Finishing The Job

by Harley Fox

  Will Silver has to be stopped. But he’s not the only one. It’s this whole city. This whole fucking system. It’s cracked, broken.

  But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. Merryn has faith in it all. And so does Flynn.

  I thought he was out. I figured, when he left my apartment after our fight, that he was leaving for good. But that’s not the case. Instead he’s taking things into his own hands. He’s making a difference at the peril of his own life.

  I stop in my tracks and blink up at my own apartment. I didn’t even realize I’d reached it. I pull my keys out of my pocket, walk up to the front door … and stop.

  I stand still, my mind working, feeling … doing things it hasn’t done for the last two days.

  And then I step back, turn to face my bike, and walk towards that instead. I climb on, turn the key in the ignition, and rev the engine to life. Bringing up the kickstand I ride forward, taking to the streets, feeling the wind in my face and through my hair.

  I ride south, out of my neighborhood, and then turn west. Through the darkened streets, going faster, avoiding known speed traps and typical cop hangouts. I twist through the roads, left, right, straight, until I finally arrive at my destination, a place that’s becoming more and more familiar these past few days: Santa Espera General Hospital.

  I turn into the parking lot and find a spot for my bike. There I park it and turn it off. The sound of the engine dies and is replaced with silence. I look around. Nobody’s nearby. When I walk towards the entrance of the building my boots scuff against the asphalt. I realize I’m wearing my leather jacket and I pull it off, finding a garbage bin near a wall and stuffing it between the two to hide it. Then I make sure my shirt is covering the gun in my holster and walk the rest of the way, moving steadily, being careful to act natural and not attract any attention.

  I see police cars parked out front. They’re empty, though. My eyes scan the interior before I step in. The smell of cleaning products and worry fills my nose. It’s noisier in here than it is outside. People pacing, muttering to one another. Doctors and nurses making quick strides down long hallways, carrying clipboards, speaking to each other in clipped tones. I spot two cops talking and turn my head, hiding my face as I pass them by.

  I pass by the reception desk without asking about Flynn. Instead I move calmly but quickly to the hallways with patient rooms, casually checking in each one. Some of the beds are empty. Some of them are filled with sleeping patients, patients surrounded by families. Every now and again a doctor or nurse passes me by, but none of them seem to even notice me. I keep checking the rooms.

  Finally I turn a corner and almost trip trying to back myself around the corner again. Two cops were hanging around outside of one door. There. That must be him. I peer around the corner again, just peeking this time, and see them standing like sentinels, guard dogs making sure their latest victim of police brutality won’t try to run away.

  How am I going to get rid of them? The window from the outside? Or maybe create a diversion?

  But my thoughts are cut short as the door opens and a doctor steps out carrying a clipboard. Doctor Hartridge. I recognize her from when we brought Captain Hartridge in. She looks annoyed, and she stops to look at the two officers, each standing with thumbs tucked into their belts.

  “Do you two have to be here?” she asks, and my heart skips a beat. They look at her.

  “We’re here to guard the prisoner,” one of them says. “Make sure he doesn’t try to run away.”

  Doctor Hartridge lets out a clipped laugh. “With the state you put him in? Good luck trying to get him to run anywhere. Trust me, he’s not going to become anyone’s problem for a long time. Now will you two please clear out of the hallway, you’re impeding my work.”

  The officers look at each other. “We have orders to stand watch.”

  “And I’m giving you orders to get the fuck out of my way,” Doctor Hartridge counters. The officers shift their weight at that. “This is my hospital and I have jurisdiction here. Now either get out of the way or I’ll get someone to get you out.”

  They shift their weight again, thumbs still hooked into their belts.

  “Fine,” one of them says. “I could use a cup of coffee anyway. Come on.”

  The officers leave the doorway, heading in my direction. My eyes widen and I pull back from the corner, taking my phone out of my pocket and turning so my back is to them, my head down as I pretend to text someone. I hear their voices and recognize them—even though I can’t place their names—as they pass me by.

  “… doesn’t matter anyway. Silver’s on his way over here.”

  “You think this was the only guy doing those buildings?”

  “I don’t know. But once the boss is done with this asshole he’ll know one way or the other.”

  Their voices recede as I watch their backs, then I turn and look back down the hallway. It’s clear now. Putting my phone away and moving quickly and quietly, I reach Flynn’s room and open the door, walking in.

  Beep … beep … beep …

  That ominous sound reaches my ears and heart. The lights are dim. Flynn is lying on a hospital bed, wearing a patient’s gown. His eyes are closed and he’s hooked up to various machines, a tube running across his face feeding him oxygen, IV drips piercing veins in his arms.

  “Oh my god, Flynn.”

  I approach the side of his bed. His large frame looks so vulnerable lying there. I put a hand on his arm but he doesn’t respond. The beeping is all I can hear. His face is swollen and bruised, and I can see bruising along his collarbone and on his arms and legs.

  “He looked a lot worse.”

  I react instantly. Gun out of my holster, I wheel around and cock it, pointing it at the face of the person behind me. Doctor Hartridge starts and takes a step back, lifting her hands up in a position of surrender.

  “Whoa!”

  “Oh.” I lower the gun. “Sorry. You startled me.”

  She slowly lowers her hands, but her eyes narrow as they take in my face, my clothes.

  “I remember you,” she says. I click the safety back on on my gun and holster it again. “You came in with Allison.”

  I nod. “Yes. I’m sorry for what happened to her. I had no idea …”

  But she’s shaking her head, a curt movement. “It’s okay. People die all the time. And Allison … well, she had a tendency to get herself into dangerous situations. It’s over now, even though … it is difficult to forget …”

  She takes in a steadying breath and lets it out, moving her gaze from me to Flynn on the bed. She steps up closer to him. I turn to look at Flynn too.

  “They really did a number on him,” she tells me, looking down at him. “I didn’t think he was going to make it, but he’s held on. This long, at least.”

  I nod. “He’s a fighter,” I say, and Doctor Hartridge nods.

  “He was muttering a name as I worked on him. Trista.”

  I freeze, blink. I can feel Doctor Hartridge looking at me.

  “That’s you, I take it?”

  I nod. Looking down at Flynn, at this man that I love … it’s hard to imagine fighting with him. All I can feel is compassion, and love.

  “You know,” Doctor Hartridge says, “I don’t think they’re going to go easy on Flynn once he wakes up. Those police outside …”

  I nod. “I know. I just … I can’t carry him out of here. I can’t lift him.”

  “Well, you know,” she reaches into the breast pocket of her coat, “it’s times like these when I like to use a bit of a pick-me-up.”

  She pulls out a small glass vial and a hypodermic needle. I watch as she unsheathes the needle, fills it with the clear liquid, and sticks it into Flynn’s IV drip, injecting his veins with the stuff.

  “What is that?”

  “Oh, just a very concentrated stimulant,” she says. The needle’s empty now and she pulls it back out. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  And indeed, in the time it takes for Do
ctor Hartridge to walk to a hazardous waste bin, dispose of the needle, and walk back again, Flynn’s eyes start fluttering open.

  “Flynn?” I lean over the bed, looking him in the eye. “Flynn, are you awake?”

  He blinks, slowly. His eyes are glassy, but I watch his pupils move from large to small and then focus on me. A small smile pulls the corners of his mouth up.

  “Trista,” he croaks.

  “We shouldn’t dally,” Doctor Hartridge says. “Those officers at the door will be back soon.”

  Doctor Hartridge crosses the room and opens a thin cupboard, pulling out a folded-up wheelchair. She opens it up as I help Flynn pull himself to sitting. He’s waking up more and more, and by the time his legs have swung over the edge of the bed and he slides down into the chair, his expression has changed from one of fuzziness to one of barely concealed pain.

  “His clothes,” Doctor Hartridge points at the pile on the chair. “I’ll get a blanket.”

  I grab Flynn’s clothes and put them in his lap. Doctor Hartridge drapes a blanket over him, covering him up to his shoulders. He’s biting his lip. I lean down and look at him.

  “You all right?” I ask.

  He nods, hardly a movement.

  “Yeah,” he chokes out. Doctor Hartridge fishes a bottle of PharmaChem-brand heavy strength aspirin out of her pocket.

  “Here,” she slips it under Flynn’s blanket so it’s lying on top of his clothes, hidden. “I can take him out. Did you drive here?”

  “Motorcycle,” I answer. She winces.

  “Not the best. But it’ll do. I’ll take him around to the south wing, away from the police. Bring your bike and meet me there at the entrance.”

  “Okay,” I say. She grabs the handles of the wheelchair and starts to push Flynn. “Doctor?” She stops, looks at me. I don’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

  Her look is sober as she nods. “Just be sure you get him.” At first I think she’s talking about Flynn, and then I remember that she was there when Will strangled the life out of her sister. I nod to her.

  “We will,” I say.

  And then she pushes Flynn towards the door. She leans down to whisper something to him. A second later he lowers his head, pretending to be asleep. She leaves the room and I follow, going the other way, heading back the way I came. I walk quickly, more quickly than I did coming in here. I spot some cops and hide my face, trying to make it look like I’m crying. They don’t bother me. Soon I’m at the door outside and I walk out into the night, my boots scraping against the asphalt, making my way through the parking lot.

  I grab my leather jacket out from its hiding place and pull it on, then climb onto my bike and start it up. My hands are shaking and my heart beats fast as I ride through the parking lot, skirting around the large hospital, making my way to its south face. At the lit doorway I see Doctor Hartridge standing there beside Flynn in the wheelchair. I ride up to them, stopping right in front.

  “This isn’t going to work.” Doctor Hartridge is shaking her head, but Flynn is already climbing up out of the wheelchair.

  “I’ll be good,” he croaks, his teeth gritted against the pain.

  “Here,” I put down the kickstand and get off the bike, bundling up Flynn’s clothes in the blanket. I can hear the rattle of aspirin in their plastic bottle. I take the bundle from him and climb back onto the bike, putting his things in my lap. Flynn slowly swings his leg over the bike, straddling it behind me. His big arms wrap around my middle, sending butterflies into my stomach.

  “You’re okay?” Doctor Hartridge asks. Flynn nods.

  “Thank you, doctor,” I say, and she nods again.

  “You two be safe.” She turns the wheelchair and rolls it back into the hospital.

  “Ready?” I ask, putting up the kickstand and revving the engine. Flynn’s grip on my middle tightens.

  “Yeah,” he says, his gravelly voice close to my ear. I feel myself smile and we ride away, going through the hospital parking lot, leaving for the street on the other side, far away from the cops.

  Flynn keeps a tight hold on me throughout the ride. I can feel him pressed up against my back. It must look strange, me riding with a man only wearing a hospital gown. I move quickly, but take care to slow down when turning corners. I take us through dark streets, not in the direction of my apartment, but of his.

  We finally pull up outside of it and I park the bike, turning it off. Flynn holds onto me for a second longer and then lets go.

  “Come on,” I say, grabbing his bundle of clothes and getting off the bike. I grab his arm and help him up. He holds himself well enough, but I can see the pain he’s in clear on his face. He doesn’t make a sound as we walk to the door of his apartment, taking a moment to go through his clothes and fish his keys out of his pocket so we can get in.

  We climb the stairs and get to his floor. It takes a while. When we move down the hallway we’re the only ones present. Flynn seems to be getting his range of motion back. We reach his apartment and I unlock it, letting the both of us in. I shut the door behind me.

  “Come on,” I say again, taking his hand in mine. I lead him through the apartment to his bedroom, over to his bed where he sits down.

  “Do you want some water?” I ask. He nods, so I leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen to get him one. I pour one for myself too. Bringing both glasses back, I find Flynn with the aspirin bottle open, two caplets in his hand. He accepts the water I offer and tosses the medicine into his mouth, gulping water down until it’s all gone. I offer him my glass too and he gives me a smile before accepting it, drinking half of that one too.

  When he’s done I take his glass and put it on the bedside table. Then I sit down next to him.

  “Trista,” he says. His voice is closer to his own now. He’s looking down, at his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for—”

  But I put a finger on his lips. “Shh.”

  He lifts his head and looks at me, and I lean forward, dropping the finger and replacing it with a kiss. I press my lips to his, feeling the places where they’re swollen. But Flynn kisses me back, his mouth opening, his tongue coming out to greet mine.

  Our bodies slowly recline down, Flynn lying back as I hover over top of him. His hands slip under my jacket, finding my body. I forgot how good it feels to be touched. How good it feels to be with him. Using one hand to prop myself up, I touch his body with the other hand, feeling his huge frame beneath the hospital gown. He grunts and sucks in breath through his nose and I pull away from our kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Did I hurt you?”

  But he smiles. “It’s okay. I’m not too sore for this.”

  I smile back, my own muscles causing the expression, and lean back down to kiss him. I touch his body again, sliding my hand down. The hospital gown rises up when I reach his waist and a shiver runs through me when I feel his hard cock through the thin material. Flynn moans, a pleasurable sound this time, and I grab onto him, feeling him hot and hard within my hand.

  I start to stroke him as he reaches down, begins undoing the top of my jeans. His fingers work their way between my skin and underwear and I let go of him long enough to shimmy out of them, leaving me bottomless. The leather jacket falls off my shoulders and lands on the floor as well.

  When I get back on the bed I turn to the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. Opening it, I pull up on the bottom of Flynn’s hospital gown and reveal his incredible cock. It looks better than I remember. My pussy glows with anticipation as I roll the latex sheath down over it, making Flynn writhe on the bed, and then climb on top of him.

  I slide down easily, taking him in, the two of us moaning in tandem as our bodies connect. He grabs my sides, holding me, helping to guide me up and down on top of him. I lean down and kiss him again. It’s not long before Flynn is bucking his hips up to meet me, his grip tightening on my skin.

  “Oh fuck,” I moan.

  “Oh god, Trista …”

  We keep
fucking. I’m taken to a place beyond this one, somewhere where only Flynn and I exist. Where we will live forever.

  “Oh Flynn … Flynn, I love you.”

  “I love you too!”

  I lean down and kiss him again, my body moving harder, faster against his. He fills me entirely, bringing me higher and higher. And when I finally reach that peak and explode off of it, Flynn explodes with me, his lips and body tensing, pulling me closer as we climax, the two of us, together.

  Merryn

  The wind feels good, blowing through my hair.

  I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a car. Jake’s car. He got a car recently. My belly is huge and I rub it, feeling the warmth of my baby inside of me.

  Jake’s got the windows rolled down. We’re flying through the streets of Santa Espera. I can’t quite tell what time it is, but the sun is out. Maybe noon? I can’t remember when we got this car.

  “When did we get this car?” I shout over the rush of wind.

  But Jake must not hear me. He turns his head and gives me a smile, reaches over, takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze. Then he puts both hands back on the wheel and keeps driving.

  We’re driving south, towards the edge of town. Buildings whip past us, other cars seem like they’re standing still. The faces of pedestrians seem to blur into unrecognizable masses. We keep driving, getting closer and closer to the edge.

  Jake puts on some music. It blares in my ears, some tune I haven’t heard before. Rock music. He nods his head along with it. Minutes pass. I look out the windshield and see the edge of town, yet even though we’re driving so fast, it doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.

  “Jake?” I yell. “Where are we going?”

  “Out,” he says. A single word.

  I look out the windshield again and see buildings whiz by, people standing on the sidewalks, watching us pass. But we’re not getting any closer to the highways at the edge of the city.