA. Before we blew his fucking head off, Carcetti mentioned Jude. I’d have to be blind and stupid to not see a connection.”

  “Jude shot up a room full of Kings, why the fuck would they take him in?” Acre asked, voice raised above the murmurs of the crowd.

  “We were there Acre. No Kings left that meeting alive. Dead men tell no tales and we sure as fuck didn’t tell the rest of them Jude shot up their buddies.”