Adler

by Jessica Gadziala

  The coffee table was turned on its side, remotes lying around haphazardly.

  Something had been thrown at the TV, the glass beneath shattered, breaking the picture into a million little nothings.

  And then there they were.

  Lou and Monty.

  He looked a bit like her.

  Same skin.

  Same hair.

  Same eyes.

  Softer facial features for a guy.

  But taller.

  And strong.

  Street strong - all arms and shoulders tapering down to a thin waist and small legs.

  But still strong.

  Stronger than Lou.

  Who he was holding against the wall by her throat.

  Her lip was split, bleeding half-heartedly like it was hardly worth the effort to make a big deal out of it. There was a darkened spot on her cheek that was likely a bruise in the making.

  Otherwise, okay.

  Dressed.

  Spittin' fucking mad.

  Fighting.

  Even though she was at a clear disadvantage.

  "You think you can come charging into my life fucking fifteen years later, and what? Take me out? You out of your fucking mind? Do you know who I am?"

  He didn't actually want her to answer, his hand closing tighter around her throat, making her lips fall open, hoping for air that was not there to take in.

  The anger mingled with a bone-deep understanding that she would never forgive me if I took this away from her.

  But I couldn't let her be fucking choked out either.

  Unsure what else to do, I moved in, and slammed the door, making Monty's head turn in my direction, his hand loosening just enough, giving her what she needed to break free, grabbing his wrist as she spun, spinning him as well, slamming his whole front against the wall, jacking his arm up so high that I heard - even clear across the room - a crunch of his bones turning to useless dust.

  His scream only seemed to fuel her rage.

  "Yes, I do think I can turn up here after fifteen years and take you out. For raping our sister," she screeched, yanking the arm up further still, making even me cringe, no matter how much I knew the fuck deserved it.

  "She's fucking dead. You want to get dead too? 'Cause my boys will be turning up any minute."

  "You're not even sorry, are you? For Sammy. For Dad and Mom? There's not a bit of remorse in you for what happened."

  "Fuck them all. They were happy to kick me outta the house."

  "Then you went ahead and showed them exactly why they were right to do so. You raped your own sister, you disgusting fuck."

  I knew she needed to have this out, but we really did need to get the fuck out of here. Even if he hadn't gotten a chance to throw up a flag, his men might come and go all day without notice.

  "You didn't give a shit about her either, Lou Lou," Monty said, shrugging.

  "She was my sister. I loved her."

  "You loved me more."

  I felt the gut-punch, knowing it had been true for most of their lives, knowing she felt the same kick to her center as I did.

  "That ended the second you let them drag us up on that roof, throw our sister on a slab, and gang rape her, you fucking bastard. I've never hated anyone as much as I have hated you for the last fifteen years. You ruined everything,"

  That was it.

  She was losing it.

  The rage was gonna drain, leaving her a mess.

  I moved forward across the floor, pressing my gun into her free hand.

  "You or me," I told her, watching as her face lifted to look me in the eye. "Either way, it's got to be done."

  She'd never be allowed to walk away from this.

  He would track her down.

  She'd probably get the same treatment her sister had all those years ago.

  Then they'd kill her.

  "We both know it is the only option."

  "She can't do it," Monty insisted, sure, so fucking sure. "She still loves me. Always hero-worshipped me."

  To that, her hand slid to the trigger as she snorted, pressing it into his skull.

  "That was back when there was anything even vaguely heroic about you. Rot in hell, Monty."

  The bang was loud in the small apartment.

  Alerting all the neighbors.

  Maybe not a new sound to them, but one that would likely bring the cops.

  I rushed past her, going into Monty's bedroom, grabbing hats and sweatshirts, coming back with a washcloth, scrubbing at her shocked face as she stood there, body slightly trembling, getting rid of the blood.

  "Stay with me for five more minutes," I demanded. "Ya can lose yer shite when we are out of here," I added, gathering her hair up under her cap, pulling the shirt over her head. "Come on," I asked again, wiping her hands while grabbing the gun, stuffing it into the front pocket of the sweatshirt I threw on. "We got to go now," I told her, walking over toward the window.

  "Where are you going?" she asked, finally looking up from her brother's body.

  "Fire escape. We gotta go down a floor. The neighbor is out. We can let ourselves out through her apartment. We can't walk out of the hall here."

  Nodding a bit numbly, she followed me out into the heat of the end days of summer, down the slippery fire escape to the window one floor below, thanking God the locking mechanism was busted as it slid right open to her living room - all floral and dated.

  We walked out to the door, stopping in the hall when I saw a group of guys standing at the far end.

  Taking a look at Lou in her boxy, sexless outfit, I shoved her up against the wall, shoving my tongue into her mouth.

  "Fucking fags," one of them hissed at us as we walked past.

  Lou's lips were lifeless under mine, but I kept it up until the guys seemed out of the hall.

  "They'll say they saw two guys making out if the cops ask," I told her, ripping off her sweatshirt, and walking her right out the front door. "Ya gonna be able to hold it together enough to drive back to the motel?" I asked, knowing I couldn't leave my bike there. It wasn't exactly registered. And the plates weren't exactly mine. But there were fingerprints. I didn't need those fuckers going onto a file somewhere.

  "I'm fine," she assured me. And, what's more, she was. Momentarily. It wouldn't last. She was going to lose it. But that was what I needed to know right then.

  "No stops," I demanded, giving her hand a squeeze.

  With that, I got on my bike, waiting for her to get in her car, and I followed her back to the motel.

  "Shouldn't we check out?" she asked, about as enthusiastic about the idea of driving back to Navesink Bank as I was right that moment. Which was not at all.

  But we really could use to get out of Philly.

  Just in case. I didn't know how careful she was about sneaking in. And she was the kind of woman you remembered seeing.

  "I'll grab our shite," I told her. "We'll drive out of the city limits. Leave my bike at the Walmart we passed. I'll have some of the guys come pick it up. Ya and me, we'll catch a hotel. Something we don't feel gross sleepin' in."

  "Why not just go back to Navesink Bank?"

  "It's late. Ya need to clean up. I need to get this gun cleaned, and disappear it. Let's just go with my plan for tonight, aye?"

  "Alright," she said, no fight, no hesitation, very much unlike her. Which only further proved she was barely hanging on.

  So we did what I said, and I shuffled her up to a fifth-floor room with a king-sized bed and a soaking tub.

  "Come on," I demanded as soon as I threw our shite onto the bed. "Let's get those clothes off. I gotta get rid of those too. Ya gotta scrape yer nails, scrub yer body and hair. Ya know the drill," I demanded, not liking the way she just stood there, slowly undressing, everything about her blank.

  I was gonna need to leave, too.

  Not for long.

  Just a short trip to drop off the gun, and find a place to get rid of the clothes as well.

  Maybe I could get her in a b
ath.

  She'd barely know I was gone then.

  As she finished stripping, I turned, and did just that, tossing the weird colored ball thing in the water too, watching it fizz up.

  "I hate baths," she objected, tone passionless.

  "Humor me," I asked, holding her hand to help her in. "I'll be ten minutes," I promised, kissing her temple. "Scrub-a-dub," I added before walking out, loading all the shite into one of the brown bags from the takeout, and heading to deal with everything.

  It ended up being twenty, and when I got back, she was sitting off the side of a tub in a towel, her damp hair around her shoulders dripping a bit down her chest.

  "Where's the gun?" she asked, not looking up.

  "Buried at the bottom of the ocean most likely by now."

  "My clothes?"

  "In a washing machine at a laundromat. Bleached to fuckin' hell. No one will think twice about it. I've left clothes in countless laundromats over the years. Someone'll toss 'em or keep 'em. Won't get back to us."

  "Okay," she agreed, looking down at her hands, making my gaze go there as well, finding them bloodied.

  "The fuck'd ya do?" I asked, closing the few feet between us, kneeling down to take her hand into both of mine, examining the way she had ripped up the skin under her nail beds.

  "Scraped my nails."

  "Scraped, duchess, not fucking claw the skin off."

  There was a pause before she spoke, words small. "I didn't want any part of him touching me," she admitted.

  Ah.

  My hand raised, snagging her chin, dragging it up, waiting for her eyes to find mine. "He can never touch ya again, Lou."

  And that was it.

  The dam broke.

  And the water surged.

  It seemed fed from some underground source, endless, overflowing.

  I reached out, pulling her to my chest right there on the floor, not exactly sure how one went about comforting a crying woman, but wanting to attempt it regardless.

  My hands stroked up her spine as her body quaked with oddly silent sobs, her tears soaking through my shirt, hands clutched into the material at my shoulders.

  They moved up to sift through her hair until it was nearly dry as the tears seemed to slow, met by a chorus of sniffles and hiccups as she attempted to regain some semblance of control.

  "Ya never cried about it," I assumed as I pulled her into my arms, getting onto numb feet, trying to ignore the stabbing pins and needles as I walked on numb legs to the bedroom, lowering us both down.

  "Not since the night on the roof," she admitted. "Things kept happening so fast. And then, I guess, the tears just turned into anger. And stayed that way over the years."

  I took a deep breath, watching as she did the same. "It's done now," I said, watching as her lips thinned as she pressed them together. "Ya gonna get the last one filled in?" I asked, running a finger over her arm.

  "Yeah," she agreed, exhaling hard.

  "What?"

  "What if I break down in the chair?" she asked, the very idea of it making her face fill with horror.

  "Paine's got himself a wife and a daughter. And two sisters. And a ma. I'm sure he's seen all sorts of cryin' over the years."

  "What am I supposed to do now?" she asked, a question I wonder if she had ever thought before.

  "Ya chase yer skips. Ya cook for me. Ya take down that creepy stalker shite in yer bedroom. Ya walk Linny. Hang with the girls. Sleep with me. Ya move on, duchess."

  "Moving on sounds good," she admitted in a small voice.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," she confirmed, snuggling closer.

  Snuggling.

  Closer.

  This was Lou we were talking about here.

  Lou couldn't really be called a snuggle closer kinda girl. Except when sex was involved.

  Maybe this had changed things.

  The weight being lifted.

  The anger being purged.

  Letting me see her in her weak moment.

  Maybe it took what shields were left up for her, and knocked them the fuck down.

  My arm went around her, curling her tight to me, feeling an odd, warm, swelling sensation in my chest, something I couldn't name, something I had no way of understanding, but something deep within me said it was right, that it was not something to fear, to fight, to rage against. It was something to give into, to let overtake me, to become familiar.

  "Adler?"

  "Yeah, duchess?"

  There was a short pause before she blurted it out.

  "I'm hungry."

  Unprepared for something so normal, so light, so like the Lou I had gotten to know over the past few months, I couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of me, deep, long, genuinely happy.

  "What?" she asked, pushing up on my chest to glare down at me, her hair falling like a curtain around her face, catching the light from the nightstand.

  "Nothin'," I told her, swiping a finger over the darkening bruise on her cheek as her brow rose. "It's just nice to hear ya bein' normal," I admitted.

  "Instead of a blubbering mess?" she asked, sitting up to press her ass into her ankles, looking down at me, the towel knot near her breast looking loose, just barely holding on. It was an inappropriate moment for my cock to get hard, but cocks never really gave a fuck about the right moment.

  "Ya can be all sorts of messes around me, duchess," I assured her, unable to stop my hand from reaching out, grabbing the tuck, and pulling it free, watching as the material fell down to her calves, leaving her fucking perfectly naked before me.

  "Don't be giving me that look," she told me, attempting a firm voice.

  "Why not?"

  "Because you need to feed me," she informed me, lifting her chin, trying to act unaffected, but her nipples tweaked harder. I'd bet my life savings that if I touched her pussy, she'd already be wet.

  "Aye, I will," I agreed, grabbing one of her thighs, forcing it over my body, spreading her. "But first..." I said, sliding down, watching as realization lit her face, "I'm fuckin' famished."

  "Ad... fuck," she hissed, hand slapping down on her own thigh, the smack reverberating off the walls and back at us, making my cock only strain harder as I let my tongue slide up her wet pussy, finding her clit, sucking it until she was gasping for breath.

  She was always easy when you went down on her. Within three minutes, her thighs were shaking almost uncontrollably, her breathing a harsh, labored rhythm.

  Another minute, and she was screaming out instead of simply moaning.

  Another after that, and her pussy was shaking as she came.

  "Fuck. Gotta feel that," I told her, yanking her down my body as I freed my cock, shoving inside as her pussy was still spasming, making another wave wash over her at the sudden invasion, getting my cock impossibly harder still.

  I didn't have the control to make it last all night, the day's events, the adrenaline, the worry, the weird chest heat thing, it was all coiled inside, making me fuck her hard, fast, seeking a release my system so desperately needed.

  "Fuck, Adler," she cried, falling forward as her pussy grabbed me as she came again, milking my own orgasm out of me, calling out her name with an almost desperate sound.

  She fell into me for a moment, evening out her breathing, before she hopped up, heading to the bathroom, coming back a moment later.

  When the bed depressed, but she didn't move in to my side, I forced my muscles to lift me, turning onto my side.

  To find her sitting there.

  Eating the fucking cold chicken with her bare fingers.

  "What? It's still good. Hell, it's fast food. It will probably stay good for another two decades," she added, shoving another piece into her mouth. "The fries are a little yuck," she went on, but shoved a handful into her mouth.

  A laugh burst out of me, making her brows draw low. "What?" she asked.

  "This is gonna be fuckin' fun," I told her.

  "What will be?"

  "This."

  "W
hat this?"

  I pushed up, moving to sit beside her, accepting a fry when she held it up to my lips, wrapping an arm around her lower back, pulling her tight to my side.

  "Us."

  And so it was.

  EPILOGUE

  Lou - 3 weeks

  "Jesus Christ, Peyt," Lenny's voice called, eyes wide. "What the actual fuck is this thing?" she asked, holding up this massive, red, bumpy, tapered, well, cock.

  "Oh!" Peyton squealed, actually clapping her hands as she rushed around her kitchen counter where she'd been pouring wine, grabbing the shaft, and pulling it to her chest lovingly. "This is Gregor."

  "Yeah," Lenny said, sharing a look with me before glancing back at her friend. "We are going to need more than that. What the fuck is it? Because it looks like an..."

  "Alien cock?" Peyton asked, beaming, fucking beaming. "That's because it is! It's an alien dildo."

  "Please tell me it is just a movie prop or something," I implored, raising my glass to take a sip.

  "Prop? No! It's fully functional."

  Lenny's gaze went to mine again, both of us seeming to have a silent conversation.

  Like... If it is a dildo, how is it functional? Dildos didn't do anything.

  And... Yeah, but this is Peyton we're talking about here. Sex toy connoisseur. She knows the difference between a dildo and a vibrator.

  "Alright. Functional how?" Lenny asked, sounding scared to know the answer.

  "You want a demonstration?"

  "Look, Peyt, I like you and all," I started, shaking my head, "But we are not pussy/dildo demonstration friends."

  "Oh, please. Like I'd whip out the goods. No, here," she said, lifting it, and slamming it down on the counter where, I'd be damned, the thing fucking suction cupped into place. "Ready?" she asked, practically bouncing on her heels.

  Lenny took a deep breath. "I'm pretty sure that no matter what happens with that freaky alien cock, that neither of us could ever be prepared. But fire it up."

  With that, Peyton's hands wrapped around the shaft and squeezed.

  I was sure I saw something moving within it, but brushed the thought away, thinking it was insane.