by Lia Connor
Dark clothes, for one. Ratty old things which should have been in the rag basket a few frayed holes ago, but which she’d saved because you never did know, did you? She’d dyed them black, all the better to blend in with the night and the shadows. Sweatpants, a way-too-big hooded sweatshirt, silent dark sneakers. No jewelry. Her short hair was hidden behind a charcoal-colored bandana, and her breasts bound tight with a sports bra two sizes too small.
The outfit, when paired together with a macho, don’t-give-a-shit swagger in her step, spelled out: don’t you mess with me. One tough bastard, that’s what she was. Another one of the tough-ass punks who were the only fuckers who didn’t fear these streets.
The super-charged TASER in her pocket and the .45 tucked at the small of her back boosted her courage, too. She knew how to use both, and she would if she needed to. Anyone thinking to threaten her would end up with more trouble than he wanted to handle.
Shanda didn’t grin, not wanting her white teeth to gleam in the darkness. But inside she laughed, cocky as all hell at the trick she was pulling. Hunter got a kick out of how she always, always made her way to him without any challenges she couldn’t handle, sometimes with just a glare and a threatening step forward.
Hunter liked people who could take care of themselves. He wasn’t about to go hold anyone’s hand, so capable clients were his preference.
After all, if they lived, they’d be able to pay him.
Shanda planned to be one of the survivors. Be damned if she wouldn’t pay Hunter every cent he squeezed out of her if he really had found a warm trail to follow. She honored her debts.
The Red Zone lay just ahead, a street name for the intersection that had seen more killings than some battlefields. Shanda paused for a moment, pretending to adjust the cock she didn’t have, while she took her measure of the place.
Gangs must have been having a slow night. Lights from barrel bonfires glowed in windows and doorways of several of the warehouses, but all in all the Red Zone seemed quiet enough.
Or did, that was, until Shanda heard a sound which froze her in place.
A howl.
A goddamn wolf howl, as if this was the middle of the boonies.
Or -- she fought back a shudder -- the dream she’d been having before Hunter woke her up. It wasn’t a new dream for Shanda. Seemed like she had it once a month though she never could tell when the thing might be coming.
And every time, every single damn time, something woke her up before Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome could do more than cop a few feels. Thoughts of him made Shanda’s pussy burn. Made her horny.
Maybe someday, when all this was over, she’d look around and find herself a fine piece of ass, like the one in her dream. A round or two with a man like that in the real world ought to scratch her itch just fine.
But that was for later. Right now, she had a job to do: cross the Red Zone.
The wolf howled again.
Shanda gritted her teeth against an unwelcome wave of nerves. Couldn’t be any wolves out here. Someone had a video game going, yeah, that was it, or maybe the gangs had a new signal. Damn good imitation, but no way the animal noise could be the real thing.
She would not let herself get all jangled up.
Shanda shoved her hands in her pockets and started walking. Not too fast, because then anyone watching would think she was afraid, or running from something. Running might mean she had some goods on her, drugs or a wad of money, and that’d bring them out like sharks. Not too slow, either. Slow meant she didn’t know where she was, and ooh boy, did the predators like to play with lost little lambs.
Her though, with her blustering walk and determined scowl, they might leave alone. An unknown, but man, it did not pay to go poking sticks at folk who looked like they might go boom.
Once she’d made it to the end of the Red Zone, Shanda flipped a sneer over her shoulder. Take that, you sons-of-bitches. Scot-free, one more time. This time around it was Shanda 1, Red Zone 0.
Now the choice was whether or not to keep taking the open roads to 45th Street or take her chances with a shortcut through a few alleyways. Alleys were more dangerous, no doubt, but the sidewalk would take her about twice as long.
What the hell? Couldn’t be worse than walking through the Red Zone. A quick check to make sure her .45 hadn’t slipped down beyond where she could reach -- and to show off the fact she was carrying -- and she diverted into the gap between two crumbling buildings.
That’d earn her some respect if anyone was watching anyway.
She was almost disappointed when her trek through the winding alleys provided no challenges or distractions. The only people she ran across were winos sleeping it off, plus one bag lady who lay pillowed on her garbage sacks full of trash. She had a sawed-off rifle held loosely over her chest as she snored.
Shanda had to chuckle silently at the sight. Another woman who didn’t take shit. Props, baby, props.
Emerging from the last passageway, Shanda nodded in satisfaction. Her sense of direction, keen as an animal’s, had led her right. She faced 45th Street in all its rotten glory, block after block full of old factories that had long since passed the point of needing to be condemned. The city kept on making noises about tearing all this mess down and maybe putting in condos or some kind of park, but it hadn’t happened yet and Shanda didn’t look for them to move forward anytime soon.
A hell of a mess, but perfect for when you needed a place to lay low.
Still as casual as if she didn’t give a shit about anything -- 45th had its own predators -- Shanda made her way down the first row of tumbledown buildings. They didn’t even have chain-link fences to protect them, that was how little anyone cared. Big, thick padlocks on the doors, sure, but they’d rusted with time. Broken windows, too.
Every last building up and down the street was dark. Not like she’d expected Hunter to lay out a welcome mat, but he’d said Shanda would know which building and he didn’t play tricks. So she had to look for some kind of a sign…
Shanda shifted her attitude from brazen to rambunctious, acting like the kind of punk who felt like raising a little hell. She loped up to each doorway and yanked at the chains, raised up on tiptoe to peer through broken glass, and started rapping to herself like she didn’t give a damn who noticed her. If anyone did, they’d leave her be. Anyone that bold spelled trouble with a capital cap in the ass.
Oh, yeah. Hell on wheels. She was grooving now.
And damn if she didn’t get lucky. Fifth factory she tried, Shanda came across a ragged strip of camouflage cloth woven into the chain on the door’s padlock. Hunter’s calling card -- made her wonder sometimes if he was ex-military, but did it really matter? She yanked the material out and stuffed it in her pocket.
Now, to get inside.
Shanda stretched her muscles, limbering up right quick before attacking the building. No way she could get through the front door. Hunter wouldn’t have chosen something anyone could bust into. Windows on the ground level were no good either, rusty-red bars covering the busted glass.
The only way in would be up. A cat burglar she’d run into, and liked enough to share a few beers with, had taught Shanda a thing or two about how to climb like a spider. Good stuff to know and it did come in handy. She could see the way up easy as pie.
Climbing was a breeze, bracing herself against this and that to clamber up onto a flat tin awning. On the second floor, the windows had no bars, and one of them stood open. Sweet, smooth access.
Now, Hunter, that’s just downright gentlemanly of you.
Shanda slipped in the window and shut it behind her. She didn’t let her guard down though. Place might have other squatters and God knew the junk spread around was as dangerous as any person might hope to be. Although she knew no one on the outside would be able to see her, Shanda kept to the shadows.
What she’d climbed into proved to be a balcony. The stairs that led down on either side were sagging in the middle, some already broken through, so they would
n’t be a safe route.
No problem. Shanda spotted a nice coil of rope sitting by the railing, not new but not beat-up as the rest of this place. Had to be Hunter’s doing.
Shanda tensed up a little further. Gentlemanly, that’s one thing. He’s making this too easy. Wonder what he’s trying to play with me?
She’d find out, wouldn’t she?
As she’d suspected, the rope was good and sturdy. Tying one end on the railing, Shanda let a length dangle down to the floor. She pretty much doubted the twisted steel frame, with its loose supports, would hold up under her plentiful weight, but she’d just have to move quickly.
Yippee-oh-ki-ay, mother fucker.
Shanda threw herself over the side and rode that rope as far as she could.
Ow! Fucking rope burn!
The railing gave way with a mighty screech when she was halfway down. Luckily, she’d developed split-second reflexes and let go automatically. Wasn’t too far to fall -- far enough that she felt it when she landed, but didn’t hear the crunch of breaking bones. She rolled out of the way of the toppling railing. It hit the ground with a crash only a deaf man could miss.
Too much noise. Which meant…
Shanda grabbed for the pistol at her back and thrust her arms forward, aiming dead ahead.
And found herself staring down a snub-nosed semi-automatic.
A gun held in the hands of the man she’d come to meet. “Hunter.”
Recognition flashed across his face and he holstered his weapon. “Come on, follow me. There’s an office in back. No one can see it from the street. You want me, you still have to come and get me.”
Shanda rolled her eyes. Men! She followed Hunter, trailing in his footsteps through a path just as treacherous as the one in her dream -- damn, that thing still lingered in her head -- but just to be on the safe side she kept her gun locked and loaded.
They emerged in what had to have been a foreman’s office. Hunter lit a couple of candles, not much light to see by, but enough that Shanda could get a look at his face and try to read his eyes. As if there’d be anything there to see. Hunter had poker-face down to not just a science, but an art. “We cool?” she asked, still ready to fight if need be.
Hunter took off his semi and eased it onto the ground. “We’re cool.”
Shanda put the safety on her .45 and laid her weapon down beside Hunter’s. “All right, then,” she said.
Hunter stood waiting.
“Oh, fuck this,” Shanda snapped with impatience and grabbed a double fistful of Hunter’s own dark sweatshirt, dragging him to her. She felt the hard bulge of his cock against the joining of her thighs.
They attacked each other in a kiss. Teeth clashed, someone’s lip split, and Shanda’s arms went up in a death-lock around Hunter’s neck. Someone groaned, and Shanda thought it might be her.
Dancing with death in the pale moonlight. Shanda knew the risks of putting herself at the mercy of a mercenary. Damn if it wasn’t a thrill to have big tough Hunter so hard for her body that she’d take her chances just to be with him.
Hunter put up with Shanda taking the lead for precisely ten seconds. Then, with an ease of motion which let her know just how much more powerful he was, he switched to the role of aggressor. He pushed her up against the doorway and took charge of their kiss. His tongue thrust savagely into her mouth, and although Shanda gave as good as she got, she knew he was the one calling the shots.
“Been waiting for you,” Hunter tore his mouth away to complain. “Slow, Shanda. I call and you answer. That’s how this works.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Shanda thrust her breasts against Hunter’s hard chest. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Hunter growled. He shrugged Shanda’s arms from around his neck, giving her another push to get her off balance, then grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. “You first.”
“Make me,” Shanda breathed, tingling with excitement. Her pussy began to grow damp, her nerves lighting up. The hardness of Hunter’s cock felt oh so good pressed against her cunt. She’d get what she wanted.
“Think you can stand up against me?” Hunter demanded, voice low but commanding.
Shanda licked her lips. “Try and see how far you get.”
That’d get him moving. Hunter didn’t try, he did. Seizing Shanda’s mouth in another kiss, he growled against her lips. He switched positions, holding her in place with one hand and shoving the other one down the front of her sweatpants. She hadn’t worn anything underneath. No barriers between his hot, questing hands and her pussy.
Hunter chuckled. Must have liked what he found.
Like usual, he didn’t play around. No teasing, no toying with Shanda’s trimmed curls or her slit. Hunter plunged to the entrance of her pussy and thrust two fingers inside. His movement was rough but his penetration glided easy on the juices gushing out of her.
“Horny little bitch.” It was a compliment. Hunter shoved his fingers in and out, fucking her with his hand just to watch her go slack-jawed with lust. “You want this. Yeah, you do, don’t you?”
Shanda sneered at him, but she didn’t fight too hard. Damn right she wanted what he’d give her. The man just felt way too good. And jazzed up as she was from her dream, Shanda ached to have something buried up inside her cunt.
Fingers? They were good, but not enough.
Shanda bucked into Hunter’s hand, humping against the fingers inside her pussy. “That all you got?” she goaded. “Think I’m too much woman for you to try some more?”
Hunter’s eyes betrayed nothing, but his breath sped up a notch. “You want me so bad? You come and take me.” He let go of her wrists. “See if you have what it takes.”
Oh, she’d show him all right. Shanda reached for Hunter’s waistband lickety-split and dragged his black sweatpants down around his thighs. Hot damn. He hadn’t worn any underwear either. And mmm, but didn’t his fat cock look exactly like what she needed? Big and round, filling her palm, rock-hard, and twitching with eagerness.
“Are you woman enough?” Hunter challenged. He dragged her own loose pants down so that they fell around her knees. “Want what we’re looking at stuffed in your cunt?”
Shanda shivered with anticipation. She didn’t say anything, but grabbed his dick and began rubbing hard. She was up to the challenge, all right -- eager for it -- and this was her way of letting him know.
Besides, he felt so very fine under her touch.
Leaning back against the doorway, Shanda spread her legs as far as they would go. The smell of cream rose up to fill her nose. Yeah, yeah, she was hot for him. And she wouldn’t have to wait, not with Hunter. The only pause he took was one second to grab a condom out of his hip pocket, rip it open with his teeth, and roll the latex on.
His fingers pulling out was her only warning. Grabbing her wrists again, Hunter plunged his cock deep in Shanda’s pussy with one swift, hard stroke. Filling her to the brim, stretching the sides of her channel, burning so good.
With her hands pinned and his cock buried in her, Shanda knew she was at Hunter’s mercy.
Damn. This was the good stuff.
Hunter smashed his mouth on Shanda’s, kissing her roughly as he thrust in and out of her cunt, not gentle at all, just what both of them craved. Shanda moaned and writhed, squeezing him with her internal muscles. He kept on fucking.
Shanda squeezed her eyes shut. Close. Oh, she was so close. And while Hunter wouldn’t play with her clit the way she usually needed to bring herself off, he knew how to make her come. Hit that sweet spot deep inside and nailed it every time.
And then he played dirty. Leaning close against her ear, his hot breath tickled her skin as he whispered: “One day we’re going to kill each other, Shanda. Let’s see you take me down.”
The threat drove Shanda’s danger-loving heart over the edge. Her pussy spasmed and clenched around Hunter’s massive cock as an orgasm like she’d not had in ages took control of her body and wrenched it about. She could hear Hunter
cursing like a sailor as his balls let loose with their load of spunk, filling his condom, hot inside her despite the barrier.
They stood panting for a moment, still attached. “Fuck.” Hunter didn’t try to be tender, didn’t lean his forehead against Shanda’s or give her any sweet kisses, but he was grinning and that suited her down to the ground. He withdrew. “Good ride.”
Shanda undulated in the afterglow of her orgasm. “Same here.” She watched in satisfaction as he stripped off his full condom, tied it in a knot, and tossed the thing into a metal trash can someone had left there. Both of them pulled their pants back up and stood watching one another, just waiting for someone to make the first move.
Shanda didn’t mind being the one to give in. She’d gotten herself satisfied, at least for the moment. Hunter had taken what he wanted. Time to get down to business. “You said you had something for me?”
“I believe I do. Follow me.” He led the way further into the office, where Shanda saw an old desk had been left as well. Leaning against it, he crossed his legs at the ankle and nodded toward what looked to have been a supply closet. “Open that up and tell me what you think.”
Shanda narrowed her eyes. “This better not be any kind of booby-trap,” she warned. “If you’re playing me… if I fall, you’re going down with me.”
Hunter raised one shoulder. “Your call. You could just walk away. But won’t it kill you not to know?”
Damn him, it would. Shanda went back for her gun and got it ready for action, held in front of her. She kicked at the wood just in case, listened for the ticking of a bomb, sniffed for poison, then took a deep breath and yanked the door open.
“Holy shit!” Shanda jumped back.
Hunter laughed, utterly without humor. “I figured on your saying just about that.”
A bronze-skinned man knelt bare-ass naked on the bottom of the closet. His ankles were bound together and his wrists were tied tight behind his back. A sturdy gag had been stuffed in his mouth, but it didn’t look like he’d been kicking up a fuss. He came across as calm as if he were out for a walk through the woods, not a hair out of place, his gaze tranquil.