by Nikki Pink
“It sure has. A hell of a wild ride.”
The wooden walls let out sharp cracks as they heated up. It was getting uncomfortably hot inside.
“You’re pretty cool, for a crazy chick.”
I laughed. He didn’t know how crazy I was, not really. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, for a bad boy.”
I sensed him grinning. “You love bad boys.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Sounds like it’s getting hot and heavy in there!” Dewey’s voice filtered in through the crackling wood, followed shortly by more crazed laughter.
“Asshole,” I said.
“Asshole,” he agreed.
“Oh shit!” Dewey sounded surprised outside.
“What’s that?” I asked Bottle.
“Fucked if I know. Sounds promising though.”
“Unless he’s just fucking with us again.”
“I don’t think so. Listen.”
I listened. The burning of the shed made it hard to tell what exactly we were hearing, but it sounded like someone running. Fast.
A moment later came more footsteps.
“Who’s in there?” came a yelled voice from outside.
“Twist?” asked Bottle and I in unison.
“Yeah! Hold on! I’ll get you out of there. Get away from the door!”
I helped Bottle scoot away from the door. This was not ideal as it was considerably hotter away from the door.
“It’s getting pretty toasty in here, hurry up!” shouted Bottle.
Suddenly shots began to ring out. I jumped startled, and lay as close as I could to the floor. What the hell was going on?
The shots stopped, and then Twist’s voice called out again, “Uh oh.”
“What?” asked Bottle.
“It didn’t work.”
“What didn’t work?” I asked.
“The lock. It didn’t break. I missed.”
I felt my skin getting uncomfortably hot and we scooted back toward the door.
“You missed six times?” asked Bottle.
“Uh. Hold on. I’ll break it down.”
A moment later there was a weak thump against the door as Twist threw his body at it. He wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage.
“He’s not going to be able to do it, is he?” I asked.
“Don’t give up on him just yet,” said Bottle. He didn’t sound confident though.
There was another thump followed by a groan.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“Move!” said a powerful, panting voice. A voice we both recognized.
I slid to the side of the door, but Bottle was too slow. Two seconds after the voice called out the door burst open and light streamed in as Gauge flew through the air, crashing into Bottle.
I heard Twist apologize and Gauge tell him not to worry about it as he pulled himself to his feet. I don’t think I’d ever been as glad to see someone as I had in that moment.
Gauge and I dragged Bottle out of the burning shed toward the house.
“Where’s Red?” asked Gauge?
“Uh. Maybe still in Dewey’s car.” I told him.
“The car?”
“Yeah in the trunk.”
“Oh shit. I just put a bunch of rounds in that thing. Twist, help Bottle.”
A moment later Gauge was running off down the track. A pale cloud of dust hung above it from moments before, when Dewey had sped away.
What the hell. Twist had pulled out a knife and was working on the tape around Bottle’s ankles. The cuffs on his wrist would have to wait. There was nothing I could do to help there, so I forced my aching body to follow Gauge. I wanted to be there when they got him.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
Karen
I felt strangely awesome as I ran down that track following Gauge. All the pain from my body had mysteriously disappeared and I felt as if I had more energy than I ever had in my life. It seemed the rush of almost dying before being saved had released endorphins the likes of which most people will never get to experience.
If you could bottle the feeling of escaping death and sell it you’d be a millionaire a thousand times over.
As I soared down the road I found myself slowly catching up with Gauge he was running with fierce determination. I was surprised at how much endurance he had - I hadn’t imagined a middle aged biker being fit enough to do what he was doing; he looked like he could run a marathon.
Pop, pop, pop, pop. The sounds reached me and I saw Gauge speed up. I guessed it was gunshots. I was right.
A minute later I saw the car. It had driven off the road just before three parked motorcycles and crashed into a sharp embankment, upon which a heavy-set figure stood. T-Bone. Smoke was pouring from the hood of the car, but there was no sign of Dewey.
“Where is he?” I heard Gauge yell, his deep voice rolling like thunder ahead of him.
I couldn’t make out T-Bone’s shouted response - his voice didn’t carry nearly as well - but his outstretched arm pointing down from the ridge indicated the car. He was still inside.
Gauge stopped and a moment later I caught up with him. He turned his head sharply and looked at me in surprise, he hadn’t realized I had been following.
“Wait here,” he growled.
I nodded. Here was good enough for me, I could see everything. That’s all I wanted. To see Dewey getting brought down, to see his face in the dirt, to see him defeated.
Gauge stalked toward the car, its smoking hood letting out a long steady hiss. The big man stopped, seeming to look perplexed as he examined the vehicle. Where was Dewey?
In a sudden motion the passenger door of the vehicle flew open and Dewey emerged at a sprint, heading directly toward Gauge.
My mouth dropped open, and I saw doubt flick across the sprinter’s face for a moment. He had presumably run away from T-Bone and the motorcycles thinking it would be safer, but now found himself heading directly toward Gauge. His look of doubt passed, and a grin appeared on his face as he ran directly at Gauge.
I held my breath as I watched the two men. The biker was moving slowly toward Dewey, arms stretched wide as if to catch him. I bit my lip. Dewey had been a wrestler, a decent one. I knew Gauge was tough, but would he be able to deal with Dewey? I wasn’t sure.
I bounced on the balls of my feet holding my breath as I waited for the inevitable impact. Closer and closer they got, until...
With a sudden, feint to the left and then charge to the right Dewey ran completely around Gauge without the two men even making contact.
“Fuck!” Gauge span and began to chase after Dewey who was speeding away from him. Away from him, but directly toward me.
I could see the grin stretched right across his face, it was wide and toothy and lit up his manic eyes. He looked for a moment like a crazed clown, and the reason why didn’t register for a couple of seconds. Then it hit me. His mouth was bright red. Dewey had been injured somehow, perhaps by a bullet or the crash, and now his mouth was covered in blood.
He didn’t seem to know, or if he did, didn’t seem to care as he blasted toward me.
“Fuck this shit.” I held my ground. I could see Dewey was heading directly for me, and I knew he wouldn’t try to dodge. He wanted to plow right through me and send me flying away like a bowling pin struck by an express train.
He came toward me. Not yet. Not yet. I swear I could feel his breath on my lips when I finally moved.
I didn’t jump away, or try to escape him. Instead I dropped to the floor, into a ball. I used Bottle’s plan to send Dewey tripping over a body, though this time it was my body instead of Bottle’s and Dewey was providing the momentum himself.
I dropped and tucked my head under my hands, and not a moment too soon. At the same time my knees touched the dirt Dewey’s right foot struck me in the chest. He tried to skip over me, but at the speed he was going and with his considerable weight behind him he couldn’t adjust in time.
The only thing I felt was that one strike to my chest, but I immediatel
y sensed his entire body flying over me. And he flew, his forward momentum meant that he soared more than seven feet before he plowed into the ground in a long skin-scraping skid.
I stood up and began to brush myself off, a grin on my face, as Gauge ran by me. Dewey began to lift his head off the ground just in time for Gauge’s steel-capped combat boot to stamp it back into the dust.
“It’s over,” I whispered to myself, as years of pain and hurt lifted themselves from my body. I felt giddy as I sucked in air and watched my ex squirm in the dust below. Running toward us were Bottle and Twist. Behind I heard the labored wheezing of T-Bone as he approached. “It’s over,” I whispered again.
But it wasn’t over, not yet. Not for Dewey anyway.
Day 5
CHAPTER FIFTY
Karen
The afternoon sun was hot, but an uncharacteristically vicious wind whipped around us, flapping my t-shirt wildly and covering my skin in grimy desert dust.
Today was the day. Today was when I would finally get my own back, get my life back. Dewey had fucked with me for the last time and now it was payback time. Payback and a fuckin’ half.
Bottle held my shoulders with a tight grip, the fingers digging in through my dirty t-shirt. “Are you sure you want to do it like this?”
I leaned forward, my hands gripping him by the hips, my eyes fierce as I looked into his. “I’ve never been surer of anything. I’m twenty-fucking-two years old. This year I should have graduated college, gotten a job, maybe settled down. Instead I fled half way across the country, chased by a demented psycho who framed me for the death of my own father. He’s kidnapped me, beaten me and tried to burn me — us — alive. He’s made my life fuckin’ hell. He ruined my life, Bottle. He ruined me.”
I felt a tear beginning to well in my eye. This wind was a real bitch.
Bottle released a hand from my shoulder and held it between us in a whoah gesture and nodded. “Just making sure.” He leaned forward and spoke into my ear, “For what it’s worth though, I don’t think you’re ruined.” He gave me a grin and I couldn’t help but return it, smiling at him as Dewey squirmed on the ground beneath us.
“Let’s do this.”
Bottle looked down at the bruised face of the man below us. “Any final words, asshole? Last chance. Say you’re sorry and we’ll let you go.”
I started for a moment. What the hell? They weren’t going to let him go, were they?
I let out a surprised laugh as I understood. I looked down at the man on the ground, his face red with indignation, completely unable to respond to Bottle. I felt the first small mite of satisfaction, though there was much more to come.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
Dewey
“Say you’re sorry and we’ll let you go,” said Bottle above him.
Is he a fucking idiot? Can’t he see I’ve been gagged? Dewey let out a muffled yell of indignation. How on earth could he apologize with a gag in his mouth and tape all over it. These biker bozos really were fuckin’ dumb.
When were they going to untie him? This was all a bunch of bullshit. Karen would tell them to let him go in a minute, surely. Why were they trying to scare him like this? They were all bastards.
Dewey halted his failing attempts at yelling. An idea had begun to form in his mind, and it was a good one, he could feel it. He had a plan. A new plan, a better plan, a plan that would make these fuckers wish they had been burned alive or sent to jail. Shit, they’d regret the day they ever dared try to fuck around with Dewey Roland Finkelstein.
As the engine roars started he didn’t notice. His mind was working furiously. Just as soon as they let him go he’d start to put his plan into action.
As the motorcycles peeled away they couldn’t see the secret grin on Dewey’s face. These fuckers aren’t going to know wh—
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
Karen
“What’s that? Nothing?” Bottle was cocking his head as if to listen intently, but of course Dewey couldn’t say anything. His mouth was covered up with tape and the furious sounds making their way out from underneath were completely incomprehensible.
“I guess he ain’t sorry. Let’s do this.”
Music that I’d chosen was pouring out of the panel van which Red had driven here, though he was now sitting on the back of Twist’s motorcycle.
Bottle climbed onto his motorcycle, and patted the seat behind him. I gave a tight-lipped smile and hopped up behind him, squeezing the bike between my thighs as I wrapped my left arm around him.
When everyone was ready, Bottle raised a hand with an extended finger and then made a circling motion. Four motorcycle engines sprung to life with eager roars, as if they ached to be let loose on a highway. This journey would be a short one though. A very short one.
I looked behind me at a frantic eyed Dewey lying on the ground. On the other side of his body was a massive heavily customized motorcycle upon which T-Bone sat, and on another stock motorcycle Twist was sitting, looking over his shoulder in our direction, while Red was sitting on the bike behind him. Gauge was just to the left of us, waiting for the signal.
Bottle raised his hand again, and this time he did a countdown from three. It was important that all the bikes started off at the same time.
3... Bottle dropped his thumb, 2... the middle finger, 1... the index finger dropped and his hand flew to the throttle. I looked over my shoulder, my face in a manic grin as I watched Dewey’s wide eyes scream out at me.
The four motorcycles soared away like beasts unleashed and behind each one a coil of rope unwound like a whipping snake as we roared away. The ground crunched underneath us and dust hazed up into the air, making it hard to see.
After fifty yards it happened. Each of the ropes reached their end at the same time and, just like that, my tormentor was gone. There was a barely susceptible tug on the bike as Dewey was ripped apart, four pieces of him flying off and just his center torso remaining on the dusty road, rapidly surrounded by a muddy red puddle.
The bikes turned around and went back to regroup, each towing a grisly souvenir.
The four motorcycles parked facing each other, their front wheels inches from what was left of his torso. When the engines were switched off we could hear the dying notes of Love Will Tear Us Apart, our song, playing. Except the song wasn’t ours. It was mine now. Just mine.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
Karen
It had been a weird day. After all, it’s not every day you get to kill your psychotic ex-boyfriend, is it?
Relief. Relief was the primary emotion I felt. Getting rid of Dewey had provided a catharsis I’d never dreamed possible. I felt a hundred pounds lighter, I felt elated, I felt like I could fly.
We lay on Bottle’s bed after a big lunch at the diner. I was resting my head on his shoulder, but my right hand was in a wandering mood, roaming under his t-shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asked?
“Couldn’t be better,” I said. I didn’t imagine he could comprehend how I felt, knowing that my tormentor for years was finally gone.
“Are you sure? I mean, that was some wild fuckin’ shit that went down today.”
I smiled to myself at the memory. “I know. And whose idea was it?”
“Yours,” he said.
“Exactly. It’s how I wanted it to happen.”
Perhaps I was supposed to be upset, or shocked, or some such bullshit. Nope. No way. I was happy.
My roaming hand slipped down the waistband of his jeans. I grinned when I found what I was looking for and felt him immediately begin to grow in my hands.
“You want to hear something strange?” I whispered into his ear.
His breath had quickened. “Sure,” he said in a low tone, “I love me some strange.”
I squeezed him and the jeans began to grow too constraining. I used my free hand to undo first his belt, then the top button, then the fly of his jeans.
“Don’t get freaked out,” I warned him as I released him. I gripped his
hard shaft and squeezed gently.
He let out a soft breath. “Trust me, I’ve seen and done some shit. You ain’t gonna freak me out.”
Not going to freak him out? I decided I’d make it my mission to freak him out some time. If not today, then soon.
I whispered in his ear again, “It made me hot.”
“What did?” he asked. I could tell from his tone that he knew what, but he wanted me to keep speaking.
“You,” I whispered in his ear as my hand moved up and down his shaft, pumping his rock-hardness. “You standing over him, boot on his face.”
“Go on,” he said his breath quick.
Go on speaking? Or go on with my hands? I let his cock go, lifted my head from his shoulder and moved down his body. My mouth was just above his cock. I looked up at him and our eyes met. I could see the look of frustrated desire in his eyes as my mouth hung so close to his quivering dick.
My breath was hot as I spoke. “The motorcycles starting. Me, holding on to you tight.” His cock quivered from the heat of my breath as my words rolled over it.
He let out a soft moan and I pushed my lips down, taking him into my mouth and running my tongue around him. Hot and salty and sweet I filled my mouth with him and then withdrew, leaving him shaking and wet.
“You tore him apart,” his cock shook with the breath of my words.
I lowered my mouth and took him back inside.
“It’s what you wanted,” he moaned.
I lifted my head again. “It sure was. Do you like giving me what I want, Bottle?”
I took him back into my mouth again. Could he be any harder? I knew if I kept this up he’d be forced to grab me by the hair. I moaned in anticipation.
“It depends what you want.”
My head rose as I released him again. “What do you think I want now, bad boy?”
He let out a frustrated grunt. “The same thing as me.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
His response wasn’t verbal. Bottle reached down and grabbed me by the hair with his left hand while his right grabbed me around the waist. He pushed me down into the bed as my body surged with adrenaline at the suddenness of his action.