He left the rest of that sentence unspoken – but it was clear by the look on Christi’s face that he didn’t need to finish it.
“We just want you to know…” For such a big, hulking guy, it looked kind of weird to see Officer Tobias act so nervous. “We just want you to know that whatever they did… It wasn’t representative of the department.”
“Yeah,” Brady nodded. “I mean, we cops watch out for each other… But if they were dirty…”
“We weren’t part of that,” Tobias explained. “And we don’t condone it. And nor does anybody else in the department.”
Brady nodded enthusiastically.
I’m not sure if Christi believed the or not – but regardless, she nodded civilly, and murmured: “I understand.”
The two cops glanced at each other nervously again.
“Your dad… He was a good man,” Tobias gulped dryly.
“I’m really sorry for what happened,” Brady added.
“So…. Just know that if you ever need us…” Tobia’s big, square face was turning pink. “We’ve got your back, Ms. Lange.”
This time the mask-like expression on Christi’s face softened slightly.
“I… I appreciate that,” she nodded.
You could almost see the tension evaporate from the two cops as they heard that. Their shoulders slumped, and when they nodded at her answer, there was a more relaxed fluidity to their movements.
“Well, if that’s all…”
“We’ve got it from here, boys,” I stepped forward, and offered my hand. The two police officers seemed grateful for that – me taking their attention away from the emotional intensity of Christi’s state - and so they shook my hand robustly, before clambering back into their police cruiser.
A few seconds later, the gurgle of that big hemi engine reverberated back and forth across the canyon, as the big cruiser rumbled down the dirt road, back towards the highway.
Christi and I stood at the entrance to her father’s farm… Finally alone.
With her arm around my waist, we both turned and peered through the chain-link gateway, towards the old wooden farmhouse and the rows and rows of polythene tunnels.
They were all empty now – stripped of every root, branch and leaf of the cannabis plants they’d once contained.
“Come on,” Christi tugged at me. “Let’s go home.”
***
There was a spot outside the farmhouse where two sets of tire tracks had been dug into the dirt through years of use – and as Christi pulled her Sunfire to a halt in one of them, I saw the tire grooves matched the position of her wheels perfectly.
There was no doubt that she – and her car – were finally home.
I kicked out the stand to my bike, and rested it beside her car – and then, hand in hand, we peered up at the farmhouse expectantly.
It was a faded wooden farm from the forties or fifties – with a wide, covered porch and high, narrow windows. The steps creaked as we clambered up onto the porch, and the sound of my boots on the old floorboards reminded me of the sounds you’d hear watching those old westerns.
The front door to the farmhouse was hanging open, with another length of chain and padlock lying on the porch beside it. The previous night, Coyle and his gang had clearly rooted through the place, even as they loaded up their vans with marijuana.
On the front of the door was a big, glossy sign:
NO ENTRANCE
Crime Scene
Trespassing Strictly Prohibited by Order of the Police Department.
Christi grabbed the peeling sign, and ripped it off the doorway.
As she crunched it up into a ball, I nudged open the door with my foot, and peered nervously inside.
My senses were tingling as the creaking door swung open, bathing the interior with light.
This was a situation I’d been in countless times before, here in America and over in the heat of Iraq. Stepping into the unknown – not sure whether you’d find friends, foes, or booby-traps…
That was why they called me Recon, after all.
But even as I assessed the situation, I didn’t see anything to be concerned about…
…until.
“Woof!”
The sharp bark of gruff dog nearly gave me a heart attack.
Back in the day, I’d have been stepping into a situation like this with a loaded M-4 in my hands – and I’d have probably rattled off a few rounds after getting spooked like that.
But today? All I had were my bare hands – and while I’d balled them into fists, there was nothing else I could do when the sharp noise surprised me.
But Christi wasn’t so surprised. In fact, she shouldered me inside when she heard the ‘woof’ – and stepped through the doorway just as a big shaggy dog came lolloping out of the shadows with his long, brush-like tale swinging excitedly.
“Barney!” Christi dropped to her knees, and the big dog came bumbling over to her, and started slurping its tongue across her face. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”
From the mad wagging of the dog’s tale, I could see this was a family reunion.
I remembered seeing a dog lazing in the yard when I’d reconnoitered this place a few days ago. Clearly, he’d stayed on after Christi went on the run.
How many months had it been?
Finally having had his fill of slurping and licking Christi, Barney lolloped off to the corner of the room, and flopped into a pile of blankets that was presumably his bed.
Christi straightened up, and peered around the dark and gloomy room.
It was an entrance hallway, with a dining room off to the left, and a living room to the right.
Plates and forks and serving dishes were laid out on the table – now buzzing with flies and overgrown with mold. The air smelt fetid and musky, and in the light pouring through the open door were floating clouds of dust and dirt.
“Holy shit,” Christi breathed, stepping into the dining room. “They haven’t touched it. Not since the night of the raid.” She peered down at the flies crawling on the plates of food. “Four months ago, that was vegetable meatloaf.”
“Vegetable meatloaf?” I stepped up beside her, and looked at the piles of food. “Isn’t that what it looks like normally?”
Christi elbowed me hard in the ribs, and hissed: “Jackass!”
That moment of levity ended quickly, though – and I saw Christi’s shoulders slump as the weight of returning home finally hit her.
The house she’d grown up in, with her father. It had been stolen from her – and now she had it back, it was like walking into a morgue.
“Oh, fuck.” Christi lifted her hand to her mouth, and let out a sob. “Oh, fuck, Mason.” Hot tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m here… And I can’t believe he’s gone.”
‘He’ was her father. The man Officers Dempsey and Sanchez had murdered in cold blood, right in front of her.
I stepped up behind her and bundled Christi in my arms.
She turned, and buried my face in my chest. I felt her hot tears soak my shirt, and squeezed her as her whole body convulsed in sobs.
“It’s okay,” I squeezed her tight, and stroked her head. “It’s okay, baby. You’re home now. Everything’s going to be alright.”
She sniffled, and lifted her head from my chest.
Her hazel eyes narrowed, as she surveyed the dark, dank, fetid mess that used to be her house.
“This doesn’t look like home,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It looks like a nightmare.”
And as I followed her gaze, I had to admit that I kind of saw her point.
Structurally, it was a house, alright. With four walls, and windows, and a dining table and chairs and a TV in the living room…
…but months of drawn curtains and a locked door had made the whole place rancid. It reminded me of some H. P. Lovecraft story they’d made me read in high school – From Beyond – in which the protagonist was able to see beyond our reality
to the crawling, wretched, terrifying world that existed just beneath our perception.
Perception.
That was the problem.
I unwrapped my arms from Christi, and strode across the living room to the big, thick curtains which blocked the windows.
Wrenching them open – releasing a choking cloud of dust as I did so – I let sunlight pour into the room, and sear a path across the dank darkness.
“Come on,” I told Christi, wheeling around. “Let’s clean this place up. It’ll be home again before you know it.”
***
That was a lie, of course.
With Christi’s father gone, this place would never truly feel like home again to her – at least, never in the same way.
But even a drifter like me knew the benefits of a good spring clean – and, besides, there was something almost meditative about cleaning up.
So, following after my example, Christi began to clean up just as I did.
We pulled open the curtains and opened the windows, flooding the house in light and the warm, California breeze.
Christi cleared the plates and fired up the dishwasher. I opened the fridge – that in itself was enough to make me retch – and tipped out the contents into black garbage bags.
Next came the mopping, and the vacuuming. We headed upstairs and stripped the sheets from the beds, and put them through the washing machine…
…before putting them through the machine again, after realizing how bad a washer smells after being left shut for four months.
It was solid, focused work – but it felt good. More so than that, in a matter of a couple of hours, we transformed the house.
I counted six garbage bags we hauled outside. Christi must have done almost as many loads of laundry. I went through three bottles of cleaning spray and half a bundle of paper towels before the refrigerator was clean, and odorless.
But as the evening approached, and the blue California sky started to turn pink, the house was finally finished.
Christi and I gathered in the hallway once again, and surveyed out work…
When her arm circled my waist this time, there was a difference. I could tell Christi was more relaxed. More even.
More at home.
“Here,” stepping out onto the porch, Christi headed to where her car was parked, and reached over the side into the rear seats.
I’m not going to lie – I checked out her pert little jean-clad ass as she did so…
When she emerged, she was clutching a bottle of red wine.
“It’s from Hungry Hawk,” Christi explained, as she bounded back into the cool house. Passing me the bottle, she headed to the kitchen for some glasses. “The winery’s not far north from here.”
I examined the bottle – a two-year-old Sangiovese.
“The blood of Jupiter,” I explained, as Christi came back bearing two oversized wine glasses. “That’s what the grape variety is named after.”
“Well,” she laughed, passing me a bottle opener. “Aren’t you well-informed for a biker bum?”
“Ha,” I laughed bitterly, pulling the cork out with a satisfying pop. “I’m not even sure if I’m one of those anymore.”
The ruby-red wine glugged into our glasses.
“I’m a former Knucklehead… A former Ranger. A former Homeland Security agent…”
For a second, it suddenly hit me.
I was nothing, now. Nobody.
Just a guy, with a bike, and a girl.
But then I felt Christi’s arm encircle me again.
With her other arm, she lifted her glass and we chinked.
“Formerly doesn’t mean an end,” she told me sagely. “It means a new beginning.” She looked up at me, with those gorgeous hazel eyes. “Isn’t that what this is? A new beginning?”
I sipped my wine, which was delicious smooth and velvety. It made a change from the Miller Lites and Happy Hour margaritas I’d been subsisting on for so many months.
“Yeah,” I told her, looking down into Christi’s eyes. “A new beginning… If you’ll have me.”
Christi handed me her wine glass, so she could wrap both arms around my waist.
Standing on her tip-toes, she pressed her wine-kissed lips against mine. It was heaven.
For what seemed like forever we kissed… And when our lips finally parted, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they were pressed together again.
“It’s not whether I’ll have you or not, Mason Storm,” Christi purred, tightening her grip around my waist. “It’s whether or not I’ll ever let you go.”
And I smiled.
I smiled wider, and deeper, than I’d ever smiled before.
Leaning down to kiss her lips, I murmured into Christi’s mouth: “I love you.”
The movement of her lips on mine was her silent response.
For what seemed like forever we kissed, her arms wrapped around my waist, and me standing there holding a wine glass in each hand.
Finally, she pulled her mouth away.
Looking up at me, Christi bit the bottom of her lip in that adorable, sexy way of hers.
“If this really is a new beginning,” she murmured, pressing her lean body against mine, “we ought to mark the occasion.”
I waggled the glasses of wine in my hands.
“Aren’t we doing just that?”
Christi giggled. It was as crisp as the sound of ice-cubes clinking in a long, tall drink.
“I think I can do better,” she told me – and then her eye glanced towards the stairs.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but my cheeks burned pink – like a middle schooler being asked by his crush to make out.
“C’mon,” Christi released my waist, and took the wine glasses out of my hands. Placing them carefully on the table, she turned to me and extended one slender hand…
I reached out and wrapped my beefy, calloused mitt around hers.
Hand in hand, Christi led me to the stairs… and then up towards the bedrooms we’d spent all afternoon cleaning.
“Come on, lover,” she encouraged me – leading me towards the master bedroom. “There’s one more thing left to do…”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Christi
I felt like a giddy teenager, as I pulled Mason upstairs. We stumbled down the landing – past the doorway to the room my father slept in, and through into the bedroom that had once been mine.
Bursting through the doorway, I pulled Mason into the center of the room, and stood up on tip-toes to press my lips fiercely against his.
God, I loved kissing him. He was so big, and strong, and powerful… I felt tiny in his arms, but at the same time I knew the power I had over him, as I felt him snarl lustfully into my mouth and his whole body tremble with desire.
As we stood there, kissing, I realized it really did feel like a new beginning. I really did feel like an innocent teenager again, after months of living a debauched, hedonistic life on the road…
The fact that I was in my childhood bedroom – complete with posters of Labyrinth on the wall, and even my old dollhouse on the dresser – added to the feeling. I actually squirmed with embarrassment as I realized I’d been living as a grown-ass woman like this for so long…
If Mason had noticed, however, he didn’t say anything. He was more focused on me – on pulling me close to him with his huge arms, and kissing me hotly.
I swooned as he crushed me to his powerful body, and I felt a hot throb between my legs, as I felt a swollen bulge in the front of his jeans grinding against me.
“God,” Mason breathed. “You’re so fucking beautiful…”
I nearly gushed when he told me that.
We never stopped kissing – but Mason’s big hands grabbed the hem of my tank-top, and wrenched it up over my head. At the same time, I reached down and started struggling with his belt buckle – yanking it loose and pulling open the front of his jeans.
A moment later, he was kicking his 501s to one side, and tossing me onto the bed in t
he corner – the single twin, with the pink floral sheets.
I landed on the bed with a giggle, completely topless now. As I lay on my back, Mason loomed over me – and reached down to start unbuckling my jeans.
He literally peeled the tight denim off me – leaving me in just my panties on the bed. With a snarl, he wrenched those off me too – and I found myself lying on the crisp, clean sheets, absolutely naked.
Mason was towering over me, staring down at me like a hungry predator. I giggled again as I saw him – because while he was looking sexy and powerful, there was also something faintly ridiculous about how this big, muscular man was standing there in just a t-shirt – with his huge erection poking out from beneath the hem.
The corner of Mason’s lips curled, and he reached down to peel off his shirt.
God. I felt my pussy gush as I watched him peel the tight cotton off his broad torso – revealing those rock-hard abs, slab-like pecs and then finally his bulging biceps.
God, what a sexy man.
And as sexy as his body was so was his desire.
Mason dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, and grabbed my ankles in his big, strong hands. I yelped, as he dragged me across the bed until my legs were hanging over the side – and my bare pussy was exactly face-level with him on the edge of the bed.
Mason pulled my thighs apart, and then plunged his head between my legs.
“Oh, God,” I groaned, as I felt his hot mouth envelope my pussy. “Oh, Jesus, yes.”
His warm, wet tongue slithered between the lips of my pussy, and then swirled around my clitoris. Instantly, I gushed again, and flopped back on the bed with every nerve-ending in my body tingling.
One leg flopped over Mason’s burly shoulder, as his hand left my ankle and his fingertips traced a teasing path down my inner thigh.
A moment later, I felt the tips of two of his fingers pressing against the entrance to my pussy – and then I groaned as they sunk effortlessly inside.
“Oh, fuuuck!”
Mason’s fingers were as thick and satisfying as any cock, and as they stretched and filled me, he used them to eagerly coax my throbbing g-spot.
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