In Too Deep

by Fox, Harley

  I had no idea what Maddox wanted when he texted me, telling me I had an assignment. When I showed up and saw those other gang members there—the Slingers—and found out what he wanted us to do, I was terrified.

  Go out in public? Try to sell drugs to college kids in the middle of the day? Maddox seems convinced that the Bullets own all the cops in Santa Espera, but I know for a fact that they don’t. They don’t own me. So there must be other good cops out there … right? I can’t be the only good one. Can I?

  In either case, the risk was too high. I’ve been slowly getting bits and pieces of evidence for my case against the Bullets. Recordings of conversations, pictures I’ve taken with my cell phone. I’ve been writing up dossiers on each of the members too, but it’s hard trying to get personal information out of people without sounding like you’re interviewing them. So I’ve been taking it slow. One day at a time.

  We reach the bar and I pull into the parking lot, Flynn coming in behind me. It’s just about noon and the lot looks empty, but that’s no surprise. In fact, I welcome it. I don’t feel like being around a bunch of drunken hooligans right now. I just want some peace and quiet.

  We park our bikes and go inside, walking through the dark space to the bar where Marla comes over to greet us.

  “Hello you two,” she says. Marla still hasn’t quite warmed up to me, but that’s no issue. We get her to pour us a beer each, and then we take them over to the couches, sitting down. It feels good to get off my feet.

  We both take a drink of our beer and then Flynn settles back in the couch. We’re sitting in our usual spots, the ends of two couches, close together.

  “So what happened back there?” he asks, as I knew he would. “I’ve never seen anybody get so uptight over a simple mistake like that.”

  Uptight? I ignore it. “I just wanted to lie low,” I say to him. “I don’t like going into situations where I’m not in control.”

  “But if anything happened we’d take care of it,” he says. “The Chains aren’t anything we haven’t dealt with before.”

  A flash of anger goes over me, but I keep my temper down.

  “Yeah, but with all those students there?” I say. “They’d be in danger.”

  “They’d run,” Flynn says with a shrug, looking away. “But anyway it wouldn’t have been a problem because we’re in a truce with the Chains right now. So they wouldn’t have bothered us.”

  I shake my head.

  “I just like to know I’m going to be safe,” I tell him. “I don’t appreciate surprises like these.”

  “Maddox was probably just given the coke and told to sell it. He’s doing the best he can, but honestly he’s told information in bits and pieces. It’s not like he knows what the next ten steps of our whole operation is going to be. He probably doesn’t even know the next two steps.”

  Yeah, I’m finding that out, I think. I was hoping that being in the Bullets would tell me exactly what they’re planning. But it’s turning out to be a lot harder than that. I take a drink of my beer.

  “I guess so,” I say, and Flynn falls silent. As he drinks I look over at him.

  “Hey,” I say, “so about our conversation before … you said there were things you wanted that the Bullets couldn’t give you. What sorts of things are those?”

  Flynn looks at me as I speak, but he doesn’t answer right away. His jaw clenches, and he breathes out through his nose.

  “It’s nothing,” he finally says, and I give him a look as he drops his gaze.

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “What, did you want to travel or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Flynn looks at me and there’s a fierceness in his eyes that makes my stomach do a flip, but I don’t look away. Finally he lets out a sigh.

  “I want to have a family,” he says in a low voice.

  His gaze drops again and I stare at him. I’m shocked. I would never, never have expected to hear that from him. Flynn always struck me as a carefree kind of guy. Big and strong, and intimidating when he needs to be, but generally a bit of a joker. Knowing that he wants to be a dad … it paints him in a whole new light.

  “Well, I mean, it’s not too late to start a family,” I say to him. “And it doesn’t mean you have to have one without the other. Why not try to find somebody in the Bullets to start a family with?”

  Flynn looks at me and there’s a shadow of hurt on his face. But then he looks away again.

  “No,” he says. “That would be a bad idea.”

  He doesn’t want anyone in the Bullets, I think, and a pang of something like disappointment hits me in the chest. I swallow.

  “Why is it a bad idea?” I ask.

  “Because people in gangs can get hurt,” he says. “You can lose them too easily.”

  I know that all too well, I think. “So then why don’t you quit?” I ask, and Flynn lets a snort of air out through his nose.

  “You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” he says with a smile. But then the smile fades away. “No, I can’t just up and quit.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because what would I do? Where would I go? This town is hard to be in if you don’t have protection. Besides, the Bullets are like … a family to me. Not the same thing, exactly, but still. And if I just up and left them … then I’d have nothing.”

  I can feel my heart beating a bit faster.

  “What if you met someone?” I ask him, and he looks at me. Our eyes lock for a long moment before he answers.

  “Then I’d leave with them,” he says, and I feel my breath almost catching in my throat.

  We both drop our gazes at the same time and I take a long drink of my beer, trying to hide my smile. Flynn doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. We sit in silence together, drinking our beers. Neither of us talk, but I don’t feel like I have to. It’s nice, just being here with him. Comfortable, in a way I haven’t felt before.

  When we’re both just about finished the door to the bar opens and a group of bikers comes in, four guys with bandanas and sunglasses on, and ripped jean jackets that have no sleeves. They’re loud and boisterous as three of them head toward the pool tables, the last one aiming for the bar. Both Flynn and I watch them break the silence that the bar held. I don’t really feel like listening to these guys get drunk and loud.

  “Hey,” Flynn says, and I look at him. “Are you hungry? Wanna get something to eat?”

  It’s past one now and I haven’t had any lunch. So I nod and we both finish our beers, then take the glasses back to Marla, bidding her farewell before heading out again.

  I start to head to where our bikes are parked, but Flynn turns the other way.

  “I know a good burrito place not far from here,” he says as I catch up with him. “We can just walk.”

  “Oh,” I say to him. “I didn’t know bikers around here walked anywhere. I thought they always just rode.”

  “Well,” Flynn responds, and I can see a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes it’s just nice to be able to clear your head, you know?”

  We walk down the sidewalk, leaving the bar and our bikes behind us. It’s still hot out, but there are scattered clouds in front of the sun now, giving a bit of respite from the heat. We pass by convenience stores on the corners, shops with apartments over them. There’s a used book store right next to a gun shop, and across the street I see a bakery that sells coffee. Some people are sitting inside by the window, watching us as we walk on by.

  Flynn and I take a right and about halfway down the street there’s a food truck parked. I’ve never trusted food trucks, having heard reports of health inspectors going in for routine inspections and shutting the places down right away. So imagine my dismay when we approach it and I see a big picture of a burrito painted on the side.

  “This is it,” Flynn says as the large and very hairy man inside slides the window back. He meets my ey
e but I turn away, looking at Flynn and dropping my voice.

  “This is it?” I ask him, and he nods. “Um, are you sure it’s … safe?”

  But Flynn just smiles.

  “Trust me, this guy makes clean food. I’ve eaten here before; it’s no problem. It’s not like those noodle guys who come around trying to sell food outside of the clubs. Those guys are sketchy as fuck.”

  That makes me feel a bit better. “Okay,” I say, and I turn to look at the menu printed beside the window. “Um … I’ll have a beef burrito please.”

  “Beef,” the guy grunts. “And you?”

  “Chorizo,” Flynn says.

  “One beef, one chorizo,” and the guy’s head disappears back into the truck as he begins making our food.

  “Yeah, this guy is great,” Flynn says. “He’s been here for years but hardly anybody comes here. It’s a quiet little part of town.”

  Indeed, since we took that right off the main road it’s seemed a lot quieter. There are shops down this road too, but they’re things like a seamstress, a used clothing shop, a butcher, and what looks like a non-denominational church. The guy is fast making the food, and soon enough he comes back with the burritos, which Flynn and I pay for before continuing on our walk, going the same direction we were before.

  “There’s a picnic table in an alley just down here …” Flynn says as I carry my hot foil-wrapped food, and down near the end of the street an alleyway opens up, and sure enough there’s a lone picnic table sitting there. Nobody’s around, nobody’s using it, so we climb on, sitting on the top surface, our feet on one of the benches below.

  “Wow, how many walks have you been on?” I ask as we both unwrap our food.

  “A lot,” he says, and he takes a bite of his burrito. I do the same, and the smell and taste of the food reminds me of how hungry I am. I can feel my mouth water even as I chew, my stomach just waking up and beginning to growl.

  “Need some time on your own?” I ask once I’ve swallowed my first bite. Flynn nods, his mouth full.

  “Yeah,” he says, and he swallows too. “Sometimes that whole scene is a bit too much. I slip out every now and again. Nobody notices.”

  Nobody notices. I know exactly what that feeling’s like. I wonder if I hadn’t said anything about being sick at work today, if I’d just gotten up and left, if anyone would have even noticed. The captain didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

  “But you know, I don’t know that much about you,” Flynn points out, and my stomach drops. “Tell me about your life before you decided you wanted to become a Bullet.”

  I finish chewing and swallow my mouthful of food.

  “Oh, it’s boring,” I say, taking another large bite. I don’t want to give more detail than I have to.

  “I’m sure it’s not boring,” he says. “Tell me.”

  I chew my food, swallow.

  “I was living in Pasadena and then I came here.”

  “What were you doing in Pasadena?”

  I shrug, taking another bite.

  “Nothing. I grew up, went to college, got a temp job, hated it and quit. Then I tried to figure out my life, didn’t know what I wanted to do. And then I decided to leave and I came here to change my life.”

  Flynn nods, chewing a mouthful of food. He swallows and says, “You’re right. That is boring.”

  I give him a playful punch on the arm and he smiles as he takes another bite.

  “But that’s a big change, from college to slinging dope.”

  I nod, chewing.

  “Well, you gotta change with the times, right?”

  “Right.”

  We continue eating. This burrito is good.

  “Where’d you learn how to fight?” he suddenly asks me, and I stop chewing for a moment, then look over at him.

  “Huh?”

  “The night before you joined, when we met you at the bar. You took that creep out no problem. Where’d you learn how to fight?”

  I swallow my mouthful of food.

  “My brother,” I say to him, and Flynn laughs.

  “Yeah, that makes sense. Learn from your brother. You do come across as a bit of a tomboy.”

  I open my mouth, shocked.

  “What?”

  “Yeah!” Flynn says, and his eyes are lit up with delight now. “I’d have thought you were a lesbian too, until we fucked in the bathroom. Now I’m not so sure.”

  I give him another punch on the arm, harder this time. All I hit is muscle.

  “Fuck you,” I say, even though I can hear the smile in my voice. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

  “Hey, you were good,” he says. “I mean, not straight-girl good, but still good.”

  I punch him three more times, all on the same spot. Finally he starts to pull away.

  “All right, all right!” he shouts, laughing. When I lower my fist he rubs the spot I’d been hitting. “Fuck, you’ve got an arm on you.”

  “You’re a dick,” I say. That burrito’s given me new strength.

  “I know,” he says. “And I concede. You’re not a lesbian, you’re a beautiful princess who can kick anybody’s ass.”

  I put the rest of my burrito down.

  “You saying I can kick your ass?” I ask, hopping down off the table. Flynn looks at me, his eyes alive, and he puts the rest of his down too, joining me.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  My hands are already up, ready to grapple, and I fake to the right as Flynn’s hand flies up to block me. Dipping back down, though, I get him in the ribs and hear him grunt with surprise before I jump back, staying on the balls of my feet. Flynn straightens up, rubbing his ribs now.

  “All right,” he says. “Now you asked for it.”

  He starts toward me but I back away, around the table and farther down the alleyway. Flynn comes after me and I keep moving backward, but then suddenly fly forward, heading for the ribs I just hit.

  He’s expecting it, though, and he dodges just in time before bringing the heel of his hand up to my shoulder. But where I expected a blow, he only gives me a light tap. I spin around and so does he, our positions reversed.

  “Hey!” I say, frowning. “Why’d you go easy on me?”

  Flynn tilts his head. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Don’t treat me like some fragile doll, Flynn. I want you to hit me.”

  A single eyebrow raises.

  “If you say so,” he says, and then we’re back, both of us alert, staying mobile on our feet.

  This time it’s Flynn who attacks, rushing toward me. I hop back two steps before slipping to the side, bringing my elbow up to connect with his face. He dodges it just in time and I almost lose my balance when I hit nothing but air. But soon I recover and we’re facing each other again. For a big guy Flynn is surprisingly quick on his feet. I feel myself flushed all over.

  I go in to attack, my hands balled up into fists. I bring my left up while dropping down to the right, but Flynn’s fist is there, waiting for me. I tense my stomach just at the moment of impact, but even so it’s like a cannonball knocks the wind out of me. I stumble and go off to the side, but bring my focus back to him as I suck in breath.

  Fuck. He is strong.

  Flynn’s face looks flushed too, and he’s breathing harder than I am, despite my having just been hit in the stomach.

  Tire him out.

  So I go for his side again and dodge another blow, making him almost stumble as his fist connects with air. Turning around and hopping backward, I make him follow me farther down the alley. I can see the lone picnic table with our discarded meals on it. Flynn follows me and I suddenly rush forward, feinting right and making him lean for me before going left. His side is open. My fist is already cocked back.

  But he’s expecting it, and before I can land the first blow I feel strong fingers grab onto my wrist, pulling me off-course. I try to pull away but it’s like he’s made of stone, and so I swi
ng my right hand up, aiming for the side of his head, but like lightning he grabs onto my wrist again. I’m trapped. The muscles in my arms bulge as I try pulling loose, but Flynn’s got a hold of me.

  “Agh!” I yell, and Flynn laughs. “Let me go!”

  As tightly held as he has me, I still put up quite the struggle. Planting one foot, I slip the other between his, hooking it around his ankle, trying to trip him. Flynn’s eyes widen and he stumbles back a step, but still he doesn’t let go of me. I move with him—I have to—as his hard chest and stomach bump into mine. I keep my foot behind his, keep trying to trip him, but he finally steps over it and pivots us, slamming me up against one of the walls.

  The rough brick digs into my shoulders and I keep trying to wrench myself free. Flynn’s jaw is set as he struggles to maintain his hold on me. I can smell his sweat, his musk, and it floods me with a strange warmth. Looking at his face, down at his lips, I get an idea.

  Distract him.

  Without thinking I thrust my head forward and plant my lips onto his. I feel his surprise through the freezing of his muscles and in my head I know that now’s the time, now’s the time to break free of his grip.

  But I don’t. I don’t break free. Instead I keep kissing him, keep pushing my face forward, into his. Flynn begins to reciprocate, kissing me back, and before I know it our mouths are open and our tongues are moving together, dancing inside of our mouths.

  I feel his grip on my wrists loosen, but what we were just doing seems less important now—indeed, it’s almost like I forget what we were even doing. His muscles have become unfrozen and he steps up closer to me, pressing himself into me, and I suck in a gasp of air through my nose.

  Flynn’s body—that hard statue of muscle—lives and breathes right next to me. I feel a heat begin to grow, first in my belly, and then down between my legs. Flynn lets out a moan between our kisses and the mere sound of it causes me to shudder, forcing me to take in a gasping breath between both of our lips before we resume kissing again.

  Down below I feel something start to press up against me. It’s at my thighs, just below my waist. Flynn groans inside of his throat, and as he pushes his hips into me that thing pushes too. And then it clicks: his cock! It’s his cock! Memories of that night in the bar bathroom come back to me and I feel a strange craving inside, almost like a hunger. It’s for him—only for him—and as this thought enters my head my heart starts to beat, hard and fast in my chest.