Hardened by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “Fine.” He rubbed his hands up and down the condensation on his glass, not really looking at us as he began to speak.

  “Mic knows a little. I was in a different operations group. One even more secret than this one. Yes, such a thing exists. Close your fucking mouth, Flynn.” Rook spat out. “I needed to get out; I couldn’t do it anymore. Being under deep cover for long periods of time was getting to be too much for me. But I can’t just go back to civilian life. My boss is also Jackson’s boss. He ordered Jackson to put me in this unit. That’s all he did, though. He told me if I didn’t hack it with you guys or pass your tests, I was out. He wouldn’t undermine your unit to that degree.” He sipped his soda, not making eye contact with anyone.

  “So, are you in command now?” Pierce calmly asked.

  “No, never. My rank really is corporal now. I took one a hell of a demotion to be here.” He glared at me. “Satisfied, Mic?”

  “Yes. For now.” I raised my glass. “To Rook; welcome to Steel.” I held up my glass until one-by-one, the others joined in. Flynn was the last; he was reluctant, but he did it. Rook was one of us now. “Drink up boys, we’ve earned it.”

  ****

  Julio Vega observed the glorious play land before him. Adolfo was gone; he was the leader now, el jefe. He carefully draped his suit jacket over the back of the simple chair, the only furnishing in the room other than the stainless steel table in front of him. Rolling up his sleeves, he donned latex gloves, loving the snap against his wrists and the powdery slickness on his palms.

  His victim was tied to the table. Her arms were over her head, bent at the elbow and tied to the table legs. Her small bare feet with their red painted toes were tied to the stirrups they rested in. Shiny white synthetic fiber rope was wrapped around her narrow, delicate ankles holding her fast to the stirrups. She was blindfolded and naked. Her white skin was so fair it looked porcelain. She was pebbled with goosebumps and shaking with fear and cold.

  Adolfo had allowed him to indulge in his pleasures, but only with permission. With Adolfo gone, there was no one to stop or slow his play time. He traced a gloved finger over the girl’s stomach. She whimpered and shivered in response, thrashing her head from side to side. She was not gagged yet, but he would do it if she began to annoy him with her begging and crying. Tears dripped from her closed eyes, running down into her hair. He liked it when they screamed, when they sighed and trembled. With each breathless sound, he felt his power grow. In these moments, he was their god... giver of both life and death.

  He pulled a small metal cart closer, the wheels screeching slightly. He must remember to oil them; such imperfections were not to be tolerated. The cart was full of all of his favorite toys: steel clamps in various sizes, needles and thread, a speculum, electrodes on sticky pads, and even a few surgical-grade knives. He selected a pair of shears; they gleamed sharply in the low light.

  Standing at her head, he began to cut. Clumps of hair fell to the floor in a golden cloud. He could get Mexican girls much easier than these Russian and Ukrainian girls. A papa once offered his daughter to him for a mere fifty pesos. He’d killed the man for his impudence. He didn’t like Mexican girls with their dark brown or dyed blonde hair. Natural and pure blondes with perfect white skin was all he ever wanted. It’s what he had to have; nothing else would satisfy him.

  Perfection... he thought as he cut away her hair, piece by tiny piece. He would gather it and laboriously braid it into a long rope before adding it to his box of trophies, his collection of beauties. Whenever he was in the mood, he would open the ash-pine box and take out the braids, running the long strands through his hands, re-living every glorious moment spent with his girls.

  She was crying heavily now, sobbing hard enough that she was hiccupping; snot and tears soaked her red blotchy face. Her hair was becoming damp, which just would not do. Placing the shears next to her head, he slapped her hard... again and again until the crying stopped and his palm stung and burned. Her face was bruised and bloody, but that was okay. Her face didn’t matter.

  Snip... snip... he continued while she slept.

  ****

  Leaning back in my chair, I watched Flynn and Rook playing pool. Flynn was as trashed as I’d ever seen him. Rook was running the table, sinking ball after ball, barely pausing between each shot. Flynn was doing his best to keep up a running commentary.

  “Rook, you bastard. Give a guy a chance here. If there was a girl around, you’d be cock blocking me.” Flynn slurred his words and swayed around a bit on his bar stool.

  I leaned closer to Pierce, who was sitting next to me. “Get his beer from him; I’m cutting him off.” He groaned, but got up to do what I asked.

  Pierce slung his arm over his buddy’s shoulder, making the drunken idiot stumble into him.

  “Hey man... how’s it hangin’? Have I ever told you how much I love you, Pierce? You’re the best friend…,” Flynn started laughing and snorting to something only he understood. “It hurts... oh my god, it fucking hurts to laugh.” He stumbled away from Pierce, veering to the side and promptly falling onto Jordon’s lap. Wrapping both arms around Jordon’s neck, Flynn leaned back and kicked up his feet like a burlesque dancer giving a lap dance.

  I was laughing so hard, I had tears running down my cheeks and I couldn’t breathe. Rook stopped what he was doing and stood there staring, as if he was witnessing a car wreck or something.

  “Flynn, get your fucking fairy twat waffle ass the fuck off me right now,” Jordon snapped, his face bright red with embarrassment and anger. He tried to move, but Flynn clung like a burr. He grabbed Flynn’s arms, trying to shove him off, but Flynn just moved with him, flowing like water. Trying to stand, Jordon only made it worse. Flynn straddled him on the chair, clinging tight to his neck; he wrapped both legs around Jordon’s waist, nearly hooking his feet together behind the chair.

  “Yeehaw! This is a fun ride, lover boy. Does Mic get to ride like this?” Rook was around the pool table before anyone else could react. He grabbed Flynn by the collar and hauled him off of Jordon.

  Flynn was twisting around, trying to knock Rook off. Jones was trying to hide under his Stetson, pulling it low over his face.

  Jordon was standing red-faced, fists clenched at his sides. “Hold him still, Rook, I’m going to beat the mother fucker to death,” he shouted as he began to advance on Flynn, bloodlust mingling with the anger in his eyes.

  “Get him the fuck out of here, Pierce,” I ordered. Willie came into the room, not what I fucking needed right now. “Willie, its fine. We got this.”

  “Okay, Mic. He needs to go, though,” I’ve never heard Willie use that tone before... with anyone. He turned his back and left. I had to force myself to keep my mouth shut and not follow him and bitch at him.

  He’s hurting and it’s my fault…

  Guilt ate at my insides, souring the beer sitting in the pit of my belly.

  Pierce took a still laughing Flynn from Rook and dragged, pushed, and pulled him stumbling from the room.

  “Well, that was fun,” Rook said flatly.

  “Fun? Lap dances from strippers are fun. Lap dances from Flynn? Not fucking fun. Rook,” Jordon complained, his face still red with fury and humiliation.

  “True enough. Fun would be me smoking your little car in a race,” Rook shot back.

  “Wait? What?” Jordon’s confusion made him forget his anger for a minute.

  “Let’s race, lover boy.” The challenge was thrown down as effectively as slapping Jordon with a glove.

  “Fine.” Jordon led the way out the door. Jones and I were left in the room and he emerged from under his hat long enough to give me a stare that spoke volumes.

  “Yeah, we better follow them.” I threw a couple of twenties on the table and raced out after Rook and Jordon. The sound of engines roaring to life assaulted my ears as soon as I flew through the door.

  “Jones, if they wreck…” Jumping into the Jeep, I followed the taillights. There was a straight stretch up
ahead they would no doubt take full advantage of. I shifted as fast as I could and sped after them.

  “They won’t wreck. They love their cars too much.”

  “Jones, people don’t usually wreck on purpose…”

  “Too true. Fucking drive faster then,” Jones urged me. I didn’t need prompting much. I hit another gear and stepped on the gas.

  ****

  Jordon shifted and pressed on the gas; the engine growled in response, lurching the car ahead. He hated to admit it, but maybe this was just what he needed. Feeling the power under his hands and the vibrating roar of the engine liberated him in a way he couldn’t describe. He was being torn apart wanting Mic and not being able to have her.

  Rook had a damn fine piece of machinery, but then again... so did he. The Mustang was stopped up ahead. Pulling up beside it, he got out, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. He approached Rook where he was standing near the hood of his car.

  “So, what are the terms?”

  “What do you want them to be, lover boy?” Rook had the nerve to smile at him.

  “Call me that again, ass-wipe, and after I’m done smoking your fucking car, I’ll beat you unconscious,” he threatened.

  “I’d love to see that. Might even sell tickets.” Rook had the balls to smile at him, showing two missing teeth.

  “Found your sense of humor, did you, fucker?” Jordon advanced a few steps. He was spoiling for a fight and Rook was looking like a great place to start. Lashing out might be stupid, but it sure felt good to let go of his tightly leashed emotions.

  “Always had it. It only comes out on special occasions. Like races.”

  “Then nut up or shut up, ass-hat. Let’s keep it simple; first to the speed limit sign down there wins. Loser has to wash and wax the winner’s car.”

  “Fair enough. I’m adding an oil change in there, boy-o. I use Royal Purple.” Rook held his broad hand out for a shake.

  He took Rook’s hand, there was no stupid squeezing or grinding of knuckles, just an honest handshake.

  “I’ll be waiting for you at the finish; don’t crash.” Jordon turned on his heel, noticing Mic and Jones standing next to her Jeep, knee-deep in weeds. He looked away and got into his car, unreasonable rage clenching his jaw and spiking adrenaline through his already heated blood.

  ****

  We quickly came up on them. They had stopped at the beginning of a long straight stretch. They were standing near their hoods, talking and gesturing with their hands. I pulled off to the side into the weeds.

  They shook hands just as I was getting out with Jones. Jordon quickly glanced over his shoulder at me, but didn’t say anything; just got into his car and started it up. Rook either didn’t notice us or didn’t care that we were there. I wondered what the start signal would be. No one was waving a flag or anything. I didn’t have time to figure it out because with a cloud of burning rubber, they were off; tires screeched and gears slammed. They were even at first, but one more gear change had Rook pulling ahead. The noise was deafening; the ground vibrated with the power unleashed from the engines. Time slowed down; the race lasting mere seconds, but felt much longer.

  “Rook has it,” Jones muttered from next to me. He was correct, Rook slowed once he got to the speed limit sign. Jordon was behind him by only a fraction of a second. It was damn close.

  “Let’s go. I’ve seen enough.” I got into the Jeep and turned around in the middle of the road. I didn’t want to see anymore. I drove us in silence back to the compound.

  Chapter 19

  I stood at my window, watching the night. There wasn’t much to see. No lighting bugs, no animals, not even snow. Just the cold and wind moving the naked branches of the trees around. I clutched a cup of coffee in my hands. I’d made it more to warm up my hands than anything else.

  My thoughts wandered around from Jordon to Aunt Beatrice and Jackson, to Willie, to Vega, and back to Jordon. Always back to Jordon. The man pulled at me, drew me in, and sucked me into a rabbit warren of impossible dreams.

  A knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. Opening it wide, I wasn’t surprised to find Jordon standing there.

  “I need to talk to you.” He stepped inside, brushing past me and not waiting for an invitation.

  “Just come on in, Jordon; make yourself at home in my personal space. No problem, manners aren’t necessary.”

  “Gee thanks, Bea, for the hospitality.” He stood in front of me, arms crossed over his broad chest, green eyes burning with emotions that I didn’t care to examine.

  “For someone who wants to talk to me so bad, you sure aren’t saying much.” I don’t know if it was my feelings about him or my attraction, but he brought out my snarky bitch in full force.

  “Fucking hell, you’re a real bitch, you know that?”

  “Of course I do. I make sure I excel at everything. As entertaining as this verbal sparring is, cut to the chase or get the fuck out.” I turned from him and went back to staring out the window. What I saw there defied explanation.

  “Jordon, come here. Tell me you see this too and I’m not having some crazy-ass PTSD episode.”

  Standing behind me, he looked out toward the training yard. The view that had been boring before was a hell of a lot more interesting now.

  “Is that…?” Jordon covered his face with his hands, trying to un-see that awful thing out there.

  “Yes. I do believe that’s Flynn. Naked.” I stepped around a sick-looking Jordon and walked out onto my porch. I could hear the fucking idiot singing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ at the top of his lungs.

  Pierce was chasing after him, being outpaced by a drunk and naked man. Flynn was running in circles, waving what looked like Jones’s Stetson over his head. It was like a car wreck and I was rubbernecking in horror. Flynn’s upper body was tanned a dark brown, but from the waist down to about knee height, he was snow white. His pale white legs flashed in the moonlight. It was hilarious and sickening at the same time. Each time he faced me, I closed my eyes. A naked, running, bouncing Flynn was not something I wanted stored in my memory banks.

  “Pierce! Tackle him, goddammit!” I shouted, stepping down off my porch into the yard. Flynn saw me and shouted “Horray!” He then ran toward me, dropping the hat which Pierce scooped up on the fly.

  “Oh no, Mic, he spotted you,” Jordon said from beside me, quickly moving out of the way.

  “Oh fuck.” I sidestepped a slowing and now stumbling Flynn; no fucking way was I going to let him tackle me. He tripped over his feet and somehow rolled, landing on his back in the cold wet grass. He was breathing hard and laughing his ass off.

  Pierce arrived just in time. He tossed the hat like he was throwing the golden ring. It landed with perfect accuracy on Flynn’s privates, not quite in time though, I got an eye full of Flynn’s surprising package before putting all of my attention on Pierce.

  “What in the ever loving fuck-all is going on here?” I nearly screamed.

  “I would think it’s fucking obvious Mic!” Pierce shouted back, losing his normally controlled composure.

  “The fun never stops around here, does it?” Rook said, appearing out of nowhere.

  “For fuck’s sake, someone get him up,” I ordered.

  “I’m not touching naked Flynn.” Jordon held up his hands and stepped backwards. “He’s your best friend, Pierce, you do it.”

  “Fuck you, man, I can’t carry him alone,” Pierce shouted again. His face was beet red and he was drenched in sweat. I wondered how long Flynn had been out here leading Pierce on a merry chase. “I am not fucking doing a fire-man’s carry with him when he’s naked.” Flynn chose this opportune moment to pass out, his snores shaking his whole body. I nudged him with my boot; he didn’t stir.

  “Well he can’t stay here; he’ll freeze to death,” I said. Flynn was already turning a light shade of blue.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. You guys are a bunch of pussies. Grab his fucking feet, Pierce.” Rook stepped in and took
Flynn under his arms. “Make sure that fucking hat stays where you put it. That is nothing I want to see again.” Rook began walking backwards, grunting when he had to lift Flynn a little higher. Flynn’s ass was dragging on the grass.

  “Hope they don’t snag him on any rocks…,” Jordon said. “Can we go back inside now and finish what we started?”

  “And what exactly did we start, Chris?” My use of his first name tightened his jaw. He found his balls and took me by the upper arm, moving to drag me back into my cabin. I jerked my arm from his grasp. I would not be pulled around like an errant fucking child. “Watch it, Jordon. Do that again and I’ll feed you your fucking fingers.” I stomped past him, slamming the door against the wall on my way in.

  He threw the door closed behind me. His eyes were blazing as he threw off his jacket and toed off his boots, not missing a step or stumbling at all. How he did that without falling over, I wasn’t sure. I jerked my eyes from his stocking feet; a casual looking Jordon was too much.

  “What the fuck, Jordon?” I was in full retreat mode. Any time he gets that look in his eyes he kisses me, gropes me, or both. And I like it. Too fucking much.

  “What does it look like? For such a smart woman, you sure are stupid sometimes.” He continued to advance, slipping off his shirt as he did. I forced my eyes to his face. I refused to play into his hands.

  “This isn’t happening.” His hard chest hit my palms just as my back hit the wall. His skin was warm and taut and lightly-fuzzed with hair.

  “Don’t you see, Bea?” He asked, burying his hands in my hair, using it as a handle to pull me tight against him. “It already is…” My breath caught in my throat, trapped by my beating heart. “I’m not talking to you anymore. I’m done talking. It’s your turn to spill some truth.” I met his gaze, the green irises were almost swallowed by his black pupils. He was begging me with his eyes to stop this torture, to end our mutual suffering.