by Lucas, Helen
I knew what that meant. Yesterday, it had been fifteen days. The day before that, it had been sixteen days. And before that—seventeen days. That was how long he had until he went home. Home to his young wife, home to his father’s roofing business in Florida.
And then, an explosion tore through the street. It wasn’t big—that should have been our first clue that something was wrong. It was almost like a firecracker, but it cut into the front right wheel of the Humvee and the machine ground to a halt.
“Fucking IED,” someone muttered. Without another thought, Fred heaved himself out of the vehicle and onto the dusty street.
“How’s it look out there?” I called.
I saw Fred shake his head.
“Tire’s fucked. Grab the spare. And do it quick. We’re exposed here.”
I leapt up from my seat and ran round to the back of the Humvee, grabbing the spare, and jogging back to Fred, my rifle bouncing on my back.
“The axle’s warped…” he was muttering. We crouched behind the Humvee as we worked. Finally, we managed to wedge the wheel on and get it secured.
Fred stood up, his back cracking in the process. He wiped the sweat from his tanned forehead with the back of his hand.
And then, the burst of a single shot. Fred’s face looked confused for a moment, and then his forehead shattered, bursting into red.
His body collapsed next to me and I found myself staring at the corpse which had once been our friend. I was yelling something, saying “Man down! Man down!” or something like that. I was returning fire, shooting into the buildings around us haphazardly but it was no use.
We dragged his body back into the Humvee and they sent it back to America the next day.
I was jerked out of my reverie by something cold and wet splashing on my face. I awoke with a gasp, looking around, breathing hard, my heart pounding.
I was tied to a chair in a dark room. It took me a few moments to remember how I ended up there: I felt a shooting, deep-seated pain in my lower back. That would be the knife that ended up in my kidney.
I guess I only needed one of those. But I sure as hell would have rather had two.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty…” a cold, smooth voice said. Fatman.
“What the hell is going on…” I started to mutter. And then, I saw him step out of the darkness, into the patch of moonlight streaming in through the window.
“You fucking rat,” he growled. “You fucking son of a cunt…”
“Didn’t your momma’ ever wash your mouth out with soap when you talk like that?” I muttered. And then I saw the golf club in Fatman’s hand flash in the moonlight—before colliding directly with my kneecap.
“Fuck!” I groaned, trying to double over, trying to protect myself… But to no avail. Another blow from the club had my other knee cap screaming in pain.
“I’ve thought for months you were a rat…” he was muttering as he stalked around me. “I should have fucking ended you sooner…”
He swung again and this time, the club slammed into my gut. All the air gushed out of my belly, out of my lungs, and I was sure I was going to throw up.
“Go fuck yourself…” I muttered. “You’re fucking over, Fatman… It’s only a matter of time till they find you and then you’re getting ass raped in a federal pen.”
Again, he wound up and took another shot at my gut. I gasped and gagged, feeling like all my guts were trying to escape through my mouth.
“Doesn’t matter if you kill me. The Damned are over,” I growled. Fatman continued to circle me, seething with rage, before he stopped behind me and ground the shaft of the club into my neck, forcing my head back.
“It matters to me, you cock sucker,” Fatman growled. “Because I’m going to love killing you. There’s a Home Depot down the road. I was planning on just smashing your face in with this here four-iron but I think I might go pick up a chain-saw. Just for the occasion.”
My blood ran cold. I just shrugged.
“What do you want from me? I ain’t gonna’ say anything to make you change your mind.”
“Just tell me one thing… That bitch Claire…”
“She’s a Fed. She’s compiled reams and reams of notes on the gang. It’s over, you faggot.”
With a roar, Fatman hurled his four-iron through a window, sending glass flying. I couldn’t help but laugh as he stalked out of the room.
“Game over, bastard,” I muttered.
And then I realized that there was someone else in the room with me. I glanced over my shoulder, though only with difficult—the fat son of a bitch must have broken a rib or two.
Misty stood silently in the corner, half-naked, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.
“So, you got away too?” I asked. She shrugged.
“Come here,” I whispered. “If I give you a phone number, will you call it? It’s Claire’s.”
Her wide eyes got even wider. She nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
CLAIRE
Doug sent me to the hospital right away. I had a few bruises left from my beating-in, but nothing serious. Really, I think he just wanted to make sure I didn’t go off and try to find Fatman myself.
As soon as I got into my hospital room, I collapsed on the bed, without even taking off my clothes. I only awoke when my phone began to ring. I assumed it was Doug—assumed he was calling to give me some inconsequential update.
But instead, I saw it was from an unknown number. I grabbed it and answered, hoping against home that somehow, some way, it would be Fang.
“Claire,” the voice on the other line said. It was practically drained of emotion, though I had to admit that it sounded familiar. Who the hell could this be?
Then, my eyes widened. Misty.
“Misty? Is that you, Misty?”
“Yes. I’m with Fang and Fatman.”
“Is Fang alive?”
“Not for long. Fatman wants to kill him. I think he’s trying to figure out if he can use him as a bargaining chip or not but he’s lost it. Like, really, really lost it. He’s paranoid and everything.”
“Where are you?”
She gave me the address. I didn’t recognize it but I wrote it down.
“We’ll be there soon, hun. Where are you now?”
“I’m at a payphone around the street.”
“Okay. Get to a hospital or a police station as soon as possible.”
The phone clicked off. I bit my lip. I hoped to God she would.
I forced my exhausted body out of bed and grabbed my gun. I called Doug immediately and told him what had happened as I threw on my shoes.
“I’m going there right now,” I told him.
“No, Claire, we’ll send a SWAT team. You’ve done enough.”
“No! I’m not going to let Fang face this alone!” I screamed at him. “I’m going to get him and you can’t stop me.”
I threw the phone against the wall. I was on the war path now, and there was nothing that would stop me.
FANG
I heard the sirens roaring down the street and that’s when I knew it was all over.
“How the fuck did they find us?!” Fatman demanded, storming into my cell-like room. I had nodded off, my head leaning forward in exhaustion and agony.
“Extra-sensory perception?” I suggested casually with a shrug. He groaned and slammed his fist against a wall.
“You’re going to die now, you son of a bitch…” he growled as he advanced on me, his knife drawn. As he came within rang, my leg shot up and kicked him hard in the crotch. With a groan, he doubled over.
“Fuck…” he moaned, falling to his knees.
I stood, the chair still tied to my back, even though my shattered legs screamed at me, begged to be allowed to buckle. I flung one of my legs hard into his face, as hard as I could, feeling my own broken bones and smashed tendons protest, protest screaming, as I sank us both into a world of agony.
Then, I turned around suddenly, smashing the legs of the chair into his already
bloodied face. That’s where my luck ran out, though—he tackled me, knocking me to the floor with his enormous girth. His weight pressed down hard on my broken legs and I arched my back, gritting my teeth in pain.
His fat, plump hands were around my throat then, squeezing hard, choking me. I felt my airway close up and then I felt my world going black. I struggled as best I could: I flailed, I pumped my lame legs, I tried to bend my neck down far enough to sink my teeth into his sweaty, bloodied hands.
Claire. I thought of Claire as my world went black. I hoped she was okay. I hoped she would move on from this.
I hoped she would be happy.
I’m sorry, I tried to say as I slipped out of consciousness. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry about Fred. I’m sorry we could never give us a chance. I’m sorry.
I wanted to be with her, to be free with her. Well, maybe in the next life, I supposed.
And then, a thunderous boom rang out. Fatman’s hands went limp around his neck and he collapsed onto me. I rolled my beaten, abused body against his, forcing it off me, slick with his gushing blood and the stink of his death.
There, in the doorway, stood Misty, her little malnourished chest rising and falling slowly and resolutely. In her hands, smoking, was Fatman’s cherished .50 caliber rifle. It was almost as big as she was.
“Good shot, kid,” I murmured as I glanced at the dead bastard on the floor. The round had bored a hole straight through Fatman’s chest and come out on the other side—in other words, it tore out his heart.
What happened next was a blur: we heard the doors being broken down on the first floor of the safe house.
“Put the gun down,” I ordered Misty. “Before they think you’re with him.”
She nodded, a look of terror on her face—to have come so far and get mistaken for one of Fatman’s loyalists. She heaved the gun as hard as she could, sending it clattering a few feet into the corner.
Then, SWAT team agents streamed into the room. Misty put her hands on her head as they forced her to the ground.
“She’s on our side,” I yelled. “Be gentle with her.”
But my words were cut off my hot lips pressed to mine. Claire was in front of me, now, still dressed as a biker, un-showered, sweaty, but alive. She had either hand on my face and she was kissing me and I was kissing her.
“Welcome back, kiddo,” I growled as I passed out.
CLAIRE
Instead of flowers, I brought Fang a burrito and a variety of hot sauces from his fridge.
It was two weeks before they’d let me see Fang. He’d passed out almost as soon as we got to him and the doctors said he was in an especially bad state: he’d had three ribs broken, his knee caps shattered, and one of his kidney’s had failed. The wound on his lower back also had the beginnings of a nasty infection that threatened to spread to his other organs.
They told me that he didn’t even wake up for the first two days. Doug insisted I go to the hospital myself during that time, which I think was really just a ploy to keep an eye on me.
“Hey you,” I said as Fang looked away from the TV. He was shirtless, sitting in his hospital bed under just a sheet, tattoos gleaming. He was heavily bandaged but somehow, that just made him look sexier to me. I, meanwhile, was just wearing a Florida State t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
He grinned as he clicked off the TV.
“I was wondering when you would show up. Or if.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I told him as I set down his food. I leaned forward to press my lips to his and he put a hand around my head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I never told you about Fred…”
“It’s fine. We’re here now. We’re together,” I whispered back, kissing his lips as I nibbled at them.
“For now,” he grunted. “They’re going to put me in witness protection soon. I’m going god knows where.”
“Then it’ll be just like that night on the beach,” I said, starting to pull my shirt over my head. I undid my bra and grinned at him, holding it still to my chest until he pulled my hands away and placed his warm, powerful arms around my waist, pulling me close, pulling me on top of him.
“Ah…” he gasped, ever so slightly, from the pain as I eased myself onto him.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. My ribs are just still kind of tender.”
“Will this help?” I asked as I kissed down his bandaged chest, catching one of his nipples in my mouth. He gave a bestial grunt as I suckled and teased him, running my hand beneath the sheet to find him totally naked.
I wrapped my hand around his manhood, savoring the feel of it in my hand as I began to stroke it, getting him harder and harder with each passing second.
“I want you inside of me, Fang…” I whispered softly, tugging at his nipple. I stood up, dropped my pants, and—here, I had worn a second little thong that I thought he would like. One that I had bought specially for him. The crotch was covered in little hot peppers.
“Oh, hey,” he said with an easy smile as he saw it. “That looks delicious.”
I bit my lip as I slid it to the side, showing him my hot center, all ready for him. I mounted him and gasped as I slid myself down onto his thick, throbbing tool, whimpering in delight as I began to ride him.
“Oh, Fang… Fang…” I moaned, grunting in time with him. He began to thrust up and into me and I found myself throwing my head back and gasping, whimpering in delight as his cock dug into me. I wanted this so badly, wanted to feel him inside of me once last time.
“Fang, baby… Please…” I grunted, groaning with passion.
“You’re even tighter now than you were before,” he growled hotly and I found myself giggling like I was back in college.
And I felt like it too. I felt like I was a whole new person with him, like I had been reinvented, like I had been reborn. I loved it and I didn’t want to let it go.
“Fang! Fang!” I gasped, grinding myself into him, leaning down over him and letting his hot mouth rake its way over my needy flesh. “Please… Please, baby…”
And suddenly, he grabbed me hard around the waist and flipped us both over, all without exiting my tightness. I gasped in delight as he was suddenly on top of me, suddenly pumping and pounding into me, his hardness pistoning into my tight, wet core, filling me up.
“Oh, god!” I shrieked with delight, wrapped my legs around him, pulling him into me, my body all but sucking in his long, hot flesh, savoring every inch of him. I felt filled like I hadn’t felt in so, so long…
“Harder, harder, harder…” I whispered as I felt myself getting closer and closer, all from the way Fang’s powerful hips grinded harder and harder, deeper and deep, powering his shaft deep into me. “Please, don’t stop… Please, make me cum…”
“That’s it,” he growled in my ear, a hot groan escaping his lips. I found myself grabbing his lean, muscled ass tight as I pulled him into me. “That’s it.”
And suddenly, he arched his back, groaning a loud, deep, animalistic groan as he released himself into me. I squealed with delight, his hot seed filling me, flowing deep into me as his cock spasmed inside of me. That all pushed me over the edge and a moment later, only a moment, I was on top of the world, my mind and brain spinning with pleasure. It felt like the bed was shaking, like the entire hospital was shaking as I went flying over the precipice of pleasure, my muscles gripping and clenching and unclenching tight around Fang.
Finally, he pulled out of me and we lay there in that tiny hospital bed, covered in each other’s sweat, our chest’s rising and falling slowly, methodically.
“I love you, you know,” he whispered.
“I know,” was all I replied as I pulled him in for a kiss and rolling on top of him once more. If we only had one night together, one more night, I was bound and determined to make it worth it.
EPILOGUE: CLAIRE
“The Damned has completely ceased to function as an organized criminal enterprise…” Doug was saying. I
couldn’t bring myself to concentrate on the words, though. I knew Fang was in witness protection now, knew he had been moved somewhere on the other side of the country. Reminders of the case, like the recent prosecution of the surviving Damned MC club members, just brought Fang’s ghost to the forefront of my aching heart.
“All thanks to you, Powell,” Doug finished. We were in his office—his new office, since he had been promoted after the sting—and it was getting near evening. As we talked, the parking lot outside continued to empty, car by car at first, and then faster and faster as employees left in droves.