BROKEN ANGEL: Devil's Route MC

by Nicole Fox

  When I climbed in on the other side, I glanced over at her. She had a look of bitter sweet happiness on her face.

  “You didn't have to do that,” she told me.

  “Well, figured this would give me a little bit of quiet time, and you'd get to read. Plus, it still keeps you from jumping out of the car. Win-win for everyone.”

  “Quiet time? What are you?” she asked, laughing. “Fucking five?”

  I shook my head at the barb and started my Camaro up. We pulled out of the parking lot and, soon, were back on the road. I figured we could clear another seven hundred or so miles today, maybe more.

  Only a couple more days of this bullshit, and I'd be done with Lydia.

  The only problem was, I didn't know if I really wanted to be.

  After a couple pit stops along the way, we finally made it to our destination. The previous nine or ten hours of driving, had been quiet, marred only by the constant rustling of pages as she turned from one page to the next in her first trashy romance.

  We pulled up in a shitty motel and I hopped out, just like before, to get us a room. I was groggy and wiped, my body and mind numb from the constant driving with no stimulation. I went back to the car, climbed in and silently drove around to the room.

  “This the place?” she asked as we pulled up.

  “Yep,” I said wearily before climbing out the car and going around to unlock her. With our bag of shopping items in hand, I led her to the room and we promptly got situated. This room, just like the previous rooms, was bland and nondescript. We were in any hotel west of the Mississippi, and it showed.

  She stripped down and I got her naked form shackled to the bed. I couldn't help but look longingly at her body, remember how wonderfully inviting it had been the last three times. After the long boring drive, my brain was fried. I went around, stripped down, and crawled into bed next to her, her warm body like a beacon of heat and warmth beneath the cool covers. We crashed instantly that second night on the road.

  That night, I dreamed of the future. Of me kicking Joey Banks from his golden throne, of my taking his place at the head of the Warehouse. The world burned around me, and I just laughed as the flames lit the sky with yellows and reds and oranges as the tongues licked the heavens.

  I woke to Lydia's lithe body pressed against mine. She pushed back into my cock like the morning before, her body wiggling. “Kort?” she whispered just like before. “You awake?” she asked as she slid her slick entrance up and down my cock.

  I didn't think twice, even though I knew I should have. I pushed forward into her channel, my hand on her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh as we lay on our sides, spooning.

  She groaned as I slid deep into her in just a couple strokes, her cries muffled by the pillow she'd planted her face in.

  I fucked her hard and fast, her body wriggling and squirming as she came on my length again and again. I slapped her ass like before, my cock driving deep into her from behind. She called out my name, and I bit into her shoulder to stifle my own yells as I emptied into her.

  Gasping, we pulled apart, my cum dripping from her, my cock flaccid and well-used. She turned around with a jingle of chains, the individual links clinging together and we kissed. “Good morning,” she purred as I folded her into my arms.

  “Yeah,” I said, kissing her again, my tongue pushing into her mouth. “Want a shower?” I asked like we were just another honeymooning couple, instead of our actual status.

  “Together?” she asked with a little grin. “Not afraid I'm going to try and push you over in the tub?”

  “I think you'd run,” I said honestly, my fingers trailing up and down her back as I pulled her thin, curvy form into mine, “but I don't think you'd murder me.”

  “What makes you so sure?” she asked with a grin, kissing me again.

  “How about I just take my chances, then?”

  We showered together, with her getting my back, and me getting hers. Her soapy hands felt amazing as they scrubbed my back, and her skin was silky smooth as I ran mine over her. We kissed again in the shower, like actual lovers and not like whatever the fuck we were pretending to be. As we toweled off, I made a decision. When we got close enough, I was going to tell her what I was really after with her father. First I wanted to watch her a little more closely.

  Fully clothed, we headed out for the day. We pulled out onto that lonely stretch of highway and headed west, the early morning sun burning our eyes as it rose into the sky like a Greek god of old, or a burning angel rising to heaven.

  After an hour or so the silence of the drive started to get to me. I glanced over, saw that she was near the end of her book. “Lydia?”

  “Yeah?” she absently asked as she flipped to the last page of the first book we'd purchased.

  “When you start the next book, can you read it out loud?”

  She laughed, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth as she snickered at me and my question. “You can't be serious.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “There's nothing to listen to on the radio but crazy conspiracy nuts and political shows. Read to me.”

  She shook head, laughing again. “Fine. Next book. You want a western or crime?”

  “Western?” I asked. “Like cowboys and shit?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her eyes sweeping out over the desert vistas. “Figured it was appropriate for out here.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, western I guess.”

  She laughed. “Got it. As soon as I'm finished with this one, okay?”

  I drove for the next eight or nine hours, and she read to me. Beat the hell out of the silence and the singing of my tires on the asphalt, that was for sure.

  At the end of the night, we pulled into a smaller college town and found a place to pull over to sleep. Like the other places before, this was another skeezy motel. This time we were both more awake than the previous night. Her reading to me had kept both of our minds occupied as we'd laughed, gasped, and panted a little in the steamier parts, the whole way down the road.

  I got her chained into place at the bed when she grumbled about being hungry. “We ate on the road,” I said as I cinched her cuffs into place on the headboard and locked the chain around the cuffs between her hands. Neither of us were tired, so we hadn't stripped down yet for bed.

  “I know,” she said, “but my stomach won't stop grumbling.”

  “How about we just order a pizza or something?”

  “I don't want pizza” she pouted on the bed. “I want a burger, or some friend chicken. Oh, fried chicken sounds good. With mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  I sighed as I straightened up. This was worse than having a goddamn girlfriend. “Fine,” I growled. “Fried chicken if it'll get you to shut up.”

  “Yay!” she cheered, waving her cuffed together hands over her head. “I think I saw a place just up the street.”

  With a shake of my head I scooped up my keys and turned on the TV for her. I dropped the remote in her lap. “Remember,” I said, raising a finger. My ultimatum had become rote, and she knew it.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Fried chicken, handsome. Feed me and make me a happy woman.”

  I laughed. “Fine. Whatever.”

  She stopped me as I went to leave, my body half out the door. “Kort! Dark meat. I like thighs and legs.”

  “Got it,” I replied as I shut the door.

  I should have known something was up when I couldn't find a fried chicken place anywhere near the motel. After finally getting directions to a local place, I finally met Lydia's demands and was able to return to the motel room with dinner.

  The TV blared through the door as I unlocked it with my key and pushed in. “Alright,” I growled. “Not sure what you saw down the road, but it was a-”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, the words in my mouth tasting like ashes as the boxes of fried yard bird tumbled from my hands and spilled out over the dirty motel room's floor.

  “Lydia?” I asked as I looked around,
completely dumbfounded.

  On the bed were the handcuffs, the chain connected to them. But there was no Lydia Banks. The TV blared on, seeming to taunt me. How had she gotten out? How had she managed to get the cuffs off her wrists?

  “Lydia!” I shouted, despite knowing full well she wasn't here. “Motherfucking Lydia!” I shouted, kicking the fried chicken all over the floor.

  Bitch had done it to me again. I couldn't believe I'd been suckered like that for the third fucking time.

  “Lydia!”

  I knew she couldn't have gone far, not even in a larger town like this. She was still a wanted woman across state lines, even if it was under an assumed name. I balled my hands into fists at my side, punched the wall. When I finally found her this time around, she was going to learn some fucking respect.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lydia

  My long legs had always made me a natural runner, and that didn't change even when I was in this position. My first thought when I used the bobby pins from my hair to pick the locks on my handcuffs was that I was finally in a town where I might be able to get clear of Kort.

  Not that I hated Kort. He actually wasn't half bad. Things might have actually been good between us if he hadn't been working for my father. I'd even enjoyed reading to him all afternoon, the way his brow furrowed as the story twisted and turned and took us on its wild ride. I almost felt bad that I'd had to betray him this way, but survival took precedence. I mean, he deserved to get screwed over by me. He was a thug who'd kidnapped and dragged me fifteen hundred miles east already just so he could deliver me to my pops.

  But that didn't mean I couldn't feel bad about him actually getting screwed over. He hadn't been mean to me, or awful in anyway. If anything, he'd indulged me and been kind of sweet. That's what got him into this mess, with me running away and all, but still.

  I'd ended up at Lucky Lou's, the first shitty dive bar I'd come across. I'd seen the sign as I rambled down the sidewalk, and ducked down the stairs into the little basement bar, trying to get off the street as soon as possible. Besides, with my go-bag gone, I needed a little fiscal capital to stay on the run, and bars were great for that kind of thing.

  What do you get when you mix alcohol, men, parlor games, and a pretty blonde? A bunch of suckers and fools, at least after their third drink. And, like Pops would always say, suckers and fools were soon parted from their money. I pulled open the door and headed inside. The smell of old, stale cigarette smoke filled my nose, followed quickly by a waft of fresh tobacco haze. The bar itself was divided into two levels. The first one, at a glance, was the main area, a shotgun style bar that went all the way back to the rear wall. The second, slightly lower level, was larger and had pool tables in one area and dart boards along the back. Bad classic rock was blaring, the speakers popping like corn kernels on a stove with each bass beat.

  Lined up and down the bar were men of all ages, sizes, and shapes. Bikers, truckers, young hipsters who were there to somehow ironically soak up the scene and the cheap booze. As I glanced up and down the bar I realized none of them were my type. None of them caught my eye. The last man who had was presumably still out trying to find me fried chicken.

  I, on the other hand, definitely drew a few interested looks from the men. And some irate ones from the women who were pissed that there was new meat horning in on their territory. All in all, Lucky Lou's was a dive bar, through and through. It was definitely my kind of place.

  All I had in my pocket was the change from the grocery store where I'd bought the chips and soda before that jackass tried to rape me. That amounted to just under twenty bucks. I hope it was enough to get a cheap stiff drink to steady my nerves.

  “Bourbon and coke,” I called to the bartender as he came over to me. “Well.”

  My drink was cheap, only a couple bucks, and I tipped the barter a little extra to help with my waitress karma. Figured I'd need it when I got out of this town, and got clear of Kort.

  Drink in hand, pouty lips taking a sip from the straw, I headed down to the billiards area. Here, there were about half a dozen pool tables, all occupied. Most of the guys here looked pretty intent on their games. Besides, with just over ten bucks, I barely had enough to cover an opening bet for a game of pool.

  Glancing over at the dart board I saw my chance. A couple guys exchanging money on the sly as they finished up their game.

  I'd worked in a little dive bar like this shortly after I'd gone on the run from Pops. On slow nights, some of the old men would teach me how to play darts and pool. And, as slow as that place was, that made for quite a few nights of practice each week. Eventually they stopped playing with me because I was taking all their drinking money. In no time flat, I had a game going. I lied about the amount of cash I had to start, betting on my luck and skill, and soon ended up with three-hundred bucks more in my pocket, give or take.

  Then, another drink in hand, I took my winnings and headed over to the pool table. A little while after that, with a fresh wad of cash in my pocket, and a couple irate men who I'd just bilked out of their money, I saw Kort walk in and glance around.

  You took too long Lydia, cursed myself.

  “Look,” I said to the drunks around me, “I didn't lie to you guys, did I? You saw me play earlier, didn't you?”

  “Nah man, nah. This is fucking bullshit,” said a younger guy who had a little blonde rat mustache on his face that looked one step above some dirty skin. “You just ran that fucking table like it was nothing, bitch, like you were in the cup or something, some professional bullshit. Fuck you, girlie. I want my money back.”

  “What?” I asked, my head pulled back, my eyes squinted. “You want a fucking refund cause you sucked?”

  I glanced up towards Kort, who was at the bar talking to the bartender, his back turned to me. The bartender leaned around the ways and pointed my direction. Maybe my handsome thug showing up was actually a blessing in disguise.

  “The fuck you just say, bitch?” the guy said, taking a step towards me.

  I turned around a little, putting my back to the short set of stairs that led up to the next level. I backed up slowly as I replied, my words equally slow and even paced. “I. Said. You. Suck.”

  “Lydia!” Kort called from behind me.

  “Look, you want your money back,” I said, jerking my shoulder back over my thumb towards the bar as I took another step towards the exit, “you talk to my man, Kort. He's the one who taught me everything I know. Half of this is going to him, anyways.”

  “Yeah?” Rat Mustache asked, his eyes getting small and beady as he came up on me, towering over my much shorter frame. “Let's go talk to your boyfriend, then,” he said as his hand shot out and grabbed my arm, yanking me off balance as he dragged me towards the bar, and Kort.

  “Lydia! We need to go!” Kort boomed as he came to the top of the landing and looked down at me and Rat Mustache. Then, I guess, he realized the guy had his hands on me. “What the fuck you doing with her, asshole?”

  I wrenched my arm free of the guy's grasp as Kort came down the steps. Now was my chance.

  “Kort,” I said as I went to stand by him, “meet asshole. Asshole, meet Kort. He thinks you owe him money.”

  “Asshole?” Kort asked. “I owe him fucking money?”

  I couldn't answer. I was already up the stairs and out the front door. The guys from the bar were after me a heartbeat later, their boots and shoes pounding loudly on the concrete floor as they came up the stairs after me. I slammed into the exit and took the steps two at a time, not really sure where I was going to go with this. All I knew was that I needed to get away, and do it fast. I just hoped none of these guys could move like Kort.

  A cacophony arose behind me as the three guys from the pool tables hit the door behind me and chugged up the stairs. I sprinted around the building, down the street. I broke right, knowing that I needed to lose them without somehow alerting the cops. If they saw a young woman getting chased by three guys down the side of the
road, they'd definitely stop. And I didn't want to see them anymore than the men chasing me probably did.

  I hung a right down a dark alley, praying it would have an exit. I skidded to a halt in front of an old, worn out chain link fence and quickly realized how wrong I was. Feet sounded behind me at the mouth of the alley, and I spun around to see who it was. Rat Mustache and two buddies. No Kort, though.

  My mouth tasted sour with fear, my heart beat a wicked, cruel tattoo as I realized this might be it. My flight reaction kicked in and I spun around, leaping on the chain link fence. If I couldn't get through it, I figured, I'd just have to go over it.

  The posts holding the fence upright wobbled, and the sheet of linkages fell back away from it, making my legs shake and my grip to become unsure. I had to struggle with making it up and over. I gasped in fear, then screamed, as they grabbed me by the waist and yanked me from the clinking, clanking chain link fence and threw me to the gravel and mud, my body rolling, my shirt climbing up around my back and sides.