Kismet

by Beth D. Carter

  The underground city is gone. Decimated. All the homes destroyed, some burning. I see bodies lying, obviously dead from the blood pouring out of them. Others are being wrangled together and forced to leave on chains locked to each other. Cries. Tears. Grief. Despair.

  I have failed them.

  In front of me, a woman is grabbed by the arms by one of the bad guys. I have no hesitation as I rush forward, using the butt of my gun to knock him out. The woman runs away, though I don’t know why. Where can she go? The only thing we can do is fight back, because this haven has become a deathtrap.

  I sprint forward to the next bad guy, tearing him away from the man he is struggling with and shooting him in the arm. He screams and falls down, clutching the wound I gave him.

  It is a fine line to walk, choosing who should live and who should die. What I perceive as a “bad guy” may be not necessarily be the case, but with the visions that I have, I have sometimes minutes to decide how to handle the situation. Had this been a normal world, who knows how I would have applied my gift? But in this case, clearly it’s either kill or be killed, and so I have no remorse over using my guns.

  I go through the haze of the lingering smoke and ash, fighting bad guys like a horrible computer game. When my nines run out of bullets, I quickly change magazines but grimly realize that they are my last. My mind briefly travels to my Cat and all the wonderful ammunition I have stored on it, wishing I could see it one last time. Hell, wishing I was driving it away from this fuck-hole.

  I spend the next few minutes ducking, dodging, and shooting. And pretty soon my bullets are spent. I toss the guns since I have no more magazines and grab my throwing knives. I rush up to one man who takes a swing at me. I duck and bring my knives up, embedding one in his armpit and the other in his neck. He half screams, half gurgles his pain and then falls. I yank my knives free and rush onward.

  A leg comes from out of nowhere, though I don’t realize it until I’m sprawled on the ground again. I lose the grip on my knives. A hand grabs my hair and bashes my head on the concrete beneath me. My eyes clash with stone-cold black ones as red hair swings through my blurry vision.

  Had I been functioning normally, with all my senses intact, I probably would have been able to break the bitch’s hold. She’s strong and tough, but I count myself right up there with the best, and I can fight dirty. But with my brains rattling around again, I’m very slow to process the world at large, so all I’m able to do is turn my head and throw up on her shoes, which Red Hair doesn’t appreciate too well. She kicks me in the gut, which doesn’t help at all.

  Before I can take a deep breath, I’m yanked up by my hair again and brought face-to-face with Red Hair. Seriously, I’m so over the pain right now that the anger is pushing everything else aside.

  “Lemme go,” I slur and use my palm as an uppercut to her chin. Only I misjudge the distance, and the hit harmlessly slides off her shoulder. Fuck. I’m in worse shape than I thought.

  Red Hair leans into me and buries her nose in my hair, breathing in and letting out a sigh of appreciation. It would’ve been hot had she not been a total lunatic.

  “I might have to make some special time for you,” she practically purrs in my good ear, “after El Toro has his little sporting game, of course.”

  “Fuck off,” I manage to grate out, though even I have to admit my protest sounds very weak and warbled.

  She laughs. “Come on, Beauty.”

  She zip-ties my hands together and yanks me up, pulling me through the throng of people still fighting. But even I can see it’s a lost battle. It was a lost battle when the bomb went off.

  Red Hair takes me past her fighters, past the lines of people caught. Up the stairs and through the hallway where more and more tattooed assholes are rushing forward. We step out into the cool night air, and I squint, thinking I was positive it had been morning. What the hell?

  Was I that out of it? That’s slightly disconcerting.

  There are people all around. Bonfires giving light. All that is missing is the boom box playing some type of old-school eighties techno, and I’d feel like this is John Carpenter’s Escape from LA.

  “Let her go!” Hyde yells from somewhere in the flickering darkness.

  Before I can even begin to be relieved, Red Hair pulls me into her arms and places her gun barrel against my temple.

  “Come out, GI Joe!” she yells. “I’m not afraid of dying, and I can easily take her with me.”

  Hyde steps forward from the shadows, his gun held high and steady. All around him Red Hair’s goons swivel their guns.

  “I guess we’re at a standoff,” he says.

  “Not really,” replies Red Hair. “I can kill her, shoot you, and still have one to play with. Tall fellow, dark hair, tattoo on his lower back. So, unless you put down that gun and sashay your ass over here, he’s going to be my new fuck toy.”

  The next few seconds seem to drag on forever. Then Hyde eases his finger off the trigger and flips the safety on. Two men rush in from the sidelines, rifles aimed. Hyde puts his hands up beside him, and one man moves in to grab the weapon while the other grabs Hyde. I have a flash of my vision, when Hyde gets shot, and with sickening clarity I realize this woman is the start of my nightmare.

  Chapter Eleven

  We are led like cattle, chained together and whipped along. Hyde is at the back somewhere. Shalana is next to me, banged up. I can see an underlying fear in her eyes, but I don’t think it’s for herself. She keeps glancing at people on our chain gang and gnawing on her bottom lip.

  It was daylight when we were taken, but now it’s more like twilight. I think these Mad Max bad-guy clones are taking the long way home, because I swear I’ve seen that pile of twisted steel once or twice already on our shuffle to the final destination.

  The Staples Center, or what is left of the once famous arena.

  For the most part, it’s intact. There are windows busted, of course, and the front entrance has sunk, but it seems the newer buildings remained more intact than the older, non-reinforced ones. Giant torches line the walkway like at some gothic castle, and guards watch us with curled lips of disdain.

  I can see lots of people mingling throughout and can’t help but realize this is what anarchy looks like. Chains, Mohawks, tattoos, and piercings. Hollywood got it right, go figure. People hiss at us, some spit, and one person even licks his mouth like he can’t wait for dinner…with us on the menu. Holy fuck. Really? This is what a lack of social order and government looks like? Couldn’t these people have had more of an imagination?

  Once we reach the entrance, the whole procession of us chained together is halted. Two big black men come forward and open the locks before separating us. Immediately Hyde and I are separated from the rest, who are shuffled inside quickly. Our hands aren’t tied, but there are about twenty guns aimed at us, ensuring we won’t bolt.

  Red Hair approaches and once again appraises us. She laughs coarsely and starts talking in Spanish to those around her, laughing as she tells them what she plans to do with us. How she plans on fucking me and sticking a large dildo up Hyde’s ass.

  “Lleva tu vibrador y cojetelo,” Hyde tells her, and I swivel a surprised look his way. Then he translates for the added effect. “Take your vibrator and fuck yourself.”

  The laughter dies away.

  Red Hair walks up to him and sticks her gun under his chin, forcing his head back. His muscles bulge with restraint because I know he really wants to take her neck and snap it like twig. She sniffs him and then laughs. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Come on, GI Joe,” she says mockingly. “I’ve got a present for you.”

  I’m pushed first, and Shalana is right behind me, past the waiting people and into the torch-lit foyer of the Staples Center. We are led down a winding concrete corridor that has some serious cracks all through the foundation. I hope I’m not in this building when the earthquake hits. Actually, I don’t want to be anywhere near Los Angeles at all, but
I guess we’ll see where this is heading.

  We stop somewhere on a tier, and Red Hair converses with a dark-haired Latino man. Hyde goes one way while the rest of us go the other.

  We’re escorted, and I use that term lightly, to a large area where many cells are erected. The dungeon I suppose, and I can’t help but feel as if I’ve been transported back to the medieval ages. The torches on the wall may provide light, but they also give the ceiling a smoky haze that lingers heavily. The acerbic fumes burn my throat and sting my eyes.

  The guards start pushing us into cages. I see the broken, shivering people from the underground city staring fearfully back, family units huddled together, and the absolute hopelessness in all the faces. These people are subjugated like stray animals at the pound. God knows what’s in store for them. Dying, probably, would be preferable to the fate that awaits them at the hands of El Toro. Shalana is put in with several people, and the need to save them, no matter the cost, rises like vomit in my throat. How can I save them when I can’t even save myself?

  I’m led past several jails through an intricate pathway to a cell located away from the others in a darkened corner. I get thrown in, and I fall, right onto the hard concrete floor and right onto my knee.

  “Fuck!” I say with a hiss as stars explode before my eyes. I grab my knee and just lie there in a mangled lump trying to get my breathing back under control and hoping to hell I don’t start crying. My ear hurts, my head hurts, my pride hurts, and now, Christ, my fucking knee.

  “Evie?”

  My name is rasped, and my pain temporarily pushed aside, I swivel on my butt to see Kris. I have just a brief glance of his face before he swoops down and embraces me, mindless of my aches and pains. But then, I’m mindless of them too. I wrap my arms around him and return his hug with fervor.

  In that moment, all the doubts that Hyde roused in me dissipate. Love swells in my heart, so much that it stutters in my chest. I want to cry, I’m so happy. My body throbs to life, and immediately all I want to do is rip the clothes from his body and suck him deep.

  It’s at the moment that I realize that I love him. Truly, madly, deeply. Love him.

  “Why are you here?” he demands, snapping me out of my revelation.

  “I could ask the same of you!” I demand back, though with less intensity as I had hoped to convey, because I’m so very happy to see him.

  He holds me at arm’s length, and in a very rare moment of tenderness, runs his hands over my various bumps and bruises. His fingers travel up and down to make sure I’m as intact as I possibly can be. He frowns when he gets to my ear.

  “How’d this happen?”

  “The bank door just exploded, and I was standing too close, I suppose. It throbs but doesn’t hurt much anymore. I think it’s just a little minor tear, though you’ll have to speak in the other ear.”

  He was quiet for a moment as he tried to clean away the dried, crusty blood. “It was probably my blast bomb. I had one left.”

  I’d figured as much.

  Then he cups my face, and before another word is spoken, he kisses me. He curves his arms around me, two bands of steel that press me firmly into the taut, muscled contours of his body. The touch of his lips, the dance of his tongue with mine, the ridge of his hard thighs as they cradle mine, manage to wipe the situation around us out of my mind. It must have the same effect on him as well, because the next thing I’m aware of are Kris’s hands working my pants down my hips. When did he unbutton and unzip them?

  But I waste no further time with silly questions. My fingers free Kris from the tight confines of his pants. His cock is already hard, velvet wrapped around steel. Moisture leaks from the slit, and I use it to coat my hands and play with the large, bulbous head. He groans, his fingers seeking my cunt and finding it swollen with need.

  Without any more foreplay, he spins us around so that his back is facing the cage door and I’m completely buried in shadow. I turn my back facing him and bend, offering the only position that our clothing will allow, and Kris wastes no time. He thrusts into me, angling his hips to stuff as much cock into my hungry cunt as possible. I groan in pleasure and grab the bars in front of me, partly because, as Kris pounds away, I need to protect my head from being bashed, but also we are two wild creatures copulating, fucking as quickly as we can. Any minute the guards could come back and catch us. But the risk, the danger, only adds to the intensity.

  Kris fucks me furiously, and I do my best to meet each pump with ferocity of my own. I try to keep quiet, so I bite my lips and swallow back my cries of passion. It doesn’t take long, for me or for Kris. Seconds later I explode in bliss, and as my vaginal walls milk Kris’s cock, he follows, stiffening behind me. I feel his hot cum coating me inside, but I haven’t the strength to even care.

  Tenderly, he kisses the back of my neck. I shiver at the unexpected gesture. He leans against me, and just for a few seconds, all is right with my world. But all dreams must end, and this one ends way too soon. Kris straightens, adjusting himself, and zips up his pants. I ignore the juices running down my thigh as I do the same. In a matter of minutes, our brief moment in time is erased.

  Well, except for the continued frantic beat of my heart. But that I can’t help—it soars just by looking at Kris. He holds out a hand toward me, a gesture that fills my soul with happiness. I take it, and our fingers entwine. He stares at our clasped hands, and I see a shudder ripple through his body. His eyes close, but before I can say anything, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight in a very gentle embrace.

  He rests his head on top of mine. Our bodies are flush against each other, chest to chest and hip to hip. No words are needed. I relax into his embrace, for this is heaven, and if I die today, then this moment is the best one of my life.

  But our brief interlude is abruptly shattered as the cage door is opened and Hyde is pushed through the door. It is clear by the trickling blood and bruising jawline that he has been beaten, his arms folded into his sides trying to protect his ribs. He stumbles as the door slams behind him.

  “Hyde,” Kris mumbles and drops me like a hot potato to rush to his partner’s side, helping him stand. “Broken?”

  Hyde shakes his head. “Bruised. As is my ego.”

  “Cannon.”

  “Blaster.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Amen.”

  Obviously, I am out of the loop on cryptic male speech, because even though I hear English, all that computes is gibberish.

  “All right, enough with the male bonding,” I say, moving to Hyde’s other side and helping him to sit on the floor easily.

  Hyde smiles at me, though it is a lopsided effort. I can see the pain he’s trying to ignore. “It’s just Kris talk. Have you tried the door?”

  Kris nods. “Solid.”

  “Any way out?”

  “Not until they let us out.”

  Hyde sighs and rubs a tired hand over his face. “I’m trying to think of a way for all of us to get out of here, but I’m having difficulty coming up with a solution.”

  “We wait too long, and we won’t have to worry about what the barbarians have in store for us,” I mutter.

  And then we all fall silent. I walk over to a corner and sink down to sit, rubbing my still-aching knee and trying hard not to shake from coldness. Some part of my brain dimly computes that it must be the onset of shock, but like the stubborn fool I am, I firmly push it away and ignore it.

  For a moment, a very brief moment, I feel absolutely overwhelmed and defeated. I am a strong woman; I am tough. But current events have me drowning, and I can’t seem to find the strength to lift my head and figure out what to do.

  I thought things were going to be easy. Like always. I swoop in, save the day, and roll on out with some sweet memories. In my dreams, in my personal fantasies, this part was wrapped up in pretty paper with a big red bow on top. But on top of that idea being so very wrong, now I also have guilt sweeping through me.

  Before me are two men who
have completely turned my life upside down. From the first moment I met Kris, my heart knew it had found its other half. Both of us have had pain in our past, so perhaps that’s why I feel so comfortable with him, so drawn.

  Why I had sex with Hyde, I don’t really know. All I can think is that my immune system was down. I was hurting badly and missing Kris. Or maybe I’m not such the moral, faithful person I always thought I would be when finding someone I loved. Visions of my mother pop into my head, and I shiver. This is harsh. This is something I never imagined I’d be caught in. My chest tightens, and tears start to slide down my cheeks in a silent bend toward hopelessness.

  “Are you crying, Evie?” Kris asks.

  “No,” I flat-out lie.

  He squats down beside me. “I can see your tears.”

  I viciously wipe them away. “I’m not crying. I never cry,” I say as I glare at him. “I’m not a weak woman, Kristian Seek. I’m not my mother!”

  He blinks, clearly confused.

  “Fuck off,” I mutter.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Would you rather talk to Hyde?”

  I flick my glance at the other man. Hyde is leaning against the bars, watching us, his arms folded across his chest. There is an indolent, satisfactory look in his eyes. He thinks I would never tell Kris about what happened between us, but his smugness rubs me wrong. All it does is make me think What the hell? “Perhaps he should talk to you.”

  I see a cautionary look steel into his dark eyes. He looks over his shoulder toward his partner. “She says I should talk to you.”

  Hyde straightens. “About what?”

  Kris looks back at me questioningly.