by Kendall Duke
The Virgin
and the
Hero
The Virgin and the Hero
By
Kendall Duke
Published by JT Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Kendall Duke
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.
Printed in the USA by JT Publishing
All material is intended for adult purchase and purview.
Jordan
I was starving.
Cold. Way past hungry. And headed for exhaustion.
Marcus at the diner remembered me from way back, and he always gave me an extra cup of coffee, even on days when I couldn’t afford more than my regular meal. The mill had me whipped but I was determined to get in some more over-time if it killed me; I was still $400 short of my brother’s hospital bill, and I’d be damned if one more shift was the difference between him getting the help he needed, and not. I could barely see but I pulled my pick-up into the diner’s parking lot and was grateful they stayed open twenty-four seven. I needed to eat something before I went home and fell into bed to work another 18 hour shift.
The diner opened years before I was born, but Marcus hadn’t bought it from the old owner until I was seventeen, right before I joined the Marines. I remembered when he was just a server himself, still learning how to work the register and terrified of the deep fryer. That was a long time ago now, it felt like, although it’d only been ten years. Ten very, very long years.
I parked the truck and made my way through the door, listening to the little bell ring over my head and scanning the room automatically. I couldn’t help it; the training never left you. There were three guys sitting at the big round table in the corner being louder than the hour necessitated, but they were young, probably around twenty, and obviously a little drunk. There was another old vet at the counter; we’d served in different wars, obviously, me being at least two decades younger, but we understood one another very well and nodded without speaking. Marcus was in the back; I could hear him rattling around the pots and pans. I sat down at the counter and waited.
And waited.
I am a patient man. I have a bad temper, yes, and I’m not known for saying much, particularly anything very clever, but the one virtue anyone would agree I’ve always had, even before the military, is patience. I’ve always been able to wait. And wait. And wait.
But I was fucking tired. And cold, and hungry. Very hungry.
Without speaking, I stood up and looked through the plate rack back to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Marcus, but he looked a little frazzled, as if he’d bitten off a big bite of something that he couldn’t quite swallow. And while he was standing still, looking frazzled, someone else was rattling around in the kitchen making all that racket.
Great. A new server.
I sighed and sat back down. Marcus got new people to work the graveyard shift all the time, and they never failed to fail. It was a difficult shift that didn’t promise a lot of tips, just a lot of harassment from the riff-raff that came in drunk or were too taciturn to be polite, like the other vet at the counter and me. I didn’t know his name—didn’t even know his regiment—but we’d been sitting at this counter every once in a while after a late shift for at least a year, since I got back from my second tour. He gave me a knowing look and then returned to his coffee. There was a new twinkle in his eye, though, that gave me pause, and when I finally saw the kitchen door swing open I immediately understood why.
I didn’t believe in love at first sight—didn’t believe in anything, any more. But when I saw that girl for the first time I knew something was happening to me—love, a heart attack, or maybe God finally had pity on me for all the things that had gone wrong in my life and sent down an angel just to say hello, I don’t know. But something was happening, something big.
She was only five feet tall, I was sure, and had freckles the color of cinnamon spread out across a dainty nose. Giant brown eyes and copper waves of hair, lips a shade of red I’d seen far too many times in my life but these… These were living, bright and bold. And her shape… She was wearing a uniform that clearly belonged to someone else, as it was a little too big and fell down around her shoulder, revealing a turquoise bra strap that sent my stomach down to my knees. She needed that bra, because her breasts were pushing at the sack of that uniform even though the rest of her was tiny, and her hips were so round I could see them swinging, shifting the whole thing left and right. I tried to stop staring, but I couldn’t. And when she walked right up to me, picked up her pen and looked me straight in the eye, it took almost all of my will to speak words like a normal human and not just sling her over my shoulder and walk out the door.
“Hi!” She had a voice with a laugh tucked inside of it, as if everything amused her. “What can I get you?”
I ripped my eyes away from her face and stared down at the menu for a long minute before I was able to answer her question. I thought she might leave, but she didn’t, and when I looked back up she was calmly waiting, that smile still dancing on her full lips. I felt the scrutiny of her eyes but tried to concentrate on my order. “Cup of coffee, black. Whatever soup’s on special. Two sides of bacon.”
“Okay,” she said, and walked back through the kitchen door, her hips doing a dance of their own across the floor.
The old vet next to me took a sip of his coffee and the silence between us filled with the unspoken conversation we didn’t need to have. That girl was like a slice of sunshine. A beautiful, sparkling note striking through the blackness.
But men like us lived in the dark.
I didn’t need the kind of trouble my heart already wanted to get me in—my cock was first to follow her, of course, standing at attention beneath the counter in a way it just hadn’t since I got back, but I had a funny feeling in my chest, too. I made my decision without having to think about it, though. I would eat my meal, enjoy the view, and leave. Nothing could pull me out of the shadows, and I’d be damned if I dragged someone—anyone, but especially something as beautiful as her—into the dark with me. I had enough on my conscience.
The old vet knew all that, without either of us having to say it.
All the same, I could swear he disapproved.
And fate, it seemed, had similar ideas.
~~~
Jessica
I’d never felt so flustered just looking at someone’s face before.
I’ll be honest—it takes a lot to fluster me. I am pretty unflusterable. I think it’s the intense practice I’ve gotten from taking care of about three hundred dogs and cats down at the local shelter, because you can never tell what they’ll get in to. Well, yes you can—cat fights and dog fights and bags of food you forgot to put away and what all… You get me. I don’t fluster. I fidget, I keep moving, I clean up and I laugh about it because that’s all you can do about most things anyway.
But I’d definitely been flustered when I looked at him.
I heard the bell and knew Marcus was tired of waiting for me to figure out how to work the dishwasher, but I had to give it one more go. I already knew that no one in their right mind—or a better financial position—would take this shift, so it wasn’t as if he could fire me. I yanked the tray back in place, tried to spray everything off of it one last time, and then cranked the handle to get it fired up, and once it finally came to life I went out front. Sure enough, there was a new customer sitting at the counter next to Wallace.
He was young—probably only twenty five, maybe twenty
six—but he carried himself like someone who’s been through a lot. I don’t want to say he carried himself like someone older, because that’s not exactly true; I could tell, even though I was just looking at him sitting at the counter, that he was strong as a pair of oxen and would tower over me when he stood up. He didn’t seem older in that way. He just seemed like someone who’d been through a lot. A distance in the eyes, wouldn’t look directly at me, that sort of thing.
He reminded me of Olly, my pug, when I first brought him home. That might sound silly because there is literally nothing tough about Olly and this guy could easily bench-press a truck but Olly’d been through some stuff. He was resilient. And cautious. That’s what this guy reminded me of.
And yes, I will admit—he was also very handsome.
Thick, dark curly hair, a little on the shaggy side. Bright electric blue eyes like a winter sky. And a jawline you could use to slice bread.
He also looked tired, and hungry, and unfortunately this entire combination made me react a little bit like I do with my shelter dogs—I wanted to take him home, feed him, cuddle him, and curl up in bed with him for a long nap.
But I didn’t for a minute imagine that was where we’d stop. Something about him felt feral, and he wouldn’t be content to lay quietly next to me while I stroked his nose. Oh no.
The thought made me shiver, in a very flustered way.
I took his order and went back to the kitchen, my insides feeling funny, and gave Marcus the details while I poured a cup of coffee. Just to make sure I didn’t have to come back right away, I left the pot on the counter next to his hand. He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to, though; he had my attention anyway.
But that might be how I didn’t notice him—the man that came in after him, the one with the blonde hair.
There are some dogs you can’t keep, no matter what you do. I don’t believe in putting animals down—that’s wrong. But if you have a dog like this, you have to keep it out in the country and know that you won’t have another living animal around for as long as it’s alive. It’ll keep your place free of vermin, sure, but you can’t have chickens. No foxes, of course, but no cats, no cute little bunnies, and no other dogs at all. Ever. Some dogs are born to be alone, and mean to boot.
This man was like one of those dogs.
He headed over to the table in the corner and I didn’t even notice him—didn’t realize how dangerous he was, even though I probably should have—because I was too distracted by Mr. Blue Eyes at the counter.
I was concentrating on walking straight and not staring directly into those gorgeous eyes when the corner table suddenly got a lot louder. They’d been rowdy all night, and when the Mean Dog came in, they really turned up the volume. From the way they sounded I would have guessed this guy was the life of the party, everybody’s favorite. But when I got close enough to look at them all I saw a kind of fear in their eyes I’ll never forget. They were scared. They were smiling like it was Christmas, but they were scared out of their wits.
The Mean Dog turned towards me. He looked familiar, like I’d seen him someplace recently, but I couldn’t remember where. My mother once pointed out that I like to give even the worst people the benefit of the doubt, and I did that here, as always.
He had blonde hair and a dirty beard—there were little bits of things in it, food and what looked like it could be blood. His eyes were very dilated, the pupils so huge I couldn’t really tell what color his iris would be, and his skin looked kind of like his beard—dirty, almost as if there were little raw spots on it. He moved his mouth in a strange way and his hands were all over the table—grabbing other peoples’ food, taking a little nibble, then snatching someone else’s drink and spilling it. He laughed when he did that. I swallowed and pulled out my notepad, but before I could say a word of greeting he’d already grabbed my wrist.
~~~
Jordan
The old vet and I knew something was wrong the minute that guy pulled into the parking lot.
He was driving a car that looked far too expensive for the person who got out of it. Meth-head, no doubt. He walked with a jerky movement that was unmistakable, the scabs on his face and arms screaming the status of his active drug habit. When his car launched into its spot, halting so suddenly it spit gravel at the window of the diner, the entire corner table panicked. I don’t know why. They obviously knew who this guy was and it bothered the hell out of them.
The old vet was packing. I didn’t see anything on him, I just knew that he did, in that way he and I communicated. Hopefully we wouldn’t need to find out if he could still see well enough to shoot.
I watched the guy in the mirror behind the counter as he crossed the diner towards the corner table and proceeded to terrify all of the people there. He sat down and dumped someone’s drink on the table as the beautiful new waitress approached them. I tried not to run directly over there and rip his arm out of its socket when he touched her.
There’s a time to intervene. I remembered all of my training; this was key. If you inserted yourself in a situation too soon, then you would be the one responsible for escalating it. And this guy just wanted to feel like a big man; I didn’t think he’d actually hurt her. She wasn’t the one he was mad at.
Then again, with certain people you just can’t tell.
I sat at the counter, drinking my coffee and watching it all play out behind my back. The vet beside me was doing the same.
The guy let go of her arm, but he wouldn’t let her leave. He kept asking her the same question over and over, and I knew things were going to get bad. I wondered if it was time to insert myself yet. I watched him looking at that beautiful girl and I knew I had to get myself under control, or I would do something bad. Really bad.
Looking at that guy, I wanted to do something bad.
“Should I do it?” I heard him ask her again, and saw her copper tresses move as she shook her head, not understanding his question. Thankfully, he didn’t touch her again.
But then I saw the gun under the table.
And right when I saw it, it went off.
~~~
Jessica
The guy opposite from me screamed, the kid next to the window. He screamed and screamed and screamed—I will never forget the sound, as long as I live. There were three of them at that table, just three drunk young kids, and The Mean Dog shot one of them underneath the table. I froze. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, fast and rushing as the blood coursed through me at top speed. Slowly, I started to back away from the table—somehow I knew if I moved too quickly The Mean Dog would just shoot me, right there, no hesitation.
But he grabbed me again instead.
“You can’t steal from me,” he said, and his eyes were wild. Whenever he spoke, spit flew through the air. The two other guys at the table were pale and sick looking, their hands in the air; The Mean Dog was standing up next to me, having jumped out of his seat when he started talking. He was holding on to my wrist, really tightly—too tightly. I was scared I would cry, and I didn’t want to cry in front of this monster. I pulled on my arm, trying to twist free.
“Let me go,” I said, and I was surprised by the vehemence in my own voice. The Mean Dog looked down at me—he was very tall, skinny as a scarecrow—and grinned. He was missing so many teeth. It looked so painful, so pathetic—but also awful, because of the way his eyes burned with hatred. He looked me dead in my eye and pointed his gun across the table and mouthed the word BANG! He pretended to shoot another one of those kids, and they flinched so badly they knocked over another drink.
I screamed then. I screamed and screamed and screamed, until he hit me with the gun. It brought me back to the moment.
The kid was bleeding terribly; his eyes were rolled back in his head and he wasn’t moving or making any noise. The second kid made a horrible rasping sound from his mouth, as if he were having a panic attack, and I could smell the scent of urine.
I didn’t say a word. I wouldn
’t. I didn’t want to give this animal an excuse to kill me, or the other kids sitting there. Instead I stood as still as I could, trying to wait and see what he wanted. I had a terrible feeling though—I think all he wanted was to cause people pain, to hurt and destroy. He wasn’t really a mean dog; dogs are only animals, and they have to do the things they do because their nature makes them like that. Mean men are worse. They are taught better. They know better. But they don’t want to be better.
Sure enough, he shot the wall behind the last kid before wrapping a bony, sore-ridden arm around my neck and dragging me over to the counter. At least he hadn’t hit him, I thought, but everyone was so terrified that we were all silent and stiff. “Money,” he said, and I just nodded and when he let me go, I went around to the register and tried to open it. “Money!” He snarled the word, pointing the gun at me. I knew Marcus had already called the police but I prayed they wouldn’t burst in here while he still had his sights on me. I would be dead for sure…
I might be dead anyway. “MONEY!” He howled the word, and it made me so afraid my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and I couldn’t get the damn thing to work. I just couldn’t find the right button. He was pointing the gun right at me. Where was it… Where was it…
I knew I was going to die.
~~~
Jordan
I was going to kill this motherfucker.
I knew the old guy might shoot him. Hell, Marcus might have a revolver back there, and be a really good shot. I didn’t know for sure, but it sounded reasonable, even likely.
And I knew the police were on their way too.
But this motherfucker had been pointing a gun at that beautiful girl for too long, and now he was close enough for me to do something about it.
And I was going to kill him.