Break Me Open (10 page)

"We're the same size," she said.

I stopped, watched her look petulant by the locker. She looked like a misbehaving kid, worried about what punishment she was going to get. That worry was for me though. I tossed both bags around her in a hug and tried my hardest not to cry into that soft blonde hair.

"Be careful," she whispered.

"I will."

A small crowd had formed around the fallen bikers when I went back out. Sirens sang through the air ever louder. For a second I panicked that Bryan had run, and left me alone, but then I saw him down the curb, standing his bike back up. He waved to me. I slung the bags over my shoulder and ran up to the bike. My hand reached his and he lifted me on behind.

"Hold me," he said. Easily done.

His engine roared to life, but it sounded oddly distant.

"Goddamnit."

I followed his gaze. It wasn't our engine. A black Harley was coming down the lot at us.

Our engine rumbled between my legs.

"Hold on," he said again, and we tore out of the lot.

A howl rose behind us, and I thought it said 'Ghost." We went even faster, and outran it.

The lights ahead us were red, but Ghost sped as we approached. I saw a car coming at our sides and started to scream, but we zipped out of its path by an inch. After that, I kept my eyes shut and just sank into Ghost.

I listened to that heartbeat I'd dreamed of hearing again, pounding as hard as the engine we rode. Impossibly fast. Biosynthetic adrenaline. He must be on it right now. How would the world look to him, his senses sped up twice as fast? I worried about his heart, but right now we needed it. We burst out of the row of honking horns and onto a highway. This one ran west. It would loop up slowly towards California, towards LA.

I looked back as the traffic thinned and we weaved through its spaces. Everything looked clear behind. I didn't see why we were going fast. I tried to tell Ghost we could slow, but he just went faster. I turned around and like a spectre, the other cycle had appeared behind us. A dark steed, slowly gaining.

Why was it gaining? I had no doubt Ghost could push his ride harder than any normal human.

Which meant he wasn't looking to run. My heart nearly pounded in sync with Ghost's augmented heartbeat.

We beat the wave of cars and hit an unoccupied stretch of road. Ghost zoomed out even faster. The world around us was just a whirling blur. It was all I could do to keep my grip. When we had a good stretch of open road behind us, Ghost slowed. Through his side mirror, I saw our pursuer break out of the block of cars and loom in on us. He looked smaller on his Harley, wearing reflective red shades and a grim expression. In his hand, he leveled a gun.

Ghost turned his head. "Hold tight, baby," he said.

Even with death rolling towards us, the sound of that word passing from his body to mine rang a thrill up me. I didn't need any other encouragement to pour myself deeper into his body.

We started to swerve across the road, rolling side to side, like a snake through sand. I watched as the the biker pulled closer in the mirror, his pistol held out. But he couldn't make the shot. Did he have just one bullet? Why wasn't he shooting?

He was just behind us now, almost level. I turned and saw his determined face pull into my view between wobbles. His jacket had the same markings as Ghost. The same club.

All the warmth and fun left the chase.

This man was sent to kill me. 

Ghost was defying orders to keep me alive. Again.

The biker was almost on us now. I saw his gun rise before his glasses, like an ugly sightless eye. Searching for me.

"Hold on," Ghost howled. 

Before I could understand, he curved a massive arm around and clutched me even tighter into his back. My softness squashed into him.

And then we braked hard. Tires squealed. As close as my body had been to his before, there was nowhere left for me to go but him. His muscles were rigid as steel, locking us into his bucking chopper.

His hand left. We zoomed forward. I looked past Ghost. My executioner was stopped a couple dozen feet ahead of us. The gun was raised but even with his glasses on, I could tell his eyes were popping wide open.

Our bike swiped his tire. Just a bump for us, but his chopper swung across  the road. He flew off onto the dirt and his Harley tumbled after him.

Ghost turned and parked by the fallen bike. He got off and picked the fallen gun. Our - victim, I guess now - groaned and clutched himself. Ghost nudged his face with a foot.

"Oh, god," the man groaned. "My ribs."

"You want the pain to go away?" Ghost cocked the gun. No trace of a smile there. No trace of Bryan.

"Jesus, no. No no, I'm sorry."

"Sorry."

"For following orders man. That's all. I'm just a shooter. Just Trig, you know. Nico points, I shoot."

"And was killing me part of your orders?"

"Course not. But I never miss."

"You just did."

Ghost pointed the gun at the bike and I had the sense to clap my ears shut before the shots went. I blinked at the flare of heat and one tire blew. The next shot went into the gas tank. Liquid dribbled out thin and free.

Ghost pocketed the gun. "Thanks for this." He kicked the guy something vicious, and straddled the bike again.

"You good?" he asked.

I heaved heavy and felt my breasts shift against his back. "I'm alive. Thanks."

"We might be even now."

I grinned and threw myself at him with a hug. I was ready to go anywhere. Then I remembered. "Oh, your medicine. I have some. You need it?"

"Not yet." He squeezed my shoulder. "Once you're safe, I will."

We kicked off and rumbled down the road. I held him and listened to the wind enveloping the two of us, feeling utterly content. I had been the target of a hit. Twice. From two different mean-as-hell sons of bitches. Good thing the biggest one around was mine. 

The motor rumbled on and we rolled for hours. We passed several interstate intersections and Ghost would take them or not at random. I completely lost track of where we were headed. So would anyone looking for us. That was the point, I guessed.

The sun was more than halfway back toward the desert floor before we finally slowed and pulled into a small town. We rolled past a pair of motels twice. Something seemed wrong, cause we left and drove half a mile to another motel. 

Ghost helped me off. My legs were utter jelly. Ghost took my bags but even my body was too much to hold up and and I stood in his arms for a few moments. His face nuzzled the top of my head, and I felt him taste my scent. A powerful heat rose in me and it had nothing to do with the air outside.

"Come on," he said. He gave me his shoes and led me away from the motel.

I didn't bother asking. My brain was exhausted. After a couple minutes walk, it filled me in. We were going back to one of the first motels. Clever - they wouldn’t track us easy. Even his club jacket was off and covering me instead.

After an eternity or so, we stumbled into a motel lobby. I watched Ghost pay in cash, then lead us to a room close to the stairs. The door opened and the king bed sang my name. I stumbled forward and dropped face first into the mattress.

I listened to my heart beat, as Ghost shuffled around me. He seemed nervous. Maybe we were still in danger. I couldn’t see how. Then again, I hadn’t seen any of this coming. Eventually, I felt him climb onto the bed.

When my breathing steadied, I pulled up and saw him with his jacket off, propped up on a couple pillows at the other end. He’d been studying my face. He his eyes were half shut, like he might sink into sleep.

“Everything OK?” I asked. “Your meds.”

“I dosed already.”

“Oh.” Maybe I’d been out longer than I thought. “They’ll make you tired for a bit.”

“I’m not tired." His eyes flared open and I could see almost see the energy balled up inside. 

“What are you, then?”

“A lot of things. Angry, annoyed…curious.”

“Curious?”

“About you.”

Just then I noticed that our bodies were separated by just a small bit of the mattress. I propped myself an inch forward.

“What do you want to know?”

His eyes ran down me and he shook his head. “You’re ok.”

“Huh?”

“How many gunfights have you been in?”

“Before today? None.”

He nodded. “How many murders have you seen?”

“Before last Sunday? None.”

“And how many times have you come home to find a supersoldier biker drug dealer rattling on your couch?”

His mouth spread in a smile. A long, mischievous one that revealed the boy underneath all that bad. I felt my mouth match it and laugh. “None.”

“So how are you taking it all?”

I shrugged. What kind of question was that? “Ok, I guess. What are my other options?”

His eyes sparkled. No chems, that time. Just him. I loved the way they could shift. From a clear sky to a watery turquoise to a deep ocean blue. There must be some military purpose for it, but all I wanted was see them wash over me.

“It’s not normal,” he said, finally.

“That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” I said. 

"It's not an insult," he said. "It's shocking, is all."

"What is?"

"How that little body has all that hidden strength."

“Would you prefer it if I curled into a ball and cried? You want to wrap your arms around me and tell me you’ll take care of me?”

The words came unbidden from my lips. I heard and realized that was exactly what I wanted him to do.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I want you.”

A loud silence passed between us. I could have broke it. Turned away from what was coming.

Why would I?

He moved up the bed, and his lips sought mine out. His tongue pushed into my mouth and drank me in hot and heavy. My body was moving under his control, and before I noticed, I was flat on my back and he was over me. His lips mashed hungrily against mine, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. His hand cupped my breasts through my dress. It was so sheer, so flimsy. Even through that and through my bra, I could feel his fingers clutching at my flesh. They found my nipples and tweaked.

I gasped and moaned into his mouth. I was coming apart for him. He was tearing me open. His lips smiled on mine, and I knew this was what he wanted to see my body do all along. Ever since he had laid eyes on me.

It was what I had wanted him to do to me.

He tugged my shoulder straps and bra straps down my arms. I wriggled to help, but he held me down, and ripped harder. My zipper tore down my back, never to go up again. I didn’t want it back on. I wanted to be open and bare to him forever.

His hands found my breasts again and now there was not even fabric to stop his fingers from sinking down and finding my mounds of flesh. He sighed as he mashed me together. 

My chest was on fire under the friction of his touch and it was spreading to the whole of my body. I needed my clothes off. I needed his clothes off.

He pulled off to look again at what I had to offer. I could finally see his eyes, half closed again with lust as he studied how ample I was. 

Was that all? Was that why he had saved me? No, but I hoped that was part of it. I’d been waiting so long to give my body away. I wanted it to be his.

Almost reverently, he sank his mouth over a breast. I gasped out at the barren ceiling as his warmth and wetness encircled me. His tongue rippled across me and I tried to grab his hair. I found only bristle and scratched through it instead. His hand molested my other breast, as if his vast and powerful body was splitting apart to appreciate me in different ways.

His other hand crawled up my thighs. Under the blanket of pleasure smothering my chest, I felt a growing tingle of excitement as those fingers brushed closer and closer. They curved under my panties and then he was there. His fingers ran slick into my folds and now I fell into a full surrender. 

His hand teased me open. I felt his rough touch through a layer of wetness, I hadn’t felt forming.

His fingers plunged into me and everything else stopped mattering. The thick rods of muscle moved up me and a vast pleasure ran up my spine. Higher than anything I had felt before. 

I didn’t know this need had been there, but now it was the only part of me that mattered and it was being sated. But not completely. The further he thrust, the more I wanted. He was looking at me now, watching me writhe under his touch. I couldn't make words.

I grabbed his waist to try to pull him closer. To tell him that my body need more of his to complete it. Instead I just caught the edges of his t-shirt. He let me pull that off. His muscles lay bare to me like some biological machine. His fingers curled into me again and I could see the motion as it rippled down from his massive shoulder.

I settled into the stroke and gazed at his chest. It lay criscrossed with scars. Faint marks across his shoulder. A long one on his right side, that matched the faint line on his face. There were the ink ones he had added himself. Insignias, tribal markings, dark writhing patterns that looked liked bodies in motion.