by Meg Jackson
“So?” Mayor Gunderson said, petulant as a child.
“So…even if they keep all the profits and don’t employ any locals, they still have to shop here, and go to school here, and pay taxes here.”
“They probably don’t even pay taxes,” Bob said dourly, apparently riding Mayor Gunderson’s pessimism train.
Kim only shrugged, feeling disappointed in the cold reception her good news was getting. She’d hoped these men could put aside their prejudices to be happy about something – anything – happening in their soon-to-be-broke town.
“Well, I think it’ll be interesting,” Ed said, clapping Mayor Gunderson on the back. “You should look at the bright side, Tom.”
“What bright side?” he sneered. “I know what those dirty, lying fuckers are capable of more than any of you. I was on the force last time they decided to come and screw things up here in Kingdom. Last time gypsies landed in Kingdom, someone died. Or have you all forgotten that?”
The mood at the table changed immediately, turning cold as Mayor Gunderson swallowed the last of his beer and gazed around, fixing each individual in a cold – albeit somewhat dazed – stare.
“Of course, Tom,” Ed said softly, removing his hand from the Mayor’s back. “Of course we remember.”
“You know damn well that I remember,” Bob chimed in, his tone gruffer than usual. Kim looked at him; he was staring into his glass like it had just insulted his mother.
“Good,” Mayor Gunderson said. He looked over at Kim’s nearly-empty beer, his face softening slightly. “Ready for me to buy you a beer now, Kimmy?”
“Sure, Tom,” she said, feeling a deep squirming sensation in her stomach. She rarely saw her boss behave in such a way. Most of the time, he was all smiles and things-will-be-alright aphorisms. “Sounds great.”
He grunted as he rose, shambling towards the bar. The moment he left, the table breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“I had no idea…” Kim said, feeling bad. She’d forgotten that Mayor Gunderson had been a cop thirty years prior, when, as legend had it, a gypsy had murdered a local woman. Apparently, though he’d never spoken about it to her before, this was an old wound to him, and it was being reopened now.
“He never got over that,” Phil said, shaking his head. “Don’t know why, he just took it very personal. Half the reason he left the force, in fact. Said he couldn’t sleep at night, knowing that he’d failed to protect someone he was sworn to protect. Didn’t help that they couldn’t get anything to stick on the bastard who did it.”
“You’re too young to know about any of that,” Bob sneered, calling Kim out on her age. “But it really hurt our town. We’d never had something like that happen before. It changed everything. Everyone. So excuse us if we’re not too keen on letting a bunch of murders back into town limits.”
Phil and Ed both gave Bob a sympathetic stare, but when Paul moved to clap him on the back he shook it off wildly, taking a deep gulp from his beer.
I doubt a man who killed someone thirty years ago would come back to the place he’d done it, Kim thought. We don’t even know if this group is related to the one that came thirty years ago.
But she bit her tongue, feeling that this wasn’t the time to act like a mediator. The one thing she did know was that the town couldn’t afford to run off anyone who might be able to save it from utter ruin.
“I don’t know,” Ed said, giving voice to Kim’s thoughts. “I just think we’re being rather quick to judge. Kimmy says they might actually help us out…”
Two things happened at the same time as Ed’s sentence trailed off. Mayor Gunderson returned with two beers and two shots, slamming all four beverages down on the table. And the door opened, the sound of strange laughter preceding the three figures who entered. Kim’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the first man enter. Kennick. He was smiling distractedly as his brothers filed in after him, his strong profile making her want to squirm in her seat.
“Kimmy,” Mayor Gunderson said, snapping her attention back to the table. He was holding one of the shots of whiskey and motioned with his eyes to the one he’d put in front of her. Kim wasn’t much for strong liquor, but the sudden arrival of the three men – who had no idea that they were currently the topic of conversation – made her feel like a little liquid courage might be in order. Maybe the taste would help her mouth stop watering. She picked up the glass, smiling up at her boss.
“To finally getting you out of the damn office,” he said, apparently forgetting the anger he’d so obviously felt just moments before. They clinked glasses and took their shots, Kim nearly throwing hers back up the moment it hit her throat, her reaction making the men laugh. She burned red from the shot, and from being the butt of the joke – as usual.
“We’ll make a drinker of you yet, my dear,” Phil said, reaching over to clap her on the back. Kimmy’s eyes swam as she looked up from the empty glass. She saw Ed looking at the three men, who had bellied up to the bar and were chatting with the bartender. Apparently, he saw the same thing Kimmy had seen in them – holy hotness.
Ed’s stare attracted the rest of the party’s attention, too, and slowly all eyes turned to the three men at the bar. The bartender was leaning forward, seemingly entranced by what they were saying in low voices. He laughed, pulled away, and uncapped three beers, placing one in front of each man. They clinked glasses and drank as the bartender lined up a row of shots.
“Wonder…” Mayor Gunderson said, softly, almost to himself. Kim felt her stomach catch slightly. Did he guess? She hoped he would take them for tourists or passers-through, or something else. As she watched, Kennick shook off the flannel he’d been wearing. Tattoos danced up his arms, covering every inch, it seemed. They were elaborate, geometrics designs; his arms looked like the inside of a mosque. Kim turned back to the Mayor. His eyes narrowed as he examined Kennick’s arms as intently as Kim had, but with growing anger instead of lust.
Shit, Kim thought as he stood up.
Phil and Ed each grabbed for the larger man, but were too late. He was already crossing the bar, swaying slightly. Kim knew he was drunk, but she hoped that all those years of drinking kept him from getting too out of control. It was clear, from the look on his face, that he meant to start something that night; Kim wondered who would finish it.
6
“Yeah, yeah, man,” Junior, the bartender, said as he pushed three shots across the bar, saving one for himself. “I can drink to that, buddy.”
Cristov grinned, grabbing his glass and lifting it to the air, followed shortly by his brothers.
“To new friendships,” Cristov said.
“And greener pastures,” Junior volleyed, downing his whiskey in tandem with his new favorite customers.
Kennick wasn’t sure whether or not Cristov and Damon had noticed the girl from the Mayor’s office sitting at a table when they entered, but he certainly had. And as the shot burned its way down his throat, it took all his focus not to turn around and stare at her. She was like a burr stuck in the denim of his jeans. She was damn cute. Damn cute.
And the fact that their paths had crossed twice that day already made him wonder. Luck was important to him. To all Rom, luck was nearly sacred. To call anything a coincidence was lazy, a way to avoid seeing the bigger picture.
But she was sitting at a table with four other people – all men. One of them might be her boyfriend. Even if none of them were her boyfriend, he knew that there was a time and a place for everything, and this was not the time to approach her. Though, if he managed to catch her alone that night, it might be the place.
But, more importantly, he had bigger fish to fry than exploring her cute, compact body with his eyes. The Volanis brothers had already visited the town’s two other bars, both of which had been just about as deserted for a Friday night as this one. Even the streets were quiet. Kingdom was not doing well. Kennick smiled to himself, thinking that, if this was a movie or a novel, the town’s downward plunge could be blam
ed on a gypsy curse, punishment for what had happened to his father.
Their mission that night was simple: start making connections for their less-than-legal business ventures. Specifically, the pot business. Bartenders were always a good place to start when looking for people who’d be interested in getting a little extra green in their hands. Green as in money and as in herb. Bartenders knew the drunks, and most drunks were stoners, or knew stoners, or could be convinced to turn into stoners when the hangovers got bad. Bartenders knew dealers. Bartenders liked to double as dealers.
They’d gotten the two other bartenders they spoke to that night on board, trading numbers and agreeing to some basic rates, slipping dime-bag samples across the bar to verify the quality of the product. And now Junior here was damn near salivating at the opportunity. Apparently, Kingdom had been going through something of a marijuana drought, and the Volanis brothers were like angels descending on fragrant, purple-veined wings.
Just as Junior was getting set to pour out another round – now that business was basically done for the night, Kennick had no problem with getting good and drunk, especially when the shots were free, paid for by a very grateful bartender – Kennick felt a hand landing heavy on his shoulder. It made his spine stiffen.
“You boys here on business or pleasure,” said the man attached to the hand. Kennick turned slowly, having to look up to meet the man’s gaze. He didn’t like looking up at anyone.
“What business is it of yours?” he responded, staying cool despite the daggers being thrown his way from the clearly-drunk man’s eyes. He shrugged the lingering hand off his shoulder. Behind him, he heard Damon and Cristov rise to stand and flank him.
“This is my town,” the man said, the sour smell of beer on his breath. He was old, chubby from too much booze, his face red, cheeks puffy. He looked like he could be a nice guy in a different circumstance.
“Kennick Volanis,” Kennick said, taking the high road, sticking his hand out. The man’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t move to shake the offered hand. “Pleasure.”
“Volanis,” the man said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Volanis. Volanis! You have some fuckin’ nerve! What’s your goddam angle, boy? What the fuck did you come back here for?”
Kennick’s hand crumpled into a fist. The way the man had spit his name out was like a serpent spitting venom. Boy. He’d called him boy.
“Goddam gypsy bastards,” the man continued, his face getting redder and redder, voice getting louder and louder. Damon and Cristov bunched closer.
“Listen, buddy, you should just get back to your seat,” Cristov said, and the man broke his stare with Kennick to look at the younger brother.
“Ain’t your buddy. I’m the goddamn Mayor, and I don’t want no fuckin’ asshole gypsies in my town,” he said, now lifting a finger, pointing it straight at Cristov, so close he almost poked him in the chest. Cristov swatted the hand away in a single fluid motion, and the man’s eyes widened as though the touch was electric. Seeing that things were not going to get any better, two of the men who’d been sitting at the table with him rose and came to his side, each taking an arm.
“C’mon, Tom, let’s not do this,” one said, his voice high and effeminate.
“You don’t want to cause trouble at Sammy’s, friend,” said the other. “They’re not worth it.”
The Mayor looked at his friends, rage clearly bubbling beneath his skin, but seemed to see the virtue in what they were saying. As he stepped backwards, pulled with the two men at his sides, he made eye contact with Kennick one final time.
“You hear me, boy,” he spat. “Think good and hard about how long you want to stay here. I can make things very hard for you.”
“Woah, bro,” Junior said behind the bar, the bottle of whiskey still in his hand, not having moved since the beginning of the altercation. “That was some fucked up shit.”
Damon was the first to turn back to the bar, but none of the men sat down.
“Some shit is right,” Cristov hissed, grabbing the refilled shot glass and pouring it back before anyone else.
“Bad luck to drink before toasting,” Damon said, eyes on his reckless younger brother.
“Bad luck already found us,” Kennick grumbled, his eyes still following the man, who’d sloppily taken his seat at the table. Beside him, Kim was turned towards the bar, her eyes on him. When he met her gaze, she seemed to straighten, as though electrocuted. Kennick didn’t release her as he reached out, grabbing his shot. Tipping it towards her, he saw the wide-eyed stares of the men behind her.
Fuck them, Kennick thought. Fuck all of them.
To his surprise, just as he lifted the glass to his mouth, she had grabbed her beer and, so slightly as to be nearly imperceptible, tipped it towards him. They drank together, her taking a long gulp of her beer while he shot the whiskey back into his throat. No sooner did she put her glass back on the table than the Mayor turned back, his eyes all turpentine and fire, his mouth in a sneer.
“Let’s go,” Kennick said, tearing his gaze away from the woman and her comrades. Junior was still holding the damn whiskey bottle. “You still in?”
The bartender was really no more than a kid – couldn’t be 22, even. But after a hard swallow, he nodded.
“Yeah, dude,” he said. “Mayor don’t scare me.”
From the look in his eyes, the kid was lying through his teeth.
“Good,” Kennick said, sliding his shot glass across the bar. “Because he doesn’t scare us, either. And don’t be afraid to spread the word.”
7
Kim drove home slowly. Slower than she really understood. She hadn’t drank that much, but it seemed no matter how hard she pushed her foot against the pedal, the car wouldn’t move any faster.
Fog had descended, heavy, on the road. Still, she could make out a figure on the side of the road, its form large and masculine, one hand raised, thumb out.
I don’t pick up hitchhikers, she thought. But it seemed the car had a mind of its own, and she pulled over as the figure became clearer.
Oh, she thought, the fog seeming to enter her brain. Him.
As the tall, long-haired gypsy crawled in beside her, she felt her heart pounding. His eyes on her were demanding.
“Take me,” he said.
“Where?” she asked, feeling her stomach churning as she pulled away. He filled the car with his scent – leather and sandalwood. She hadn’t noticed that before. At least, not consciously. But now it filled her nostrils and seemed to funnel right down to her heart – no, not her heart. Somewhere deeper. And darker.
“Wherever,” he said, his hand coming out to grip her thigh. She was wearing shorts – had she put those shorts on? She thought she’d been wearing jeans, but the way she could feel every swirl of his fingerprints against her flesh said differently. She didn’t dare look down. She drove on. She didn’t recognize this street. This wasn’t where her home was.
“I don’t know where we are,” she said, hearing the fright in her voice. He leaned in, his slight stubble raising goosebumps along her sides as it grazed her neck.
“Does it matter?” he asked, his voice a hot tornado against her ear, making her moan even as his lips fell to the soft, warm skin behind her earlobe, his tongue darting out to caress her. Her hands were white knuckled around the steering wheel. His fingers danced upwards across her thigh.
She felt a single drip of arousal escape her sex, and with a sudden flush of shame realized she wasn’t wearing shorts. She wasn’t wearing anything. His lips closed over the flesh of her neck, sucking gently inward. Her nipples hardened to points as his fingers traced the lips of her pussy, trailing slightly, wet from her arousal. Without thinking, she opened for him, and felt as his fingers grazed her clit.
“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked, his lips warm against her flesh. She tried to look at the road, but it was all mist and fog. Like her mind. Like her body as he played it, slipping his fingers up and down her wet sex, just barely touchin
g her swollen clit with each stroke. She tried to answer but couldn’t.
“I said,” he growled, his fingers hovering over her opening now. “Do you want to fuck me?”
With those words, he pressed inside her, and she bucked, her hips thrusting upwards in a frenzied desire.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes…”
“Good,” he growled against her, nipping gently at her neck with his teeth. “Then do it. Fuck me. Fuck my fingers until you come.”
His thumb came to her clit, circling it, and she felt her body taking over, thrusting herself against his fingers as they curled inside her. She felt a rising tide inside her, sweet arousal turning hard and needy as he plunged his fingers deeper inside her, his thumb increasing its pace around her clit.
“Take me, take me, take me,” she moaned, someone else’s voice, someone else’s words, her foot still pressed hard against the pedal, the car running faster now, too fast, her hips moving out of pure animal lust, driving his fingers deep inside her, the rushing tide growing to a wave, pleasure filling her muscles, tension snapping at her nerves.
“I will,” he growled, biting her hard now. “You’re going to be mine. I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to be mine, mine, all mine…”
And then the car swerved, off the road, as her slit gushed, fire sparking in her skin as she came, his fingers curling against her g-spot and pressing, his thumb abusing her clit until her thighs snapped shut around his hand, bliss radiating through her mind, intoxicating and delirious, and then the crash as the car crumpled around them, the tree she’d driven into snapping as it crashed down, death swallowing them, her stomach plunging even as her heart filled…
Kim woke up with a gasp. Her hand was buried into her panties, her wetness coating her fingers, slick and slippery. Her heart was racing, flesh on fire.
