by Lita Stone
#
“You were on the football team?” Amy thumped her forehead with the heel of her trembling hand. “I’m terrible with faces.” If she kept small talk up then maybe the creep would lose interest and go away.
He slapped both hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her head between his meaty arms. He inched his face closer and sniffed her neck.
Closing her eyes, Amy turned her head.
The guy pulled back. As his gaze rolled down her body, he said, “Chris Dewalt. Played defense. Didn’t I say that already?”
She snapped her fingers. “Of course. Now, I remember. Chris Dewalt who played defense for the Vultures with Shane.”
“Bull fuckin’ shit.”
Spittle sprinkled her face. Shoulders hunched, she recoiled her head backward and thunked against the rutted cement wall.
Chris laughed. More stringent breath billowed about her face.
Amy ignored the pounding in her skull. “I’ll tell Shane you said hello.” She ducked under his arm, but he grabbed and shoved her back against the wall. Hard. A drumming ache in her shoulders matched the migraine bashing the back of her skull. And hot tears poured from her squinted eyes.
“You ain’t forgot about my pal Boone have you?” A sneer quirked one side of his mouth.
At the sound of that lunatic’s name, a chill crawled down her spine.
“How is he?” Locked up and the key thrown away. Hopefully.
Chris cocked his head, silent. Smile gone. Finally, he spoke. “You remember him? He was a like a brother to me.”
Amy nodded. Hard to forget someone who kept you locked in a closet with dead animals for seven hours and fourteen minutes.
Chris backed away. “He offed himself in that nuthouse they shipped him off to. All thanks to you and that prick Shane.”
Feeling somewhat relieved to have distance between him and her, she said, “I’m sorry to hear about that.” She wanted to add that Boon was already a basket case when she met him at the Buckeye Behavioral Clinic. She’d taken to him the way some people take to a sweet stray dog. Good Lord she had been a fool. The freak had turned out to be a rabid monster.
Chris stared at the floor, seemingly entranced by the paisley design in the ivory tile. “Don’t act like you give a shit. You convinced everyone in town he was a psycho. But I know you made all that shit up ‘cause you’re fucking schizophrenic just like your crazy ass aunt.”
“I didn’t,” she said, but knew it was futile to argue.
“And your punkass outlaw of a boyfriend cost him twelve grand in medical bills which I had to loan him.” His face contorted with disgust. “Boone never got a chance to pay me back.”
“I really have to get going.” Amy made for the door but he grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her to the floor. She lifted herself to her hands and knees. With a ratty, smelly sneaker, he flipped her onto her back.
“I bet that cunt and asshole of yours is worth about half what’s owed to me.”
Bloodshot eyes bore into her abdomen where her tank had ridden up, baring her midsection.
Amy slid her tank to her waist and forced herself to look at him. “Go to hell.” If only her voice hadn’t trembled so damn much.
Chris knelt over her, knees straddling her stomach. She twisted but her efforts were humorous against his three hundred or so pounds. Holding her breath, trying not to smell his stench, she jerked her knee into his groin.
“Stupid bitch!”
An open-hand slammed the side of her head. A dull pain rattled through her skull before a burst of white light with black spots speckled her vision. And the earlier migraine erupted into brain-splitting agony. She cried out loudly. “God, please...I’m so sorry about Boone.”
He looked up and past her toward the sink, eyes wide. Scrambling off of her, he shot to his feet. “What the fuck!”
Following his gaze, she saw a mist of gray swirled in the mirror. Orbs of red throbbed and streamed down the glass. Carnivorous crocodile teeth appeared and a wall-quaking roar cracked the mirror. A jagged line ran diagonally from the top left corner to the bottom right.
Chris looked at her and back at the mirror. “I swear I’ll never drop acid again!”
A knock on the door.
“Greetings there,” Cinder’s voice resounded from the other side. “May I be allowed inside the lady’s chambers?”
The door opened and Chris bull-rushed past Cinder and out of the bathroom.
Cinder looked down at Amy where she still knelt on the dirty tile floor. He gave a slight bow at the waist. “All is occupied in my brethren’s chambers and my goblet is near to overflow, thus it must receive a proper receptacle.”
#
While Derrick stood in all his smugness, flashing his pearly whites, Jeff shook his head and pushed his way toward the dance floor.
Mike set her second round down.
Carmen turned on her stool toward the bar. She tapped the glass before swallowing it in one go. With her back toward Derrick, she asked, “What’s your guess?”
Derrick turned her stool until she faced him. With a finger under her chin, he lifted her head and planted a long, wet, telling kiss. His expert tongue possessed her mouth with promise and confidence. Her traitorous body slid off the stool and brought her to her feet. Fingers with a mind of their own snaked through his hair. Her hips pushed into his prominent erection.
Carmen felt a tap on her shoulder. Without breaking from the kiss, she waved the irritant away.
“Betty Boop crossed with a nerdy cowgirl,” Beckett said.
Fuck.
She broke from the kiss, but hesitated, breathing in Derrick’s beer-flavored hot breath against her swollen lips. Holy fuck she needed him inside her. She straightened and turned on her heel.
Beckett wore his usual letterman jacket and the copious amounts of mousse in his blond hair. With a smirk, she said, “That’s the first part. Now you have to get the question.”
“Let’s get to it then.”
“First female cartoon character not to show interest in any of the male characters?”
Frowning, Beckett’s shoulders slumped.
Carmen couldn’t keep from smiling. As she opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, his eyes lit up.
“Wilma Flintstone.”
Carmen rolled her eyes. “She was married to Fred, you dumbass.”
Beckett smirked. “I know lots of people who have no ‘interest’ in their significant other.”
She dropped her head and laughed, knocking her glasses off her nose and clear to the floor. With her back to Derrick, she slowly knelt, making sure her dress slid nearly to her waist. On her hands and knees, she faked blindness as she patted the dirty hardwood floor for her glasses, her ass in the air, her panties hopefully only visible to Derrick.
And he wouldn’t be able to miss the pink slip of paper tucked under the lace of her thong.
Derrick lowered himself behind Carmen. “Let me help you, babe.” He reached over her and grabbed her glasses, while his other calloused hand caressed her ass cheek before finding her slit.
And when his fingertips probed her opening she arched her back and grinned, bearing teeth like a damn tomcat in heat.
Carmen clenched her teeth and held her position until she felt the slip of paper being slid from her panties. When she was certain Derrick had the treasure, she stood.
He brought the paper to his face and breathed it in. “And for the grand prize...the correct answer is: Velma.”
#
“Jesus.” Still sitting on the floor, Amy palmed her head.
“Cinder.”
“Jesus.”
“Cinder.”
“Jesus.”
“I am Cin derrrr.”
Amy spat a nervous laughter. “Y-yes you are.” She glanced at the cracked mirror but the grotesque image had vanished.
Cinder waved his hands around her as if outlining an invisible silhouette. “Something dire has shifted your karmic e
manations. Even as I stood at my post outside this edifice the vibes beckoned my immediate attention.”
“A monster.” With a shaky finger, she pointed. “In that mirror.”
“Indeed.” Cinder took her hand and helped her to her feet.
His hand felt…cold. Very cold. Unnaturally cold.
She clapped a hand over her gaped mouth. “Dear Lord. You aren’t f-from here, are y-you?”
“From beyond the starry planes I hail.”
“A vampire,” the accusation throaty.
“Absolutely not.”
“What are you? Where are you from?”
“A place you know not of. A colorful and icy planet that dwells on a distant plane.” He bowed at the waist. Straightening, he said, “I am Sagarion.”
Hands behind her back, she gripped the rim of the sink and steadied herself.
For decades, strange stories had existed about Buckeye. Stories that would’ve made Robert Ripley ecstatic. Like the Chupacabra, ancient aliens, and the Mothman, some were believers and others skeptics.
For Amy, Cinder was all those years of speculation come to a certainty. Maybe Buckeye really was a hotspot for fantastic phenomenon.
Amy felt the breath leave her lungs. So many questions should have been on her mind, but only one made it out of her mouth. “Why are you here?”
“A war is to manifest in this town. I arrived early to get a grand spectator’s view.”
“War? In Buckeye?” She frowned. “You came to help us fight?”
“Absolutely not.” Cinder shook his head. “My kind do not partake in cosmic politics. Life and love are our shelter and weapon. I come, as I said, to watch the performers.”
Amy shivered and scowled. “You come to watch, as if war is some kind of television mini-series?”
“That, m’lady, is a grossly inaccurate presumption. This war will be much more marvelous than any magic television can cast.” Cinder bent at the waist and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“The night is still young and the wine calls forth my name. May your karma be realigned by dawn.”
#
While Derrick’s gray eyes stared down at her, she recalled the last time they fucked.
Willie Nelson’s “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” played on the jukebox. Swaying on the dance floor, with Derrick’s arm around her waist, Carmen grabbed the bottle of beer from his hand. She held it high and tipped her hat so she could see him. “Here’s to Velma.”
She recalled their last hot evening together. The feel of his lips trailing kisses down her abdomen...her inner thighs. The tender suckling of her clit.
“You want me and I want you,” Derrick said. “No games. Not tonight.”
“What’s it matter? You got the question right.”
“Because you gave me the answer.”
Carmen shrugged. She looked over Derrick’s shoulder toward the restroom. Scowling, she shook her head. Was Amy bathing in the damn sink?
Derrick leaned down, his lips close to hers. “This may be a dance floor and we may be dancing, but I don’t dance. Not for anyone. Not even you.”
With a beer bottle in one hand, she pushed at his shoulder with the other. “Fuck you.”
His body stilled as his hand gripped her face. Forcing her to look at him, he said, “We’re fucking tonight but not because I know shit about Velma.”
#
Not wanting to face Chris or the monster in the mirror again, Amy hurried from the restroom. A poster of a western-style goth band plastered the hall right. A local band called The Undead Revolvers. Amy smiled and wondered if they were uncanny supernaturals, too. How many eccentric people had she met in her life who weren’t even from this world?
Leaning against the wall, ignoring the loud music and the near-toxic scent of women’s perfume mixed with cigarette smoke, she concentrated on clearing her mind.
But what of that creepy monster in the mirror. The voice in her head! She really was losing her mind. Good grief. But that mirror was cracked, no denying that.
Not only had she met some sort of alien, but he had warned, or rather raved, about an interstellar war, a war claiming Buckeye, Texas as ground zero. Nobody would believe her and she wouldn’t blame them one bit. Hell, she hardly believed it herself.
And what of the attack? Should she file a complaint? What would Shane do if he found out?
He would kill Chris.
She pictured Shane nude and in a Mexican jail. The man had no qualms about doing stupid things because of some miscalibrated moral compass. It was better she not tell anyone about the almost-rape.
And Cinder had implied it was all happening because of her karma being out of whack. Was he saying that she deserved it? Had her screwed up karma directed Chris into the lady’s room?
She shook her head. Chris was an ass and karma was not to blame.
But what had thrown her karma so far off kilter?
So much for clearing her mind.
Amy pushed off the wall and through the crowd of nearly naked bodies. She bee lined for the bar, where she intended to drink as if tonight marked the eve of the end of the world. Out loud, she laughed. If Cinder was right then it might actually be the final countdown. The eve of WW III.
Screw beer. Time for the hard stuff. Amy sat on a stool and plopped her purse on the bar top.
Mike approached and set a glass of iced tea down.
Amy slid the beverage to the side. “Jack and Diet and keep ‘em coming.”
#
Heart racing, abdomen clenched, Carmen drew a slow breath. With her body melted against his, barely moving on the dance floor, she forced a smile and asked, “How’s Susan?”
With a bitter laugh, Derrick said, “I said dick about Jeff, so why you giving me shit?” When Carmen grimaced, he said, “If you recall, that night I didn’t answer the question correctly. So I made other arrangements.”
When they met two years ago, Carmen had made it clear she wasn’t the settling-down type. Derrick had done the same.
She fucked who she wanted.
And so did he.
So why was she giving him shit? She struggled for a quip and clever rebuke but her mind was frustratingly blank.
Derrick’s tight lips stretched into a smile. He kissed her forehead. “If it makes you feel better, I had to pull over half way home so she could puke. I dropped her off at her house and spent the rest of the night on my couch watching the Discovery channel. Being Shark Week and all.”
Thank fuck. Carmen resisted the urge to jump into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist and squeal like a school girl with a celebrity crush. Disgusted by her pathetic urge, she’d simply play it cool.
Carmen sipped the beer and tipped it to his mouth. When the amber liquid dripped down his chin, she rose to her tiptoes and licked it off his skin.
Toby Keith’s “Should’ve been a Cowboy” began playing. Derrick twirled Carmen and pulled her close. “No games.”
He kissed her. Long and slow. As their tongues played hide and seek, the smell of beer and rum from their breaths mixed in white hot passion. Moisture dripped down her inner thighs.
There were good fucks.
There were bad fucks.
And there was Derrick.
He was the only man she slept with who not only respected her but knew where he stood in her world. Derrick knew she would never love him, not like a woman should love her man; but she also knew he’d never love her. They redefined ‘friends with benefits’.
“Let’s get out of here,” Carmen said, her head on his shoulder.
With an arm around her waist, he held her tight against him. With his other hand, he held the bottle of beer. Derrick looked up at the stage where the mechanical bull waited. “I was going to ride Sick’em tonight.” He sipped his beer and looked down at her, eyes heavy with promise. “But I can last a lot longer than eight seconds on you.”
Her fingers wrapped around Derrick’s wrist and she led him toward
the exit.
Once outside, Derrick swung her against the brick wall. Desperate kisses pulled at her lips. With rhythmic tugs, she suckled his roaming and persistent tongue.
Derrick pulled from the kiss, his breaths coming in pants, heavy with lust. He took her hand and dragged her toward the parking lot.
Concealed in the shadow of the building and near the corral fence, Derrick’s silver Ford truck conveniently offered privacy for what Carmen was sure would be a quick, hard fuck. Holy hell, her panties were soaked from anticipation.
Derrick set his bottle inside the bed of his pickup and with a swoop, he lifted her off her feet. She plopped onto a mattress while he peeled his shirt over his head and swung himself over the tailgate.
Her cowgirl hat sailed over the side to join his shirt. Impatiently, she shimmied her dress up.
On her knees, she leaned forward and sucked on his chest. When he moaned, she gently bit his nipple, sucking the erect tip. Derrick grabbed his Bud. After a long chug he passed it to her. Carmen drank it empty and he flashed her a devilish grin.
She pulled aside the dainty strip of her wet panties and pushed the narrow end of the glass bottle inside of her. A husky sigh escaped as she gyrated her hips. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, she licked her bottom lip seductively as she worked the bottle into her dripping pussy.
She heard his jeans fall and opened her eyes. Carmen shook her head. “Back boy.”
Derrick grimaced but obeyed. He stepped out of his jeans and gripped his hard on. “You like watching, don’t you baby?”
He nodded.
“Say it.” She inched the bottle deeper. God she was ready for him.
“I love watching you, baby.” Jerking himself faster, he inched closer until his cock hovered near her face.
Keeping the longneck inside, she arched her back and licked the tip of his erection. The sweet nectar of his precum trailed sparks across her tongue.
Carmen flung herself back on the mattress and chucked the bottle over the side onto the cement.