by Bryan Smith
But she wasn’t much interested in male attention or company right at the moment. Her opinion of the male species was at its lowest ebb ever, and that was really saying something coming from someone who considered almost all men scum or trolls. So instead of sidling up to one of the guys perched at the bar to await the inevitable drink offer, she took a seat at one of the little tables in the small dining area and waited for a server to come by and take her order.
Before that could happen, a forty-something fat man with a skullet—bald scalp ringed by long hair hanging to his shoulders—in a Molly Hatchet T-shirt slid off his stool at the bar and waddled over to her table.
“Mind if I join you for a drink? My treat.”
Echo shot him her most withering, disdainful glare. “Fuck off, troll.”
The unexpected harshness of her response made him take a reflexive step back. Echo detected a note of genuine hurt in his surprised expression. This pleased her immensely.
The fat man scowled. “Fucking dyke.”
Echo laughed.
“What’s so funny, bitch?”
Echo smirked. “What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand? By the way, what is up with the Molly Hatchet shirt? What are you, lost in time? Nobody listens to that dinosaur bullshit anymore. On second thought, don’t answer any of that. Just go the fuck away. You smell like vomit. Did you know that? Again, don’t answer that. Fuck off. No, better idea. Go home and kill yourself.”
The fat man looked stunned. He obviously had not been on the receiving end of this kind of vitriol in a long time. The pathetic loser looked like he was about to start crying. A part of her realized she was being excessively unkind. It was just bad luck and timing on his part. He was a guy and thus was Casey’s unknowing proxy in this situation.
She sighed. “Look, dude, you really don’t want to be around me right now. Trust me. Please just go away.”
The fat man regarded her with a blank look for another long and exasperating moment, but then he did something that surprised her. He dropped a twenty dollar bill on her table. “I’m gonna buy you some drinks even though you treated me like shit. I think you need them more than me.”
He walked out of the bar before she could say anything or give the money back.
Echo felt bad for about five seconds.
He had called her a fucking dyke, after all. Not that there was anything wrong with being a dyke, but it had been meant as an insult and that was just plain rude.
A server belatedly swung by to take her order. She was a slender woman in her late thirties with hard features arranged in an unpleasant expression. Echo couldn’t decide whether the woman was pissed at her for the way she had treated the fat man or if she always looked like she was mad at the world. Either way, the last thing she wanted at the moment was some bitter old skank of a waitress spitting in her drink.
So she summoned her sweetest smile and said, “I’ll have a shot of tequila and a tall glass of beer.”
While she waited for the drinks to arrive, she opened her bag and removed her phone, which she had switched to silent mode before heading out to Ella’s house. A glance at the screen showed a half-dozen missed calls received within the last twenty minutes. They were all from Casey. There were also some voicemails. She didn’t need to listen to them to know they were all Casey pleading with her to call him back.
Not happening, douchebag.
While she was staring at the screen, someone pulled a chair out and sat directly across from her. She initially suspected the fat man had returned for more abuse, so she couldn’t have been more surprised when she glanced up and saw the blonde bombshell on the other side of the table.
“Um…”
The word statuesque had been coined specifically to describe women like this magnificent creature. She was maybe just two inches shy of six feet tall and was blessed with the most astonishing curves Echo had ever seen. Though she was seated, the chair was well away from the table and she was sitting sideways in it, with her long and shapely sun-bronzed legs crossed and her slender arms folded beneath her majestic breasts. She looked like something out of a comic book, like some adolescent boy’s idealized fantasy of the perfect female. Also, while many of the girls she worked with at the club were profusely inked, few of them were as lavishly illustrated as this woman. The work was all top-notch and bursting with fine detail. It belatedly occurred to Echo that the pose the woman had struck was deliberate. She was purposely displaying her body in the most provocative manner possible.
“Can I pick that up for you?”
Echo shook her head in confusion. “Pick up what?”
The blonde goddess laughed. “Your jaw. It looked like it dropped all the way to the floor.”
Echo closed her mouth, suddenly self-conscious. No other person, male or female, had ever rendered her temporarily stupid by merely utilizing their looks. Hell, it was usually her on the other side of this equation. She felt befuddled and slow-witted, her mind adrift in a mental fog. She didn’t care for the feeling at all, but she figured she now had a better appreciation for how all the tongue-tied trolls who’d ever hit on her must have felt when she shot them down.
The server returned and set Echo’s drinks in front of her. She then began to move away from the table. The goddess stopped her in her tracks by seizing one of her thin wrists. “What about me, beautiful? I’m thirsty too.”
The server glanced down at the goddess for the briefest of instants before nervously averting her gaze. Echo realized with some astonishment that the hard-faced old waitress was blushing. She still knew next to nothing about this gorgeous stranger, but already her admiration for the woman was off the charts. She possessed a magnetic quality unrivaled in Echo’s experience. The server scurried off after another brief exchange of words. The words didn’t register for Echo because she was again too entranced by the blonde woman’s total physical perfection.
The goddess looked at her and smiled. “I told her to put my drinks on your tab. I’m sure you don’t mind.”
Some kind of snide comeback would be her usual response to something like that, but this time it wasn’t possible. So instead she simply said, “I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t, honey.” The goddess uncrossed her legs and moved her chair closer to the table, the blatant display of her attributes no longer being necessary. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with that bald elephant.”
Echo frowned. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
And there’s no way I could have missed you.
The goddess shrugged. “I was in the bathroom.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a closed door to her left. “I heard you plain as day. You were pretty loud.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her expression turned serious. “You were upset before you even got here, weren’t you?”
Echo grunted. “Yeah. You could say that.”
The goddess regarded her silently for a moment before saying, “You have the look of a woman who has been wronged by her fella.”
“Wow. That’s…unusually perceptive.”
“I’m just good at reading the moods of other people.” She winked. “Especially women.”
The server returned and set a tall glass of beer in front of the goddess. Before she departed, the goddess touched her wrist again. It was a light, very brief touch that accompanied a deceptively innocuous positive comment about the service she was giving, but Echo was certain the waitress almost fainted in that moment.
The goddess took a long drink from her beer before setting the glass back on the table. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
Echo giggled and felt her cheeks redden.
The goddess smirked. “What’s so funny?”
Echo giggled another time or two before heaving a big breath and finally composing herself. “I’m sorry. You’ve got me all flustered. But I’m guessing you’re used to that reaction.”
The goddess laughed. “You could sa
y that. Now out with the name, sweetheart.”
“My name is Echo Vaughn.”
The goddess didn’t laugh or smirk upon hearing the name, nor did she look as if she might be trying to conceal an incredulous reaction. Echo’s already sky-high opinion of her shot into outer space. “That’s a lovely name.”
Echo smiled. “Thank you. It’s my real name.”
“Of course it is. Why would I think otherwise?”
Echo shifted in her seat, becoming suddenly nervous. “Well…it’s just that in my line of work most of the girls don’t use their real names. I’m an exotic dancer.”
“Ah. A stripper, you mean.”
“Well…”
The goddess leaned across the table and touched the back of Echo’s right hand. “It’s okay, nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m in the clothing removal business myself.”
“Where do you dance? It can’t be around here or I would’ve heard about you for sure.”
The goddess lightly stroked the back of Echo’s hand. “You’re right, doll. You would have heard about me. But it wasn’t around here.”
A long, silent moment elapsed.
Echo’s brow creased. “Um…so where was it?”
Though she was still smiling, something in the goddess’s expression became more guarded. “I’ve done some naughty things, Echo Vaughn. I won’t spill the details to just anyone. But maybe I’ll tell you all about it once we get to know each other a little better.”
“Could you at least tell me your name?”
The goddess let go of Echo’s hand and picked up her beer glass. “Dez is what I’m called. Short for Desiree.”
“Last name?”
Dez shook her head. “That gets back into the territory of privileged information.” She licked her lips and a naughty smile spread across her face. “But maybe I’ll tell you later while I’m sitting on your face.”
Echo’s mouth dropped open at the remark.
Dez laughed and drank some of her beer.
Echo said, “You say that like it’s a given.”
Dez had another sip of beer and shrugged. “It is. In my entire life, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t Dezsexual.”
“Dezsexual?”
“Yes. I don’t care who you are or what your usual preferences are, when you meet me, you become hopelessly Dezsexual.”
Echo belatedly realized she hadn’t touched either of her drinks. She picked up the shot of tequila, knocked it back in a single quick gulp and thumped the empty glass on the table. “I hate to admit it, but I may be just a little bit Dezsexual.”
“It’s like I said. Everyone is.”
Echo shook her head. “I hate how totally fucking confident you are.”
“And by that you mean you totally fucking love it.”
“Maybe.”
“Tell me about your man trouble, Echo.”
Echo hesitated only a moment before launching into a detailed description of everything that had happened that afternoon. Any lingering reluctance to share so intimate a tale with a stranger evaporated within seconds as she quickly realized how desperately she needed to vent. Dez was an attentive listener. She interrupted only a handful of times and then only to seek clarification of certain points. For the most part, she allowed Echo to spew nonstop until the whole sordid tale was out. They had downed another round of drinks and started another by the time it was finished.
Dez shook her head, her expression darker and more serious now. There was no trace of her earlier playfulness. Echo might have found it unsettling if not for the cathartic effects of having told her tale. “I’ll tell you something, Echo. Men are worthless.”
Echo snorted. “Not exactly front page news.”
“I’m serious.”
Echo stared at her a moment before replying, abruptly realizing how genuinely angry the woman seemed. It was a little strange. “It’s not that big a deal. I mean, it happens. Guys are assholes. I’ll get over it and move on.”
“You should kill him.”
Echo flinched, unable to believe what she had just heard. “Um…that…well, I admit I considered it for, like, a second, but it’s a little extreme.” She forced a laugh. “Come on, I don’t want to go to jail.”
Dez leaned farther over the table and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Who said anything about going to jail? You can get away with anything if you’re careful.”
Echo gaped at her in disbelief for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “No. Seriously. You’re kind of creeping me out now. I don’t really want to kill Casey. Not anymore.”
Dez stared levelly at her. “You might change your mind after you hear my story.”
“Your story?” Despite the uneasiness the other woman’s abrupt and very dark mood change had stirred within her, Echo couldn’t help smiling. “Would this involve any of that so-called privileged information?”
Dez nodded. “I think I know you well enough now, Echo Vaughn. We’re two of a kind, I can feel it. I’ll tell you anything and everything, starting now.”
And so she did.
Dez’s story began on a note so hilarious it had Echo holding on to the table to keep from falling out of her chair. But hilarity took an abrupt turn into deep darkness mere moments later. Echo listened in mounting horror for nearly thirty minutes, polishing off two more beers and two more shots of tequila in the time it took Dez to finish her story.
She felt dizzy from the drinks and vaguely nauseated when Dez at last fell silent. “Holy shit,” she said, her voice subdued as she shook her head in disbelief. “That’s the most fucked-up shit I’ve ever heard. Did all that really happen?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit.”
Dez pushed her chair away from the table. “I’m gonna go pee. Pay for our drinks and meet me outside. I’ve got something to show you.”
She walked away before Echo could reply, disappearing inside the women’s room seconds later. Echo stared at the closed door for a moment, still too stunned by everything she’d heard to properly process it all. But then the world came back into sharp focus—or relatively so, given all the booze she’d consumed—and she flagged the server down to pay the bill.
Dez joined her on the sidewalk outside a couple minutes later. It was late afternoon now and the flow of traffic in the street next to the bar was much thicker. A glance at her phone showed several more missed calls. As expected, some were from Casey, but a few were from the club. She recalled how she’d fled from there without explanation and felt a stab of anxiety.
Hmm…I may be in a little trouble here.
She blinked when Dez snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Echo. This way.”
She stepped off the sidewalk and started across the parking lot. Echo shrugged and followed her over to a black Impala. The big car looked like it was an early 70’s model.
Dez dug around inside her purse a minute before pulling out a ring of keys. She shot a wicked grin at Echo. “You ready for this shit, bitch?”
Echo wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what it was Dez wanted to show her, but she could make some educated guesses based on her story. One in particular seemed more likely than anything else and it troubled her deeply. “Um…”
Dez laughed. “Fuck it. Get ready, baby.”
She unlocked the trunk and flipped it open.
Echo slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a loud gasp. Dez leaned against the edge of the trunk and studied her face, smirking broadly.
There was a man in the trunk. And he matched the vivid description of one of the lead characters from Dez’s personal tale of woe. He was a big, dumpy man dressed in dirty clothing. He was bald and had a livid scar that ran from his left temple down to his mouth. This was all as expected.
Echo pulled her hand away from her mouth and let out a breath as she moved in for a closer look. “Is that…is he…”
Dez was smiling as she nodded. “You bet your beautiful ass.”
Echo shook her he
ad. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
The identity of the guy in the trunk was the expected part. The simple fact of his existence confirmed all the insane horror show stuff Dez had told her. The unexpected part of the equation was that he was still alive. He was tightly bound with thick rope and many layers of duct tape covered his mouth.
But he was alive.
Echo shook her head and stared at the living monster with morbid fascination. She knew without being told that Dez meant to kill the guy. No way could she let him live after all the rotten things he had done. Knowing she was looking at a living dead man should have repelled her, but it did not. Strangely, the opposite happened. Her stomach began to settle and she experienced a weird kind of serenity. There was a sense of being precisely where she was meant to be at this exact moment in time.
This was destiny.
Dez sidled closer to Echo and slid a hand inside a rear pocket of her cutoffs. “So what do you say? Want to keep the party going, maybe help me fuck this guy up some more?”
Echo stared at the man’s wide, pleading eyes for a few moments and tried hard to feel any sympathy at all. Then she shuddered as Dez’s fingers clenched against her ass, sending an electrifying shiver of Dezsexuality rippling through her body.
She looked at Dez. “I’ll do anything you want.”
Dez smiled. “I know.”
She pulled Echo close and kissed her with hungry abandon.
Chapter Seven
De Rais Ranch
Two weeks before the shootout on 2nd Avenue
Keely woke up in the big, empty field that occupied the southernmost portion of the ranch property owned by John Wayne de Rais. The compound functioned as the headquarters of the Order of Wandering Souls. The ground was hard and rocky and not at all an ideal place to spend a night under the stars. Not without a tent or sleeping bag, at least. Keely had neither of those things.
She groaned as she stretched her body and forced her bleary eyes open. It was a clear day and the sun’s position in the sky told her it was sometime in the early afternoon, which meant she had slept through another morning of chores. This was her week on laundry detail and Susan Wagner, overseer for female initiates, was notoriously strict when it came to doling out punishment. Order members were generally free to do whatever they wanted. Critical chores or tasks were assigned on a rotating weekly basis. If it wasn’t your week to do real work—and if you weren’t assigned to a recruiting party—you could spend all your time fucking and getting high if you wanted.
