Four Corners, New Mexico
Little Sisters of Mercy Convent
7:00 A.M.
Josiah Sanchez straightened from his crouch near the rose bed to check the position of the sun. Still time to to feed these beauties before they were supposed to pick up Chris. He beamed at the mass of rich red blossoms bobbing in the summer breeze, took a deep breath to inhale their heady fragrance; opened the burlap bag of bonemeal and...scowled. Damn. Half empty. Not enough of his special blend to do a proper job on the dozen bushes in this bed. He would have to mix up a new batch of his special recipe. Frowning again, he tried to remember if he still had enough of the main ingrediant stored at Nathan's.
"Brother Sanchez! Brother Sanchez!"
Josiah looked up to see the diminutive, black clad form of Sister Eustace tottering towards him as fast as her cane would aid her fragile bones. A broad grin split his craggy face. Josiah adored the nuns at Mercy convent, and feisty, eighty year old Sister Mary Eustace was a special favorite. "Brother Sanchez! We have a dozen more orders for the young plants! This internet is a wonder! You must thank your young friend again for setting up the website for us!" Josiah beamed down at the excited little nun. Clad in traditional habit complete with veil, and wearing a pair of thick coke bottle bottom glasses, she DID resemble the Sister Mary Penguin of JD's nickname.
"I sure will Sister, JD will be glad to hear that. Now I can start on that new bed of floribundas." He gently patted the small, wrinkled hand on his arm as he carefully guided her to sit on a nearby bench. The convent rose gardens produced superb, sturdy plants. The proceeds of sales from these plants went to charity. As head gardener for the Sisters, Josiah could say with pride that the nuns were superb rose rustlers; adept at rescuing hardy antique varieties from old cemeteries and homesteads.
They chatted happily for a few minutes, admiring the lush beds fragrant with bloom, and swarming with happy bees. Soon, Josiah took his leave of the elderly nun. She watched as the big man carefully gathered his tools into the wheelbarrow, and wheeled them back to the potting shed. A few minutes later, a thunderous roar ripped through the peaceful morning as he tore down the drive on his ancient chopper; his battered leather vest flapping in the wind, the dark winged logo prominent on the broad back.
A tiny smile quirked Sister Eustace's wrinkled face. "Dark Angels indeed !" She snorted in derision, remembering some of the whispers and rumors she had heard about the big man and his friends. Nonsense. Total nonsense. "Just because those boys were fond of roughhousing and motorcycles everyone assumed they were part of a gang..."
Jackson Mortuary and Crematorium
7:15 A.M.
Nathan Jackson rolled out of the wide platform bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife. He gently tucked the eiderdown comforter back over her bare shoulder. Woman insisted on that quilt, said if he insisted on keeping their apartment over the Mortuary at refridgerater temperatures, at least she would be warm. In the silence habitual to the dark man he padded nude across the cool white and blue room to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he emerged to dress in the clothes he had carefully laid out the night before.
Glancing at the clock, as he went down the hall, he tucked several knives on his person. Nathan never went anywhere without at least three blades at hand. He shrugged into a sharply cut leather jacket, checking his pockets automatically for keys and shades. As he headed out the front door, he was stopped in his tracks by the angry buzz from the large glass terrarium in the corner. "Nearly forgot to feed Fang." He paused to open a cabinet, then carefully flipped up the hatch at the top of the tank to topple a startled mouse inside. Looked like the big snake was hungry and in a temper. The small drama was over in seconds after the forked black tongue flicked out to scent; then the powerful, fist thick coils sprang. Nathan watched reverently. The battle of Life versus Death was one he never tired of. Five minutes later he was astride his immaculate Nightwing, and joining Josiah Sanchez at the foot of the drive.
"Morning, brother."
"Good morning Josiah."
"Ready to face the Larabee temper this fine summer day?" Josiah shared a broad grin with his best and oldest friend. They made a sharp contrast. Josiah in his worn leather vest, dusty jeans and battered work boots, the chain around his powerful neck strung with charms, fetishes, carved bone beads and a heavy cross. Nathan, sleek as a big, black cat in his midnight blue polo neck and sharp black leathers. His only ornament a silver skull set on a cobra chain necklace. He looked like an extra out of Blade.
"Reckon Chris is going to be pissed anyway. Any word from Vin?"
"Nope. Boy wouldn't call anyway. Wild as a deer."
Nathan sighed. Shit. Larabee's temper rivaled that of any diamondback. Side by side the two big men thundered dead center down the highway towards Blossom's. The state trooper parked behind the billboard studiously kept his attention on his powdered doughnuts and coffee. It was too goddamned early in the morning to tangle with any of the Dark Angels.
Blossom's Gentleman's Club (i.e. Buck's Titty Bar) Apartments above.
7:30 A.M.
Buck Wilmington crawled from under the silk sheets with a piteous groan, narrowly avoiding a kick to the head from a slender manicured foot. Goddamn. It was morning already. Soon time to face the wrath of Larabee. He was NOT looking forward to facing down a pissed off, horny, alcohol deprived Chris. Hence a bit of overindulgence of his own the night before with whisky and women. He carefully levered himself to a sitting position, sighing with relief when his head didn't immediately fall off. Patting Ruby's shapely behind, he was just in time to catch the ankle of the slim foot that lashed out again from the bed's third occupant. Hmmm. Candy apple red polish...must be..he flipped back the sheet to check, "yep. Judy."
Standing up queasily, he staggered for the shower and the potential bliss of several gallons of hot water pouring over his throbbing head. Chris was going to be in the mood from hell, and he knew exactly whose ass that Old Dog was gonna chew into first. Goddamn. Where the fucking hell was Vin?
Ten minutes later he was standing at the foot of the stairs bellowing for JD to hurry up and get his scrawny ass in gear. Lydia, seated at the bar, looked up from the night's receipts and frowned. The curvy redhead sighed. The man could charm the diamonds off a dowager one minute, and bray like a jackass the next. And he NEVER gave up...right on cue he turned a beaming smile her way. "Lydia, darlin' you are a sight for sore eyes..."
"Can the crap, Buck. It's too damned early." She shook a fist full of bills warningly at him, only to have him catch her hand and plant a wet smooch on it. She sighed again. "Give it up Buck. You know goddamned well I'm a lesbian."
Clamping a hand to his heart, he turned wounded eyes to her. "But darlin', that's SUCH a waste..." She smirked back at him, and winked. "Not to Inez, hon."
They both snickered together wickedly before sobering. As co-owner of Blossom's, Buck's fruitless seduction of the lovely Inez was an ongoing joke for them both. Lydia and Inez had been together now for almost three years. "Has he called..?"
"No darlin, not a damned word. Boy might as well as fallen off the face of the earth. He got word on rumors of a hit put out on Chris, next day he was gone."
Buck leaned over the bar, and poured himself a quick gutwarmer. He lifted the shot glass to Lydia. "Hair of the dog, darlin." He slung it back quickly, and whistled. Regarded the bottle with new respect. "Damn. Anything you need before I go darlin?" This with his patented leer, and glance down her cleavage.
She rolled her eyes, and smacked his arm. "No Buck. But that Travis woman has been hanging around again. Claims she's doing a story on strip clubs, and working girls. Wants to interview some of the girls. Snooping for info on Chris more likely." She frowned, and tapped one long nail against the oak bar. "That woman is trouble, Buck. She's got it bad for Chris, and keeps telling herself it's business."
Buck frowned, smoothed his moustache. Travis woman was blind, as well as a tad dim, but damn; she was a fine... He winked at Lydia. "Don't worry about little Miz Travis, darlin. Let her interview a few of the dancers, and waitresses, keep her busy." He gave a deep sigh. "Just keep her away from Casey and JD. Them two can't keep their mouths shut to save their lives...especially if..." He frowned, and met Lydia's eyes squarely; suddenly deadly sober and serious. "I think Casey's started to use again, Lydia. If she has, she's got to be dealt with. I don't care how fond of that little bitch JD is, Chris won't tolerate it. You know how much he hates druggies. Sooner shoot them than look at 'em. And if she gets JD hooked..." He let the rest trail off, and Lydia nodded slowly in agreement.
"I'll keep an eye on her Buck. The Travis woman too. She will probably be back here tonight, hoping to catch Chris."
"Don't worry about her, old Buck's got the goods on her. She keeps it up, she'll learn the hard way that nobody threatens us." He straightened, dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and loped for the door, bellowing again for JD.
Upstairs, Back bedroom
7:45 A.M.
JD Dunne jumped at Buck's second roar, nearly toppling backwards on his ass, as he bent over the glass coffee table snorting the thin line of white powder. Shit. If Buck found out he was using coke...hell, if CHRIS found out, he was a dead man. Larabee refused to tolerate any weakness in his organization.
He glanced over at Casey. She had passed out on the sofa the night before, and was drooling all over the cushions, her long curly hair covering half her face. Either too much booze...or worse...
JD checked his bright-eyed reflection in the hall mirror as he ran for the door. He was the weak link, and he knew it. He just didn't want to be the one pushing up Josiah's roses.
Kensington Townhouses
8:00 A.M.
Ezra Standish protested vigorously as he was ungently escorted down the stairs of his chic condo. Buck and Josiah kept a firm grip on the smaller man's biceps and propelled him briskly along. A petite Asian girl in the uniform of the local Catholic High School watched them go from the top of the stairs. Josiah shook his head. Hope to hell she's at least eighteen.
"Now Ez, ya gotta BE there when Chris gets out. He'll be pissed if you ain't." Buck boomed jovially into the wincing thief's ear.
"Mr. Wilmington, ah implore you...why do correctional facilities insist upon such ungodly hours...ah have not yet had mah coffee...it is far too early for..."
He paused in mid tirade to glare into Buck and Josiah's grinning faces. "Pissed! Pissed?? The man is going to be irate! Not only has he been incarcerated for the past three months in that wretched hellhole of a jail without the benefit of alcoholic beverages, or the company of the fairer sex, but upon release he will shortly learn that his dearest friend has been missing for a month! Pissed is an understatement, sir!"
"I know Ez. Believe me, I know."
"One reason to stick together, brother."
"What evah for? To present a larger target? I think NOT!"
Despite his struggles Ezra was lifted and plopped firmly into the sidecar of Buck's beloved Harley Flathead. The southerner flatly refused to buy his own motorcycle, declaring them deathtraps. However he had no such qualms about equally fast and dangerous automobiles, and had been sternly warned by Chris more than once about stealing flashy, high profile, and easily recognizable cars.
Today, the Flathead was being driven by a widely grinning JD, who had eschewed his own sleek Katana, so that Buck could ride Chris's big, black Harley. The boys had been joined by Raphael, the twins Tiny and Yosemite and a few other hangers-on from the chopshop. They were grinning widely at Ezra's protests. The man was a notorious nightowl, rarely rising before noon.
"Coffee! Ah need coffee! Good lord. Mr. Dunne, must you hit every pothole in this road to perdition? Coffeeeeee!" This last a despairing wail as the gang roared down the road.
Motorists on their way to work, took one look at the cycles roaring up in their rearview mirrors, and immediately veered to the side of the road to allow free passage. They might ignore an ambulance or a fire truck, but never a Dark Angel.
Four Corners County Jail
8:30 A.M.
"Alright, Larabee. Your ass is out of here."
The portly, perpetually sweating deputy jailer rolled the cell door back with a crash. Chris yawned, and rolled lazily off the top bunk to land lightly on his feet. The burly man with the bruised face and swollen black eyes in the lower bunk flinched involuntarily, careful to keep his eyes averted. He had learned the hard way that the lithe, handsome blond was the notorious leader of the infamous New Mexico biker gang, the Dark Angels. It was a lesson he would never speak of, or forget.
"Later, punk." Larabee purred.
With that soft slur he was gone, strolling down the jailhouse corridor like he owned the place, sleepily scratching his belly. The man left in the cell listened carefully to the chorus of greetings and catcalls from the other inmates that followed the lean blond's progress. Hearing the outer cells door slam open, then close again, he relaxed for the first time in two months.
Blinking in the bright morning sun, Chris took a breath of clean fresh air gratefully. It was good to be out, good to be in his own clothes again. Neon orange was not his color. His denim shirt was long gone, a casualty of the bar brawl that had got him arrested in the first place. Now he wore only a pair of tight black leather jeans, his worn engineer boots and the vest sporting the Dark Angels logo; that of a kneeling, pentinent figure sporting a pair of defiant, upraised black wings.
It had been a damned long three months, and Chris was hungry. Hungry for a rare steak, a bottle of old Kentucky bourbon, and the taste of a certain tangle haired Texan's mouth. The last three weeks had been the roughest. Chris had pulled time before--hard time-- but this had been different. He had missed the company of his young partner fiercely, and the nagging itch at the nape of his neck that told him that something was not right had been growing over the past several weeks.
Top of the list Vin had not made an appearance in weeks. Buck and Josiah had visited. Buck full of piss and vinegar as always; yammering on about the latest additions to his stable of girls, the latest fights at the Saloon, business being good at the chopshop, the horse sale coming up in Taos...all the while deftly steering Chris away from the subject of the shy Texan.
Granted, Vin hated enclosed spaces with a passion; especially jails, but he had not hesitated to visit Chris in the first months of his incarceration. Sitting across the battered table in the visitor's room, blue eyes alight with laughter at Chris misfortune. Teasing him with a few soft words in that slow drawl of his. Accusing him of getting soft and slow...must be getting old...Chris felt a shit eating grin cross his face at the memory of his obscene reply, and the laser heat of Vin's return gaze. Boy had used more words that day than Chris had heard from him in a month. Usually, Vin was laconic to the point of muteness. Shy as a feral cat. Ez swore he had never heard more than two words from Tanner in the entire time he had known him.
Still grinning at the memory, he combed a hand through his spikey blond hair, absently fingered the scar that zagged through his left brow, then dropped his hand to his neatly cropped goatee and scratched vigorously. Goddamned chemicals in the institutional soap made him itch like a sonufabitch; it was a wonder that shit didn't take the hair off a man's balls. The roar of the boy's bikes as they filled the parking lot caused a small gaggle of office workers to flutter hastily past Chris into the relative safety of the building.
"Ladies!" He held the door open with a leer and wink, causing the youngest to blush and simper. He snorted. Wonder if this is where Buck recruited his last batch of girls for the titty bar. Sure looked alike. All big hair, soft cow eyes, and fruity perfume. Makes a man hunger for something lean and hard , with silky, cedar scented hair and smooth golden skin over whipcord muscle.
Welcoming whoops and whistles from his boys greeted him as they lined the bikes neatly up at the curb. His answering smirk and good humor evaporated as he ran an eagle eye along the line. He felt his insides start to clench, and a knot of rage start to unfurl. Vin was not there.
"Where's Vin?" The noise died, and eyes slid uneasily away from his face. Coldly he turned an accusing gaze to Buck as the big man dismounted from the Harley, his hands held out palm up in a placating gesture, a hangdog expression on his handsome face.
"Where's Vin, Buck?"
"Now Chris, ain't nothin happened to Vin. he's just gone AWOL for the time being. Took a little trip south, ain't got home yet." He stopped in front of Chris, and cautiously held out the bike keys. Chris's fists clenched, and he clamped down hard on an urge to throttle the life out of Buck. The Ladies' man shuffled his feet uneasily at this sign of impending rage, and swallowed hard. "How long has he been gone?"
"Been nigh three weeks now."
With a snarl, Chris pounced. One hand wrapping around Buck's throat, the other fisted into his T shirt. "Three weeks!" he hissed into Buck's reddening face. He resisted the urge to drive his knee into the other man's vulnerable groin. "Three fucking weeks, and no one thought to tell me?"
"Now Brother Chris..." Josiah spoke soothingly,"We expect him back any day now."
"Yeah Chris, you k-k-know Vin, he'll be back, probably on his way home n-n-now, and pissed off 'cause he's gonna miss your homecoming p-p-party." JD stammered, wide eyes on Buck's gasping face.
"Amigo. Vin can take care of himself. You know this for a fact." Raphael added quietly.
Ezra, for once, kept his mouth clamped firmly shut.
That fact more than anything cut through Chris's red hot rage. Vin COULD take care of himself. He had done so since he was five. His mind flashed back to their first meeting. He had been doing a dime in Yuma for assault with intent to kill, and Vin was in for armed robbery; set up by that bitch Charlotte and her shithead husband. May they rot in peace....
Chris was leisurely showering, the few other prisoners carefully keeping a respectful distance. Fresh from a stint in solitary, and in a foul mood, every con in Yuma with half a brain knew Larabee was alpha of the Dark Angels. That fact had been indelibly etched into their minds after Hector Matemores turned up dead. Found with his head in a toilet, and a surprized look on his scarred face. The minor jefe in the Mexican Mafia had made the mistake of insulting Chris in front of his boys, and then swaggering away. Chris had just smiled, and waited.
A commotion at the far corner of the room caught Chris's eye. A gaggle of tattooed Aryan Nation skinheads were trying to drag a fresh piece of ass into the end cubicle. Problem was, the ass was fighting back. Larabee watched without much interest, annoyed at having his shower interrupted.
Suddenly, there was a low feral snarl from within the writhing melee of bodies; followed by the unmistakable crunch of broken bone, and a thin squeal of pain. Blood squirted in a graceful arc to splash the wall. Two of the Aryans fell back; one to crack the back of his skull on a nearby sink and slump in a boneless heap, blood dripping down his ruined face. The other dropped to his knees clutching his nuts and whimpering softly. The cursing, grunting bodies parted momentarily and Chris caught a glimpse of their victim.
He was slim and wiry, lean muscle under tanned skin; long,tangled, sunstreaked light brown hair, and a feral tiger smile on the most beautiful face Chris had ever seen on a man. There was no way in hell that he could win. He was up against a half dozen hardened cons, all taller and more heavily muscled. One was edgeing in close, shiv in hand, even as Chris watched. Yet the kid laughed as he fought, blood trickling down his chin.
Intrigued, Chris found himself moving closer. The deadly dance continued, the now wary Aryans circling their prey like hounds around a wildcat. They weren't worried about being disturbed. The guards in this shithole always looked the other way. A bit of rape now and then kept the tension down, less for them to deal with. The boy spun, threw a punch into one snarling face, then whirled to kick the kneecap from under the man circling behind him. Somewhere, he had learned to kickbox. Cursing, the man stumbled back. The kid was breathing harder now, starting to tire, fighting to keep the wall to his back.
Another skinhead made the mistake of venturing too close, and got a kick in the teeth for his pains. He flew back to land hard at Larabee's feet, teeth scattering like chiclets out of a gum machine. Chris raised his head, and moss agate green locked with sky blue. All the shit in Chris's world, up to and including Sarah's betrayal faded away. The kid's snarl faded to a bemused smile. He quirked a questioning brow. Chris smirked, wrapped his soap in his towel, gave it an experimental twirl and waded in, careful to stomp the downed Aryan's balls as he went. "Chris Larabee."
Chris casually punched the man nearest him in the belly, following that up with a whallop to the back of the head from his homemade soap mace, then drove his knee hard up into the man's soft belly.
"Vin Tanner." Vin spun and took out another of the tattooed fools with a high roundhouse kick to the head. The others, suddenly cognizant of the fact that Bad Ass Larabee was casually kicking their asses, backed off.
"Ain't none of your business, Larabee!" The big, pockfaced asshole with the knife snarled. Chris gave him a hungry shark grin. "It is now, Cletus. Unless you want my initials carved on your fat ass, I suggest you move on."
Cletus Phelps hungrily eyed the young man standing shoulder to shoulder with the Dark Angel, then reluctantly moved back. It wasn't worth a piece of ass, even one as fine as this, to end up in the prison morgue. Or worse. Larabee, the psychotic son of a bitch, would wait patiently until he was released, and he would end up under the Undertaker's knives in Jackson's mortuary. He shuddered, gooseflesh pimpling his body. Every rival biker in New Mexico knew that more bodies went into that funeral home than ever came out. Nathan Jackson's cool reptilian patience, combined with Josiah Sanchez's homocidal fury made for formidable enforcement. People who bothered Larabee...disappeared. And you KNEW better then to ever order the chili at the Saloon. Or, God forbid, the barbeque.
Chris was abruptly recalled to the present by Buck's strangled gasps for air. Slowly, he released the big man. Buck staggered back with a groan of relief, well aware that he had gotten off easy. One hand went up to tenderly massage his throat. "Goddamn, Old Dog..."
He breathed softly, wary eyes on Chris's face.
"Sorry." He wasn't really. The urge to strangle the life out of someone was still there; but Buck was his oldest friend and he deserved better. There was never a more loyal man than Big Dog. Buck had stuck by him through thick and thin; through the Navy SEALS, a thousand brawls, even his fiasco of a marriage to that slut Sarah.
Bitch had gotten his boy killed. Run off to meet that damned reporter, Stephen Travis. Car bomb took all three of them. Was only meant for two, but Adam had stayed home sick that day... Wonder if Miss Mary ever realized that there were two sets of luggage in that truck that day. Hubby sure wasn't planning on coming home to her bed that night.
Cool green eyes met Buck's squarely. He knew Buck loved him, was a bit in love with him. Had been for years. It was the reason Buck had tolerated the abuse Chris had spewed over him after Adam's death. Buck had been there, through the blackest rage and the deepest despair. He had never hesitated to offer a broad shoulder to lean on, his mouth or ass for sex, his big body for a punching bag. He trusted Buck as he did few others, he took shameless advantage of Buck's boundless good nature, and in his own way he loved him like a brother, but he could never love him back the way Buck craved.
Buck was a born slut. Sex was a compulsion for him. He would fuck a snake if he could get it to hold still. Women were his greatess weakness, and he was incapable of not fucking any nubile female who spread her legs. Chris knew damned well that Buck had fucked Sarah after they were married. The only reason he was still alive was that Chris also knew that Sarah had initiated the affair out of spite, knowing Buck couldn't resist. The one thing that Chris Larabee could never tolerate was infidelity. Even the thought could piss him off. Strange, because Chris had his own slutty moments, especially when drunk. It was a twisted and bitter fact; but at heart it was quite simply the way he was, he demanded total fidelity.
He reached out and plucked his keys from Buck's fingers.
"You got the bitch seat, Buck. We'll talk back at the Saloon." He climbed on his bike, and revved the engine. "Don't I always?" Buck rolled his eyes theatrically, then scrambled to hop on behind Larabee. The Dark Angels whooped like banshees, took a noisy, derisive spin around the parking lot, then roared off down the highway. They ignored the obvious unmarked car at the corner.
Inez' Saloon, Four Corners Outskirts, Across the highway from Blossom's
Noon
The welcome home party had stalled before it even began, and it was a sober group gathered in the Saloon that afternoon. Chris had snarled at any friendly approach, and had entrenched himself firmly into his favorite corner table with a full bottle of Jack Daniel's. He had refused lunch, or even a glass. When one of Buck's girls, Nora, had made the mistake of an attempted seduction; she had quickly fled, scarlet-faced, and nearly in tears. Inez sighed. Only Larabee could manage to humiliate a seasoned whore in three seconds.
Ezra, Nathan, Josiah and Raphael were quietly playing cards by the front doors, intent on keeping a low profile. Buck sat at the bar chatting with Inez as she polished glassware, and oversaw the evening setup. He groaned silently to himself, one eye on the quiet figure at the corner table, and tapped his shot glass in frustration against the bar. For once, Buck Wilmington was at a loss. He didn't know what to do other then wait until Larabee drank himself insensible, then dragged his ass upstairs to a bed. Hopefully, he wouldn't take it in his head to go on a rampage before the liquor took effect. Buck wasn't in the mood to be a used as a punching bag, nor did he want Larabee sent directly back to jail. Hell, he just got out!
He turned hopeful eyes to Inez. "Darlin, have you...",
"...heard anything from Vin? Nada." She finished the glass she held and carefully racked it.
He huffed in frustration. "Boy picks the worst goddamn time to disappear on one of his jaunts..." He paused, catching a flicker of some unknown emotion on her pretty face. "What?" She gazed back at him, mouth pursed thoughtfully. He gently grasped her hand. "What? Tell old Buck. What have you heard?"
She answered slowly. "It is not so much what I have heard, but what I suspect..." She leaned forward, and lowered her voice in confidence. Dark heads close together, neither of them noticed the suspicious, bleary glare from the back table.
"Remember, the rumor of the hit that was supposed to happen to Chris while he was in jail? The one that the Alvarez familia in Chihuahua put out? Because he would not deal with the drugs? Guns and cars, yes, but never drugs and women? I believe that Vin..." She tilted her head towards the small TV on the end of the bar, then tapped the remote to raise the volume. There was a gaudy funeral procession in progress onscreen; complete with weeping black clad women, and grim, armed men in ill-cut suits.
The CNN announcer breathlessly intoned: "So far there are no suspects in the assassination of retired Mexican general Edwardo Alvarez. The general was killed with a shot to the head right on the front porch of his hacienda. However it is believed that the shot came from a high powered rifle from more than a mile away. There are no suspects in custody at this time and there are rumors that the rival Sanduval family is involved..."
Buck whistled. "Daammn." He turned incredulous eyes to Inez. "Goddamn. Ol Vin..."
"...went straight to the source. Si."
"Shit! That's cuttin' the head off the snake alright. He's damn near started a gang war in Mexico just to protect Chris?"
"Si. It will be a long time before they try to move their goods through here again."
"Do you think he made it out okay? Should be home by now."
The brittle crash of a half empty bottle against the bar behind them snapped their heads around. Larabee glared at them through bloodshot eyes, then shoved roughly past, weaving up the stairs to the living quarters above. He had heard everything. Inez turned wide eyes to Buck, only to find the big man already on damage control, moving quickly to follow.
Chris kicked the apartment door open with a snarl. Shit. Vin...what in hell were you thinking, Cowboy? The old killing rage was back with a vengence. His hands shook with the abject desire to strangle the life out of the idiot who had called that damned hit. Only Vin already beat me to it...where the hell are you? Not dead...just not ...dead. He stumbled over to the liquor cabinent, bent and fished out a fresh bottle; ran a frustrated hand through his hair. His head was spinning with the desire to DO something NOW, but he couldn't think clearly, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Vin could take care of himself. Vin was the master of survival.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to choke the aggravating little son of a bitch, take a belt to his ass, or just fuck him senseless. He snorted with frustration and threw himself down in the battered leather armchair facing the door, twisting off the top of the bottle and tossing back a shot as he did. Movement at the doorway caught his eye. Buck was standing in the doorway, watching him sadly. Probably thinks I'm gonna go off on another bender again. Damned mother hen. He smirked and raised the bottle defiantly, took another deep swig, ignoring the burn.
"Chris...Old Dog..." Buck approached the chair slowly, squatted at Larabee's feet, cautiously placed a hand on his knee, and shook it gently. "Ya don't need that shit, pard. Vin'll be home before you know it."
"Yeah, Buck. You know that for a fact, huh?" Bitterly, Chris took another gulp; narrowed speculative eyes on his old friend's face. "Ya know whats best, huh, PARD?" He snaked a hand out, and grabbed Buck's hair, yanked him roughly forward onto his knees between Larabee's thighs. "You gonna take care of me, Buck?" he purred into Wilmington's startled face.
He took a slow sip from the bottle, lazily ran a pink tongue along his lower lip; watched as Buck swallowed hard, and the pupils of his dark blue eyes dilated as his face flushed with desire, eyes riveted on Chris's mouth. A small smirk quirked the corner of Chris's wide mouth. You are so damned easy, Bucklin. "You gonna comfort me in my hour of...need...?" He released Buck's hair, slowly ran a teasing thumb over the man's jaw, ending with his thumb pressing gently into the corner of Buck's mouth. Just as Buck groaned, turning his head to taste; he withdrew his hand, running it slowly down the front of his worn black leather pants.
Eyes intent on Buck's face, he flicked open the top button, then slowly slid his hand down and squeezed the prominent bulge there. Buck's eyes dropped to Chris's crotch hungrily; "Jesus God, Chris!" Chris reached out again, this time hooking his hand behind Buck's head and gently pressing his face into his groin. "You thirsty...Buck?" Buck moaned, control long gone, as he nuzzled into Chris's crotch, big hands making short work of the button fly. He pulled the thick cock free, sighing with pleasure as he inhaled Chris's rich musk. With a groan, he lapped hungrily at the fat head, swallowing the thick drops of precum, cupping the heavy ball sac in one gentle hand. Happily he nuzzled the lengthening cock, rubbing it gently with his moustache.
Chris leaned back in the chair, head tilted back, eyes slitted in pleasure, one hand knotted into Buck's hair, the other lifting the bottle languidly to his mouth. Buck's dark head began to bob gently, as he suckled hungrily, one hand wrapped around the bottom of the thick shaft, the other milking Chris's silky sac steadily. The only sounds in the room were that of the men's quickening breath, the wet slurp of Buck's mouth, the creak of the chair, as Chris slumped and spread his thighs wide, allowing Buck easier access.
Buck was in bliss, had just lifted his mouth to take a deep breath and nuzzle the soft skin of Chris's belly when the icy cold barrel of a gun nudged beneath his left ear. He froze. Motherfuck. Vin was back. For long seconds all Buck could hear was the surprisingly loud tick of the wall clock. Never heard the kid come in...ya never hear Vin until its too damned late. Must be that old Colt .45...Jesus, what an embarrassin' way ta go! Least it ain't the sawed off shotgun... The barrel behind his ear never wavered, and he raised his eyes to Chris's face, suddenly needing to see the other man's expression. Suddenly, the barrel was gone from his head, and the strained silence was broken by click of the hammer being cocked.
Chris never said a word, his eyes were fixed on Vin's. Vin was white with rage, mouth set in a thin line; but his narrowed, icy blue eyes held a world of pain. He looked tired, face wind chapped and sunburned, tangled hair tied back in a long tail, clothes dusty, body road weary. But the hand holding the gun to the back of Buck's head was steady as a rock. Chris said nothing. There was nothing to say. They were not the type of men who apologized, made excuses, or fumbled with explanations. What was, simply was. He had fucked up, and there was a price to pay. They stared at each other, Buck forgotten between them.
All he could do was let his eyes speak for him. I missed you, Cowboy. You weren't here, and I wanted you. Vin lifted the Colt in one smooth motion and leveled it between Chris's eyes, cocking the hammer as he did so. Chris never flinched, met his gaze squarely, reaching for that unspoken bond that had stretched unbroken between them from the moment they met. The look of betrayal in the younger man's eyes stabbed through his gut like a cold knife.
He knew he was the only living soul who had ever touched Vin with tenderness, had shown him love. Of them all, Vin was the one who should have been the golden child. Both his father and grandfather had been Texas Rangers, and he had been a cherished son from birth. That all ended when Vin was five, when he had been witness to the murder of his entire family.
After that, a stint in a string of hellish foster homes had ended when he ran away from the last, leaving his alcohol sodden caretaker slumped dead in front of the TV. The man's throat was slit with a boning knife. Vin had had to stand on a chair to reach him. He was eight years old. From there he ran wild on the streets; growing up as feral as any alley cat and twice as dangerous. Life had honed Vin with a sociopathic edge. It had taken a bewildered little boy and molded him into something quite different. He was a stone cold killer.
Where Chris's temper flared up quick and flickered red hot like heat lightning on the horizon, Vin's rage burned ice cold. He trusted only one person, allowed only one person to lay hands on him; and that person had just betrayed him. He had killed men for less. Vin stared hard at Chris. Unfamiliar emotions flooded him. The only one he could name was rage. I trusted you. He eased the hammer down, stepped back, holstering the gun in one smooth motion. He turned, and was gone, as soundless as a ghost, leaving Chris bereft.
Chris leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed. Numb. The pain hadn't settled in his heart yet. At his feet Buck slowly cleared his throat, and started to sit back in preparation for climbing shakily to his feet. His eyes snapped open, and he stared coldly at Buck's sweaty face. "Oh no, Buck."
Buck froze again, recognizing that rattlesnake gaze, seeing how close Chris was to the edge. Chris stood slowly, one big, hard hand reaching almost tenderly for Buck's head. "Finish what you started. If I lose him, it ain't gonna be for nothing." He pushed Buck's face roughly back into his groin, and held him there as he slowly, tentatively began to work Chris's cock again. Chris took an absent pull from his bottle, green eyes bleak as he stared unseeingly across the room.
Halfway down the stairs, Vin reeled to a stop, back against the wall, breathing hard. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Goddamn son of a bitch Larabee. More of a slut than Bucklin. I ain't running no more. Cain't make me run. Gotta take a minute, got ta get my head together. Think.
He ran an unsteady hand over his face. He had to get his shit together. Decide what to do now. His world had gone from secure to shit in zero to sixty. Should be used ta that by now. Ain't gonna be Larabee's bitch, leave that ta Bucklin. Gotta take my time. Rest. Maybe stop by the ranch, load the bike. Head up to the rez, see if Charlie Truehorse is still bounty hunting. That settled in his mind, his face impassive, he headed on down the stairs.
Inez looked up from swiping down the bar, bright smile fading when she saw the look on Tanner's face. He nodded at her, tilted his head toward the kitchen inquiringly. She nodded and called an order back to Carmelita in rapid Spanish. When he nodded again towards a dusty bottle she brought it and a glass and set them before him. The Saloon wasn't officially open for business now. The only occupants were a few of Larabee's men. Josiah, Nathan and Raphael were still talking quietly in the front booth. Ezra had managed to wheedle JD into giving him a ride home to catch up on his sleep. Buck's girls had headed over to Blossom's to prepare for the evening's work. Inez watched with worry as Vin seated himself at the end of the big U-shaped bar, his back against the wall where he could see both entrances as well as the door to the toilets. He avoided the table he usually shared with Larabee.
Her suspicions were confirmed when Buck stumbled down the stairs ten minutes later. The big man's face was flushed, hair standing on end, mouth swollen. He also sported the beginnings of a hell of a black eye. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Vin still seated at the bar. When he unthinkingly started towards him, Vin raised his head and the desolate look in his eyes warned the big man not to push his luck. It was the exact look mirrored in the face of the man upstairs. Flushing, Buck turned away. A steaming Inez grabbed Buck's sleeve and towed him back into the kitchen. She slapped him so hard it made his eyes water.
"Hijo de la puta! Idiot! What were you thinking? WERE you even thinking?"
With a snarl, he grabbed her wrist hard. "Inez!" Stopped at the deadly flash in her dark eyes, and the warning prick of the sharp butcher knife she held in her other hand. He sighed, eyes contrite. "No, I wasn't thinking. I never can think when it comes to Chris. I can't say no to him, Inez." He gentled his grip, squeezed her hand in apology. Softening, she lowered the blade. He slid his arms around her, lowered his head to her soft hair. She returned the hug, patting his back gently.
Chris lurched down the stairs, not really sure where he was headed, just needing to move, get some fresh air. He stopped dead in his tracks at Inez's irate glare. Hands on her hips, she tilted her head towards the back corner. He followed her nod, and swallowed, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Vin was still here, his head bent over a plate of food; nearly invisible in the dimly lit alcove. Buck was seated at the curve of the bar, moodily sipping a beer. A few of the boys were in the front booth, carefully intent on looking elsewhere.
Larabee slowly moved towards the bar, slid up on a stool in a position diagonal to Vin's. Chris knew Vin was aware of him; but he kept his eyes on his plate, wolfing down the mound of enchiladas and beans as though he had not eaten in a week. When's the last time you ate, Cowboy? Been too busy watching my sorry ass to take care of yourself? He was at a loss, unsure of how to approach Vin, how to fix this. All he knew was that he was determined not to let Vin leave the Saloon, certain that if he did, Chris would never see him again.
He flinched when Inez slammed a steaming plate down in front of him with a bang and a snarled command; "Eat! Before you fall on your face!" Muttering to herself in Spanish, she stalked back into the kitchen. He was certain they were specific expletives and maledictions aimed at his head. Inez was fond of Vin. He stared sourly down at the plate of scrambled eggs liberally laced with jalapenos. Shit. Woman was trying to poison him. There was a muffled snort from behind him, and he whirled to glare daggers. Josiah ducked his head and was quick to point out something of great interest on the worn menu to Nate. Raphael took a hasty gulp of beer. Buck kept his head down, broad shoulders hunched.
Chris had just picked up his fork, when the bell over the door jangled. Two swarthy Hispanic men pushed inside. One was short and slim with a pocked face and thick moustache, he wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and a denim jacket. The man behind him was taller, broader, long black hair in a tight braid down his back. Despite the heat outside he had on a long tan duster. They paused just inside the door, blinking in the dim light,then focused on Larabee.
"Chris! Amigo! Como esta?" The smaller man smiled broadly and stepped forward, spreading his arms wide as he did so. Startled, Larabee swiveled towards the newcomers.
The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. He saw the wicked thin blade drop into the little man's hand as he stepped close; at the same time his companion sidled to the side and brought up a sawed off shotgun from under his coat. Two booming shots so close together that they sounded like one rang out from the corner behind Chris, as he felt their passage past his left ear. Twin bright red holes blossomed between the eyes of the Mexicans, and they crashed in a sprawling heap onto the floor, legs jerking convulsively. Stunned, the Saloon's occupants could only stare.
"Holy shit!" Buck swore, and jumped to his feet. He circled the corpses, kicking the shotgun to one side. He glanced in awe back at Vin. In a split second he had drawn, and made two perfect shots across the shadowy bar to take out the would be killers.
"Madre de Dios!" Raphael whistled, and knelt next to the smaller man, tucking the Colt that he had drawn too late back into the holster at the small of his back. He plucked the wickedly sharp skinning knife from the lax hand and inspected it. Nathan quietly locked the front door and drew the shade. Josiah leaned over and eyed the dead men with unholy interest. Inez took one quick look, then turned to make sure Carmelita remained in the kitchen. Vin sat back down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and resumed eating.
"You know these assholes, Chris?" Buck prodded one of the dead men with distaste, scowling. Nearly getting gutshot put him in a pissy mood.
Chris frowned, squatted down next to Raphael for a closer look. "I think this one runs with Benito Delgado." He indicated the smaller man with a nod. "I don't know the other one."
"Chato Alvarez." Raphael whistled softly. "He is--was, El General's primo enforcer."
"Compost now." Josiah rubbed his palms together gleefully. "Big boned too."
"As long as he stays out of the damned barbeque, I don't care!" Nathan scowled at the big man. He resumed rifling the dead men's pockets, placing his findings in a heap to one side. Wallets, ID, ammo clip, a pair of brass knuckles, a few pesos, ammo clip, keys, switchblade, another ammo clip, a fat wad of cash, and a rather nice mother-of-pearl and jet rosary. These last two items Josiah appropriated. He grinned at Nathan. "For the sisters." Nathan rolled his eyes, and sighed. They were all going to Hell, he didn't care how much penance Josiah did. Raphael grinned and handed Nate the dead man's knife; knowing his fondness for blades. Weapons were examined and either discarded or appropriated. Buck tucked a nice little pearl handled derringer into his vest pocket for Ez's collection.
Chris took charge. "Josiah, Nate, make sure they disappear. Take my truck." He tossed the keys to the Ram to Nathan. "Raphael, Buck; take care of their vehicles. Take 'em down to the shop if you have to. Somebody call Ezra, and see what he's heard lately about Benito's business hours. Specifically, if he still closes that shithole of a bar every Tuesday night so he can gamble and run drugs out of the backroom. Meet me back here tonight." He gave his friends an wide shark grin, which they returned. The rival Delgados had been muscling in just a tad too far on Dark Angel territory lately. Time for some old fashioned payback.
"We're gonna give ol' Benito a little visit." Cleanup was quick. He stood back and watched as Josiah neatly rolled each corpse up in one of Inez's tablecloths, then helped Nate haul them out the back door. Inez bustled out with a mop and bucket. Buck and Raphael headed out to check the parking lot. That done, Chris turned to the back corner, and its silent inhabitant. Time to try and make amends. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, and slowly walked back to Vin. He slid onto the stool next to him. The man had just saved his life, and he didn't know what to say. Best start with basics... "Thanks, pard."
Vin kept his eyes on his plate. Silent, unyielding as stone. His hair was coming loose from the old bootlace that knotted it back, and a hank of it swung down shielding his face. Chris clenched his hands, fighting the urge to brush it back from that strong jaw. He inhaled deeply, breathing in Vin's scent; wind, sun, a hint of motor oil and gunpowder, sweat, cedar. He cleared his suddenly tight throat. How the hell to get back in Tanner's good graces? He counted himself lucky to still be alive after that stunt with Buck. He'd been thinking with his dick instead of his brain. It was clear that Tanner felt as strongly about infidelity as he did.
They had never talked about it. He had never really thought of himself as being in a relationship with another man. But thinking back now, he realized with something of a shock, that he was. He and Vin had been together since their time in Yuma prison, and that was almost four years ago. Since that time, he had not had a real sexual relationship with anyone but Vin. What had started as convenient and solace had evolved into something more. He had screwed a lot of Buck's girls in the early days; after Sarah had burned him so badly, and again after his release from Yuma; but he hadn't fucked any of them more than once, and could barely remember their names. He was well and truly burnt out on women in general. Hell, he had used Buck as well, after Sarah.
In the end though, Vin was the one he always sought out, whom he slept with. Slept together sometimes so closely entangled that Vin had to pry himself from a sleeping Chris's arms just to take a piss. Chris had been blind and stupid, and he couldn't blame Vin for nearly blowing his head off. No wonder he had been hurt.
Vin wadded his napkin up and pushed his plate back, ready to leave. He was tired, still angry, and not in the mood to deal with Larabee. It had shaken him when he saw how close Chris had come to dying a few minutes ago, and he wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Worse, he was close enough to Chris to touch, and if he touched Chris now he might kill him. A strong, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist, and he was startled into looking up into Chris's s eyes. What he saw there confused him. "Don't go, Cowboy. Let me make it right."
Vin snorted in derision. "Ain't yer bitch, Larabee. Go find Buck, you want a easy fuck."
Chris slid his hand down, and entwined his fingers with Vin's, and held tight. Vin jerked in reaction. Chris's green eyes were steady on Vin's face. "No, Vin. You ain't nobody's bitch, and you ain't easy, but you are my man, and what if I'm the one who wants to be fucked?" Intent, he leaned in so close that Vin could feel his breath. His eyes never wavered. Vin straightened up, and blinked in shock. Larabee was stone sober and serious. Chris Larabee, alpha of the Dark Angels, was offering up his ass. It didn't get no more serious than that.
Vin took a deep breath. Shit! Larabee never failed to surprise him. The man was the ultimate alpha male. Yet he was ready to offer Vin his cherry to make things right between them. That fact stunned him. It also aroused him. In the past Vin had always yielded to the older man. Chris was a hell of a fuck. He never failed to satisfy. He was a wild man in bed, and had no qualms whatsoever about oral sex; but he had never offered up his ass before. Vin had never presumed to ask. Vin licked suddenly dry lips, saw Larabee's eyes drop to his mouth, and it suddenly dawned on him how much power he had over this man. Heat flared through his body, pooling in his groin. He looked at Chris, and saw that heat reflected back. He jerked his head towards the stairs. "Alright. Let's see what ya got." Chris gave him a wide leer, and as one they rose to go, only then realising they were still clasping hands.
Vin pushed Larabee through the door and slammed it shut behind them. Both men were breathing heavily, faces flushed. Chris turned to face him, white teeth flashing as he peeled his vest off and dropped it on the floor. He backed slowly towards the wide bed at the back of the room, toeing off his heavy boots as he went, hands dropping to unfasten his leather pants. If he was nervous it sure as hell didn't show. He was grinning at Vin like an old dog fox. "Come and get it, Cowboy," he purred throatily.
Vin snarled, showing his own teeth "Yer a slut, Larabee!" He shrugged off his own heavy black motorcycle jacket; dropped it where he stood, then paused, swallowing hard.
Chris laughed softly. "I never denied it, Tanner!" He dropped his pants, kicked them away, to stand naked with his hands on his narrow hips. "You're falling behind, Cowboy."
Vin hissed in frustration; normally nimble fingers fumbling to remove his shoulder rig. He draped it over a nearby chair, quickly following up with the smaller holster clipped at the small of his back, the knife on his belt, and other assorted hidden armament. Chris quirked an amused brow. "You carrying a cannon too, kid?"
"You'll get that soon enough, Old Man." He peeled off his flannel shirt, quickly followed by a henley, and an undershirt; barely remembering to kick off his boots before he dropped his jeans.
Chris sprawled back on the bed, legs wide, one hand lazily dropping down to scratch his lean belly. Bright eyes avidly watched the lean Texan strip. He smirked at Vin's growing frustration. "Need a hand...mmmpphh!" Vin pounced, and Chris suddenly had his arms full of Texas Wildcat.
The kiss was long, hot and rough. Tongues tangled, and entwined wetly; they fed hungrily off each other's mouths, lip slurping against lip. It had been too damned long. They were starving for each other. Larabee reached up to cup that finely chiseled face; held it like a chalice as he fed on his lover's mouth, big rough hands tender. Vin nibbled and sucked on Chris's mouth; tongue tracing the divet in the full lower lip, teeth closing hard enough to bruise. He could never get enough of the smoky whisky taste of Chris's mouth. His hands clutched Larabee's broad shoulders hard enough to bruise, and their legs entwined as they rolled together, mouths still locked. Chris freed one hand, and reached up to tug Vin's hair free from its ponytail so he could tangle his hands in the wild strands of sunstreaked silk. He groaned with pleasure as Vin sucked on his tongue. Nothing in his life had ever felt so right, as this man in his arms.
They kissed for what seemed like hours, but in actuality could only have been minutes. Hands and mouths roamed. Chris tilted his head as Vin nipped and suckled greedily at his throat. He would be well and truly marked tomorrow. "You still hungry, boy?" He chuckled softly, as he got a sharp, sucking bite to his left earlobe for his pains. Vin nuzzled the older man's jawline, rubbing his own unshaven jaw against Chris's beard. He paused to flick his tongue over the scar that bisected Chris's brow, delicately painted his eyelids with his tongue, dodging Larabee's efforts to reclaim his lips. Vin growled a soft warning, dropping down to work his way across Larabee's creamy chest.
He pinched and suckled Larabee's nipples, paused to gnaw on Chris's collarbones, then pushed his arms up to nuzzle into his armpits. He couldn't get enough of the taste of this man. He peppered stinging bites down Chris's torso, leaving his nipples wet, tingling and rosy, then slid his tongue down the silky skinned belly to lap delicately at Larabee's navel. He rubbed his jaw against the sensitive skin of Larabee's hipbone, silky hair trailing across Chris's belly breathing his musk, marking him with his own scent. Chris was moaning with pleasure; eyes closed, his head thrown back and tossing back and forth on the pillow, one hand knotted in the quilt, the other tangled in Vin's hair. Hellfire... Vin hadn't even touched his cock yet... goddamned Texan was eating him alive. He yelped sharply and bucked as the warm, wet mouth abruptly engulfed his straining, drooling erection, deep throating him in one smooth motion... Who the hell taught him that...oh yeah...I did... Vin pulled back to slurp at the fat head of Chris's cock, one hand grasping the root of the thick member, the other gently squeezing his silken ball sac as he milked Larabee for every sticky, salty droplet of precum. His tongue lapped delicately at the slit, eyes closed as he savored this pure essence of Chris.
Chris lifted his head, needing suddenly to see his partner. The look of pure bliss on that beautiful face nearly made him shoot his load right there. "Jesus Christ, Vin! Come here!" He sat up with a snarl, hands grabbing his lover's shoulders to pull him up into his lap, so he could claim that incredible mouth. One strong hand cradled the back of Vin's head, the other arm curled possessively around his narrow waist. Vin wrapped both arms around Larabee's neck and held on tight, legs wrapped loosely around Chris's waist, their blood heavy genitals throbbing gently against each other.
Finally, the need to breathe forced them apart. Panting harshly, foreheads touching, they gentled each other; Vin kneading Chris's broad shoulders, while Larabee stroked his hair and back with shaking hands.Vin finally spoke; "Chris...I..n-need...I..cain't..." he stammered; words failing him, as they so often did, his hands clenching convulsively on Larabee's smooth biceps.
"Tell me. Tell me what you need, Cowboy." Chris tenderly nuzzled the nape of his partner's neck, holding him close.
Vin licked his swollen lips. "I need you inside me...I need you inside." He rubbed his cheek helplessly against Larabee's. He had been starved all his life for touch. He thought he would die if he couldn't touch this man. He had meant to claim Chris, use his body roughly, even walk away afterwards. Now he knew he had been fooling himself. He could no more walk away from this man than fly. As bad as Bucklin. No, worse, I know better.
Chris eased back, still holding Vin, and piled pillows behind them, then he groped for the nightstand drawer, relieved to find a tube of KY. He smiled up into the flushed, sweaty face. "Ride me, Cowboy. Take the edge off before you take me." He flicked the top open and squeezed a fat dollop into his palm, quickly coating his hypersensitive erection. Then he gently slid his fingers back between Vin's firm buttocks. Greedily he watched Vin's face as he carefully prepared him to take his thick cock. The sky blue eyes were closed; lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks, and his swollen lips parted as he panted gently, opening himself to Chris's probing fingers. The long curtain of hair half-veiled the bewitching face, and Chris thought he had never seen anything so fine in his life.
Larabee raised his hands to cradle Tanner's hips as he sank slowly down on Chris's sex. Slowly the young man clenched and released his inner muscles, rocking gently as he felt himself settle; Larabee now fully sheathed. He could feel Chris's crisp pubic hair against his cheeks. He rested for a moment, head down, lower lip between his teeth, palms flat against Chris's pecs. A fine shudder shook his body, and he sighed softly. Chris squeezed his hips gently, cocked a scarred brow in question. The corners of Vin's eyes crinkled together in answer. Slowly they began to move together, two independent, seperate beings intent on becoming one. For a long time the only sounds in the room were the creak of the bedsprings, and the rhythmic thud of the headboard against the wall pounding out an accompanying beat to their heartbeats.
In the kitchen below, Inez and Carmelita paused while dicing tomatoes and chiles for salsa, their eyes riveted to the ceiling as the muted sounds of passion echoed down through the wall. Then they pivoted and exchanged a spontaneous high five, before dissolving into blushes and helpless giggles.
Inez's Saloon
7:00 P.M.
Buck Wilmington bounded up the stairs. He had some news he thought Chris would be pleased to hear. Pausing at the closed door, he tapped gently, in a familiar code. "Come in." Larabee's voice was soft. He pushed the door open and stepped inside; mouth open to bellow his usual exuberant greeting, only to be stopped by Larabee's quick shushing gesture. Chris was sitting up in bed, back propped comfortably against the headboard, smoking a cheroot, one hand resting lightly on the top of Vin's head. Vin was curled up against him, head on Chris's lap, face buried in Larabee's belly; one arm flung across the blond's thighs. He was sound asleep. The only illumination in the room came from the evening sun slanting through the windows, and Larabee's cigar. The air was heavy with the aroma of male sex.
Chris made a wait-a-minute gesture, then clamped his cigar between his teeth and eased Vin off his lap. When he twitched and mumbled in unconscious protest, Larabee bent over him and stroked his hair, whispering something in his ear. Vin relaxed back into sleep, and Chris tugged the quilt up over his shoulders. He eased off the bed, waving Buck back towards the tiny kitchen area. Then he stood and stretched, unselfconsciously nude, his heavy genitals swaying gently. Silently he bent and picked up his pants, and, moving a bit stiffly, he pulled them up long legs.
Raising his head, he met Buck's appreciative eyes. That look narrowed as Buck took in the marks on Chris's body as the blond padded towards him. His neck and torso were covered in tiny bruises, his mouth and nipples swollen, and he sported a love bite beneath his ear. What had hooked Buck's attention though was the livid bite at the nape of Larabee's neck, and the black fingertip bruises on his lean hips. If he were a betting man he would be willing to bet Ezra a thousand dollars that you could match a complete set of Vin's prints and dental records to the marks stippling Chris's skin. Larabee had just been fucked hard.
That realization jolted Buck to the core. Vin. He let Vin fuck him, when he would never even trust me enough to...I've known him 'nigh twenty-five years...sweet Jesus. It shook the big man, more than he cared to admit. He had loved Larabee faithfully for years, and up until this moment he realized, he had always assumed that one day Larabee would feel the same way. That hope had just died a cruel death. Something vital had shifted. Lifting his eyes to Larabee's challenging, diamond bright gaze, he realized things had changed between them. Chris had moved on, with someone else. That fact stung him to the quick.
Buck swallowed hard, raised one big hand to smooth his moustache. His eyes shifted involuntarily to the man sleeping in Larabee's bed. Vin had burrowed molelike under the quilt, face buried in the pillows, one foot just visible. Larabee waved Buck to a chair at the kitchen table, then shuffled over to start a pot of coffee. He smiled at the soft purring snores emerging from the quilt cocoon. "He's tired." he said softly by way of explanation. "Been on the road three days." He pulled out the other chair, and sat down across from his old friend.
Buck cleared his throat. "Been a very busy boy." He leered and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Larabee. Chris just grinned lazily back at him; eyes crinkling in amusement. He leaned back in his chair, and took a long drag from his cigar. He was very relaxed. Sitting there, barefoot, in his unfastened pants suffering from a bad case of bedhead, his normally cynical green eyes soft and hazy, he made an appealing sight. Buck ran a deliberate eye down his body and sighed mournfully; "Always the bridesmaid..."
"Shut up, Buck." Larabee ordered amiably, softening the command with a smirk. "Tell me what you've got." He tapped cigar ash out in the tin ashtray on the table.
Buck leaned in and spoke quietly. "Old Benito's been busy. Networking with the Alvarez's down south and the Horsemen up north. Reckon he planned on plowing a pipeline right through Four Corners, taking us under as he went. Been dealing coke and heroin as well as guns. Seems he struck a deal with the late General to take you out, help clear the way. He's even got the damned ATF sniffing around; 'cause he ripped off a heavy arms shipment last month from an army depot down in Texas." He snorted. "Reckon the fat bastard wants to be Boss Hogg of New Mexico territory." He nodded towards the sleeping sharpshooter. "Seems Junior there tossed a hell of a monkey wrench into the works. New patron of the Alvarez family won't deal with old Benito; he's too damned busy trying to keep the lid on the chili pot at home. Seems the Mexican police got an anonymous tip and busted their main lab, and the Sanduvals are nipping at their throats, ready to take advantage. Benito's ass is swinging in the breeze, 'cause he's got a shipment of automatics coming in tomorrow night with no buyer."
Buck gave Chris a broad grin. "To sum it up, ole pard, Benito ain't a happy man. Not only has his border connection dried up, he's sitting on a hot shipment that the ATF and FBI would give their eyeteeth for, and to top it all off, you ain't dead!" They laughed softly together, both picturing the fat Mexican's consternation at that topper.
Chris took another drag from his cheroot, eyes unfocused and thoughtful. "What time is that shipment due?" His mind was clicking with ideas, already making plans for payback.
Buck eyed him with satisfaction. Chris plotting mass destruction was a rare and beautiful thing. Something that was a pleasure to witness. The coffeepot burbled and Chris got up to fetch some cups. They sat back companionably, and talked while they drank; mainly about mundane matters. If they were a bit uneasy with each other now, they ignored it. Chris didn't apologize for his earlier treatment of Buck, and Buck never mentioned it. Buck was, and always would be; an integral part of Chris's life.
Buck rambled on, catching Chris up with the news. Business was good at Blossom's, as always. Lydia tossed out an undercover cop who was snooping around. They had just run a vintage Jaguar through the chopshop, that they had had to pry Ezra out of. Chris's favorite broodmare at the ranch dropped a little black studcolt. JD hacked into Judge Travis's financial records, and discovered he was gambling again, something to be taken advantage of. Ez's new girlfriend looked like she was about fifteen years old, something they would have to check into. Josiah had gotten in trouble with the nuns for shooting crows off the steeple of the convent chapel again. Chris chuckled softly at that, amused at the image of the huge man, head bowed, meekily taking a scolding from the little nuns. He snorted in annoyance, when Buck mentioned the Travis woman nosing around again. Woman thinks shes Barbara Walters. She had been a minor thorn in their sides ever since her husband's death. He wondered idly what she would do if she ever found out about Stephen's affair with Sarah, and the fact that they had planned on running away together.
As the evening shadows lengthened, Chris clicked on a dim light, glancing Vin's way as he did. Boy was dead to the world. He grinned. Rode hard and put up wet.
Buck saw that look, and sighed. "You want me to have Inez send ya'll up some supper?"
"Nah. I'll come down in a minute. Gotta talk with the boys anyway. Raphael's cousin Lupita still working at Delgado's bar?"
"Dunno, Chris. I can ask 'em." They stood, Buck to take his leave; and Chris to shower and change. "Better put a shirt on Stud." Buck leered. "Boys will think Vin has taken up cannibalism."
Chris just grinned back and drawled; "He can be something of a maneater." Buck guffawed in appreciation, and slapped Chris on the shoulder, before heading down the stairs.
Still grinning, Chris turned back into the room. Best to let Vin sleep a few more hours. Larabee's stomach growled loudly as he padded towards the bathroom. Worked up an appetite. The grin faded at a twinge farther south. He shook his head. If anyone had dared tell him a week ago that he would be offering his ass up to a man, he would have laughed and blown their head off without a second thought. The grin blossomed back into a full blown Larabee smirk. Hell, if he had known it felt like that he'd have given his cherry up twenty years ago. Chuckling softly to himself at his own foolish thoughts he continued into the tiny bathroom.
Apartment above Inez's Saloon
1:00 A.M.
Larabee cracked an eye open when the mattress shifted beneath him. Rolling over he watched sleepily as Vin shuffled into the bathroom. One hand braced against the wall above the toilet, he pissed long and hard before giving an audible sigh of relief. Sleepily he knuckled his eyes, then padded silently to the kitchen area. Headed for a drink of water, Chris thought fondly, as he eyed the appealing flex of tight buttocks.
The Texan's lean, naked body was tinted with the sylvan light of the full moon; his tangled mane cascaded down his shoulders nearly to the small of his back. Washed in silver he was a beautiful sight. Chris propped his head up on an arm, for a better look, suddenly wide awake. Vin had quietly pulled a cold bottle of water from the battered fridge, popped the lid off, and was gulping thirstily. He finished, left the bottle on the counter, and was turning to return to bed, when he suddenly paused, head tilted at a listening angle. Curious, Chris watched as his lover ghosted silently across the floor to the side windows. Once there, he unlatched the screen to admit a little gray cat.
Chris felt a broad grin split his face. Busted! This was the feral cat the Texan never fed. Amused he watched as Tanner padded back to the kitchen, the little creature twining ecstatically between his ankles, fluffy tail curling around his legs. She nearly succeeded in tripping him twice before Tanner bent and scooped her up. He cradled the little feline against his chest for a moment, gently touched her nose with his. She rubbed her face against his happily, and Chris could hear the loud purr from across the room. Vin placed her on the counter, and bent to open a cabinet. He cast a covert glance over his shoulder to where Chris played possum on the shadowed bed, before pulling out a packet of cat food; which he opened and poured into a small dish. He ran a gentle hand once down her back, then left her to her meal.
Vin slipped back under the quilt next to Chris. Somehow, he wasn't surprised when warm arms slid around his waist, pulling him close. "You awake, Cowboy?" he drawled, in mock surprise.
Larabee nuzzled the strong jaw, nipped at the soft lips. "Didn't realise you were so fond of pussy, Tanner."
Vin stiffened for a moment, then sat up and scowled down at his lover. "Reckon I got fond of 'er a mite. Good company fer when drunk cowboys git their dumb asses throwed in jail fer months atta time!"
Chris could feel the heat of Vin's guilty flush against his skin. He snickered, delighted at the quiet Texan's display of temper. Larabee loved to get a rise out of his laconic lover. The man was usually so backward and quiet; pulling a crooked smile, a blush, or more than three words out of him at a time counted as a major victory. It pleased him when Vin relaxed around him, enough to fuss, and throw a hissy. No one but Chris ever saw him like this; vocal, naked and indignant, arms folded huffily, blue eyes flashing.
Those eyes were narrowed suspiciously now, as he frowned down at his snickering partner. "You laughin' at me, Cowboy?"
"Why no, honey, no!" Chris purred, adding fuel to the fire.
"Honey! Honey?" Vin sputtered, mouth twisting as though he had just bit into a lemon. The look of horror on that mobile face caused Larabee to lose it completely, and he threw back his head and laughed aloud.
Vin stared at him for a moment, mouth open, as though Larabee had lost his mind; then realised he'd been had, and pounced. "Asshole!" He did his best to smother Chris with his own pillow.
Green eyes laughed up into his own, as Larabee smirked back at him. He reached up, and yanked his partner down, into a deep, wet kiss. Vin finally managed to squirm free with a gasp, and get in the last word. "Slut!"
The full moon meandered over the cobalt night sky, casting pools of light across the bed; painting first one broad back and then the other with silver. Silver, shadow and neon from the outside light stippled skin and hair. From the kitchen counter, a little cat daintily washed her feet and watched with golden eyes as two forms writhed as one. Vin knelt between Chris's thighs, those long legs wrapped tight around his narrow waist, as he sought to pump himself deep into his lover. Chris snarled, and held on tight, arching back as he sought to keep his man deep inside. The bedframe thumped, and creaked as the pair made their own music in the night.
Hoarse cries of completion rang out, and a small gray cat slipped away into the shadows.
Delgado's Taverna, Outskirts of Four Corners
10:00 P.M. the following night
Xavier Delgado listlessly swiped a dirty rag over the grimy bartop, while he kept one eye on the bigscreen TV in the corner. That Mike Tyson is too estupido to live... He shook his head, and winced at the stream of Spanish invective that streamed over from Benito's table. Benito had removed his cell phone from his ear and was screaming into it. His brother had been in a foul mood for the past two days. He had been wired ever since Raul and Chato had left to kill Larabee. Since then they had heard nothing. Xavier has the sneaky suspicion that they would never hear anything from those two again. Only an idiot walks into the den of the lion.
Raul might as well have smeared marinada on his ass and jumped into a pit of tigers. He glanced over at Benito, just in time to see him pound the hapless cellphone into plastic splinters on the tabletop.
The smokey taverna was almost empty except for a half dozen or so of Delgado's boys, a couple of hookers, and old Pedro, who sometimes swept up, in exchange for a bottle of rotgut. It was fairly quiet, in deference to Benito's foul mood. The only interesting thing to happen in the past hour had been the little chica that had strolled in looking for a payphone.
She was a lovely little thing with golden brown skin, and big liquid eyes, her head crowned with dark ringlets. The tight leopard print top, black snakeskin miniskirt, and stiletto heels didn't hurt either. She sat demurely at the end of the bar, sipping a beer. No one had approached her for one simple reason. That reason was coiled... well... boa-like around her bare shoulders. The damned snake had to be at least six feet long, and it gave Xavier the creeps. Everytime he wandered down towards that end of the bar, the thing fixed him with its beady black eyes and flicked its tongue at him. When she sweetly inquired after the location of tha Ladies' room, he was only too happy to wave her down the hall. El serpent hissed at him as she strutted past.
Rain Jackson strolled down the hall, past the stinking toilets, and straight out the backdoor; which she padlocked behind her. In the alley Ezra and a hyper JD were gently encouraging two big Hispanic men into the dumpster. They had been bound and gagged with duct tape, and were protesting this treatment with vigorous snorts and grunts. "Ah assure you gentlemen, this is the safest place for you." Ezra said, as he gleefully dropped the lid on one miscreant's head. JD Dunne was so hyped that he was practically vibrating in place. He turned to her eagerly, "Did you see, Rain? We got it, we got it all! The entire shipment is on that truck! Pretty stupid of Benito to just park it in the alley like that, huh? Don't you think?"
Rain clamped a palm over the kid's mouth. "Sssshhh. Sugar, I hear you. So will everyone inside if you don't lower your voice!" The kid blushed and nodded sheepishly. Taking a closer look at his eyes, Rain realised that they might have a problem on their hands in the near future. Buck is going to take it out of his hide, and Lord help him if Chris finds out. Coke, unless I miss my guess. She glanced over to check on Ezra, and saw that he was carefully attaching a fat wad of plastique to the backdoor. The tiny detonater beeped softly as he gently tapped in the code for the timer. He hurried to join them, and they all climbed into the cab of the semi; Ezra behind the wheel, Rain in the middle, and JD riding shotgun. Flipping open her cellphone; she speed dialed and spoke one word. "Now!"
As they roared down the alley, Ezra turned and gave her a weak smile. "Mah dear Miz Jackson, would you be so kind as to remove your serpent from mah trousers?"
Benito ran his fingers through his oily hair, swearing. It had all gone to shit. His big deal was dead in the water, and that hijo de la puta Larabee was alive and well. All he could do now was pull back and regroup. Maybe it was time for a vacation. Perhaps he would go see mamacita and abuelita in Sonora...they had always claimed he would come to a bad end...
These gloomy thoughts were abruptly banished when something metallic and shiny crashed through the front plate glass window. Gernade! Seconds later they were all knocked on their asses by a deafening explosion accompanied by a brillant flash of light. The mirrors behind the bar were shattered along with most of the liquor stock. Ears ringing, and teeth rattled, Benito clawed frantically for his pistola, and reeled to his feet just in time to face the six men who stepped through the shattered window, their boots crunching glass.
They made an awesome sight. Chris Larabee wore a long, black leather duster over his habitual black tee and jeans. There was an antique, ivory handled Colt Peacemaker strapped to his waist in a silver studded rig. He carried a chrome handled .45 caliber automatic in one hand, and a cigar in the other. There was a crazy, shark smile on his wickedly handsome face that made Benito's hair stand up. At his side, Vin Tanner, his hair bound back under a blue bandanna, wore his battered black leather jacket, and torn jeans. He had his Colt tucked into his shoulder rig, and carried a compact pistol grip Mossberg shotgun; its strap over his shoulder. His handsome face was utterly serene. To his left, Josiah Sanchez grinned like the occasionally homocidal maniac he was, as he hefted a double bladed axe. Nathan held his favorite katana; the lethal blade gleaming in the light. Raphael backed them up with a pair of twin automatics. Buck Wilmington stepped forward, a bat propped on one shoulder, and a broad smile on his face. He had a 9mm Baretta tucked into the small of his back.
"Howdy, boys! " he boomed jovially. "Thought we'd drop by with a bit of payback!"
Benito gaped for a second, then screamed: "Kill them!" He swung his pistol up and fired wildly in Larabee's general direction, before dropping and crawling madly for cover behind the bar. There he found Xavier woozily trying to sit up long enough to shake the splinters of glass out of his head. He could hear his men yelling and the hookers screaming as he scrabbled under the bar for the pump shotgun, and the uzi kept there. Thrusting the shotgun at his brother, he swore, and urged him to get up and defend himself. That bright idea was stymied when Vin's shotgun blast took out the remaining glass directly above their heads, showering them with sharp particles.
When Benito popped his head out to take stock of the situation, a shot from Larabee's .45 quite literally parted his hair. The blond was standing calmly at the nexus of chaos, smoking his cigar, pistol at ready, while a brawl raged around him. Vin stood quietly beside him, racking another shell in, covering Larabee, and ignoring the thin trickle of blood down the side of his own neck. One of Delgado's wild shots had nicked his left earlobe.
The screaming hookers were scrambling for the front door. Old Pedro had crawled under a table and stayed there, head down, and skinny rump up. In the far right corner Nathan was calmly slicing up a fool clutching a switchblade. Next to him a madly grinning Sanchez had chosen the hands-on method; disgarding his axe in favor of strangling his victim. He paused for a moment; frowning, holding his wheezing prey at eye level. "Brother, have you given your soul to Jesus?"
"Gaaakkk! S-s-si!"
"Good! Give him my regards!" Josiah swiftly snapped the man's neck, dropping him as he did so. When he turned in search of fresh sacrifices, two of Delgado's men took the easy way out and dove head first out the side window.
Raphael was laughing softly, as he methodically shot to herd Delgado's remaining henchman into the back hall. Idiots. This is a rout.
Buck stepped over the prone bodies of the men who had foolishly assumed a bat wasn't much of a weapon, to flip over Pedro's table. He reached a big hand down, and yanked the old man to his feet. "Pedro! Amigo! How's the little woman?" He beamed down into the diminutive drunk's sad, bloodshot eyes.
"Still in prison, Senor Buck." Pedro replied dolefully. He was shaking like a leaf.
"Sorry to hear about that, pard, Eulabelle is a hell of a woman!" Buck slapped a miraculously full, unbroken bottle of tequila into the old man's hands and gave him a gentle shove towards the exit.
"Gracias, Senor Buck." This as he weaved determinedly outside. It was time to go home, and pass out.
Benito swore softly and made the executive decision to run away. "Cover me!" he barked to the still dazed Xavier. He popped up to whip off a volley of shots with the uzi as he crabwalked for the back hallway. It jammed halfway through the clip, and he screamed invective as a second shotgun blast nearly took his head off. When he whirled to make a run for it, a round from Larabee's gun caught him neatly in the left ass cheek, hurrying him along. Xavier staggered to his feet, shotgun raised; only to have Raphael's twin automatics put him down for good. Larabee glanced at his watch; and gave a piercing wolf whistle. As one, his men backed steadily towards the front exit.
Benito Delgado charged full tilt for the back door, only to be met head first by the door as it was blasted inward with a spectacularly fiery explosion along with most of the back wall; courtesy of Ezra Standish's fondness for pyrotechnics. He had the brief impression of being dragged backwards naked, through a series of knotholes. Then everything became very peaceful, quiet and dim.
The Dark Angels convened in the parking lot and watched Delgado's Tavern burn to the ground. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Buck took a swallow from the bottle he had thoughtfully liberated on the way out, and passed it around. "Reckon Ez got a mite generous with the C4?" he asked, as they doubled up on the bikes; leaving one man free to ride shotgun while the other drove.
"Si, but it makes a pretty fire, no?" Raphael replied, slapping his shoulder as he climbed on behind the big man.
Nathan rolled his eyes in exasperation, revving his bike impatiently as Josiah crossed himself, and mumbled a novena under his breath. "Get on the damned bike, 'Siah. You can light a candle for the dear departed later." Sanchez gave a sheepish grin and obeyed; giving Nate a fond squeeze that made his ribs creak. "Oomph!"
"Sorry, Brother."
Chris took a long pull from the bottle, then passed it to Josiah. He reached out and gently flicked Vin's bloody ear, then popped the digit in his mouth. "Mmmmm. Salty!" Vin flushed in embarrassment at the public display and shoved Larabee towards his Harley. Chris just smirked and slung an arm over his shoulder. "You got the bitch seat, Tanner." Vin snarled in reply, narrowed eyes promising retribution. He balanced easily behind Chris, one hand on Larabee's hip, the other holding the Mossberg at ready. It was doubtful they would run into anymore trouble tonight, but he preferred being prepared.
"Its party time boys!" Buck bellowed, and with loud whoops, and louder engines they roared away towards Blossom's and their waiting alibi. Taking Delgado down had taken less then an hour.
Blossom's Gentleman's Club
Roughly Midnight
The party was going full tilt with no sign of slowing down. It looked like New Year's had exploded in the room. Confetti, streamers and balloons filled the air. The Delta Blues band on the small bandstand had a deep bass beat going that found an echo in every person in the room. Dancing couples crowded the floor, and every table was packed with hooting, yelling folks intent on having a good time. The harassed waitresses could barely keep the liquor flowing fast enough. This was Larabee's welcome home party and if anyone inquired, everyone would swear that Chris Larabee and the boys had been there all night.
Lydia surveyed her domain from her stool at the corner of the bar. So far everything had gone smoothly. Other then Tito and Juanito having to toss a couple of drunks out the back door, there had been no trouble. Her girls were having a profitable night; the dancers as well as the working girls. She had two people whom she was keeping an especially sharp eye on. One, a nondescript man who might as well have had COP tattooed on his forehead; the other, the reporter Mary Travis.
Lydia snorted in amusement. For a woman supposedly here to work on a story, her wardrobe leaves a bit to be desired. Yeah right. The whole time she's interviewing Nora at the side table, she's making cow eyes at Chris. Not that he notices. Vin looks like he's about had enough noise, though. She, Inez, and most of the the women had a special fondness for Tanner. He was always shy and polite with them. Lydia had the notion that he regarded women the same bemused way he would rare, tropical orchids; as something beautiful and exotic, but not to be touched. She watched the pair fondly. Vin had his back firmly against the wall, in the corner near the rear exit. Larabee stood close beside him, hand on the wall beside Vin's head, golden head bent close as he murmured something in his ear. His broad back was turned to the room, shielding the smaller man from view, unconsciously protective. As she watched, he seemed to be teasing Tanner, one big hand tugging gently at a strand of Vin's hair. Vin's eyes were locked with his, a half smile on his face. Those two seemed to be going through a second honeymoon phase, if what Inez had reported was true.
She swept her gaze over the room. Buck was holding court at the center booth, surrounded by women, as usual. Nathan and Rain, hands entwined, were making their way steadlily towards the door, with Rain's reptilian choice of fashion accessory guaranteeing a clear path. Josiah was sitting with the petite Chantal in his lap. The big ex-priest looked mesmerized by the woman as she cooed and flirted, one small hand toying with his necklace. Lydia made a mental note to warn the girl about Josiah's minor quirks. Such as stalking women he was attracted to. Raphael leaned against the end of the bar, with the taller, lithe, catsuited Ebony plastered so close Lydia couldn't see daylight between them. He didn't seem to mind. Ezra, she knew, had a high stakes poker game going in a back room. Then she spotted trouble.
JD and Casey, both wired, were seating themselves at the bar. JD was in the middle of describing something; motor mouth running nonstop. He was attracting a lot of attention. Even seated down the noisy bar, she could lipread some of the words. VIN and SHOT and DEAD, this complete with the mimed aiming and firing of a gun. The Travis woman was seated right behind them, obviously listening. Lydia stood quickly, eyes going immediately towards Larabee. He had his back to them, herding Vin towards the rear exit. Thank God for small favors. He would kill JD if he heard that. She turned back towards Buck's table, relieved when she was immediately able to catch his eye. She nodded sharply towards the babbling JD Dunne and his audience, and Buck was up and immediately on the move. He gently set his girls aside, pushing his way through the crowd; a frown building on his handsome face as he strode up to the bar.
Mary Travis frowned, bewildered, and tried to lean closer without being too obvious about it. Did he just say Vin shot someone? With all the noise it was difficult to hear herself think. Looking up, she saw Buck Wilmington approaching rapidly. Wanting to avoid the big man, she straightened, looking automatically around the bar for Chris Larabee. She was just in time to see his broad back disappear down the back hall. I have to talk with him. Impulsively, she stood and followed him. She was uncertain of her own motivations. The man was a criminal; a biker. He was believed to be responsible for the majority of crime in the area. Everything from gunrunning and auto theft to prostitution and murder. She also suspected he knew who had been responsible for her husband's death. Yet she was fascinated by the man. She had tried to approach him for information shortly after the murders; and again when he had been released from Yuma prison, only to be stonewalled. It infuriated her. Beautiful and accomplished, she was unaccustomed to being ignored; especially by such an attractive man. Determined to confront him, she strode down the hall after him.
"Both of 'em dead as doornails..." JD crowed, then flinched as a big hand dropped heavily on his shoulder in the middle of his narrative to Casey of the two would be assassins. He found himself looking up into a grim face. "B-u-ck! I was just tellin' Casey..."
"Telling Casey, and half the damned bar, boy. What the hell are you thinking? You want Chris to put a bullet in your head for running your mouth?" Buck tugged the youth off his stool and gave him a shake. Then his eyes narrowed; he leaned in and dabbed at the white granules of powder under the boy's nose. He took a closer look at JD's eyes. "You stupid little bastard..." he breathed quietly.
"Buck, it ain't what you think..." JD babbled, beginning to panic.
"Leave him alone! You got no right!" Casey flung herself into the fray, pounding Buck's shoulder with her fists.
Buck never looked at her, just reached out and knotted one big hand into the hair at the base of her skull. He shook her, once, hard. She gave a squeak, and went still. Cold blue eyes on JD's terrified face, Buck spoke quietly. "You get your ass upstairs and wait for me."
"Buck.."
"Now, boy." With one quick look at Casey, he obeyed, stumbling in his haste. Buck turned back to the young woman he held, yanking her close as he did. "What did I tell you, little girl?" Casey said nothing, heart pounding in terror.
Buck motioned for Lydia to join him as he propelled Casey across the room to the back office. Once inside, he released her hair only to grab one thin wrist. Despite her struggles, he held her tight, and pushed her sleeve up to reveal the tiny bruises on her inner arm. With a snarl he flung her slight body onto the nearby sofa. "What did I tell you, little bitch? What did I tell you about using that shit around JD? Do you even remember? Or are you so damned stupid that you actually thought I'd let you get away with it?" His anger was boiling to the surface, fueled by the adrenaline of an action filled night. The only thing that kept him from killing her at that moment was JD's fondness for the girl. He turned to Lydia, who stood quietly inside the door. "What shall we do with her Lydia? She's a damned junkie with a loose mouth. Won't be long until she'd probably fuck a dog for a fix."
Lydia regarded the sobbing girl on the sofa with pity. She knew the girl's history. Her mother had been an addict. Casey was born with a taste for the drug. The only person to care for her had been that crazy old bat, Nettie Wells. Still, she was a liability they could ill afford. "I don't see a lot of choices here, Buck," she replied slowly; "We could send her to Josiah's nuns, and see if they can dry her out again. We can put her on a bus out of town. Or, we can send her ass over the border. Jacinto is due in tomorrow. He has a taste for white meat."
Calming, Buck turned to the sniveling, wide-eyed young woman. "Your choice, girl. What will it be?"
Sobbing, she stared from one grim face to the other. She had no protectors here. Her only living relative was in an institution. JD would do whatever Buck wanted. Larabee would kill her if he found out. The most important thing in her life came in tiny cellophane packets. "I don't know! I don't know what to do!" She wailed piteously, burying her face in her hands.
Buck softened minutely. Women were, and always would be, his weakness. He smoothed his moustache, a gesture of self comfort that came automatically. "Put her in one of the downstairs rooms. Tomorrow, put her ass on a Greyhound, with a one way ticket to wherever she wants to go." He bent over the girl and tilted her face up so she was forced to meet his eyes. "This is the last chance you get from me, little girl. I see you again, you're meat. Do you understand me?" He tightened his grip on her jaw. She nodded frantically. He hauled her to her feet, and passed her to Lydia. "Keep an eye on her." The tall redhead nodded, steering the girl out the door.
Buck threw himself down on the sofa Casey had just vacated with a noisy whoosh of breath. Damned kids. It was a wonder his hair wasn't gray. He sighed, noisily. He had a lot to do in the next few hours. He had a boy waiting upstairs to be disciplined. The verbal warning hadn't been enough of a deterrent, time to get harsh. He loved the kid like a brother; but he had to be pulled into line. Thank God, Chris was so intent on Vin, he didn't see anything. Speaking of Vin; there were some ruffled feathers to be smoothed there. Buck sure as hell didn't want to end up a bleached skeleton in the desert with a bullet rattling around in his skull. He had to make peace with Vin. He also had to run damage control on the Travis woman, see if she proved more trouble than she was worth. Fine piece of ass, though. Got the video to prove it. That tape would come in mighty handy if Miss Mary did something stupid in the near future.
The woman had made the mistake of targeting Buck for information, shortly after Larabee was sentenced to Yuma. She had gotten the mistaken idea that because Buck was easy, he was also stupid. Dressed to kill, in a tiny sequined red dress and heels, she had attempted to seduce information out of him in his own club. Apparently, she didn't realize that the bad element watched the local news. She was so easily recognizable, with that platinum blonde hair and pretty face. Buck, a connouisseur of women, always remembered a beautiful face. Once he realized what she was after, he had played along. Putting on his charming-but-dim persona, he had plied her with mixed drinks, and a few questions of his own; and once he ascertained that she was indeed fishing for information on Larabee's operation he had slipped a bit of rohypnol into her drink.
Wrapping a companiable arm around her waist, he had guided her into the private rooms in the back for a private tour, especially of the luxurious little VIP suite with the concealed cameras. Under the influence, the charming Ms. Travis had lost more than her inhibitions that night. Buck lost count of the positions they had fucked in. One of his favorite memories of that night was of Mary bent over the billards table with her tiny skirt hiked above her waist, while Buck fucked her lustily from behind. Just thinking about that night made him hard.
He sprawled back on the big, overstuffed leather sofa with a sigh. He could have made a fortune selling that tape, but it was tucked away safely. If Mary caused trouble for Chris, Buck would see that she had a private screening. He groaned, imagining watching those two together. Even better, sharing the woman with Chris. In the good old days, that would have been a real possibility. His cock responded as it always did, swelling immediately. He huffed softly to himself, shifting position to give himself some relief from the pressure. Fat chance of that. Only got eyes for his blue-eyed boy now. His eyes popped open, at a sudden thought. If both Chris and Vin...that boy's got most of my girls beat for looks. He sighed, knowing the jealous Larabee would never go for it. Fool. Remember what happened with Sarah. Nearly got your fool self killed. Besides, Vin won't let anyone touch him but Chris. Poor kid had a hell of a life, a wonder he's not crazier then he is. Still, it was something to contemplate... A timid knock on the door jolted his thoughts back to earth. Looking up, he saw Ruby shyly peering in. Opening his arms wide, Buck beamed and purred; "Come here, darlin'."
Chris was running high on adrenaline and a good liquor buzz. Time to top that good feeling off with some hot lovemaking. One hand on Vin's hip, he hustled the smaller man out the back door. Vin took a deep gulp of the fresh night air, relieved to finally get away from the noisy crowd. Chris grinned at his audible sigh of relief. "Better?" Vin nodded, still breathing deep. "Inez's?" He slid his hand around Vin's waist, steering him towards the side where the bike was parked.
"Ranch."
"Inez's is closer." Chris wheedled, nuzzling into his partner's neck.
"Ranch." Vin answered firmly, eyes automatically scanning around the parking lot. He'd had enough of people for a while. "Private." he clarified, relaxing a bit.
He gave a startled yelp when Larabee grabbed his waist and swung him around to pin him to the brick wall, hands and hungry mouth busy. "Can be private here..."he growled, latching onto Vin's sore earlobe and sucking hard, lean body pressing close, one thigh thrust between Vin's, hips thrusting lazily. He kissed Vin greedily, sucking at his tongue, one big hand sliding inside his denim shirt to toy with a tiny nipple.
Vin gasped as he struggled to tear his mouth away. Goddamned Larabee, horny as a toad... He shook his head to clear it, to try and push Chris off. If he wasn't careful, Larabee would have him bent over, pants around his ankles, fucked against this wall, before he could blink. Man had a one track mind.
"R-r-ranch!" he argued desperately as the hand teasing his nipples slid farther south. "Chris!"
"Hmm?" Larabee was busy. He bit tender flesh and sucked hard, intent on marking his man. At the same time he slid his hand into Vin's jeans; squeezing the hot, silky flesh, gently kneading the full balls. He buried his face in Vin's hair, breathing deeply. God, he loved the scent of this man.
"Chris!" Vin was getting desperate now; he pushed weakly at Larabee's broad shoulders.
Chris lifted his head to rub his bearded jaw against Vin's. "You say something, Cowboy?" He teased gently; big hand still working swollen flesh. He eyed Vin's flushed face with satisfaction. Beautiful. Mine. He kissed Vin again, free hand cupping the back of his head, keeping him close. Vin moaned into the kiss, hands kneading Larabee's shoulders now, hips thrusting into his palm.
A loud gasp jerked both their heads up. Vin froze against him, and Chris found himself staring into Mary Travis's shocked eyes.
"You want something, Miz Travis?" Nosy bitch. He slowly withdrew his hand from Vin's jeans and lifted it to pop damp fingers nastily into his mouth. He sucked them lazily, bright, wicked eyes on her face. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Face scarlet, she turned and fled back inside the club.
Vin huffed soft laughter against his cheek, shoulders shaking silently. "Smooth, Lar'bee!"
"Well, she pissed me off. Should mind her own business."
Vin snickered, and pushed Larabee playfully towards the Harley. "I'm driving!" He ordered firmly.
Chris gave him a wide leer. "Sure, pard." Vin shot him a look, suspicious at the lack of argument. He found out why before they even pulled out on the highway. Snug against his back, one arm tight around his waist, Chris's mouth and free hand were free to roam. Vin swore viciously at the hand gently squeezing his crotch; hearing Larabee's wicked snicker in his ear. Leaning over the handlebars, he opened the big bike flat out; determined to get home before he wrapped them around a tree. Crazy son of a bitch. Should have shot his ass.
Larabee Ranch
Three Days Later
Buck wailed along with the Elvis CD as he jounced down the long unpaved drive to the house. His Harley was in the shop for detailing, so he drove his ancient Ford truck. He could afford better, but he liked his old truck. Besides, he bore peace offerings. Piled in the seat beside him was enough junk food to send Tanner and a small third world nation into sugar shock.
Chris Larabee rolled out of bed, wincing a little at the soreness of his backside. He groped for and pulled on a worn pair of sweats. He could hear the radio in the kitchen, and smell sausage frying. Vin was up bright and early. Since the party they had spent most of their time out here, relaxing. Inez had stopped by once. She had dropped off a tray of homemade enchiladas and a box containing Vin's not stray cat. The little feline had had a close encounter with a delivery truck, and Inez felt she would be safer out of town.
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, he found Tanner intent on fixing eggs and sausage gravy. "Morning. Something smells good." Chris wrapped both arms around the lean waist and commenced to nibble on succulent earlobes.
Vin huffed a soft laugh. "Ya want breakfast Larabee, might wanna hit the shower first."
"You saying I stink, Tanner?" A soft snicker was his only reply. Chuckling, Chris headed down the hall to obey.
Vin glanced out the window over the sink when he heard Buck's truck in the drive. Wincing in annoyance at the loud beep of the horn, he turned back to his frying pan. He wasn't sure he felt like dealing with the big man now. He knew how sluttish Chris could be, and how hard to resist he was. However, that didn't mean he was ready to forgive Buck.
"Knock! Knock!" Wilmington hollered as he struggled with the screen door. Pushing his way inside, he set a case of Dos Equis and a stack of bakery boxes on the kitchen table. Vin didn't reply, keeping his eyes on his cooking. "Smells good, pard." Buck persisted, taking a seat at the table. He could hear the shower running, and he found himself hoping Chris turned up soon. Vin was apparently intent on stonewalling him. At a loss, he glanced around the kitchen. A little gray cat hopped up on the kitchen table beside him, curled a fluffy tail around small black feet, and watched him with bright golden eyes. "Get off the table, kitty." Buck ordered amiably. Kitty turned to present him with an eye level view of a dainty, rosebud pink asshole; which she then proceeded to wash. Buck sighed. Even the damned cat was ignoring him.
Chris wandered in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of black jeans, toweling his hair dry. Buck was seated at the table, exchanging glares with the cat. "Morning, Buck. Wasn't expecting you." He glanced over at a silent Tanner, who was filling plates.
Buck shrugged wordlessly, and raised his brows questioningly. Chris shrugged in reply. "Thought I'd drop by for a bit. See what ya'll were up to this weekend."
Chris smirked; "You mean, besides the usual?" They laughed together. Chris pulled out a chair beside him; giving the cat a gentle swat with the towel as he did. She sat up and batted vigorously back, before jumping down and trotting off to sit in a patch of sunshine. "Feisty little critter," Buck said, admiringly. "I didn't know you had a cat."
"It's Vin's," Chris clarified, shooting an impish look at Tanner. Vin slanted him an evil look back, but said nothing. He slapped a plate down in front of Chris; and, to Buck's surprise, one in front of him as well. "Thanks Vin. Looks mighty good." He said gratefully, taking the offered food as a sign that the Texan might be ready to bury the hatchet.
Buck dug into the fried eggs covered with thick, sausage gravy, with relish. Tanner could cook when he had a mind to. Of course the boy would eat almost anything, including Josiah's chili... A horrific thought struck him, and he froze, mouth stuffed full. He wouldn't...would he? He shot a look at Chris's plate. Plain scrambled eggs and toast. No help there. The entire gang lived in fear of Josiah's cooking. Or rather, the dubious ingredients of Josiah's cooking; especially those little anonymous packets wrapped in plain, white butcher's paper labeled simply, MEAT. Lately Josiah had taken to experimenting with sausage recipes...
Buck shot a desperate look towards the stove, hoping to see a recognizable sausage label. "What's the matter, Bucklin? Ya don't like my cookin'?" Vin's voice was soft and flat, his blue eyes hard.
Shit, shit, shit. If I don't eat he WILL be mad...damned if I do, and damned if I don't! Buck finished chewing manfully, then swallowed with effort. Hope to hell that wasn't Chato. Chris chuckled softly next to him.
"What's the matter Buck? I thought you liked Jimmy Dean?" Buck choked, for one millisecond he had thought Larabee was refering to the sausage's source, not its manufacturer. Looking across the table, he finally caught the twinkle in Vin's eyes. He sputtered in outrage. "You sons of bitches! I thought I was chowing on some of 'Siah's mystery meat!"
His friends burst into raucous laughter at his expense. Tanner nearly fell off his chair, while Larabee laughed so hard, he had tears in his eyes. "Should have seen your face, Buck!"
"Looked like a chipmunk with a moustache, Bucklin!"
Buck huffed, and pretended indignation for a few minutes before joining in.
Little Sisters of Mercy Convent
Josiah Sanchez straightened slowly to his feet, a scowl on his craggy face and a trowel clenched in one big hand. A fat, shiny black crow cawed mockingly at him from the convent wall. Josiah cast a longing look at the potting shed, and the .357 Magnum hidden within; then a covert glance over to where Sisters Mary Eustace and Mary Katherine sat chatting nearby. They waved at him cheerfully. The crow hopped closer and cawed louder. Damned demonspawn, mocking him. Just you wait, you little black devil. Shoulders slumped in defeat, the big man turned back to the wheelbarrow and another bag of bonemeal.
Sisters Eustace and Katherine sat and admired the new floribunda bed. The new plants were thriving under Josiah's tender care. He was such a nice man, so thoughtful. He even named the new varieties after his friends. One row of skinny, new plants bore the neatly printed label: Raul, and the other; Chato. The convent rose garden in full bloom, with it's hundreds of plants, buzzing with bees, was a beautiful sight indeed.
THE END
PHOENIX
Michael Biehn Archive
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The characters belong to various production/film/TV companies. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
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Story Notes:
Dark Angels Biker AU
Author's Chapter Notes: These guys are not your white knights. Better you halt now at the warning, then have a conniption later! Author's Request: Dark Angels is an ongoing series of stories. PLEASE do not write in this particular AU at this time. |