Kick

by Carmen Jenner

  He leans up on his elbows and pushes himself up from the floor. At first I think he’s just standing to take his jeans off, but the dark glint in his gaze forces my heart into my throat. Tears prick my eyes as I come to see his actions for what they are: a rejection.

  I can’t breathe.

  “I don’t know how to be gentle with you,” he whispers, but it sounds more like a hiss than an admission, and then he’s gone.

  And I’m left alone again.

  It isn’t long before sobs wrack my body, and I’m pulling my robe closed and curling into myself in the empty gym.

  Five hours on the road, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I blink and then swerve when Princess screams at me to get back on the road. I gently ease in to my lane, thankful that there was no one else driving at this hour, and then shake my head to clear it.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

  “You’ve been out for hours.”

  “Oh my god, where are we?”

  “Just outside Port Macquarie. I woulda just pulled over and slept by the side of the road, but we can’t run the risk of the cops stopping to ask questions. Owners would have reported the car missing at the scene. We’ll have to ditch it soon, find another ride.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sugartown, about three hours north of here.” She nods, but I doubt she’s taken any of this in. “We’re gonna have to stop for the night. Sleep, tend to our wounds—god knows we have enough of them. I doubt we’ll find a chemist open this late, but there’s bound to be a servo somewhere.”

  We pull into a service station about ten minutes later and I wait outside while she uses the toilet. When she emerges, she’s wiped the dried blood from her face and tamed her hair into a ponytail. She winces when she sees me, and I realise I must look like shit so I push her back into the stall and closed the door behind us.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “I gotta clean up before I walk in there covered in blood and I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone at a rest stop in the middle of the night.” She nods, and I can’t help but smile. “I should endanger your life more often. You’re much more agreeable.”

  She gives me a sad smile and I figure it’s probably way too soon for jokes. I turn to the mirror and look at my face. Jesus Christ, I look like I just came shuffling out of a Romero film. I run the water and splash my face, wincing when it stings the cut on my forehead. I tear off a couple sheets of paper towel and pat my face dry, but Lauren takes it from me and begins cleaning up the spots I missed on my ear, my neck and even a little on my cheek.

  “You have to scrub it a little. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

  “Take a lot more than that to hurt me, Princess,” I say automatically, but even as the words leave my mouth I know that’s not true. This woman could break me with her fuckin’ pinky finger and she doesn’t even know it. I gave her that power over me, and now I can’t take that shit back. And worse still? I don’t want to.

  She cleans me up as best she can, and disposes of the paper towel. Before she turns, I grab her arms and pull her into me. It’s weird how much we feel considering we know so fuckin’ little about one another. I take her chin in my hands and tilt her face up to mine.

  “We’ll be okay, Princess. I’m gonna take care of us.”

  Though now I’m kinda thinking I have no idea how to do that. I got some money saved in the bank, but it’s nothing compared to the cash in the safe back in my room. I wanna smack my head against the mirror for not fuckin’ thinking straight. I kiss her quickly on the mouth, and then head for the door.

  Once inside the servo, we grab as many packages of Band-Aids and Neurofen as we can find, and two of the overpriced first-aid kits. I throw them on the counter with a box of donuts and a couple of packets of chips, a bar of chocolate, some water bottles and a tin of breath mints. The dude behind the counter just stares at our loot and then begins ringin’ everything up as if someone suddenly lit a fire beneath his arse.

  I pay for the shit using my card because I’ve got no damn cash on me, not really something I’m used to, and we hobble out to the car. Twenty minutes later we’re walking through the door of some seedy-arse motel to bunk down for the morning. It’s almost daylight now, so we’ll have to wait for nightfall before we can steal another car.

  Lauren and I take turns bandaging each other up. The cut on my forehead won’t stop bleeding, and I could probably do with a stitch or two, but I tape a band aid over it instead and hope it closes up soon—or at least crusts to a point where blood doesn’t drip down my face.

  When we’re done, we undress and fall into bed. She curls into my side while I drift off.

  The metallic click of a bullet sliding through a chamber wakes me. My eyes spring open, but the bite of cold metal against my temple forces me to hold completely still.

  Until I see her, bound and gagged on the worn motel carpet.

  Her body quakes as Tag kneels behind her. Her face is contorted with fear. Pain. Tears stream down her red cheeks. Her mouth gapes open in horror around the gag. Her eyes stare accusingly at me as his dick slams in and out of her.

  I explode.

  I don’t think. Just act.

  I launch myself up off the bed, but I’m shoved back down with a boot to my gut. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I dodge the next kick and come back swinging, slamming my fist into the side of Prez’s face. He laughs, as he grips my shirt and head-butts me.

  The thin bones in my nose snap, I taste copper on my tongue. Pain lances through my skull. My head spins. Blood drips from the wound in my forehead, blurring my vision. Prez smashes my head into the grimy concrete walls. “You know what disappoints me, son? Is that you never seem to fuckin’ learn. I gave you a home, a roof over your head, a seat at my goddamned table, and my patch, and you throw it back in my face. You shit all over it for a filthy fuckin’ whore!” he bellows, slamming my head into the wall, punctuating each word with a sharp blow to the skull.

  “You know what hurts even worse though? Is that my boys all seemed to have gotten soft. Ethan, Tiny, you, and even your dearest old dad.”

  I don’t know how I didn’t register the others in the room. My dad is in the corner, bound and gagged and surprisingly, the look on his face isn’t one of disappointment—it’s sympathetic. Not once in my twenty-seven years have I ever seen that look from my dad.

  “See, I’m beginning to notice a pattern here,” Prez continues. “First the kid deserts, and then the father follows. Only problem with that scenario, is that all of you bastards owed me something, and it’s time I fuckin’ collected. Tiny stole something very valuable from me. Fuckin’ cockhead over there—” he turns and points to Rue, who’s standing guard at the door. “He killed the bastard before I had a chance to reclaim it. But there’s a way to get it back, and that lies with you.”

  “Let her go,” I plead. “I’ll give you whatever you want; I’ll tell you whatever I know. Just let her go. Please.” Tears stream down my face. Saltwater stings the cut on my cheek. I close my eyes, not wanting to see him thrusting inside her, not wanting to witness her being hurt all over again.

  Prez slaps my face. “Open your fuckin’ eyes.” He points to Lauren, whose face is twisted with anguish and pain. “This is what your betrayal costs.”

  My heart splits in two.

  That fucker explodes inside her, thrusting his cock in and out of her body one last time, and pulls out, shaking the last drops of cum and blood from the end of his dick. Then he tucks himself inside his pants and stands. Lauren sags against the floor, weeping behind her gag. I struggle against Prez’s grasp. He slams the flat of the gun against my temple, knocking my head to the side.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Prez says, and Tag automatically lifts his gun and aims it directly at Lauren’s head. He doesn’t even bother to turn it on me because that fucker knows. He knows I have no concern for my own self-preservation, I only care about hers.


  “We’re gonna play a little game. It’s called Which Loved One Do You Want To See Die First? Now, seeing as you only have one parent left, Daddy dearest had to make an appearance. Can you believe he actually fuckin’ said no to me? Told me about you beating the shit outta him in the middle of the road, and he still refused to be the one to come and get you. To be honest, I probably woulda killed him already, but then we wouldn’t get to play this little game. So what’s it gonna be, Kick? Your daddy, or your girlfriend?”

  I take a deep breath. There’s no question here in my mind who I’d save. My father was nothing but a sperm donor, a worthless piece of shit so full of hatred and cunning and bitterness. And I’m exactly like him, because despite all that blood-is-thicker-than-water bullshit, I choose the option that I can live with.

  “Juke. Kill Juke,” I say. My dad steps back and into Rue’s arms. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s not surprised by my decision. His eyes meet mine across the room and for perhaps the first time ever I see acceptance in them. I stare at his face until I hear the shot ring out … only he doesn’t fall.

  Lauren does.

  “Oops,” Tag says, smiling at me.

  No. No. No. No. No!

  My heart stops.

  I can’t breathe.

  I lurch forward. Prez lets me go and I clamber across the bed and fall down onto the floor. Her eyes are wide open, but she’s not breathing, she’s not gasping for breath or fighting to hold on because there’s a huge hole blown out of the side of her head. Fragments of bone litter the carpet, and her blood and brain tissue paint the ceiling.

  My chest squeezes, and a howl rips from my gut as I gather her lifeless body in my arms. I cradle her head in my lap, my fingers slip into the gaping mess of her skull, and a little more bone chips away.

  I wanna die. I wanna die more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. Right now, all I want is to check out, but I know when I move, it’ll end the last time I ever touch her. Tears stream down my cheeks, and cries of anguish rip from my body until I’m choking on the sound of my own heart breaking. I’m sinking in blood and sweat and betrayal, and yet it’s as though I’ve learned how to breathe underwater, because for all the pain I feel, I still haven’t drowned yet.

  I don’t know how long I stay like that, cradling her in my arms. But eventually Prez comes over and claps a hand on my back. “It’s for the best, son. Can you imagine the two of you working after all you’ve done to her, after all she’s been through?”

  I explode, pushing Lauren from my lap and slamming Prez’s body against the carpet. I wrap my hands around his throat and attempt to choke the life out of him. I’m knocked back with a kick to the side of the head. I don’t even feel it; not really, not the way I felt the bullet that took her life as if it were my own body that’d been hit. Tag lunges and pins me beneath him. I struggle, and then I realise there’s nothing left to fight for.

  “Help him up, Tag,” Prez says, rubbing his hands over his throat. “Nice try, but we’re not going to kill you, Daniel. You’re way too valuable. You’re going to lead us to Ethan, because I know you know where he is, and we’re gonna keep Daddy dearest here until you come through.”

  “Then you’re gonna be waiting a fuckin’ long time,” I seethe. “Shoot the fucker; shoot me. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “I think you will,” Prez says, leaning over and tapping my cheek with the side of his hand. “I can be pretty persuasive. Rue, get Juke out to the van.” Rue nods and starts walking forward.

  “Tag, clean up your fuckin’ mess. And bring the body. We’ve got a delivery for Slayer.”

  “Don’t fuckin’ touch her!” I bellow, as I climb to my feet and charge Tag, but I’m knocked back down again by another blow to my head, and then the nothingness I’d longed for so badly finally swallows me up.

  I slam the door and stalk away from the gym. I only make it to the kitchen before I lose my shit entirely.

  “FUCK!” I roar, and swipe the empty pizza boxes off the counter. I’m full to fuckin’ bursting with violence. I need to punch, and hit, and feel bone crunch under my fists. I need to choke the life out of something. I need to fuck, to smash into a woman’s body over and over again. I need … I need her.

  I didn’t wanna fuckin’ need her. I don’t wanna need her. I never wanted to feel this shit, this helplessness again. I already gave one bitch the power to break my heart and she tore it all to fuckin’ bits when she died, and now Indie’s in there, trying to tape that shit together, trying to see something more inside me than I deserve. And I can’t fuckin’ do it. I won’t.

  I stomp toward the front door and gather up my keys from the bowl in the foyer. I need to get the fuck outta here. I need a real motherfuckin’ drink and I need a bitch that hasn’t been all jacked up by some psychotic priest to ride my cock.

  Jesus Christ. I wasn’t fuckin’ lying when I said I was attracted to the fucked-up ones. I’d thought Ivy was bad, but there ain’t no hope for that bitch in the house.

  Country’s sitting on the front step when I walk outside, shotgun in his lap and whistling some fuckin’ old-timey tune, no doubt. I ignore him as I walk over to my bike.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out,” I say, sliding my helmet from the handlebars and putting it on.

  “There’s blood on the moon, boy.”

  “Gonna be blood fuckin’ everywhere if I don’t get up inside a motherfuckin’ pussy soon.” I shake my head at the fuckin’ crazy old coot and mount my bike, flipping the ignition switch and twisting the throttle until she roars to life. The V-Twin Revolution engine purrs and my balls pull up against my already hard cock. I walk her back a few paces, away from the other bikes, and then I give her some kick and ride off. I can’t open her up the way I want to on the unsealed road, so I head out to the highway and just ride.

  After a while I grow tired of thinking, and I head back towards the quiet little town of Leura. I pull up outside the pub and park my baby, stroking her dark orange racing stripes. I miss the ride; lately I’ve been nothin’ but a glorified babysitter. I hang my helmet over the handlebars and walk inside, ignoring the faces who stare me down when I take a seat at the bar and order a JD with no ice. The bartender is a weary lookin’ dude, rail thin, save for the beer gut, with greying hair almost as bushy as his eyebrows. He grunts and takes my money, and then disappears once he’s handed me my drink.

  I glance around the bar. There’s a hen’s party at a booth in the corner. The bride-to-be is decked out in a pink feather boa and a crown with pink plastic penises attached to it. They’re all drunk as fuckin’ skunks. Sadly, Princess Penis is the only one hot enough to put a ring on, but then I’m not looking to be tied down. I’m just lookin’ for a quick, hard fuck.

  I pick up my drink and sit in the booth in front of them, and then I wait.

  It takes about five minutes of girlish squeals and murmuring before a plucky blonde comes and falls into the seat across from me. I’m pretty sure she meant to sit down, but I’m guessing she doesn’t realise how drunk she is.

  “You’re hot,” she slurs, with a flirty smile.

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

  “You’re drunk.” I smirk, and bringing the glass to my lips I check out her cleavage over the rim. I chuckle when she feigns innocence. We both know why she sat down at my table, and it wasn’t to tell me that she thought I was hot.

  I don’t understand regular people. In fact, this bitch is why I hate people that aren’t attached to the life. At the clubhouse, if you want your cock sucked, there are always willing mouths available. There are twenty fuckin’ club whores to the ten of us. There’s no pretention, no lead up, just pure, fuckin’ unadulterated pleasure.

  I down the rest of my drink and stand up, offering my hand to the ditzy blonde who I’m hoping has a mouth like a fuckin’ Hoover and a snatch tighter than a vice. “Come on, darlin’.”

  “Are we going for a ride?”

  “You’re gonna
be riding somethin’, but it ain’t gonna be my bike.”

  Her painted red mouth turns up in the corners, and she puts her tiny hand in mine. I think of Indie when she does that, of me doing this same very thing, and daring her to take it. Daring her to trust me.

  Pissed off that she’s invading my fucking thoughts again, I yank on the blonde’s arm and lead her past the whoops and exclamations of ‘go get him tiger’ from her friends, out into the crisp mountain air. I try leading her around the corner, but the second she sees my bike she heads for it. “Can I sit on it?”

  “No,” I say, too sharply. She frowns and glares at me. “You don’t just sit on the back of a biker’s ride. You have to be invited.”

  “Don’t you wanna invite me?” she says, stumbling a little on her ridiculous heels.

  “Bitch, the only thing I want you ridin’ is my cock.”

  “You bikers are so aggressive. I love that.” She glides over to me, dancing to music only she can hear. I snatch up her hand and drag her around to the side of the building. It’s an alleyway, it’s dank and cold as fuck, but it’ll do. She moves closer to me, her eyes on my mouth, but I have no desire to taste her lips so I grab her chin with my hand and turn her head to the side, kissing her neck. She tastes like perfume, and after a couple of seconds I’m gagging from it. Her hands are busy with my jeans. She unzips my fly and takes my cock in her hand, pausing when she feels the piercing.

  “Are you—?”

  “Why don’t you take a closer look?” I push on her shoulders so she’ll get the fucking hint. I almost praise fuckin’ Jesus when she goes down on her knees before me. The bimbo takes me in her mouth and I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the brick wall. My fingers rake her hair into something I can hold onto. I pump my hips forward, shoving my cock to the back of her throat until she gags.

  The blonde leans back, taking only the head of my dick in her mouth now. Probably smart, ’cause I’m kind of an arsehole, and I’d likely only try choking her with it again. She quickens her pace, and though I know how good it’s supposed to be, I feel nothing. Nothing like the need I felt when I had Indie in my arms. I’m numb. I’m furious, and I’m fuckin’ lagging.