Blind Spot, CH 03 (Patreon)

Great. Maybe I should run him over this time?

The old man stands there, in the middle of the road highlighted by the SUV’s powerful headlights in the darkness. Maybe that’s his thing, trying to get run over? The SUV’s wheel bounces in and out of a hole in the gravel road and I have to slow. It’s getting bad enough I don’t think even this suspension could take this at normal speeds.

Since I’m already slowing, I come to a stop a few feet from him. It’s bad form to run over an old man without knowing if he deserves it first, I mean, other than being an asshole.

His name’s Jacoby, he’s got to be at least eighty, and I can tell he has military training in how he moves as he walks around to the driver’s side. There his this aura of ‘I’m going to kick your ass if you cause me trouble’ about him. Tristan said Jacoby’s nominally in charge of the reservation.

The AC/DC shirt he had on looks brand new and I would love to know he manages it, because something that hold can’t be available anymore. Maybe he bought a case at their last concert and he is pulling a new one out when the previous one falls to pieces. He’s got to be too old to know what the internet is.

I lower the window. “Nice antique.” I nod to the revolver he had a hand on.

“It can still put holes into you, kid.” He has a strong voice, for an old guy.

“I wouldn’t recommend trying.”

He raises a bushy gray eyebrow. “You think I’m afraid of that peashooter?”

“Ouch. That’s mean.” I grin. “A nine-mil can also put plenty of holes in you, and mine had more bullets than yours. But that’s not why it’s a bad idea to hurt me.”

“You daddy’s going to come punish me?”

I roll my eyes. “Dear Old Dad couldn’t care more if you hurt me. But Tristan might have something to say about it.”

“You think I’m scared of him?”

I bite by my first thought. “I don’t think you’re afraid of anything,” I say instead. “Doesn’t mean he won’t break you in half for hurting me.” I’m stretching. He was drugged and half conscious when he said what he did. And his actions the rest of the weekend didn’t exactly make him seem like he’s grown attached.

“Tristan said you drive a Camaro,” he answers instead of whatever put down he had to be thinking of.

“I’ve seen what this road does to low riding transmissions. So I traded sideways.”

He peers in the darkness that’s he road I arrived by. “You bring trouble with you?”

“Only good times, but not for you.”

His cold and pale blue eyes fix on me. “You cause us problems, and I don’t care how Tristan feels about you. I will end you, kid. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!” I even throw in the salute.

He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t like the way you say that.”

I shrug. “Tough to be you then, cause that the most respect someone like you’s going to get out of me. I really don’t care what you run things here. I’m here to be with Trstan and every minutes you delay me isn’t raising the respect I already don’t feel. I don’t care how much military you’ve gotten in your in your long life. You don’t let me go and I am going to remove you myself. Am I making myself clear?”

“You think you can take me in fight?”

I snort. “I’m not an idiot. I’m going to shoot you from a quarter mile away.”

The old man cracks a smile. “I think I see what Tristan likes about you.”

“You have no idea what he likes about me.” That, I do know he likes. “Look, are you going to shoot me, or can I got on with my weekend? I drove too many hours to waste a minute more with you.” I point to the dot of light, higher in the distance. “Any longer and he might come ask what’s keeping me.” Another stretch. He told me to never come back, but I who am I to listen to that stupid order?”

“Go.” He walks back and vanishes in the darkness.

I ease forward and look in the rearview in time to see him give me the finger in the read lights. It’s my turn to crack a smile. No idea why, but I like the old man.

Even at this slow speed, one of the potholes bounces the SUV hard enough my travel mugs fly off the passenger seat. I’m lucky one of them lands in my lap, because this isn’t a safe place to go diving after them while in motion. None of the houses close to the trail that tries to pass for a road are visible and I’m shaken left and right.

This thing’s is so getting a one star review when I get home. Where’s this great suspension that makes it none of the holes in a road can be felt?

The houses are too far for my headlights to show them, and only Tristan has his lights on. Maybe he too knows how much weight his last order had.

None of the cars that got destroyed by this calamity of a road are here. They were already behind Zephyr’s house by the time I left on Sunday, hidden under sand colored tarps. Tristan gave me the name, and along with what I saw of the man I found out the CIA wants him dead. I won’t tell them where he is. I’m actually okay with what he did to end up on their ‘shoot to kill’ list. Even in war time, there are some people who don’t deserve to be protected.

I also found his website, not under his name, of course. Turns out he turns metal scraps into are that goes for a few thousand a piece. Now I know what’s going to happen to those cars.

The garage with Tristan’s Chevelle is on this side of the property, with the floodlights next to it, illuminating the road and little of the house. I wonder if he repaired the damage I did to its transmission. I handles stick shift pretty well by the time I got here, but I did a number on it leaving Phoenix.

He probably has. He likes for his things to be in proper working order.

I search the yard. It’s all dirt, this is Arizona after all. You only get grass if you spend a lot of money on it. Tristan isn’t someone to waste money on anything. In my memory, I see where the dead were, where I put most of them. Before me, there is no evidence of the symphony I created. No blood in the sand, no body parts left lying around.

We spent most of Sunday burying them in the forest. One mass grave, seven feet deep. Sex in a freshly dug grave is surprisingly comfortable. With all that cool dirt, getting pointed raw isn’t the same.

I finish the coffee in my lap and ease out of the SUV, clipping the Beretta at my pack before putting on my new jacket. Stylish gray with red highlights. Fully reinforced with Kevlar. Gramps recommended it when I ask for something that could stop high caliber gun fire. He didn’t voice his concern, and I love him for that.

I don’t think Tristan will shoot me on sight, he only promised to kill me, not shoot me, but I figure a man like him will appreciate the precaution.

I’m on my guard the whole way to the door, waiting for him to explode out of it. Come on, he had to have heard me arrive. The GLC isn’t exactly quiet. I don’t care how busy with his locks or guns he is. He doesn’t miss something like that.

The door is still closed, so I raise my hand to knock, and feel the barrel at the back of my head. The ratcheting of the hammer bring two thoughts colliding together. How the fuck did he sneak up on me? And I should have adjusted my cock when I got out of the car. That hard-on it getting uncomfortable.

He leans in. I feel his breath on my ear. I swallow. “Hey,” he whispers, then licks it.

“Hi.” My voice shakes with excitement. Will he pull the trigger? Will he pull me to the ground and fuck me? With he demand that I leave? Not that one. I’m here, so he’s going to deal with me one way or another.

His hand presses at my back. He isn’t pushing, just letting me know it is there. “How was the drive?”

The question is so unexpected I almost miss the hand sliding down. “G—good. Too long.”

He nibbles my neck and a moan escapes me. Fuck, I need to adjust myself.

“How long was the drive?” his hand touches my ass and I know what he’s doing now with the questions and the nibbling. This is all a distraction for when he’ll take me”

“Six—” it slides up slightly. “—hours and twenty minutes.” The jacket moves up as his hands goes under it, and I feet the tension on my belt, but instead it being forced down, or ripped off me, the pull us up. “Don’t!” I exclaim as I realize what he’s doing, but I hear the Beretta land in the sand somewhere as my voice stops echoing.

“I told you never to come back,” he whispered sweetly. “That I would hurt you in ways you couldn’t imagine if you did. Do you remember?”

I nod. I think I can hear the jeans strain under my cock.

“You still came back.” He kissed the side of my neck, then I feel his teeth against my carotid artery.

“I couldn’t stay away,” I reply, already panting.

“I know. And I will hurt you for it.”

Oh, dear God. I think I’m about to cum.

“But if you dare make it easy on me, I will not touch you ever again.”

What?

“Is that clear?”

What? It only now registers the gun is no longer at my head. He can’t threaten me like that.

His lips are against my ear. “I asked you a question, A—”

My elbow in his stomach cuts him off. I duck and feel the air where my head had been as his gun clutching hand slams through the space. I spin, sweep his legs out from under him. I jump on him as he falls down. I am going to make him pay for teasing me like this, then just saying that if I’m not good enough he’s going to drop me like last week’s laundry.

His foot is on my stomach as his back hits the ground, then I’m flying over him.

I land, roll, get to my feet as I reach for the Beretta that I know isn’t there, but it’s an ingrained reflex. He’s up and puts the Desert Eagle back in his harness. That’s all he’s wearing, and fuck does he wear it well. He isn’t hard yet, but there’s definitely blood flowing down there already.

I run at him, feint, punch his side. I block his reposted, and there’s three more where those came from, forcing me back until I sacrifice my side to one of them so I can get in close enough to use my knee, but he moves and I graze his thigh instead of slamming it in his balls.

He said to make him work for it.

He grabs my belt buckle and the song of metal pulled out of a sheath sends shivers down my back. Light dancing on metal in time to the whispered song as I try to back away, then the slash and I stumble. I regain my footing looking down, there is no blood, no sting of air on cut flesh.

Did I not fight him hard enough?

He throws my belt over his shoulder. The only reason my pants don’t fall off is that they are well tailored.

I snarl as I ran at him. I get in a kick at his side, go for another one, but he catches it and sends me flying. He trows the shoe aside as I get to my feet. I kick off the other one and go at him again.

I feint, duck under the swing. Slam a fist in his side as hard as I can. I slip out of the jacket as I feel him grab the collar, kicked him in the stomach to help him pull it off my arms.

He drops it to the ground.

“I’m fighting as hard as I can!” I scream at him. Where if the pain he promised me.

“Are you?”

I run at him, kick for his side, miss his head as I elevate it, spin. He reached for me, bat—well, slam an arm against—his had away. I grab his harness and as he growls a threat I use it up launch myself up and around his neck, using my weight to unbalance him. We fall and I land away, delightful pain in my side where his fist connected.

Finally.

I go seek more with more attacks, kicks and punches. Elbows and knees. He nearly wrenches my arm out of its socket when he grabs it and throws me away. Stars explode as my head hit the ground. I shake them away and stand.

I snarl in triumph as he wipes the blood from his nose with one of my sock. Now he has to know I’m fighting as hard as I can. I rush him before he’s ready. This time I see the hand come and duck under it. The sock falls before me, which means his other hand’s free. The song comes but I don’t move in time. Maybe I want it to be how the pain comes.

There’s a tug at my waist, but still no pain as I steady myself and turn to face him. I feel them slide down and reflexively catch my pants. I watch him, stunned, as he casually sheath the K-Bar.

“You aren’t taking me seriously!”

“I am and you know it.” His response is flat, lacking anything to tell me how he feels. Even his cock is still in the partially flaccid state it was when the fight started.,

“Then why aren’t you hurting me?” the idea he still thinks I’m not giving this my all hurts. That he think I’d hold anything back against him. Worse, that he is taking it easy on me because he doesn’t think I can handle it.

“You just don’t know what my end game is, A—”

With a scream I let my pants go and run at him. How dare he. How dare he think I’m soft or weak. That I don’t deserve the pain he can give me. I am here and I will get what I want.

I catch the smile an instant before I’m in his personal space, and the realization I did exactly what he expected comes at the speed of the fist hitting my face, then the kick in my side and the hand that catches me before I can stumble away and pulls me close to him. I feel his erection against mine before the fist is in my stomach and I’m stumbling away again.

I don’t fall, this time. The punch is what send me down, and when I go to get up a foot pushes me down. Then I feel him next to me.

I go to protest that I still have more fight in me, but the finger in my ass takes my voice away. It’s lubed—where the fuck was he keeping lube—but rough, and there’s sand in there. 

I bite back the cry as his finger hits my prostate, but pain and pleasure. It’s nearly enough to shut down my mind, but only nearly.

Is the fight over? Can I give myself over to him, or will he think I gave up? Will he go inside and never touch me again? Fuck, I don’t want this to be the last time.

I force myself to think through the sensation of the second finger he pushed in. Fuck how am I supposed to think? My swing isn’t aimed, probably has no strength behind it, definitelly no leverage from this angle. It doesn’t matter as the fingers disappear and I know I miscalculated.

The hand is painful around my forearm as he pulls me up, then the hand around my throat squeezed and pain nearly blacks me out as I slam back on the ground. Maybe this is how it ends.

I gasp as the fingers are inside me again, pushing deep. The smile on his face as my vision grays out from lack of air telledd me that no matter what happens next, I did make the right decision.

I take a ragged breath as he shoves his cock in me. I must have blacked out. He’s between my legs and they’re over his shoulders. I cry out and his grin is bestial. He pulls out and slams in again and even with the lube, I cry out still.

He’s bigger than I remembered. His cock stretches me as he moves it in and out. He has to be shredding my insides apart and I scream in pleasure and pain.

His mouth silences me. There is blood in the kiss. I have my arms around his neck and I mash my lips against his. I force my tongue in his mouth, lick the blood.

He pounds me so hard I forget every other pain inflicted on my body. There is only this one left. I moan and he growls. He breaks the kiss and grabs my sides to keep me from sliding away from him on the sand. Pulls me to him, his cock going deeper and causing me to see stars. 

His cock it heat and pleasure as he pounds my ass. I want to cum so badly, but I won’t touch myself, can’t. He is in charge. He will decide when—

“Ahh!” I almost cum from the slick hand grabbing my cock too tight. My ass goes up as I arch my back and I see whole galaxies as this position makes his cock hit my prostate with each hard thrust.

Is he snarling? He had to be snarling. I so want to be afraid, but —oh fuck—I can’t feel anything other than his cock and his hand.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck!” I tense as the hand tightens.

His cock somehow feels better, bigger, hotter. It hits my prostate harder.

I cum. Oh, Dear God, do I cum.

And he keeps fucking me, keeps stroking me. He keeps me hard with botch and it’s a new kind of pain.

“Please—” I have no idea what I’m begging for. More, less, everything? I force my eyes open and the look makes me want to flee. The savagery. I’m not looking at a man, I am looking at a monster.

Oh, fuck. I’m going to cum again.

I don’t hear my cry; his is so much louder.

His cock is buried so deep each pulsation is painful, and so delightful. When he quiets, he puts both hands on the ground and looks at me. He is pleased, but that doesn’t mean he looks any nicer. He is still a monster, but now he’s a sated one.

His nostrils flare as he pants. “You fought well.”

“I can tell,” I say as I hear swells, and he cants his head at me.

In the moment I wonder if there is anything human in him, the action is so… animalistic. As if he is only wearing a human skin.

“You think how hard I fuck you is an indication of how well you performed?”

“I fucking hope so.” I smiled. “I fought hard enough to deserved to be demolished by your cock again and again.

Something passes behind those eyes I can’t decipher.

“We’ll see.” Slowly he pulls out, and let me tell you something. You will never miss something as much as the cock that sent you showed you the Milky-Way.

He stands and offers me his hand.

“You can’t seriously expect me to stand after this.”

“I need to look at your back. I can smell the blood.”

Now that the pain of his fucking is ebbing away, the complaints from the rest of my body are reasserting themselves. I take his hand and he pulls me up. I hold on to him while my legs decide if they are going to support my weight or not. They wobble when he turns me and he keeps a hand on my shoulder to steady me. It will add another bruise to the collection my body accumulated tonight.

Good.

“We need to clean these before they get infected.” His tone is clinical. “Two of the gashes could use stitches so they won’t scar too badly.”

“I don’t mind scars,” I reassure him, and a finger traces the long scar from my should blade to my tail bone. The only visible reminder of the race track incident.

“I can see that, but it’s best not to over do it. You don’t want your skin to get too tight; it’ll affect your fighting.”

I smile. “Definitely don’t want that.”

He leans in and whispers. “Not if you want me to do this again.”

I whimper at the implied promise this will happen again. He nuzzles my neck.

He guides me through the workshop, the door to the house and the bathroom immediately on the right. The shower is large enough for the two of us a few times over.

I jump as the cold water hits me, then it warms. The shower is modern with digital temperature control set at sixty-five. It’s still a surprise, but not as cold as it sounds. The house is solar powered, I saw as we moved the bodies. For someone living so far from everything, he is surprisingly well equipped.

The soap stings. It’s artisanal. Another of the reservation’s residents makes it and he too sells that online. His site is popular and the soaps fancy. Seems people crave fancy. But the lack of scent and how it stings, this is a basic soap.

The suture kit is already in the shower and the pain is something I endure. It isn’t the same as what lead to the sex, but he is the one causing it, and there’s a certain delight in that.

He washed my back once he’s done, then the rest of me. He doesn’t miss my erection, washing that carefully, as well as my ass, but he doesn’t finish me off. Then I wash him. He doesn’t get hard as I do.

He has amazing self-control, for a guy who can unleash a monster. I dry him, he dries me using a blood red towel. That wasn’t there last time.

The bedroll is larger, but I expected it, since he set that up last weekend. The concrete isn’t comfortable to have sex on, and we sprawl too much when we do.

When I stretch next to him, he pulls me against his chest and I relax, feeling safe.

The world can throw anything at me right now, and he will stop it. He will not let anyone or anything other then him hurt me. 

He kisses the back of my neck. Tightens his hold. “Please stay.”

“Always.”