The Hitchhiker_Opposites Collide

by Kathy Coopmans

  2

  Katch

  I knew this woman was going to be trouble the minute I heard her scream as loud as a fucking mountain monkey.

  Needless to say, little Miss Long Legs doesn’t need to know I was getting ready to slam on my brakes and give her a ride before she shouted her shit in the air. Now I wished I hadn’t. Hell, I wished I had kept going the minute I saw her face and those wrap-around-my-waist-and-dig- me-in-my-ass boots. Goddamn. Fucking. Shit.

  She’s without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have seen in my life. All dark hair, tits, ass, and legs, and if I hadn’t just come from getting my dick sucked clean from one of my buddy’s club whores, I would be all over her ass in a minute.

  Well, maybe not. The bitch has an attitude and most likely a stick up her ass, as well as her pussy stitched shut. Fucking shame is what it is, for a woman who looks like she does to be a cold-hearted bitch. I can smell it from here.

  “You wouldn’t even get your arm raised up before I had it behind your back and that pretty little face of yours shoved in the ground. Put that Goddamn thing away. I’m not going to hurt you. If I were, trust me, you’d be dead and buried out in these woods by now.” She shimmies her cute little ass as far up against the door as she can get. Her eyes start shooting daggers into my head. God, I could rile her up and fuck her at the same damn time. I bet if she weren’t such a rich, snobby bitch, she would be one hell of a fuck.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She juts her chin out and grips her pen tighter.

  “You should be.”

  “You know what? You can drop me off here; I’ll walk the rest of the way to Curtis’s house. I needed a ride, not some egotistical maniac with a nice body, a gorgeous face, a lumberjack beard, and all kinds of disrespect for a woman.” I blink, slam on my brakes to my ‘69 Chevelle, and grip her by the arm. Ignoring all the shit she said about my looks.

  “What the fuck did you just say?” I pull her face to within an inch of mine. This chick better not be fucking lying to me about Curtis being her cousin. For her sake and for his. She has no idea who she is fucking with. If I find out she’s some high-end prostitute he bought, I’ll beat him to death for stepping out on Rachel and the kids. I don’t give a fuck who he is. I’ll dice him up.

  “Let go of me!” she screams.

  “Not until you tell me who Curtis really is to you. And don’t you dare Goddamn lie.” Her eyes go wider when she sees my free hand go down to grip my gun. Finger on the motherfucking trigger. I was born that way.

  “Oh, my God. Are you one of his men? If you are, I suggest you let go of me right now. You won’t have to worry about me stabbing you with my fancy pen or shoving your balls up into your stomach. Curtis will kill you himself. You won’t get away with shooting me.”

  “Fuck him. He knows not to mess with me. The way I see it, you don’t have a choice right now. I can and will kill you if need be. Here’s something else I know, sweetheart. There is no way in hell that Curtis would leave someone he cares about stranded anywhere. He has no idea you’re coming, does he?” There goes my theory about her being a hooker. She’s telling the truth. I’m not about to tell her who I am or how I know Curtis, that’s for Goddamn sure. That shit stays under wraps from her and anyone outside of the club.

  “Wait. If you're not a member of his club, then who are you?” she snarls.

  This chick has more guts than most men I run across. I’d love to take her feisty mouth with mine. Bite those fucking lips and hear her whimper. She is way too beautiful for her own good and mine. I’m talking, she could bring a man like me to my knees from one whiff of her spicy-sweet and not-so-innocent scent. One look into those deep emerald-green eyes and one taste of those painted pink, juicy lips, and a man could be fucked for life.

  Jesus Christ, the devil himself would leave me outside the gates of Hell for all eternity with the improper things I want to do to this proper woman.

  “Give me that fucking pen.” I snatch it from her enclosed fist. Give her a little shove and pretend to toss the Goddamn pen out the window. My reasons for keeping it are my own, and they have nothing to do with wanting to fuck her or see her again.

  “Now, sit there and shut your little mouth. Not another word out of you for the next five minutes.” I place my car back in drive, speed down the road praying to hell I don’t have to pull over and make her obey me.

  Women and children are not my things in my line of work. I’m a rogue-contracted killer. You won’t find me by placing an ad to off your husband on craigslist or find my name and number in the yellow pages. In fact, I don’t exist. I’m a ghost. A phantom. Katch Sterling doesn’t exist in the world we live in.

  You won’t find me, no matter how far and wide you search. The gig is, I find you. Word of mouth through a handful of trusted men. If you fuck me over or even think about it, I will kill you in your sleep without a second thought. I only lose sleep when time is wasted killing my target. I’ll become the worst nightmare you’ve had, and I will tear every limb from your body.

  This is the first time in two months I’m not traveling all over the Goddamn country taking care of fuckers who owe the mob more money than they can repay, men who think they are smart enough to whack off a drug or gun shipment from one of the clubs. You name the crime they’ve committed against one of the families, and I’m the man who makes them pay.

  I drop my thoughts right there when her screaming bounces from one side of my car to the other.

  “I most certainly will not shut-up. Not until you tell me how you know him and why you would be driving down the road in the middle of the night with a gun? Are you following me?” she says the last part so quietly I barely hear it.

  She’s scared. Which to a man like me tells me yet another thing about her. She’s running from someone, and Curtis is where she wants to hide out. That’s a big fucking problem for this woman, for me, and for everyone.

  “Answer me, please? Curtis, he has a wife, two daughters. If you’ve been hired to kill me, I’ll pay you ten times whatever you’ve been paid not to hurt him.” Her voice starts to shake in a brittle way that indicates she’s on the verge of crying. Jesus. Fuck. What the hell happened to her? Who is after her?

  “What’s your name?” I ask, pull to the stop sign, and turn down the road that leads me to the club where Curtis and his family live.

  “Oh no, you don’t. I’m not stupid. No way in hell I’m giving you my name.”

  “You sure? Because we’re here.” Her entire demeanor changes when I turn onto the asphalt, roll my window down, and speak in code to Frost, who happens to be the not-so-lucky son of a bitch watching the gates to the club.

  “Fuck off,” she sneers.

  I’ll give it to the little vixen. She has a brass set of balls. Her eyes will be open very soon, and the name-brand shit draping over her body will soon vanish. She’ll learn what it’s like to be bared to the skeleton with nothing to hide behind. That’s a brutal life lesson that’s never fun to watch anyone endure.

  Frost offers me a quaint nod. Smart son of a bitch right there. Prime example; he knows exactly who he’s dealing with. You don’t fuck around with me. I feel my own balls shrink thinking about Curtis aka Saddle, giving me shit about picking up a woman on the side of the road. I’m known to spit on that type of shit. I focus on the job and get the task done every single time.

  She clutches her purse to her chest, pulls open the door handle, and hops out. The bitch doesn’t even offer a thank you. Good riddance, princess. Have a nice fucking life and good luck surviving.

  Just wish my cock got the same message and didn’t wonder how her wound-up, tight-as-hell pussy would feel squeezing it tightly. I’d fuck her until she forgot her first, middle, and last name. The bitch would be begging me for a new name.

  Any other time when I’m passing through for a quick visit or an assignment, I’d grab an empty room in the club to crash in. Not this time. I had every intention of getting some much-needed shut-eye, hanging wit
h everyone a bit and driving down to my home in San Bernardino. Guess I’m going home a day or two early.

  I won’t be resting or finding some new woman to keep me company up here for a few days, which sucks because I haven’t had a piece of sweet fucking ass in the two months I’ve been gone, because dick sucking doesn’t count. I never mix business with pleasure. My mind remains focused on my job.

  My dick nearly dies thinking he’s going to have to settle for Mindy again. Women simply do not come to my house. Ever. Rachel and Mindy are the only ones I’ve allowed in my home. I don’t trust women.

  I reach down between my seat and the door, grab the ink pen, and roll it around in my hand. I have no idea what this woman’s deal is. I’m about to find out though, and take matters into my own hands.

  “I’m going to find out who you are, why you’re running, and every damn thing I can about you, sweetheart.”

  3

  Caitlin

  “Curtis will meet you in the clubhouse. It’s the first building on the left. Take this,” the young kid tells me as he hands me a flashlight. He doesn’t look a day over eighteen, and here he is, guarding the gates to Hell. Jesus, Curtis.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, turn toward the now squeaking gates, and step through, mumbling under my breath over the fact I have to walk down another road in the dark.

  It’s been years since I’ve been here. My mom and I would sneak away for the day to come to my cousin’s birthday parties or to let Curtis and I play, while Mom and my uncle would sit and watch. I’ll never forget how freed I felt as Curtis and I ran around playing and laughing. That fun all came to a screeching halt when my dad showed up at the gates, yelling and screaming for the two of us to get home. Despite the protest and big argument my father and uncle had in front of those big iron gates, we left. I ran up to my room and stayed there for the rest of the night while listening to my father belittle my mother, slap her around, and call her all kinds of names. He even threatened to take me away from her if she tried to pull a stunt like that again. I sigh, let a tear roll down my face when I think about my mom. I miss her.

  “I’m very sorry,” I call out into the night. Sorry for not keeping in touch with my cousin more than I did. We’ve exchanged brief phone calls or texts over the past few years, but that’s it. I haven’t seen him in three years.

  On the other hand, his wife, Rachel, who is my best friend, and I, we’ve seen each other here and there. I’ve met the girls several times when she would drive to LA to visit her parents. I would pretend I was meeting with a client, sneak away to meet her. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen her or the girls, but our love for one another hasn’t died.

  I laugh at myself when I recall trying to talk the two of them to give this place up and move closer to me when I heard the news that my uncle had died. You would have thought both he and Rachel would have listened to me with the dangerous lifestyle that comes with this club. Especially when she was halfway through her pregnancy with their daughter Violet. But no, not them. They are as stubborn as the jackass who just dropped me off and sped back into the night as if he didn’t exist. More stubborn than I am for waiting until my dad was dead before crawling out from under his thumb.

  I hate to admit it, because I love my cousin more than anything. Rachel as well. She’s been my best friend forever. The kids are my godchildren. But my father would have tried to destroy my relationship with them if he’d known. He hated everyone on my mother’s side of the family. Curtis’s father, my uncle Chet, was my mother’s brother. As far as my father knew, I disowned them the day we buried my mother.

  My mind drifts back to my mystery man as I continue to walk. There’s something about him that rattles my bones with desire and turns them to liquid with a heap of fright. Not fright for me, but fright for others. There is something dark and dangerous about that handsome man.

  The desire can go straight to hell in a handbasket right along with him, because no matter what I have to do, I’m going to find out who the hell he is and how he knows my cousin. The filthy, sexy bastard. I hope I never have to see him again. Liar.

  If I do, I’m telling the asshole he owes me a new nine-hundred-dollar pen. Thief.

  “Caitlin, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?” I sigh, practically running on my aching feet when Curtis pulls up to the clubhouse, climbs out of his truck, and pulls me into his arms.

  I don’t answer him. I can’t. All I want to do is hang on to him for dear life. “Hey, what’s going on?” He tries to soothe me, rubs my back, and steps back, taking me right along with him. I’m not letting go. I can’t. I let my frustrations, my pain, anger, and most of all how scared I am, out. I start crying. Bawling and sobbing until my eyes hurt and my teeth chatter.

  “He…someone…” I can’t get my words out. I start shaking, gripping his shirt.

  “Jesus Christ. What the hell? Come on. Let me take you inside. Rachel will freak the fuck out if she sees you like this.”

  “Okay,” I sob.

  I really don’t want to let him go; he’s the only safe haven I’ve got. I do, though, but he doesn’t take his arm from around me as he unlocks the door and escorts me inside. I blink my tired, weary eyes, trying to adjust them as the light assaults, and I instantly go blind. God, I’m exhausted. A stinky, sweaty mess and not ready to lay this all on him. He has every right to hate my father. This is going to make him want to dig up his grave and incinerate his bones. Turn them into ashes.

  “I’m going to get you a drink. Sit.” He guides me to a stool at the bar, where I place my purse on the wooden surface and sink my ass in a chair.

  “Start talking. Now,” he orders. Places a glass of what I’m going to assume is whiskey in front of me. At least I hope it is. I look up to his dark-brown eyes. Tip the dark liquid back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I don’t have to pretend to be a bitch or anything other than myself around Curtis. The partial white trash half-breed my father called me that very same night he told me about my mother’s death is coming out. I wish I’d grown up to be more like her. Because that woman is a hell of a lot more put together than the fake one I turned into.

  “He’s dead.” The whiskey burns low in my belly. “My dad.”

  The last two words fall from my lips in a hollow tone.

  “Did you kill him?” Curtis asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” I gasp.

  “Knew he died, Caitlin. You called me, remember?” He leans closer to me. “Besides, I’ve had eyes on you for years.”

  “That was nice of you,” I say, not fully comprehending what he’s saying. “They killed him in his sleep. One bullet.” I signal for another drink.

  Curtis pours it with no questions asked. One for him and one for me. We down the drink in one swallow. The warm sensation is coating my belly and spreads throughout my limbs until it finally relaxes me. A feat that I thought was impossible until now. He waits for me to talk and doesn’t push me. He’s been my best friend since we were toddlers, right up until my father took my life away.

  “They’re after me,” I whisper. Another pour of the whiskey. It burns, but God, does it take the edge off the pain.

  “Who?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Could be anyone. He’s fucked over the wrong person or group this time.”

  “How do you know they are after you?” This time he drinks from the bottle, foregoing all manners.

  “My house was broken into. They left a message on my mirror.” I take the bottle from his hand and enjoy a long swallow of the amber liquid. “‘Bitch, you’re next’ is what it said.”

  His fist slams into the bar top. “You’re here until I tell you otherwise. You don’t leave the clubhouse or my house. Your fancy fucking car remains parked until I say otherwise.”

  “That won’t be a problem. The bitch is on the side of the road.” I giggle at the fact I just called my car a bitch.

  “What the fuck is so funny?”

  “My Goddamn life, that�
��s what.” I stand up, throwing my arms up in the air. “Look at me. I’ve turned into him. I’m a fucking soul-sucking version of that man. My fucking car broke down on the side of the road and then I had to hitch a ride with a dickhead.”

  “This dickhead. He brought you here?”

  I nod. “Acted like he knew you and the guys at the gate and shit. Dropped me off and then peeled out.”

  “Name?”

  “Fuckface.”

  For the first time since I’ve been here, Curtis gives me a devilish grin and then shakes his head. “My boys let him in.”

  “Well, yes and no. He talked to that kid at the gate. I jumped out of his car, and the prick peeled out.”

  “What was he driving?”

  “A car.” I hiccup and then giggle again.

  “Jesus, I suppose you’re going to tell me your phone didn’t have any service, so you started walking and hitched a ride?”

  “Yup.”

  “You crazy woman. If you weren’t beating yourself up, I would slap the shit out of you for coming out here alone. Now, that’s enough for tonight, cuz. Let’s get you to bed.” Right. Bed. Sleep.

  “Oh, he had a beard.” My head swims and legs wobble as Curtis guides me down a hallway to a room. “A big fluffy beard that would feel so damn good between my legs.”

  “Enough. Fuck. I don’t need to hear this shit. Unless you want him dead?”

  “I mean so, so good.” I nearly trip when I enter a small bedroom. “And he smoked cigarettes like he was making love to someone.”

  “Jesus, get dressed into this.” He shoves a large shirt in my hand.

  “Is it clean? I have sensitive skin.”