Runaway Ride Part 2

"Hardly," Charlie laughs. "We offer a protection service of sorts."

"Like the Mafia?"

"Yeah, kind of like that. But the difference is, we don't come burn your place down if you don't pay. We take care of our own out in the field. When someone gets out of line, we... explain it to them. A truck load of parts is worth a lot of f.u.c.king money. We can help make sure it arrives where it is supposed to. Equipment theft. Drugs. We..."

"So if you're not like the cops, what are you? Vigilantes?" I interrupt again.

"No," Charlie says firmly, and then pauses as if thinking. "Yeah, I guess maybe we are. But not the way you mean it. We only take jobs that someone hires us to do. We don't go around kicking the s.h.i.+t out of people for no reason. There has to be something seriously illegal going on before we get involved. The oil companies look the other way because we get results. Nearly every field has a group like us."

"And what happened the other night...?"

"Someone's been sabotaging equipment. We found out who it was. They won't be doing it again."

That statement gives me a chill. "Did you kill them?"

"No," Charlie says, "but we made it clear that they don't want us to visit them again."

"What did you do? You didn't just talk to them, that much is clear."

Charlie smiles a not-so-pleasant smile. "Let's just say they're going to need some time to recuperate before they think about sabotaging equipment again. And no, we had to do more than talk because they weren't interested in hearing what we had to say."

I stare at Charlie. What they're doing is obviously as illegal as h.e.l.l, but, somehow it doesn't seem so bad. "I don't know why you didn't just turn them over to the cops."

"Two reasons. One, as I said, we're a family, and family doesn't rat on family. We take care of our own. And two, there's no proof they did it, but we know it's them all the same."

"How did you know?" I press.

"We just know, okay? I don't have to see someone's d.i.c.k hanging out to know they're p.i.s.sing on my head."

In spite of myself, I laugh.

"Look, we're not thugs, okay?" Charlie explains. "We try to be sure. Sometimes you know what you know even if there's no proof."

"So what's bothering you?"

Charlie sighs. "It just seems like... things aren't so cut-and-dried anymore. Like... maybe we're doing this because we like to kick the s.h.i.+t out of people. That a.s.shole tonight. I enjoyed mas.h.i.+ng his face in."

"Is that why you're doing it?"

"No. At least I didn't used to think so."

"How'd you get mixed up in all of this?"

Charlie stands up and walks into the family room, and I follow in his wake. He picks up a framed photo and hands it to me. "My sister. She's about... she was about ten years older than me. A geologist. Worked for Elron. She was out sampling wells one day, got hit by a truck. Killed her. The driver was always high as a kite on drugs. He was a known user and dealer. But... by the time they found her, he was clean. It was ruled an accident."

"What happened to him?"

"He had... an accident."

"An accident?"

"That's right," Charlie says firmly. "An oil field is a dangerous place."

That chill once again pa.s.ses over me and I realize that Charlie can be a very dangerous man, not someone to be trifled with.

"When he had his... accident, did you feel better?"

"No, not really. But I sleep better at night knowing he won't be able to do it again." Charlie stares at his sister's picture a moment before putting it back on the table.

"You know what I think? I think the very fact that you're worried about it means you haven't crossed the line. At least not yet."

"And how will I know when we do?" Charlie asks.

"I think you'll know. You may all know. But I think you, at least, will know."

Charlie looks at me, staring into my face as if reading my thoughts. "I hope you're right."

I stare back, seeing Charlie in an entirely different light. Yes, he is most certainly a bada.s.s, but he is also a man of principles. He's trying to do the right thing, doing a dirty job that needs to be done. All the Hawks are.

"What's up with Bobbi?" I ask, the question popping out before I have a chance to stop it.

"Nothing, why?"

"Didn't she take you to her place last week?"

Charlie smiles. "No. She brought me here."

"Did you f.u.c.k her?" I don't know why I'm asking the questions or even care. But I can't stop myself.

"Does it matter?"

"No," I say, but it does.

Charlie pauses a moment before answering. "Yeah, I f.u.c.ked her. I just needed a quick f.u.c.k to take the edge off and she was available..."

I can feel my eyes begin to squint in anger. "Yeah, well, you can just..." I begin.

"... and I didn't want to use you like that," Charlie says talking over me, his words stopping me cold.

"What? What does that mean?" I ask.

"It means you calm me, Alicia. You quiet my demons and I don't want to use you that way."

"I'm not sure how to take that," I say, my voice cool.

Charlie smiles, that crooked smile I like so much. "It means that when I do have you, I don't want it be just because I need a hole to stick my c.o.c.k into."

I stand there, trying to decide if I'm p.i.s.sed off over his att.i.tude or flattered that he wants me to be more than just a hole... so I decide on both.

"You are such a p.r.i.c.k!" I snap.

"And yet, here you stand, in my house. You get on the back of a bike with a man you hardly know. You come into his house. Maybe you like p.r.i.c.ks. In fact, maybe you're looking for someone just like me, someone to show you a little of the wild side. Maybe you aren't the miss goody two-shoes you act like you are. I think you're no different than me..."

The slap comes so fast I don't even remember raising my hand. I slap Charlie hard across the cheek, rocking his head back and leaving my hand hot and stinging from the impact. I stand there, mouth agape in shock, unable to believe what I had just done.

Charlie slowly runs his tongue along the corner of his mouth where I slapped him. "It feels good, doesn't it? To let the anger out. To let all your rage pour out on a single target," Charlie says slowly.

"No," I say, burning with shame.

Charlie leans in. "Admit it. You enjoyed slapping me."

"No! I'm sorr"

"Like h.e.l.l you are!" Charlie snaps. I draw back to slap him again, but he grabs my wrist, his grip steel tight. "Don't," Charlie whispers, his eyes hard.

As I relax he releases my wrist. "Now... now you see why I wonder why I'm doing this. It feels good to fight, doesn't it? That's why I need you. Before I met you, if you had hit me like that, I would have slapped you right through that wall. I need you to keep me on the path, to not let the anger take me. To not let the Hawks become the very thing I hate."

I stand there, all but quivering. Charlie's words have cut me open. He's right. It felt so good to hit him, and I wanted to go on hitting him. He has become the focal point for all the anger and frustration from what has happened to me. His words made me want to kill him... but now... now I just want him. That hour's ride on the back of Charlie's Harley has pulled the pin and allowed the gates to open so all that frustration and anger can come pouring out. Frustrations that I have to burn off before they consume me. I can't fight him, he'd kill me, but I d.a.m.n sure can f.u.c.k him... and that will do.

I leap at him, my lips covering his in a painful kiss. He must have been expecting it because he catches me, holding me off the ground, pulling me hard into his body. I wrap my legs around him, humping him through our clothes as I frantically work to remove his leather jacket. Charlie takes two steps to the right and drives me hard into the wall, pinning me with his body. The pain from the impact makes me gasp and want him more still. I must be just like Liz. First fighting then f.u.c.king, one leading to the other.

Charlie breaks off, breathing hard and smelling of beer. "This what you want? You want a trip down the wild side? I bet you've never been really f.u.c.ked, have you?"

I'm 30 years old and haven't been a virgin for ten years, but no, I have never been f.u.c.ked, not the way I hope Charlie is going to do it. I take his mouth again, devouring him, still trying to get that f.u.c.king jacket off of him.

"No," I gasp, breaking the kiss. "Show me. Show me what it's like to f.u.c.k."

Charlie drops me to the floor, then takes my white blouse into his powerful hands and rips it open, the b.u.t.tons flying about the room like shrapnel. I gasp at his violence and yet I welcome it. f.u.c.king-A, let's get it on. While I skin out of my ruined blouse, skirt, underwear and shoes, Charlie is stripping, the sight of him making me weak in the knees. He is ripped and chiseled to perfection and I am going to f.u.c.k his brains out.

The moment he's stripped, Charlie grabs me by the arm. He turns and shoves me over the back of the couch, laying me out along its length. I don't have long to wait before I feel him enter me, his long, thick c.o.c.k sliding through my wetness.

"f.u.c.k, you're so big!" I wail as he plunges deep into me. As he begins to hammer into me with hard driving thrusts, I almost immediately begin to c.u.m. I look back over my shoulder as he f.u.c.ks the s.h.i.+t out of me, sneering and growling as my o.r.g.a.s.m rushes through me. I grab at him, clawing at his chest before he grabs my arm and pins it to my back.

"Come on! f.u.c.k me! f.u.c.k me you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" I snarl, daring him to match my l.u.s.t. Never have I been so out of control and I love every f.u.c.king minute of it.

Charlie suddenly backs off, pulling his c.o.c.k from me and almost immediately replacing it with his tongue. "Oh... s.h.i.+t!" I wail again, as he rams two fingers into me and finger f.u.c.ks me at a furious rate. His fingers are hammering my sweet spot while his tongue is slathering around me. The first o.r.g.a.s.m was hard, but the one he is working me up to is going to be epic. Charlie keeps the pressure on and I begin to f.u.c.k the back of the couch, my hips thrusting as the o.r.g.a.s.m begins to overtake me. "I'm c.u.mming... I'm c.u.mming... f.u.c.k... s.h.i.+t!" I mewl as I lose my ability to function. When the full force of the o.r.g.a.s.m finally hits I might as well have been hit by a truck. I scream so loud my throat hurts and I fall off the back of the couch onto the cus.h.i.+ons in my thras.h.i.+ng. But I'm still not done, and neither is Charlie. He strides around the end of the couch and picks me up while I'm still a quivering blob and carries me to his bedroom, where he throws me onto the bed.

I haven't even stopped bouncing before Charlie is jamming that magnificent c.o.c.k into me again.

"That was just the warm up. Now prepare to get f.u.c.ked," Charlie sneers into my face. If I had any voice, I would have told him to bring it, but I didn't, so I just nod.

Charlie pounds the s.h.i.+t out of me for what seems like hours, and I thrill in every grunting stroke. By the time he begins to growl, I've found my voice.

"Come on," I snarl, dragging my nails along his back and arms. I'm totally spent and need a few minutes to recover, but I want him to c.u.m, and c.u.m hard, so we can do this again in a couple of hours... and make it last the next time. "Give it to me," I sneer again. "You need to c.u.m. I know you do. Come on!" I wheedle, my tone aggressive and nasty. I know he's fighting his o.r.g.a.s.m, but I enjoy letting my inner b.i.t.c.h out. I clamp down with everything I have, squeezing his c.o.c.k as he jackhammers it into me, and his grunts become deeper and harder.

"Oh..." Charlie gasps as he lowers his head, "... f.u.c.k!" he finishes as I feel his muscles begin to twist and squirm under his skin. He holds himself hard inside of me while he spills his seed, before relaxing with a breathy groan.

We go twice more that night, the first time in the darkened carport as Charlie bends me over the seat of his Harley. Chains is right... that's living. After what seems like my hundredth o.r.g.a.s.m, and Charlie's third, we collapse, exhausted, sweaty and, speaking for myself, satisfied in a way I never have been before.

Sunday morning I wake first. I lie facing him in the morning sun, still and at peace. All the frustrations are gone, the anger consumed in the fury of the night's pa.s.sion. I look at Charlie's arms. Funny, I hadn't even noticed his sleeves until now. I smile. I've never seen him without his jacket until last night and then I was... distracted. I gently trace some of the pictures, semi-nude women, various motorcycles, the occasional oil derrick, and a fish of all things. Before last night, I would've found the tattoos off-putting, but somehow they seem right on Charlie.

I feel Charlie move and I look into his face.

"Good morning," Charlie says.

"Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?" I ask with a grin.

Charlie smiles. He seems so much more... at peace. "Yes. Better than in a long time. Like a man at peace," Charlie says, and I sniff out a giggle as he confirms my observation. "You?"

"Like a woman that's been well f.u.c.ked," I say, then look into Charlie's eyes and smile. "What do you suppose this means?"

"What?"

"That you've found some peace and I've found that I enjoy a walk on the wild side every now and then."

Charlie smiles that crooked little smile that lights up his face. "I think it means... we're more alike than I thought."

I lie still, thinking about what Charlie has said. "I'm supposed to work at the store today, but I don't think I'm going in. They can get along without me."

Charlie chuckles. "Aren't you worried about losing your job?"

"f.u.c.k 'em," I growl out then giggle. "I can't believe I just said that."

Charlie snickers. "That miss goody-two shoes image is getting a little tarnished. So, if you aren't going to work today, what do you plan to do?"

I think about it, thinking about the freedom I felt last night on the back of Charlie's motorcycle. No, not motorcycle, hog. Freedom. The nearest thing to flying without leaving the ground. Yeah, that sounds like something I need more of. "I'm thinking I need another ride on the back of your hog," I say.

Charlie is quiet for so long that I'm afraid he's going to deny me, to boot me out. I look into his face with concern. When he sees me looking at him, he smiles. "You know... I think you may be right."

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Promised Ride.

Joanna Wilson.

"So this is the longest second," thought Christie Monroe as she watched the cylinder slowly start to turn on the Smith & Wesson 442 that was pointed at her face. The club preferred revolvers for kill guns because they didn't leave bra.s.s lying around and wouldn't drop a spent cartridge on the road if you had to use it from your bike.

She had heard other agents joke about "the longest second" at ATF headquarters. "It's the longest second of your life," one agent had explained to her over a cup of coffee, "because it's usually the last second of your life, and your body wants to stretch it out and make it last," Another agent, who had been shot in the line of duty, swore that with his mind driven into overdrive by the fear of the moment, he had been able to watch the bullet spin from the end of the barrel and cross the room to impact squarely in the middle of his vest. "d.a.m.n good thing he was wearing kevlar," he had snorted.

Christie wasn't wearing a vest, so head or chest, it didn't matter. The .38 would blow a fatal hole through her body. The high-speed bullet would turn her brain or her heart or her lungs to jelly. And at such a short range as this, the shooter couldn't possibly miss a critical target area.