Deadlands Heat (Doomsday Lover Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter Three

Gangbangers

FROM A DISTACE, Al’s ‘Diner’ didn’t look like a diner at all. It looked like a red and white mushroom that had sprung up in the middle of a cow pie. The little restaurant sat just off the main road, the only visible landmark on a long, empty stretch of highway—surrounded on three sides by a sprawling junkyard. Some people thought the junkyard was an excuse for Al’s hoarding (a notion the sly old bastard encouraged at every turn), but the truth was there were treasures hidden within those piles, and only Al knew how to ferret them out without having a fatal ‘accident.’

I rolled to a stop in the deserted parking lot and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. Mid-afternoon sun beat down hard enough to make the pavement shimmer. Nothing stirred. A big red ‘closed’ sign hung from the door, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. Al kept odd hours. Well, slept odd hours, anyway. No one complained though; they didn’t dare. Al was a crotchety old goat, but he had one of the few operational auto-shops in the area and extensive underground connections. He could get things no one else could find, and fix things no one outside the walled cities had even heard of. He’d saved my ass on more than one occasion, though last time we spoke he wasn’t exactly thrilled with me.

I went around back to where his faded two-story garage slumped, partially camouflaged by debris. An old grey mutt lay napping in the shade nearby. He lifted his head and gave me a doggy smile, tail thumping in the dirt.

“Hey, Sampson.” I bent and gave him a scratch behind the ear. “Who’s a good boy?”

Sampson yawned, stretched and then settled in for one of his prolonged licking sessions. He could spend hours at it. People liked to joke that Sampson’s balls were cleaner than Al’s dinnerware—which was probably true, but after Doomsday nobody came to Al’s for the food.

I banged on the garage door. “Al! You alive in there?” I heard a loud thump and then nothing, so I pounded harder. “Come on! Open up.”

A second story window slid up and out poked the business end of a double-barrel shotgun. “We’re closed. Go away.”

“It’s
Jenna
.” I shielded my eyes to squint up at him. “Get your ass down here.”

“I don’t have patience for your shit today,
Jenna
. Get lost.”

“I’d love to, except that POS you sold me, just went post-mortem in your parking lot. So, either you hook me up with a new ride or we’re going to be getting cozy for a while.”

“Third option,” the gun leveled on me, “you walk that pretty ass on out to the road and hope somebody comes along who gives a damn.”

“Al. After all we’ve been through? I’m hurt.”

“What’s hurt is my bottom line. And ‘all we been through’ is trouble—and you brung it. I ain’t fixin’ to get shot again.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Let’s work something out.”

“The only thing you need to work out is how to get yerself off’a my property ‘afore I put a hole in ya.”

“I’ll remember this.”

“You come back ‘round, I might make so you don’t have to.”

“That’s real big talk coming from a man who can’t sleep with the lights off.”

The gun barked as he blasted a round into the dirt at my feet. The dog scrambled up and ran off whimpering, tail tucked between his legs.

“Great job, tough guy. You made Sampson piss himself.”

“I’m not kidding, Jenna. Clear off and don’t come back.”

“Yeah, Yeah.” I walked back towards the diner—the spot between my shoulder blades itching like someone had painted a bulls-eye on me with poison ivy. “Asshole.”

The growl of engines pulled me from my thoughts. I raced back around front and saw five motorcycles roaring up the highway, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

“Shit.” I hopped on my bike and fired the ignition. The engine stuttered and gasped. “Come on baby, come on. Just one more time, I promise.” It choked and died. “
Motherfuckingpeiceofshit
.” I glanced back. They were closing fast. I jumped off the dead bike, letting it slam to the pavement and sprinted towards the diner, chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The long glass door shattered under my boot. The floor crunched as I slipped inside and raced towards the back, through the swinging door into the kitchen where I stopped short—Al’s double barrel pointed at my face.

“Fuck.”

He nodded, eyes cold. “For last words, I reckon them’s as good as any.”

“Listen, Al. I’ll pay for the door.” My hand slowly eased toward my sidearm. “Like I said, the bike died and these guys—”

“Shut it.” Al squinted at me. “And don’t think I don’t see you movin’.” The barrel dipped to indicate my wandering hand. “Yer just making it easier fer me ta shoot ya.”

Outside, the sound of the engines roared up on the pavement and cut off. I kept my eyes on Al. “You don’t want to do this. Those guys are bad news.”

“A’course they are—you brung ‘em here. Now turn around, nice and slow, and get yer hands up over yer head.”

I put my hands at about shoulder level, enough to show I was cooperating and not holding anything. “Fine.” I turned around. “But you’re gonna regret this—don’t come crying to me next time you need help.”

He slipped my gun from its holster and poked the shotgun between my shoulder blades. “Only time I need help is when you’re around. Walk.”

I let him walk me back through the kitchen into the dining room. Max was standing by the front door, gun drawn. His head snapped up as we came in; his eyes widened and then he smiled. “Hey, Al. How is it you always have just what I need?”

“Reckon it’s a gift.” He shoved me forward. “If you wanna take this vexation off my hands, you’re welcome to—it’ll save me the trouble of running ‘er off.”

Max gave me a look, “Are we having trouble making friends?”

“That depends. Are you here to shoot me or give me a ride?”

“I’d be happy to give you a
ride
,” he said, looking me up and down. “But first, maybe you can help me. See, after your memorable, yet all too brief visit last night, I find myself missing something.”

“My charming company?”

Behind me, Al cackled.

Out in the parking lot, one of Max’s guys was tearing through my packs, dumping everything onto the pavement. He looked at Max with a shrug and Max looked at me, hardness coming into his eyes for the first time. “Try again.”

I folded my arms. “What do you want, Max?”

“You know what I want.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh, Jenna, Jenna.” He shook his head and walked towards me; easy strength and silent threat implicit in the way he moved. He came close and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’d hoped we could avoid these little games, but I can see you’re going to make this difficult.” I tensed, waiting for him to hit me, but he just cupped my chin and made me look at him. His blue eyes had darkened to a stormy gray. “If it’s money you’re after, I’ll give you money, but the vial belongs to me.”

“Money?” I grit my teeth, unexpectedly furious. I decided to go with it. Sometimes dumping an emotional shit-storm on someone’s head was enough to confuse them into backing off. At the very least it might buy me some time. “Is that what you think?” I said, raising my voice. “That I
rolled
you? That I’m a
thieving
whore
?”

“Ah…” He looked taken aback, at a loss for words.

I didn’t stop to let him find any. “Tell me, did you come to this brilliant conclusion
before
or
after
you fucked me? Because I’d love to know if I’m performing on a professional level—that would do great things for my ego.”

He blinked at me. “Are you serious?”

“Are you brain damaged? No! I’m not fucking
serious
. What I am, is fucking
pissed!
” I jabbed him in the chest. “You think you can come after me with your gang of thugs and tear through my shit like I’m some kind of criminal? What—because I didn’t hang around to give you a morning BJ?
Grow the fuck up.
”

“So you’re saying you have no idea what I’m talking about? That you’re completely innocent.”

I folded my arms. “No one is completely innocent. I’m saying I don’t have anything that belongs to
you
.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then you won’t mind if I frisk you.”

“I do, actually.” My mind raced. There were too many men and not enough options. I needed to get Max alone; I could take him one-on-one. I squared my shoulders. “I refuse to be manhandled in front of your leering pack of hyenas.” I singled one out at random and gave him an icy glare. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been
looking
at me.”

Max shook his head. “Fine. I’ll frisk you in private.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice, eyes burning into mine. “And if I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll let each of
them
take a turn
frisking
you.” He turned to Al. “Mind if I borrow your back room for a bit?”

“Whatever.” Al walked out the front door with a dismissive wave. “Don’t leave her here when yer done, though.”

I glared at the back of Al’s balding scull until it disappeared around the corner. He’d definitely made the list after this one.

Max’s hand tightened on my arm. He smiled at me—sharp and cold, like a knife in the back. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Four

Dine & Dash

MAX STEERED ME towards the back of the diner, through the swinging kitchen door and straight into the men’s bathroom.

I rolled my eyes. “And they say romance is dead.”

As soon as we were through the door he pushed me hard against the wall. “You’re lucky
you
aren’t dead.”

“I get that a lot, actually.”

“It would serve you right if I
did
let those four horny fucks have you.”

“You mean you’re not going to?”

“No, dammit.” His lips crushed down on mine, sloppy, hungry and nearly painful. He pulled back and scowled. “I’m not sharing you with anyone.” His lips were on mine again, the gentle fervor of last night replaced by this exciting new fierceness. His anger showed through in every vigorous stroke and squeeze, but it was a passionate, controlled anger; arousing rather than alarming.

“You think I’m a thieving whore.” I gasped between kisses. “By your logic, you’re sharing me with
everyone
.” I wound my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

“Shut up.” He grabbed my hands and pressed them to the wall above my head, nuzzling and nipping at my throat. “I know you’re lying. I
know
you took the vial. Don’t think I won’t take you over my knee and whip the truth out of you.”

I wriggled against him. “You think a little slap and tickle is all it takes to spill my secrets?”

He growled and pulled me against his chest, his hands kneading my back, molding me to him. “You talk too much.”

He kissed me again and I opened to his urgent, angry probing. His fingers found my nipples and pinched hard enough to make me cry out—not entirely from pain. I caught his lip between my teeth a tugged, arching into is punishing embrace. His hands slid down to cup my ass, pulling me up to rub against his growing erection. He froze…and withdrew the metal cylinder from where I’d shoved it down the back of my jeans.

“Dammit.” I didn’t bother trying to snatch it back. He glowered at me and I crossed my arms. “Don’t give me that look—you knew I was lying.”

He stuck it in his back pocket and stepped away.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I caught him by the shirtfront and tugged him back against me. “I haven’t learned my lesson yet.”

I saw a flash of dimple and then his mouth slanted over mine and he pressed my back against the cold tile, pinning me with his body. He lifted the hem of my shirt and pulled the top over my head, and then he turned me, so that my breasts were pressed to the cool ceramic. He reached around and unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down my hips.

I heard the hiss of his zipper and then he shoved into me in one smooth thrust. It was nearly too much—so unlike last night, when he’d given me ample foreplay and time to adapt to his size. I wriggled my ass, trying to get comfortable and he grabbed my hips, holding me in place for his merciless pumping. I cried out, fingers splayed against the wall, searching for something to hold onto as my body jerked. The orgasm crashed over me like a hot wave, dragging me under. He plunged deep one last time and I felt the hot flood of his release—and then I threw my head back as hard as I could and caught him right in the face.

I STARED DOWN at the unconscious man at my feet. His nose bled, but otherwise he still looked peaceful. Well, as peaceful as an unconscious man lying on a bathroom floor with his junk hanging out can look. I took his gun, did up his fly and fished the cylinder out of his back pocket.

Damn. If he broke it in the fall... I held it up, inspecting it in scant light from the one greasy bathroom window. The outside looked fine. I turned it over and pressed my thumb to inset screen on the cap. My biocode was on record as one of the dozen or so couriers authorized to complete the job, though these locks weren’t impossible to jailbreak with the right tools. Of course, you could always go low-tech, as the Deadlanders often did.

The pod opened with a little hiss and grew cold in my hand. I breathed a sigh of relief that the contents were intact and resealed it before sticking it into the back of my jeans again. Now, I just needed a way out. I made a bee line for the window. I had to stand on a toilet to reach it and I could hardly see out for the grime. Forcing it open rewarded me with a face full of hot, dusty air. The view was of Al’s garage and the surrounding section of junkyard. A few of Max’s guys were out there, poking around in the trash and laughing it up with Al. He’d traded his shotgun for a jug and they were passing it back and forth, all neighborly-like. Fucking hypocrite.

Okay, so three were out back with Al, which left one unaccounted for. I pulled my shirt on over my head and slipped back through the kitchen, crouching low as I crept towards the front and careful not to step on any glass. Number four stood by the hogs, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space. He didn’t even glance up until I was right on top of him.

I crooked my finger at him and he took a step forward. “That’s right. It’s your turn, big boy. Come to mama.”

AL’S WALK-IN FREEZER was tepid and full of refuse. I left number four tied up beside a bag of slimy carrots. After hastily re-stuffing my pack, I grabbed the best bike and tore off down the road.

But not before slashing all their tires.