In Too Deep by Fox, Harley (1)

Copyright 2018 Harley Fox

 

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

This book is intended for adult audiences only. All sexually active characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. All sexual activity is between consenting, non-blood related adults. All characters and activities appearing in this work are fictitious. This book does not endorse or encourage illegal or immoral activities. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 

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In Too Deep

by Harley Fox

Trista

I smile over the rim of my beer glass as the girls at the round table all laugh.

Julie, Leann, and Cassidy. Three friends who’ve known each other since high school. I’ve only just met them tonight, and after this I’ll never see them again.

“Wait wait wait,” Julie says, putting her hand on the table as she catches her breath. Her eyes are rimmed with red. “You’re saying you took all his clothes?”

I give a light shrug, putting my glass back down.

“I told him not to fuck with me,” I say, and Leann laughs again, wiping tears from her eyes.

“So …” Cassidy says, face flushed, “what did you do with them? With the clothes?”

Leaning back in my chair, I glance off at somewhere else in the bar.

“Let’s just say there are some very well-dressed homeless men walking around downtown.”

Julie laughs uproariously as Leann nods, smiling widely. Cassidy picks up her drink and raises it, the rest of us doing the same.

“Well shit, girl, I gotta give a toast to that,” she says. “To fucking the men who fuck with us … in more ways than one.”

We clink our glasses together and all take a drink, Julie downing the last of her beer. She puts the glass down on the table with a thunk.

“Oh man. What time is it?”

She leans back, almost too far, and looks around. Most of the bar is empty now and the window at the front, previously lit only by the street lamps, is now showing streaks of orange and red.

“Five?” Leanna says, pulling out her cell phone. Her eyebrows fly up when she looks at it. “Five thirty. Fuck, I should probably get home.”

I chew on my lower lip. This isn’t enough, I think, glancing from one girl to the other. They won’t remember this. This isn’t something they’ll tell their friends.

I down the rest of my beer, putting my glass on the table the same as Julie’s.

“I gotta take a piss,” I say, pushing my chair back.

“I’ll come with,” Cassidy says, and she gets up too.

“Should I get one more beer?” I hear Julie muse as Cassidy and I make our way to the bathroom. We walk past the bar, where I give the bartender a friendly smile. Two men are passed out, sitting on stools, their heads in puddles of warm beer. Beyond them, in the mirror behind the bar, I see my reflection: the soft leather jacket hugs my body; my wavy red hair is down around my shoulders. It’s not at all my usual look.

We keep walking and I see a group of men wearing leather jackets, close by the bathroom doors. They’re all holding bottles of beer, standing in a circle, talking, but as Cassidy and I approach their conversation dies down and they turn to watch us.

This could work, I think.

The one closest to us, a burly man with hairy arms, flicks his tongue out a few times as we get close. Cassidy ignores them, but I give a condescending smile and form a fist in front of me, miming a jerking-off motion. The burly guy’s face drops and some of the others laugh, but we turn into the bathroom and the sound is cut off as the door closes behind us.

“Christ, what a night,” Cassidy says when the door closes behind us. We each take a stall and lock the doors.

“You said it,” I say, grabbing a fistful of toilet paper and wiping the seat down. “I’m surprised I’m not more tired than I am.”

I hear Cassidy’s belt jingle and mine does the same as I push my jeans down and sit. The toilet seat feels cold against my skin.

“I’m gonna have to pop a few CafMax when I get home,” Cassidy’s voice comes over. “Unless … you’re not holding, are you? Maybe some coke? I would just need a little bump.”

“Nah, I’m dry,” I say. I grab another fistful of toilet paper. “Maybe Julie has some?”

“No, Julie said she tried some of that new stuff but it made her feel sick. I think she’s off of it now.”

Standing back up and shimmying into my jeans, I buckle my belt and use my foot to flush the toilet. Stepping out of the stall, I hear Cassidy’s toilet flush and then she joins me at the sink. We both start washing our hands.

“Where’d she get that new stuff, anyway?” I ask, but the rush of both taps is too loud. Cassidy turns hers off and so do I. She reaches for some paper towels.

“What was that?”

“I said, where’d she get that new stuff?” I ask again, keeping my face impassive. I grab some paper towels myself. “The coke.”

“Oh,” Cassidy throws the towel away. “I don’t know. She didn’t say. But I’d stay away from it if I were you. She said it made her feel paranoid. And, like … crazy.”

I know, I think, but I don’t say it. I throw my paper towel away and we both walk out of the bathroom, but just as we turn a gruff voice calls out from behind us.

“Hey! Girls!”

Cassidy and I both turn around to see those men again. The burly one with the hairy arms has stepped forward and he’s looking at us. He takes a swig of his beer, and judging by how sweaty he is I’d say this isn’t his first one.

“Yes?” I ask, before Cassidy can say anything.

Burly sneers as us. “You know, I uh … saw you two girls goin’ into that bathroom together,” he says. His friends give low chuckles behind him.

I nod, raising an eyebrow. Burly’s sneer widens to reveal nicotine-stained teeth.

“And me and my buddies were just wondering … you uh, you girls help each other out in there? Huh? You uh … give each other a hand?”

Laughter erupts from behind him as Burly smiles widely at his own joke. My eyes move quickly from him to each of his friends and then back again. I tilt my head.

“Sorry to disappoint you, big boy,” I say with mock sympathy, “but unlike you, we don’t need any help wiping our own asses.”

The laughter dies. Burly’s sneer become a scowl as the grip on his beer bottle tightens.

“The fuck you just say to me?” he says.

“You heard what I said, Neanderthal,” I spit back. “And keep your sick comments to yourself, ‘cause we’re not interested.”

None of the men are smiling now. Burly’s face is going a ruddy color, but I turn away only to see Cassidy watching me, her mouth slightly open.

“Come on,” I say to her, beginning to walk away, but Cassidy’s gaze moves past me and her eyes open wide.

“Trista!” she shouts, but I’m already spinning back around.

My arm flies up and I catch the beer bottle out of Burly’s hand, stopping it a foot from my head. Using my other hand I slap the inside of his wrist, making him let it go. Fizzy beer just finishes pouring out of the bottle, splashing onto the wooden floor below, as Burly looks stunned. I use the opportunity to pull my free hand back and chop the knife edge of it into his throat. His eyes bulge out of his head, and he makes a choking sound. He grabs at his neck and drops to his knees, falling over as his mouth opens and closes, like a fish desperate for water.

All of this happens inside of two seconds. I take a step back and watch him writhe on the ground. None of the other men makes a move. The only sound around us is that of Burly gasping for air.

Adrenaline pumps quickly through my veins. It’s an effort to keep myself from shaking; to keep doing what I’m trying to do. When I look up at the other men, half are watching Burly and half are staring at me. Forcing a cocky grin, I give the bottle a casual half-spin and step over the man writhing on the floor, offering it to the closest of his friends. The man reaches out a cautious hand and takes it. I step back.

I turn back to Cassidy to see her mouth all the way open now. It’s an effort to keep my voice steady as I say, “Come on,” and we both walk away. As I glance around the bar I see that, of all the conscious people left, all of them are watching us, the bartender included.

Good, I think as we pass by him again. That’s something they’ll remember.

By the time Cassidy and I reach our table the adrenaline’s worn off and I’ve calmed back down. Julie’s got another glass of beer in front of her but she ignores it as she and Leann stare at me.

“Jesus Christ,” Julie says. “What the fuck just happened?”

I give a light shrug.

“Those guys were pigs. They had to be taught a lesson.”

“Trista, I’ve never seen anybody move like that,” Cassidy says, finally having found her voice. “Where did you learn to do that?”

The looks on their faces, the buzz of the beer, the knowledge that I did exactly what I set out to do … it all makes me feel amazing. This is going so well. I’ve been doing a great job all night, and now I know they’re definitely going to remember this, they’re definitely going to talk about it the next day, and word is going to spread. And for a moment—even though I’ve only just met these girls tonight, and even though none of this is real—I think of them as my friends.

And I almost tell them the truth.

But the sober part of my mind shoots out like a lasso and grabs a hold of the words before they leave my mouth, reeling them back in. I remind myself why I’m here. Why I’m doing this. And so I tell them what I’ve told all the other people in all the other bars over all the other nights:

“My brother taught me.”

A half-truth, and in a tone that warns against further discussion. My answer isn’t enough to sate their curiosity, I know, but I can tell they won’t ask for more. I watch them all nod, look down, perhaps wondering who my brother is, or why he taught me to fight in the first place. Wondering whether or not I’ll say any more. But I won’t.

Julie picks up her glass of beer and takes a drink.

“Well girls,” Cassidy finally says. “It’s been fun, but I gotta get to work.”

“Yeah,” Leann chimes in, pushing her chair back. I do the same, as does Cassidy. Julie looks surprised for a moment before chugging the rest of her beer.

Leann turns to me. “Hey Trista, you need a ride?”

“Nah, I got my bike,” I say to her. “But thanks.”

Julie finishes the drink and puts the empty glass down a bit too hard, following it up with a long belch. Leann lets out a laugh when she finishes.

“Whoa,” Julie says, standing up and swaying a little. “Maybe that last one was a bad idea.”

We all four head to the front door and step out into the multi-hued sunshine. A few cars pass by on the road—people getting ready to start their day.

“Well, I hope we see you around,” Leann says, turning to me. “You’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah, super cool,” Cassidy chimes in.

“Thanks, girls,” I say. “You too.”

They all raise their hands in farewell as I watch them walk to Leann’s car. Julie stumbles a bit and I hear Leann warn her not to throw up until she gets home. I chuckle before turning the other way, toward where my motorcycle is parked.

The fresh air feels good in my lungs, especially after the night spent inside that bar. Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I reach my bike and swing a leg over. Starting up the engine I kick it into life, back out of the space, turn it toward the road, and start home.

The early morning wind blows against my face, waking me up and helping me keep my attention on the road. I wish I could just go home and pass out, like I’m certain Julie and maybe Leann are about to do. But that’s not an option for me. My shift starts at seven, and I’m not one for being late to work.

This bar I just left—Pitchers—is luckily not as far from home as some of the others I’ve been to. Last month I went to one near the airport, almost an hour away. But I didn’t stay long—there were only rich men in there having cocktails, waiting for their flights to arrive. Most of the other bars I’ve been to, though, have been better. It’s been rare that I’ve stayed out all night, like tonight. But those girls were fun. And besides, I wanted to make sure I’ve got everything down pat.

Because tonight’s the night. And after that I can’t afford to make any more mistakes.

Riding north up along the streets, I leave the industrial area behind and skirt around west, toward my apartment. My neighborhood comes into view and I ride into it—tall apartments, little grassy areas they claim to be parks. Hardly anybody is out on the street yet. Finally I turn up my road, riding north. In the distance the gigantic PharmaChem building looms like an enormous mecca. My upper lip curls as I stare up at its countless rows of windows.

I reach my apartment building and pull up to the side of the street, parking my bike and cutting off the engine. Climbing off, I walk to the front door and unlock it, stepping into the tiny foyer. I try to be quiet as I unlock my door—the one on the left—and climb up the stairs that lie just beyond it.

As I reach the top my hallway comes into view: a long, wooden-floored strip with three doors down the right-hand side and one at the very end. The one at the end is closed, and I breathe a sigh as I look at it.

Okay. Let me get changed first.

Walking through the first door on the right, I step into my bedroom. I take my cell phone, keys, and cash out of my pockets and bra and drop them on my nightstand. I then strip off my leather jacket, jeans, and tank top, piling them on my double bed. It’s an effort to ignore the siren’s call of my pillow and blankets, because I know that if I lie down I’m not getting back up. My panties, bra, and socks all get thrown in the hamper against the wall, and then I walk over to my closet door where my towel’s draped over, dry from yesterday’s shower.

I take it with me back into the hallway and pad my way to the next door, the bathroom. The florescent light takes a moment to flicker on and I turn on the water in the shower, knowing it’ll be a minute before it warms up. Dropping my towel onto the closed toilet seat, I look at my reflection in the mirror.

Ugh. I look tired.

There are bags under my eyes, and my skin looks a little oily. It’s probably stress. These past two months haven’t been a cake walk, but I’ve got to do it.

I grab a hair tie from the medicine cabinet and bring my red, wavy hair up into a high bun. It’s getting long—down to my shoulder blades now. A new look for me, but I like it.

I look over and see the condensation on the shower stall walls, so I open the door and step in, letting the warm water wash over me, rinsing away the booze and smoke and sweat from my body. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling for a moment.

Picking up the bar of soap, I start washing myself, keeping my head back so my hair doesn’t get too wet. I scrub my face and rinse it off, and once I’m all done—despite my body’s inner cries to stay just a minute longer—I reach over and turn the shower off. Stepping out of the stall and onto the cold linoleum floor, I grab my towel and quickly dry myself off before wrapping it around my body and going back to my room.

I shut my door and dry off whatever water’s left, then hang my towel up over my closet door again and check the time.

Five after six. That’s good. I’m not in any rush.

I pad over to my dresser and open the top drawer, taking out some panties, socks, a bra. Once those are on I walk to my closet and start putting on the layers of my uniform.

A white undershirt goes on first, then I button up my blue shirt. I slip on my blue slacks and do them up, tucking in the bottoms of both shirts. My belt is hanging up on the back of the closet door and I put that on too. Walking back to my dresser, I take my hair out of its high bun and tie it up at the nape of my neck instead. Finally I pick up my police officer’s cap and put it on, fitting it snugly over my head.

Fully dressed now, I take the things from my nightstand and shove them back into my pockets. Then I leave my bedroom. I walk down the hall to the closed door at the end, grabbing the handle and opening it quietly before walking in.

The second bedroom of this apartment is sparse, outfitted with only a dresser, a chair, a nightstand, and a bed. When I look over at the bed I see my mom lying as she always is, propped up by her pillows, staring out the window on the opposite wall.

“Morning, Mom,” I say as I walk in. “How’re you doing?”

My mom doesn’t respond. She keeps staring out the window, seeing nothing out of her deep, sunken eyes. Her nightgown fits loosely on her bony shoulders, and her graying red hair could definitely use a wash. I pull the chair up beside the bed and sit down. Reaching over, I take one of her hands out of her lap and put it between my own.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask, watching her face for any signs of comprehension. She only breathes, slowly and rhythmically, her chest rising and falling, her mouth closed, her eyes blinking every now and again as she continues to stare. The edge of the PharmaChem building can just be seen at this angle.

“I went to another bar tonight, Mom,” I tell her, watching her as I speak. “This one was called Pitchers. It was just south of that new development they’re doing. The suburbs. It was an all-right place. I met these three girls there, and we hung out all night. You wouldn’t have liked them, but we got along well.”

My mom keeps staring out the window, not responding, not even noticing me. Her nightgown rises and falls with each slow breath.

“I think I’m ready,” I tell her, “to go to Point Blank.” I glance out the window and see that gargantuan stain on the skyline. PharmaChem. I pull my eyes back to her. “I want to do it tonight. I’m tired—I stayed out all night again tonight—but I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to finally do it.”

Still no response. I don’t know why I was expecting anything different. Maybe it’s because I’m scared. I look in her eyes a moment longer, then give my mom’s hand a squeeze and set it back down on her lap.

“I’ll go fix us some breakfast,” I say, and I stand up, heading out of the room, shutting the door softly behind me.

I walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen, the last of the three doors along the same wall. Opening up the fridge, I take out some bread and jam for myself, and some applesauce for my mom. Putting on the kettle, I get a cup of instant coffee ready while the bread toasts, and when that’s popped I spread first butter, then peanut butter, then jam onto it. I just finish getting my mom’s applesauce ready as the kettle comes to a boil. Pouring the hot water into my mug, I give it a quick stir and then carry everything with me back into my mom’s room.

Our meal is eaten mostly in silence. Some days I talk to my mom as I spoon food into her mouth, but today I’m silent. I’m thinking about Point Blank, the bar that belongs to the Bullets. I told my mom that I’m ready to do it tonight, and I am. But just because I’m ready doesn’t mean I’m not worried about what might happen.

I remember the day my brother Sal died. It’s been almost eight months, and still the thought of it brings me to tears. It was during that gun fight between the Chains and the Bullets—the one that nobody at the station knew about until it was too late. There were no hints, no lead-ups that indicated something was going to happen between the two gangs. It just sort of happened, out of nowhere.

I was devastated when they listed the casualties. I had to take a sick day from work, although I didn’t give the real reason. Nobody at the station knows that Sal and I were brother and sister, just like how he never told anyone in the Chains that his sister’s a cop. It would have been too dangerous for either of us. And besides, we were cut from two different cloths. We always have been, ever since we were kids.

But of the two of us left, the person who took Sal’s death the worst was our mom. She must’ve found out when they reported it on the news, because when I stopped crying long enough to call her I didn’t get an answer. And when I rode over to her house I found her lying on the kitchen floor. For a terrible second I thought she’d died too, that everybody in my life had died and I was left all alone. But I saw she was breathing, and after trying unsuccessfully to get her to respond, I took her to the hospital. Forty-eight hours later they released her, telling me she was in shock and that she would get over it soon.

That was eight months ago.

I pop my last bite of toast into my mouth and pick up my mom’s bowl of applesauce. Only a couple of spoonfuls left. But an itch in my brain tells me that something’s missing. My mind clicks into place and I shake my head.

“Oh, Mom, I forgot your pills,” I say to her. I must be really distracted, or really tired. Probably both.

My mom doesn’t say anything as I put the bowl back on the nightstand and get up, heading into the kitchen. Opening up the fridge, I take out three orange pill bottles off of the door. Walking over to the counter, I set two of them down, twisting the cap off the third one. As I do the label comes into view, and with it, the infamous PharmaChem logo.

PharmaChem.

I hate using their products, but what else is there? I think about Will Silver, how he’s probably sitting in his big chair right now, looking out over the city from the top floor of that building and laughing. Laughing at how easily he’s taken us over. Become the single provider of pharmaceuticals in the entirety of Santa Espera.

And maybe his son Craig is standing there with him, laughing as well. The thought makes my upper lip curl. It took me a lot of time researching and asking around before I found out that he was at the shootout where Sal was killed. And it wasn’t long after that that I pieced everything together.

That’s when I came up with my plan. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

A shiver runs over me and my vision clears, the kitchen coming back into focus.

Come on, Trista. Keep your head in the game.

I shake out my mom’s pills and close up the bottles, putting them back in the fridge. Pouring her a glass of water, I take it all back into the bedroom and give them to her, trying not to spill any water as I help her drink from the glass.

When that’s all done I pick up the dishes and take them with me back to the kitchen, dropping them off in the sink. I’ll wash them later. I go back to clean out my mom's bedpan, flushing the contents and scrubbing it out in the bathtub. I put it back in place, my mom not making any notice of me. I'll give her a sponge bath tomorrow, after I get back from the Bullets.

If I get back.

Shaking my head to clear it, I head to my room again to clip my gun to my belt, put on my boots, and check the time again. Six thirty-five. I walk back to my mom’s room to find her sitting in the exact same position, staring at the exact same spot.

“Okay, Mom, I’m leaving for work,” I say, walking over to her.

She doesn’t respond. I purse my lips together as I look at her. Bending down, I give her a kiss on the forehead and then leave the room, closing the door behind me. I stride down the hall and descend the stairs, leaving by the front door, locking it behind me. Then I climb onto my bike, taking my cap off and stowing it away in one of the bike panniers. Starting up the engine, I kick it into life and then leave for work.

The sky is brighter now and the city is more alive as I ride through the streets. Most people see me in my uniform and look away, but some wave to me and so I wave back. My shadow stretches out in front of me as I make my way west. When I arrive at the station I pull into the parking lot and park in my usual space. I take my cap out again, fit it snugly on my head, then swing my leg off my bike and walk to the front doors.

The air-conditioning is already on, moving a cold chill right through my clothing and into my bones. I pass by the front desk, saying hello to Geoffrey sitting behind it, and stride into the back toward the office, and my own desk.

That coffee from this morning isn’t doing the trick, and I’m already considering getting another cup even before I’ve sat down. But as I walk into the office I can’t help but notice that nobody’s at their desk. I blink, looking around. Dim voices float to my ears and I stand there, listening to them, before my sleep-deprived memory catches me up.

The meeting! I forgot there’s a meeting!

I quickly move through the office toward one of the hallways and down to the meeting room, only to see the door open and, through it, every chair filled with police officers. The voice of Captain Hartridge becomes louder as I finally reach the door.

“… reports from Internal Affairs that”—she turns her head as I walk in—“ah, so nice of you to join us, Officer Pearson. Please take a seat like everyone else.”

I give the captain a nod.

“Good morning, Captain. Sorry I’m late.”

“If you could try to remember to be here early when we have our meetings, I’m sure the entire precinct would appreciate it.”

I spot an empty chair and go sit down, facing forward along with everybody else. Deputy Captain Mackenzie, standing at the front beside the captain, gives me a sly smile, but I ignore him.

“As I was saying before Officer Pearson chose to grace us with her presence,” the captain says, eyeing me for a second, “we’ve had reports from Internal Affairs that some of our officers have been … let’s say less than faithful to the duties of their jobs. Reports of numerous officers being paid off by gang members have come in, and in some cases we’ve heard of officers actively assisting with crimes.

“I want to remind everybody that if you suspect anyone—anyone—of foul behavior such as this, please come forward and file an anonymous report. There will be no penalty for any such reporting, I want to make that clear. Deputy Captain Mackenzie and I take this matter very seriously.”

The mood in the room is tense as Captain Hartridge looks over her notes. I’ve heard about these rumors, and even heard some names being bandied about. But so far nobody’s gotten fired or transferred out of here. Maybe they’re just rumors.

“The second order of business,” the captain goes on, looking out over the crowd, “is regarding the recent surge of drug busts we’ve had as of late. I’d like to personally thank Officers Kelly and Williams for their incredible work in this matter.”

Applause as Dave and Cassandra look around and smile, nodding in thanks. I put a smile on as I join in the applause. Dave was one of the officers rumored at being paid off.

“Now, the work they’ve done is wonderful,” Captain Hartridge says as the applause dies down, “but we’ve still got a long way to go. We’re just now discovering numerous small groups—sometimes only two or three people in a basement—peppered around the city, making and selling drugs. It’s our mission to get rid of these dealers. We’ve found a lot of them are situated in the up-and-coming neighborhoods—the suburbs—which could lower the market value of new houses and seriously affect the economy. So we’re going to make that area our priority over the next few months.”

Two or three people at a time? I raise my hand and see Captain Hartridge look at me.

“Yes, Officer Pearson? You have a question?”

“Captain,” I lower my hand, “is it really worth spending our efforts focusing on so many small groups? If we could find out who their suppliers are, we could cut them all off at the source. I think that would make more sense than trying to chase down a bunch of small-time dealers.”

Captain Hartridge stares at me, and Deputy Captain Mackenzie looks tense.

“Officer Pearson … are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

My stomach drops. I feel the color drain out of my face.

“Um, no, Captain. I’m sorry. I just thought that—”

“What you thought was that I’d overlooked such a glaringly obvious solution. Tell me, Officer Pearson, are you in charge of drug enforcement at this precinct?”

I swallow. “No.”

“And what is it, exactly, that you’re in charge of?”

I feel my face glow with heat, but I force myself to keep looking her in the eye.

“Petty theft.”

“That’s right. Petty theft.” She looks out at everyone. “It’s important for each of us to remember his or her place in this station, otherwise we’d just have officers running around trying to do everybody else’s jobs.” Her eyes settle on me again. “Is that understood, Officer Pearson?”

I nod.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She turns back to everyone. “As I was saying, Officers Kelly and Williams will spearhead the next few months focusing on getting rid of these small-time dealers, making the neighborhoods—and the people inside them—safer. Now, on to our next item …”

The meeting goes on for another fifteen minutes before the captain adjourns it and everybody gets up. I leave with the others, heading to my desk to get started on my paperwork. I don’t speak to anyone, or really make any eye contact. Seeing my desk makes me feel tired all over again, and I decide to get another cup of coffee first. Veering away, I head into the break room, the smell of a full pot of coffee guiding me in like a Siren’s song.

I’ve been working at this station for just over nine years, yet even so I’ve never really felt at home. I wanted to become a police officer for what I thought was the same reason everybody else wanted to become one: to help stop crime; to make the world a better place. I turns out I was way off.

Most of the cops here don’t really take their jobs seriously. They only work hard whenever they know Captain Hartridge is watching them. The rest of the time they just relax, playing solitaire or talking with one another. And now Internal Affairs is coming down on cops getting paid off? That means it’s really happening. It makes me almost wonder what’s the point of being a police officer anymore.

“Pearson,” comes a voice. “Nice job contradicting the captain.”

I stop in the middle of stirring my coffee and turn to see Deputy Captain Mackenzie leaning against the break room doorway. He saunters over to me, a smarmy smile on his face. I have to force myself to smile back.

“I just wanted to make sure we were covering all our bases,” I say to him as I turn back to my coffee. He stops beside me—too close—and takes a mug down out of the cupboard.

“Well, the captain’s been pretty stressed lately over these drug raids,” he says. “You know she doesn’t want anybody fucking around with them.” He pours some coffee into his mug and puts the pot back with a thunk. Turning to face me, he says, “If you wanted to fuck around with somebody, that somebody should be me.”

It’s a struggle to keep smiling as I turn my head to look up at him.

“Listen, Deputy Captain—”

“Devon,” he interrupts.

“Devon,” I acquiesce. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for any sort of relationship right now.”

“Well, why the fuck not?” he asks, that smile of his washing away. “It’s not like you’re fucking anybody else right now. Tell me, when’s the last time you got laid?”

Ah, my kingdom for a sexual harassment charge. The only problem is that the person I’d have to report it to would be him.

“I’m not going to answer that,” I say, trying a firmer approach. “I told you, I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a relationship,” he says with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. “Unless you count quickies in the evidence room as a relationship. And in that case, I could be your boyfriend right now.”

It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes as I pick up my coffee.

“I have to get back to work,” I say, and I turn away from him. But his hand darts out and he grabs my arm, making me stop. I feel his grip almost bruising my flesh.

“Listen to me,” he says, leaning in close to me. I can smell the coffee on his breath. “I want you. And I’m going to have you. If you ever want to get your little ass out of petty theft and start working with the big boys, then you better start playing ball. You understand me?”

I look up at him and pull my arm from his grasp.

“I have to get back to work,” I say, and I turn away again, leaving the break room. Glancing around, I see that nobody is looking at me. I walk back to my desk in silence.

Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie. He’s been hitting on me since he got transferred here. And no matter how many times I tell him no, he doesn’t seem to take the hint. Nobody here wants to help me. They act like it’s not happening, or like I don’t even exist. Sometimes I feel so lonely here, even though I’m surrounded by so many people.

That’s why I didn’t ask the captain if I could infiltrate these biker bars. That’s why I didn’t ask if I could go undercover. I just did it myself. Because I knew she would shoot me down, and if she did then my chance at making things right would be gone. What I’m putting myself through is very dangerous. I know that. But I’m ready for it. I’m ready to do what needs to be done.

I take the top theft report off of my inbox and start to read it, but even so my mind wanders to tonight.

Tonight.

Point Blank.

I’m going to make a change in this city. I’m going to do something about this drug problem, and I’m going to do it my own way. Get the info, make the arrests. Take down every single one of the Bullets and put them behind bars for good.

’ll finally be proud to be a police officer. And maybe if I do, then I’ll finally put my brother’s memory to rest.

Flynn

My cell phone buzzes on my bedside table and my eyes fly open.

I was asleep, dreaming about biking through the streets of Santa Espera. It was all of us, together. And I was in lead.

I think Elizabeth was there, and for a moment my heart pangs with hurt. But now I can’t remember.

My jaw cracks as I yawn widely. I turn my head and see sunlight streaming through the open shades of my window. There’s an arm draped across my body, and as I follow it down I see some girl with long black hair, a small ring of metal pierced through her nose.

Starla. Her name is Starla.

Memories of the night before swirl back into my head as I look at her. I was at the bar. Drinking, talking, flirting. I heard an angry voice, and when I looked over I saw Starla up against a wall, in tears. There was this guy in front of her, yelling. He had a pretty tight grip on her arm.

I excused myself from the group and walked over, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around. I grabbed his fist when he tried to punch me. I think I remember feeling a few fingers break, but it doesn’t matter. He screamed so I grabbed his throat. Carried him over to the door, threw him out. He landed with a hard thud, then scrambled up and ran away, cradling his hand. When I went back in Starla was still crying, so I bought her a drink. Less than an hour later she came home with me.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Starla stirs next to me and I feel her naked breasts press into my side. She’s beautiful. That guy had no idea what he was losing, treating her like that. My cock begins to grow and harden beneath the sheets, but I urge it to mind its own business. Moving slowly, carefully, I start to slide sideways out of the bed. But of course Starla wakes up, her eyes blinking a few times against the morning light. Her eyebrows raise up, almost comically, as she gives a wide yawn.

“Mm, good morning,” she says, resting her head back down against my chest as she snuggles up closer to me.

“Morning,” I say. I continue sliding out of bed. Starla’s fingers tighten on my chest as she lifts her head back up.

“Hey, where’re you going?”

“Somebody texted me,” I tell her.

“Don’t you wanna stay in bed?” she asks, sliding her hand down to the semi-hard thing between my legs. She wraps her fingers around it and I close my eyes, sucking air in through my nose. But only for a moment.

“You know I’d love to, babe,” I say to her. “But I got my policy.”

Her grip loosens on my cock and I take the opportunity to leave the bed completely. I stand up and grab my phone off the bedside table as Starla sits up. The sheets slide down, revealing those perfect breasts.

“You mean that thing you said about only doing it once?” she asks. “I thought you were joking.”

I shake my head as I unlock my phone. “Once is enough. I’m sorry, babe. You’re a sweet gal, and an amazing lay. But I gotta look out for myself too.”

She doesn’t say anything, and when I look over at her I see that her eyes have dropped, and her chin is starting to quiver. I feel a pang in my chest.

“Hey, hey, Starla,” I say, putting the phone back down and sitting next to her. “Don’t be like that.”

“I thought …” she says, her voice trembling, “when you threw Anthony out, that maybe … maybe you and me …”

“Hey, hey,” I put a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to mine. They’re glistening. “Listen to me. You shouldn’t be with guys like Anthony. And you shouldn’t be with guys like me, either. Okay? You deserve better than us. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you need a guy who’s going to treat you right.”

She blinks, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Do you really mean that?”

I wipe the tear away and smile at her.

“Yeah. I do.”

She smiles back, and I lean up to give her a kiss on the forehead. Getting up once more, I pick my cell back up and scroll to the text as Starla wipes her eyes dry. The message I got is from Maddox. I give it a quick read.

“Who texted you?” Starla asks as I type in a reply.

“My boss.” I send the message and put the phone down. “I’m sorry babe. I gotta run.”

We both get dressed, Starla wearing the dress from the night before, and me in my blue jeans, red T-shirt, and Bullets jacket. When we’re both ready we head out the front door, taking the elevator down to the lobby. We walk out into the bright sunlight. It feels good to breathe fresh air.

“You need money for a cab?” I ask her, but Starla shakes her head.

“No, I’m okay,” she says. “Hey Flynn … thanks for talking to me. You’re right; Anthony’s a jerk. I think I’m going to stay away from him from now on.”

I smile. “Good. You definitely deserve better.”

She smiles back up at me, and I lean down, giving her one last, long kiss. When it finishes then it’s over, and she walks over to the street to hail a cab as I walk around to the parking lot to get my bike. I reach my motorcycle and climb on, starting the engine and kicking the thing into life. Then I rev the engine a few times before riding out of my parking space and onto the road, aiming for the warehouse.

Christ, it’s hot out. I wonder what Maddox wants to talk about. He just said there’s a meeting. Maybe it’s going to be about how stressful things have been lately. Will Silver’s got big plans brewing, we all know it, but I’ll be damned if he lets us in on the details. Instead he just orders us around—through Maddox, of course—and we go ahead and do it, like cogs in the machine. But I guess that’s the whole point. I only wish he would tell us what we’re doing it all for.

I speed up, leaving my neck of the woods and entering the warehouse district. Even though it’s been eight months, I keep having to remind myself not to go to the old warehouse. I’ve only been back there a couple of times since the shootout. It’s still up, for God knows what reason; they should have just torn it down. But this new place is farther south, which means it’s closer to me. So it’s no surprise when I see it to find that I’m the first one to arrive.

I ride up to the building and park my bike beside it, then head in. As I push open the front door, I feel the cooler air wash over me like a river. My boots echo loudly in the yawning silence of the space. I make my way through and head for the fridge at the back, taking out a cold beer and cracking it open. Taking a swig, I walk back to the meeting table, but then my eyes settle on the stack of pallets near the office windows. I aim for that instead, and putting my beer down on the top one, hoist myself up and spin around so that I’m sitting with my legs dangling over, waiting for the others to arrive.

Only a few minutes pass before some of the others start showing up. Matthias comes in first, and then Chloe, followed by Chris. When Jackie arrives she gives me a sly look, and I try to ignore it as everybody else filters in. They all grab beers, gathering around the pallets, and soon we’re all talking and laughing, waiting for Maddox to show up.

Tyrone grabs the soccer ball and starts kicking it around. I call to him to start setting things up and knocking them down. Ten minutes later people are laughing as I balance a wastebasket on my head, the others taking turns trying to knock it off with the ball. So far nobody’s hit it, but Jackie steps up and positions herself at the far wall, her eyes glowing with determination.

“You can do it, Jackie!” Alyssa yells.

“Hit him in the face! It’ll improve it!” Kendal shouts, taking a sip of her beer.

“Hey!” I yell with a smile as I finish off my own. I put the bottle down beside me and bring my hand back up to join the other, hovering just beside the wastebasket. “Okay Jackie, take your shot!”

My eyes are up, focusing on the basket, but everybody falls into a hush as I see Jackie’s form rush toward the ball. I hear a punt and a blurry soccer ball flies right at my face, growing at an alarming rate.

Just as it’s about to hit I close my eyes and then—KSHH!—the wastebasket flies backward off my head, smashing into the wall just beside the office window. Everybody cheers and I open my eyes as my heart pounds in my chest. I see Jackie strut her way toward me, giving me that saucy smile of hers.

“That was awesome, Jackie!” Chris yells. I pick up my empty bottle and slide down off the pallets, landing on the smooth concrete floor.

“Way to go,” I say when she approaches me.

“I was aiming for your face,” she says with a shrug, and a few people laugh. I laugh too and go to take another sip of my beer, only to find it empty.

“Okay Jackie, your turn,” Tyrone says as he picks up the ball and dented wastebasket. “Matthias, you want first kick?”

But before Jackie can lift herself up the front door of the warehouse opens and we all stop what we’re doing, looking over to see Maddox walk in.

“Damn,” I say in a half-whisper. “I was looking forward to seeing Matthias hit Jackie with the ball.”

She gives me a playful punch on the arm, but everybody grabs their beers and heads to the meeting table without saying anything. Tyrone puts the soccer ball and wastebasket on the top pallet and I go to grab another beer before joining everybody.

When I get to the table I pull back my office chair, the caster wheels scraping against the concrete floor. Maddox sits down at the head of the table, his weathered face unsmiling behind his long salt-and-pepper hair.

“I had a meeting with Will this morning,” Maddox says to our silent gang. “He filled me in on some of what’s happening upstairs. The last couple of weeks have been busy for everybody. I know that, he knows that. But basically it all boils down to two things: one good, one bad.

“First, the bad. We got the body count back from Mario’s. Turns out not everybody was accounted for. Two people were missing, and even in all the little hiding places Gil had they didn’t find ‘em.”

“Who was missing?” Alyssa asks, and Maddox looks at her.

“We don’t know,” he says. “They’re checking dental records, but it’s not high priority right now. Will sent out that it was just some workers, so that’s our story. He’s also trying to figure out the insurance, not to mention who burned the fucking place down. We had our suspicions before, but now we know for sure it wasn’t an accident.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris says.

“You think it was an inside job?” I ask. “You think maybe that Gil guy did it?”

I’d never been to Mario’s Pasta and Pizza, but from the sounds of it Gil wasn’t exactly a saint. Of course, it’s not entirely his fault. I heard he was a pretty good boss until he started in on that coke. Turns out that was a mistake.

“Pretty sure Gil was one of the guys burned, so it probably wasn’t him,” Tyrone points out.

“Are we on the lookout for anybody?” Kendal asks.

“Will says not to worry about it for now,” Maddox tells her. “We’ll wait till we get the dental records, then we’ll figure out what to do.”

“It was probably that asshole Jackson,” Alyssa says. “Or that hitman they hired. Chance.”

“Lance,” Matthias corrects her.

“Yeah. One of those two, maybe both.”

“Maybe,” Maddox agrees. “But again, we’re not sure. Will said it may have been revenge. This last guy he had hit. Might’ve been one of his friends who did it.”

“Who was the guy?” I ask.

“Part-timer, did some work for Gil. Allan Willow. He only did small jobs, nothing crazy. Then he stole some money, so Will put a hit out and Gil got that guy Lance to kill him. Then a week later, Will puts out another hit, this time on the guy’s kid.”

“What did the kid do?” Chloe asks.

“Nothing,” Maddox tells us. “He’s only a year old.”

I feel my jaw drop.

“What the fuck?” Tyrone says.

“Jesus,” says Jackie.

“Will wanted to kill a baby?” I ask, incredulous. I’ve only met Will Silver a couple of times, but I never would have pegged him to do something like that.

“It sounds like it. Gil never got back to him before the restaurant burned down, so—”

“Whoa whoa, wait a minute,” I say, interrupting Maddox. “Did Will say why he wanted a fucking one-year-old killed?”

Maddox gives me a look as everyone else goes quiet.

“It’s not in my place to question what Will wants done,” he says.

“Well maybe it should be your fucking place to question it.”

“Flynn, it’s okay,” Alyssa puts a hand on my arm, but I pull it away.

“No, it’s not okay!” I shout. I pound a fist on the table and the beer bottles all jump. “We can’t just sit here and let this fucker—”

“WHAT?” Maddox yells, interrupting me. He stands up, planting his hands on the table and staring into my eyes. “We can’t just sit here and what, Flynn? Tell me now and choose your words very fucking carefully. What can’t we sit here and do?”

Blood beats hard in my ears. Part of me wants to flip this table over—none of them have been through what I’ve been through. But Maddox is staring me down and I give myself a moment to think, to cool off. Finally I drop my eyes and let out a deep breath. I hear Maddox sit back down in his chair.

“Nobody here thinks that what Will did was right, Flynn,” I hear Maddox say as I stare at the table. “But it’s not our place to question it. Is that understood?”

I clench my jaw and nod. Alyssa’s hand finds my arm again and she gives it a squeeze. I don’t pull away from her this time.

“Anyway,” Maddox goes on, “Gil died before Will could find out if the hit went through, but Gil’s guys always got the job done quickly, so who knows? Maybe it was finished after all.”

There’s a quiet around the table as I keep looking down. I pick up my beer and take a sip.

“That’s it for the bad news,” Maddox finally says. “Now for the good news: the cops have been very busy taking out our competition. You may have seen some of it on the news, but there have been raids left, right, and center. Will told me to put some extra cash aside to pay them all off, but it means we’ll have clear sailing ahead of us.”

Murmurs of approval, and this news does make me feel better. I’m glad the cops are finally getting their asses in gear on this. There’s nothing worse than having to rough up some teen who’s just trying to make a few bucks.

“Will said they’re starting on the suburbs, and they’re making a big public thing of it, letting everybody know the streets are going to be safer or whatever. It’s going to take a lot of the heat away from us.”

“That’s good,” Kendal says. “Did Will say what our next task is?”

“He’s got some new buildings to gut, so once the paperwork goes through we’ll have to do those. Other than that, no. He’s keeping a pretty tight lid on everything.”

“What about the Chains?” Jackie asks. I look up and see that her eyes are gleaming. “Did he say we can do anything about them?”

“Nothing,” Maddox says. “So that means we leave them alone for now.”

“I can’t wait till this fucking truce is over,” she says. “Those cocky fucks won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Everybody agrees. Jackie looks over at me, that fire still in her eyes. I nod to her before taking another sip of my beer.

Nobody can wait to end this truce with the Chains, but personally I think things have been better since it happened. We’ve had fewer petty fights, for one thing. You feel safer going out and getting drunk, knowing the night’s not going to end with someone getting beaten up. And it’s not like they ever tried to pick a fight with us; it’s always been us who attack them. Of course, everybody remembers things differently.

“Okay, that’s everything,” Maddox says, and we all push our chairs back to get up. I down the rest of my beer, and when Matthias calls for us to head to Point Blank I think that sounds like a great idea. Taking my empty bottle with me, I walk over to the beer fridge, tucked in beside the office. There’s a box of empties on the ground and I slide the bottle in. When I turn around, though, I almost shout in surprise at the sight of Jackie standing right in front of me. She smiles that smile of hers.

“I snuck up on you,” she says in a low voice. Her eyes are gleaming, not full of fire now but playfulness and delight.

Behind her I see everybody heading to the front of the warehouse, ready to go out. Jackie shortens the distance between us, putting her hands on my chest. I stand my ground as she reaches up on her tiptoes, leaning her weight into me, planting her lips onto mine.

My cock is already stirring in my pants, and I can’t help but put my arms around her, feeling her strong frame, her supple body, and firm, round ass. She moves into me and her lips leave mine, sliding up next to my ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispers. “Your hot body … and your enormous cock.”

A hand moves down my chest to the front of my pants and I groan in bittersweet agony. But I take my hands off of her and slide them up to her shoulders, where I push her off of me. She takes a step back, and so do I.

“Fuck,” I say. I feel out of breath, and my cock is throbbing in my pants.

Jackie’s looking at me. That smile is still on her lips, but there’s something behind her eyes: hurt.

“Come on, Flynn. What do you say?” she asks. “Everybody’s gone. No one would have to know.”

Indeed, the warehouse is empty and silent now. We have the whole place to ourselves, and I know that sex with Jackie would be absolutely incredible, just like it was the first time.

But I have to pull myself away. I shake my head, as much as it pains me to do it.

“No,” I say to her. “I can’t.”

Her smile begins to slip.

“Because of Elizabeth?” she asks.

I nod. “Because of Elizabeth.”

Jackie’s smile is entirely gone now, but she nods even as she blinks and her eyes shimmer.

“I think that’s really noble, what you’re doing,” she says. “I should do the same. For George.”

I look at her. I remember hearing reports the next day about the shootout at the old warehouse. A lot of us died, including Jackie’s fiancé, George. She broke down when Maddox told her. I remember watching Alyssa hold her as Jackie cried and cried and cried. She was a wreck for almost half a year. And then one night she and I were up late drinking, and Jackie told me how much she missed him. I told her how much I missed Elizabeth. And before I knew what was happening we were having sex.

It was like seeing Jackie in a whole other light. We knew what the other was going through. She needed to feel something—anything—just to remind herself that she’s still real, even if George isn’t. We talked afterward, and she cried. That was just over a month ago.

“I’m not doing this for Elizabeth,” I say to Jackie. “I’m doing it for myself.”

She furrows her brow, taking a wet sniff.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s to stop myself from getting hurt again,” I say. My cock is finally starting to go down, though my balls are throbbing. “If I don’t get attached, then I won’t feel that pain again.”

Jackie nods. “I get it,” she says. Trying out a smile, “Is it weird to say that I’m happy I got to have you?”

I give her a smile in return. “No. It’s not weird at all.”

I step forward and pull her into a hug. We hold each other for a while. I can feel the warm wetness of her tears on my chest. Then we let go.

“Come on,” she says, giving a short laugh as she wipes at her eyes. “Let’s go to the bar.”

The two of us leave the small space together, walking out into the large and empty one. We get to the front door and step into the sunlight, almost blinding after being inside. It feels like it’s gone up twenty degrees since I got here. Once I blink enough to clear my vision I see that Jackie’s already mounted her bike. She kicks it into life.

“See you there!” she shouts over the engine, and I raise a hand as she peels away, driving out of the lot and onto the desolate road. I watch her recede in the distance and then make my way to my bike, the only one left. Jackie’s motor sounds fade away and the world becomes quiet as I climb on. I’m already sweating inside my leather jacket. Maybe I’ll drop it off at home before hitting the bar. Kicking my bike into life, I leave the warehouse lot and ride out onto the empty road.

Trista

I step out of the station, looking up into the sky as the sun just reaches the top of the skyline.

Today was a long day. Captain Hartridge had me file all of 2002’s traffic reports, which kept me in the filing room from noon till five o’clock. I only had two hours to do the rest of my actual work.

I think I may have overstepped the line at the meeting this morning. I didn’t mean to—I just thought that going after the drug suppliers would be better than trying to round up small-time dealers. I guess she’s been pretty stressed out lately. It’s understandable.

My legs and back are stiff from sitting at my desk for so long. As tired as I am, though, I’m still excited to finally be going to Point Blank tonight. Excited and nervous. In fact, nervous is winning by just a hair. I need to make sure the Bullets notice me somehow. I need to get my reputation out there so tomorrow goes off without a hitch. I walk over to my bike and swing my leg over, get it running, and then leave the parking lot to go home.

Traffic isn’t too bad—one of the few perks of working past rush hour—and I’m home inside of fifteen minutes. I park my bike and get off, going into my apartment and climbing up the stairs. The place is dark and quiet, as it usually is. I drop my police cap and gun off in my room, then walk down the hall to my mom’s room, turning the knob softly to go in.

Mom is in bed, in the exact same position as when I left this morning. It seems like she never moves. I remember when she first came to stay here, how depressing the sight of her was. Now I’m used to it. I walk over and pull up the chair, sitting beside her. Taking one of her hands in both of mine, I give her a smile. She only just stares out the window.

“Hey, Mom,” I say to her. “I had a pretty long day today. Captain Hartridge gave me all this drudge work to do … I think I pissed her off in a meeting this morning. And the Deputy Captain kept giving me looks whenever I was at my desk. I’ve told him no before, but he keeps hitting on me. It’s annoying.”

My mom says nothing. I can feel her bones through the soft, papery skin of her hand.

“I’m going to that bar tonight, the one I told you about.” I tell her. “I’m kind of nervous. Actually, I’m really nervous. Then tomorrow I’ve got the day off and I’m going to try to join that biker gang. Then, soon enough, I’m going to find out all the bad things they’re doing and I’m going to get them all arrested, and that’ll be the end of it. The gang that killed Sal will all go to jail, and I’m going to be the one who puts them there.”

I smile at my mom, but she doesn’t respond. I look into her eyes—glassy, empty—and then drop my gaze.

“Okay,” I say. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you some food.”

Placing her hand back on her lap, I get up out of the chair and walk to the door, leaving my mom’s room.

I get some beef and carrot stew for my mom and make a sandwich for myself, but I hardly eat a bite while I’m feeding her. My stomach is too tied up in knots. I have to keep reminding myself that this will be fine. It’ll be just like all the other bars. Just go in, play my part, get noticed. And then leave. Word will spread and tomorrow I’ll be a shoo-in for the Bullets.

Of course, that’s assuming I don’t do anything to mess it all up.

I give the last spoonful of food to my mom, forcing myself to take a third bite out of my sandwich. Even that is a struggle, so I get up and take the dishes to the kitchen, putting the sandwich in the fridge for later.

I do the dishes and go take a shower while they’re drying in the rack. Once I’m clean I go into my room and get ready for tonight. My clothes are understated: jeans, a white tank top. I leave my hair down around my shoulders and shrug on my leather jacket. Even though it’s almost eight thirty, it’s still hot out—almost too hot to wear this heavy thing. But I need the jacket to show them I mean business. I slip on my boots and head into the bathroom to put on my makeup.

When I’m finally ready my stomach does a flip and I put a hand there to settle it down.

It’s going to be all right. This’ll be just like before.

I leave the bathroom and walk back to my mom’s room. Going inside, I see her in the exact same position she always is.

“Okay, Mom, I’m going now,” I say. She doesn’t respond; doesn’t look up my way. Swallowing, I lean down and give her a kiss on the forehead. “Have a good night,” I tell her, standing back up. Then I turn and leave her room.

The sky is just beginning to get dark as I lock the front door to the apartment. Climbing onto my bike I start it up, then ride out of my neighborhood, heading northeast, toward Point Blank.

The ride there would have taken me along my usual route to work, but I veer up north instead, circling around the station. I don’t want to run the risk of anybody recognizing me. The large PharmaChem building looms up on my left-hand side as I pass by it and begin heading east, turning down side streets, feeling the area around me become grittier the farther I go.

Finally the houses spread farther apart and the sidewalks disappear as I slip down darker and darker streets. Heads turn to follow me; the eyes of men watching me move from my face to my body as I fly past them. I turn down one street, and the next, until the last house is passed and I see, isolated from other businesses, Point Blank.

Part of me had figured that for a Sunday night, the bar would be a little less busy than it is. But I guess crime doesn’t sleep, since the parking lot is filled with cars and motorcycles, men and women standing outside with glasses of beer, drinking, smoking, talking amongst themselves.

I slow my bike down and turn into the lot. My heart is pounding and I feel like I’m going to throw up. This is it. This is the point of no return. Once I get my face out to the Bullets then they’ll know me. All my research, all my time spent creating this new persona, going to all those other bars—they were all just practice. This is the real thing.

I keep my expression a good mix of stern and impassive as people watch me find a spot. There’s some space down by the end of the lot so I park it there, then cut the engine and get off. My legs feel like they’re going to collapse at any moment, and I wish I’d forced down more of that sandwich. But I walk to the bar, keeping my head up, hearing my boots clack on the pavement.

“Hey baby, where’d you come from?”

I look over to see a group of guys around my age. One of them is staring at me, his eyes bloodshot, a few days’ worth of stubble covering his cheeks. The side of my mouth goes up but I don’t say anything, and when I pass by them I hear mutters, most of them about my ass.

Good. Very good.

I reach the door and push it open, stepping into the big, darkened room. There’s some AC/DC playing loudly from a jukebox, and below that I hear the dull roar of too many people talking at once. Staccatos of either yelling or laughter punctuate the din. I thread my way through the masses of people—burly men, strong women, people tall and short and thin and fat—head toward the bar. This place is packed, more so than any other bar I’ve been to.

As I make my way through I scan around the room. The police instinct in me catches illegalities almost instantly: obvious drunkenness, illegal gambling, smoking what must be crack, given the kind of pipe. I could get this place shut down tonight and I’ve only been in here thirty seconds. But no. That’s not what this is about. This is about the long game.

I finally reach the bar, against the wall opposite the door, and lean up on the edge. The bartender is busy serving a group of girls, so I wait for her to notice me.

“Hey baby,” comes a voice beside me. “You walked away back there. I was asking you a question.”

I look over and see the guy who called to me outside the bar. He must’ve followed me in.

This guy would be a perfect mark, I think. But it’s too soon.

“I know,” I respond. “I heard you.”

I turn back and look at the bartender. She finishes up taking the order and sees me, starting to walk over.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, putting his hand on the bar with a fifty-dollar bill in it. I let him see me raise my eyebrows. The bartender reaches us.

“I’ll have a bottle of Bud,” I say to her, reaching into my bra and taking out some cash. Looking at the other guy, I say, “Thanks, but I like to buy my own drinks.”

The bartender grabs a bottle and twists off the cap as I hand her some money. The guy beside me slowly pulls his fifty away.

“That’s cool,” he says as I get my change and leave a tip. The rest goes back in my bra. “I like a lady who’s empowered. I’m actually one of those feminists you hear about.”

“Are you?” I ask, turning around and taking a swig.

“Yeah. I always ask my ladies how they like their eggs in the morning.”

I swallow the beer and look at him, but from his expression he looks entirely serious. I reach up and pat him lightly on the cheek.

“Better luck next time,” I say before walking away, leaving him at the bar.

Good, good, I think as I make my way through the crowd. I can expect to see him again.

I reach the side of the open space and go up the few stairs that take me to the pool tables. There’s a game already in progress and I stand close by, leaning against the shelf along the wall. As I take sips of my beer, being careful not to drink too much, my eyes roam around the bar, assessing who’s here, and what’s going on.

Almost all the people here are wearing leather jackets, but a fair few of them aren’t. Black leather jackets are one of the most popular pieces of clothing in Santa Espera—at least, among those within this subculture. People wear it like a badge of honor. It means you’re in, you’re a part of it. Those who aren’t wearing one … they’re probably just friends. Visitors, like me, even though I do have one on. Because those who are wearing them know what they’re about. And it’s good to be able to easily tell your friend from your enemy.

As a police officer you have to know the ins and outs of this city. There are only three major biker gangs in Santa Espera: the Bullets, the Chains, and the Slingers. Other, smaller groups rise and fall, but they’re mostly just groups of friends who like to get drunk and play cards together. Those three, though, they’re the big hitters. I don’t know if Sal knew what he was getting himself into when he started up the Chains—maybe he just wanted to shoot off firecrackers with his friends, or maybe he wanted more. But it grew into something beyond him, and eventually … took his life.

I swallow. My eyes are stinging, and I blink hard to get rid of the feeling. This beer is going to my head already. I’ll have to slow down my pace.

There are no Chains in Point Blank, I notice, and only a few Slingers. Each of those gangs has their own bar, and this one belongs to the Bullets. I haven’t been to the other two—even when he was alive, Sal didn’t like his cop sister coming around to his gang’s bar—but this one seems more lively than how the others sound. Although as I’m looking around, I see that most people here are visitors. So far I haven’t seen any Bullets.

I take a small sip of my beer and look to the side wall. There are leather couches pushed around a low table, and occupying them is a group of people. Almost all of them are wearing leather jackets with red shirts underneath. White stitching on the leather shows the insignia of a bullet, on both the breast and the back.

Jackpot.

I try to keep my cool as I take another sip of beer. I get more liquid than I intended, but I swallow it all the same. I act nonchalant and look over at the couch again, taking in who’s sitting there.

Nine people. Eight with jackets, one without. The one without must be a friend, but he’s … oh my God, he’s hot.

I swallow, watching him more closely. He’s sitting and laughing with the group of Bullets, but even though he isn’t standing I can tell he must be tall. His smile … it seems to make his face glow. Short-cut blond hair tops his clean-shaven face. And those eyes … a deep, hazelnut brown. They smile when he does.

Just then his gaze slides from one of the Bullets to me and my heart leaps in my chest. I look away from him, realizing too late that my mouth is open. I close it, and then lift the beer to my lips, taking a drink and clearing my throat. When I glance back over he’s talking with his friends again.

Jesus … take it easy, Trista.

This beer must really be getting to me. I try not to look at that guy and watch a game of pool instead. I mean, it’s not his fault he’s so good-looking. I just need to keep my wits about me. Although I wish I’d met him any other day, though. Then maybe we’d have a chance to talk, flirt. Maybe go back to his place. Who knows? It’s been a long while since I’ve been intimate with anything other than my hand.

Okay, focus. The game of pool ends and the loser throws his cue down on the table, storming off in a huff. The winner, a man with a shaved head and wearing only an undershirt, laughs as he picks up his beer. He looks over at me and I become my persona again, giving him a smile, flirty but not too obvious. Then I look away.

“My turn,” someone says, and I look over to see a new guy approach the table. The bald guy gives a casual nod to the newcomer, then looks over at me and winks. As the new guy starts racking the balls, the bald one picks up his beer and comes over to where I’m standing.

“You gonna be my cheering section?” he asks. I give him a look up and down, then lift my beer bottle and touch it to his glass.

“I’ll be rooting for you,” I say, and he smiles before turning back to the table.

The game begins and I stay where I am, watching idly as I scan around the bar. Time passes and every now and again I look over at the Bullets on the couches. And every now and again I see that guy looking over at me. The first time we lock eyes I feel myself blush as he smiles. The second time it happens I manage a smile back. But just as it’s about to happen a third time I hear a loud yell and my attention is taken away.

“Hey! Baby!”

I look to the stairs leading up here and see the guy from before, standing at the bottom of them. He’s with his friends this time and he looks much drunker than before. He’s staring up at me and a few people around him have stopped what they’re doing to watch.

“Yes?” I say as he almost trips on his way up. His friends follow him.

“You said you’re a feminist, right?” he says, much too loudly. The pool game beside me has stopped and I see the bald guy watching, his grip tight on the pool cue.

“Actually, you were the one who brought up feminism,” I point out, putting my beer bottle down on the shelf behind me.

“Yeah, you know what I love about feminists?” he slurs, walking up to me. “You can do whatever you want when you’re fucking ‘em. Those stupid bitches just beg for more and call it empowerme—”

I grab onto his wrist and twist his arm behind his back, using my other hand to push his head down toward the ground.

“Augh!”

His friends all gasp and the guy tries pulling away. But I force him down to his knees, keeping his arm twisted, feeling the tightness of his joints.

“AHH! GET OFFA ME!”

“You might want to apologize for that last comment,” I say, bringing my head down close to his ear.

“Damn, let go of Randy!” says one of his friends. I hear them coming forward but I swing my gaze over to them, making them stop in their tracks.

“You little shits want to be next?” I ask, fire burning in my eyes.

They look scared, uncertain.

“Uh … no,” one of them says. “Just … just let him go.”

I twist Randy’s arm a little more and hear him moan in pain.

“After he apologizes,” I say to the group.

“I’m sorry!” Randy cries out. I’m aware of everybody around us watching.

“What’re you sorry for?” I ask him.

“For … for making fun of women!” he shouts.

Good enough. I let go of his arm, stepping back so he can get up. My heart is racing and I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. My muscles are tensed as I watch him for any sudden movements, any sign that he’s going to attack. But he cradles his arm and turns to his friends, and I know he’s been defeated.

“Come on,” he says. His friends allow themselves to be ushered away as I watch them go. My breathing is coming in hard.

I look over at the Bullets and see them all staring at me. Even that guy. He’s smiling and I struggle not to blush as I give them a smile back. Then I look away. Picking up my bottle of beer, I take a sip and feel the lukewarm alcohol make its way past my beating heart and down into my stomach.

“Pretty impressive stuff,” the bald guy says, as though he’s seeing me in a new light. “I’d hate to run into you in a dark alley.”

I smile but don’t say anything. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea, latch myself onto the wrong people. Instead I lean back against the shelf, watching over the bar again. Randy and his friends seem to have left, and everybody’s gone back to their own business. But every now and again I see people glance my way. And then, out of my peripheral vision, I see somebody walk up the stairs toward me. I force myself to remain calm as they stop.

“Hey,” comes a deep, smooth voice and I look over—and up—at the tall man beside me. It’s the guy from the couch, the one without a Bullets jacket. He looks even better close-up than he does from afar.

Trista! Stay in character!

I smile up at him. “Hey yourself.”

“I saw what you did to that guy,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “To be honest I wouldn’t have pegged you as an ass-kicker.”

“Oh yeah?” I say. “What would you have pegged me as?”

He leans down, his eyes locked onto mine.

“Beautiful,” he says, his voice low, only for me.

It’s a struggle not to blush as I force a sultry smile in return.

“That’s a pretty corny line,” I say to him.

“Not when it’s true,” he says, straightening back up. “You here alone?”

I shrug, looking out over the bar again.

“Thought I’d check the place out. Seems cool enough.”

“It is cool. But you know, this place is run by some pretty bad people. A motorcycle gang.”

“That’s right,” I say, looking back at him. “The Bullets, isn’t it?”

He smiles. “You’ve done your homework.”

I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a teacher’s pet.”

The man nods. “I’ll bet you are.”

I force myself not to blush again. He takes his eyes from mine and glances back over at the couches, and I follow his gaze.

“Well, I know leaning against this shelf is pretty great,” he says, “but I have it on good authority that those couches back there are much more comfortable.” He looks at me. “Interested?”

I tilt my head side to side, then down the rest of my beer.

“Only if you buy me a drink,” I say, putting the empty bottle down on the shelf. The guy smiles.

“My pleasure,” he says.

And as he leads the way down to where the Bullets sit my heart beats hard in my chest. This is it, Trista, I think to myself. There’s no going back from here.

Flynn

Christ, I’m glad I didn’t bring my jacket with me.

The night’s been hot as hell as the gang and I all sit on the couches, those reserved just for the Bullets. We're drinking beer and talking, the usual stuff, and every now and again I look out at the growing crowd, trying to find some hot pussy to woo and take home with me. The problem is that every girl I see I’m pretty sure I’ve already slept with. There’s nobody here I haven’t seen before.

That is … until she walks in.

She's making her way through the crowds the first time I spot her. Hot body, wavy red hair, wearing a black leather jacket with no stitching. She looks confident. Holds herself well. She doesn't look over at us, as most do when they come in here, but goes straight to the bar instead.

“Flynn? Flynn!”

I turn around to find Maddox looking at me.

“Weren’t you listening?”

“Nah, he was looking at that fucking hot ginger over there,” Matthias says.

“Damn, look at that ass,” Chris says as he twists around in his seat. “Oh fuck, looks like she’s taken, Flynn.”

I look again and, indeed, some guy with gross-looking stubble walks up and talks to her, getting close. I turn back, trying to hide the disappointment in my stomach. Damn, I think. I don't feel like beating anyone up tonight.

Maddox keeps talking, telling his funny story, and I get back into it. Soon enough we're all laughing, and then I get a funny feeling, like somebody's watching me. I look up to where the pool tables are and my eyes land right on her.

Her. She's alone, and she's looking right at me. My heart skips a beat in my chest. Our eyes lock and it feels like there's nobody else in the room, just the two of us. Her mouth is open. Her eyes seem to pierce into me, those bright green things.

But then she looks away and lifts her beer to her lips, and I look away too, feeling like I’ve just escaped from some sort of trance.

What the hell? That’s never happened to me before.

I swallow, shaking my head, and try to join the conversation again. But it's like something is drawing me to her, and I have to keep looking over, in bits and pieces, small glances each time.

One of those times our eyes meet again and I see her blush. I can't help but smile. She looks cute when she blushes. The second time it happens she doesn't blush but just smiles, and I swear I’ve never seen a more attractive smile. But just as we're about to lock gazes a third time I hear a yell, and see that guy she was with walk up to her. He looks much more drunk than he did earlier.

He must be some jaded ex-boyfriend, or shitty current boyfriend. Jealousy courses through me—something I haven’t felt in a long time—and I have to remind myself that she’s just some chick. The guy looks angry as they exchange words and I wondere if I should go over there to teach him a lesson. He looks strong enough to give most guys here a run for their money, but I'm sure I can take him.

So imagine my surprise when I blink and she has his arm in a lock, twisting it as she forces him down.

“AHH! GET OFFA ME!”

The conversation around me halts as I feel everybody look at where I'm looking. That girl has fire in her eyes, and she leans down and says something to him. His friends are all standing back, looking scared.

Jesus Christ, I wonder what else she’s hiding? I think.

“I’m sorry!” the guy cries out.

“What’re you sorry for?” she asks.

“For … for making fun of women!”

I raise my eyebrow and watch the redhead let him go as the couch cushions shift around me.

“Jesus, who’s that girl?” I hear Chris ask.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.”

“She looks like a badass,” he declares as she leans back against the shelf and takes a sip of her beer. Jerry, the bald guy beside her, says something to her and I feel another surge of jealousy go through me. Why am I feeling jealous? I don’t even know her name. But it's there all the same, and something urges me on, telling me to get up, that this is my chance.

So I get up off the couch, drain the rest of my beer, and put the glass down. Then I walk toward her, my stomach going crazy the whole time.

It’s okay, I tell myself. Just be yourself. She’s just some chick, that’s all.

By the time I reach her my nerve is worked up, and I put on my best suave self.

“Hey,” I say to her, proud of how smooth my voice sound. She looks over at me—has to incline her head just to meet my eyes—and she looks even more beautiful than before.

“Hey yourself,” she says to me. Her voice sounds cool, calm. Like she’s interested but isn’t.

“I saw what you did to that guy,” I say to her. “To be honest I wouldn’t have pegged you as an ass-kicker.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “What would you have pegged me as?”

The perfect set-up, I think. Now all I have to do is lean in, tell her she’s mine, and I’ll have my dick wet in no time.

I begin to lean in, but as I do my brain yells at me to pull back from my instincts, to not say she’s mine or any other corny thing. Tell her the truth! My lips part and I'm not even sure what I'm going to say. But then it comes out:

“Beautiful.”

I'm surprised at myself—surprised because I’ve never said anything so honest to someone I'm interested in before.

Her face blushes the tiniest bit, and she smiles at me.

“That’s a pretty corny line,” she says, and I straighten back up, simultaneously proud and terrified.

“Not when it’s true,” I say. I can feel my heart pounding. Come on, Flynn, take control! You’re out of your element! “You here alone?”

She shrugs, then looks away from me.

“Thought I’d check the place out. Seems cool enough.”

“It is cool,” I tell her. “But you know, this place is run by some pretty bad people. A motorcycle gang.”

“That’s right. The Bullets, isn’t it?” she asks, and her eyes meet mine again. I'm shocked, and I smile at her.

“You’ve done your homework.”

A shrug. “What can I say? I’m a teacher’s pet.”

I nod, unsure of what to say next. “I’ll bet you are.”

This is getting to be too much. Usually I’m so in control of these situations, but I feel like she's holding all the cards. I have to look away, so I glance over at the gang. Yeah. Perfect.

“Well, I know leaning against this shelf is pretty great, but I have it on good authority that those couches back there are much more comfortable.” I look back at her. “Interested?”

She seems to consider it, then upends her bottle and downs the rest of her beer.

“Only if you buy me a drink,” she says, putting the bottle back down on the shelf, and I have to smile.

“My pleasure,” I say, turning and leading the way down to the couches.

As we approach the gang they all turn their heads and look at us. I can see the curiosity on their faces—I’ve never brought somebody over before.

“Hey guys,” I say to them. “This is …” Fuck. “Oh shit, I never actually got your name.”

“And I never got yours,” she says with a devilish smile. “Trista.”

“Flynn,” I return. Jesus Christ, those eyes. I have to look away again. “And this is Chloe, Matthias, Chris, Tyrone, Jackie, Alyssa, Maddox, and Kendal. I’ll go get you your drink.”

I turn and head for the bar, leaving her behind with the Bullets. My mind is racing as I thread through the crowds.

What in the hell is going on? Why do I feel so nervous around this girl? Is it the way she looks? Her attitude? I haven’t felt this way since … Elizabeth. Come on, man. Get yourself under control.

I reach the bar and Marla comes over to take my order.

“Hey,” I say to her. “Two beers, one in a bottle. Um, Bud, I think.”

She nods and goes to get the drinks as I look back at the couches. That girl—Trista—is sitting beside Kendal, at the edge closest to my seat. Tyrone is telling them some story, his hands going wild as he does. Trista looks relaxed as she listens, but … I don’t know. Rapt at the same time. Maybe she’s nervous. As nervous as I’m feeling. Somehow that makes me feel better.

The sound of glass on wood makes me turn back around to find Marla putting down my drinks.

“Here you go,” she says. Then, raising an eyebrow at the bottle, “Bud? Really, Flynn?”

“It’s not for me,” I say, and before I can get into it I pick up the drinks and leave the bar. Marla’s sweet, but she loves to tease me, and this is weird enough as it is.

I make my way back to the couches and Trista looks over at me. I can’t stop the smile that forms on my face. It feels goofy, like I’m bringing punch back to my prom date. But I reach the group and hand her the bottle, then sit down in my spot. My leg is almost touching Trista’s.

She raises the bottle to me in thanks and takes a drink. Tyrone’s still talking.

“… took him back to his house where his mom was there, and I made him apologize for what he said!”

He looks around at the group, proud of himself. But nobody else is smiling.

“You made him apologize?” Maddox repeats.

“Yeah!” says Tyrone. “I wish somebody’d done that to me when I was a kid. Little punk just needed to be scared, and nothing’s scarier than your mom.”

“Well, I think you did a very noble thing, scaring a little boy,” Chloe says, picking up her beer from the table.

“Thank you, Chloe,” Tyrone says. But when she snickers his smile fades away and he slumps back in the couch. “Whatever.”

Alyssa turns to Trista before anyone else can speak. “Okay, so what’s your story then, new girl? Where’re you from?”

Trista’s in the middle of taking a sip, and her eyes widen as a hush falls over the gang. But she swallows, then doesn’t say anything as she puts the bottle back down on the table and settles in beside Kendal.

“I’m from Pasadena, originally,” she tells us. Her voice sounds almost too relaxed.

“Pasadena?” Maddox says, raising his eyebrows. “What made you want to move to this shitty city?”

She shrugs. “I passed through here a couple times on my way to Arizona. Hit up a few bars, stayed a night or two. Seemed all right, so I moved here.”

“You working?” Chris asks. She looks at him.

“Depends. What do you want done?”

The calm on this girl is insane. She must know who we are, and judging by the jacket she’s wearing she’s in with the life but not part of any gang. If I were her, and I were sitting with the Bullets, I’d be shitting myself. But she seems so collected, and so cool about everything. I don’t even know what to say.

“So are you slingin’?” Maddox asks her, and she looks at him.

“Not lately,” she says. “I heard the cops were cracking down on small-timers, so I got outta there. Doin’ other stuff now. Car stereos, stores. Whatever I can offload.”

Maddox studies her, and I can see the gears working in his head. He’s sussing her out.

“Ever get into the crystal?”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment it’s almost like she’s sussing him out.

“I never got into it,” she says, “no. I keep myself clean. But I know the racket.” She shrugs. “It is what it always is. People want; the dealer provides.”

Maddox nods, and everyone else is quiet, watching this exchange.

“That’s good,” he says. “You don’t want to go dipping into the company inkwell.”

I know what he’s referring to: the Slingers. We’ve had trouble with them getting high off their own stash, but they know how to get the product out to the people so we keep on supplying them.

“Well,” Trista says with a smirk, picking up her bottle of beer. “Depending on if that pen is between a pair of legs, I might not say no to a little dipping.”

Kendal smiles into her beer, and I hear muffled snickers from the other girls around the table. Trista looks over at me with mischievous eyes, a light smile on her lips, and she gives me a wink. My heart skips in my chest and I wink right back.

The conversation becomes lighter after that. We ask Trista bits and pieces about herself, which she’s more than happy to answer. Her responses inspire anecdotes from some of us and soon enough it’s time for another round. Chris and Alyssa go to get it, and when they come back they’ve got glasses of beer for everybody—including Trista.

Hours pass, and I’m feeling better and better about my decision to bring this new girl over. Everybody seems to like her, and I can see her getting more relaxed. I’m feeling better too, cracking jokes, enjoying my time with everyone.

One thing that’s strange, though, is that I don’t have that usual urge to take Trista home with me. More than once my memory kicks into gear: didn’t you want to get laid tonight? Weren’t you going to go hunting for pussy? And I’ve got me a great catch, sitting just two feet from me. But I don’t feel like doing my usual: taking her home, fucking her, and never seeing her again. Instead I … I want to get to know her. I want to see her relaxed and happy, like she is now. I want … something more than just getting laid.

Early morning comes and people are leaving. The din that filled the bar is beginning to quiet down. We’re all still here, though. I’ve dropped out of the conversation, and I’ve noticed that Trista has too, instead just leaning back against the couch cushions and listening. I look around the bar and see that nobody’s playing pool. An idea strikes me.

I lean forward on the couch and get Trista’s attention. She turns her head to look at me.

“Hey,” I say in a low voice. She leans forward.

“Yeah?” she replies in a whisper.

I nod toward the pool tables. “You play?”

Trista has to twist around to see what I’m talking about, but when she turns back she’s smiling.

“I don’t just play. I win.”

This girl. The two of us have hardly spoken to one another, but already she’s challenging me. So I stand up from the couch and Trista does the same. I see her sway a little as she does. I grab our beers from the table, handing hers over, and then lead the way to the pool tables.

“Have you played a lot?” I ask as I put my beer down on the shelf and take a cue from the rack. Trista puts her beer down too.

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid,” she says, not looking at me as she takes a cue down and examines it. I smile at her profile before putting the triangle on the table, fishing balls out of the pockets and placing them in. When Trista’s found a good cue she goes to the other side of the table and rolls the balls from the far pockets toward me.

“Since you were a kid?” I ask, putting the last ball in place and taking the triangle away. “That can’t have been long ago. ‘Cause I heard on the street that you play like a little girl.”

Trista’s eyebrows fly up and she smiles.

“Oooh, going for the smack talk, are we?” she asks, and I lean on my cue as she sets up to break. “Well you’d better step up your game, mister. Because you’ll never see a little girl do this.”

She slides her cue back and follows through cleanly. The balls crack and roll all around the table … including the eight ball, which falls neatly into one of the pockets in the corner. Trista stares frozen at the table, and I nod, still leaning on my cue.

“Actually,” I tell her, “I have seen a little girl do that.”

She looks up at me and her expression of utter shock makes me snort out laughter. She smiles too, despite herself.

“Um,” she says. “Best two out of three?”

I nod, still smiling, and grab the triangle to rack up the balls.

The next game goes much more smoothly for her, and I realize that Trista is quite a good player. I give her a run for her money, but she sinks balls one right after the other and manages to win by just a hair. We play again and again, just the two of us chatting now, and I find her smiling much more freely than when we were at the couches. I watch her, admiring her confidence, admiring the way she takes control of situations and knows what she’s doing. And when she bends over the table to take a shot, I can’t help but admire that ass.

“Hey guys,” comes a voice midway through our seventh game, and Trista and I look over to see Alyssa climbing up the few steps, Jackie, Chris, and Matthias waiting for her below. I look around the bar and find it almost empty. I hadn’t even noticed. “We’re heading out. Trista, I just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you.”

“Oh,” Trista says. “Yeah. It was great meeting you too.”

“Hey, you should come around here more often,” says Alyssa. “You’re cool.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Flynn.” Alyssa gives me a look, then descends the few steps as she and the rest leave, the others waving goodbye to the both of us.

“Wow,” Trista says when they’re gone. She’s looking around the bar. “I didn’t realize so many people had left. What time is it?”

Oh no, please don’t say you have to go. Still, I pull out my cell phone and look at the time. I feel my eyebrows raise.

“It’s about a quarter to four,” I say, and when I look at Trista she tilts her head.

“Damn,” she says, and she looks up at me. She looks like she’s sorry. “I think I have to go.”

No. No!

“Right, yeah,” I say to her. “Gotta get up early to jack all those car stereos.”

She lets out a laugh.

“Yeah, something like that.”

I put my pool cue down on the table and Trista does the same. We’re looking at each other … indeed, I feel like I can’t stop looking at her.

“Well,” I say to her. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Yeah,” she says, and just as I put my hand out to shake hers she opens her arms, taking a step toward me. We both falter, and now I feel like an idiot. We laugh, awkwardly chuckle, and after a small, strange dance our arms both open and we pull each other in for a hug, her head nestling against my chest.

Jesus Christ, my heart is pounding, I think, feeling it hammer against my ribs. I’ll bet she can hear it. She must think I’m an idiot.

Trista and I hold our hug. She smells amazing, feels amazing. I lower my head down and find my nose buried in her mess of red hair. As I take in a slow breath, drinking her in, I feel her head shift, tilting up.

I’m in high school again. I’m having my first slow dance. Trista feels so good in my arms, I don’t want to let her go. Her hair disappears from my lips and nose and is replaced by soft skin. Her forehead, and then her cheek. My eyes are closed. I don’t remember closing them. I can hear her soft breath, feel the warmth of it against my lips.

And then they’re there, the soft fullness of them, and I’m swept away. She’s kissing me, we’re kissing, and it’s like nothing else I’ve experienced before.

I feel Trista breathe out through her nose as our lips begin to dance together. It’s like the world around us has disappeared and all I can feel, all I can taste and smell and experience, is her.

Floods of desperate emotion come over me and I grab onto her, my fingers tightening against the soft leather that covers her body. I pull her closer to me, her lips pressing harder up into mine. Trista makes a small noise in her throat and I respond by parting my lips, pushing my tongue out, meeting it with hers.

They dance together and down below, inside of my jeans, I feel myself begin to stir. But it’s something other than what I’ve felt before. It’s not a game this time, nor a way to provide release. This time it’s a need. A desire. As though hot fingers are reaching out from inside of me I slide my hand down to the bottom of Trista’s jacket, to the firm roundness of her ass, and I grab it, squeezing, pulling her into me, into my hardness, where I know she can feel it against her.

I hear the sweet sound of air being sucked in through her nose and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to end this.

Good.

My kisses leave her lips and I travel them down, down to the side of her neck. Trista lifts her head, allows me access, and I take it. I find the soft skin of her throat and latch myself to it, sucking greedily there, wishing to both give pleasure as well as take it. Her hands are around me and I feel them pull. Hot gasps are being sucked in through her mouth and knowing that I’m giving her pleasure only turns me on more.

My cock is hard as steel now and I can feel the throb, the incredible tension inside of me, wanting, needing her. I want to fuck her, right here and now. But the tiniest bit of logic that’s left in my brain clears its throat and reminds me that we’re standing beside the pool table in the middle of the open bar.

So I pull myself back, detaching my mouth from her throat, and when I look in her face I see a mix of desperation and disappointment. Her eyes open and we look at each other and already I’m lost in those deep, green pools.

“Trista,” I say, surprised at how breathy my voice is, how deep it is. “I want you.”

She gasps, a shuddering sound. She looks scared, if only for a moment, but then she leans up and kisses me again, locking her lips to mine. When she breaks it off it’s only to bring her lips to my ear.

“I want you too,” she whispers, and I could come in my pants.

Instead I control myself and let go of her ass, grab her hand, and turn to lead us away.

Marla’s been watching us this whole time—how could she not, we’re two of less than a dozen people in here—and raises an eyebrow as I make my way to the bathrooms.

I look at her but don’t say anything, and then I look away. We reach the door and I push through, then into the men’s bathroom, the small tiled room with one sink, two urinals, and one stall. I choose the stall.

Pulling Trista in after me, I push the door closed and then push her up against it, planting my lips onto hers once again. Trista kisses me back and the filthy smell of piss and soap and urinal cakes fills my nostrils but I don’t care, I want her, I need her, and it has to be right now.

The stall walls moan and creak as Trista and I grab onto each other, our hands searching all over each other’s bodies. It feels good to be touched by her, and she feels incredible, even over her clothes.

I slip my hands between her jacket and shirt, feeling the soft curves of her body, the layer of womanly muscle underneath. Up along her sides and then I find her breasts, clad in a bra. Trista gasps through her nose and I feel my cock straining at the sound. With the experience of many years I slide a hand around her back and quickly undo her bra through her shirt. It goes loose and I bring the hand back, then wiggle my fingers underneath the cup, pushing it up over her beautiful breasts.

The soft roundness feels incredible against my hands, and her nipples are already hard, poking out against the thin fabric of her shirt. Trista moans as I grab onto her. Our mouths move hurriedly together, our tongues lashing out, desperate for one more kiss, just one more.

I feel her hands land on my stomach, move up to my chest. Her fingers squeeze and claw at me, and she breathes heavily through her nose as they slide back down, down past my abs, down to the front of my jeans where they cup over my throbbing cock.

I feel her gasp and my mouth drops down to her neck again. She’s pushed back against the door and the toilet stall groans in protest. Trista rubs me over my jeans and I take one hand down off of her breast, past her stomach to where her shirt has ridden up a little, and then do the same to her, latching onto her pussy over the top of her jeans.

She gasps, louder now, as I push into her. My fingers find the clasp of her belt, the button and zipper of her jeans, and then I’m in, sliding down underneath the elastic band of her panties, past her trimmed pubic hair only to feel her warm and soaking-wet pussy happily greet me.

This time Trista doesn’t gasp, she moans. A long, deep sound that, combined with the feeling of her in my hand and her rubbing my cock, makes me almost explode. But I hold myself back. I don’t want to come just yet. I slide my fingers between her swollen pussy lips, feel her slickness, cover my hand in her incredible juices.

I curl my fingers up and slip them just inside of her. She clenches, I can feel her muscles pulling at me, and then I plant my hand over her, feeling my palm cover her clit, rubbing all of her at once and suddenly she’s bucking, moaning next to my ear.

My head lifts up and we’re kissing again as I guide her along with my hand. She feels incredible against my fingers and she’s grabbing onto my cock, bucking her hips, moaning against my lips and through her nose and all I can hear and feel and taste is her.

She tightens around my fingers and I keep going. She pushes her lips into mine so hard that it hurts and I keep going. I hear her moans coming out, longer now, with more need. Still I keep going, I keep moving my hand, dipping into her, keeping that pressure on her clit the entire time until finally her moans rise up into almost a cry and she seizes against me, holding me, her pussy tightening almost painfully around me. We keep kissing as she comes hard against my hand, and when she’s finally done, that’s when I take my hand out of her pants.

Trista is gasping for breath, panting heavily. I rub my fingers together and they feel slick with her juices. My cock is so hard it’s ready to burst, but I pull away from our kiss and open my eyes and Trista looks flushed, out of breath. She opens her eyes too and I bring my hand up, look at it. It’s shiny and wet and she smells so amazing on it. Opening my lips, I put two fingers in, tasting her, sucking her sweet juices off of me. Trista watches this all, breathless, and then I take my fingers out of my mouth and offer them to her and she accepts it, her lips and tongue moving over me as she tastes herself. Our eyes are locked this entire time and when I pull my hand away we kiss once more and I can still taste her, can still smell her. She’s everywhere, she’s all around me. This is absolutely incredible.

I grab onto Trista again and her hand, still covering my cock, begins to rub me once more. This time she uses both hands to undo my belt, the sound of metal on metal jingling in my ears. I feel her unzip my pants and reach in, inside my boxers, and then she’s there, she’s grabbing onto me, taking me out of my pants and into the cool air of the world.

Trista pulls herself back and looks down at the thing in her hands and I see her eyes widen. Everybody’s does. No girl expects me to be as big as I am, but there it is. She could wrap both hands around it, side by side, and still it wouldn’t cover the length of it. I watch her as she watches her hands. I see her take in shuddering breaths, see the awe and hunger in her eyes. She swallows, and that need, that carnal desire flows into me. I reach up and slide a hand around the back of Trista’s head, making her look up into me. My lips latch onto hers one more time, and then I’m spinning her around, pushing her against the bathroom stall door, and she lets out a grunt as she hits it.

Her hand temporarily lets go of my cock when I spin her around, but she reaches behind her, grabs onto it once again. I hook my fingers into both sides of her jeans and panties and shuffle them down, down to her thighs. Her beautiful ass is revealed to me and, just below it, the glowing pink mound of her pussy as she sticks herself out toward me. It’s all I can do to stop myself from sliding into her here and now, but first I reach into my pocket, take out a condom, rip it open, and roll it out over my cock.

Trista’s hands are still clamoring for my hardness, but I take them away, step up closer to her, guide myself to the space between her legs. I feel the tip of myself touch her and she moans, simultaneously freezing and aching to push herself back. I feel the desire in her, flowing between us like a liquid. Holding onto her sides, I tighten my grip and slowly slide myself in.

The silent gasp in Trista’s throat is the sound of pure ecstasy to me. She feels so incredible, so warm and wet and tight around me. When I’m in as far as I can go I begin to move, in and out, pumping slowly lest I explode inside of her right away.

Trista’s silence makes way for deep, breathy moans. She’s up against the stall door and her head is turned to the side, and I see her eyes close, her eyebrows belying the sensations she’s feeling. She tightens around me when I’m all the way in, and it feels like she’s pulling on me, drawing me further into her. I slide my hands up her body, slipping underneath her shirt this time, and along her smooth and warm skin, up to her two beautiful breasts.

I pull her closer to me, pull myself closer to her, and our bodies move faster together. Trista cries out as I plunge into her, and her body feels so soft, so wonderful against mine. I find myself craving her, wanting more, needing more of her with me.

My hands on her breasts hold and squeeze her. Trista’s nipples poke out like diamonds against them and I home in on them with my fingers. She shudders against me, gasping in between her cries of passion, so I do it again. I feel her tighten around me. My own breath is coming in short and shallow, and I feel an excitement course through me that I’ve never felt before. I’m smiling, desirous, watching her, feeling her all around me.

As we continue moving together I see her gasp more. One of my hands leaves her breast and I slide it up to her throat, curling around it. Trista cries out when I grab a hold of her, but she opens herself to me, allows me to hold her there. I drive faster into her and her lips part. I lean myself forward, curling my body around hers, and press my cheek against hers. She twists her head just a little bit more and our lips find one another’s, our bodies still connected, my cock still pushing up hard and fast into her pussy.

We kiss, our lips stumbling and tripping up together in between the gasps and moans on both of our parts. This feels absolutely incredible. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I can’t seem to get enough of her. I feel her tighten hard around me and she pulls in a sharp, deep gasp. Our lips connect again and I start to pound into her, keeping her tight, making her moan and cry out through her nose.

I can feel myself start to rise. That pressure is building in me and I want it so badly, but I don’t want this to end. What lies beyond this moment together? What will my life be when I’m not with her? It seems like such a world doesn’t exist, and instead all that is and ever was is here, now, the two of us, together.

Trista moans longer and harder as I keep fucking her passionately. She reaches behind her and wraps a hand around my head, holding me, keeping me close as we rise up together. Her body is radiating heat and so is mine. Her pussy feels so wet and wonderful, her body feels so soft and inviting. Her breasts, her throat, her lips, her kiss. Everything about her only makes me want more. I can’t stop myself now. It’s going to happen soon.

I keep pounding into her and feel her tighten around my cock. Her lips open and she begins to cry out, starts moaning against me and I feel her shake, quiver, tremble against my own body. Her hips move in waves and her cries are coming on more intensely now. She rises up, and up, and inside I can feel myself fly right toward the edge.

And then, in an explosion that could end the world, the two of us fly off together and cry out as our orgasms rip our entire beings apart. I feel myself seize, every muscle tensing, my cock pulsing in thick waves as I explode inside of her. Trista practically screams, her body shaking and spasming next to mine, her neck muscles taut, her nipples hard as diamonds, her pussy squeezing over and over on top of me.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s everything I need. This woman and I ride on each other’s highs, we soar together and just keep coming, just keep flying into the starry majestic night.

And then it begins to subside, and my muscles start to relax and so do hers, and I feel her still trembling, but it’s a different sort of tremble this time. And my cock is still throbbing, still hard as a rock, but I pull myself out of her, take the condom off, drop it into the toilet behind me.

Trista is breathing hard. I loosen my grip on her neck but keep a hold on her, since it feels like she could collapse at any moment. My hand is still on her breast and I relish the feeling for just a moment longer before taking it off. When she spins around her face is flushed and her clothes are a mess, but I swear to God I’ve never seen a more beautiful person in my life.

But that … scares me. I have to swallow. I have to take a step back. Get my hands off of her, because if I don’t then I don’t know if I’ll ever want to let go.

I turn, looking away from her. Reaching down and grabbing a wad of toilet paper, I hand it to her blindly and she takes it. Then I grab some for myself and wipe off my cock, which is still hard, still betraying me by showing me my true feelings.

Dropping the toilet paper in the bowl next to the condom, I tuck myself away and wait, not looking, for Trista to dress herself. Inside my head is a battle of desires. On one hand I want to help her, I want to feel her again, and be with her. But on the other I keep myself grounded, remind myself of my rule, of the policy that’s kept me from getting hurt after all these years.

Once is enough.

That’s right. Keep your head about this. This was just a fuck, that’s all. Don’t make it out to be anything more than it is.

“Well,” comes Trista’s voice, and when I finally look at her she’s all dressed again. But the expression on her face … it’s not what I expected. It makes me think of how I’m trying to feel right now. “Um, I guess I should get going.”

I blink at her.

“Yeah,” I say, and something inside of me feels hollow. Was I the only one who felt that? “Yeah, we should go.”

So I step back to make room as Trista opens the stall door, and we leave it, walk out of the bathroom together, without saying anything, without speaking to one another.

When we step into the bar and head toward the front door, I look over at Marla and see her watching me again. She’s got a smirk on her face. A smirk that says, Way to go, player. You bagged another one. But I feel different now to how I would when I’d normally fuck some chick. I feel … different.

Trista leads the way to the door and opens it up. The sun is just cresting the horizon now and we walk out into brightening sunshine. When we’re both out she stops and turns to face me. We pause for a moment, and I feel like neither of us knows what to say.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” I finally tell her.

“Yeah,” she says.

Our eyes hold together and there’s something there—there is, I can feel it—but then she pulls her gaze from mine and a part of me is pulled away with it.

“Okay,” she says, not to me, to the ground. “Okay.”

And then she turns and walks to the side of the building, and I watch her go. She reaches the side of the building and turns to go around it, and for a fleeting moment I feel like she’s going to look back at me, but she doesn’t, and then she’s gone, headed to the back of the parking lot.

I stand there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where she just was. It’s strange. I never expected this to happen tonight. I wanted to get laid, yeah, and in a sense I guess I got what I wanted. But I got something more, as well. And maybe it wasn’t actually there. Maybe it was all in my head. But I felt it, and something tells me I’m not going to be able to shake this feeling for a long time.

Christ, I could use a drink. Breathing in a deep lungful of fresh air, I let it out in an exhale and then turn to head back into the bar, ready for the first beer of the day.

Trista

Oh God, my head.

I’m lying facedown on something soft. My bed. As I try to open my eyes I have to force them against the sticky residue that’s gluing them shut.

I can feel the throb in my temples, taste the rancid beer still on my tongue. I finally get my eyes open and the diffuse sunlight that’s filling the room almost blinds me. Taking in a deep breath, I roll over onto my back and feel all of my muscles cry out in protest.

Including a particular spot, down between my legs …

I stop, lying on my back now, and blink enough until I’m looking up at the ceiling.

Last night …

I’d hardly eaten, hadn’t slept the night before, and kept drinking beer after beer. No wonder I let my guard down. That guy there … Flynn. He was cute. And he flirted with me. We played pool, and then … after …

Oh my God. We fucked in the bathroom stall.

It all comes back to me, the entire evening. I wouldn’t say I was drunk, but I certainly wasn’t sober either. Was I flirting with him? Or was he flirting with me? I guess it doesn’t matter. The Bullets left and it was just me and their friend. We were having fun. And besides, he was really sweet. Funny. And he had a great smile.

And then later, in the bathroom stall …

I have to shake my head to clear it, and that only sends an ice pick of pain behind my eyes. I close them and wait for it to pass, then open them back up and force myself up to sitting.

It’s a good thing it’s my day off. I’m still wearing my biker clothes, and I reach into my pocket, taking out my cell phone.

Almost eleven o’clock.

My stomach drops as my mind flies over to my mom, and I get up, pushing myself through the pain as I leave my bedroom, march down the hallway, and stop in front of my mom’s door, knocking softly before I walk in.

My mom is in the same sitting position she was in yesterday. Propped up by pillows, staring dully out the window.

“Hey, Mom,” I say in a low voice, walking over to her. My boots clunk against the floor, but I ignore it. My mom doesn’t turn her head as I bend down closer to her. “Sorry, I overslept. Are you hungry?”

No response. No acknowledgment. My mouth is closed as I stare at her, and then I drop my gaze.

“Okay. Well I’ll get you your breakfast anyway.”

I straighten back up and leave the room, going into the kitchen to get my mom some yogurt and her pills. As I put it together my stomach rumbles, but I ignore it for now. What I do get is a glass of water, though, downing it before picking up the bowl and pills and taking them to her room.

It only takes about ten minutes for her to eat everything, and when she’s done I take the bowl back to the kitchen to deposit into the sink. My stomach rumbles again, but I take a minute to clean out my mom's bedpan first. Once that's done I come back to the kitchen and take out two eggs and some bread from the fridge. Putting the frying pan on the stove, I crack the eggs into it and listen to them sizzle as the bread toasts.

I overslept, which I don’t usually do, but it’s not like I’m in any sort of rush. I’m going to go to the Bullets’ warehouse today, but it wouldn’t make sense to go any time before noon. Sometime in the afternoon would be better. I still need to shower and get ready anyway.

I just hope I don’t screw it up somehow.

The toast pops and I butter it, then slide the eggs onto the plate. There’s a small table in the corner of the kitchen, and it’s here that I sit down. I find that I’m ravenous, despite what I’ve got planned for later on. Skipping meals and staying up late two nights in a row makes you hungry.

Not to mention having some incredible sex.

I slow down in the middle of chewing a bite of egg and toast. Flynn. I wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen last night. It’s not even like I was on the prowl for anybody to sleep with. It all happened so suddenly. But even before that, I don’t know … he was a sweet guy. I don’t know how he knows the Bullets, but I’m glad he was there. As nervous as I was, somehow having him there beside me made it all a bit easier.

Oh well. We’re from two different worlds, and it’s not like I’m going to run in to him any time soon. After today, after I get in with the Bullets, then my bar-hopping days are over. I’m going to focus exclusively on the Bullets, so there’ll be no chance of bumping in to him again.

I swallow the bite, and suddenly my food doesn’t seem as appealing as it did a moment ago. But I force myself to eat it anyway.

When I finish eating I check the time again and see that it’s only eleven thirty. I have to kill some time. Taking off my leather jacket, I fill the sink up with water and wash the dishes. Once those are done I wipe down the counters, then strip out of my clothing and go to take a shower, washing my hair this time. Once I’m all clean I get dressed—in similar clothes to what I was wearing last night—and make sure my hair is dry. When I check the clock again it’s almost one in the afternoon.

It’s showtime.

I say goodbye to my mom, giving her a kiss on the top of her head, and then leave by the front door, stepping out into the sunshine and locking it behind me.

I walk up to my bike and swing my leg over, turn on the engine, kick it into life. It’s a Monday so there are only a few people out on the street. Some of them look my way, but I avoid their glances as I turn out onto the road and start to head northeast.

The warehouse is a bit farther out than Point Blank, and I take a similar route to what I did last night. Skirting around the police station in case anybody recognizes me, I ride along, going past the turn that would take me to the bar. Heading farther up north I approach the old industrial area, roughly paved roads with mechanic’s shops and warehouses all around. Most of them are standing, but some are torn down, either demolished or having just fallen apart over years of disuse.

Traveling east along the bottom of the area, I turn up north again and then, just past an old packing plant, I see it. The Bullets’ warehouse. A large, square building, it’s surrounded by chain-link fence with a paved parking lot spanning the distance between them. Outside the front door are several motorcycles, all parked next to one another. My heart races as I slow down, and I quickly quiet my fears.

It’s going to be okay. Just stay in character; you’ll be fine.

Pulling into the parking lot, I park my bike at the end and turn it off. The engine cuts, leaving me drenched in the silence of this desolate part of the city. I get off the bike and walk past the rest of them, hearing my boots scrape against the asphalt. As I get closer to the metal door I start to hear voices coming from inside—echoing shouts, and laughter. My heart is pounding, and I stop in front of the door, feeling my face tingle with nervousness, my hands almost like they’re asleep.

Suddenly, voices appear inside of my head.

Go. Run. You’re not ready yet. Just keep going to bars, keep getting into this. These people are serious, they killed Sal, they kill for fun. You could die, Trista, you could die!

I realize I’m breathing through my mouth now and it’s shaky. I’m shaky. The echoing shouts come through again and I reach out to grab onto the door handle … and stop.

My mouth is dry. I swallow. I want to throw up. That breakfast sits like a rock in my stomach and all I want to do is go away and pretend nothing like this is even happening.

No.

I pull in a long, slow breath, and let it out, just as slowly. I swallow again.

You’re good. You’re golden. They liked you last night. Just go in, say you want to become a member. Don’t take no for an answer. Think about Sal.

My hands don’t feel as cold. My breath isn’t shaky anymore. More laughter floats out through the metal separation, and I take one more deep breath, clearing my mind, and then I grab onto the handle and open the door.

I step into the space and immediately I’m surrounded by vast, echoing sound. The talking and laughter dies and the door swings shut behind me, making a loud, metallic, slamming sound. My eyes are used to the bright light outside, and right now everything seems pitch black. I have to blink quickly to adjust them, and I take a step forward, seeing just through a blur the outlines of people all looking at me.

“Who’s that?” somebody calls out.

“I don’t know,” says another voice. “Who are you?”

My persona washes over me, and with every step, with every blink that clears my vision, I feel her come alive.

“This is the Bullets, right?” I call back. “I got the right place?”

“Oh, holy shit, it’s that girl from last night.”

“Wow. Yeah.”

“Hey, what’re you doing here?”

My eyes have adjusted and now I can see them all, and the space around them. The inside of this place is vast, with most of the floor space empty. There’s a glass-walled office off to the side, and beyond that some rows of shelving. Oil drums, stacks of wooden pallets, and some other industrial garbage are scattered about, giving the space a sense of being filled in. There’s also a long table with office chairs seated around it.

But right now nobody’s sitting. They’re all standing, looking at me, a few holding bottles of beer. I recognize them and can put a few names to the faces. Maddox. Chloe. Chris. Jackie. The others are a bit fuzzy, but I remember that Maddox is the leader. It’s to him that I focus my attention.

“I wanted to join,” I say to him. “I want to join the Bullets.”

Maddox furrows his brow a little and a few of them laugh. I keep my gaze on Maddox, though, keep his eyes locked with mine.

But just then there’s the sound of boots scraping against the concrete floor and somebody comes out from the space between the office and the first shelf. He’s tall, and handsome, and he’s got a beer in his hand. And when I glance over to him and our eyes meet, I see him raise his eyebrows as my mouth drops open.

Flynn. He’s here. He’s here with the Bullets and he’s … he wearing a Bullets jacket.

“Trista?” he says, and a few of the others turn to look at Flynn before looking back at me.

“Check it out, Flynn,” Tyrone says. “That chick from last night is here. She wants to join our gang.”

My mind races and my heart beats hard—but for a different reason this time—as I watch Flynn walk closer, joining the rest of the group. I have to tear my eyes away from him and look back at Maddox, who’s now regarding me with scrutiny.

“Trista … right?” Maddox says, and I try to summon up my alternate persona, nodding.

“Maddox, right?” I say in return.

He nods. “What made you think you could come here?”

I can feel Flynn staring at me, and I try to avoid his gaze as I shrug and look out over the warehouse, passing my glance over a few of the other Bullets as I do.

“I’ve been checking this town out,” I say to him, to the group at large. “Seeing what’s good, seeing what isn’t. I don’t want to waste my time with any little punk who’s just in it for the free ride.” Back to Maddox. “You guys seem legit. So I thought I would join.”

I see Alyssa nod, smiling, out of the corner of my eye. Maddox, however, doesn’t look as impressed.

“You thought you would join?” he says my words back to me. “That’s a pretty optimistic notion you have there.”

I let a smile touch the corners of my lips, but I don’t say anything. Maddox’s eyes stay on mine.

“You know, we don’t usually like strangers waltzing in here, demanding to join the Bullets.”

“I’m not a stranger,” I point out. “And I’m not demanding.”

“How do I know you’re not a cop?” he says. “Huh? How do I know you don’t got a wire on you?”

“You can check me, if you want,” I say, raising my arms halfway, my palms open. “No wire, no gun.”

Maddox’s eyes move quickly down my body and up again. Then he looks to one of the others and inclines his head. Boots scrape against the concrete and a few seconds later Chloe is beside me, patting me down.

“Don’t you think Flynn should be doing that?” Tyrone jokes, and I will myself not to blush as I keep looking at Maddox, him still looking at me. Flynn doesn’t say anything.

Chloe stands back up, having just gone down the legs of my jeans.

“She’s clean,” she says, and Maddox nods as Chloe leaves my side. I lower my arms.

“So you want to be a Bullet,” Maddox says, finally taking his eyes away from mine and looking out over the warehouse, as though musing to himself. I try not to smile as I nod. He’s considering it, I think, congratulating myself. Hang in there, you’re almost there.

“That’s right,” I say.

“You know, we actually get a lot of kids coming in, wanting to join up with us. Haven’t had one in a while, though.”

I don’t say anything to that.

“We’re not just some little clubhouse where we sit around and drink beer and ride on our motorcycles. It’s dangerous work, what we do.”

“I know.”

“You don’t just sign up and join our mailing list. It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work?”

He looks at me. “You have to prove yourself.”

The look in his eyes … he’s serious.

“Tell me what I have to do.”

There’s a smirk at the side of his mouth.

“Tell you. Why don’t I show you?”

And with that Maddox turns and walks past me, leaves the entire group as he heads for the front door. I watch him go, leave without another word. When the door slams shut behind him I turn back and look at all the others.

Everybody looks uneasy or uncomfortable. All except for Flynn. Our eyes meet and for a fleeting second I feel like I see something in him beyond what this group is, beyond that jacket and the beer in his hand. But then Matthias speaks up and it’s gone.

“Maddox doesn’t trust you,” he says, and I turn my head to look at him. “He talked about you last night, when you and Flynn were playing pool. Said you looked out of place.”

Fuck. “Like I said, I’ve been checking this town out. Last night was the first time I’ve been to Point Blank. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“So you thought you’d come here the next day and just ask to join us?” Jackie asks, and I swing my gaze over to her. “Do you even know who we are?”

I give a slow blink. “I know who you are. And I know who you aren’t. You aren’t the type to just give in. You aren’t the type not to take what you want. This city’s got a lot to give up, and I want to be in when it’s all taken. I know the score. I know about the drugs, the weapons. It’s all yours. And the stuff that isn’t should be yours. There shouldn’t be a bunch of gangs wandering around. There should only be one. Us.”

Jackie holds my gaze for a moment longer before dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Hey Flynn,” Chris pipes up. “You’re quiet. What do you think about this?”

My heart skips a beat. I look over at Flynn and he meets my gaze for a moment, then gives me a smile.

“I think it’ll be good,” he says, and it feels like there are butterflies in my stomach. “I think she’ll be good here.”

Just then a door on the other side of the warehouse opens up and we all spin around to see Maddox coming in, bringing with him a mangy-looking dog scrabbling to get away. The dog has a length of rope around its neck that Maddox is holding, and the dog barks, pulling at it, struggling to get free.

What the fuck? I think as Maddox fights to bring this dog over to the wall, where he ties up his end of the rope to an affixed pipe. When he steps back the dog pulls at its restraints but doesn’t go anywhere, scraping its long nails on the concrete floor as it moves around in a half-circle.

“Chloe,” Maddox says, looking at her. “Go get the gun from the office.”

Gun? I think as Chloe leaves for the office at the side. Maddox walks over to me, a little out of breath.

“Every person who wants to join us has to prove himself,” he says. “They have to show that they’ve got what it takes to be a Bullet.”

I see the mangy-looking dog still struggling over Maddox’s shoulder, but it’s not fighting as hard now. It seems to realize that it’s not going anywhere.

“I need to know that you can follow orders. I need to know you won’t back down when I need you the most.”

The dog starts to whine, a high-pitched noise coming out of its throat, and I feel my heart break. Chloe comes back from the office, a snub-nosed gun in her hand. She hands it to Maddox, who hands it to me. It feels heavy. I glance down and see that it’s fully loaded.

“These dogs hang out around the warehouses,” Maddox says. “They’re pretty friendly for the most part, and sometimes we give them scraps. Keeps them coming around. In case we need one of them. For instance, right now.”

Everybody else is silent. Maddox steps to the side and now there’s nothing blocking me from the dog. It whines again and it looks over at me. Its sad eyes stare into mine and it whines, the pitiful sound coming out of its mouth.

“Shoot it,” Maddox says, and my stomach is a twisting knot of snakes. “Walk up to that dog, and shoot it in the head.”

The gun feels really heavy now. Everybody is watching me. I can feel Flynn’s stare as I take a step forward, then another one. The dog sees me approaching and it whines again, shaking its tail. Nobody is speaking as I walk up to it, stepping just beyond the boundary of its rope.

The dog looks up at me. It doesn’t look angry or scared now, but it looks sad. I swallow.

Can I do this? I don’t know if I can.

Nobody behind me is speaking. Steeling myself, struggling to keep down the emotions that threaten to rise out of my chest, I thumb back the hammer of the gun and lift it to aim at the dog’s head.

The dog doesn’t move. I’m holding the gun with both hands, trying not to let it shake, as this poor, defenseless animal stares back at me.

Just do it, Trista. It’ll all be over soon. Just do it and put this thing out of its misery.

My finger is on the trigger. I can feel the resistance in it. Blinking and feeling one tear slide down my cheek, I close my eyes and finally pull the trigger.

Click.

My heart stops. I open my eyes to see the dog still staring at me. Behind me are whoops and hollers, some laughter, as I look at the gun in my hand. The trigger is drawn, and the hammer is down. Suddenly a hand pats me on the back.

“Not everybody can get through that,” Maddox says, and he takes the gun from my hand, smiling at me as he bounces it in his hand. “Empty shells. We filled them with lead to give them the weight.”

Another slap on the back and I feel stunned, unable to move or speak or do anything. But apparently it doesn’t matter. Maddox keeps his hand on my back as he spins me around where I see everybody looking at me, proud, Alyssa nodding her head again.

“Okay, everybody!” Maddox says. “Welcome the newest member of the Bullets. Trista,” he says as he turns to me, a bright smile on his face. “You’re in.”

Trista

It feels like I’m going to have a heart attack.

Every member of the Bullets is smiling at me, and as Maddox goes to untie that dog they all come up, patting me on the back, grabbing my hand and shaking it.

“Congratulations, Trista.”

“I knew you had chutzpah.”

“Way to go, kid.” I look up to see Flynn smiling down at me, his rich brown eyes glowing with admiration. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Inside of my brain there’s a battle going on. On one hand I want what Flynn and I had last night. I want that closeness, that companionship, that I’d never found anywhere else in my life before.

But on the other hand I have to remember where I am, have to remember who he is. He’s a Bullet, and I’m really a police officer. I’m deep behind enemy lines here, and I need to remember my role, remember who I’m purporting myself to be.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping my voice sounds cool. Another hand lands on my shoulder and it’s Tyrone, congratulating me. I thank him, stepping away from Flynn, and as I do I can’t help but look back over my shoulder. He’s watching me, and I have to tear my eyes away from him.

I watch Chloe pull a piece of jerky out from her back pocket and hand it to Maddox. He gives it to the dog to eat before letting it loose by the back door where it promptly runs away. Then he walks back.

“Okay people!” he yells out. “New member aside, let’s get back to what we were talking about before. Will sent me an e-mail saying we’re getting a new shipment in soon, maybe in a week or so. He said he wants this place cleaned up and set up to cut, package, and ship the product.”

I can’t believe it. I haven’t been a member for two minutes and already they’re talking about getting a shipment of drugs! Of course the Bullets are a distributor, but even if they’re taken down now that won’t get rid of their supplier.

“I want this garbage taken out of here,” Maddox points to the oil drums and other trash near the walls, “and the place set up. Trista, Flynn,” he says, turning to face us as the other Bullets begin scattering about, getting to work. “I need you to take her out to show her our buildings. She needs to know where things are for when she needs them. Don’t take too long, okay?”

“Uhh, are you sure you don’t want me here to help set up?” I ask. I don’t want to lose this chance!

“We’re fine here.” Maddox levels his gaze at me. He turns to Flynn. “Quickly, Flynn.” And then Maddox turns and walks away, heading toward the office.

I watch him go, his grizzled mane of hair retreating from us. When I turn to look at Flynn he turns at the same time, and our eyes lock for a moment. It feels like I’m trapped. I don’t know what to say. Flynn’s the one who breaks eye contact, swallowing before he says, “Come on. We’ve got places to see.”

He turns and leads the way to the front door. I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides, and soon enough we’re outside, blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Where’s your bike?” he asks.

“I put it at the end,” I tell him. Flynn nods when he sees it.

“We’ll go to the bar first. I’ll lead the way. Try not to fall behind.”

The bar? I could be inside, seeing what kind of information I can get out of everyone. But Flynn doesn’t wait for an answer as he climbs onto his own bike and starts it up.

I walk over to mine, reminding myself to stay in character, and start my bike up. Flynn heads out of the lot and I follow behind him, glancing back at the warehouse one last time.

We won’t be gone long. Besides, it’s not like I can do everything in one day. Take your time, Trista. Calm down.

Flynn rides faster than he should, and I really have to push my bike to keep up. He goes south out of the warehouse district and then west, approaching the bar from the back. Turning onto its street, we slow down as we pull into the almost-empty parking lot. Only a few bikes and a couple of cars are parked here. Flynn parks his bike and I pull mine up beside his, turning it off. We get off and he leads the way inside.

The bar seems dark and depressing at this time of day. There are a couple of guys playing pool—leather jackets, no stitching—and a few people at the bar, drinks in front of them. Flynn walks through the empty space and I follow as he makes his way up to the bar. My eyes glance over to the bathroom where Flynn and I had sex last night. I feel like he’s going to say something about it, maybe ask me for another round, but he doesn’t. Instead he stops in front of the bar and I do the same. The bartender comes over.

“Hey, Flynn,” the woman says. “You’re here early.”

Her eyes flick over to me and she gives me a once-over before returning back to Flynn.

“Got a new recruit,” Flynn tells her. “Trista, this is our bartender, Marla. Marla, this is Trista.”

I reach out my hand and shake hers.

“I’m supposed to show her around. Is it okay to go in the back?”

“Sure, it’s all clear,” Marla says. “You want anything to drink?”

“Yeah, I could do with something to wet my whistle,” Flynn says with a smile.

We’re going to be out of here soon. Drinking and driving.

But I shake my head as Marla takes out two glasses and fills them with beer. She comes back and puts them on the bar in front of us where Flynn takes his immediately. I reach inside my shirt, taking out some cash tucked away in my bra. When I try to hand it over, though, Marla only raises an eyebrow and Flynn puts a gentle hand on my arm.

“It’s free,” he says to me, and I lower my hand down, feeling myself start to blush.

“Little wet behind the ears, ain’t she?” Marla asks Flynn. I stuff the cash back in place.

“It’s her first day,” he says to her. “Besides, she’s not from around here.”

“Oh no? Where you from?” Marla asks, looking at me.

I freeze for a moment, before remembering my persona’s back story.

“Pasadena,” I say to her.

“When’d you move here?”

“Just about a year ago.” Marla narrows her eyes.

“You been here a year and you don’t know gang members don’t pay at their own bars?”

I swallow, then level my gaze at the woman.

“Sorry,” I say to her. “I’ve been making my way on the streets, trying to survive. I didn’t exactly have the luxury of dropping in to every bar in town.”

Marla stares at me, her gaze narrowed, and I stare right back at her. Then she blinks, and her eyes lower for a moment before she looks at both of us.

“We all gotta make our way somehow,” she says, and then with a smile at Flynn, “Let me know if you need anything else, Flynn.”

“Thanks, Marla. We’ll let you know.”

Marla turns back without giving me another glance and I pick up my beer, take a long drink out of it. Then I turn to look at Flynn.

“Well?” I ask. “Are you showing me the back room, or what?”

Flynn nods, quiet, before leading the way behind the bar, through a door in the back.

There’s no one back here as we make our way along linoleum flooring, past crates with empty beer bottles, and silver beer kegs sitting side by side along one wall. A door with the word Office is on the left, and it’s here that Flynn takes me. He opens it up to a small square room with a desk in the middle, chair behind it, a calendar, and a couple of pictures up on the walls.

“There’s a key here,” Flynn tells me as he walks around the desk. It’s pretty cramped in here so I stay at the front of the desk. I take a sip of my beer, watching him put his down as he opens up one of the drawers. Then he rolls his eyes. “Ugh, I’ve told Marla to tidy this place up,” and he begins fishing around inside.

As I watch, my thoughts go back to last night … to the drunken, unexpected encounter I had with him in the bathroom stall. In the bathroom stall! I’ve never done anything like that, never even dreamed of it. The last boyfriend I had was back in high school, and his family was Christian. It’s a wonder we even had sex. I’d just never found the time for romance in my life, what with police training and my job and …

Wait a minute, what am I talking about? Romance? What happened between Flynn and me wasn’t romance. It wasn’t even … anything. I’m sure that kind of thing happens to him all the time. Even with Marla … I saw the way she looked at him. No, I’m probably just another notch on Flynn’s belt. I mean, he hasn’t even said anything about it anyway …

Flynn finally takes a key out, looking relieved. It’s got a loop of brown string through it in place of a key ring.

“Found it,” he says, closing the drawer shut. He picks up his beer and takes a long drink. “Okay, come on.”

I’m ushered out of the small room and Flynn closes the door, then takes me farther back in the bar. There’s some standalone shelving here, holding crates of glasses, some cleaning supplies, extra rolls of toilet paper. Flynn takes a turn at the back of one of the shelves and we go deeper into the bowels of this building. Old, rotting wooden crates are stacked up, and some broken mop handles lean against the wall. Finally I see a door against the far wall, and it’s here that Flynn takes us. He puts the key in the lock and turns it, pushing the door open.

If I was expecting some sort of secret bunker-type room with shelves holding stacks of gold bricks, I would have been severely disappointed. Instead Flynn flicks on the light and I see it’s just an old utility closet. While there’s shelving along the walls, all that occupies it are stacks of dusty, filthy aprons, some cans of Ajax that look to be from the Seventies, piles of empty manila file folders, the edges of which look to have been chewed by rats. Down on the ground I see a disgusting pile of old rags that must be moldy, plastic containers leaking cleaning fluid, and dirt and grime everywhere. If a health inspector were to see this room alone, this entire bar could be shut down.

Flynn takes a drink of beer before putting the glass on the shelf, right next to the stack of file folders.

“Okay, now,” he says, dropping down to a squat, “behind these there’s a fake wall.”

Reaching forward, Flynn grabs the pile of moldy-looking rags and pulls them to the side. I want to gag at the sight of it, especially since the wall behind it looks discolored from their being there. But when I look at it more closely, the discolored part of the wall actually seems edged in black. And when Flynn puts his hands on it and gives it a push, that section of wall tilts out and he pulls the panel away, placing it to the side.

In the cavity left behind I see bundles of bills bound with white paper, all stacked up. Beside the bills is a white cloth sack, and Flynn pulls that out, loosening the drawstring that’s holding it closed. He opens it for me and I look in to see half a dozen handguns and some boxes of ammunition.

“You said you didn’t have a gun, right?” Flynn asks me, and I look up at him.

“Huh?”

“At the warehouse. You said you didn’t have a gun.” He gives the bag a little shake.

“Oh, no,” I say to him. “I … I can get my own.”

“You need a gun,” Flynn says to me. “And that’s what these are here for. They’re extras. Take one.”

I really don’t want to take some stolen gun, but I have no choice, so I switch the beer to my other hand and reach down into the cloth bag. The various pieces of metal all feel cool to my fingertips and I wrap my hand around one of them, pulling it out. Flynn looks at it and reaches inside, brings out a box of ammo, which he hands to me.

“The Glock,” he says. “Good choice.”

I turn over the gun in my hand, looking at it. As Flynn is cinching the sack back up, I see the serial number imprinted on the side.

“Hey,” I say to him. “This has a serial number on it.”

“Yeah,” he says. He stows the bag back into the cavity. “All our guns are registered. We don’t mess around with something like that.”

Huh.

“This is twenty thousand,” Flynn tells me, pointing at the cash. “It’s money for emergencies only, okay?”

“Got it,” I say, and I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans, underneath my jacket. The ammo I stuff into my jacket pocket.

I watch as Flynn resets the piece of wall and puts the moldy-looking rags back in place. Then he stands up and I back out of the closet as he takes his beer, turns off the light, comes back out, and locks the door.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go back out.”

I’m in front now so I lead the way back, around the standalone shelving, back to the office where Flynn puts the key back in the drawer. Then we head back and find ourselves behind the bar again where Marla looks over from a book she’s reading.

“Hey,” Flynn says to her. “Clean up back there.”

“I like it how it is,” she says, going back to her book. Flynn shakes his head and we step out from behind the bar.

“All right,” Flynn says. “Bottoms up, off to the next place.”

He begins drinking his glass of beer and I stare at mine—it’s still over three-quarters full! But regardless I tilt it back and begin chugging, trying to ignore the building gas in my stomach, trying to relax my throat so I don’t choke.

Flynn brings his empty glass down with a sigh and I’m only halfway through mine. I have to take a break, swallowing the mouthful and gasping for breath afterward. Flynn only smiles and shakes his head.

“Not a big drinker?” he asks, and I try to suppress the burning in my cheeks. “Here, I’ll finish it for you.”

He holds out his hand but I keep a tight grip on my glass, give him a dangerous look, and proceed to keep guzzling beer. It takes me almost ten seconds, but I finally finish the last of it, putting my empty glass down on the bar with a thud. Flynn’s smile is wider and I open my mouth to speak, but a long, relieving belch leaves me instead. This time I actually do blush as Flynn laughs.

“Not bad, not bad,” he says. “Okay come on, let’s go.”

Flynn says goodbye to Marla and leads the way out of the bar. I follow him, trying not to swerve as I walk. We step out into the bright light of the sun and my head is swimming. Back onto our bikes, the gun feels strange tucked into my jeans. Soon we’re off, leaving the bar and riding down the road.

I feel nervous, being on my bike after having drunk so much beer so quickly, but the air whipping against my face helps to keep me alert. We zip through the streets, riding alongside cars in traffic. Sometimes Flynn turns sharply down a narrow side street and I almost skid trying to follow him.

But eventually we get to a self-storage facility, one of the few in the city. Flynn and I ride up to the gate at the front and he punches in a key code, which causes the gate to automatically open up. Going in, he takes me down to a door at the far end where we park our bikes and get off.

“There’s a set of keys,” Flynn tells me as he fishes his out of his pocket, “we’ll have to make for you.”

He unlocks the door and we walk into a narrow corridor that branches off in three directions. Flynn and I head left, past identical door after identical door. We make a right, then a left again, going through a labyrinth of identical corridors. Finally we stop in front of one and Flynn unlocks the heavy padlock on the door, and rolls it up.

It’s dark as we step inside, and then he rolls it down again, cutting off all light completely. For a long moment he and I are shrouded in pitch blackness. I hear his boots against the concrete flooring and I wonder if he’s going to try to make a move. My heart begins to beat more quickly, and down low in my belly I feel a strange stirring. Almost like a longing for something that isn’t there.

But the feeling is swiftly cut off as I hear a click and overhead lights blink into life. Inside I feel a falling, as though from disappointment. But I hide it as I look around the storage unit, unable to believe my eyes.

There’s shelving built into all three available walls. Stacked, occupying every possible space on the shelves, and the floor underneath it, are crates and crates of weapons. Flynn goes to some of them, opening them up. There are handguns, shotguns, semi-automatic and automatic rifles. Some of the crates are given over to boxes and boxes of ammo. There are bulletproof vests and police riot gear. He even shows me a box that contains hand grenades.

“This is one of our three caches,” Flynn tells me. “There’s one in every storage place. Some of these crates have money in them … you can see, they’re marked with a green sticker.”

Indeed there are a few crates here and there with a green circle sticker on them.

“Jesus,” I can’t help but say. “This is … is it okay to store this all in here?”

“We passed it by the owners,” Flynn tells me. “And everything here is registered and verifiable, even the hand grenades. We have somebody come in once a week to check on everything, make sure nothing’s been tampered with, make sure everything’s oiled and secure.”

They’ve got it all figured out, I think. Maybe busting them won’t be so easy after all …

“Do you have any questions about anything so far?” Flynn asks me, and I turn to look at him.

“What are you planning on doing with all this?”

He gives me a smile, and it’s a struggle not to melt.

“Well, we’re part of a pretty big thing,” he says, closing the lids of the crates he’s opened. “And when you’re this big you tend to have enemies. There’s no plan in mind right now, but it’s always good to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

Flynn shrugs, and he doesn’t look at me now.

“War. Petty battles. Persuading people to do the right thing. It all depends.” He closes the last lid, snapping the clasp shut. Then he looks at me again. “All good?”

“Yeah,” I say to him, and we leave the storage unit, Flynn turning off the light before pulling the door open.

We snake through the labyrinthine corridors again and then step out into the sun. Flynn blinks up at it, breathes a sigh.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” he says, looking at me. “You don’t need to see the other caches, do you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Flynn nods. “Good. I’ll give you the addresses and the unit numbers. And we’ll get those keys to you.” He breathes out another sigh. “There’s just one more place to go, and then we’ll head back. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Flynn and I walk to our bikes and get on, Flynn leading the way out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Flynn’s not actually such a bad guy, I’m finding out. I didn’t know he was a member of the Bullets when we met last night, but even then he was a sweet guy, not to mention easy on the eyes. I don’t know if he planned to have sex with me like that or not, but he hasn’t been hitting on me now that we’re alone together, which is a pleasant surprise. I thought he’d take advantage of this time out. But he’s not.

We go north, up toward the warehouse district, and I feel like he’s going to take us back to the Bullets warehouse but he doesn’t. Instead of turning east he keeps going north, then makes a turn left.

At night this area is like a no man’s land for police officers. It’s almost like no rules exist here. We know that bad things are happening, but the people doing those bad things aren’t afraid to fight back. Going in here on your own when you’re in uniform is like printing out your own death certificate.

For a while I wonder where we’re headed, but then Flynn starts to pull off in front of a particularly beat-up looking warehouse and my jaw drops when I see it more clearly.

The chain-link fence in front of the large building is broken, and the dusty dirt that makes up its lot is riddled with trash. Most, if not all, of the windows have been broken and pockmarked holes riddle the building, all around the front and a little up the sides. My stomach churns as we slow down enough to park our bikes, not inside the lot but just beyond it. Flynn cuts his engine and I do the same to mine. The resulting silence feels heavy and oppressive as we look up at this building laid to waste.

“This,” he says, “is our old headquarters. This is where the shootout with the Chains happened.”

I feel sick. I feel frozen in place. But Flynn is putting down his kickstand and getting off his bike and I know I have to do the same.

I feel numb as he slowly leads the way past the broken fence, into the lot itself. I look around, taking in the sights, feeling it hit a wall just in front of my brain. We walk forward and I notice that there are bullet casings scattered around, mixed in with the dirt. The oil drums look punctured. There’s a stack of wooden crates, some of them knocked over, others lying broken on the ground.

For a moment I’m afraid Flynn is going to take us inside, but luckily he doesn’t. Instead he stops, staring around, the weight of all of this heavy on both of us.

“Did you hear about what happened?” Flynn asks me. “It was almost eight months ago.”

Yes, I think to myself. I heard what happened. My brother was killed here. My mom went into shock. Eventually I swore revenge on those who killed him. And one of them is standing right next to me.

I feel my upper lip curl, my jaw clenching together. Suddenly that numbness is gone, making way for anger, seething anger at the incredible injustice that runs rampant in this city. A noise comes into my ear seemingly from far away but all I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears. All I can see is the sweet justice these fucking Bullets are going to receive.

The noise comes again. Softly, “Trista?” And then again, “Trista?”

A shiver runs over me and I actually give myself a shake, looking over at Flynn. He’s looking down at me, concern on his face.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” I stammer. “I just … this is a bad place.”

He becomes solemn again, nods his head. I struggle to hide my seething rage.

“I used to love this place,” he says, looking out over it. “We would get drunk, over there,” he points to the corner of the lot. “And inside it was like a home, you know? The best home I ever had.”

I have to swallow down my anger. “Must’ve been painful to shoot it up,” I say, trying to keep my persona intact.

But Flynn shakes his head. “I wasn’t here,” he tells me. “When this happened.”

I furrow my brow.

“You weren’t here? But I thought … I mean, I heard that it was the Bullets versus the Chains.”

“It was,” Flynn tells me. “But I didn’t go. One of the Chains almost broke the arm of a Slinger who tried stiffing him. I thought it was funny when the Slingers told us, but Maddox got all up in arms, and he sent a few guys over to the Chain Gang to threaten the Chains. Well, I don’t know why things escalated the way they did, but the next fucking day we’re told, in the middle of the night, that there’s going to be a fight and it’s going to be here. I thought Maddox was kidding when he texted me that, so I called him and he said no, it’s real. Get your ass down here.

“But I had a bad feeling, so I didn’t go. And I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about that, even now. I mean, I’m alive. But if I’d been here, how many more people would be? Or how many more would be dead? I don’t know. I don’t know.”

I’m watching him as he lets out a sad sigh.

“We lost a lot of good people that night,” he says to me. “A lot of lives taken that shouldn’t have been. All because of some stupid argument.”

“You mean you lost a lot of good Bullets,” I say to him, and Flynn looks down at me, narrows his eyes.

“No,” he says. “I mean a lot of good people. Chains and Bullets alike. We may be in different gangs, but we’re still all people, and nobody expects that kind of a death. Nobody.”

He looks away from me again, but I keep watching him a moment longer. That anger in me isn’t there anymore. It’s replaced with something else … something better.

Flynn lets out another sigh.

“Come on. I don’t want to be here anymore. Let’s go back.”

We turn around and walk out of the warehouse lot, past the broken fence, back to our bikes. Neither of us speaks, and when we climb on and kick our bikes into life I feel something in me reaching out to Flynn. Wanting to … I don’t know. Do something.

We ride away, leaving that depressing site behind us. East we go now, and south, down to the edge of the warehouse district and back to the Bullets’ current warehouse. I feel nervous again at approaching the gang. They all seemed like nice people last night. They’re not all like Flynn, are they? Tough on the outside, but soft on the inside?

We make a right-hand turn, and then continue straight down to the warehouse at the end. As we approach it, though, my stomach bottoms out when I see a police cruiser parked in the lot. I slow down a bit, but then continue on, staring at it as we get closer.

The car is empty, which means whoever drove it must be inside. Flynn and I pull up and park our bikes alongside the others, then we get off. My heart is pounding in my chest. As we walk toward the front door Flynn doesn’t even seem to notice the car. We’re just about to reach the door when Flynn slows down and stops.

“Hey,” he says, turning to look at me. “I feel like I need to tell you something. Something about me.”

“Um, okay,” I say. I glance at the car, and then the door to the warehouse. Whoever’s inside could come out at any minute.

“Last night,” he begins, and I look at him, “was a lot of fun. But I have to tell you, just so we’re clear on where we stand, that I have a policy.”

“A policy?” I ask, keeping my eyes on Flynn but watching the door just behind him.

“Yeah. I don’t want to get into it, but I never sleep with the same girl twice.”

“Oh,” I say to him. My fingers feel like they’re tingling. I swear I can hear voices.

“I don’t know, though …” he goes on. “I mean, you’re a cool girl, and for some reason what happened last night …I don’t know. It was different.”

The voices have stopped and now it’s footsteps. I hear them approach it and then the door scrapes against the floor as it starts to open.

“I feel like I felt something between us. You know? Did you feel anythi—”

Behind Flynn I see the blue uniform of a police officer, and just underneath the blue cap the face of Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie.

My heart stops. It all happens in the blink of an eye. I reach forward, grab onto Flynn’s jacket, and pull him down to me, kissing him. His words are cut off in a muffled shout as I hear Deputy Captain Mackenzie’s farewell stop short. Pulling Flynn toward me, I pin myself between him and the wall, being sure to keep myself out of the view of the others.

Flynn’s lips feel shocked and firm for a moment, but then they soften and his strong arms envelop me.

“Oh,” comes the deputy captain’s voice. “Excuse me.”

Neither Flynn nor I respond as I hear his footsteps crunch in the parking lot, retreating as he walks to his car. But for some reason those sounds don’t seem to matter as much to me anymore. My lips part and I feel Flynn’s tongue enter my mouth, my own tongue dancing alongside his. Somewhere in the distance a car starts, tires crunch as it backs up, then it drives away.

Slowly, slowly, I force myself to slow down, and then I pull my head back, just enough to stop kissing Flynn. His arms are still around me, and I’m surprised to find my hands on his chest, underneath his jacket, my fingers holding onto him.

I open my eyes and see him open his. I feel flushed. My heart is racing at a mile a minute. But then I pull myself away, as much as my body cries for me not to.

“I … I’m sorry,” I say when I step out of his arms, off to the side. “I um … what were you saying?”

Flynn clears his throat.

“I was saying that I never sleep with the same girl twice.”

We look at each other.

“Oh,” I mutter.

Flynn swallows.

“We should go inside.”

And without waiting for a response he turns and walks into the warehouse. I take a moment to compose myself—and to pointedly ignore the dampness between my legs—and then I take in a breath, let it out, and go in too.

Flynn

My cell phone buzzes on my bedside table and my eyes fly open.

I’m in my bed. I was just fast asleep, but the cell phone woke me up. Through the open shades on my window I see the sunlight streaming in. There’s no arm draped across my body, nobody lying in my bed beside me. I turn my head on my pillow, looking at the empty space next to me and breathe in a sigh.

I was having a dream. A dream about her. Trista. I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about her so much lately. Nothing’s happened between us, not since last week when she kissed me out of the blue in front of that cop. I didn’t bring it up, and neither did she. And even though she’s been at the warehouse and the bar, sometimes during the day, sometimes only at night, I can’t seem to get my mind off of her.

I breathe out a deep sigh. What’s wrong with me?

Am I so shallow that I’ve completely forgotten about Elizabeth? What happened to her happened over five years ago, and while I’ve tried to move on I still haven’t forgotten about her. She was my first love. She was everything to me. I close my eyes, remembering my dream. It was of Trista holding me, looking up into my eyes. Those emerald green eyes, her beautiful red hair. She smelled so good. And the way she looked at me …

No. I have to get my mind away from her. She’s not interested in me. Otherwise she would have done something, anything, this past week. And she hasn’t. So there you go.

But what about that kiss?

It came out of nowhere. I was in the middle of telling her I never sleep with the same girl twice and she kissed me. She kissed me! And then nothing. Well … maybe I shouldn’t say nothing. I’ve seen her looking at me, at times when she thinks I don’t notice. Around the meeting table her eyes wander over, and if I glance at her then she looks away. Even at the bar, if she’s a few beers in she’ll talk just a little too close to me, maybe put her hand on my knee when she’s making a point. It’s at those times that I feel my cock stir in my pants, but beyond that my heart starts beating fast and my palms feel sweaty. And then Trista, as though she realizes what she’s doing, pulls her hand away and the moment’s over. It’s over.

I shake my head. I’ve got to get this girl off of my mind. I’ve got to get together with somebody else.

But that’s another problem: I’ve found I haven’t been looking for anybody else. A few days ago at the bar, for instance, I saw this smoking-hot girl standing by herself having a drink. I’d never seen her before, and my cock was already reminding me of just how long it’s been since I last got laid. But I didn’t go over there. Not because she was off-limits or anything. But because Trista was sitting beside me, and … and I didn’t want to leave.

“Ugggh,” I moan, closing my eyes. This sucks. This is ruining my life. I have to figure things out between us. I have to get her off of my mind. Starting today.

I sit up in bed and reach over, grab my cell phone off of the nightstand. I turn on the display and see that Maddox has texted me.

Got an assignment for you. Come to the warehouse

I reply back, telling him I’m on my way, and get up out of bed.

Slipping on some clothes, shrugging my Bullets jacket on over my shoulders, I leave by the front door and take the elevator down to the parking lot. My bike is there and I get on, start it up, ride away onto the road and head northwest along my usual route to the warehouse.

When I get there I see a few bikes parked outside of the building, but some of them don’t look immediately familiar. As I get closer I see one bike that’s Maddox’s and three beat-up, dirty-looking things with tires gone practically bald and chrome finishes having chipped away long ago.

Slingers.

Those fucking guys. The only reason we hire them is because they’ll do any shit job we tell them to. Their specialty is drugs, hence their name, but honestly I wouldn’t trust these guys as far as I can throw them. Which is pretty fucking far, considering how scrawny they all are.

I push the door open and walk inside to see Maddox and the three Slingers around the meeting table. I walk up and join them. Sitting on the table are about two dozen small baggies of white powder—either coke or heroin, I can’t tell.

“Hello, Flynn,” Maddox says.

I nod to him, and then glance around at the Slingers. I don’t spend much time getting to know these pieces of shit, but I’m pretty sure their “names” are Olly, Twixer, and Aces. Aces is the girl, the other two are guys. They give me crooked smiles, their sunken eyes already glassy, even though it’s still the morning.

I turn to Maddox. “What’s going on?”

But he only tilts his head and says, “We’re waiting on one more. Then I’ll tell you.”

So the five of us stand around the table, not talking. The Slingers keep sniffing, and I see their eyes dart down to the baggies on the table. A few minutes of silence go by. Aces scratches her arm but doesn’t say anything. Finally the front door of the warehouse opens and I look over to see who the final person is. My heart skips a beat when she walks in.

Trista marches through the open space, wearing her leather jacket with the stitching Maddox had put in late last week. I see her eyes dart to me and then look away, and I swear I can see color rise up in her cheeks. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Flynn! Stop it!

I mentally shake my head and Trista joins us at the table. She takes in the plastic baggies and then she looks at Maddox.

“What’s going on?” she asks him.

“I have an assignment for you five,” Maddox tells us. “This is some of the newest product. Coke. It’s already been cut, so it’s ready to go. Olly, Twixer, Aces, I want you three to go to the college and try selling it off to the students there. Flynn, Trista, you two are going to make sure these three don’t just snort the entire stash.”

I see Trista’s mouth open and she blinks at Maddox, but then she closes it.

“I thought we were going to lie low and wait to get the new shipment in before we starting slinging.”

“Yeah well, we got a preview in of the latest batch,” Maddox tells her. “Might as well get people interested.”

“Yeah, but,” Trista goes on, “the college? It’s … the middle of the day. We could get caught.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maddox tells her. “These guys know what they’re doing, it’s in their blood. You won’t get caught.”

“But … isn’t there campus security? And sometimes the cops come by just to check the place out, don’t they?”

“You won’t have to worry if the cops come by,” Maddox says, and that makes Trista frown. “And as for campus security, if they kick up a fuss just give them a little convincing that everything’s okay. You got it?”

Trista opens her mouth again, looking like she’s going to argue, but then she closes it and nods.

“Okay,” she says.

“Great,” Maddox says, turning back to address the table. “Now these are quarter-gram bags, we’re gonna go twenty bucks a bag.” He focuses on the Slingers. “I want them all gone by the end of the day, and I want to see the full amount handed back to me. You try a little taste of any of these, or you try coming back short, and you’ll have to answer to these two.”

Maddox points to Trista and me, and I scowl at the Slingers, seeing Trista do the same out of the corner of my eye. The Slingers give us a nervous look and nod to Maddox.

“Okay,” Maddox says. “Get out of here. Flynn, Trista, leave your jacket. You’re too conspicuous.”

The Slingers begin shoving fistfuls of baggies into their pockets as Trista and I slip off our leather jackets, hanging them over the back of our chairs. I loosen my T-shirt and hide my gun underneath it, Trista doing the same with her tank top. As she does I see some of her firm stomach revealed and I have to swallow. But I pull my eyes away.

When we’re all ready, the five of us leave Maddox and head for the front door. We get outside and all of us mount our bikes, begin to ride off toward the college, almost at the other end of town.

We head west through the warehouse district. The three Slingers are leading the way, with Trista and me in the back. Her hair flies back behind her head as she rides and I can’t stop from looking over at her, watching her. We leave the district and reach the roads with more traffic, heading north a little bit and then continuing west.

The gigantic PharmaChem building looms over us to the south, moving slowly as we travel along. Up ahead the sun beats down, and riding without that leather jacket feels much more refreshing. Beside me I see Trista’s tank top cling to her skin, outlining her firm stomach, those pert round breasts. My cock threatens to harden and I have to pull my eyes away, focus on the road.

Finally we see the college campus start to reveal itself. Multiple buildings spread across streets that cut through, Santa Espera College is the only place where kids can keep on learning once they finish high school. It’s the summer so there aren’t many students out, but the ones taking summer courses walk down the streets wearing shorts, T-shirts, skirts, skimpy tops. They all look so young as they chat with one another, hang out on the steps of buildings. Some sit in groups on patches of grass underneath trees. Others skateboard or bike down the sidewalks, dodging in between those who are walking.

Our bikes slow down as we take one of the streets that cuts through the campus. Some students turn their heads, looking at us. I see others elbowing their friends, pointing at us and whispering. We take a right and go down another street, to where one of the parking lots sits. Bringing our bikes inside, we park them all together, then kill the engines and get off.

“Okay,” I say to the Slingers. “Where are we going?”

“Over there’s the best spot.” Aces points to a spot by the overhead pathway between buildings. It’s right on a pathway, grass on one side.

“Then let’s go. Trista and I will hang back.”

“You trust us?” Aces asks me.

“No,” I say to her. “But a group of five adults looks stranger than a group of three. At least we don’t look like we’re trying to sell drugs to kids.”

She doesn’t seem to know if that’s a joke or not, but she laughs anyway and then we head off. The Slingers all walk together, conversing, while Trista and I stay about ten yards behind. The Slingers head to their spot as Trista and I go to the grass on the other side of the path. We stand together, watching as they start calling student passers-by over.

“Why do we have to be here?” Trista asks, looking around. Young-looking students walk by wearing backpacks, happily talking with one another. “These are just kids.”

“You don’t like selling drugs to kids?” I ask her in a half-joking manner.

“Do you?” she asks, furrowing her brow. I give my head a tilt.

“Well, these kids want what they want. If we don’t give it to them, then they’ll just find someone else who will. Although … soon enough that’s actually not going to be true.”

The Slingers make a sale as the student pockets the small baggie. Olly saunters over to a pack of students standing nearby.

“Why don’t we just not give it to them?” Trista asks me as she watches. “They’re young; they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“What are you talking about? They’re in college! They’re practically adults.”

“Practically.” She snorts. “Did you know what you wanted when you were in college?”

“I never went to college,” I tell her, and Trista looks embarrassed.

“Oh,” she says.

“But you did?” I ask, honestly surprised.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, looking away again. “For a year. Then I dropped out.”

“What did you take?”

“Economics. But anyway, these kids are, like, eighteen and nineteen. They’re still just figuring things out. Do we really need to be ruining their lives so soon?”

“You’d rather we ruined their lives later on?”

“At least later on they’re not so impressionable.”

Two friends approach the Slingers by the walkway, obviously there to buy. Trista glances around, looking nervous.

“Calm down,” I say to her.

“Aren’t you afraid somebody’s going to catch us? It’s not like it’s not obvious what’s going on.”

“Relax. Like Maddox said, we own the cops. And security guards are always a bunch of pussies.”

“You don’t own all the cops,” she says, and I furrow my brow.

“You know,” I say, “you’re starting to sound a lot like somebody who doesn’t want to make money selling drugs.”

Trista opens her mouth, but looks embarrassed.

“I just don’t feel good being so exposed,” she says. I nod.

“Yeah, it takes a bit to get used to.” We’re silent for a moment. “So … if this stuff makes you so uncomfortable, then why do it? Why become a member of the Bullets?”

She looks at me, and I see a stubbornness behind her eyes.

“Are you questioning my loyalty to the gang?” she asks, and I feel caught.

“No. I’m just—”

“Why are you with the Bullets?” she asks me. “Huh?”

I feel myself bristle.

“Because the Bullets are the best at what they do,” I tell her. “And because there’s nothing else out there that interests me. The real world is boring. You ever have a job? Like, a desk job or something like that?”

Trista nods.

“I had my first job when I finished high school,” I say to her. “I flipped burgers at this shitty place close to my house. It was awful. The manager was mean, the people there didn’t give a shit. I quit after a month. That was the only job I had and the only job I’ll ever have. Being a Bullet isn’t like having a job. We’re like a family. We drink and fuck and have a good time. I love it.”

“Have you ever wanted anything that the Bullets couldn’t give you?” Trista asks me. “Anything that doesn’t go along with drinking and fucking?”

The memory of Elizabeth pops into my head and I have to push it away.

“Sure,” I say to her. “There are some things.”

“Like what?” she asks. But before I can answer I look over to where the Slingers are huddled, seeing the girl coming their way.

“Oh my God,” I say.

Trista turns her head to where I’m looking and I hear her gasp. There’s a girl on crutches, maybe eighteen or nineteen, hobbling down the pathway with a camera slung around her neck. The thing looks heavy, but she carries it no problem. But that’s not what’s making me stare. This girl’s arms and legs look … twisted. Bent around and out of shape. Other than that she looks normal, pretty even. Her jet-black hair hangs down past her shoulders.

I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen anybody look like that before. I look over at Trista, about to say so, but stop when I see the look on her face. She doesn’t look shocked, like how I am. Instead she looks … pensive. Like she’s trying to figure that girl out. Or like she recognizes her.

“Hey,” I hear Twixer say as the girl begins to walk by him. She stops and turns her head. “You wanna buy?”

“Holy fuck,” Trista says in a whisper. I furrow my brow, looking down at her. Not far away I can still hear their conversation.

“Do I want to buy?” the girl says. “Buy what?”

“You know that girl?” I ask Trista. She’s still staring at her.

“What? No, but I … I’ve heard of her.”

“Buy some coke, little lady,” Twixer says. “Just twenty bucks, what do you say?”

“You’ve heard of her?” I ask Trista, looking at the girl again. “What do you mean?”

The girl raises her eyebrows.

“Are you selling drugs on campus?” she asks.

“She’s Jake Hawksley’s sister,” Trista says, almost in a breath. I look over and see that Trista’s eyes are glued to the scene. She looks like she’s doing some quick thinking.

Jake Hawksley … the name sounds familiar. And then it clicks.

“Jake … you mean from the Chains?” I ask.

“Come on little lady, it’ll make you feel good,” Twixer says. “Great way to party.”

“Yeah,” Trista says. “The leader of the Chains.”

I look over and the girl in the crutches doesn’t look impressed. Twixer’s got a nauseating grin on his face while Aces and Olly, grinning beside him, look sweaty.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” the girl says. “I know who you are. You’re part of the Slingers.” Twixer and Aces drop their grins. “Which means I’m guessing you’ve heard of the Chains.”

“Fuck,” Trista and I say at the same time, and like one we start toward the girl and the Slingers. The girl hears us and turns her head to look. She furrows her brow.

“Stop it,” Trista says before I can. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Are you two with them?” the girl asks. She looks us up and down. “You’re not part of their gang.”

“Come on,” I say to the Slingers. “We have to go.”

“What the fuck, man?” Twixer says. “You’re blowing this sale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you three?” Trista asks. “Do you even know who this is?”

The three Slingers look at the girl in crutches, who’s watching this exchange with suspicious eyes. They look back and shake their heads.

“This is the sister of the leader of the Chains,” Trista tells them, and now the girl in the crutches furrows her brow.

“Who are you?” she asks, but Olly interrupts her.

“How do you know that?” he asks Trista.

“Because I do my fucking research, idiot,” Trista says. I’ve never seen her this upset. “Now we’re exposed. Okay? Come on, let’s go.”

She starts to march away, but the Slingers stay where they are, confused. The girl in the crutches looks confused too, and even I’m shocked at Trista’s reaction. After a few steps Trista turns around, absolutely livid.

“Come on!” she shouts, and the Slingers visibly jump. They hurry to follow Trista and I look at the girl in crutches, feeling like I should say something. But I don’t know what so I just follow the others, knowing the girl is watching us go.

Trista leads the way back to the bikes, followed by the Slingers, with me in the rear. Aces catches up with Trista.

“Hey,” she says, already out of breath. “Where are we going?”

“We’re leaving,” I hear Trista tell her. “You guys blew it.”

“But …” Aces huffs. “But we ain’t sold all of what we got yet.”

“Not my fucking problem,” says Trista as we reach the bikes.

Trista climbs onto hers, angrily kicking it into life. The others mount up and when I climb onto mine beside Trista, starting it, I lean over.

“Hey,” I say, and Trista turns her head to look at me.

“What?” she snaps.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. “I’ve never seen you so angry.”

Trista looks abashed for a moment before regaining herself.

“This was a stupid assignment to begin with,” she says, and then she roars away, heading out of the parking lot. I look over at the Slingers and they all look lost and nervous, like they don’t know what to do. I motion for them to follow so they do. Once again I bring up the rear.

The ride back is strange. I feel guilty and nervous about what Maddox is going to say, but at the same time relieved. I didn’t want to be on that campus any more than Trista did. At least she said something about it. I just went along with whatever I was told. She’s only been here a week and already she’s got more balls than I do.

We ride back east, the giant PharmaChem building looming over us to our right as we do. Getting back into the warehouse district, Trista leads the way past the old and empty buildings to our headquarters, where she parks her bike, the Slingers pulling up beside her. I park mine at the end.

“Hey,” Olly says to Trista when all the engines have cut off. “What’re you going to do?”

“That’s not for me to decide,” Trista says, and she walks to the front door of the warehouse, slamming it open.

We all follow her in and I shut the door just as Maddox comes out of the office. He looks confused.

“What’s going on?” he says to us as we all approach. Trista steps ahead of us. “Why’re you back so early?”

“These fuckers blew our cover,” Trista tells him. Maddox looks past her to the Slingers all huddled together. I leave them and join the other Bullets.

“They blew your cover?” Maddox repeats, looking back at Trista. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they tried selling coke to the fucking sister of the head of the Chains,” Trista says. “They had no idea who she was.”

Maddox narrows his eyes at her, looking confused.

“The sister of the head of the Chains? Jake Hawksley?”

“Yeah. His sister. The one person they should have known about and they had no fucking idea.”

“And you brought them back?” Maddox asks. “Did they sell everything?”

He looks past Trista at the Slingers and Twixer says, “Um, no. We didn’t. We only made about ten sales.”

Back at Trista, “What exactly made you think you could tell them to come back here?” Maddox asks her. “What authority do you think you have?” Then, to me, “And Flynn, why did you let her take control like that?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. Luckily, Trista answers before I can.

“If I’m the only one with a fucking brain in her head, then you’re lucky I was there,” she says, and Maddox looks back at her. “What if that girl called the Chains, huh? What if they showed up and decided to take these Slingers on a little joy ride out into the desert? And what if they let it out that they were working for us? The girl didn’t know who we were. She thought it was just the Slingers. If it weren’t for me, our whole operation would be fucked before it even began.”

Maddox looks at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. He doesn’t say anything right away, and my heart is pounding in my chest. This may be the last I see of Trista.

“You thought the Chains could have shown up?” he finally says, and Trista nods.

“We didn’t have our jackets on,” Trista nods at our leather jackets, still hanging over our chairs, “for just that reason, right? You even knew the danger. I told you the college was a bad idea. And now you can see why.”

Maddox still looks at her, and after a long few seconds he looks over her shoulder at the Slingers.

“Cash and baggies on the table. Then you three, go!”

The Slingers hop to it, quickly scurrying over to the table, emptying their pockets out onto it. Once everything’s out they turn tail and practically run out the front door as Trista and Maddox keep staring at one another. Only when the door shuts behind them does Maddox speak again.

“You did this one thing right, Trista,” he says to her. “But don’t overstep your boundaries. Remember you’ve only been here for a week. You don’t exactly have immunity yet.”

And with that Maddox turns and heads back to the office, leaving the drugs and cash on the meeting table. Trista’s watching him go and I look over at her as the door slams shut behind him.

Trista

I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The door to the office is shut and through the glass windows I see Maddox sit back down in his chair, pointedly ignoring me. Beside me I feel Flynn’s presence, feel the tension in the air slowly, slowly, going away.

“Trista?” he asks. I finally tear my eyes away from Maddox and look at him.

“What?”

“It’s okay. He’s just stressed out, that’s all.”

I look up at Flynn and he’s looking down at me, his deep brown eyes soft and kind. The anger in me fades away.

“Thanks,” I say, dropping my gaze. The warehouse is silent around us. Nobody else is here.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Flynn says, and I look back up at him. When Maddox texted me at work I decided to fake being sick, in order to go home. I went to Captain Hartridge’s office to tell her, but she dismissed me before I’d even finished my alibi. I thanked her and left, but it means I won’t be going back to work today.

“Yeah,” I say to him. “That sounds good.”

So the two of us go over to the table—I try not to look at the pile of money and drugs, the taint of their memory still on them—and grab our jackets, then we head toward the front door together.

Stepping out into the sunshine again, we approach our bikes and get on. Kicking them into life I lead the way to Point Blank, going south.

I had no idea what Maddox wanted when he texted me, telling me I had an assignment. When I showed up and saw those other gang members there—the Slingers—and found out what he wanted us to do, I was terrified.

Go out in public? Try to sell drugs to college kids in the middle of the day? Maddox seems convinced that the Bullets own all the cops in Santa Espera, but I know for a fact that they don’t. They don’t own me. So there must be other good cops out there … right? I can’t be the only good one. Can I?

In either case, the risk was too high. I’ve been slowly getting bits and pieces of evidence for my case against the Bullets. Recordings of conversations, pictures I’ve taken with my cell phone. I’ve been writing up dossiers on each of the members too, but it’s hard trying to get personal information out of people without sounding like you’re interviewing them. So I’ve been taking it slow. One day at a time.

We reach the bar and I pull into the parking lot, Flynn coming in behind me. It’s just about noon and the lot looks empty, but that’s no surprise. In fact, I welcome it. I don’t feel like being around a bunch of drunken hooligans right now. I just want some peace and quiet.

We park our bikes and go inside, walking through the dark space to the bar where Marla comes over to greet us.

“Hello you two,” she says. Marla still hasn’t quite warmed up to me, but that’s no issue. We get her to pour us a beer each, and then we take them over to the couches, sitting down. It feels good to get off my feet.

We both take a drink of our beer and then Flynn settles back in the couch. We’re sitting in our usual spots, the ends of two couches, close together.

“So what happened back there?” he asks, as I knew he would. “I’ve never seen anybody get so uptight over a simple mistake like that.”

Uptight? I ignore it. “I just wanted to lie low,” I say to him. “I don’t like going into situations where I’m not in control.”

“But if anything happened we’d take care of it,” he says. “The Chains aren’t anything we haven’t dealt with before.”

A flash of anger goes over me, but I keep my temper down.

“Yeah, but with all those students there?” I say. “They’d be in danger.”

“They’d run,” Flynn says with a shrug, looking away. “But anyway it wouldn’t have been a problem because we’re in a truce with the Chains right now. So they wouldn’t have bothered us.”

I shake my head.

“I just like to know I’m going to be safe,” I tell him. “I don’t appreciate surprises like these.”

“Maddox was probably just given the coke and told to sell it. He’s doing the best he can, but honestly he’s told information in bits and pieces. It’s not like he knows what the next ten steps of our whole operation is going to be. He probably doesn’t even know the next two steps.”

Yeah, I’m finding that out, I think. I was hoping that being in the Bullets would tell me exactly what they’re planning. But it’s turning out to be a lot harder than that. I take a drink of my beer.

“I guess so,” I say, and Flynn falls silent. As he drinks I look over at him.

“Hey,” I say, “so about our conversation before … you said there were things you wanted that the Bullets couldn’t give you. What sorts of things are those?”

Flynn looks at me as I speak, but he doesn’t answer right away. His jaw clenches, and he breathes out through his nose.

“It’s nothing,” he finally says, and I give him a look as he drops his gaze.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “What, did you want to travel or something?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Flynn looks at me and there’s a fierceness in his eyes that makes my stomach do a flip, but I don’t look away. Finally he lets out a sigh.

“I want to have a family,” he says in a low voice.

His gaze drops again and I stare at him. I’m shocked. I would never, never have expected to hear that from him. Flynn always struck me as a carefree kind of guy. Big and strong, and intimidating when he needs to be, but generally a bit of a joker. Knowing that he wants to be a dad … it paints him in a whole new light.

“Well, I mean, it’s not too late to start a family,” I say to him. “And it doesn’t mean you have to have one without the other. Why not try to find somebody in the Bullets to start a family with?”

Flynn looks at me and there’s a shadow of hurt on his face. But then he looks away again.

“No,” he says. “That would be a bad idea.”

He doesn’t want anyone in the Bullets, I think, and a pang of something like disappointment hits me in the chest. I swallow.

“Why is it a bad idea?” I ask.

“Because people in gangs can get hurt,” he says. “You can lose them too easily.”

I know that all too well, I think. “So then why don’t you quit?” I ask, and Flynn lets a snort of air out through his nose.

“You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” he says with a smile. But then the smile fades away. “No, I can’t just up and quit.”

“Why not?”

“Because what would I do? Where would I go? This town is hard to be in if you don’t have protection. Besides, the Bullets are like … a family to me. Not the same thing, exactly, but still. And if I just up and left them … then I’d have nothing.”

I can feel my heart beating a bit faster.

“What if you met someone?” I ask him, and he looks at me. Our eyes lock for a long moment before he answers.

“Then I’d leave with them,” he says, and I feel my breath almost catching in my throat.

We both drop our gazes at the same time and I take a long drink of my beer, trying to hide my smile. Flynn doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. We sit in silence together, drinking our beers. Neither of us talk, but I don’t feel like I have to. It’s nice, just being here with him. Comfortable, in a way I haven’t felt before.

When we’re both just about finished the door to the bar opens and a group of bikers comes in, four guys with bandanas and sunglasses on, and ripped jean jackets that have no sleeves. They’re loud and boisterous as three of them head toward the pool tables, the last one aiming for the bar. Both Flynn and I watch them break the silence that the bar held. I don’t really feel like listening to these guys get drunk and loud.

“Hey,” Flynn says, and I look at him. “Are you hungry? Wanna get something to eat?”

It’s past one now and I haven’t had any lunch. So I nod and we both finish our beers, then take the glasses back to Marla, bidding her farewell before heading out again.

I start to head to where our bikes are parked, but Flynn turns the other way.

“I know a good burrito place not far from here,” he says as I catch up with him. “We can just walk.”

“Oh,” I say to him. “I didn’t know bikers around here walked anywhere. I thought they always just rode.”

“Well,” Flynn responds, and I can see a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes it’s just nice to be able to clear your head, you know?”

We walk down the sidewalk, leaving the bar and our bikes behind us. It’s still hot out, but there are scattered clouds in front of the sun now, giving a bit of respite from the heat. We pass by convenience stores on the corners, shops with apartments over them. There’s a used book store right next to a gun shop, and across the street I see a bakery that sells coffee. Some people are sitting inside by the window, watching us as we walk on by.

Flynn and I take a right and about halfway down the street there’s a food truck parked. I’ve never trusted food trucks, having heard reports of health inspectors going in for routine inspections and shutting the places down right away. So imagine my dismay when we approach it and I see a big picture of a burrito painted on the side.

“This is it,” Flynn says as the large and very hairy man inside slides the window back. He meets my eye but I turn away, looking at Flynn and dropping my voice.

“This is it?” I ask him, and he nods. “Um, are you sure it’s … safe?”

But Flynn just smiles.

“Trust me, this guy makes clean food. I’ve eaten here before; it’s no problem. It’s not like those noodle guys who come around trying to sell food outside of the clubs. Those guys are sketchy as fuck.”

That makes me feel a bit better. “Okay,” I say, and I turn to look at the menu printed beside the window. “Um … I’ll have a beef burrito please.”

“Beef,” the guy grunts. “And you?”

“Chorizo,” Flynn says.

“One beef, one chorizo,” and the guy’s head disappears back into the truck as he begins making our food.

“Yeah, this guy is great,” Flynn says. “He’s been here for years but hardly anybody comes here. It’s a quiet little part of town.”

Indeed, since we took that right off the main road it’s seemed a lot quieter. There are shops down this road too, but they’re things like a seamstress, a used clothing shop, a butcher, and what looks like a non-denominational church. The guy is fast making the food, and soon enough he comes back with the burritos, which Flynn and I pay for before continuing on our walk, going the same direction we were before.

“There’s a picnic table in an alley just down here …” Flynn says as I carry my hot foil-wrapped food, and down near the end of the street an alleyway opens up, and sure enough there’s a lone picnic table sitting there. Nobody’s around, nobody’s using it, so we climb on, sitting on the top surface, our feet on one of the benches below.

“Wow, how many walks have you been on?” I ask as we both unwrap our food.

“A lot,” he says, and he takes a bite of his burrito. I do the same, and the smell and taste of the food reminds me of how hungry I am. I can feel my mouth water even as I chew, my stomach just waking up and beginning to growl.

“Need some time on your own?” I ask once I’ve swallowed my first bite. Flynn nods, his mouth full.

“Yeah,” he says, and he swallows too. “Sometimes that whole scene is a bit too much. I slip out every now and again. Nobody notices.”

Nobody notices. I know exactly what that feeling’s like. I wonder if I hadn’t said anything about being sick at work today, if I’d just gotten up and left, if anyone would have even noticed. The captain didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

“But you know, I don’t know that much about you,” Flynn points out, and my stomach drops. “Tell me about your life before you decided you wanted to become a Bullet.”

I finish chewing and swallow my mouthful of food.

“Oh, it’s boring,” I say, taking another large bite. I don’t want to give more detail than I have to.

“I’m sure it’s not boring,” he says. “Tell me.”

I chew my food, swallow.

“I was living in Pasadena and then I came here.”

“What were you doing in Pasadena?”

I shrug, taking another bite.

“Nothing. I grew up, went to college, got a temp job, hated it and quit. Then I tried to figure out my life, didn’t know what I wanted to do. And then I decided to leave and I came here to change my life.”

Flynn nods, chewing a mouthful of food. He swallows and says, “You’re right. That is boring.”

I give him a playful punch on the arm and he smiles as he takes another bite.

“But that’s a big change, from college to slinging dope.”

I nod, chewing.

“Well, you gotta change with the times, right?”

“Right.”

We continue eating. This burrito is good.

“Where’d you learn how to fight?” he suddenly asks me, and I stop chewing for a moment, then look over at him.

“Huh?”

“The night before you joined, when we met you at the bar. You took that creep out no problem. Where’d you learn how to fight?”

I swallow my mouthful of food.

“My brother,” I say to him, and Flynn laughs.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Learn from your brother. You do come across as a bit of a tomboy.”

I open my mouth, shocked.

“What?”

“Yeah!” Flynn says, and his eyes are lit up with delight now. “I’d have thought you were a lesbian too, until we fucked in the bathroom. Now I’m not so sure.”

I give him another punch on the arm, harder this time. All I hit is muscle.

“Fuck you,” I say, even though I can hear the smile in my voice. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Hey, you were good,” he says. “I mean, not straight-girl good, but still good.”

I punch him three more times, all on the same spot. Finally he starts to pull away.

“All right, all right!” he shouts, laughing. When I lower my fist he rubs the spot I’d been hitting. “Fuck, you’ve got an arm on you.”

“You’re a dick,” I say. That burrito’s given me new strength.

“I know,” he says. “And I concede. You’re not a lesbian, you’re a beautiful princess who can kick anybody’s ass.”

I put the rest of my burrito down.

“You saying I can kick your ass?” I ask, hopping down off the table. Flynn looks at me, his eyes alive, and he puts the rest of his down too, joining me.

“I’d like to see you try.”

My hands are already up, ready to grapple, and I fake to the right as Flynn’s hand flies up to block me. Dipping back down, though, I get him in the ribs and hear him grunt with surprise before I jump back, staying on the balls of my feet. Flynn straightens up, rubbing his ribs now.

“All right,” he says. “Now you asked for it.”

He starts toward me but I back away, around the table and farther down the alleyway. Flynn comes after me and I keep moving backward, but then suddenly fly forward, heading for the ribs I just hit.

He’s expecting it, though, and he dodges just in time before bringing the heel of his hand up to my shoulder. But where I expected a blow, he only gives me a light tap. I spin around and so does he, our positions reversed.

“Hey!” I say, frowning. “Why’d you go easy on me?”

Flynn tilts his head. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says.

I narrow my eyes.

“Don’t treat me like some fragile doll, Flynn. I want you to hit me.”

A single eyebrow raises.

“If you say so,” he says, and then we’re back, both of us alert, staying mobile on our feet.

This time it’s Flynn who attacks, rushing toward me. I hop back two steps before slipping to the side, bringing my elbow up to connect with his face. He dodges it just in time and I almost lose my balance when I hit nothing but air. But soon I recover and we’re facing each other again. For a big guy Flynn is surprisingly quick on his feet. I feel myself flushed all over.

I go in to attack, my hands balled up into fists. I bring my left up while dropping down to the right, but Flynn’s fist is there, waiting for me. I tense my stomach just at the moment of impact, but even so it’s like a cannonball knocks the wind out of me. I stumble and go off to the side, but bring my focus back to him as I suck in breath.

Fuck. He is strong.

Flynn’s face looks flushed too, and he’s breathing harder than I am, despite my having just been hit in the stomach.

Tire him out.

So I go for his side again and dodge another blow, making him almost stumble as his fist connects with air. Turning around and hopping backward, I make him follow me farther down the alley. I can see the lone picnic table with our discarded meals on it. Flynn follows me and I suddenly rush forward, feinting right and making him lean for me before going left. His side is open. My fist is already cocked back.

But he’s expecting it, and before I can land the first blow I feel strong fingers grab onto my wrist, pulling me off-course. I try to pull away but it’s like he’s made of stone, and so I swing my right hand up, aiming for the side of his head, but like lightning he grabs onto my wrist again. I’m trapped. The muscles in my arms bulge as I try pulling loose, but Flynn’s got a hold of me.

“Agh!” I yell, and Flynn laughs. “Let me go!”

As tightly held as he has me, I still put up quite the struggle. Planting one foot, I slip the other between his, hooking it around his ankle, trying to trip him. Flynn’s eyes widen and he stumbles back a step, but still he doesn’t let go of me. I move with him—I have to—as his hard chest and stomach bump into mine. I keep my foot behind his, keep trying to trip him, but he finally steps over it and pivots us, slamming me up against one of the walls.

The rough brick digs into my shoulders and I keep trying to wrench myself free. Flynn’s jaw is set as he struggles to maintain his hold on me. I can smell his sweat, his musk, and it floods me with a strange warmth. Looking at his face, down at his lips, I get an idea.

Distract him.

Without thinking I thrust my head forward and plant my lips onto his. I feel his surprise through the freezing of his muscles and in my head I know that now’s the time, now’s the time to break free of his grip.

But I don’t. I don’t break free. Instead I keep kissing him, keep pushing my face forward, into his. Flynn begins to reciprocate, kissing me back, and before I know it our mouths are open and our tongues are moving together, dancing inside of our mouths.

I feel his grip on my wrists loosen, but what we were just doing seems less important now—indeed, it’s almost like I forget what we were even doing. His muscles have become unfrozen and he steps up closer to me, pressing himself into me, and I suck in a gasp of air through my nose.

Flynn’s body—that hard statue of muscle—lives and breathes right next to me. I feel a heat begin to grow, first in my belly, and then down between my legs. Flynn lets out a moan between our kisses and the mere sound of it causes me to shudder, forcing me to take in a gasping breath between both of our lips before we resume kissing again.

Down below I feel something start to press up against me. It’s at my thighs, just below my waist. Flynn groans inside of his throat, and as he pushes his hips into me that thing pushes too. And then it clicks: his cock! It’s his cock! Memories of that night in the bar bathroom come back to me and I feel a strange craving inside, almost like a hunger. It’s for him—only for him—and as this thought enters my head my heart starts to beat, hard and fast in my chest.

Trista! What are you doing? This man is a Bullet; he is your enemy! Stop kissing him and get away, right now!

But I can’t. I can’t stop kissing him, I can’t stop myself from going back, over and over, kiss after kiss after kiss. I feel Flynn’s hands leave my wrists and the thought of escape doesn’t even occur to me. Instead I wrap my arms around him as he finds my front, slides both hands up and down my body, slipping inside the open jacket and making my body tremble with desire.

I reach up, threading my fingers through Flynn’s short hair as one of his hands moves down to the waist of my jeans, the other one cupping over one of my breasts. I gasp, sucking in air, and Flynn responds by latching his lips onto mine again, kissing me with increased urgency.

He massages me, making my nipple become hard and sensitive against the cup of my bra. His fingers find it and immediately home in, forcing me to suck in breath to stifle a moan. It’s like liquid pleasure is trickling from his fingertips down the center of my breast, through the core of me and landing right between my legs. As our mouths move together Flynn grinds himself into me, his hard cock straining against his jeans, trying to find the place it so desperately needs to be.

I reach down and grab onto him, feeling devilish at eliciting a moan out of his mouth this time. He feels enormous in my hand, my other one wrapped around him, holding on. I slide over the length of him inside of his jeans and he responds by grinding against my hand, making me feel all of him: the warmth, the hardness, the sheer size and girth of the thing. The hand of his that’s at my waist finds its way to the top of mine and I feel him guide me, his fingers laid on top of mine, showing me where he wants me to go … and where he wants is the fly of his pants.

I pull the metal zipper down, my heart racing inside my chest as I do. His fingers, still on top of mine, guide me between the now-parted pieces of fabric, to the inside of his jeans where I fish around. And then finally I grab a hold of it—my entire hand can hardly fit around the thing—and I pull it out, all of it. It feels amazing in my hand, and I notice that Flynn’s lips have frozen against my own as I begin to stroke him. A low, guttural growl is unleashed from the confines of his throat and I swear the crotch of my panties get wet just from hearing it.

I slide my hand up and down, his lips coming back to life as we continue kissing again. His dick is so big, so long, it feels like it takes forever to stroke the entire length of it. I slide my fingers up and encircle them around the head of his cock, making Flynn shiver. I like having this control over him … but apparently Flynn has other ideas.

He seems to read my mind as his kisses become stronger, pushing me against the wall even harder. The hand that’s on my breast moves down, to the bottom of my shirt. He grabs onto it and pulls it up, exposing my bare stomach, slipping it up underneath my leather jacket and over the top of my bra. Once that’s revealed, he grabs onto my bra and yanks it down, exposing my breast to him. In one fluid movement his lips detach from mine and he drops them down, latching onto my breast and sucking it into his mouth.

I cry out loud—I can’t help it. Flynn’s tongue and teeth go crazy on my nipple, drawing it in, sending floods of thick, heavy pleasure down through me. There’s wetness on the hand that’s jerking him off and I moan as I slide my fingers around in his precum, stroking him up and down. One of Flynn’s hands grabs onto the top of my jeans, undoing them quickly. Before I know it the zipper is down and I feel him slide down inside my panties. Now I really let out a moan.

My clit is burning brightly as Flynn’s fingers move easily in the juices I’ve made for him. He runs down, feeling my lips, my hole, coming back up and rubbing all along my clit. I cry, I moan, and his free hand comes up, his fingers finding my mouth. I latch onto them like a baby, sucking in as I struggle to keep my noises down. But it’s hard. I’m stroking his thick cock, more and more precum coming down, covering my own fingers as I tease and jerk him off. His hand down in my pants is rubbing, circling, making my thighs quiver and shake.

I can’t hold it back. This is too much. Flynn is too much. I suck in air around his saliva-coated fingers. Flynn sucks on my breast, his tongue teasing my nipple. His fingers work my clit. I grab onto his thick cock, feeling it pulse in my hand. He draws me up and up, the pleasure in me rising like a thermometer. It gets higher and higher, and suddenly even his fingers can’t stop my sounds.

I moan, and cry out, and practically scream as I start to come against his hand. Flynn’s mouth quickly leaves my breast and he comes up, taking his fingers out of my mouth as he kisses me. But I don’t stop, instead just screaming into his mouth as he keeps my orgasm going, rubbing my clit, my own hand jerking his cock hard and fast. I’m shaking, I’m ready to collapse, but I don’t—I stay with Flynn, stay up against this wall in this alley in this dirty part of town.

When I finally stop coming and my screams subside down to heavy panting and moans … well, it takes me a moment to realize that Flynn’s free hand is starting to push my jeans down. I move from the wall, helping to shimmy out of them. My ass and pussy are exposed, the tops of my jeans stopping just at the middle of my thighs. Flynn grabs onto me and I let go of his cock as he spins me around. He’s taken control, and that passion in me that was just beginning to abate is coming back again for round two.

Placing my hands on the wall beside my head, I hear Flynn wrestle something out of his jacket and a moment later the sound of a foil wrapper being opened up. My heart is in my throat in anticipation. My pussy is dripping, pulsing, waiting for him. Finally I feel him guide his way between my legs and my heart skips a beat in my chest. Ever since that time in the bar bathroom, all I’ve been able to think about was the feeling of this man inside of me again. And now it’s about to happen and I absolutely can’t wait.

And neither can Flynn, because a second later he grabs onto me as he slides his entire length up inside of my pussy.

I cry out, and immediately Flynn’s hand finds my mouth, covering it, his fingers slipping between my lips again where I suck on them as he begins to pump his hard self into my aching loins. I close my eyes, my entire body moving with his. My senses are heightened and I hear his breathing, feel his hot breath and the pulse of his dick as he fills me. The hand that’s not in my mouth is holding onto me, grabbing me, his strong grip keeping me in place as he fucks me deeply, letting me know that I’m his.

It goes faster. Flynn’s heavy breaths turn into deep and heavy moans as I feel him start to pound himself inside of me. He pulls himself closer and I feel him nuzzle against my neck, making me shiver as he kisses me, licks me, sucks me, bites me. The hand that’s holding me begins to slide down until finally it finds itself between my legs, rubbing at my clit again. I gasp and bite down on his fingers as he rubs me, drawing hot pleasure into me, making me tighten and squeeze around him. Flynn only moans louder in response.

His hips move faster. The pleasure in me rises up. His body tightens against mine, his fingers moving faster on my clit, and still the pleasure in me gets even higher. It gets to the point where I feel like I’m going to explode, in him, around him, all over him. He keeps fucking me, his noises and his heat and his closeness so all-encompassing and I feel so right and finally I feel my body letting go as I struggle and cry and shake all at once, this orgasm ten times what the last one was.

It’s like my world is turning into nothingness. All I can feel and experience is Flynn. I come hard, my pussy quivering as though hot pulses of electricity are pushing through it. I’m hardly aware of his hand covering my mouth completely now to keep my cries of passion down. And then I hear him, and I feel him, as his own cries rise up in his throat and I reach back, scrabbling to hold onto him as I feel him come hard inside my pussy. There the two of us stand, the two of us together, connected in the deepest and most intimate of ways, riding on each other’s highs, soaring through the clouds and the trees, the two of us alone in the world.

But like all things in life, it comes to an end. And I feel Flynn slow down. I feel his muscles relax, and the hand on my clit slow down. I feel my pussy slowly let go of him, and I feel my breathing and my heartbeat return to normal. I feel Flynn pull himself out of me—as much as I want him to stay there, to stay inside of me, if only for a little bit longer—and then he lets go of me and takes a step back and just like that, we’re not together anymore. Our bodies are detached. And the sounds and smells of this dirty alleyway push back into my senses and I turn around as Flynn is putting himself away. I find myself reaching down to shimmy my jeans back up, readjust my breasts and my bra and shirt.

We make ourselves presentable and a palpable silence falls over us. Flynn is looking at me, and I look up at him, caught in the strength of his gaze. But he looks … uncertain. Scared, maybe. Is that possible? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just seeing how I feel. He takes a deep breath in and my heart skips a beat as I think he’s going to tell me something, something profound, something terrible, something I don’t want to hear. But all he says is:

“Wow.”

And I swallow, not sure if I should smile, not sure if I want to.

“Yeah,” I say in return. And that’s it. Our eyes stay locked together, for a minute that lasts an eternity, and then Flynn swallows and pulls his gaze from mine as he looks back to the direction our bikes are in.

“We should get back to the warehouse,” he says to me, and I feel myself nod, a hollow in my chest, although I’m not sure what it is.

“Yeah,” I say again. And again, swallowing, “Yeah.”

And Flynn starts to walk away from the picnic table, and I glance back at it, back at the half-eaten burritos, forgotten on its surface. And I wonder as I follow him just what in the hell I’m doing.

Trista

I can’t believe it’s already been a day since Flynn and I had sex for the second time.

I’m in the filing room at the station, having been given the arduous task of checking decades-old files for any discrepancies that may have arisen during the years of taking files out and putting them back in. The work is long, and boring, and absolutely pointless … but at least it gives me time to think.

And for the past twenty-four hours, all I’ve been able to think about is Flynn.

We got back to the warehouse and Flynn was acting like his normal self around the others who had shown up. He was acting like nothing had happened between us. It was a bit strange, but the walk back to our bikes was strange too. He didn’t say anything at all, and I didn’t want to start up some sort of conversation. I mean, what exactly do you say after something like that?

So we walked and rode in silence, and when we got back it actually was like nothing happened at all. The only thing reminding me that I didn’t dream the entire thing was the hot, deep throbbing in between my legs. I didn’t dream that. So when someone mentioned going to the bar and I declined, knowing I had to work early this morning, I was a little surprised to see Flynn look over at me.

It only lasted a second. But it was all the verification I needed.

That look. That look of longing. Of desire, of wanting to be with me but uncertain if he should. I know that look very well. The reason I know it so well is because it’s the look that shows exactly how I’m feeling toward Flynn.

I mean, what exactly the hell is wrong with me? The first time in the bathroom, that was … whatever. I was drunk. Well … not that drunk. But drunk enough. And he was cute, and I had no idea he was a member of the Bullets, because if I’d known then I would have steered clear of that. But he was cute! And the night went on for so long that I didn’t think anything would happen, so when it did happen it was such a surprise and …

Well, anyway.

The first time was a write-off. But the second time … the second time was different.

Because I was the one who initiated it the second time.

It was just supposed to be a distraction. But looking back on it, I’m sure there were a million other ways of distracting someone who’s got you pinned during a fight. I mean, you don’t exactly see a lot of fighters start making out during a UFC match, right?

So why did I choose to kiss him? It was the first thing that popped into my head, but isn’t that kind of telling? I might be developing feelings for Flynn … even though I know I shouldn’t. I didn’t start this mission—which has no type of backup, I should remind myself—to hook up with someone on the other side. If any of them found out I’m a cop, they would kill me, no questions asked. Flynn included.

And that’s what I need to remind myself every time I see him.

The day eventually finishes and I go home, exhausted. The next day, after work, I get into my Bullets gear and head to the bar. Grabbing a beer from the bar, I go and sit next to Matthias and Chloe, trying to ignore my heart skipping a beat as Flynn gives me a smile.

“Hey,” Chloe says, touching her beer to mine before we both take a drink. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say—not exactly a lie. Although my dossiers on some of the Bullets are a bit light. “Hey, so Chloe, you never told me how you got into being part of this gang. When did you start?”

“Oh, when?” Chloe repeats, thinking. “Mm, I guess it’s been almost three years now.”

“Wow, three years?”

“Yeah, although it feels like longer. Honestly, sometimes I have trouble remembering what my life was like before I joined the Bullets.”

“What were you doing before this?” I ask. Good, this is good, I think.

“Well, I actually had a gambling and drug problem,” Chloe admits, her tone becoming somber. “I used to drive out to Vegas a lot … five times a month, sometimes more. I got unemployment because I’d been laid off, and every week I tried to tell myself, no. Don’t gamble your money away. Just buy groceries. Pay the rent. Do normal stuff. But every week when that check came … I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes I did win, at craps or sometimes the slot machines, but I never won more than I’d lost.

“It got so bad that I was being threatened with eviction, and I had nowhere else to go. My mom died when I was in my twenties, and my dad ran out long ago. A friend of mine told me about the Bullets, and how I could make some money doing small jobs. I did some and was able to pay my rent, but Will liked me, so he asked if I wanted to join. After that horrible initiation, I was in.”

Jesus, I think. It’s almost like the Bullets … helped her.

“What … were the jobs you had to do?” I ask as Chloe takes a drink of her beer. I’m thinking maybe it was prostitution or selling drugs, but she shrugs, thinking.

“Mm, one was to drive out west, out of town, to deliver a message to someone. Just slide an envelope under their front door. I never even met the person. I got a couple hundred for that. Another was to sit by this man—I think he was a lawyer—at a restaurant and write down anything he said while he was on the phone. Just little things, you know? Nothing illegal—or, at least, if it was illegal it only just toed the line—and Will paid me well. I guess they were just small-time jobs that he needed done.”

Matthias nods.

“Yeah, it’s not unheard of for Will to go ahead and bring in some unemployed people, people on disability leave, even the homeless sometimes and just give them small jobs. It’s actually pretty clever, because the jobs are all cash, all under the table, and anyone doing the work has no connection with PharmaChem or the Bullets.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “I mean, I don’t do any of those jobs anymore, now that I’m a member. But Will really helped me out. He helps a lot of people out.”

Will Silver helping people out. The thought almost seems to defy logic. I always saw Will Silver as this pompous fat cat, sitting up in his ivory tower that is PharmaChem, looking down on the plebes of the town and laughing. But he does give back to the community. In nefarious ways, of course. I have no doubt that everything Chloe did tied back to his selling drugs, or to running the Bullets, or even to ending somebody’s life. Who knows what was written on that envelope? There’s no way of knowing. But undoubtedly it was something bad … something that, if it fell into the wrong hands, would have hurt Will badly.

I take a drink of my beer, wondering what out of Chloe’s story I can put in her dossier. Nothing really stands out. I decide to try Matthias.

“And how about you?” I ask, turning to him. “How did you get started with the Bullets?”

Matthias grins. “PharmaChem was actually one of my little league’s sponsors when I was a kid,” he says. “I remember sometimes looking out and seeing this old-looking man in a suit on the bleachers, cheering us on beside our parents and stuff. That was Will. He was the only one who wore a suit to the games. He even tried enrolling his son, Craig, one season, but Craig was kicked off after starting a fight with his coach.”

He laughs, and Chloe chuckles as well. I’m too flabbergasted to respond correctly. Will Silver sponsored his little league team? What was his plan in that?

“When I got older Will actually approached me—I was a senior in high school then—and asked if I wanted to make a little extra cash. I told him sure, and that summer I helped off-load shipments from the backs of trucks. It was a night job—hell, we were probably moving crates of smack, for all I know—but it paid well. After a couple of years I found out about the Bullets, and knowing Will was running it, tried to get in right away.”

“Yeah, everyone here is great,” Chloe says, looking with admiration around at the gang. “We don’t let just anybody in. So many of the Slingers have tried coming over to us, but there’s a reason they’re in the Slingers to begin with. Although Georgie was in the Pig Boys before he came over.”

“Oh, who’s Georgie?” I ask, looking around. “I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”

But when I look back at Chloe and Matthias their smiles have gone.

“Georgie was one of the ones killed at the warehouse fight, eight months ago,” Matthias tells me as Chloe wipes away a tear. “Did you hear about that?”

I nod. Of course I’ve heard about it, I think as my grip on my beer tightens. That was the fight where Sal was killed.

“Terrible,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to look sympathetic. It could’ve been one of you two who did it! Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“Yeah,” Chloe sniffs. “We lost a lot of good people.”

Suddenly Matthias slams his fist onto his thigh.

“Those fucking Chains!” he roars, and gets some calls of assent from the others. “Those fuckers have to pay.” He shakes his head.

“They will,” Chloe assures him, and I look at her. “Don’t worry.”

“Are they … do we … have a plan?” I ask, lowering my voice. Chloe’s eyes meet mine, and she gives a hardened smile.

“Maddox is on it,” she says. “Soon this truce’ll be over, and then they’ll really get what’s coming to them.”

The rest of the night goes by, and soon enough I say I’m tired and I leave. Flynn and I never got to spend time together, but maybe that’s for the best. Good to keep distance between us. And besides, time spent together might lead to other places, and I need to get up for work tomorrow.

The next day at work is normal—Captain Hartridge only yelled at me twice—and soon enough I’ve eaten dinner, fed my mom, and gotten ready to go to the bar. I didn’t have much to add to my dossiers from the night before, just that the Chains will “get what’s coming to them” at “some point soon.” Tonight I’m going to get something. No more messing around.

But when I get there, the conversation’s been taken over by talk of a job that Maddox brought up today in a meeting.

“It’s gutting out some old building, right?” Kendal asks.

“I think an office,” Chris puts in.

“I thought he said restaurant,” Jackie says, unsure.

“Shit, is he trying to get Mario’s back up and running?” Alyssa asks. “That was such a mistake.”

“Hey, that wasn’t Will’s fault, what happened,” Flynn points out. “It was electrical, wasn’t it? The fire?”

“So they say,” Chloe says with a raised eyebrow as she takes a sip of her beer.

“When are we doing it?” Jackie asks. “I didn’t really feel like doing any hard work tonight.”

Tonight? I think, worried. How long will this take, if it’s tonight? I have work tomorrow, and Captain Hartridge wanted that filing done by tomorrow.

“Ugh, I hope it’s not tonight,” Tyrone says next to me. “I was planning on getting fucked up tonight.”

He laughs and raises his beer to mine, but then he gets a look like he just noticed I’m sitting here.

“Hey Trista,” he says. “Why weren’t you at the meeting?”

My heart jumps in my chest.

“I was busy,” I say.

“Busy doing what?”

I open my mouth, excuses flying through my brain as I try to pick the best one, but right at that moment the door to the bar opens and Maddox walks in.

“Maddox!” Flynn shouts to him by way of greeting, and Tyrone’s attention is pulled off of me. I breathe a sigh of relief. “When’re we doing this job?”

“Tomorrow,” Maddox says, and everybody sounds relieved. I even join in with the smiles, taking a drink of my beer.

“Great!” Flynn says to Maddox, who still hasn’t sat down yet. “Grab a beer, man! Let’s all get fucked!”

“Can’t,” Maddox says, shaking his head. His eyes land on me and he holds my gaze a second too long, almost uncomfortably so. It breaks off soon enough, but not before giving me a nervous feeling. “I got the details on the place. Wrote the address down,” he takes a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and hands it to Tyrone. “It’s not far from the warehouse, so that’s good. We’ll get a dumpster in for garbage. Basically I want the place stripped, down to the bare bones. Leave the drywall, that’s fine. Just whatever’s inside can go to the dump.”

“Is it a restaurant?” Jackie asks.

“Office,” Maddox tells him, and Chris gives Jackie a gloating look. “The usual shit. Chairs, desks, those cubicle wall things. Just get it all out. And remember to vacuum up after! I don’t want any fucking thumb tacks or some shit all over the floor.”

“Hey, that was Kendal’s job last time!” Matthias says.

“Fuck you, I vacuumed!” Kendal says. “Not my problem if you dropped a potted plant after.”

“Whatever, just make sure it’s clean when you’re done,” Maddox says. Then, turning to leave, he says, “Be there at ten. This’ll take all day.”

Some groans come up as Maddox leaves the bar, but inside I’m excited. This is an actual job. Something real. I’ll have an address, and maybe there will be special instructions for the gutting that’ll help me figure out what the building’s going to be used for. Maybe another weapons cache? Maybe a grow op house? Maybe the Bullets are moving their headquarters to that building? Maddox did say it wasn’t that far from the warehouse. I’ll have to wait and see. I don’t think anyone here knows any more than I do at this point, and I’ll have to play it cool. Don’t want to seem too eager. I take a drink of my beer, the glass almost empty.

“Well, all right, kids,” Flynn says to the gang. “You heard Papa Bear. Work starts at ten, so we can’t get too drunk. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get at least a little drunk!”

Flynn proceeds to chug his beer, downing it in one go while everybody watches. When he finishes Alyssa lets out a whoop and Flynn suppresses a burp. He stands up from the couch.

“Trista,” he says, smiling at me. “Can I get you another beer?”

I’m caught by surprise. “Sure,” I say, and I finish off the one I have before handing the glass to him. He winks and turns, heading for the bar.

“Hey!” Matthias calls out. “Get me another beer too!”

Flynn responds by flipping Matthias the bird from behind his back as others laugh. Matthias grumbles and gets up off the couch, joining Flynn at the bar.

“Flynn’s sweet on you,” Jackie says, coming to sit beside me on the couch as others start up conversation.

“Oh,” I say, not sure how to respond. The memories of our trysts come into my head and I try to wave them away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen him offer to get a beer for any girl before. You must be special.”

I can’t help the smile that comes to my face.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say.

“Just be careful,” Jackie warns me, and my smile falters. “He’s got a bad past. He’s haunted.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but Jackie’s eyes move up and she smiles over my head. I turn to see where she’s looking and it’s Flynn, holding two glasses of beer.

“Here you go,” he says, handing me one. I thank him and he sits back down in his spot, giving me a smile before joining in on a conversation with Tyrone and Chris.

He didn’t want to sit closer to me? I think, taking a sip of my beer. I turn to Jackie, to ask her what she meant when she said Flynn was haunted, but she’s talking with Chloe, Matthias, and Kendal. So I join them instead, trying to enjoy myself, at the same time wondering what exactly could be haunting Flynn.

I only have the one more beer before declaring that I need to leave. Everybody—Flynn included—pleads with me to stay but I just tell them I have business to take care of and leave it at that. In reality, I don’t want to get too drunk. I need to call in sick tomorrow morning, before work starts, to get the day off. Calling in the night before doesn’t fly with Captain Hartridge—she just tells you to call again in the morning, and if I’m too hung over to do that it’ll be my ass.

I go home and go to sleep, waking up at my normal time. I call in to the station and, faking a hoarse throat, tell them I’ve come down with something and am going to need the day off. It goes over fine, and I get up, slipping on my bathrobe and heading to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Once it’s ready I go into my mom’s room where she’s lying in bed, staring out of the window. I sit down next to her, my own food on one plate, her bowl of yogurt and her pills on another.

“Good morning, Mom,” I say to her. “How did you sleep?”

No answer. Her head doesn’t turn. Of course, it’s not like I was expecting a response. I’m just too nervous to sit quietly.

“I’ve got some big news for today,” I tell her. “I’m finally going to be able to get some information about the Bullets.”

I put a pill in her mouth and spoon some yogurt in afterward. Her jaw muscles move mechanically and she swallows it.

“We’re going to empty out an old office building, getting it ready for something,” I say, giving her some more yogurt and her next pill. “This past week has been a little slow with getting any information. But it’s not the members’ faults. They don’t really know anything themselves. It actually kind of sounds like they’re getting anxious, sitting on their hands. But something’s going to happen with the Chains soon. Chloe and Matthias told me. I don’t know what, and I don’t think they know what either. But I’m just waiting to hear more.”

My mom doesn’t say anything. I spoon the last of the yogurt into her mouth before putting the bowl and spoon back on the plate, getting ready to tuck into my own breakfast.

“I’m not sure what to do about Flynn, though,” I say out loud as I eat some scrambled egg on toast. “I don’t … I think I don’t want him to get into too much trouble. I mean, obviously … he’s a Bullet. He’s guilty of doing terrible things. Just like the rest of them.”

No response.

“But that doesn’t mean … I don’t know. Maybe I need to keep my head on straight. They’re nice people, yes, but they’re also Bullets. They killed Sal. At least one of them did. And if one of them’s guilty, they’re all guilty.” I take another bite of my food, hardly tasting it, memories of Sal threatening to bring tears to my eyes. I push them back down. “They should go to jail. All of them. This will do it. I’ll find out what I can, and hopefully we can get this place shut down right at the right time. And then every single one of them will be culpable.”

I take another bite, but thoughts of Flynn come into my mind and I slow down my chewing. Flynn. That man … I don’t know how I feel about him. I mean, I know how I feel about him. But I don’t know … could he ever change? If I’m taking one of the Bullets down, I’m taking all of them down. I don’t think I can keep Flynn completely innocent. But if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t want him to be guilty. I don’t want anything to happen to him. Maybe I can warn him. Maybe I can let him know he’s in danger, and that he has to get out, and …

… and get killed in the process.

I give myself a shake. Snap out of it, Trista! Flynn doesn’t care for you. He’s just playing you. He just wants to get laid. And besides, in case you forgot, he’s a Bullet! He’s the enemy. He’s guilty. He has to go to jail. End of story.

I pop the last bite of egg and toast into my mouth with derision and get up, picking up my mom’s dishes as well. She hasn’t moved or looked at me this entire time. I give her a kiss on the forehead and leave the room, shutting her door behind me.

It’s still early in the morning and I have a couple of hours to kill before leaving to go to the office building, so I go over the information I have on the Bullets. It’s pathetically weak. I can hardly make a case that’ll do much damage. Attempted drug dealing on a college campus. Some rough housing in the bar when they’ve had too much to drink, which could be public drunkenness and assault, although everyone was laughing afterward. Possession of marijuana. Ugh … these are all petty crimes. If I don’t get something landing in my lap soon, I’m going to have to take the reins and go out and get it.

Soon enough it’s time to leave, so I get on my gear, go to say goodbye to my mom, and head out on my bike. The morning sun beats down hot on me, warming my arms and back through my leather jacket. I and some others are the first to arrive at the building, Maddox already waiting outside for us. The others show up shortly after, Flynn among them, and Maddox opens the door for us. We go in.

“So this is it,” Maddox tells us. “The dumpster’ll be here around noon. Just start tearing things down for now, break down some of the bigger things like the walls and desks if you can. Throw everything out. Vacuum when you’re done.”

“What, you’re not staying to do this with us?” Alyssa asks.

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Maddox tells her with a wink. “Call me if you need me!”

And with that, he leaves. The rest of us look around the building: it’s open-concept, with cubicle walls being the only things to give any sense of privacy. There are assembled desks and chairs inside the cubicles, some filing cabinets, but apart from that mostly empty. There’s an office kitchen, a conference room, and a couple of bigger offices near the back.

We begin working, the lot of us. Flynn and I don’t start working near to each other, but with this type of thing you’re moving around a lot, so every now and again we find ourselves close to one another. I get to see firsthand just how strong Flynn is, too. All those muscles … after a while you start to think that they’re just for show. But no: he’s able to rip apart cubicle walls on his own, picking up desks, even filing cabinets that I know are still loaded with files.

The dumpster shows up, just like Maddox promised, and we haul things out. The work is hard but it doesn’t take as long as Maddox seemed to think it would. After a while the fervor that people had dies down and things go at a more leisurely pace.

“How’re you doing?” Flynn asks me during one of the times when we’re nearby.

“Not bad,” I say to him. “This isn’t going to take much longer.”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “We’ll have some free time soon.”

I see his eyes move down my body and it gives me a thrill. All this work certainly gets the blood pumping … gets you in the mood for a little fun. I don’t know if Flynn feels the same way or not. But he’s certainly looking like it.

“Want to check out those back offices?” he asks me, and there’s something in his eyes that tell me he’s been reading my mind.

“I’d love to,” I reply.

So we both leave what we’re doing and head toward the back together. Others turn to see us leave, but nobody stops us. Sometimes I wonder if Flynn’s told the others about what’s happened between us, or if they just suspect things on their own. To be honest, right now I couldn’t care less. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that hard body and even harder cock. If Flynn doesn’t make a move soon, then it’ll be me who makes it.

We get to the office—big desk, chair, potted plant, filing cabinet—and I close the door behind us. Flynn turns around at the sound and his eyes find mine. I don’t say anything. Neither does he. I take two steps toward him and already he’s smiling. He reaches forward and immediately I’m swept into his arms, our lips connecting, our hands moving fast like we’re teenage lovers who haven’t seen each other in weeks.

With our mouths open and our tongues greeting each other in their fervid, lashing way, Flynn reaches down and grabs onto my ass with both hands, lifting me up with ease. I let out a squeal into his mouth and giggle as my legs instinctively wrap around his body. He carries me over to the desk and puts me down, the solid wooden top feeling cool through my jeans.

His hands move up and he strips my leather jacket off, revealing the shirt I’m wearing underneath. Then they go down to my stomach and he slides them back up, over my bare skin. I wrap my own arms around his neck as he grabs onto both of my breasts over the top of my bra. I inhale sharply through my nose, my pussy glowing damp between my open legs. I moan against his lips as he fondles me, squeezing, drawing my nipples out and making them hard, making them throb, sending pleasure directly into me from his touch.

I pull away from his mouth and suck in breath—I’m not getting enough oxygen—and immediately his lips latch onto the side of my neck. It’s like I’m in heaven, and I moan out loud, quickly clamping my lips shut in case the others can hear us. But something’s not right. I think to what Flynn’s said. Something isn’t right.

“Flynn,” I whisper, and he moans against my neck. It feels amazing, and I don’t want him to stop, but I need an answer.

“Flynn,” I say again, and this time he pulls himself away, his face not far from mine, his eyes burning with lust and desire. Oh fuck me, is he hot. I can already feel him hard, pressing through our jeans up against my pussy and it’s all that I want, to feel him inside me again. But I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. “Flynn, didn’t you say …” I have to swallow, I’m breathing too quickly. “Didn’t you tell me you never sleep with the same girl twice?”

He looks at me. For a moment I think I’ve fucked things up—that I’ve made him mad.

“We already fucked more than once,” he says in that growl he has. “Why not go for broke?”

He smiles and a shiver runs down my spine. But it’s not enough.

“But … why?” I ask. “You said … you told me it’s your rule. It has to exist for a reason, doesn’t it?”

His smile fades. And he nods.

“Yes. It exists for a reason.”

“Why?”

His gaze is so penetrating, but he doesn’t smile again. Now my arousal is tinged with something else: fear.

“It’s not important,” he says. And then, “I don’t want to get into it.”

“Okay …” I say. “But then … why did you fuck me in that alleyway? Why did you break your rule for me? And what are we doing here? I mean, I know what we’re doing …” He smiles, and so do I. “But why?”

His smile fades again, but doesn’t go away completely. His eyes have never left mine. He takes a breath through his nose and lets it out.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and although it sounds like a cop-out, I’m pretty sure it’s true. “There’s something about you, Trista. Something … different. You’re not like any of the other women I’ve met. You make me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. And … besides that, you’ve got to be the best lay I’ve ever had.”

I can’t stop the smile, despite myself. I drop my gaze to hide my blush.

“I’m serious,” he goes on. “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off over you this past week. I couldn’t wait to get you alone again.”

This time I’m really smiling, and I look up into his eyes.

“Me neither,” I breathe, and then I don’t know if I leaned in or he did. but we’re back to kissing again. And this time it feels closer, it feels more intimate … it feels real. Not just a quick fuck, but something meaningful.

I reach up and slide my hands along his chest, underneath his leather jacket. He shrugs his shoulders and I hear it fall to the ground where it lands with a flump. He reaches down and I feel him undoing the button on my jeans. I slide my hands down his chest again—I can’t help it!—and begin taking off his belt, undoing his jeans as well. When he’s pulled down my zipper I take my hands from him, sliding them into my own pants and panties, lifting my butt up off the table and shimmying them off of myself.

As I undress my lower half I watch Flynn take his cock, solid as a rock, out of his pants. My breath catches in my throat; I forgot how beautiful that thing was. He reaches down into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and takes out a condom, quickly unrolling it over his throbbing member. My jeans and underwear land in a pile down by his feet, and I suppress a shiver as I sit back down on the cool wooden surface of the desk.

My legs open. I’m looking down, watching Flynn grab himself, guide the head of his enormous and incredible dick toward me. And then I look up and I see Flynn looking at me, looking in my eyes. Our gazes lock and I feel connected with him, even before we’re connected down below.

I swallow, and he moves forward more. I’m already quivering with anticipation, but when I feel the head of him reach me I can’t help but let out a soft moan. He moves slowly, playing with me. I could kill him, I want this so much! But I can’t take my eyes away from his, and with a single, fluid movement I feel him enter me.

It’s all I can do not to cry out, not to close my eyes and sever this connection between us. But my eyes remain open, and so do his, as I feel him slide the entirety—the entire length of himself—into me. He grabs onto my thighs and begins to move, and he leans down and his lips find mine and my eyes close again as we kiss. Our kiss is long now. Long and passionate as he fills me.

His hands move up, along my body. I begin to grind myself with him, moving in time with his thrusts. I lock my ankles together, keeping him close, holding him inside of me as we grind our hips together. Our breath starts to come out in deeper blasts through our noses as the pleasure heightens. Now everything around us is disappearing. Flynn is all I can think about, all I can feel. His hard, muscular body presses against mine and I hold onto him, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He’s moving deeper, and with every thrust upward I feel more of him in me. It’s all I can do to keep my voice down. It’s all I can do to stop my moans from pouring out of me.

One of his hands slides up to the back of my head and Flynn’s fingers thread their way through my hair. He holds me, his own soft moans coming in through his breath. His movements come on faster. I begin to cry, my own little bursts happening on my own breath. I can tell Flynn is purposefully keeping his voice down. It’s a good thing this desk doesn’t squeak, because his movements are becoming harder and more forceful as his body collides into my hard and throbbing clit. Waves of thick passion are sending shockwaves into my body.

I can feel my scrabbling grip on him. My pussy is clenching now of its own accord. My heart is racing in my chest and I feel that rising, deep down within me threatening to come out. And still Flynn keeps going, keeps pushing himself, pounding himself into me. He’s all the way inside of me now. I can feel him, filling me with his wonderful self. His other hand slides down and sneaks in underneath the back of my shirt. His bare hand on the skin of my back. It slides up and he pulls me closer. He holds me as he continues to fill me, thrusting upward, making me shiver and shake, my legs almost unable to keep themselves held together.

Keeping myself quiet during all of this is so difficult, and yet the challenge makes it just oh so sweet. Flynn is my everything right now. He’s all I know, and all that I can feel. That rising is coming on stronger within me. I hear and feel him moan against my lips and it triggers a wave of pleasure that touches my very soul. He keeps going stronger, keeps going hard within me. I hear a tight squeak being emitted from me and I clamp my lips harder against Flynn’s, his own reaction being to pull me closer to him, his hips going faster, going in deeper.

His smell, his sounds, his body against mine, his cock connecting me to him in the deepest and most intimate of ways. I can’t stop it now. It rises, rises up, and I just hope the trembling of my body is enough indication for him that this is going to happen. Higher, higher, coming from deep inside all the way to the surface. My fingers clench, my pussy clenches, I struggle so hard to keep my voice from crying out and Flynn, mind reader that he is, pulls me even closer and buries himself as deeply inside of me as he can go just as I’m pushed over the edge.

Keeping myself quiet in this moment is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. All of me—all of me—wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to moan and thrash and let the world know just how incredible this man is making me feel. But I have to keep quiet as Flynn holds onto me, my body quivering, pulsing hard against his. And then, deep inside of me, I feel Flynn’s thick and hardened cock throb and pulse as Flynn lets out only the tiniest of cries through his nose.

We both come together, his cock pumping his load inside of the condom, my pussy clenching so hard around him that it feels as though I’m going to snap it off. And once it’s finally over—once the trembling and quivering of muscles has finally settled down—I relax myself into Flynn’s arms, him still holding me, still keeping me pulled in close against his body.

Our lips have been pressed together this entire time, but it’s only now that we start kissing again. And it’s slow this time—slow and relaxing, intimate and wonderful. When the kissing ends and I open my eyes I see that Flynn’s are closed, if only for a second before he opens them. But in that second I see something I haven’t before: I see the man behind the roughness, behind the tough exterior and the leather jacket and the gang. I see the real Flynn.

And my God, is he beautiful.

Trista

Captain Hartridge stands up in front of everyone, going over the topics of today’s meeting, but I’m hardly paying attention.

All I can think about is Flynn. Flynn and his incredible body. Flynn and the incredible sex we had, only a few days ago, hidden away in that office when all the other Bullets were out there and could have heard us at any minute.

It gives me shivers just thinking about it. But what does Flynn think about it? I honestly have no idea. We haven’t had a chance to really talk since it happened. I’ve been swamped with work, and anytime I’m around at the warehouse or the bar there are others there. It makes it difficult to get a moment alone with him.

And I don’t want to bring him back to my place. Each time we’ve fucked it’s been in some clandestine place. Hot though it is, part of me wants to get closer to Flynn … and you can’t really do that when you’re having a quick fuck in an alley or a bathroom or in an office at the back of a building.

But taking him home isn’t really an option. My mom’s there, for one. Plus he would see my police uniform. My diploma from the academy. And the dossiers I’m keeping on everyone are there too.

No, taking him home isn’t an option. But what am I thinking anyway? A guy like that doesn’t want to be taken home. He just wants to have quick fucks and be done with you. I mean, he said there was something different about me, but he was just saying that to get into my pants again.

Wasn’t he?

“Officer Pearson!”

I snap to attention and look up to see Captain Hartridge staring daggers at me. Others are looking at me too. Did I doze off? I definitely wasn’t paying attention, but I didn’t think she noticed …

“So glad you’ve decided to come back to earth,” the captain says to me, and I can feel myself blush. I sit up straight in my seat and clear my throat.

“Sorry, Captain,” I say. “I’m just a little tired.”

“Oh, a little tired, are we?” the captain says, bringing her sneer closer to me. “Well then, perhaps we’d better review the work that you’re doing to make sure you’re not breaking your back too much!”

Devon pipes in: “You’d think all that filing work wouldn’t be keeping you up, Pearson.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the captain says. “Officer Pearson, is doing filing work too hard for you?”

I can feel the eyes of every person in the room on my face. I have to swallow back my building anger.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Is this meeting too boring for you to stay awake throughout?”

It’s hard for me not to grimace, but I force my face muscles down.

“No,” I say.

“Well then, pay goddamned attention. I will not tell you twice.”

“Yes, Captain,” I say, and finally she goes back to her slides, leaving me alone.

“As I was saying,” she says, “there’s a new drug hitting the streets. It’s a hybridized form of amphetamine, similar to meth. Users typically crush it up and snort it. Nothing too crazy, right? Well, this new stuff’s been sending people to the hospital, and not just for overdoses. Severe nasal bleeding, temporary blindness, and even seizures have been reported from users of the drug. But even after these people are treated, they still seem to exhibit signs of addiction—even after seventy-two hours admittance. Basically, the drug is going in their system and it isn’t coming out.”

“Who’re the people doing this stuff?” one of the cops asks.

“Kids, mostly,” Captain Hartridge tells him. “College kids, some teenagers.” My heart does a flip in my chest as I remember going with the Slingers to sell drugs on the college campus. “It hasn’t gotten into the business sector yet, but we figure it’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe it’s already there,” another cop chimes in. “And maybe the reason it’s only kids going to the hospital is because kids tend to be idiots when it comes to drugs.”

“Yeah, these teens are probably just snorting up ten lines or something to impress their friends,” a third cop says. “And of course they’re still addicted. They have no self-control.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t be trying to stop this stuff hitting the street?” a fourth cop counters. “It sounds like serious stuff, and people are getting affected by it.”

“Okay, everybody stop,” Captain Hartridge says, cutting off the conversation. “I’ll be the one calling the shots on what to do next. Got it?” She looks around and people nod. “Got it?” More people nod. “Good. I’ll consider what our next step will be. In the meantime, be on the lookout for anything new that pops up or any leads on a supplier. But don’t make it a priority. New drugs hitting the scene aren’t anything to write home about. It could just be some new cook who’s still figuring out his recipe. Meeting adjourned.”

Chairs scrape back as people get up from the table. I crack my back, feeling the satisfying crunch of vertebrae. When I relax I see Devon walking toward me as people clear out of the room. I want to leave too, but he’s got his sights set on me, so I stay.

“Pearson,” he says, stopping in front of me. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

I furrow my brow.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Why have you been acting so flaky at work lately?” he asks me. “Don’t think people haven’t noticed. You’ve been … harsher with people. Like you don’t care as much now.”

It’s true. The more time I spend with the Bullets, the more my persona from being around them creeps into my everyday life. I try to shrug it off, like a coat I’m wearing, but it’s difficult. And to be honest, being around the Bullets is more enjoyable than being around Captain Hartridge and Devon and all the other officers. So I guess I’m rebelling. I just didn’t know exactly how much.

“I’m just tired,” I say, my go-to for anytime I’ve been acting weird but don’t want to explain why.

“Bullshit,” he says. “You haven’t been doing anything tough at work. What exactly has been making you so tired?” His eyes narrow. “Are you fucking someone?”

“What? No!” I say, offended. But he just smiles.

“Good. That means you’re free for dinner tonight.”

“Ugh, no,” I say, taking a step back. “Devon, listen: I don’t want to go out with you. I’m not interested in you. Okay? End of story.”

His smile turns into a sneer—ugly, deforming.

“You should watch yourself, Pearson,” he says to me. “Be careful which horse you back in this race. Otherwise you may not make it in this world.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask, but his sneer twists into a smile again.

“Remember it,” he says, and with that he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me alone.

I try to shake off the disgusting feeling I have, but it’s hard. Heading back to the filing room, I’m not looking forward to the rest of my day. The only thing I really do have to look forward to is going to the Bullets’ place tonight. Hanging out, maybe going to the bar, drinking some beers. Those are good people, those Bullets. Great friends, like a family.

I reach the filing room and sit down, pulling a box toward me, taking the lid off and pulling out a stack of folders.

But as I begin my dull work, the elation I was just feeling begins to abate.

When am I going to do what I set out to do to the Bullets? I’ve been in the gang for two weeks now … two long weeks, and all I have to show for it is a few tepid facts on each of the members. We’ve torn apart an old office building, I’ve stopped some drugs from being dealt on campus—although Maddox probably sent the Slingers there the next day without me—and … had some incredible sex.

That’s it. Nothing good for arrests. Nothing that can incriminate anyone.

Part of the problem is that I seem to have joined at a down time for the gang. Everyone seems relaxed about it, but Maddox is only getting information sent to him in dribs and drabs. Even he seems restless. Like he’s waiting for something to happen, and until that thing happens there’s nothing for anyone else to do.

Well, what am I going to do? Wait until it’s too late? Wait until this new hybrid amphetamine drug is already out there on the streets before I do anything? I need to start making arrests. I need to step up my game. If I don’t, then one of these hospitalized kids isn’t going to be hospitalized—they’re going to be dead, and it’ll be my fault for not stopping it when I had the chance.

I can’t forget what happened to Sal.

Many hours later my shift finally ends and I leave the filing room. I don’t run into Devon, thank God, as I go to the parking lot and get on my bike, riding home. Once there I check on my mom, feed her her dinner, shower and change for the Bullets, then head over to the warehouse.

I walk into the large space where I hear yelling and see a crowd of people standing around the table. A quick scan shows me that Flynn isn’t one of them. A skip of disappointment goes through me, but I push that out of the way. I have to focus. I have to get something good.

“Hey,” I say to Chloe as I approach the crowd. “What’s going on?”

We’re standing around the table where there’s a canvas bag sitting open on it. Beside the bag are a vials of white powder, and a quick glance at the inside of the bag shows more. All six Slingers are among the crowd, one of which is on his knees, being yelled at by Maddox.

“No man, no,” the Slinger is saying. “We didn’t do that, I swear.”

“Then why are our fucking customers going to the fucking hospital?”

“Hey,” Chloe says in a whisper, leaning toward me. “Maddox is pissed. He thinks the Slingers cut our stuff with something that’s making our customers go blind and shit.”

Holy shit. This is exactly what Captain Hartridge was talking about this morning!

“I don’t know!” the Slinger snivels. “It must be the batch! It’s all fucked up!”

“No fucking way,” Maddox spits. “Will told me this one was tested. That it was good.”

“Listen, Maddox,” one of the other Slingers says, and Maddox spins his focus around on her. “We swear, we didn’t do anything to the batch.”

“Do you fucknuts have any idea how it fucking looks to Will Silver to be selling our customers something that fucking hospitalizes them?!”

“We swear it!” the first Slinger cries, and Maddox looks back at him. His eyes narrow.

“You swear it?” he asks, his voice sounding threatening now. No one else in the warehouse is speaking, and it makes Maddox sound dangerous. “Then fucking prove it.”

The Slinger being addressed swallows. He looks scared.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take some of the drug,” Maddox suggests, as calmly as if he were asking the Slinger to pick out a color of paint. “If you didn’t cut it with anything, then you won’t mind doing any of it.”

The Slinger’s eyes dart down to the vials on the table.

“Wha— … what about that tester? Gil something?”

“Gil’s dead,” Maddox calmly explains. “Died in a fire, remember that? Or did your tweaked-out brain think he was still around running a building that isn’t even there?”

The Slinger’s lips blubber at this.

“Well Twixer ain’t some kinda drug mule!” one of the other Slingers pipes up. Maddox turns to her.

“A drug mule carries drugs,” he tells her, once again in that calm and rational voice. “What I want is for Twixer to test out the drugs.”

“He ain’t that neither!”

“Yeah, Maddox,” Matthias chimes in, sounding concerned. “Didn’t Gil … I mean, I heard he went kinda crazy from trying this stuff.”

“That was a recipe from months ago,” Maddox tells him. “This one’s changed. It’s different.”

“Yeah, the Slingers have been cutting it with something!” Chloe says.

“No!” Twixer shouts, but Maddox just shakes his head.

“Listen. Either you take this drug right now, or we make you take it. The choice is yours.”

Twixer looks terrified. His eyes dart from person to person, looking for help, but no one knows what to say. Suddenly he makes a noise and lurches to his feet, but our Bullets are too fast for him. Two sets of hands grab onto his arms, and Twixer cries out as he’s forced roughly back down to his knees.

“Hold him!” Maddox shouts, picking up one of the vials. Twixer screams and thrashes, trying to get away. The other Slingers look scared as well, and uncertain about what to do. Myself, my heart is racing in my chest. But I’m as stunned as everyone else. I can see it on their faces.

Maddox pops off the top of the vial, and brings it down to a struggling Twixer’s nose. Twixer calls out for help, for Maddox to leave him alone, but Maddox only grabs a hold of Twixer’s mouth, covering it up with the palm of his hand. Twixer’s forced to breathe harshly through his nose, and that’s where Maddox sticks the open end of the vial.

It’s an ugly, painful thing to watch. Twixer cries out through his nose, but he can’t stop himself from breathing. Maddox even tilts Twixer’s head back, and I see the white powder being slowly sucked in through one of Twixer’s nostrils. Bits at a time, with Twixer’s eyes going wider after each snort. His pupils begin to dilate when the vial’s halfway done, but still Maddox holds it there, more and more of it being brought up into Twixer’s lungs.

Finally the vial is empty, and at last Maddox takes the thing away, and lets go of Twixer’s mouth. He stands back up, and then nods at the two Bullets holding the captive’s arms. They let go, but the need to flee has left Twixer. He stays on his knees now, breathing heavily. His face looks sweaty already and we all stand around, staring at him, watching in rapt silence as the only sound in the warehouse is that of him wheezing.

Suddenly Twixer coughs, a harsh barking sound, and we all react with surprise. I see one of his arms start to twitch. It’s like watching a transformation take place. In the back of my mind I’m worried that he’s going to turn into some sort of Mr. Hyde. But the reality of the situation is much worse.

Twixer lets out several more coughs, and as he does the twitching extends from his arms all the way through the rest of his body. He leans to the side and falls over, his head landing with a thud against the concrete foundation of the room. The other Slingers and some of the Bullets cry out as Twixer begins convulsing. His muscles seize and he shakes violently, white foam beginning to come out of his mouth. Slingers drop to their knees, grabbing a hold of him, unsure of what to do but trying to stop this from happening all the same.

I’m shocked. I look up at Maddox and I see him watching all of this, his expression unable to read. Is it fear? Sympathy? Anger? I don’t know.

“Somebody call someone!” one of the Slingers shouts, but nobody moves. We can’t bring the police or an ambulance here. Besides, we’re all too shocked to do anything anyway.

Twixer keeps convulsing, keeps seizing on the ground. The girl Slinger who tried defending him is holding his face in her hands. She’s crying, trying to get him to stop. And as though granting her wish, he does stop. Twixer’s body gives one final seize, his voice sounding strained through his nose and the foam in his mouth, before all of his muscles relax and his last breath leaves his body. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, cold and glassy, never blinking again.

“NOOOOO!!” the girl Slinger cries out. She begins to sob, bringing her head down to Twixer’s, her greasy hair falling down in ropes around them. The other Slingers are silent, but we’re all watching this display. I don’t know what to feel. My heart and mind feel detached from my body. Did I just watch somebody die?

“Fuck!” Maddox shouts, kicking one of the chairs hard, making it fly across the floor away from the table. We all jump, my heart beating fast in my chest. “Fuck fuck fuck! Making drugs isn’t fucking rocket science!”

“Maddox!” says Matthias.

“He’s fucking dead, man!” shouts Chloe.

“Shut up!” Maddox points at her. “Just shut the fuck up. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

“No, it’s not supposed to happen!” cries one of the Slingers, himself sounding choked up.

“Just shut up! Everybody shut up!”

Maddox runs both hands through his hair. He looks stressed out. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes fly from this place to that.

“Ugh … those fucking guys!” He kicks the table this time, and the bag of vials slides, a few more vials coming out. Some of them start to roll around, clinking together. One falls off the table and smashes on the ground, next to the body of Twixer.

“They should have figured this shit out!” Maddox says, more to himself now than to the rest of us. “This shit should not be happening. Ugh,” his fingers run through his hair again. “I have to make some phone calls. You, and you,” he points to two of the Slingers huddled around Twixer. They look up at him. The girl holding Twixer’s head still hasn’t moved. “Get rid of the body. The desert. And you,” he points to another. “Take her out of here.”

And with that, Maddox turns and heads for his office, leaving everyone to either watch him go or listen to the girl cry her heart out to a dead Twixer.

“Come on, Kash,” says one of the Slingers, trying to pry the girl’s grip off of Twixer. She screams out in hurtful sorrow, and the sound of it cuts into me. We, the Bullets, all stand and watch as a sobbing Kash is taken away, the fight having left her entirely. The other Slingers help pick up the body of Twixer, struggling with its weight. One by one the Bullets peel off, but I’m still standing there, watching all of this happen. Finally the Slingers get a hold on the body and they carry it out, and then I’m the only one left standing. Nobody is speaking, except the muted sounds of Maddox on his phone, and once Kash is out of the warehouse an eerie silence takes her place.

I just watched somebody die.

It’s like my mind and my heart had taken a vacation, and they were only now coming back to be with me. But then reality slowly sets in. Like I’m standing on slow-moving quicksand, it envelops me, not letting me go.

I just watched somebody die. One of the Slingers. Maddox killed him, all to prove a point that he was wrong about.

Is this the group I want to be in? Is this the life I want to play at being a part of? Where’s Flynn? I feel like I need him right now. Because standing here in this gigantic warehouse surrounded by people—myself included—who did nothing while a man died right in front of them makes me feel so, so alone.

I need to do something. I need to set things right.

And now there’s no time to waste.

Trista

I’m riding on my motorcycle, heading to Point Blank with the other Bullets, Maddox excluded. I can’t even remember what happened after watching Twixer die. Somebody came up to me—I was still standing there—and asked me if I was all right. I said something. He led me away from the table. The rest is a blur. And now we’re outside, riding.

The sun is starting to go down. I don’t even know what time it is. The buildings and pedestrians all fly by in a haze. I hardly notice any of them.

Before I know it we’re at the bar, parking our bikes next to one another’s. We walk in and I look over to the couches and see Flynn there, having a beer with Jackie and Chris. They’re all smiles, but when they see us the smiles drain from their faces. Flynn gets up and walks over to me, meeting me halfway as the others continue to the bar.

“Hey, is everything all right?” he asks me.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can say anything. Have I spoken since I watched Twixer die? I don’t know. Maybe.

“I …” I start to say, my throat feeling dry and painful. Maybe I was crying? I honestly don’t know.

“Here, come on,” Flynn says, saving me from trying to speak any more, and he leads me toward the couches, sitting me down next to where he was. He passes me his beer and I take it, the cold glass feeling wet against my hands. I drink the fizzy liquid and it cuts through my dry throat like water through a desert. It feels good.

Some of the others join us on the couches, and though Jackie and Chris ask them what happened, they’re slow to respond. But eventually the story leaves them, and as they tell the whole thing Jackie, Chris, and Flynn all fall silent. By the time they’re done, everyone else has sat down at the couches. I’ve still hardly said anything.

“This is fucked,” Chloe says, and several people agree. “Maddox had no right to do that. He knew the stuff was like poison. Why did he make that Slinger take the whole vial?”

“He thought the guy was lying,” Tyrone says. “He thought they cut it with something.”

“Bullshit,” Chloe spits. “You saw how scared that Slinger was. There’s no way he would be lying just to cover his ass that far.”

“Twixer,” I say, and people’s heads turn to me.

“What?”

“Twixer,” I tell Chloe. “That was his name. It was Twixer.”

She looks at me for a moment. “Yeah, Twixer. There’s no way Twixer would have been lying at that point. What would be the benefit?”

Flynn looks over at me, and even though I don’t quite meet his eyes I can see the compassion in his face. He drops one of his hands down between us—down where no one can see—and I feel him grab onto my hand, giving it a squeeze.

My heart skips a beat. I finally do look over at him and he smiles at me. We’ve never held hands before. I don’t know what to say. But before I can, Flynn lets go of my hand and turns his attention back to the conversation. I swallow, forcing my attention back to it as well.

“Well, whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Alyssa says. She sounds depressed. “What’s done is done. Hopefully Maddox takes care of this, and soon.”

“If he can take care of it,” Matthias points out.

“What makes you think he can’t?” Flynn asks.

“I’m just saying, if Maddox has all of his shit together, then why did something like this happen?”

“Maddox is a good leader,” Flynn tells him. “It’s Will who’s fucking him over here. Maddox doesn’t have any hand in what’s going on. It’s not his fault.”

“Don’t you think a good leader should have a hand in what he’s selling on the street?”

Several mutters of agreement come up.

“Just give him time,” Jackie says, and others agree to that. “Maddox will figure this all out.”

I sit with the Bullets as the conversation eventually turns to other, more cheerful things, although I don’t participate in any of it. I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Flynn gets me a beer, but I hardly touch it. In my mind’s eye all I see is Twixer—I didn’t even know his name, not until minutes before he died—hacking up barking coughs on the ground. Him collapsing, seizing, convulsing as thick, white foam spills out of his mouth. And his eyes. His eyes looked so scared when Maddox held that fucking vial to his nose and forced him to inhale that entire thing in one go.

“Hey.”

I snap out of my trance and look over to see Flynn looking at me. His eyes are full of concern. Around us conversations continue.

“You feeling all right?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m just kind of tired.”

I take a drink of my beer and the liquid tastes foreign to my tongue. It’s a struggle to swallow it. I just want to spit it out. I just want to get up and leave these people here. How can they just drink and talk like nothing even happened?

“Is it what happened earlier?” Flynn asks me in a low voice, a voice meant only for me. “With that Slinger who died?”

A wave of nausea hits me and I have to swallow to hold it back.

“No,” I lie again. “I told you, I’m just tired.”

But he doesn’t look convinced.

“Listen, it sounds like what happened was pretty fucked up. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you when that happened. Was that … your first time, seeing a dead body?”

I open my mouth as I consider my answer. I’ve seen dead bodies before. Being on the force, it’s practically an occupational hazard. But that part of my life doesn’t exist right now. Besides, it’s not the fact that I saw a dead body that’s bothering me. It’s how he died, and why he died—which was for nothing.

“Yeah,” I decide to go with. “Just once. But this was different.”

Flynn nods, not asking for more details. He puts his hand on mine again, hidden, where no one else can see. My heart does a little leap in my chest, but for some reason it’s not as strong as it usually is.

“I hear you,” he says. “Seeing someone die can be hard. Especially if it’s right in front of you, especially if they were someone close to you. The first time I saw someone die, I …” I watch Flynn trail off for a moment, just a moment. But in that moment his eyes lose their sparkle, and I think I see something almost come out that I’d never seen before. But as quickly as it came, it goes. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I was shocked. The first time I saw someone die. It’s tough. It takes something out of a person. So, yeah, I get where you’re coming from.”

Our hands are still together, and now it’s my turn to give his a little squeeze. He looks down, almost as though he’d forgotten we were touching, and a small smile appears on his face. He gives my hand a squeeze back, and then he looks at me. I look back at him, our eyes locked together.

But that moment of tranquility lasts only so long, as the noise of boisterous conversation tears me out of it and back into reality. Bullets laughing, getting drunk … it’s like nothing even happened to them, and my previously forgotten feelings of unease and disgust come roaring back.

I pull my hand from Flynn’s. I have to go. I can’t be here any longer.

I put my beer—only a quarter of it gone—down on the table and stand up. A couple of people look up at me, but they quickly return to their conversation. Flynn stands up too.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice still low.

“I have to go,” I tell him. “I think I just need some air. Or maybe some sleep. I just want to get out of here.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says as I start to move away from the couches.

“No,” I tell him, looking up into his eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Flynn doesn’t look convinced, but I hold my gaze and eventually he drops his.

“Fine,” he says. “Be careful out there. Don’t do anything too crazy.”

“I won’t,” I say. And then, without thinking, I lean up and give him a peck on the lips. I regret it as soon as I do it. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know who here knows about us, or who Flynn’s told, if anyone. I can feel myself blush, and I see some people looking at us, but nobody says anything.

“Um,” I say, feeling embarrassed. Flynn doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at me strangely. “Have a good night.”

“Bye,” he says, and I leave the couches, lifting a hand to bid farewell to those who are saying goodbye to me.

As soon as I step out of Point Blank and I breathe in some cool night air, I feel better. But not entirely better. I walk over to my bike and climb on, kicking it into life. Taking it out of the parking lot, I ride out onto the dark streets and start to head home.

But as I ride, and as the cool wind whips through my hair and I breathe in deeply, trying to clear my thoughts, I realize that if I go home I won’t be able to do anything. I’ll sit or pace around or lie down, not eating, not sleeping, just thinking about today, about what happened today.

And in fact, now that I’m on my own and I’m able to think without the distracting noises of ambient conversation, watching Twixer die for no good reason is all I can think about. It’s all that fills my brain. My bike starts to swerve a little as I lose focus of the road. I tighten my grip on the handlebars, but still it’s a terrible struggle to keep steady. I’m shaking too much. The bike is responding to it.

I have to slow down. There, a side street. I make a quick turn onto it and go down, then turn onto another side street, riding down that one instead. I come out at a major road and turn in the opposite direction to where I was going. I ride, going faster, trying to escape my thoughts but they stay with me, like ghosts who refuse to stop haunting me.

The ghost of Sal.

Stop it!

He died for no good reason either.

Go away!

I turn down another street, almost skidding my bike this time because I didn’t slow down. Now I’m racing along some decrepit houses. My thoughts are still with me, overpowering me, making me feel sick to my stomach. My bike swerves again, almost dangerously this time, and finally I take the hint and slow down, coming to a stop amid some abandoned buildings.

I get off my bike, hearing it fall to the side and crunch the dirt and stones and broken glass beside it, but I’m already taking steps away from it. I have to walk around. My thoughts are going crazy. I feel like I’m going to explode inside. My heart. My heart hurts so much. My hand shakes, and before I know it I take a deep breath and let it out in a scream.

“AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!”

My lungs are empty and I take a deep breath, filling them again and panting a few times before letting it out once more.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh…”

I drop down to my knees, breathing hard. My head feels like it’s floating; my fingers are tingling.

I feel better. A little bit better. My thoughts have backed off, at least for now. But they’ve only cleared the way for my rational mind to come in and take over the scene.

What Maddox did was wrong. That’s it, plain and simple. I wanted the fire lit under my ass to get in gear and crack down on these Bullets? Well, here’s the motivation I needed.

I won’t be able to find the body, I know that. Maddox told them to take it to the desert, and that was hours ago. Even if I do find it, it won’t be enough. The dead body of an overdosed junkie? Big whoop, what does that prove?

No, I need to catch them red-handed. I need to find out something else I don’t know. So, what else don’t I know?

The image of that office building pops immediately into my mind.

Of course! Maddox said they were going to get it up and running right away, but they didn’t say with what. It might be another weapons cache, in which case I wouldn’t have much to go on since all their guns are registered. But it may be something else. It may be a drug storage, or a cook house. There’s only one way to find out.

And it’s a perfect time to do it.

I stand up and turn back to where my bike is lying on the ground. But something in the distance makes me stop and look up.

The towering monolith of the PharmaChem building is on the horizon, blocking out the stars. I few windows are still lit up, including the topmost ones. That must be where Will Silver is. I sneer and look away, walking to pick up my bike. Brushing any debris off of it, I climb on and kick it into life again, then ride toward where the office building is.

It doesn’t take me long to get there. I turn onto the street and see it in the distance. The building is dark, although a little bit down the road is a street lamp, illuminating a small patch of ground not far from it. I decide I’m going to park my bike a bit down the road and walk the rest of the way. It’s quiet here, but I can’t take any chances.

I kill the engine and walk my bike up to the side of the road, putting down the kickstand and getting off. I take my gun out and make sure it’s loaded, flicking the safety off. Like I said, I can’t take any chances. Hearing only my footsteps crunch on the gravel, I slowly walk toward the building, checking for any movement, my ears straining to hear any noise.

As soon as I pass the sidewalk bordering the building, though, a light at the front turns on, illuminating the walkway up to the door. I freeze, then drop my gun to my side and walk at a normal pace to a darker section. My heart is hammering, but as soon as I’m in the shadows again I slow down, turning my head. Finally I come to a stop, staring at the door where the light just turned on.

I wait for someone to come out. My pulse is racing, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do if someone comes out. Shoot them? Try to talk to them? Or just keep on walking? I guess I’ll find out in the moment. I finger the side of my gun, finding the safety, making sure it’s still off.

But nobody comes out. Eventually the light clicks off, and when my eyes adjust to the dark again I look above the door and notice something beside the light: a motion sensor. Relief floods through me. I check around the building for other motion sensors, but the only one I see is above that door. I even walk around to another side of the building, skirting the sensor’s range, and see another door without one.

Giving one more quick check for anyone on the street, I decide to try this side of the building. I slowly walk up to the windows first, looking black in the darkness of night. But when I reach them and try to peer inside, my heart drops when I see that they’ve been frosted over. They weren’t like that before! Maddox must’ve had that done after we left. That just means that whatever’s going on inside is something he doesn’t want the public to see. My heart leaps and I’m excited again. Whatever’s happening inside this building is exactly what I want to find.

I decide to check another window, just to be sure. This one’s frosted too, which means they probably all are. What about the door? There’s a window on the door. It might not show me anything, but it might show me something. I slowly walk over to the door and, once again, the window is frosted.

Fuck. I know it’s a long shot, but I decide to try the door handle. I jiggle it, feeling that it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. I look around, checking for any other way in. What I wouldn’t give for just five minutes inside here with nobody else around. I could just take some pictures, leave the place as it is, and then bring in the force, maybe even tonight. It could put an end to all of this-

Suddenly, bright light blinds me and I have to lift a hand to shield my eyes. I thought this door didn’t have a motion sensor! But even as I think that, I realize that this light can’t be coming from above the door if it’s blinding me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

My heart drops. Fuck. I know that voice. That’s the voice of Maddox.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Turn off the fucking light!” I shout. A moment passes, and my heart is in my throat, but finally the light cuts off. Now I really have to blink. It’s like I’m blinded for real. I hear the familiar crunch of bike tires rolling on the road, and the sound of a kickstand being lowered. By the time I see Maddox sitting on his bike my vision is almost completely returned.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my brain tries reminding me that I’ve just been caught red-handed, and that I might actually die very soon. “It’s dark out, you almost blinded me!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Maddox asks me, still straddling his bike. I realize I still have my gun in my hand, so I put it away.

“What am I doing here?” I ask. “What are you doing here, scaring me? I could’ve shot you!”

My vision is back now, but in the dark I can still only just make out Maddox’s expression. He doesn’t look happy, that’s for sure. No, instead he looks pissed.

“Trista,” he says, and his tone sounds like one of finally understanding. “You know, I was sitting in my office, still trying to get things sorted out. That stuff that killed Twixer … I needed to get it fixed, and I swore that I wasn’t leaving my office until I did. But as I talked to some of Will’s chemists, explaining the situation for the hundredth time, and thinking to myself, ‘This day could not get any worse,’ one of my security feeds changed and do you know what I saw?”

I try not to swallow, and I keep my jaw set.

“No, what?”

“A light turning on. The light at the front door of this building. It’s a good thing I got that one installed, since it was our last one until some more come in next week. I checked the monitor, and who should I see? Is it a raccoon? Is it some punk trying to rob the place? No, it’s our own little Trista!”

I don’t say anything. He goes on.

“What is Trista doing there, I asked myself. She’s moving pretty suspiciously. She first froze, and then walked off to the side, holding a gun beside her. That’s odd. I told the chemists I’d call them back and decided to come check this out myself. So I showed up, turning off my engine when I got close enough. And what did I see? You, peering through this window and trying to get in this side door. So now, Trista, kindly tell me: what the fuck are you doing here?”

My heart feels like it’s stopped. I rack my brain for some sort of excuse, but nothing’s coming to mind. Maddox drops his head, shaking it. Reaching behind him, he pulls something out of a holster on the bike. A shotgun. He gets off his bike, still shaking his head, walking toward me.

“I should’ve known,” he says, his voice tinged with disappointment. “You come to us, asking to become a member, and I’ve never even heard of you before. I should’ve known you can’t be trusted.” He racks the gun, the sound terrifying, and it’s all I can do not to pee myself. “Were you trying to rob us? Did you want to break in and steal our product? Or find out the recipe? Or maybe you’ve had a change of heart about the Bullets. Maybe you’ve gone over to the Chains.” He stops several feet from me. “Or maybe you’re a cop.” The gun raises, Maddox pointing it at my chest. Those two black barrels look like death. He sighs. “I should’ve known. It was nice knowing you, kid.”

“You’re right,” I finally say, my brain kicking its way out of the blockage it’d found itself in. “I’m here for the recipe. I want to find out just what the fuck went wrong.”

Maddox hesitates, his finger already on the trigger. But he doesn’t say anything. I go on, having no idea where I’m going with this.

“Things got fucked up today, Maddox. You know that. One of the Slingers died, and nobody wanted that to happen. Least of all the Slingers. So what do you think they’re going to do, huh? Think about it. Put yourself in their shoes.”

The shotgun stays where it is, but I’m not dead yet. I keep talking.

“You’re a Slinger. You’re doing your job, trying to sell this stuff that you hear is putting people in the hospital. But you keep selling it, because you’re tied in with the Bullets, and you love the Bullets. I mean, they’d have to love us, given how they keep coming back after all the abuse we give them.

“Suddenly the leader of the Bullets—that’s you—calls them in. He’s pissed. He’s accusing them of tampering with the drugs, which you definitely didn’t do. He won’t take no for an answer. Then he holds down one of your friends, one of your best friends, and forces this shit drug up his nose, and guess what? This friend of yours dies right in front of you, for something you didn’t even do.”

Maddox is staring at me, along with those two black barrels. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t lower the shotgun. I go on.

“Maddox is pissed, and he doesn’t even apologize. Not only that, but he tells you to take the dead body of your friend and go bury him in the desert. That’s fucked, Maddox. Even for the most obedient of lap dogs, that’s a fucked-up way to treat them. So I was thinking about it. If I were a Slinger, what would I do? Would I just turn tail and run? Or would I first try to break into an entire factory’s worth of drugs and steal it all, and then turn tail and run?

“So I came here, tonight, before it was too late for anything to happen. I checked the windows for broken glass, and I was just checking the door when you showed up, blinding me with your headlight and shoving a fucking shotgun in my face. So that’s what I’m doing here, Maddox. Now if you don’t mind, kindly get that fucking thing away from me before we both do something we’ll regret.”

I’m looking Maddox in the eyes, trying not to stare into the end of this gun. He’s looking back at mine … and then he sighs, dropping his gaze, taking his finger off the trigger and lowering the gun.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I’m not out of this just yet. It’s a struggle to keep myself from shaking.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I didn’t handle the situation in the best possible way. It’s just that things are getting so fucked up lately. Now that everything’s up and running I’m expected to keep on top of everything, to know the ins and outs of everything. But Will doesn’t tell me shit. He just holds it all back, but expects everything of me.”

He sighs again, and now that my life isn’t being threatened I see just how weary Maddox looks. Has he always looked like that? Maybe I just haven’t noticed it before.

“Things change day by day,” he goes on. “And now this shit, where kids are going to the hospital, and you have to live with the fact that it’s you doing it, that it’s something you’re selling them that’s making them go blind. I didn’t want this. I didn’t sign up for this shit.” He looks at me. “You know, I joined the Bullets when I was about your age.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I just wanted to be with a group of friends, like I was when I was in high school. Most of my high school friends ended up leaving Santa Espera. But I stayed. I just wanted to go out to bars, get drunk, get high, make money. I didn’t want some buttoned-down life. So the Bullets seemed like a dream come true. But now that I’m in charge, it’s different. And with Will …”

He sighs again.

“I’m sorry, Trista. For pulling the shotgun on you. And for the light. I just … I was just stressed out. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

I swallow, clearing my throat.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”

He smiles, then glances at the building.

“Don’t worry about security, by the way. Everything’s locked down; it’s all under control. Once we get more of those motion sensor lights up, that’ll be the last thing. Then we’ll be good.” He sighs again. “Jesus Christ, I’m tired. I think those chemists can wait till tomorrow. I’m going to go home and I’m going to bed.”

He turns around and walks back to his bike, holstering the shotgun and climbing on. He looks at me.

“You got your bike?”

“Yeah, it’s over there,” I point. He looks over and sees it, nodding.

“Okay. Well, have a good night, Trista.”

“You too, Maddox,” I say, lifting a hand as he kicks the bike into life and turns, driving off down the road.

I watch him go, the silhouette of him in the bike’s headlight getting smaller before he turns the corner and is gone. I turn and stumble a few steps until I reach the grass beside the building, vomiting up whatever’s in my stomach. It lands in a wet pile by my feet, and then it’s over. I straighten up, spitting, trying and failing to get the taste of bile out of my mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” I say softly to myself. I’m starting to shake. I need to get home.

Leaving my pile of sick, I walk briskly away from the building toward my bike. Getting on, it takes me a few tries but I finally kick it to life. Then, breathing deeply to settle my stomach, I turn out onto the road and begin the ride home.

Flynn

Trista’s hands are all over me.

I’m swimming in bliss, feeling her touch me, rub me, pulling me closer and sliding my cock up into her beautiful pussy.

It all feels so good. The two of us float together in a nebula, swimming, swirling, moving together as I hear her breathing, feel her pulse all around me, feel her grab onto me and moan and cry out as I push myself deeper into her.

Her eyes meet mine and I’m lost in those green orbs, forgetting about everything around me. Forgetting the Bullets, forgetting my past. It’s all here with her; she’s all that I need. I slide up further into her and her eyes close in ecstasy as she pulls me in for a kiss, our lips and tongues meeting, dancing, coming together.

The pleasure is all in and around me. I can hear Trista getting closer and I’m getting closer myself. She’s everything to me. Then she gives out a sudden gasp and my eyes open, and just like that I’m staring at my ceiling, the ceiling of my bedroom, and my cock is hard and throbbing underneath my sheets and my heart is beating fast and I have to remind myself that it was just a dream.

Just a dream.

But even though it was a dream, that doesn’t mean it didn’t turn me on.

I reach underneath my sheets and grab a hold of my cock, closing my eyes, trying to remember the dream. Feeling Trista, hearing her sounds, smelling that heady scent that only she has. My hand slides up and down my shaft and it feels so good. I see her in front of me. She’s naked, naked and beautiful. She comes to me and I wrap my arms around her, feeling her soft skin, those curves melting into me in just the way that I want them to.

My hand moves faster over my cock as I imagine myself sliding up inside of Trista. Hearing her moan inside my head makes me moan out loud, and now I’m bucking my hips, moving in time with the imaginary version of myself. Trista kisses me and I kiss her back. Her breasts push themselves against my chest and I can feel her nipples, hard little things. Down below, underneath the sheets, I’m sliding my legs back and forth. This feels so good, and I just want to have her on me again, even if it’s just one last time.

She moves faster, and I move faster in real life. Her sounds, her smells, it all combines in my head to bring me closer and closer to the edge. I keep fucking her, keep fucking my fist. My body’s moving faster now. I push the sheets off of myself, so it’s just my naked body sprawled out on the bed. I hear Trista’s sounds, hear her come closer to climax herself and that’s the last thing I needed.

My hand moves fast and I let out a straining grunt, feeling my cock pulse hard, feeling that hot splash of cum against my belly. I’m still fucking Trista, filling her with my seed as she comes against me. I can still hear her, and every moan she gives makes me come even more.

Finally my balls are drained and my heart is racing fast and I have to stop, otherwise I’ll just keep going and I know I’ll never leave this bed. I open my eyes and look down at my cock, still hard, throbbing in my grip. My hand and stomach are covered in my thick, white cum. I breathe in deep through my nose and let it out, dropping my head back down on my pillow.

Now I can actually think clearly. I was dreaming about her again. Trista. To be honest, this is getting kind of annoying. Every night for the last four nights I’ve had wet dreams about her, and every morning for the past four days I’ve had to jerk off to the thought of her. It’s been this way ever since I saw her at the bar and we held hands, if only for those short moments. I don’t know why, but that’s what’s pushed me over the edge.

It was also the same day that Slinger died. Twixer. Fucking shame, but it is what it is.

I guess what I can’t get off my mind is how shaken up Trista was. She was upset by it, and for good reason, but it’s almost like she was too upset. I mean, the guy was just a shitty Slinger. It’s not like she knew him or anything. I guess she’s still sort of new to all this, though. Maybe she just hasn’t seen enough people die. Ah well, give it time and she will. She’ll harden up, just like the rest of the Bullets.

Just like me.

But I can’t delude myself about her. I mean, it’s not like Trista’s into me. Not the way … I mean, not the way chicks usually are. I can tell. For one thing, I hardly see her at the meetings or at the warehouse. She’s gone a lot of the time, only showing up in the evenings, or on random days. I haven’t wanted to ask her where she’s been. It’s not my business. It’s not like I’m her boyfriend or anything. She doesn’t owe me anything.

But even as I think that, my mind goes to the times we’ve slept together. Three times. Not once. Three times. I shake my head.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I … why did I kiss her back in that alleyway, when we were fighting? She was obviously just using it to distract me. But I let my cock get the better of me. And then in the office? That one was … different. It felt closer. It felt good. I mean, the other times felt good, but that time felt good.

I shake my head. No! Stop thinking about her!

I only sleep with any woman once. That’s what I promised myself.

So then why am I making exceptions for her? What’s so special about her? It’s not like this is some drunken weekend somewhere and Trista’s the only pussy around for miles. There’s plenty of other chicks out there, and I know I could have any of them at the drop of a hat. I’ve got a reputation, and women know what they can expect of me.

So then why her? Why have we slept together three times already? And not one right after the other, either. Over the course of days! I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be getting too close. I’m just going to get hurt again.

But I can’t help myself. There’s just something about her that makes me want more.

I have to stop this. I have to either figure out what’s going on with me—with us—or do us both a favor and call it quits before it goes too far.

Giving my body a stretch I get up off my bed and pad naked to the bathroom. There I grab a towel and turn on the shower, giving my teeth a quick brush while the water warms up. I step in and feel the warm water rushing over me. Grabbing the soap I lather myself up, washing the cum off my belly, giving special attention to the large tool down between my legs. Even when I’m not hard, it’s pretty freaking big. My mind wanders to Trista, thinking of her in this shower with me, and I can feel myself start to get hard.

Stop it, not right now. You’ll never leave this apartment.

I finish up showering and step out, towel myself dry, go back into my bedroom and get changed. My jeans fit snugly and I pull on a red T-shirt, my leather jacket going on over it, and finally my boots.

My armor.

Grabbing my keys by the door, I leave my apartment and step outside, walking down the street to where I parked my bike. It’s a bright day out, and I have to squint against the light, blinking until my eyes have adjusted to it. I swing a leg over my bike and start it up. Starting out and turning onto the street, I head north toward the warehouse.

It’s late afternoon—I slept in a while. Lately there hasn’t been much to do, so I guess people—and myself—have gotten lazy. We’re all just waiting for more word from Maddox, who in turn is waiting for more word from Will. What that guy has in store for the Bullets I have no idea, but it better be good. We’ve been patient enough, but you can only ask your gang to wait for so long before they get restless.

Arriving at the warehouse I see a bunch of bikes already parked outside. Pulling mine up at the end of the line, I turn it off and head inside. Once again I have to blink to adjust my eyes to the difference of light, but I see almost everybody hanging out, chatting. And to my surprise, there’s Trista! Sitting up on the stack of wooden pallets, bottle of beer beside her, hanging out with the rest of them.

She smiles as I approach, as do the others, but my eyes are only for her.

I shake my head. Stop it! Remember what you promised yourself!

I turn and acknowledge everyone else too, then look around for a chair. There are none left—but there’s space on the pallets beside Trista. It would be weird just to avoid her, right? Sitting beside another Bullet, that’s what any other friend would do. So I walk up to the pallets and hoist myself up beside her, giving her what I think is a friendly smile as the conversation continues.

“I fucking hope we get some good work to do soon,” Alyssa says. “Sitting on our fucking thumbs is insulting. We should be out there, fucking up the Chains or trying to rally up the Pig Boys or something.”

“This truce is stupid,” Tyrone chimes in. “Does anyone know why it happened, anyway?”

Everybody shakes their heads.

“Will just said we’re not to fuck with the Chains. But that was fucking months ago! Did he just lose his balls or something?”

“You know who should’ve told us something?” Jackie chimes in. “Fucking Maddox.”

I look around but Maddox isn’t here. Lord knows Jackie would never say something like that in front of him.

“He’s become a pussy lately,” Alyssa agrees. “He doesn’t know anything, and he’s too afraid to get answers from Will.”

“Have you ever tried talking to Will?” Chloe asks. “He’ll kill you and not even think twice about it. I don’t blame Maddox for not hounding him.”

“But what’s the point of having Maddox as a leader?” Jackie asks. “If I were leader, this type of shit wouldn’t happen.”

Several of the Bullets voice their agreement, and my heart starts beating a bit quicker.

“Guys, listen to what you’re saying,” I say. “Do you want to start a mutiny just because you’re bored?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Maddox—or Will—has his reasons for keeping the truce in place,” Trista points out. “And with new developments underway, maybe it’s best to just lie low.”

“What new developments are those?” Jackie asks, and Trista’s mouth hangs open for a second before she closes it. “Maddox hasn’t told us shit. We gutted one building. We got stopped selling at the college campus because you told us it was unsafe. And the stuff we have managed to sell has been sending people to the hospital, so that’s been put on hold. Everywhere you look, there’s nothing going on. So what’s the fucking point of us being here?”

Again, more voices agreeing.

“This is bullshit,” Matthias says. “You guys aren’t thinking about all the good stuff Maddox has done for us. Our pay. Our protection. Have any of you had any problems with the police? No. Have any of you ever worried about getting fucked up on the streets late at night? No, and do you know why? Because the Bullets have a reputation. We’re the kings around this town, and everybody knows that. And sometimes kings have to wait things out, and get bored, but it’s all part of the plan.”

People mutter, nodding their heads—some the same as before, but mostly it’s others. The group is almost divided.

I see Trista leaning back on the pallets, her hands spread out behind her, and I do the same, getting more comfortable as the debate rages on. But as I do, my hand inadvertently lands on Trista’s. I freeze, not having meant to do that, and immediately I want to move it … but I don’t. And Trista doesn’t move hers either. I turn my head slowly, glancing over at her, and she turns her head too, looking back at me. Our eyes meet, but neither of us smile. So we keep our hands the way they are, and return to the conversation.

“Look,” Jackie says, “the bottom line is that I think our efforts are being wasted. We should be doing something. We should be helping out Will, at the very least. But he doesn’t trust us—or maybe Maddox doesn’t trust us. And I think that’s wrong.”

“Maddox cares about us,” Chloe counters.

“Oh yeah? Then why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know, and it’s not my business to know. He’s our leader, and if he wants to hold information back from us, that’s fine by me. I trust him.”

“So what do we do?” Tyrone asks. “I mean today? What do we do today?”

“Maddox was saying he wanted the warehouse tidied up,” I suddenly remember. “We could all chip in and do that.”

But groans of annoyance are the response I get.

“He can clean his own fucking warehouse,” Tyrone says, getting up. “I’m going to the bar.”

“That’s the best fucking idea I’ve heard all day,” Jackie says, getting up too as others follow. “Maybe you should be the leader!”

Tyrone smiles. “Maybe I will be,” he says to her.

Everyone’s getting up, but my hand is still on Trista’s and I don’t want to move it. Chloe looks over at us.

“You guys coming?” she asks.

“I think I’m going to do some of the tidying Maddox wanted,” I tell her. “This place is pretty messy. But maybe I’ll see you guys there.”

Chloe nods. “Trista? You coming?”

I look over at Trista.

“No, I think I’m going to help Flynn with the cleaning,” she says, and my heart skips in my chest. I tell it to calm down, but I can’t stop the smile that forms on my face.

So everybody leaves but Trista and me, her finally sliding her hand out from under mine as she drops from the pallets. I do the same, landing on my feet on the concrete foundation.

“So what’s the cleaning we have to do?” Trista asks, shrugging her shoulders.

“Well, probably tidying up the shelves, and doing some sweeping,” I say. “Getting rid of the garbage.”

“Okay,” she nods, and she turns to head toward the shelves. I watch her retreating back for a moment, then go to grab the broom.

The two of us end up working in silence, Trista on one end of the warehouse, myself on another. I thought when she volunteered to stay that maybe she wanted to talk, or maybe even have sex again. I know I told her about my policy, but that didn’t stop us in the alleyway, or in the office building.

But none of that happens. Instead we just work, actually cleaning the place up. It takes a couple of hours, but it’s good to get it done. I get the floors swept, and when Trista’s done with the shelves she comes over to help me bag up garbage, sorting out old beer bottles so they can be returned. We get a couple of full bags and each of us grabs one, carrying them outside and throwing them into the bin.

“That’s good,” I say, blinking in the bright light. The sun is just starting to set. “I think that’s mostly what Maddox wanted us to do—”

“Flynn, what exactly are your intentions with me?” Trista asks me. I stop, blinking again, hardly seeing her in the blinding sunshine.

“What?”

“I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out. We have sex at the bar and afterward you tell me you have some rule where you only sleep with the same woman once. That’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but I don’t know you and it is what it is. But then we have sex two more times, and the last time was really … it was really intense.”

“Um …”

“And then in the bar, four days ago! You held my hand. And again, when we were sitting with the others. I just … I’ve been thinking about it and trying to figure it out, but I just don’t know what you want. So I thought I’d ask you: what exactly do you want out of this?”

The sun is so bright, and I can hardly see Trista.

“Can we go inside? And talk in there?” I ask.

Trista nods and we walk back to the warehouse, stepping into the relative coolness of the building, my eyes finally able to open all the way, allowing me to see properly.

I turn to face Trista and she’s staring at me, expecting an answer. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Finally I shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t know,” I say, hearing how lame that sounds as it comes out. But it’s the truth. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer, but I honestly don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know? Have you not thought about this at all?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, Trista. I just … it’s hard to put into words.”

“Do you have feelings for me?” she asks, and I look at her. My jaw clenches shut. I don’t answer, and she drops her gaze. “Okay, so you don’t.” She sounds hurt. My heart cries out and I want to comfort her, but I don’t know what to say. “Is it just about the sex then?”

“Trista,” I begin, and she looks up at me. “This is hard for me to go into. It’s hard because I … because I haven’t had to talk about this before.”

She nods, not saying anything. I take a deep breath and let it out. I want to tell her. Inside I know it’s what she deserves. But still I can’t. Not now, at least. Instead I glance at the door. I get an idea.

“I want to show you something,” I say. Trista blinks.

“What?”

“Come on, I want to show you something,” and I grab her hand, leading her to the front, out the doors to where our bikes are waiting. I only let go of her hand when we reach ours. I swing my leg over, getting on.

“Where are we going?” Trista asks, not moving from beside me. I flash her a smile.

“It’s a secret,” I say. “But we have to hurry. I want to show you my favorite place in the city.”

I kick my bike into life and stare at Trista, the engine rumbling between us. Finally she walks over to her bike, getting on it and turning it on. I lead the way, the two of us riding away from the warehouse, back in the direction I came from just a few hours earlier. The setting sun is to our backs as we ride east. I can hear Trista’s bike trailing behind mine. Finally we reach my apartment building and I park my bike on the side of the street. Trista does the same. We both kill our engines.

“Where is this?” she asks, but I only smile in response.

“Come on,” I say, and I lead the way inside.

We go in through the front door. There’s no one at the elevators as I press the button to go up, and soon the doors ding open and let us inside. I press the uppermost button and the doors close.

“We’ll have to walk up a few flights of stairs,” I tell a silent Trista. “The elevator doesn’t go up high enough. I hope that’s okay.”

She doesn’t say anything as we ascend. Finally we reach the highest floor we can and we get out, taking a right down the hallway. I push the door open to the stairwell and start to climb up. Luckily it’s only two more floors, and I take the steps two at a time, Trista just to the side of me as we climb. The door at the top is supposed to be locked, but that lock was busted a long time ago and no one’s ever fixed it. I push it open and the two of us step out into the brilliant sunshine—on the large, flat roof of my apartment building.

We’re seventeen stories above the ground, the expanse of the city almost entirely to the west of us where the sun has just started to touch the horizon.

“Here we are,” I say to Trista as we walk closer to the edge of the building, stopping before it. One of the advantages of being in an apartment so close to the edge of the city is the difference in view. Behind us is the desert—the vastness of dried sand humbling at the best of times. But personally, I like the view of the city as the sun is setting. The hues of red, orange, yellow, purple all coat the tops of buildings, the trees, the cars, the people out walking. The only downside is that monolith of a building, PharmaChem, that’s planted smack in the middle of the city. It stands like a sentinel tower, watching over all of us, all metal and glass and power and control.

“Wow,” I hear Trista say in a breath, and I look over from the view to see her staring out at it. “Flynn, this is … this is beautiful.”

“I know,” I say, and I return my gaze out to the city.

We stand together, drinking in the ambient noise from below, the relative peace from above.

“This city can be an incredible place,” I say to her, the both of us still looking out. “It can be a real shithole too, but there are times … well, it can be the best place in the world.”

“It was always a shithole,” I hear Trista say. “No matter where you went, there were people in poverty, people vying for jobs that PharmaChem controlled. It’s got potential, but it’s still got a long way to go.”

I furrow my brow.

“Didn’t you move here from Pasadena?” I ask, looking at her, and Trista turns to look at me. She opens her mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “But I mean, I’ve talked to people about Santa Espera. And besides, the story about PharmaChem is pretty famous. This place would have been a ghost town were it not for Will Silver.”

I nod, turning back to the view. “That’s true. We all owe him so much.”

“Do we?” she asks. “He’s not a good man.”

“Sometimes you need somebody bad to make the choices a good man wouldn’t,” I tell her. “Besides, he helps people out. He’s like the father of this city, the one who hits his kids as well as hugs them. He can help you out. Even through the bad times, he can be relied upon.”

“What kind of bad times?” she asks, and my heart skips.

“Nothing,” I quickly say. “I just mean in general.”

We watch the sun slowly descend, painting the city with an incredible array of colors. Even though I’ve watched this so many times before, every time it fills me with awe. A strange sort of courage comes over me. Seeing everything before me, it’s like seeing my future laid out. And having Trista standing beside me … it’s like she’s looking out over my future as well. Or we’re looking over our future together.

And even though I told myself I need to stop this, there’s something about it that just feels so right.

I reach over and take Trista’s hand in mine. We talked about it. She wanted to know why I held her hand earlier, and I told her I didn’t know. But I did know why. I knew but I just didn’t want to tell her. Not at that moment.

She looks down at our hands as I lace our fingers together, and then she looks up at me. Her eyes meet mine and I’m looking at her, looking at her eyes, at her face, at her entirety. At her beauty. This feels so right. This feels so perfect.

“I don’t know if I can explain it with words,” I say to her as the multicolored light paints us both, “but there’s something different about you. Something that you have that no one else I’ve ever met has. I don’t know what it is … but it makes me want to be with you. Not just sleep with you—be with you. I want to be beside you, Trista. I want to protect you and know that you’re all right. Before I met you … well, that policy was there for a reason. It was there to protect me from getting my heart broken again. But you … make me want to open up. You make me not afraid anymore. That’s why I’ve broken my policy for you, Trista. Because of who you are. And because of what you do to me. How I feel when I’m around you, and how I feel when I think about you. That’s the reason why.”

Trista doesn’t say anything, but I see her smile, and it makes me smile in return. I turn and take a step toward her, shortening the distance between us. I’m right in front of her and I’m looking down into her eyes and she looks so beautiful—so goddamned beautiful—and before I know it I’m kissing her, I’m kissing her lips and she’s kissing me back.

She wraps her arms around me and holds me close. I can feel the heat of her body against mine and it feels so good. Through her open jacket she presses herself into me, her breasts pushing into my chest, her heartbeat syncing up with mine. My hands are sliding underneath the jacket, feeling her beautiful body through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Trista moans against my mouth and I feel myself already getting hard inside my pants, all in anticipation for her.

I move both my hands down and grab onto her ass over her jeans. Picking her up with ease, Trista squeals through her nose, but her lips never leave mine. Her legs wrap themselves around my body, the heat of her crotch radiating against my stomach.

I move slowly, being careful on this concrete rooftop as I lower both of us down. Trista’s butt and back uncurl until she’s lying down, with me on top of her. She keeps her ankles locked around me. She keeps me close as we continue to kiss. Now her hands are free to roam underneath my jacket, sliding up beneath my T-shirt, making my heartbeat quicken as she touches my bare skin.

I balance myself on my one elbow as my other hand takes this opportunity to explore her. I, too, slip myself underneath her T-shirt. Her soft skin feels exquisite against my callused hands, and I can feel her breathing, can feel her writhing there underneath me. I follow along the curve of the side of her body and Trista arches her back, inviting me without words. I take the invitation and quickly unclasp the back of her bra. That new avenue now open to me, I quickly slide my hand back up as she relaxes. I slip my fingers underneath the loose cup of her bra and hear the sharp inhalation of breath through her nose as I grab onto her.

Her nipple is already hard as I begin to play with it. Trista writhes underneath me even more now, pushing her lower half up into me. The cock in my pants is throbbing, begging to be let out to play, but I tell it to be patient. Instead I grind myself into her, through all of our clothes. It’s as though we’re in middle school, but that somehow makes it all the more friendly, all the more comfortable.

Inside her shirt my fingers grab onto either side of her hard little nipple and Trista moans as I give it a light pinch. I play with it—pulling, squeezing—feeling her arousal being stretched this way and that. She bites softly onto my lower lip and I smile as I push my hips harder down into her, feeling her push harder up against me. I want her so badly, but this denial is exquisite unto itself.

Trista, however, feels differently.

I feel her hands slide down my stomach to the top of my pants, and the familiar jingle of my belt being undone causes my heart to skip in my chest. She undoes my pants while continuing to kiss me, pulling my zipper down, and finally slipping a hand inside my pants only to find my rock-hard cock, very eager to receive the attention.

When she wraps her hand around my member, it’s all I can do to hold myself back. She begins stroking me and it feels amazing; it feels incredible. I press my lips down harder against hers, a moan leaving my own vocal tract as Trista’s fingers play with my shaft, with my head, sliding my precum down over me and sending tantalizing thrills down into my legs.

I feel my hips begin to grind, moving my cock in her hands. I can’t help myself. It’s as though my primal urges have taken over. Trista keeps moving her hands over me, helping me out, reaching down farther and finding my balls, holding them, cradling them, stroking them with her fingers and making me feel so good inside.

I want more. The hand that’s inside her shirt slips out and moves quickly down her bare stomach to the top of her jeans where I swiftly undo them, one-handed. Trista’s hips are moving as well, forcing me to follow them like a snake to a charmer as I get her denim clothing open. Once undone, I pull my legs up underneath me, slip my arms around her back, and pull her up, bringing the two of us into a sitting position together.

Trista slides down off of my knees until her bum hits the concrete roof. Our eyes open and she smiles up at me, a playful smile. I can’t help but smile back. I feel like a teenager again with her. I lean forward and kiss her again, our eyes closing together. My hands quickly disrobe her of her leather jacket, her T-shirt coming off in one swift movement, her bra following soon after.

Once the third article lands beside her I pull back from our kiss, opening my eyes, looking at her. Trista’s eyes are on mine, I can see, but my eyes are on her body. On her incredible body. She’s muscular and curvy all at the same time. Every inch of her looks delicious, and I would happily spend the entire night exploring her, touching and kissing her all over, until I had a detailed map of her sketched out in my brain.

But I can’t wait that long. I quickly take off my own jacket, hearing it fall in a flump down behind me. Reaching down, I strip off my T-shirt, revealing my muscular chest and stomach, my tattoos for her to see. I watch Trista’s eyes drop down to my abdomen, and then widen as she takes me in. I smile, feeling sexy. I lean forward and plant my lips onto hers again, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close and sliding her back up onto my knees as she wraps her arms around me too.

Our bare torsos press together as we cling to one another, our mouths working in a fury together. She feels warm against my skin. Her breasts are soft, two pillows that push out harder with every breath she takes. I feel so close to her right now—closer than before, closer than I ever have.

Trista takes one hand and reaches down, in between us. She grabs onto my cock again and I let out a cry of surprise and delight. I feel her smile against my lips as she strokes it, moving fast between us. Then, I feel her readjust her legs behind me and before I know it her other hand is on my chest, pushing me back, her lips pulling away from mine as I open my eyes and watch her stand up, leaving me on my knees before her.

I swallow, turned on beyond belief, as Trista kicks off her shoes and shimmies herself out of her jeans and panties. I watch as sweet nectar clings from her pussy to the fabric that covered it, and I instinctively lick my lips, wanting that, wanting her. Once she’s entirely naked Trista steps forward, bringing her warm and fragrant pussy toward me. I can’t help but smile as she threads her fingers through the hair on the back of my head and pulls me close, my mouth already opening as I latch onto that sweet flower down between her legs.

My tongue slides up slowly between her folds and I hear Trista moan, her grip in my hair tightening, as I taste her sweet juices coating my mouth. I grab onto her legs, holding her, keeping her close as I lick, lick, drinking in as much of her as quickly as I can. She dribbles down my throat and my lips wrap around her hard little clit, making her gasp. When I give it just the gentlest of suction she moans again, and now she pushes herself down into me, grinding her pussy and clit harder into my mouth.

I take the hint and push back up into her, sucking a bit harder, and a bit harder after that. I can feel her getting wetter against my chin, her juices covering me, forcing me to breathe through my nose. But still I suck on her, pulling her in, using my tongue to slide over and flick against her. I’m making her tremble, making her pull at my hair almost painfully, but I don’t mind.

I work in a rhythm now, alternately sucking and releasing, bringing her deeper in between my lips in a pulse. Every now and again I drop down and slide my tongue along the length of her, catching her juices before they fall, drinking every last bit of her that I can.

When I focus my attentions back to her clit and latch on harder, that’s when Trista’s leg muscles tighten. She trembles as I suck at her, and I hear her over the top of me, moaning again, crying out in passion into the night. My hands on her legs tighten their hold as my tongue begins lashing at that hard nub inside of my mouth. I hear Trista cry out louder and yet still I keep going. She pushes into me; she pulls me up harder into her, almost bruising my lips, but still I keep going.

And then finally I feel her start to shake, as though electricity is running through her, and she cries out as she comes hard against my face.

I keep myself going, for as long as she wants. She grinds herself into me, hard, and I feel the flood of her juices coating my chin, my chest. The cock down between my legs could come at any minute from how turned on I am, but I hold myself back. I don’t want this to end just yet.

When Trista starts to come down, her shaking and moans subsiding, I begin to pull her down to my lap, kissing up her stomach as I go. I reach her breasts and her neck, finally finding her mouth with mine. She lands on my legs, and with one hand I hold onto her, keeping her close to me, while my other hand fishes into the pocket of my leather jacket for a condom.

Having found the foil packet, I break away from our kiss to see how I’m going to open it. But Trista takes the condom from my fingers and I watch as she opens it up, unrolling it down the length of me. When it’s on we look up into each other’s eyes and Trista lifts her body, positioning herself over me. With a slow, tantalizing grace she lowers herself down, taking me in. I watch as her body envelops me, my length, the entirety of me, disappearing inside of her. My toes curl in my boots, and I hear her hitching breath as she goes down deeper and deeper, until finally she’s as far down as she can go.

I’m holding onto her with both arms now, and Trista’s legs re-position themselves, wrapping around me so that she’s sitting with her feet behind my back. She leans down and plants her lips onto mine. Holding onto me, I feel her begin to move.

This feels so close. I feel so connected with this woman, more so than I have before. Trista moves with an elegant grace, grinding herself against me, drawing sweet pleasure up through my loins and into her own body where the two of us are connected. Our mouths work wildly together, and Trista breathes deeply in through her nose, whimpers and moans coming out on her breath.

I move my kisses down, down her cheek and chin and neck until I reach her breasts. Those two incredible things. I waste no time wrapping my lips around one, my cock tensing with passion as I hear Trista’s moan of desire. Her nipple is hard as I suck it into my mouth, playing with it, swirling my tongue around and biting down softly on it with my teeth. I can feel her nails clawing into my back and it only drives me wilder. She moves faster in my lap, her pussy grinding into me. I feel that warmth and wetness of her and it reaches right into my bones.

My hands slide up her back until I find her shoulders, the nape of her neck. I thread the fingers of one hand through her hair as my other hand slides down, grabbing onto that firm roundness of her ass. I squeeze the muscles there, feeling her move so intimately onto me. My hand follows, pulling her deeper down, letting me hear that sharp inhale of breath and subsequent moan as I fill her up even more.

Trista grabs onto my head and pulls me from her chest, planting her lips down hard onto mine again. I feel her rock faster on my body, and I cry out through my nose as a wave of pleasure floods through me. Her bare breasts are at my chest and her stomach is flattened against mine. She whimpers through her nose as she tightens around me, moving faster, her body taking me in as much as she possibly can.

I can feel her getting close, and that only pushes me closer as well. Pleasure builds up inside of me, hearing Trista’s sounds, feeling her, smelling her. Everything swirls around me, all of these sensations and emotions. It all fills my head with lust, with desire … with love.

She moves faster. Her breaths come in sharper, harsher. I can feel myself building up and up, almost nearing that point of no return. And then, her nails dig hard into the skin of my back and I hear her unleash a muffled cry and it’s too much, and at the same time the two of us fly over that edge together, coming together, exploding together over and inside and all around one another.

We hold tight, rocking still, rocking hard as our bodies align and we bask in the beauty of our love. Trista’s hands scrabble at my back. I clench my fingers, holding tightly onto her, feeling her wave and convulse over me. My own body squeezes and pulses out and into her, all of my energies flowing up out of me and into the place that connects us.

And when it’s over, when we’ve finally come back down to earth and our bodies have slowed, our kisses also slow down until they come to a stop. Then it’s only our lips lingering, our breaths coming in and out of our mouths, our foreheads tilting and touching to one another’s.

And when I open my eyes and I look up at Trista, I see her looking down at me and she smiles. And I smile back, because I know I’ve finally found her. I’ve found the woman I’ve been looking for.

I’ve finally found the one.

Trista

His hands run over my body where they’ve already explored me a thousand times tonight, but even so, every time he touches me it feels like the first time.

He slides up further into me and I gasp, feeling all of him—his length, his hardness, his heat, his pulse—and Flynn’s lips latch onto mine again as he begins fucking me hard.

It’s all I can do not to scream out in ecstasy. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close, my pussy tightening as my body contracts and quivers. I’m pushed up and up, and then I scream into his lips as I come again, come for the umpteenth time, clenching hard around his cock as I tremble and shake underneath him.

Flynn keeps moving, his hands soaring all over me. He pounds himself into me, and then I hear his own deep groans and I pull him even tighter to me as I feel him release himself into me, the only thing between us being that thin sheath of latex. His energies flow into me and I’m renewed, moving with him, using my mouth and my hands and my body and my soul to draw his pleasure along as far as it can go.

Finally we both relax, Flynn almost collapsing down on top of me, his hot and hard body breathing deeply, keeping me warm, keeping me safe. We kiss a little bit longer and then he slides out of me, holding onto the base of the condom. Lifting himself up onto his knees, I watch from below as he carefully pulls the condom off, ties it up, and throws it in the wastebasket to join the six others that are already there.

Jesus, I think to myself. We should buy up some stock in Trojan. We alone are going to send their sales through the roof.

It’s been four days since that magical night up on the roof of Flynn’s apartment, up over where we are right now. That night was like a final test of our connection together, and it broke some sort of barrier in us. Before it was like there was something between us, something holding us back from really experiencing our true potential together.

But now? Now we feel completely free with one another. And our sex has been closer, deeper. And much, much more frequent. I think I’ve come more in the past four days than I have in my entire life. Even just looking at Flynn gets me going. And seeing him in front of me right now, his cock still standing hard, shiny from his juices …

I lift myself up, and Flynn must see something in my eyes because a smile comes onto his lips.

“Hey there,” he says, that voice of his sending a shiver down my spine.

“Hey yourself,” I say, and just as I’m level with him I put a hand on his chest, pushing him back, watching him fall with a flump onto the surface of the bed. His cock bounces up like a flagpole and I look down at it, licking my lips, and then descending onto it like a predator onto prey.

Flynn’s moans fill my ears as I wrap my mouth around his beautiful member. I can taste him, mingled in with the subtle hint of latex, and it all tastes so good. I want him. I want to give him pleasure, I want to feel him deep in my mouth.

I begin to bob up and down, licking him, swallowing as much as I can and not letting any of his flavors go to waste. Flynn moans, writhing on the bed. His hand finds my head and I feel his fingers thread their way into my hair. My own hand joins in the mix and I stroke him at the same time that I work him with my mouth. His swollen head, his thick and pulsing shaft. It all feels so good.

Moving up and down, I suck on him, licking, drawing my tongue up and down the length of him. Keeping him going with my hand, I move my mouth down and take his balls in, first one, then the other. He inhales sharply, moaning again, and I smile. I move my head back up and take him into my mouth, moving my hand faster, pleasing him in just the way I know he likes to be pleased.

I can feel his muscles tense. His fingers tighten in my hair. His moans become louder and yet still I keep sucking, keep licking, keep stroking him in just the right places. His hips start to buck and grind underneath me, almost fucking my mouth, and down below my own pussy trembles with desire. I keep sucking him, keep drawing him up farther, until finally I hear that hard sucking in of air and Flynn cries out as he explodes inside of my mouth.

I moan, unable to stop myself, as I keep him going, sucking him out, taking everything that he gives to me. His muscles shake as he pumps himself out in between my lips, emptying himself, giving me everything he has to give.

Finally he finishes and I swallow it all, that delicious seed warm as it slides down into my belly. I take my mouth from him and look up, see his tattooed chest rise and fall. His fingers in my hair relax as I snake myself over the top of him, moving over to the side, reaching his head and kissing him on the lips. I feel his tongue penetrate into my mouth where he tastes himself, tastes the mingling of ourselves. The arm I’m on wraps around me, holding me close.

Ah, this is perfect. This is exactly what I want. I trail my fingers lazily along Flynn’s hard chest, circling around his muscles, tracing the tattoos that adorn his skin. Glancing past him, I check the clock radio beside his bed.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck!

I jump up from bed, panic streaking through me. Flynn bolts up too, a look of surprise on his face.

“Trista? What is it?”

“I have to go,” I say, trying to find my clothes and quickly pulling them on.

“What? Why?” he says. “Where do you have to go?”

“I’m going to be late for—”

I can’t say “work.” Flynn might ask questions. He doesn’t know I’m a cop. So instead I just say:

“I’m going to be late for my mom’s breakfast.”

I can see him furrow his brow as I find my bra and put it on, attaching the clasps together in the back. I take a moment to adjust myself before grabbing my T-shirt.

“You’re rushing out of here to have breakfast with your mom?” he asks. “Why is it that important that you’re not late?”

“She’s a crazy stickler for time,” I tell him. I pull on my leather jacket and then my boots, the last articles. Flynn is still in bed and I walk over to him, leaning down and giving him a kiss. As soon as our lips touch I realize I don’t want to leave, and I feel Flynn’s fingers thread their way through my hair. Ah, what I wouldn’t give just to take off my clothes and climb back into bed with him. Just forget the life I was living and be with him, all day and all night …

But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities. I tear myself away from him, mutter a quick goodbye, and then leave.

I exit his apartment building and briskly make my way to my bike. The sun is up and the morning is a little bit chilly as I climb on, kicking my bike into life. I ride away from his place and go west, toward the southern point of the PharmaChem building, to where my house is.

I shake my head as I ride. What in the hell am I doing with Flynn? I shouldn’t be leading him on like this! I’m going to arrest him at some point. Do I really want to break his heart as well when he finds out I’m a cop? Every night for the past four nights we’ve hooked up, and every night I’ve told myself that this is the last night, that I’m going to stop it the next day. But he just makes me feel so good, and I always go back for more.

And besides all that, what the hell am I doing for the mission? I haven’t even been trying lately to dig up information that can land the Bullets in jail! Every time I look at those dossiers they look so thin. It’s almost been a month now. I didn’t think I was going to be in this so long. I thought I would be able to join and immediately get info that would incriminate everybody there. I didn’t count on there being a lull in activity. And I certainly didn’t count on falling for Flynn.

I arrive home and park my bike, then rush inside and upstairs to my mom’s room to check on her. Of course she’s all right, lying catatonic in bed, her eyes open as she stares out of the window on the wall opposite. I stride over to her and kneel down beside her.

“Hey, Mom,” I say as she doesn’t react to my presence. “Sorry. I was out again. I was … I was with Flynn. But I promise, last night was the last night I’m going to stay with him. I’m going to pull my act together and I’m going to get back to what I meant to do. But now, I have to make you breakfast.”

I get back up and stride into the kitchen. I feel a little bad for lying to my mom—of course I know I’m going to stay with him again. Of course I know that. But I feel like my mom keeps me on track.

Or, at least, that’s what I want to have happen.

I put together some yogurt for my mom, taking out her pills as well. There’s no time for me to get anything myself. I can just get something from the break room at work, though. Carrying the tray back into my mom’s room, I quickly spoon-feed her the yogurt, helping her swallow her pills. Once that’s done I carry the tray back and zip into my room to change; no time for a shower. Once I’m in my uniform I go and give my mom a quick kiss goodbye, then leave the apartment once again.

I ride to work, almost going over the speed limit. I get stuck behind two cars in both lanes and want to zoom forward, slip between them and get to work on time. But I keep my wits about me. This isn’t the Bullets; I can’t just do whatever I want right now. I’m an officer of the law, and I’m wearing my uniform. The people need me for an example. They need to see what correct behavior is.

I arrive at work only a few minutes late. Not bad for someone who hasn’t had any breakfast and was up all night having sex. Now that I’m off my bike and the wind isn’t whipping into my face, I realize how tired I am. I just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep. I want to curl up next to Flynn. Feel his warm body against mine and fall asleep in his arms. I climb the steps to the precinct and go in, walking through to the offices in the back.

“PEARSON!”

The sharp voice makes me jump and I wheel around to see Captain Hartridge striding toward me, an angry look on her face.

“You’re late, Pearson!” she barks as everybody turns to see me get chewed out. “What do you think, this is your own personal little playground?”

“I’m sorry, Captain, I’m only a few minutes late.”

“A few minutes?” the captain repeats. “Well, perhaps I should just dock your pay a few thousand, how does that sound? Hmm? Or maybe I should give you just a few pink slips? What do you think about that?”

I stare into this woman’s eyes, hear the way she’s berating me in front of everyone. And all for what? For being a few minutes late?

“I’m sorry, Captain,” I say, feeling myself sneer. “I didn’t realize that these first few minutes of work were the most important of the day. Maybe I should come in a few minutes early tomorrow, that’ll stop people from dying on this new drug immediately. Or hell, show up half an hour early. Maybe then nobody will commit any crimes. What do you think? Is that a good idea?”

I close my mouth, not able to believe I just said that. The captain stares at me, her upper lip curling.

“That’s not a bad idea, Pearson,” she says in a low voice. “In fact, I also noticed that crime goes up during your lunch breaks. You’d better skip yours today. That paperwork isn’t going to file itself.” She turns and strides away, calling out, “And don’t be late for the meeting, or you will be fired!” as she leaves me standing, breathing hard, feeling everybody’s eyes on me.

I turn and stalk to my desk. Why did I do that? Snap back at her like that … that’s not what I would normally do. That’s what Bullets me would do. As I sit down Devon saunters his way over.

“Nice job, pissing off the captain like that,” he says as I start to get my things together for the day. “You should have been fired, talking back to her. Then you could become my personal sex slave. Stay at home all day, cook me my meals, and fuck me whenever I want.”

“Can I help you, Devon?”

He fakes being shocked, widening his eyes.

“Whoa, calm down, Pearson! What’re you, on your period or something?” He narrows his eyes at me. “You do look different, though. Like something’s changed. You actually look like you’ve just been having sex.”

My heart leaps into my throat. Oh no! Is it my hair? Do I smell like Flynn? But then Devon raises an eyebrow.

“Of course, no one would fuck you unless they were really desperate,” he says with a grin. “But I’ll make an exception for you. You ever want to see what a real man feels like, you call me.”

And with that he walks away, leaving me with the desire to vomit up the breakfast I haven’t yet eaten.

I glance at the clock. I’ve got a few minutes before the meeting starts. Forgetting the idea of putting notes together, I get up and go to the break room instead, grabbing a bagel and taking a bite out of it, knowing I don’t have time to toast it. I chew on the thick bready mouthful, staring out at the office, at all the uniformed cops working, or talking amongst themselves.

God, I hate this place sometimes. Every time I’m here, I feel more and more like a black sheep. The captain hates my guts, Devon is constantly harassing me, and no one else steps up to help me out. And no wonder: more than half of these cops are dirty, although I don’t know which ones. But I’m not. I never will be. And that must be why they never reach out a helping hand. I swallow the mouthful of bread and take another bite of my bagel.

The Bullets, on the other hand … those people are like a family to me. It’s only been a few weeks but already I feel closer to any of the members of the Bullets than I do to anyone here on the force. Every time I go to the warehouse, or out to the bar, I feel included. Welcome. Wanted. And they’re not bad people, not on the inside. They’re just doing what Maddox tells them to—kind of like how I do whatever the captain tells me to. We’re all just following orders. And if the Bullets didn’t exist—or if Will Silver didn’t send the word down to do the terrible things they do—then that group would probably just become a group of friends who rode around and got drunk together. Not bad at all, if you ask me.

I see people starting to get up to go to the meeting and I sigh. Bringing my bagel with me, I take one more bite and leave the thing on my desk as I pick up whatever notes I have and follow the rest into the conference room. I sit down as everybody settles, Captain Hartridge and Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie standing up at the front. When everyone’s sitting down the meeting finally starts.

I honestly find it hard to focus during the beginning, as Captain Hartridge rattles through some numbers about crime in Santa Espera. This part of the day is so boring. Why do we even do it? I could be asleep right now. Or I could be out, fighting crime, instead of being forced to sit in the filing room all day sorting through documents that no one is ever going to read.

I look up and the captain is still talking. I see Devon looking at me and I glance at him, our eyes meeting. He winks and I cringe, going back to my thoughts.

What if I just quit here? What if I just quit being a cop and joined the Bullets full-time? Maybe I don’t need to dismantle them entirely. I mean, it’s perfectly possible that I bit off more than I can chew with this solo mission of mine. What if I just convince them not to perform any more violent acts? Reconcile the gangs and make peace between them … I could do that. How hard can it be?

And if I did that, then I wouldn’t have to arrest anyone, either. And Flynn and I could stay together, and he would never have to find out I was a cop. That part of my life would be behind me. I’d be able to sleep whenever I wanted, go out and spend all day with people who actually wanted me around. Of course, I’d have to hide the fact that I’m a cop from them. I don’t think I would ever be able to tell them. Reconciled gangs or not, that would betray their trust. And who knows what would happen to me if they ever found out?

“… identified the bodies, so we’ve notified their parents who are coming in later to make statements.”

I come back to reality just as Captain Hartridge flips the page of her notes and prepares to read the next item. But I raise my hand and she notices, stopping what she was about to say.

“Yes, Officer Pearson? You have a question?”

I lower my hand. “Sorry, can you repeat that last point please?”

The captain rolls her eyes.

“You know, some of us here pay attention and don’t need points repeated to us.” There are a few snickers among the crowd, but the captain turns the page back over regardless, reading it. “Three teens were brought in, having been killed in a drug-related crime. Investigation tells us they likely had their own little dope grow-op and were selling it on the street and they got executed for it. We finally identified the bodies, and now their parents are coming in later today and they’re going to make statements.”

I blink, shocked. Three teenagers? Who executed them? It wasn’t us … was it?

“This is just a reminder of how important our drug task force is,” Captain Hartridge says to the crowd. “Every day we’re getting closer to cracking down on these scum, but we still have a lot of work to do. We still don’t know, for instance, which gang is behind this. Our prime suspects right now are the Slingers and the Pig Boys, although we’re thinking it’s the Slingers.”

The Slingers. They work for the Bullets. The captain raises her eyebrows at me.

“Are you good now, Officer Pearson? Can I continue on with the meeting?”

I swallow, clearing my dry throat. “Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

The captain continues on, but my mind is still stuck. Three teenagers, dead. Killed just for slinging some dope and trying to make some money. And if the Bullets are behind it … I can’t keep thinking of them like a family. A family doesn’t do this. What I’m involved with isn’t a game, I have to remember that. I’ve got to change things soon. Otherwise more innocent people will die and it’ll be all my fault.

Trista

I’m sitting cross-legged in my bedroom, all of my homework spread out in front of me. The morning sunshine streams in through the window, but I don’t feel like playing outside. I just want to get this done. I want to solve this equation. I want to hand it all in and get the best grade possible. I can hear my mom’s voice, calling us for breakfast. Sal’s footsteps hammer through the house as he makes his way to the kitchen. I look up at the door and it’s open, beckoning me out of my room, out into the warm comforts of my mom’s cooking, and the love of my family.

A bird chirps sharply and my head snaps awake. I look around; this isn’t my room. This is my mom’s room. She’s lying motionless on the bed, staring out of the window, her chest rising and falling underneath the blankets. I let out a yawn, my jaw creaking as I open it wide. My eyes are burning, but I look back down at the dossiers spread out in front of me.

I’ve got to get this done.

Yesterday, when I found out about those kids who got killed, my mind went blank. I’ve been feeling like a yo-yo, constantly up and down about whether or not to turn the Bullets in. One the one hand they’re all criminals. They’ve killed people—they killed Sal—and they should all go to jail. I have enough to send at least some of them away for a little bit of time, but nothing really hard-hitting. Nothing that will send anyone away for good.

But on the other hand, they’re all good people. At least, in their hearts. I’ve had long conversations with them—Chloe, Tyrone, Jackie, Alyssa, all of them—and each one is a wonderful person in their own right. They’re just part of a gang. Surely everyone, at some point in their life, has had a job where they didn’t like what they’re doing? I’m certain a lot of police officers don’t like it when they have to draw their weapon, or, God forbid, actually kill someone. But they do it. That doesn’t make them bad people. It just makes them a good employee.

That’s what these people are: good employees. Which is why I felt so conflicted finding out about these kids who got killed.

Work went by in a haze. After I got home I changed into my Bullets gear and rode over to the warehouse to see if I could find someone who could tell me what happened. Tyrone was there, and I told him I heard some kids got offed and I was curious about the details. He confirmed my worst fears: yeah, it was the Bullets who did it. Orders from Maddox, who got it from Will. He got a couple of the Slingers to do the dirty work. Tyrone said that he didn’t know who the kids were who got killed. He doesn’t even think Maddox knows. A job’s a job.

He asked me if I was going to the bar tonight—everyone was going to be there. I was tempted. Seeing Flynn again? Nothing would be sweeter. But I told him I had stuff to do and left it at that. So I left and came back here. I took out my dossiers, brought them to my mom’s room, and I’ve been going over them all night, racking my brain for anything I can put in. I haven’t slept, except for small bits here and there, nodding off with my chin on my chest. I haven’t even bothered taking off my Bullets gear. I’ve just been wearing it all night.

And now it’s the morning. I should make us some breakfast. I push myself to standing, swaying a little bit when I do. I look over and see that my mom’s awake.

“Morning, Mom,” I say. She doesn’t respond.

I walk out of her bedroom to the kitchen, my legs feeling like rubber, wishing desperately that I was in my bed, curled up and fast asleep. But I have to feed my mom. And I have to eat. I take the eggs and bread and yogurt out of the fridge and begin getting everything together, and as I do I try thinking of more things I can incriminate the Bullets for.

I ran out of actual things I’d witnessed hours ago, and now I’m going on stories they’ve told me in the past. They were always just little things: getting drunk in public, playful fights in bars with their friends. I’ve been avoiding putting in all the good qualities they have, but now I’m wondering if I should do that, at least to pad out what I already have.

The toaster pops and I’m startled by the noise. I don’t even remember putting the bread in there. I take it out and butter it, then slide the cooked eggs on top. Spooning some yogurt into a bowl and grabbing my mom’s medicine, I go back to her room and pull up a chair, starting by spooning the yogurt and pills into her mouth.

“How’re you doing, Mom? Did you sleep well?”

My mom doesn’t respond. At least her jaw muscles move when she’s eating. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand seeing her lie here, unresponsive and with an IV hooked up to her veins.

“I’ve been having a hell of a time coming up with stuff to put these guys away,” I tell her, giving her another spoonful. “Each of them is actually not that bad. And I … I don’t know. I like spending time with them. And Flynn …”

Flynn. I’ve been on the fence about him since I started. And now that things are actually getting in order, I’m completely conflicted.

“I’ve got some stuff for him,” I tell her, as though she already knows these people. “I didn’t want to, initially. I kind of had the idea that maybe I could turn everybody but him in. And then he and I could … run away together or something.”

Another spoonful. My mom’s still staring straight ahead.

“It’s stupid, I know. I’m just acting like a little girl with a crush. Flynn is as culpable as everyone else. There’s no reason to single him out. Except …”

I look at my mom. At her dull, glassy eyes.

“Mom, what do you think I should do? I really like him, but I don’t know … if we can ever have a future together. And I know he likes me. That’s the problem. I feel so wonderful when we’re together. But that’s part of the problem too. It makes this all just so much harder. I mean, maybe he’s not even the person I think he is. Maybe he’s really bad. But he said he wasn’t at that gun fight where Sal died. And he’s always joking around with everybody. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

I stare at my mom, the last spoonful of yogurt still in the bowl. She stares out of the window, not comprehending, not noticing me. I look at her for a long time. The Bullets did this to her. Sal’s death did this to her. It’s like she doesn’t even know that I’m here. My eyes drop. I give her the last spoonful of yogurt, watching her lips move as she eats it. That done I put the spoon and bowl down and pick up my own breakfast, eating the egg on toast.

When I’m finished breakfast I take the dishes back to the kitchen. I’m so tired. But I still have more to do. I go back to my mom’s room and gather up the dossiers, then put them back in their hiding place in my own room. I debate having a shower but decide against it. I would probably just fall asleep in the hot water. So I head out, wearing my Bullets gear. I’ve got the day off of work, and I’m going to use it to get some answers.

I get on my bike and start riding to the bar. The wind in my face wakes me up and I blink against it a few times, shaking my head, focusing on the road. I need to talk to Flynn. I’m going to try at the bar, and if he isn’t there then I’ll try him at his apartment. But when I arrive at Point Blank I see Flynn’s bike parked outside and my heart skips a beat in my chest.

Calm down, Trista. You’re not here to be with him. You’re here to get answers.

I park my bike at the end of the line and go inside, the space dark and smoky compared to the bright sunlight outside. I look around and see some of the Bullets sitting around on the couches. Jackie is asleep, her head resting on Tyrone’s shoulder. They all raise their hands in greeting, but Flynn isn’t there. Then I hear the sound of pool balls clacking together and look over at the tables to find Flynn in the middle of a game with Chloe. He sees me and the smile on his face breaks my heart.

“Hey, Trista!” he says. “You finally made it!”

Chloe greets me as I walk up to where they’re playing. Flynn leans his cue against the table and walks over to me.

“How’re you doing, babe?” he asks, wrapping his arms around my waist. I feel myself melting into him, and when he pulls me in for a kiss I don’t resist it. It feels so good, his lips against mine. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to turn him in. I just want time to freeze right now and have this moment go on forever.

Trista! Snap out of it!

Yes. I pull myself together, painfully taking my lips away from his. He looks puzzled.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Hey, do you have a minute? I want to talk to you about something.”

“We’re in the middle of a game!” Chloe protests.

“Sure, sure,” he says, glancing at the table, at Chloe. “One second.”

He lets go of me and picks up his cue again.

“All right,” he says. “Here’s where they separate the men from the boys.”

Flynn lines up his shot—8-ball in the side pocket—and proceeds to hit one of Chloe’s balls, knocking it first into the pocket, followed by the cue ball.

I stifle some laughter as Flynn straightens up.

“Huh,” he says, nodding. Then, to Chloe, “Best eleven out of twenty-three?”

Chloe laughs and shakes her head. “No way, I think you’ve been beaten enough. Go, talk.”

“Cool.” Flynn tosses the pool cue down on the table and turns back to me. “All right, what did you want to talk about?”

I glance at Chloe, who’s just heading back to the couches, at the other Bullets on the couch.

“Can we go for a walk?” I ask. Flynn’s smiling at me—he always smiles—but now he gives me a look.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I just want to have some privacy.”

He nods. “Sure.”

So the two of us head out the front door. I see Flynn blink against the sunshine.

“Oh man,” he says. “We got here last night and we’ve just been drinking and fucking around all night. It was great, you should have come. Tyrone even says he saw you at the warehouse yesterday.”

“Yeah, I had some stuff I had to do,” I tell him. We begin heading down one of the sidewalks, away from the bar.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

I hesitate for a moment, not sure how to put this into words. “I guess I wanted to talk to you … about the future. I mean, not our future,” I say with a smile, but Flynn’s expression doesn’t change. “But just the future in general. I guess I’m just curious … what do you have as a plan, if you have a plan at all? Do you want to stay with the Bullets forever? Maybe become the leader after Maddox? Or did you have other plans? What do you see yourself doing?”

Flynn is silent for a moment. We can hear the morning traffic from not far away.

“I guess …” he begins. “I don’t think I’m going to be in the Bullets forever.”

My heart skips with joy, but I stay silent as he goes on.

“This kind of thing is fun—staying up all night with my friends, drinking, riding around—but when Maddox gives us a heavy task to do, that’s when I really question what I’m doing here. I tell myself it’s for protection, but that’s not why I joined up in the first place. I think I can take care of myself, and help take care of whomever I’m with. And that’s even if we need taking care of. I mean, Santa Espera is a dangerous place, but there are other cities out there which are much nicer to live in. Like, what was Pasadena like?”

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s referring to.

“It’s great,” I tell him. “A really nice city.”

“Exactly. So maybe I won’t stay in Santa Espera forever. And I think I’d like to settle down and have some kids. Buy a house. Get married. You know, that kind of thing. And when you’re with the person you love, it doesn’t matter where you live. Just so long as you’re together, that’s all that matters.”

Flynn’s hand finds mine and he gives it a squeeze. My heart skips a beat and I look over at him, squinting in the sunlight. He’s smiling down at me. I give his hand a squeeze back.

“Wow,” I say, swallowing. “If I’d just met you, I would never have pegged you for the kind of guy to settle down and have kids.”

“I know, I was definitely more of a bad-ass when I was a teen, or even in my early twenties,” he says. “And that doesn’t mean I couldn’t kick somebody’s ass if they deserved it. But the novelty of this kind of lifestyle has worn off, you know? It’s just not the same as what it used to be.”

I think back to my job as a police officer.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say to him. “But … what about all the bad things you’ve done as a Bullet? Aren’t you afraid that some of it might catch up with you?”

Flynn just shrugs.

“We all do bad things,” he says to me. “The world is full of bad people. Sometimes situations make things worse than they have to be, but in the end it’s all the same. Nobody is innocent, and everybody has at least a little bit of evil in them. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.

“But even so, I’m a part of the strongest gang in the city, and maybe the strongest in the state. So long as I have ties with the Bullets, nobody’s going to touch me. Hell, half the cops are on our side. I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Oh God, what am I doing? I can feel a part of me agreeing with everything Flynn just said. People do have evil in them, even those who are the most peaceful. If you push them hard enough, eventually they’re going to snap. And the idea of settling down with Flynn? Of marrying him and buying a house and having his children? It sounds perfect to me. It’s what I want—it’s everything that I want.

But the other part of me, the more rational part, says that I can’t do that. That I’m a cop, and that I’m lying to Flynn by not telling him. I need to tell him. But if I do then he’ll hate me. He could kill me. I wouldn’t blame him. Oh God, why did I get myself into this? Why did I get myself into a tangle that I can’t get out of?

“Trista?” Flynn asks. I realize he’s looking at me, and he’s not smiling now. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie again. “I’m fine.”

“How about you?” he asks. “What are your plans for the future?”

“I have to go,” I tell him, stopping us in the middle of the sidewalk and turning back around. “I’m sorry.”

I begin walking back toward the bar at a quicker pace and Flynn quickly catches up with me.

“Whoa, hey,” he says, trying to grab my hand to stop me, but I pull it away. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

I can feel tears in my eyes but I blink them away.

“I just realized I have something I have to do,” I tell him, striding purposefully toward where my bike is.

“Well, what do you have to do? Is it something I can help with?”

Oh God, Flynn, just get away from me while you still can!

“No, it’s nothing you can help,” I say. “I just … I need to go.”

We reach the bar and I march up to my bike, fishing my keys out of my pocket. But Flynn’s hand lands on my arm and I stop, looking down at it. He feels so warm. I look up at him.

“Hey,” he says in a soft voice, his eyes only on me. “I just want you to know that I care about you. I know you’ve got an entire life outside of the Bullets, and that’s good, you should. But I want you to know … if you ever want me to become a part of that life, I would gladly say yes.”

I smile, blinking and feeling a warm tear trickle down my cheek. Flynn smiles at me, and he wipes the tear away. Then he leans down and kisses me on the lips, softly, tenderly. I don’t want it to end but it does, and then he takes his hand from my arm and takes a step back.

“I’ll see you later,” he says. I sniff, and then nod.

“See you later.”

I get my keys out and start up my bike, giving Flynn one last look before riding away.

The air whips into my hair as I try not to tear up. Flynn is such a beautiful person; why didn’t I see that before? I don’t know what to do. I need to sort my head out. I need to get a grip on what’s going on.

I ride to my apartment and go in, walking up. The place seems silent in the middle of the day. It’s silent all the time, but at moments when I’m not usually here, it feels like I’m trespassing on some secret place.

As I go to my room to change out of my Bullets gear I think back to when I was a little girl. Sometimes I would pretend I was sick in order to stay home from school. After Jake and my mom went, I was left alone in this big house, all by myself. It’s the same house I was in every day, but for some reason being there when I wasn’t supposed to be made it feel … strange. Foreign. Like I didn’t belong.

I step out of my room wearing a T-shirt and jeans—civilian clothes. I look down the hall at my mom’s closed bedroom door.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if her being catatonic is one big ruse. If, when I’m away during the day, she actually gets up and moves around. It’s a terrible thought, I know, but it’s strangely comforting at the same time. That everything is fine with my mom. And that she fakes being sick, just to keep me close. Just to convince me that I’m needed.

Part of me wants to go to her bedroom and open the door, see if she’s in the same position as when I left. Maybe she had to scramble to get back into bed when she heard me.

I shake my head. No. What am I doing? I need to get out of here. My brain’s all fucked up.

I turn away from my mom’s room and descend the stairs again, leaving by the front door and locking it behind me. I jump on my motorcycle and ride away, not sure of where I’m going.

All I can think about is Flynn.

I think I’d like to settle down and have some kids. Buy a house. Get married. You know, that kind of thing.

Did he say that because he wants to do that with me? Or did he say that because he just wanted to fuck me some more?

Lately it seems like I’m being fucked by everyone I know. My life at work. My life with my mom. This undercover situation. Flynn’s is the only fucking I enjoy, but he may just be saying those things, doing those things just to get into my pants.

I blink and realize the tears in my eyes are not from the wind.

Maybe I should move my body around. I could go to the station’s gym. It’s usually empty during the day.

I turn my bike and head back east, toward the station now. The gym is in a separate building not far away, but I have to ride past the station in order to get to it. I pull up outside of it and park my bike, getting off and walking inside.

Like I predicted, the place is empty. I go to the locker room and change into my workout clothes, shutting the locker before heading in.

As I situate myself on one of the machines, my mind wanders to Flynn again.

The world is full of bad people. Nobody is innocent, and everybody has at least a little bit of evil in them.

Growing up here in Santa Espera, I can definitely agree with this statement. Even the most cavalier of people end up showing their true colors sooner or later. Even the people you arrest who cry out that they’re innocent end up having records as long as your arm.

Even myself. I stood there and watched that Slinger die when Maddox forced him to take that drug. I helped tear apart an office building, knowing full well that it was going to be used in the production of drugs. And I would’ve shot that dog. I know I hesitated when I was holding the gun, but I would have shot it. Trade a dog’s life for the opportunity to get deeper into the Bullets? Absolutely.

I hear the door open behind me and turn my head to see who’s coming in. My heart drops when I see Devon, dressed in his tight wife beater and shorts. He gives me that sickening smile and I see him heading my way. I sneer and turn back, continuing on the machine.

“Well well well.” I hear his slimy voice appear beside me. “What a coincidence. You and me alone in the gym.”

“Hello Devon,” I say in a monotone. “You here to work out?”

“I already worked out this morning,” he tells me. “Little bit of a confession: I saw you go past the station on your bike, then turn into here. Thought I’d come and join you, since there isn’t anybody ever here during the day.”

I sigh loudly and stop my workout midway through a set. Leaving the machine, I walk over to another one and get on, but Devon follows me, not taking the hint.

“So Pearson,” he says. “When are you and me going to go back to my place to get rid of all this sexual tension?”

“Listen, Devon,” I say to him, looking straight ahead as I work out. “I don’t know what I did to give you the impression that I’m interested in you. But I’m not. And I’d appreciate it if you would just back off and please stop hitting on me.”

Devon’s hand lands on my arm and I freeze. I look over at him and his smile has turned into something sinister.

“I know you want me,” he says, his eyes stuck on mine. “You’re just in denial. We’re going to be together, Pearson. Trust me, it’ll happen.”

I wrench my arm away from him.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I spit, getting up from the machine. I’m done working out. Turning away, I stride back out the doors I came in through, down the hall to the women’s locker room. I go inside and head to my locker. I open it up, my hand shaking as I dial in the combination. I grab onto my wrist with my other hand, steadying myself.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s okay.”

I should shower. The warm water will help me clear my head. I finish opening up my locker and start to take off my clothes. When I’m just stripping off my shorts, though, I hear the locker room door open and I freeze.

No. Oh no.

Heavy footsteps make their way to my ears. I pull my shorts back on, dangerously aware that I’m topless. Devon appears from around the row of lockers, and when he smiles at my half-naked body it’s the most evil smile I’ve seen.

“Hello, Pearson,” he says as he starts to take steps toward me. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I back up at the same pace that he approaches.

“This is the women’s locker room,” I say to him, wishing my voice sounds braver than it feels. “If you don’t get out of here I’m going to … report you.”

His smile dances as he keeps walking.

“Oh, you’ll report me? To whom? I’m your superior officer.”

“I’ll tell the captain,” I say. “I’ll tell everyone in the station.”

He’s so close. “No one will believe you.”

“I … I’ll …” My back hits a wall and I realize I’m trapped. He’s almost reached me and I feel so naked, so vulnerable and alone. “I’ll scream.”

He’s reached me. He shakes his head.

“There’s no one here,” he tells me. “No one can hear you scream.”

His hands lift and they look so strong. I watch one of them land on my breast and my upper lip curls as I feel him squeezing me hard. The other one finds my throat. His fingers are like a vise as he begins cutting off my supply of air.

“Just let this happen,” he says in a low whisper. He brings his head closer to mine and I can smell his fetid breath. “This was always going to happen. Just let it.”

His lips press against mine and I feel like I’m going to vomit. Images flash through my head: Captain Hartridge, looking angry; my depressing apartment with my mom’s closed bedroom door at the end of the hall; the sight of Jake’s body on the table in the morgue, the day we had to identify him.

And then Flynn. I see Flynn and he’s smiling. It’s not a malicious smile, though. It’s warm. It’s a smile of love.

His expression changes in my mind and something in me changes too. As Devon’s hand leaves my breast only to grab onto the other one, I see Flynn’s smile become hardened. I see his eyes begin to shine with purpose, with fire. Inside my body I feel my strength start to come back to me. Devon’s tongue enters my mouth and I cringe as I taste him. But I open my eyes and see that his are closed. He’s let his guard down. I can be the one who’s in control.

My teeth clamp down together and I feel the soft meat of his tongue squeeze between them.

A harsh voice. A choking sound. Flynn’s eyes fly open and he tries pulling away, but I keep my teeth pressed closed. I’m digging into him, and as I do I feel the hand on my throat tighten. He looks scared, but he’s fighting back. I don’t have much time. I look down and see his feet are planted. Shifting my weight to one leg, I bring the other one up and connect my knee directly with his balls.

Now that choking sound is heavier. The hand on my throat loosens and the tongue in between my teeth is pulling down as Flynn starts to double over. Both of his hands are off me now as they go down to cradle himself. I open my jaws but swiftly grab onto his shirt, stopping him from doubling over completely. Lifting his shoulders and head up, I hit the back of my head against the wall trying to bring it back. But it doesn’t matter. Throwing it forward, I smash the bone of my forehead against the soft cartilage of Devon’s nose. The sickening crunch I hear is more satisfying than any other sound I’ve heard in my life.

Devon’s eyes shut closed as blood spurts out of his broken nose. He stumbles back in a half-crouch, taking only a few steps before falling to the floor. This man who once intimidated me so badly is now a wheezing mess, a pile on the ground.

“Fuck you,” I say to him, my voice coming out harsh and raw. It hurts to swallow, but I don’t care. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”

Devon coughs and more blood comes out of his nose, dribbling down the side of his face. He makes a noise as his hand finds the tile floor and he pushes himself up to standing, his waist still drawn back a little. I make sure to stay where I am as he looks up at me.

“You bitch,” he says. The blood is getting onto his lips, but he doesn’t make to wipe it away.

“I’m the bitch?” I ask. “You’re a fucking rapist. You’d better believe I’m telling the captain about this. Kiss your fucking job goodbye.”

And to my surprise and disgust, Devon laughs, shaking his head.

“Go ahead,” he tells me. “It won’t make a difference.”

My brow furrows. “What the fuck does that mean?”

And then Devon actually rolls his eyes at me.

“Whatever. I’m outta here. Slut.”

And with that he turns and hobbles out of the women’s locker room, the door shutting behind him, leaving me alone.

Alone.

All of a sudden reality comes crashing back into my head and my breath hitches as I wrap my arms around my bare chest. I let out a few sobs, dry ones, struggling to keep the tears inside of me. When I’ve got myself under control, I swallow my emotions back down and let go of myself.

It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

Not wanting to be naked right now, I go back to my locker to get dressed, finally ready to go back home.

Flynn

Trista’s been acting strange lately.

It was, what, five days ago that she came to the bar and asked me to talk? To be completely honest, at first when she started going on about plans for the future, and whether or not being in the Bullets was what I really wanted, I thought she was going to ask me … well, I thought she was going to ask me to run away with her. Leave this place and the Bullets. Start a new life with her. That’s what I thought she was going to ask.

And I knew exactly what my answer would have been. But she didn’t ask that.

Instead she just got all weird, and said she had to go. And I’ve hardly seen her since then. In fact, today’s the first day I’ve really seen her, and that’s just because Maddox called a meeting for today. Probably to talk about the buildings we’ve been gutting.

Oh man, does my back ache. We were assigned demolition work on half a dozen more places over the past four days, all one right after another. Work has really ramped up, and after a month of hardly doing anything it feels like I’ve been training to go into the Special Forces or something. I reach around and rub my lower back, trying to soothe those aching muscles. As I do I catch a glance at Trista, standing and waiting with the rest of us for Maddox to start the meeting.

Trista wasn’t at any of the guttings. I wanted to ask her why not, but like I said, this is the first time I’ve seen her in the past five days. And besides, she’s always had a life besides this one. I don’t blame her for that.

I just wish she would let me in a little bit.

Because I think about her. A lot. Every new office we went to reminded me of the one she and I did together, where we sneaked into the back and made love for the first time.

That’s what happened that day. We made love.

Now I can’t get her off of my mind. I wish she had asked if I wanted to run away with her. I wish I had said it myself. But I didn’t want to scare her off. Now I’m not sure what she wants at all. She looks distant, standing beside me. Depressed, even. I take a hand off my lower back and touch her lightly on the arm. She turns and looks at me.

“Hey,” I say in a low voice. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Trista says too quickly. “I’m fine. How are you?”

I grin. “Sore, and not for the good reasons.”

She forces a smile, but it quickly drops. I bite my lip and lean my head in closer.

“Listen,” I say. “I kind of think you’ve been going through something lately. And even though I don’t know what it is, and it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me what it is, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, or even just need a hug, I’m here for you.”

Now Trista smiles—a real smile.

“Thanks,” she whispers back. I smile and lean in that last little bit, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. We both straighten up, my hand falling from Trista’s arm back to my side.

It’s not much longer until Maddox comes out of his office. The small conversations die down as he approaches the group. He isn’t smiling—of course, lately Maddox hasn’t been smiling in general.

“Hey gang,” he says. “So we’ve done some pretty great work over the last four days. I know it’s been grueling, but it was all worth it. Will said he’s been around to each of the buildings and that they’re good, they’re ready to be built up. He’s actually going to be coming by soon to give us more info about what’s coming next.”

“He didn’t tell you what’s happening next?” Trista asks. Several heads turn to look at her, Maddox included.

“No, he thought it would be better to let us know in person,” Maddox tells her. “But I do know that we’ve got enough spaces to get things underway. Which means no more demolition, so good work everyone.”

Some people cheer and others give short applause, but I know for a fact that everyone’s as sore as I am. We were all bitching about it in the bar last night.

“And that’s about all I’ve got to say until Will comes by,” Maddox concludes.

“When’s he coming by?” Tyrone asks.

“He said he’s on his way,” Maddox tells him.

So we wait around for Will to show up. After a few minutes Chloe grabs a chair and sits around, and others take her lead and begin dispersing, sitting on chairs, on the table. I’d give anything just to lie down with Trista in my arms and fall asleep, but I’ll have to wait for that. Maybe tonight. Or maybe we won’t have to wait that long …

The front door bangs open and everybody’s attention turns to it. In walks two men, Will being the one in front. It’s a moment before I recognize the guy behind him.

“Good morning everybody!” Will calls out to us. “You all remember my son Craig, of course?”

Nobody says anything. Myself, I’m trying to hold down the sneer that’s threatening to come to my face. You don’t quickly forget the man who called on the massacre of half your gang, not to mention the Slingers and Chains. He’s acting like it’s all behind us, but eight months is not a long time when it comes to the death of your closest friends.

Craig saunters up behind his dad, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Now now, Maddox,” Craig says in a cocky voice. “Shouldn’t these dogs have manners? Say hello to your future boss!”

A beat of silence passes, and then mutters of greeting issue out of people’s mouths. I hear vague threats and swear words peppered in there too, but neither Craig nor Will seem to notice as Will claps his hands together.

“Well!” he says. “I have some great news for you all. Firstly, great work on clearing out those office buildings. They’re being outfitted as we speak, and operations should be up and running by early next week. If everything goes smoothly, we should be able to produce three hundred pounds every week. The quantity isn’t as high as we’d like it to be, but we’ve now got a formula that has less disastrous effects.”

“You mean people aren’t dying from snorting your stuff?” Trista calls out.

I spin around and stare at her. She’s not looking at me, but is looking directly at Will Silver. He pauses in the middle of his speech and looks back at Trista.

“That’s right,” he says to her. “We’ve managed to get the mortality rate down to two percent, much lower than it was before.”

“Two percent?” Trista repeats. “So every person in fifty is going to die or get sent to the hospital?”

The tension in the room is high. Nobody speaks back to Will Silver. Half of me is worried that he’s going to just take out his gun and shoot her, right here and now. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. I suppose I’d shoot him in return. Then I would surely die. But at least Trista and I would die together.

Luckily none of that happens. Instead Will narrows his eyes a little and cocks his head.

“You look awfully familiar …” he says in a slow voice, and I see Trista’s eyes widen a little bit.

“She’s been with the gang about a month now,” Maddox chimes in, obviously trying to defuse the situation. “Trista’s her name.”

“Yes … Trista,” Will says. And then, “Glad to have you on board.”

He turns his attention back to the group at large, as though nothing had happened.

“On to my second topic of business,” Will says. “I have a job for you all. There’s a woman who I need taken care of: Jeannette Willow. I wanted her gone a month and a half ago, but we lost our two best men and with them, their information. Now that things have calmed down a bit, I’ve got another lead on her. There is one other thing, though: she has a child, a baby boy. He needs to be taken care of as well. I don’t care how you do it, just that it needs to be done.”

I blink. This is the same baby he wanted killed before? What the fuck?

It seems I’m not the only one put off by this, because several people begin talking.

“Wait, did you say you want us to kill a baby?”

“That mother and her kid?”

“How the hell are we supposed to kill a baby and make it look like an accident?”

“I don’t care how you do it,” Will says, cutting everybody off. “It just needs to be done.”

“Don’t you have, you know, certain people to do this kind of thing?”

“Like I said, my two best men were lost.”

“That fire,” Chloe pipes up. “Mario’s, right? They died in that fire.”

“They’re gone,” Will says. “That’s all you need to know. Now don’t question me. Do it however you want, just make sure it’s done. End of discussion.”

This meeting is not going well. Everybody looks uneasy, uncomfortable. Will takes a moment to compose himself, and then he smiles at us.

“Item number three, and the last item on the docket: the Chains. Your truce is over. I’d like you all to be the ones to let them know.”

Nobody speaks for a moment as Will looks around at us.

“Didn’t you hear my dad?” Craig finally adds. “He said the truce with the Chains is over! So go over there and fuck them up!”

“When did the truce end?” Maddox asks.

“Right now,” Will says.

“Wait, so they don’t know?” Jackie asks him. “You want us to just go over there and ambush them?”

“That’s exactly right,” Will says, his smile melting away. “I want you all to get onto your little crotch rockets and ride your way over to that little fucking hideout of theirs and then kick in the doors and beat them all to shit. Is there something about that you don’t understand?”

I glance over at Trista, wondering if she’s going to speak out like she did before, but she just looks quiet. She looks shocked.

“It won’t be a fair fight,” I decide to say, and several people agree with me. “That’s not how we do things.”

“Excuse me?” Will asks, his eyes narrowing in on me. “That’s not how we do things? Tell me, who runs the Bullets? Who is the one who made you who you are?”

His eyes are locked onto mine and I can feel my hackles raising. My dislike of this man is growing with every second. But he’s still the boss. So I say, “You are.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” Will says, taking his eyes from mine and sweeping them over the group. “And nobody here forget that. I’m the one in charge, and when I give an order, everybody had better fucking obey it.”

“Yeah, you hear that, you little pussy wimps?” Craig asks. “Now get off your fat asses and do as my dad says!”

Will spins on his heel and stalks out of the warehouse, Craig following shortly behind him. When the front door closes behind them people begin protesting, all about this upcoming attack on the Chains.

“Maddox, we aren’t really doing this, are we?”

“I’m sorry Alyssa, we have to.”

“But it’s not fair!”

“I know it isn’t, Chris.”

“Maddox, fucking do something!”

“All right everybody, listen up!” Maddox calls out, quieting down the room. “You all heard Will. These are direct orders, and as much as none of us likes the idea of it, it’s still something we have to do.”

People start talking over one another, but I hear Matthias speak up:

“Like kill that little kid? Is that something we still have to do?”

“Yes Matthias, it is,” Maddox says, wheeling on him. “You think I’m happy about this? This is the first I’ve heard of any of this! Okay? It’s as much a shit job to me as it is to you!”

“Why didn’t you find out about it sooner?” Trista asks.

“You shut the fuck up,” Maddox says, pointing at her. “Talking back to Will like that, I thought he was going to shoot you right then and there. You’re fucking lucky, missy.”

“We still don’t want to ambush the Chains,” Chloe says. Maddox sighs.

“I know. Neither do I,” he says. “But let’s just … get drunk and then it’ll be easier. Jackie, Matthias, go grab a couple cases of beer. We’re going to need it.”

Jackie and Matthias do as Maddox says, slumping their way to the fridges in the back. I look at Trista and she’s got a strange look on her face.

“Hey,” I say to her, and she looks at me. “I’m going to grab some fresh air. Wanna join me?”

She nods, and the two of us break away from the group toward the back door. Nobody tries to stop us. We push it open and step out into the morning sunlight, the door slamming shut behind us. I take in a deep breath through my nose and let it out. Out here it’s much quieter than it is in there.

“Jesus Christ, this is fucked,” I say to her.

Trista doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then, “Yeah … it is.”

I look over at her, squinting in the sunlight.

“Hey,” I say to her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting strangely all morning.”

“Nothing,” Trista says, too quickly. “I’m just tired.”

“Not as tired as we are, I bet,” I tell her. “You missed out on all the guttings. Seriously, six places in four days. By the time we got to the last one we were ready to throw ourselves into the bin, just to get out of doing it.”

Trista gives a fleeting smile and I can see a shimmer of hope.

“But you know, I really missed you this past week,” I say, and she looks up at me. “Having you around … it makes all this boring work seem not so boring.”

She’s silent for a moment again.

“I’ve missed you too,” she says, and then her gaze drops. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Like I said before, you’ve got a whole life outside of this and I understand that. I mean, it doesn’t make me miss you any less, but I do understand.”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. I step toward her and wrap my arms around her, giving her a hug. At first she doesn’t react, and it’s like I’m hugging a life-size doll. But then I feel her bring her hands up and wrap them around my arm, her head leaning against my chest. One of my hands moves up and I run it over her hair, stroking it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “I’m such a terrible person.”

“Shh no, hey,” I tell her. “You’re not a terrible person. You’re an amazing person. You’re one of the most amazing people I know.”

I feel her own head shake against my chest.

“You don’t know,” she says, her voice sounding thicker now. “I’m … I’m doing bad things.”

“We all do bad things,” I say to her. “But that doesn’t mean that that’s what defines us. You’re a whole other person besides those bad things you do, just like I’m a whole person besides the bad things that I do. You can’t get caught up in it. You just have to let it go, and keep on moving forward.”

She sniffs, a wet sound, and pulls her head back to look up at me. I look down, our eyes meeting. She’s crying, and even now, the way the sunlight dances on the pearls of tears that line her eyelashes makes her look so beautiful.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask her. “Come back to my place?”

She sniffs again, and then she nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “I do.”

I lean down and give her a kiss—a long, slow kiss as I hear her sniffing wetly again. And then we break apart, each of us walking to our own bikes, Trista wiping away at her eyes. We get on and start them up, and then I flash Trista one more smile as I lead the way, hearing her follow behind me, driving down the road and away from the responsibilities of the life that we’ve both chosen.

Trista

The wind whistles past my ears as Flynn and I ride our bikes away from the warehouse, away from the madness that’s about to unfold, thanks to Will Silver.

Ugh, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen with the Chains. Part of me hopes that the Bullets will all just get drunk and not be able to go over to the Chain Gang, but another part of me knows that won’t happen. They’re too loyal, all of them. They’ll do it. After all, they’re just following orders.

This past week has been total shit. I wrote a letter to Captain Hartridge about Devon, and how he tried to rape me in the locker room. I expected him to get fired, or put on suspension, or hell, at least reprimanded. But nope, none of that happened. He was at the next meeting, his nose looking red and broken, but the captain didn’t say anything. She didn’t mention his nose, and she didn’t talk to me about my letter. I guess Devon was right.

That place is shit. Pure and utter shit and I want to get out.

I want to leave. I’ve decided it. I want to leave Santa Espera, run away with Flynn and never look back. I have money saved up; I can move my mom into a home. It would be better for her there. I’ve been taking care of her because I thought that, maybe, she would snap out of it. That this catatonia was just a reaction to hearing that Sal died, and that eventually she would realize that she has a daughter—me—who loves her just as much as he did.

But it doesn’t look like she’s going to come out of it. It’s been almost nine months and she still hasn’t moved. She just looks like a statue, the same person in the same position, day in, day out. I need to realize that the responsible thing to do is to let people who know what they’re doing take care of her. I need to snap out of this fantasy I’m in. I can’t do it. I can’t take on a task this enormous.

I look ahead and we’re approaching Flynn’s apartment building. Flynn. The only light in my dark, dark life. I just feel so alone whenever I’m not with him. We reach the parking lot and park our bikes side by side, getting off of them, walking to the door together. We’re silent. I watch Flynn as he opens it up and we take the stairs up to the second floor, where he lives. Down the hallway to his door and he opens it up. I feel so alone. I want him so badly. We walk in and I close the door behind us, locking it.

My arms are around Flynn before I even realize I’m doing it. I kiss him—a long, hard kiss. There’s nothing tender about it. I feel him react but he’s too slow for me. I need this. I’ve missed him so much this past week, and I need him right now.

Finally his lips start to react, moving against mine. Our tongues meet and I moan, my body flooding with endorphins, giving me that high that I’ve been craving so badly. I slough off his leather jacket, hearing it fall to the ground around his feet. One hand slides under his T-shirt while the other one grabs onto the front of his crotch. I feel his hard body, his abs and chest and back. I rub at him, waking up his cock, getting it as ready for me as I am for him.

His bulge pushes back out against me and I can feel my heartbeat going faster. I unzip his pants, pulling at the belt, fishing inside and wrapping my fingers around his enormous member. It feels so good in my hand, I begin stroking it automatically. Flynn moans against my lips and the sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine. I’m so wet for him, the heat between my legs is outrageous.

I pull us down, down onto the floor right in the front hallway, pushing Flynn down onto his back. His hands are on me but it’s not enough. It’s too slow. I break off our kiss and reach down to my own jeans, undoing them, stripping them off of my body. They bunch up with my panties in a wad of cotton and denim, and then I climb onto him, straddling him, grabbing onto his cock and getting ready to slide down onto it.

“Whoa, wait,” Flynn says, and I halt, seeing him reach over to his fallen leather jacket where he fishes out a condom. I blink, honestly having forgotten those things exist. He takes it out and passes it to me, where I roll it down over his shaft. That done, I lift myself up and guide him to me, feeling him enter me, letting out a slow and torturous breath as I slide down onto him, reveling at the sensation of him filling me up.

It feels so good. Once I’m all the way down I put my hands on his chest and begin moving, sliding up and down. Flynn looks incredible underneath me. I lean down and kiss him, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. I start to move faster, once again beginning to lose myself in the moment. All the stresses from this week, all the anger and pain and anguish I’ve been dealing with is being pushed to the side, to the perimeter of my mind. None of that matters now. Nothing matters, except for him and me.

Flynn pushes his hips up into me and I groan against his lips, biting softly on the lower one, kissing him harder as I grind myself into him. He feels so good inside of me. His cock fills me entirely, and I can feel every inch of it, can feel every thrust, every pulse of his veins. I move faster, wanting more, wanting him. His hands slide up and down my body, slipping underneath my T-shirt and leather jacket.

I quickly remove the jacket, throwing it against the wall in my haste. Flynn’s hands grab onto my breasts and I reach behind me, undoing the clasp of my bra. Reaching down, I strip off my T-shirt, my bra coming off shortly after. I’m completely naked, riding the cock of a fully dressed man. I drop down and hold onto him, grinding harder, feeling him push up into me.

I want more. My hands pull up on his T-shirt, but he’s lying on his back and it can only go up so far. So I settle with what I can get, grabbing at his stomach, clawing up toward his chest. He moans and finds my nipples, giving them a pinch. I gasp against his lips, hot pleasure drowning my mind. He feels so wonderful inside me, underneath me. I never want this to end. I can feel my pleasure building up inside of my pussy, radiating out throughout my body. It gets higher and higher, and I press my lips down hard against Flynn’s, trying to stifle my moans as my pussy and clit glow brighter with pleasure.

And then it crescendos, and I cry out against his mouth as I start to come around him. Flynn wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against his body, and he unleashes his own cry as I feel him pulse hard inside of me, his cock spurting out his cum inside the latex sheath that separates us. We lie there together, fucking each other’s orgasms, and when it’s finally over I feel out of breath, my fingers tingling and my head feeling light.

But it’s not enough. I can feel the weight of earlier stresses begin to come back, angry at having been pushed to the side for so long. I roll off of Flynn but keep kissing him. I get to my knees and grab onto his hands, pulling at him.

“Mm, hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Come on,” I say to him. “Let’s go again. Let’s get into bed.”

Flynn moves up to a sitting position and I stand up, still holding onto one of his hands, pulling him to standing. His cock is still hard, the end of the condom heavy with semen. I reach down and pull it off of him, tying it up and tossing it on the floor. Then I drop to my knees and wrap my lips around his shaft, hearing a surprised cry from up above as I suck on him, licking off his juices, cleaning him up and swallowing every drop of his that I can. Standing back up, I lean up to give him a kiss as I grab onto his hand again, pulling him toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” I say, urging him. Flynn follows as I lead him. We go through the doorway and when I reach his bed I let go of his hand, climbing on, crawling on all fours, facing away from him. I turn my head and look at him from over my shoulder. “Come on, Flynn. I want you to fuck me. Fuck me with your huge cock.”

My head drops down and I waggle my ass at him, waiting for him to stick it in me again, to take me away from all of this. But that doesn’t happen. So I lift my head and look back at him again and he’s still standing there, looking at me with concern on his face.

“Trista,” he says. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Everything’s great. Now just fuck me, all right? Take your cock and put it in me. Please.”

I waggle my ass again, trying to beckon him on, but it doesn’t work. Instead Flynn climbs onto the bed beside me and slides himself forward, until his head reaches mine. He puts a hand on my back and gives me a gentle push down, so that I’m lying down beside him. I suddenly feel so stupid, and naked, lying here on his bed without any clothes. But he’s looking at me with care in his eyes.

“Trista, what’s going on?” he asks. “What is it that’s bothering you?”

“I told you, nothing,” I say. His hand is still on me, and he begins sliding it up and down my back. It feels good, but that look of concern doesn’t go away.

“I can tell something’s the matter,” he insists. “Is it the truce being broken? Honestly, I think that was a mistake on Will’s part.”

“No, it’s … it’s not that,” I say.

Flynn looks at me, never looking away, until finally I drop my gaze. I let out a sigh. I have to tell him. He has a right to know.

“Flynn … have you ever had a secret? Something you’ve held back from someone you really care for?”

Flynn doesn’t answer right away, and when I look back up his eyes have dulled a little bit.

“Yes,” he finally says, and my eyebrows raise. “I do.”

I wasn’t expecting this. “What … what is it?”

Now it’s Flynn’s turn to sigh. His hand on my back stops moving, but it stays where it is.

“So I joined the Bullets … a long time ago. Thirteen years. And when I joined I was just a kid out of high school. I didn’t know anything. The Bullets helped me develop my self-confidence. They helped me learn how to fight. And they helped me … get laid for the first time. And since then I’ve sort of figured sex out, pretty well. But something was missing from my life, and I didn’t know what.

“There was this one woman who joined, Elizabeth Townsend. She came in a couple years after I did, but right from the get-go she knew what she was doing. Drinking, fighting, it didn’t matter. She bested a lot of us, including me a few times. I was into her, and she was into me, and so we started hooking up. Sleeping together. At first it was just whenever we went out and got too drunk to care, but after a while it started to be that we didn’t need to get drunk as much. And then we didn’t need to be drunk at all.

“So we were together. For a long time. Five years. We’d talked a lot about our future together—we were already living together at that point, but we’d saved up some money and were thinking of buying a house. Maybe even getting married. And then Elizabeth surprised me with some news: she was pregnant. She showed me the stick. She was as shocked as I was.

“I was … happy. For the first time in my life I was really happy. I felt like I had some direction in my life, finally. Like I knew where I was going. We were going to be a family! We could get married and settle down, maybe leave the Bullets, maybe not, we weren’t sure about that. But what we did know was that we were going to raise this kid right.

“Months went by. And we were planning throughout all of it. Pooling our money together. Back then, the Bullets had a thing—which we still do, from time to time, but I don’t do it anymore—where we’d go to a rival bar and try to start some shit. I don’t know why we did it … maybe just to show everyone we were still the top dogs.

“Anyway, Elizabeth and I went to one one night. Gangbusters. It’s not there anymore. It, um … it’s gone. But we went there. It was just the two of us. Elizabeth was about seven months pregnant at that time, so obviously she wasn’t drinking. So I took it upon myself to drink for the both of us. I, um … I got into a fight. With this guy, I don’t even know if he was part of another gang or not. But it got bad really fast. Before I knew it, everyone was involved, the whole bar it seemed like. And it happened like that, just … zero to sixty.

“I was punching, kicking everyone I saw. Breaking arms. And then I saw her. Elizabeth. She was down on the ground, and there was … blood, coming out of her nose and head.

“I tore people away to get to her. I was yelling … I think I was yelling … but people were still coming down on me. It was like I was in hell. She was so close. Finally I got to her and I picked her up. I remember thinking she weighed more than she usually did. I managed to carry her out. I don’t know how I got out of there. I called for an ambulance and one came, put her on a stretcher. I rode with her to the hospital.”

I’m watching Flynn and he pauses for a moment, looking frozen, stuck where he is. And then he keeps going.

“She died. That night, on the hospital bed. Internal bleeding. She was seven months pregnant with my child, and they both died together.”

He blinks, a long, slow blink.

“That happened five years ago. I … wanted to kill myself. But the Bullets … they pulled me back from the edge. It took a long time, and a lot of drink and sleepless nights, but eventually I … started being happy again. It wasn’t the same. I thought it would never be the same. But I could live throughout the day, and that was all I needed.

“After a while I started seeing other women again. The first few dates were awful. Just …  I was a wreck. But eventually I started sleeping with them, these other women. But I told myself that I would never get as close to anyone else as I had with Elizabeth.” He lets out a small laugh. “Call it perverted or dumb or whatever, but some of the time that Elizabeth and I felt our closest was when we were making love. So I vowed to myself never to sleep with the same girl more than once. I had to save myself from that heartache. And I had to save them from me.

“And that’s how things were. For a long time. For years.” He turns and looks at me. “Until you came along.”

I blink, surprised. Flynn’s lips curve up into a little smile.

“You were different. The first time you and I slept together, honestly, I thought it would just be a quick fuck and it’d be over. That time in the bathroom. I remember it … it was so vivid. There was a connection between us. I don’t know if you felt it as strongly as I did, but it … it wasn’t …” He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “I haven’t felt that since I was with Elizabeth. Or maybe even … when I was with Elizabeth. I don’t know. It was just so different, like nothing else I’d ever felt before.

“The times after that … those two times … I couldn’t help myself. I knew I was breaking my own rule, but I had to have you. And then after that … after that things had changed. I could feel it. Something had changed between us, you and me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. I honestly … thought that I could never love anyone again. But there’s something about you that makes me want to be with you all the time, Trista. And I think … I think I love you. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I can tell. This is real. I love you, Trista. And I don’t ever want to let you go.”

Flynn is smiling now, a real, true smile. His eyes are locked onto mine, and they’re shimmering. My brain is flying a mile a minute. I’m stuck for what to say. I felt like I had everything under control just a few minutes ago, and now this. Now this has happened.

“Trista?”

I open my mouth to speak. “I, uh … um, I …”

Flynn lets out a little laugh. “It’s okay hon, you don’t have to say anything.”

He leans forward and gives me a kiss, his hand running up and down my back again. I’m kissing him back, but mechanically, my eyes still open. I can’t just not do this! I have to!

“Mm …” I say, and I stop the kiss, but Flynn’s forehead leans against mine and his eyes are still closed.

“This feels so good,” he says to me. “I swear, I could stay like this forever.”

“Flynn.”

“Yeah?”

I have to do it. I swear my heart’s stopped.

“Trista? What is it?”

Do it. Do it. DO IT!!!

“I’m a cop.”

I feel Flynn freeze, his hand stopping where it is on my back. He takes his forehead from mine and his eyes are open now. He’s looking at me, and he isn’t smiling now.

“What?”

I have to swallow. Now my heart’s started up again, and it’s going a mile a minute. I pull myself up to kneeling and Flynn rolls onto his side to look up at me.

“I’m a cop. A police officer. I … I’m doing an undercover mission, on my own. No one else knows I’m doing it, not even my captain. It’s entirely on my own, and it’s … it’s to take down the Bullets.”

Flynn doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t say or do anything, so I keep talking.

“I started it, um, well I guess I decided to start it in March. On the fourth of March, which was my brother’s birthday. He, um … wow, this is complicated. You know that fight at your old warehouse? The one back in November?”

Flynn doesn’t answer.

“Well, my brother was in that fight. Sal. He was the leader of the Chains, and he died, and when he did my mom she, um, she went into a sort of catatonic shock, and I had to start taking care of her. I mean, I didn’t have to, but I wanted to, and I wanted to make sure that I was going to be there when she woke up, which hasn’t actually happened yet.

“But Sal’s death was awful to me. And it was even worse because we couldn’t … I couldn’t go to his funeral. His proper one. He never told anyone that his sister was a cop, and his funeral had all the Chains members there so I had to … anyway, that’s not important.

“Four months passed and I was pissed. It was so … I mean, the injustice of it all, and for what? A little rivalry? Four months passed and his birthday was coming up and I knew it was going to be a hard day, but I didn’t know just how hard. I had to take the day off of work, I was crying so hard. And so that’s when I decided that I was going to get my revenge. I knew my captain wouldn’t approve the mission, so I didn’t even bother asking. I just decided to do it myself. I wanted to get into the Bullets and find out all the bad things you guys were doing and then use it all to make arrests, in one big swoop.

“But it … it changed! Things have changed! I found out you’re all not as bad as I thought and I … I’ve fallen in love with you, Flynn! I had no idea this would happen. I didn’t know I was going to meet you. I didn’t know I … but that’s why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because I want to be honest, Flynn. Completely honest. I want out, of both the police force and the Bullets. I want to run away with you, just like we talked about. Don’t you want to do that? With me? Just run away together, leave this town and never look back?”

My heart is pounding. I feel so nervous. And yet Flynn still hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t smiled, he hasn’t even moved.

Finally he blinks slowly, turning his gaze away from me. I watch him, my heart in my throat. He blinks again, and this time I see his eyes shimmer, becoming wet.

“You’re a cop?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I tell him. “But I don’t want to be anymore. I’m done with it. I just want to be with you.”

“You lied to me,” he says. His voice is oddly flat. “You lied to all of us.”

Oh God, my heart. “Yes,” I say again, knowing that anything else is the wrong answer.

Flynn shakes his head. He’s still not looking at me.

“Maddox asked me about you,” he says. “A few weeks ago, when you had just joined. He knew about us sleepin— … fucking in the bathroom. He asked me if there was anything off about you. Anything strange that I’d noticed. He asked me if I thought you were telling the truth about everything. About Pasadena, about the other gangs. And I said yeah. I thought you were telling the truth.”

My heart drops.

“I’m not from Pasadena,” I say quickly. “I’m from here. I grew up here. I’m sorry. That was a lie too.”

Now Flynn’s face changes, his upper lip curling. He turns to me, anger in his eyes.

“What the fuck else is a lie?!”

“Nothing!” I say quickly, pulling back on the bed. God, I wish I was wearing some clothes. “That’s it, it was those two things.”

“You fucking lied to me, Trista,” Flynn says, gathering himself up on the bed. “I trusted you so much! And you just spat it back in my face.”

“It was … I told you, I didn’t know this was going to happen!”

“Were you going to get me arrested too?”

I pause for a moment. “At first. Yes.”

He nods for a second. “And then after? I was certainly involved with everything. Were you going to get me arrested still?”

My mouth works but no sound comes out. “I was going to figure it out,” I squeak.

“Bullshit!” he yells. “You were going to fuck us, Trista! Me, my family, all of us! You have no idea what these people mean to me! What they helped me go through!”

“I know! I do know!” I yell back, but even coming out of my mouth my argument sounds feeble. Flynn shakes his head again, taking his eyes from me.

“Go,” he says. “Leave. Get the fuck out of my apartment and never come back.”

I’m shocked. My lip is trembling.

“Flynn—”

“Go,” he says. “Go.”

He’s still not looking at me. I don’t know what else I can say. I get up off the bed, walking naked out of his bedroom to the front hall where my clothes lie in a heap. My vision is blurry from tears. Everything looks splintered up into three and four. I’m crying as I try to untangle the mess of clothes.

I hear the bed springs squeak and turn, sniffing, to see Flynn walk to the doorway of his bedroom. He stops in it.

“It would never have worked,” he tells me in an oddly calm voice. It doesn’t sound like the Flynn I knew. It sounds like the Flynn I knew has died.

“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling on my clothes. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to be undressed anymore.

“Your plan, it wouldn’t have worked. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Arresting all the Bullets? We’re just pawns in all of this. You take this gang out, another one will sprout up in its place. You’re only attacking the problem. Not the source.”

I pull up my jeans and do them up, reaching down to grab my bra.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Flynn says to me.

My bra’s done up.

“Are you talking about Will Silver?”

Flynn looks at me, all of the sparkle that was in his eyes now gone.

“You’re in way over your head,” he says. “And you have no idea what you’re doing. If you don’t stop fucking around like this, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

I put on my leather jacket.

“So what should I do?” I ask him.

No smile. No happiness.

“You should leave my apartment. And never talk to me again.”

I swear I can feel my heart shattering. The tears are flowing again, but Flynn only motions toward the door and I nod, turning away from him. I open it up and leave, feeling warm wetness trickling down my face. I hear the door shut and lock behind me. Struggling not to cry, I instead sniff and wipe my eyes as I make my way downstairs and out to the parking lot where our bikes are sitting there, side by side.

Our bikes. Now it’ll only be my bike.

I climb on and fumble with the key, finally getting it started. My hands are shaking as I pull out of the lot, but as I pick up speed the wind in my face helps to dry my tears, and I take a few deep breaths.

I knew this would happen. I knew we weren’t meant to be. It just wasn’t in the cards. It wasn’t in our futures. We come from two different places, from two completely different backgrounds. Of course it wasn’t going to happen. I was a fool to think that it was.

So then why does it hurt so much?

I have to breathe deeply to stop from crying again. In my chest it feels like there’s a hole, a painful wound that wasn’t there before. Like something is missing from me. It was rudely cut out of my life, and I’m the one who held the knife.

Can I still do this? Can I still go ahead with my plan? I have no idea. I have no reason not to. Flynn doesn’t want to see me again. I have literally nothing to lose now. I would just … take in whatever I have. I can’t go back to the Bullets. Not after telling Flynn the truth. So whatever I’ve got, that’s what I’ll use. I can do this. I can make a difference in this world.

But no matter how much I tell myself that, it still means nothing now. I feel nothing now.

I arrive at home and park my bike, hardly noticing anything around me. I take out my keys and turn them in the lock. It feels weird, but I don’t care. Everything feels weird now. Pointless. I go inside and walk up the stairs. Maybe I should have a shower. Maybe that would make me feel better. I reach the top of the stairs and take off my leather jacket, hanging it up.

The sounds of footsteps reach my ears.

I freeze, staring down to the end of the hall at my mom’s closed bedroom door. My hands are still on my jacket, in the middle of hanging it up. I don’t move, staring, not blinking, not even thinking.

Footsteps, from one end of the room to the other.

My mind kicks back into life as my instincts kick in and I leave my jacket on the hook, reaching behind me and taking out my gun, creeping down the hall, hugging the wall as I go, slowly getting closer and closer to my mom’s door.

I reach it and listen again. No movement now. I quietly click off the safety on my gun, then reach down and place my hand on the door handle. Steeling myself, I quickly open it up and bang the door open, my gun out and pointing forward where it lands on …

Will Silver.

He’s standing at my mom’s dresser, where there are framed pictures I put up of her when she was younger. Will is holding one, looking at it. He doesn’t look up as I enter the room.

“Hello Trista,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

I’m confused. My eyes are wide. I look around the room, but Will says, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m the only one here. Well, apart from your beautiful mother, of course.”

Mom. I look down at her, checking for anything out of place, but my mom’s still in the same position, still staring blankly out the window. I turn back to Will where I see him putting the picture back down in its place. He finally turns to look at me.

“Put that down,” he says, indicating my gun, and I lower it. After a second I thumb the safety back on. “Good,” he says. Glancing over my at mom he asks, “What happened to her?”

My mouth is dry. All I can think of is the police uniform in my bedroom, the dossiers with all the information I have to make so many arrests. But I push that out of my head and open my mouth to answer instead.

“She’s catatonic,” I tell him. “The doctors don’t know if it’s a coma or not. But she’s staying with me. I’m taking care of her.”

Will nods. He walks slowly over to my mother’s bed and I keep my grip on the gun. I don’t put it away.

“Catatonic, that’s a pain,” he says, reaching her. He looks down at her with something … something like tenderness. It honestly makes me feel sick to my stomach. “You know, Trista, I’m going to have to apologize. I’m a busy man and sometimes I forget to personally welcome all of the new members of the Bullets.”

He reaches his hand out over my mother, extending it toward me to shake. I stare at it a second and then walk over, switching my gun to my other hand so I can shake his. He has a firm grip.

“And yet busy as I’ve been,” he says, pumping my hand up and down, “I’ve learned never to forget a face. And I could swear I’ve seen you before.”

His eyes are on mine, burning into me. I try not to blink as I give what I hope is a casual shrug.

“You must’ve just seen me around,” I say, still shaking his hand. He looks at me in silence for a few seconds and then we finally let go of one another.

“Yes, that must’ve been it.”

Will looks back down at my mom and I look at her too. She looks frozen in time, completely unaware that we’re here.

“We’re a good family, the Bullets,” he says. “We take care of each other. Ours is a foundation built on trust, and honesty. If something goes wrong, it’s best that I find out sooner rather than later. That way I can help prevent bad situations escalating into worse ones. Sort of like you and your mom here.”

I look up at him, but he’s still looking down at her.

“You take care of her, Trista. Every day, you do your best to make sure she’s healthy and alive. And although she’s not really in a state where she can protest, she has to trust that you’re doing your best to keep her that way, isn’t she?”

Will reaches down and runs his hand over my mother’s hair, smoothing it back. I want to stop him, pull his hand away from her, but I keep myself in place.

“It’s the same with me. I have to trust my employees, Trista. I have to trust that they’re all being completely honest with me. Otherwise they’re useless. Worse than useless. They’re a danger. And it’s my place to remove all the dangers from my life.

“Your mother’s taking medication, isn’t she?”

I look up at him, and he raises his eyes to mine.

“Owning the only pharmaceutical company in the city has its perks, Trista. Being able to look up certain prescriptions, for instance. Or being in the position to switch those prescriptions for something similar, something that would transition your mother from a nice, peaceful state to one of slow and agonizing death.”

He takes his hand from my mother’s head and turns, walking around her bed, around me, toward her bedroom door.

“Think about what I said, Trista. And make certain I have no reason not to trust you.”

He walks out, his footsteps echoing loudly in the small hallway. I stay standing where I am, my heart pounding, as I hear him walk right past my closed bedroom door and down the stairs, then out the front door and gone.

The gun’s still in my hand. I’m breathing heavily, standing alone in this room with my catatonic mother. And Will Silver’s undeniable threat is ringing in my ears.

Trista

I’m nodding off over my fourth cup of coffee, but I shake my head awake and slap my face a bit.

I ended up staying up all night, trying to figure out what to do.

Will Silver’s threat made me realize just how close to the edge I’ve been playing. I never thought—I never even thought—that Will would have recognized me from the police station. Because that must’ve been it. I’ve been in the force for almost ten years. In all that time he must’ve come by at least once. The founder of the single company that holds this entire city up? Of course he must’ve come by at least once.

And if he never forgets a face, as he claims? He’d have seen me. I’m just lucky he hasn’t come by recently. And that he was fuzzy on the details. But it means my alibi isn’t going to hold water much longer. If Will, or his son Craig, or even someone he sends in, comes to the station and sees me it means I’m screwed. It makes me scared to even go in to work, but I have to. I have to go in to work today.

Because today’s the day I’m going to turn in the Bullets.

I decided that this was the best option. Flynn is angry at me, and understandably. If I found out he’d been lying such a big lie to me all this time, I would find it hard to forgive him too. I entirely understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. I just … I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.

I shake my head, pulling my tears back into hiding. No, I’m not going to cry any more over this. My sleep-deprived brain made me do enough of that last night. If Flynn never wants to talk to me again, that’s his choice. My choice is to go ahead with what I originally planned. Avenge Sal. Make this city better. Fuck what Flynn said about this plan only removing the problem and not the source. Will Silver is on to me. It would be best to execute my plan and then … and then leave town, I guess. Try to get transferred to a different city.

Okay. Time to go.

I pick up the stack of dossiers and put them in the expandable file folder, tying the string shut. Leaving my bedroom, I walk down the hall to my mom’s room—I already gave her her breakfast an hour ago—and go inside. My mom’s lying on her bed, staring out the window. I sit down beside her, taking her hand in mine.

“Okay, Mom,” I say to her immobile form. “This is it. Wish me luck. I’m going to hand in what I have on the Bullets, and hopefully … hopefully Captain Hartridge will take what I have seriously. Hopefully she’ll arrest everyone … everyone …”

Images of Flynn getting put into the back of a police cruiser, going to jail, come into my head and those tears almost make their escape. But I pull them back and shake my head clear of those thoughts.

“Everyone will get arrested. And I’ll … Mom, I’m not going to lie. There’s a big chance I’m going to get transferred out of Santa Espera. For my own safety. Will Silver knows what’s up, and once those arrests go through he’s going to come after me, unless I can get out of here first. Go where he can’t find me. But it means … it means we’ll have to move. Move somewhere where Will Silver can’t control the drugs you take. Somewhere where he can’t hurt you. I know we grew up here, and I know this is where Sal is buried, but we can do it, the two of us together. Okay?” I give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll take care of you, Mom. I promise.”

My mom doesn’t say anything. I lean forward and give her a kiss on the forehead. She doesn’t move. Getting up, I pick up the dossiers again and leave the apartment, stowing the folder in one of the panniers. Getting onto my bike and kicking it into life, I ride away from our apartment and head for the police station, ready to give over the information and get started on my new life.

I pull into the parking lot and park my bike, grabbing the file folder, taking it with me inside. I glance up at the clock as I walk in and see that I’m actually a few minutes late. My heart instinctively steels itself as I get ready for the verbal lashing from Captain Hartridge—what a perfect segue it’ll be, from a reprimand to helping destroy the worst gang in town—but her voice never arrives.

I look around for a sign of her, but I can’t see any. She’s always on my case, for any small thing I get wrong. And now that I think about it … I can’t see Devon anywhere either. I walk over to her office and check inside, but she’s not here. Neither is her jacket, which she usually hangs up. Frowning, I leave her office and take the file folder back with me over to my desk where I put it in the bottom drawer. I’ll just give it to her later, when I see her.

I sit down at my desk. It feels strange and I can’t put my finger on why, but then it hits me: I’ve hardly been sitting here lately. I’m usually doing filing work, at the captain’s orders. But now that she’s not here, I don’t really know what to do. I feel out of place. I look around at the office, seeing the rest of the officers walking around, or at their desks working. I blink and my eyes almost glue themselves shut. I’m still tired. Maybe I’ll get some more coffee.

I get back up and walk over to the break room, pour myself a cup of coffee. There’s a TV mounted up on the wall that only plays the Santa Espera news. We have the volume on low and I watch it idly as the newscasters talk about who won the recent lottery.

As I drink my coffee my mind starts to wander again to the future, and to what’s going to happen. To everyone. To myself. Poor Chloe. And Tyrone, and Alyssa, and Matthias. And Maddox. And Flynn. I’ve got dirt on all of them. They were careful, that’s for sure, but it’ll all add up. The Bullets will be out of commission for a while. They’ll all go to jail, and in that time the police force—at least, the good cops—will be able to make some real change around here.

But Flynn … he’s the one I feel the worst about. I wish I didn’t have to turn him in, but I do. He’s a bad guy. That’s all there is to it, plain and simple. The implications about the others wouldn’t make any sense if he were to just mysteriously disappear from it all. It wouldn’t add up. I just wish … I just wish I didn’t end up falling for him. I wish we’d never slept together that first time, or the second or third time … any of the times! I wish I’d never met him that night at Point Blank. I wish I’d kept my wits about me. I wish … I wish …

I wish he were here with me. I wish he were holding me, and kissing me. I wish he could run away with me, that we could leave together. I wish … I wish I’d never hurt him the way that I did. I wish everything had been different.

Warm wetness finally makes its way down my cheeks and I wipe it away with my sleeve, sniffing wetly. But as I blink more tears come out and I wipe those away too, and then the ones after that. They don’t seem to stop. I’ve held them back for too long.

Looking around to make sure no one outside is looking in, I turn my face away from the window and bring my mug of coffee up to my face … and then sob, softly, into it. Letting it out, letting the pain out in slow trickles. Just enough to get me by. I don’t try to stop the tears as they make their way to my chin, dangle off, fall down to the floor below.

And then I hear Captain Hartridge’s voice in the room and my stomach does a flip inside of me. I cough, trying to mask the sound of my crying, and hurriedly wipe away at my face.

“Mm, sorry, Captain,” I say in a choked and muffled voice. “I was, um, I sneezed and didn’t have anything to blow my nose.” I suck the wet snot back up and turn, composing myself quickly. But when I look at where I think the captain is standing all I see is the empty room again.

And then I hear her voice again and I look up at the TV to see Captain Hartridge and Devon standing outside in front of a large building. And standing in front of them … is none other than Will Silver.

I stare, dumbfounded, at the screen as they speak, smiles on their faces. I can only just make out what they’re saying, so I walk over and turn the volume up.

“… new development with Santa Espera’s very own Will Silver, CEO and founder of PharmaChem,” Captain Hartridge is saying. “PharmaChem has been generous enough to offer to finance a new drug enforcement division of the police force, and has offered up their facilities in order to analyze any new drugs found. With this new technology we’ll be able to reverse-engineer the composition of these new drugs—including the latest drug to hit the streets, a meth-like hybrid that has been found to be more addictive than meth and heroin put together. This way it can hopefully give us a clue as to how it’s being created, which will help lead to more arrests.”

“I’m happy to offer my help to our fine officers,” Will Silver says. “Anything I can do to help keep these drugs off the street and out of our children’s hands. This town means everything to me. I would hate to see it fall into the hands of the wrong sorts of people.”

The image cuts back to the newscasters as they banter about what was just shown, but I don’t hear them. I’m speechless. I can’t believe it. Will Silver … and the captain. And Devon! All three of them, together. That means …

I look out through the breakroom windows, into the office where my fellow police officers are walking around, talking, doing work at their desks. They all look so normal, but they’re not. How many of them are corrupt? I knew some of them were, but there had to be some good cops, besides myself.

Am I the only one? Am I the only fish left swimming in a pool of sharks?

I look down at the coffee mug in my hand. I walk over and pour the rest of it out, leaving the mug in the sink. Leaving the breakroom, I walk to my desk, feeling like I’m in a dream. All around me are strangers. People I thought I knew, but it turns out I know nothing about. I reach my desk and sit down. What do I do? I don’t know what to do.

I feel like the air here is getting thinner. I need to leave this place. Can I just leave? No. Suspicious. Something else. Other work. Filing? God no. The front desk! It’s Wednesday, usually the quietest day.

I stand up again, having only sat down a few seconds ago. Nobody noticed. I turn and leave, without saying anything. Stay calm. Act normal. I walk through the halls to the foyer and see Lyle sitting at the front desk, an older cop who left the beat after a bullet went into his leg. There’s nobody else here. He looks bored. I walk up to him.

“Lyle,” I say, and he turns his head slowly to look up at me. His eyes narrow and he glances at my badge.

“Officer Pearson,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to relieve you,” I say, putting a smile on my face. “I need the training, and you need the day off.”

One gray eyebrow slowly raises up.

“You’re relieving me?”

“Unless you want to stay on,” I tell him. “I can go back and tell them—”

“No,” he interrupts. “That’s fine, I’ll take it.”

It takes him a minute to stand up and gather his things, but soon enough he’s out the front door and I’m left sitting at his desk, alone in a quiet room where I can finally think.

Okay. Okay. What am I going to do?

Will Silver’s in with the Captain. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. As much as she was a hardass I had hoped she still had a sliver of decency, but I guess I was wrong. Devon I’m honestly not surprised about. But it means that I can’t turn in those dossiers. That would be yelling out to Will Silver that I’m a cop. And besides, it would tell the captain that I went undercover on my own. I had hoped before that I could kind of gloss over that detail and hide it with all the impending arrests. But now it’ll get me in deep shit. And I can’t ask for a transfer, because then Will will have access to where I go.

I’m fucked. I tried getting into something that I thought I could handle, but I couldn’t. I can’t. And now I’m fucked. Fucked by the police. The one group of people in this evil town that I thought I could trust, my only sanctuary now is tainted. Now my only real option … is to run.

I have to. What else can I do? I’m going to die if I stay here, either by the Bullets or the police. The memory of Flynn and me talking suddenly pops into my head:

Maybe I won’t stay in Santa Espera forever. I think I’d like to settle down and have some kids. Buy a house. Get married. You know, that kind of thing.

He said that. This was before he found out about me. Before everything got all fucked up. But he said that to me. That’s how he feels. He doesn’t want to be in this city either.

So maybe we can run away together.

Just the three of us: Flynn, my mom, and me. Maybe we can do it. Really make it work between us. I know Flynn is angry at me now, but I love him, and he loves me. We can get away from all this. Escape Will Silver, escape the Bullets, escape this entire fucking poisonous town. Get away and finally be safe.

The front door opens and I snap out of my thoughts to see a woman walk in carrying a baby. She looks harried, as most people who come in here usually do. I’ve found that whenever I’m dealing with a scared mother, a calm approach is the best one to take. It usually calms them down too.

“Hello,” I say to her. “My name is Officer Pearson. How can I help you?”

“Um, yes, hello,” the woman says, glancing around. “Um, I’d like to report a, um …” She looks behind her, around at the empty room. And yet, even though we’re alone, she drops her voice. “A rape.”

Oh, God. “Of course,” I say, keeping my emotions from my face. She doesn’t need to see pity right now. “Let me get the proper form.”

I open up the desk drawer and flip through the papers to find the report form for sexual assault. The woman’s baby becomes a little fussy, but the woman calms him by stroking his back, and the baby quiets down.

“Okay, first I’m going to need your name.”

“Jeannette Willow,” the woman says, and I begin to write it down. But as I do something in my mind begins to stir. Jeannette Willow? Why does that sound familiar?

“Okay, and do you know the person who committed the assault?”

“Yes,” she starts to say, but the baby starts fussing again. “I’m sorry,” she says to me as she turns her attention onto him. “Nathan please, be quiet for Mommy. I know you’re hungry, but you’re going to have to wait.”

Nathan Willow. Jeannette Willow. It starts to come back to me. Yesterday. A meeting in the Bullets warehouse. Will Silver telling us we have a job: to kill a woman and her baby. This woman and her baby.

I look up at the woman standing in front of me, unable to believe it. Finally little Nathan quiets down and Jeannette focuses on me again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, giving me an apologetic smile before looking down at the form in my hand. “The name of the man who assaulted me is Craig Silver.”

Flynn

I open up my fridge, looking inside, but I know I’m not hungry. Nothing catches my interest and I close it, looking around. Looking for something to do. Something to distract myself. Something to get my head away from all these bad thoughts.

I look over at the sink, at the rack full of drying dishes next to it. Suddenly a memory of Trista pops into my head: her standing naked at my sink, filling up a glass of water. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me. She looks happy.

I turn away from the sink, shaking the memory from my mind.

Leaving the kitchen, I walk back into the living room and decide to drop down and do some push-ups. Maybe exercise will help to clear my brain.

But even as I lift myself up and down, even though I start counting out loud to drown out the silence, all I can think about is Trista.

It was only yesterday that she told me what she is. That she confessed—because that’s really how it came across, as a confession—that she’s a cop.

A fucking cop. A cop! She could’ve been on the run. She could’ve been a drug smuggler, or working for someone else, or been a fucking murderer and we would’ve figured it out. But a cop?

How could she do this to me? How could she have lied to me, after all this time, after so much time spent together? Was it all a lie? Did she fuck me just to get information out of me? When she smiled at me, when she told me she loves me … was that all a lie too?

I’ve gone over this in my mind so many times, and every time I know the answer.

No. It wasn’t all a lie. I’d like to think it was, because that would make things so much easier. If Trista lied about everything then I could just hate her and that would be that. Seal her off from my heart, kill her if I get the chance, and sort it all out afterward.

But I know she didn’t lie about everything. I know she didn’t mean to get her heart mixed up in this, just like I didn’t mean to fall in love again. And I know she didn’t lie when she told me she loves me. Because I didn’t lie when I told her I love her. And even though she’s fucked my life up in such an irreversible way, I still love her. I don’t know why but I do. And even after all this, the thought of being without her is worse than any other outcome this situation holds.

I stop at fifty push-ups and stand back up. I need some air. Grabbing my keys and my Bullets jacket, I go out the front door and head for the stairs.

The roof. I need to think, and this is my thinking place.

Walking up the flights I reach the door and go through to the outside. It’s late morning and the sun is shining brightly overhead. I walk over to the edge and peer down into the city. Into this cesspool of a city. Cars drive through the streets, line up behind red lights. People roam the sidewalks, going in and out of stores, walking, talking. And looming over it all is PharmaChem. The monolith whose veins pump blood into every facet of this city. Without PharmaChem this city would be dead. It’s the only thing holding us all together. It’s the single thing that stands between economic vitality and absolute desolation.

And it needs to be destroyed.

Because at the heart of PharmaChem is an evil man. My boss’s boss, Will Silver. He’s the evil stepdad who swooped in when the family was going through a tough time and made everything all right, just so long as they abided by his rules. Now he owns this city. And with this new drug that’s hitting the streets, he’s going to have everyone in his pocket even more than before. They’ll all be addicted to his own drug. He’ll have no competition, and no way for people to get clean. Hell, he’ll probably even come up with some antidote and sell it through PharmaChem. Addicted to the drug or addicted to the antidote, it’ll make no difference for him. He’ll become richer than he already is, and all at the low, low cost of a few innocent people dying.

He needs to be stopped. That’s what Trista was setting out to do, I realize that. But she was going about it all wrong. And I should know, because I’ve been thinking about this a lot too. I love the Bullets, but I hate what they do. I thought I was going to leave with Trista. I thought she was going to be my out. But I can’t just leave my friends like this. I can’t leave them just as a new shitstorm is about to unleash.

I turn away from the building’s edge and look around the rooftop.

Trista and I were here. The first time we really made love was up here. I can still feel her, can still smell her. No matter how angry I am at what she did, she’s never far from my mind. And up here was the first time I realized that she was something special. Is something special.

I honestly don’t know what to do. Maybe I need to get out of here to clear my head. I haven’t left my apartment since yesterday. Maybe I need to go to the bar.

I walk back over to the rooftop door and go in, quickly descending the steps all the way down to the ground level. Leaving and heading to the parking lot, I climb on my bike and kick it into life, revving the engine and peeling out of there, heading for Point Blank.

The wind feels good on my face and before I know it I’m there. I park my bike and go inside. Again I immediately see memories of Trista—playing pool together, the first time I met her; sitting on the couches together; holding her hand, kissing her, drinking together. But I shake them away as I walk over to the couches. Chloe and Matthias are there, along with Jackie, Tyrone, and Kendal. The light is dim so it’s not until I get up close that I see they’re badly bruised. Chloe has a black eye and Tyrone’s lip is cut. And then I remember: they went to the Chain Gang yesterday to ambush the Chains.

“Hey guys,” I say as I sit down. “How’d it go yesterday?”

None of them answer right away. They’re all looking down in the dumps. Finally Chloe speaks:

“It was fucked,” she says. Everybody nods, although it looks painful to do it.

“Will was right,” Tyrone puts in. “They didn’t expect a thing. They thought the truce was still happening. So when we showed up drunk and started fighting, it took them a bit before they realized they had to start fighting back.”

“Did you kill anybody?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“No,” Kendal says, and I feel relief course through me. “After Will left we all agreed we wouldn’t use our guns. We just brought some hand weapons. Pipes, chains. Fucked a lot of people up.”

“That pregnant woman was there,” Jackie says, her speech sounding a bit muffled from a fat lip. “Jake’s woman, I forget her name.”

“Merryn,” Chloe says, and Jackie nods.

“Yeah, Merryn. We left her alone, though. You don’t want to fuck with somebody’s unborn baby.”

“But Jake got it good,” Matthias says, looking sad. “He was yelling a lot, standing between us and Merryn. He got right up into it. We had to do something. He looked like he was going to kill us.”

“Can you blame him?” Tyrone asks. “The man’s got a kid on the way.”

“Anyway, it was fucked,” Matthias goes on. “A pretty even match, but it was a mess. We tore the place apart. Lot of blood. We’re just lucky the Chains didn’t pull out their guns. I guess with the truce on they figured they didn’t need them. Or something. We left before anything got too crazy.”

“Maddox didn’t go,” Chloe tells me, and to this I raise my eyebrows. “He said he needed to stay behind, keep his wits about him.”

“I think he just felt bad about it all,” Jackie says.

“Yeah, but what about the next plan?” Kendal asks. “How can he feel bad about ambushing them after giving us that?”

“What’s the next plan?” I ask. Everybody drops their gaze, so Kendal keeps talking.

“Maddox told it to us when we came back,” she says. “We told him how it went and he was all in a fervor. I guess he’d kept drinking after we left; he was pretty worked up. He said Will doesn’t want anything getting in his way. He was going to surprise Will, he said. Get back on his good side.”

She’s about to keep talking, but then she hesitates and looks away from me. I look around at everyone and none of them are meeting my eyes.

“What’s the next plan?” I ask again, feeling worried now. Kendal drops her gaze and it’s Chloe this time who raises her head. Her eyes are shimmering with tears.

“We’re going to kill them,” she says. “He wants us to go over to the Chain Gang tonight, when they’re all there, and set the place on fire. He said when people leave … we have to shoot them.”

“It’s gonna be a fucking massacre,” Tyrone says, shaking his head.

“Kill them?” I ask. I think about Trista, how she said her brother was Sal. Sal started the Chains when he was only a kid. Kid. “What about Merryn? Are you going to let her go, or …?”

Nobody says anything, giving me the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Jesus Christ,” I say. I feel numb. We’re going to murder a pregnant woman. It’s like my past is coming back to haunt me, but this time I’m on the other side. What have I become? What am I doing? What would Elizabeth think? What would Trista think? How will I be able to live with myself after this?

“Flynn?”

I snap back to reality and look up to see Kendal looking at me.

“I asked you where Trista is,” she says.

“Oh,” I say. “She, um …” I look at my friends, at the sorry state they’re in. They don’t need this. Not right now. Not with what’s going to happen. Tonight. “She and I had a fight,” I say, and the others look up at me.

“Is everything okay?” Chloe asks.

“It … no,” I tell them. “No. She’s, um, not going to be coming back.”

To my surprise they don’t protest. It looks like any fight they would have had in them is gone.

“That’s too bad,” Tyrone says. “I liked her.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty amazing,” Chloe agrees. “And Flynn, to be honest I thought you two were going to end up together. You guys seemed perfect for each other.”

“What was the fight about?” Kendal asks, and I remember to my conversation with Trista. It was only yesterday that it happened, but it feels like so much more time has passed.

“Nothing,” I say, feeling sad, like there’s a hole in my heart. “It just turns out she’s not who I thought she was.”

They don’t ask any more. Nobody says anything. The mood in the room is low as I get up and head to the bar. If there’s any time in my life where I needed to be out of my head, it’s right now.

I need to drink.

Trista

I blink up at the woman standing before me.

“I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “Did you say Craig Silver?”

“Yes,” the woman says, bouncing little Nathan in her arms. She looks nervous. “Is there a problem?”

A million thoughts run through my mind, but the one that flashes like a bright neon sign is: THEY COULD BE BACK AT ANY MINUTE.

“No,” I tell her, getting up out of my chair. “No problem. In fact, if you’d like, I can take you to a private room to get a statement from you.”

“Okay, yes, that would be great, thanks,” Jeannette says. A noise comes from outside and she spins around at the sound, but it’s only a truck passing by.

“Come with me,” I tell her, and, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen, take her down the hall to one of our interrogation rooms. Nathan begins struggling again, getting fussy, but before long they’re both inside. The room only has a table with four chairs on opposite sides, two to a side. Jeannette sits down, still bouncing Nathan lightly. I put down my pen and paper at one of the chairs opposite.

“Would you like some coffee before we begin?” I ask her.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” she says, and I give her a quick smile before leaving the room.

I can’t believe this. This feels like some sort of strange dream. The woman Will Silver was talking about yesterday—the woman and the baby that he wants killed—are here in the police station. And Jeannette says that Craig Silver raped her? Is this why Will Silver wanted her dead? So that she wouldn’t blab?

I have to get her story. And I have to keep her safe. I can’t imagine what would happen if either of them—or the captain, for all I know—were to see the two of us together.

I pour her a cup of coffee and bring it back to the room. When I open the door I see Jeannette holding little Nathan up to her chest, one side of her shirt pulled up, Nathan’s mouth suckling on one of Jeannette’s breasts.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately apologizes. “I hope this is okay. I just know he was going to start crying if I didn’t feed him.”

“That’s fine,” I say, putting her coffee down on the table in front of her and sitting in my own chair. I uncap the pen and position the pad of paper before me. Then I look up at Jeannette. “Okay,” I say. “Starting from the beginning, can you tell me what happened?”

Jeannette takes a breath in through her nose and lets it out.

“It happened a while ago,” she says, and I immediately start to write. “A long while. In October of the year before last. I was walking home from work. It was late and I’d missed the last bus. I’d walked that route so many times, I didn’t think anything of it. It’s a pretty safe neighborhood. But when I was about halfway home an expensive-looking car pulled up beside me and a man—Craig Silver—called out to me.

“He seemed to think I was a prostitute, because he kept asking me how much I charged for the night. I remember he was wearing his jacket from college. I guess he was still going to school there. I told him I wasn’t a prostitute, but he didn’t seem to believe me. He kept pace with me, and kept calling out to me, telling me to get in his car, that he’d give me a lift to wherever I was going.

“I tried ignoring him, but that only made him angry. He started yelling, then. I hoped that someone else around would hear him—he was being so loud—but there was no one else around. Finally he stopped the car and got out. He came around the front and he was staggering. I started to run but he caught me. He was strong, and I remember his eyes were so glassy, his pupils enormous. He looked like he was high on something. And then he … um … that was when he …”

“It’s okay,” I say to her, tasting bile in my throat. “What happened after?”

Jeannette takes another breath and lets it out.

“I honestly can’t remember how I got home. I’m guessing I walked, but my clothes were ripped and he’d left bruises where he hit me. My husband, Allan, was there. I remember at first he was shocked, seeing me like that. I cried and told him what happened. I think I had collapsed at that point, because I remember sitting on the ground when I told him. When I was done he said that we should go to the police and tell them, but I said no. He’s Craig Silver, after all. The son of Will Silver. Any charges we made would only disappear, and then he or Will or both of them might do something bad to us. No, I thought it was best just to leave it alone. So we let it drop.

“It took me a few months, but eventually I recovered from what happened. Mentally, I mean. Allan and I were, um … we were abstaining from sleeping together, at my request. I just couldn’t … it took me a long time before I felt comfortable being touched again. But I also noticed I wasn’t getting my period anymore. At first I thought it was because of stress, but then I started noticing other changes. So one night when Allan wasn’t home I bought a home pregnancy test and took it and it came back positive.

“I told Allan that I was pregnant and he was happy. We both were. It’s not like we were planning on having a child, but we’d talked about it before and we were both okay with the idea of it. But I knew, in the back of my mind and in his … we didn’t know who the child belonged to.”

“Did Craig, um … did he finish inside of you?” I ask, hating the question but knowing it has to be recorded.

“Yes, he did,” Jeannette says. She picks up her mug of coffee and takes a long drink, then puts it back down. “So Allan and I waited, and didn’t really discuss it too much, until Nathan was born. I loved Nathan from the moment they let me see him, but I could tell Allan wasn’t so sure Nathan was his. I remember he was very protective of Nathan, and very moody, which isn’t like Allan at all. Usually he’s—he was—a very sweet man.

“Allan was working for a crime boss at the time, Gil something. He’s the man who died in that restaurant fire last month. I forget his last name.”

“Rivas,” I tell her. “I know about him.”

“Yes, Gil Rivas. Well, Allan was doing small jobs for him while he was looking for something more permanent. He wasn’t mixed up in any of the serious crime stuff, he just did little things, you know? Well, anyway, Allan was getting more and more obsessed with knowing who Nathan’s real father was that he wanted to get a paternity test done. I told him I didn’t care, and that Allan was Nathan’s father regardless. But it wasn’t enough for him.

“Allan knew that Gil kept money at the restaurant and so he stole a little—five hundred dollars. Gil must’ve found out because shortly after, while Nathan and I were upstairs, somebody came and killed Allan. I was taking a nap. I didn’t wake up or hear anything. If I had been awake … if I had been able to come down and stop it …”

Jeannette begins to tear up.

“Hey, shh,” I say to her. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. If you had gone downstairs you might’ve been killed too. And then Nathan wouldn’t have either of you. There was nothing you could do.”

Jeannette dabs at her eyes with her sleeve and sniffs.

“Thank you. I know. I have to keep reminding myself.”

“How long ago did this happen?” I ask.

Jeannette sniffs wetly again. “June tenth. Almost two months ago.”

I furrow my brow, trying to recall murder reports from two months ago.

“When did you report this? I don’t remember hearing about it.”

“I didn’t report it,” she says.

“What? Why not?”

“Honestly, because I thought I was next. I didn’t want to expose myself any more than I already had. No offense, but I didn’t know if any of the police were in on this too. You can’t be too careful in this city.”

“None taken,” I tell her. “So are you reporting your husband’s murder too?”

“No, I know who did it, but there’s no proof and I don’t want to open up that wound again. I didn’t hear anything, there wasn’t any note, and it didn’t even look like there was any struggle. Nothing was knocked over or … I’m sorry. No. I’m not here to report that.”

“You’re here to report a sexual assault.”

“Yes. Before Allan died we sent in for the paternity test, but they said it could take a while to get back. And then Allan was killed and I honestly couldn’t think about anything else. I forgot about the test. My life was … it’s a miracle I was able to get up in the morning. But the test came back, a couple of weeks ago, and it tested negative for Allan as Nathan’s father, and I haven’t been with anybody else. So it has to have been Craig Silver.

“I didn’t know what to do with that information. It wasn’t as concrete as having Craig Silver’s DNA to compare with, but it was still something. And besides, I didn’t know if anything could have been done. Allan was dead. All I had was Nathan. What was the point in digging up those skeletons from a year ago?

“And then I saw the news today. Will Silver and Craig Silver are teaming up with the police force for something drug-related. I knew it was a sham. Those two men would only do something evil. And that’s what made me decide it. I want to stop them, before they can do any more real damage to this city.

“So here I am. I have proof of Craig Silver’s rape, here in Nathan. The DNA should match and that should prove it. And then Craig will go to jail, and Allan won’t have died in vain.”

I finish writing and look up at Jeannette. She doesn’t look scared anymore. She looks fervent. Ready. Inside my own mind, the ramifications of this charge are already bubbling up. If the DNA matches and Jeannette testifies in court, then Craig could go to jail. That would certainly throw a wrench in their plans, but … but Will Silver would still be out there. And even if something were to happen to him …

Next of kin! The rights to PharmaChem!

It all clicks in my brain, like a puzzle that’s just been solved. Jeannette could claim that Nathan has rights and responsibilities to PharmaChem, after Craig. But if Craig were in jail and Will were gone, then Nathan would have control right away. And since he’s so young, the control would go to Jeannette. And then …

I focus on the woman in front of me as she looks down at her son, switching him from one breast to the other. She could be running PharmaChem. She could be the one to stop all of this bad stuff from happening. All because of her son. She has no idea. So much responsibility falls on her shoulders.

I know what I have to do now. It wouldn’t have made sense before—in fact, before this it would be walking into certain death—but now the way is clear. I just hope to God that it works.

“Okay,” I say to Jeannette, making her look back up at me. “This is a very good and very detailed report. And if you’d like, I can help you through the next steps of what we should do. However, I want you to know this is not going to be the conventional way of doing things.”

“Okay …” Jeannette says.

“Jeannette, with your help, I believe we can take down PharmaChem. I think we can use your testimony to get rid of both Craig Silver and Will Silver, and that could put Nathan in control of the company, following blood lines. That would mean that you would have control until Nathan is eighteen. What do you think? Would you be interested in doing this with me?”

Jeannette sets her jaw and nods.

“Yes,” she says. “If it means taking Craig Silver down, I am definitely interested.”

“Okay,” I say, my heartbeat going crazy. “So what I need you to do right now is keep this a secret. Don’t tell anyone what you told me. Don’t show anyone the results of the paternity test. Just keep that hidden and safe. And stay at home, don’t go anywhere you don’t need to, and always go out in daylight.”

“Um,” Jeannette says. “I don’t know if this means anything, but lately I’ve been … getting the feeling that I’m being watched. When I’m at home. I haven’t seen anyone, but I kind of … this is stupid, but part of me thinks it’s the same person who killed Allan.”

Fuck. “Okay,” I say. “Do you have anywhere else you can go? Where you can stay for a while?”

“Yes, I have a brother. He doesn’t live in town, though. He lives about two hours away.”

“Perfect,” I tell her. “Go there, stay with him. Here”—I pass her the pad of paper and the pen—“write down his information so I can get a hold of you.” She does. “It might not be for a while. A couple of weeks, even. But I’ll get in touch. And until then you have to stay safe. Okay?”

Jeannette finishes writing and looks up at me.

“Okay,” she says.

I smile, and she smiles back, and then I pick up the paper and pen and get up from my chair, Jeannette doing the same.

“All right, we have to get you out of this building,” I say to her. “If the wrong people saw you …”

I go to the window in the door and peer out of it, checking down both hallways. It’s clear, so I open it up and the two of us slip out, Jeannette carrying Nathan.

“This way,” I say, and begin walking briskly down the hall toward the front doors. “Did you drive here?”

“Yes, I parked in the parking lot,” Jeannette says.

If the captain or Will or Craig are there, we’re going to double back and hope they don’t notice us. We could get to the parking lot through the back. Luckily there’s no one in the foyer when we get there, so I go with Jeannette to the front doors and out.

“Where’s your car?” I ask her. Even now I don’t feel safe just leaving her.

“It’s just over there,” she says, pointing to it. We walk there together, and when we arrive Jeannette has trouble holding Nathan as she tries to fish for her keys.

“Here, would you mind?” she asks, and without waiting for an answer she thrusts Nathan in my direction. I take him, surprised, and even though I’ve never held a baby before my arms seem to know exactly where to go. Nathan’s weight fills my hands as I hold him close to me. His little head is so close to mine. He smiles as he looks into my face.

“Here we go,” she says, and she unlocks the car. “Thanks,” as she takes Nathan back. Even though I’d only been holding him for a moment it seems like so much longer. And it felt so right.

“Of course,” I say, a part of me going with Nathan. I watch Jeannette open up the back door and strap Nathan into his car seat. As she does I glance around the parking lot, the immediacy of the current situation coming back to me. If the captain or Will or Craig Silver were to come back right now …

But she gets him strapped in and closes the door. Jeannette turns to me.

“Are you all right?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Yes, I’ll be fine,” she says, giving me a smile. “It’s just that this is all so …”

“I know,” I say. “It’s scary. But it’ll be fine. With your help we’ll definitely do the right thing.”

Jeannette nods. “Thank you, Officer …”

“Pearson,” I tell her. “Trista Pearson.”

Jeannette seems to hesitate for a moment, and then she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. Again, I’m surprised, but I hug her back. When she lets go her eyes are shining. She gives a laugh as she wipes at them.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, and I shake my head.

“No reason to be sorry. But go. Go to your brother and stay with him. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. Thank you again,” she says, and she opens up the driver’s-side door and climbs into her car, pulling the door shut behind her. I take a step back and watch as the car starts and pulls out of the parking space. I raise my hand in farewell as she drives away. Then I turn back to the police station. I steel my heart as I walk up to it, this place I’ve called my second home for years, now feeling like a stranger.

Through the front doors and I sit back down at the empty front desk. I take the pad of paper and rip off the sheets containing Jeannette’s story and information. Folding them up, I stick them in my pocket, and then take out my pen and begin writing:

Captain Hartridge,

I’m writing to you to inform you that, effectively immediately, I am quitting my position at the Santa Espera Police Department. I have decided to leave Santa Espera and will no longer be able to work here. I would not like to request a transfer to a different department.

Sincerely,

Trista Pearson

I both sign and print my name and then rip the sheet off. Leaving the pad and pen at the desk, I leave and walk back to my department, to where the captain’s office is. She’s still not here so I leave the note on her desk. As I place the sheet of paper on the mahogany surface I feel elated, lighter, as though a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. But my work’s not done yet. I still have a few more things to do.

I spot one of my coworkers, Dale, as he’s passing by.

“Dale,” I say, and he stops and looks at me. “I was on front desk but something came up. Can you find a replacement, please?”

“Oh, sure,” he says, and I thank him before walking away. Every step farther from my department, from these corrupt people behind me, is like a step in the right direction. I leave the department, down the hall, past the empty front desk, and then I’m out the front doors, stepping into the brilliant sunlight. My heart is practically singing now. I reach my bike and climb on, kicking it into life.

It feels like I’ve just left a prison. But before I can truly celebrate I’ve got to go home and get ready.

I’ve got to put my Bullets gear on one last time.

Flynn

I’m sitting at the couches with my friends around me. My real friends. The people who are on my side and who will be with me no matter what, who won’t lie to me, who won’t ever leave me. These people are my real family. These people are the ones I can trust.

So then why do I feel so alone?

With every beer I drink all I can think about is Trista. Every time the door to the bar opens I spin my head, trying to see if it’s Trista. The drunker I get the less important what she did to me seems.

Sure, she lied about being a cop and being from Pasadena—but we’ve all lied to people in our lives. Sure, she was going to arrest everybody—but she warned me, and confessed her entire plan, and said she wasn’t going to do it. And sure she hurt me by lying—but she wanted to make it up to me. She wanted to run away with me. Just the two of us. Together.

I take another long drink of beer. There’s soft music playing throughout the bar. Usually we can’t hear it, but today hardly anybody is talking. Everybody’s thinking about what they have to do tonight. And I’m thinking about Trista.

I might leave the Bullets. Just leave. These people are my family, yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re a family that I want to be with forever. And the plan for tonight? I want no part of that. Will is taking this too far. I’m not going to help him murder a bunch of innocent people. I’d rather just leave. Just pack my things and go.

Because what else is in this town for me? I’ve fallen in love twice, and twice I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. There are too many painful memories for me here. Too many places where I see either of their faces. And now that I’m without either of them, what else is there for me? A life of this? Getting drunk in this bar every night, helping sell drugs and murder people during the day?

No. That’s not the life for me. I don’t know what my life is supposed to be like, but I know it’s not that.

I hear the door to the bar open and my drunken instincts make my head swing over. I see a woman walk in—red hair, medium build, leather jacket and jeans. She looks just like Trista. She starts walking in our direction and I’m just starting to turn away when I hear Chloe yell out:

“Trista!”

The rest of the Bullets all bubble up with excitement, but I turn my slow and stupid head again to see her approach us. She stops in front of me, cocks her fist back, and punches me right in the face.

“Augh!” I cry out, dropping my beer and hearing it smash onto the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Flynn, you drunken fuck,” she says to me. “Get up.”

Something kindles inside of me. Her tone. Her words. How dare she?

“What did you say to me?” I ask, feeling angry. I stand up and she takes a few steps back. I take a few steps toward her in return.

“Look at you,” she says. “Drunk and stupid, in the middle of the day.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl at her, my face throbbing. “How dare you show your face around this place! After you told me you’re a—”

She punches me again, on the other side of my face.

“Come on!” she yells. “Fight me!”

I look at her, the effects of the beer lesser now. My head is clearer. The other Bullets behind us, in their drunken states, have started cat-calling at us.

“I’m not going to fight you,” I snarl, and Trista responds by punching me in the ribs. She’s got a hell of an arm on her. She’s about to go for my other side but I deflect it, grabbing her arm instead. Her eyes go wide for a moment, but then she smiles.

“That’s it,” she says. “Sober up. Get your head in the game.”

“I’m sober,” I say to her. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“I have a plan,” she says in a lower voice. “But I need your help.”

More anger flares up in me.

“You need my help?” I ask. “You’re the one who fucking broke my heart! You betrayed me! You’re a—”

Quick as anything Trista grapples onto me, grabbing me underneath the arm and sweeping her leg behind mine. I’m caught off balance and I land hard on the floor on my back. She straddles me and punches me again in the face.

“AUGH!” I yell amid the noise of the other Bullets, and I struggle to grab at her wrists. Finally I get them but then Trista drops her head down … and kisses me.

It feels like everything else stops. The noise, my emotions, my brain. All of it fades away as Trista’s lips are pressing against mine.

She breaks the kiss and I open my eyes, not having realized I’d closed them, to see her looking down at me. The noise of the bar all comes back and my head clears. I try pushing Trista off but she won’t go.

“Get off me!” I yell, and she breaks my hold on one of her hands. With it she grabs my shoulder and rolls us over on the ground. Her legs are wrapped around mine, like vines. We roll over once completely, until we’re farther away from the Bullets, with her on top yet again.

“Shut up,” she says in a low voice, dropping her head close to mine. “I need you, Flynn. I need you to help me.”

The sight of her, the smell of her, the feeling of her against my body. I can feel myself getting hard in my pants and I can tell Trista feels it too because she glances down for a second before looking back in my eyes.

“Get off of me.” I struggle.

“Flynn, listen to me,” she says in a low voice. “I quit. I quit the force.”

I stop struggling.

“What?”

“And I have a plan. But I need your help for it. Just listen to me, okay?”

I’m still angry at Trista, still angry at her for hurting me the way that she did. But my cock reminds me that I still miss her. And when I look over at the other Bullets, who have all quieted down a bit now that Trista’s not punching me, I somehow feel a distance from them. I look back up at Trista.

“Fine,” I say to her. “But let’s go somewhere private first.”

Trista smiles, a glimmer of a smile, and nods before getting up off of me. I clamber up to my feet, rubbing at my face where Trista punched me.

“Aww, is the fight over?” Kendal yells to us across the bar.

“Yep, show’s over!” I call back. “We’re going for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

They all slide back down into their seats and go back to drinking. Trista and I leave the bar and I have to squint hard against the blinding sunlight. Soon my eyes adjust and I join Trista as we start to walk down the sidewalk, away from the bar.

“So what’re you doing here?” I ask her. “And what do you mean, you quit?”

“I quit,” she repeats. “I’m done at the police force. Flynn, this has been such a crazy day so far. First off, I was up all night, thinking about what happened between us.”

“So was I,” I admit to her. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” she says. “And I’m sorry again for what I did. Nothing I do will be able to … well anyway, you’ve heard all that before. So I go into work and the captain isn’t there. And then, I see her on the news … with Will Silver.”

“What?”

“She and the Deputy Captain and Will Silver, they were all on the news because, get this: Will Silver’s pairing up with the department to head some drug task force. They said something about using their facilities to break down other drugs into their components and catch the suppliers.”

“Jesus,” I say. “That would let them take out the competition.”

“And leave themselves in the running. But it means the head of police is in on it. If I’d stayed there … the entire force will become completely corrupt in no time.”

“So that’s why you quit?”

“Well, to be honest, I thought I was going to have to just skip town and run away. I was debating asking for a transfer, but if they know where I am they can still get to me.”

“Right.”

“But then, here’s the second part of the news: somebody came into the station today. Jeannette Willow, who is the mother of Nathan Willow.”

It takes me a moment, but then I realize who she’s talking about.

“The woman that Will told us to take out?”

“Yeah! And the reason she came in … is because Craig Silver raped her a year ago and now Nathan is Craig’s illegitimate son.”

“Jesus,” I say again.

“That’s right. But it means there’s a hope for something to change. If both Will and Craig Silver go away, then Nathan—or, rather, Jeannette—could take control of the company, and then we can put a stop to this.”

“But how are we going to do that?”

“Well, I have a plan for that,” Trista says, and then she proceeds to tell it to me. And as she tells it to me I’m shocked. Disgusted, even. She finishes and we’ve stopped walking, the bar still in our sights down the street.

“Are you serious?” I ask her. “That will never work.”

“It’ll work,” she says. “We just have to do it with conviction.”

“But … Maddox,” I begin, but Trista cuts me off.

“I know. But he’s the only one, I swear. We just need to show everybody that we mean business. And they’ll understand. They might not agree with it, but they’ll understand.”

I’m still unsure. I shift my weight from one foot to another.

“Trista, I’m not going to lie to you: this is the opposite of what I want. I want to leave Santa Espera. And I want you to come with me.”

Trista steps up to me and wraps her arms around me, leaning up and giving me a kiss.

“I know,” she says. “This isn’t what I want either. But if we leave together then we’re walking away when we could be doing something. This isn’t about us anymore. It’s about this city. And we’re the only ones who can do something about it.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. And yet that won’t make this any easier.

“Okay,” I say to her. “I’m in.”

Trista smiles up at me, and then doesn’t kiss me this time but gives me a hug. I hug her back. I feel bad for what’s about to happen, but she’s right: it’s got to be done.

“Let’s go back in,” I say as we let go of each other. “I’m sure they’re wondering about us.”

So Trista and I walk back to Point Blank and go in through the front door, banging it open. I put an angry look on my face as I walk up to the couches, Trista right behind me.

“Hey guys,” Matthias says. “What happened? Why were you fighting?”

“Where’s Maddox?” Trista asks, stepping up beside me. “We need to talk to him.”

“Maddox?” Jackie says. “Probably the warehouse?”

“Hey, is everything okay between you two?” Chloe asks. “Flynn said you guys broke up.”

“We’re fine,” I tell her. “But we have something we need to do. And we need you to come see what it is.”

“Come to the warehouse with us, now,” Trista tells them. “Otherwise you’re going to regret it.”

Nice touch, I think. The Bullets all look at each other.

“We’re drunk,” Tyrone points out.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I spit back. “Come with us. Now.”

I turn around and so does Trista as we head back for the front door. I hear, behind me, the sounds of the Bullets getting up off the couches and following us. Those poor fools, I think. But they need to see this.

We leave the bar, the others shortly behind us. Climbing onto our motorcycles I watch as the others struggle to stay on. If I hadn’t known them all so well—and known how much practice they have riding drunk—I’d be worried for their safety. Soon enough all the engines have started.

“Follow us!” I shout to them as Trista and I roll out of the parking lot and onto the street, heading toward the warehouse. I go over the plan in my brain, over and over, thinking about every contingency. This could go horribly wrong. But if it goes right it could mean saving Santa Espera. And it could mean spending the rest of my life with Trista.

Too soon we arrive at the warehouse, luckily with all the other Bullets still in tow. Trista and I park our bikes and the others do the same, getting off of them.

“Flynn, what’s going on?” Kendal asks.

“Inside!” Trista shouts in response, and she and I lead the way. We all walk through the front door of the warehouse, into the relative darkness of the inside. As my eyes adjust to the dark I see Maddox in his office. He turns his head to see who it is, then gets up and walks out.

“Hey, guys!” Maddox says. “Flynn, Trista, you weren’t there for the thrashing. It went pretty well. Did the others fill you in on what’s next?”

I make it happen so quickly that I don’t even have time to think.

I pull out my gun, cock it, and shoot Maddox in the stomach. The bang of the bullet leaving the muzzle echoes and reverberates off all the walls, and I hear the drunkenly surprised yells of everyone behind me.

Maddox yells out in pain as he grabs his stomach, falling to the floor. I hear Trista pull out her gun and spin around, pointing it at the others.

“Nobody fucking draw!” she shouts out, with great conviction I might add. “If I see anybody pull a gun out they’re getting one right between the eyes!”

I walk over to a moaning and writhing Maddox. His blood is already pooling around him on the concrete ground. When I reach him I squat down, bringing our faces so close together. I can see how scared and hurt he is … almost exactly how I feel.

“I’m sorry, man,” I whisper to him as he looks up into my eyes. “You didn’t deserve this. But things have to be changed, and you’re the one thing standing in our way.”

I stand back up and turn to look at the crowd of terrified Bullets. They don’t look drunk anymore.

“This piece of shit,” I shout to them, “is getting in the way of Bullets’ progress. He’s old. He’s losing his touch.” My emotions almost betray me for a moment as I feel myself starting to choke up, but I push through it and just yell louder. “He got no respect from Will Silver, and he didn’t have the balls to step in and get things done right. But I will. I’m going to do everything that Maddox couldn’t do. I’m going to lead us into the future.”

I look back down at Maddox to see him staring up at me, holding the bullet wound in his stomach. Without saying anything I aim the gun up to the spot between his eyes and pull the trigger.

The bang is deafening, followed immediately by the slack sound of Maddox’s body collapsing on the ground.

I swallow my sadness as I look out at the other Bullets. Trista’s still got her gun trained on them.

“I’m the leader now,” I announce to them. “Anybody got any fucking questions, they can send them to me.”

Nobody says anything. Good.

“

Epilogue

I open my eyes and blink a few times, staring up at the ceiling of my apartment. Beside me, Trista shifts in her sleep as she drapes her arm over my chest. Her body is warm next to mine, and she’s naked as the day she was born.

Four days. That’s how long it’s been since I killed Maddox. That’s how long it’s been since I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger. Bent down and said I was sorry. Stood back up and finished the job.

I’ve thought about that moment countless times since it happened. It’s visited me in my dreams, and whenever I don’t have something else to distract my mind. Things between me and the other Bullets haven’t been … perfect since it happened, either. And I don’t blame them for being mad at me. But they don’t know the whole story. They don’t know the whole plan.

I bend my head down and give Trista a kiss on the top of her head. She stirs, moaning softly against my chest. I feel her fingers moving, and a moment later she lifts her head and looks up, smiling into my eyes.

“Mm, morning,” she says in a sleepy voice.

“Morning,” I say back. Trista stretches, flexing her muscles. She shuffles herself up and gives me a kiss. A long one. I kiss her back, my one arm cradling her from underneath. Trista moans as our tongues intertwine, that combination of morning breath being shared by both of us. One of her hands begins sliding up and down my stomach and she reaches down, between my legs, to find me … soft.

She hesitates a moment, but soon starts up again, her fingers fondling me, pulling, trying to bring me back to life.

But it’s no use. I reach down and find her hand, taking it in mine and bringing it back up to our chests. She breaks off the kiss, looking at me with sympathy in her eyes.

“Still no?” she asks, and I swallow, shaking my head. She breathes out a sigh, something I know she thinks is neutral but I know is disappointment, and lays her head back down on my chest. “It’s okay,” she says, as though consoling me. “We should get up anyway.”

“Yeah,” I say to her, and we lie together for a few more seconds, our bodies missing each other, missing the way we used to have one another. And then Trista lifts herself up off of me and I get up too, the two of us finding our clothes and slipping them on.

I’m dressed before she is—boxers, socks, jeans, red T-shirt—so I go to the kitchen to start making breakfast. I pull the eggs out of the fridge and start cracking some of them into a bowl. Trista comes in shortly and takes the bread out of the cupboard, pulling out two slices and popping them in the toaster. Then she puts on some coffee as I scramble the eggs.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks me.

“Yeah, I did,” I lie, putting a pan on the stove and turning on the heat. “How about you?”

“Not bad,” she says. “I was dreaming about us up on the roof. Do you remember that? When you took me up there?”

I smile at her. “Of course I remember.”

The toaster pops and Trista walks over to it.

“You know, I think that was the moment I first realized that I loved you,” she says, taking down two plates and putting the toast onto one. She rifles through the bag for another two slices.

“Me too,” I tell her, not a lie this time. “That was when I first realized it too.”

Trista smiles back at me, then goes to the fridge to take the margarine out. I pour the scrambled eggs into the pan, hearing them sizzle against the hot metal. I grab a spatula and begin stirring them, making sure they don’t stick. Soon enough the toaster pops again and the eggs are ready, and once our food is divvied out we carry the plates and cups of coffee out to the dining table.

We sit down and begin to eat, me scooping up egg into my mouth, Trista munching on a piece of toast.

“Do you think Will Silver’s going to come by today?” she asks me. I look up at her from my meal and then put down my fork, fishing into my pocket for my cell phone. I bring the display up and navigate to my texts with Will. There hasn’t been anything since yesterday.

“He hasn’t said anything yet,” I tell her. “Maybe. It would be nice if he did come by.”

“Yeah, it would,” she agrees. “He hasn’t sent anything? Doesn’t he usually send the jobs by six or something?”

I check my phone again. “Yeah, nothing since yesterday. Maybe he’s busy.”

“Hmm,” she says. I put my phone away.

I sent Will a text after killing Maddox, telling him what happened. He sent me one back that said, “Congratulations. I’ll be by to go over things with you ASAP,” which I thought meant he was going to come by later that day. It would have made things go much more smoothly than they have been.

But he didn’t come by. Instead he sent me a text later in the day saying he’s swamped with the collaboration between PharmaChem and the police force, but he’ll be by as soon as he can. In the meantime, here are some jobs he’d like done.

And that’s how it’s been every day for the past three days. Will sends me a text early in the morning—at around six—saying that he’s too busy to come in today but he’d like these jobs done. They’re all menial things—one-person jobs like picking up a package, relaying a message, threatening some teen cook—so I delegate them to everyone, sending them out on their errands. But so far Will hasn’t sent anything today. Which means he might actually be coming by.

As though reading my thoughts, Trista says, “So when he does come to the warehouse, we need to make it quick so he doesn’t have a chance to escape.”

“I know,” I say to her. We’ve talked about this before.

But she goes on. “In the office would be the best,” she says. “But if it’s got to be out in the open then so be it. And if the others are around—and without jobs today they might be—I can distract them.”

“I know,” I say again. I pick up my mug of coffee and take a drink. “Have you heard anything from the police captain?” I ask, changing the subject.

Trista furrows her brow. “No, I haven’t. You’d think there would be some sort of follow-up to quitting out of the blue, but I haven’t heard anything.”

“Maybe she never got your note,” I suggest, and Trista smiles.

“Oh God, can you imagine? She thinks I still work there and is just fuming, waiting for me to come in so she can yell at me. Hell, maybe I should’ve actually done that, then she would fire me and I’d get a severance check. Right now I’m just going on my savings.” Trista takes a bite of food. “Has Will wired you any money yet for the jobs?”

“No, nothing yet,” I tell her. “He said he’s going to do that by the end of next week. Again, busy with the police.”

We finish our breakfast and take our dishes to the kitchen, quickly tidying them up. As we get ready to leave I check my phone again. Still no text from Will. I put my phone away and we head out, going down to the parking lot where our bikes are parked side by side. We climb on and kick them into life, then head out to our final stop before going to the warehouse. It’s way out of the way, but we’ve got to go.

I’ve only been to Trista’s apartment a couple of times, and although it’s a nice place it’s kind of … strange. Quiet, and stuck in place, like a museum. Plus seeing her police uniform just hanging on her closet door, so casually like that, almost made Trista seem like a different person. I knew she was a cop—she told me—but just being told something and seeing the evidence of it are two different things.

And her mom. That’s another part of the apartment that’s strange. It’s amazing how Trista ever found the time to work a full-time job, infiltrate the Bullets, and take care of her sick mom, but part of me wonders if the woman wouldn’t be better off in a home somewhere where she’d get proper treatment. I mean, I get that Trista loves her but … anyway.

Eventually we arrive at Trista’s apartment and dismount our bikes. Trista unlocks the door and we go in, walking up the stairs to the apartment. Trista heads for her mom’s room and I follow, stopping in the doorway. Her mom is lying in bed, her eyes open, staring out the window on the opposite side of the room.

“Morning, Mom,” Trista says to the lifeless woman. “Flynn is here, do you remember him?”

No reaction. Regardless I smile and lift a hand.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pearson,” I say to her.

“I’m going to get you your breakfast,” Trista says, leaning down and kissing her mom on the forehead. She leaves the bed and I have to move aside to let her through the doorway, leaving me alone in the room with her mom.

I glance around the room—it’s empty save for the two of us, and hardly furnished. I gingerly step over to the side of the bed where this red-haired woman is lying, completely motionless, staring out at nothing. I stop beside her and look down, studying her. I haven’t had much opportunity to get this close to her before.

So this is Sal Pearson’s mom.

It’s strange, seeing the woman who gave birth to the man who was technically your enemy. This is the woman who raised him. This is the woman who made him into who he was, who he would be today, if he were still alive.

I get why Trista is doing all of this. Sal must’ve meant the world to her, and he was taken away because of some stupid, petty argument. The worst is that she couldn’t attend his funeral, for fear of being associated with him. If I wasn’t able to attend Elizabeth’s funeral I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe try to kill whoever did that to her. Maybe something like what Trista’s doing. Or trying to do.

Speak of the devil, Trista appears back in the room carrying a bowl of yogurt and some pills.

“Hey you,” she says as I turn around. She’s smiling. “Having a nice chat?”

I smile too. “Just saying hello,” I tell her as I step aside for Trista to take over.

Soon enough Trista’s finished feeding her mom and we leave the room while Trista washes up the bowl and puts it in the rack to dry. I check my phone again but, still, no text from Will. Maybe he is going to come by today, and that’s why he hasn’t sent anything. I’ll find out in either case.

We leave her apartment and get back on the bikes, now ready to ride over to the warehouse and start the day. The ride is long, and the day is getting hotter as we arrive. There are some bikes already parked outside—not all of them, but most. Trista and I park our bikes at the end of the line and get off, walking in through the front door.

The difference in light makes everything seem dark for a moment, but I blink to adjust my vision. I can see the silhouettes of people standing around, some leaning. They were having a conversation but it stops as Trista and I walk in.

“Morning everybody!” I shout. Only a few of them respond. As I get closer I see Alyssa, Chloe, Matthias, and Jackie. Kendal, Chris, and Tyrone aren’t here yet. “How’s everyone doing today?”

A few mutters. No one really answers. There’s a jolt in my stomach but I ignore it. I see the stack of pallets and part of me wants to jump up onto it, sit there like I used to. But I can’t do that now. I need to maintain a sense of authority. So I sit down in the chair at the table instead, facing the group.

The conversations start up again as I remain silent. I watch Trista join the others, trying to get in on the conversation. But even she’s having a hard time. Everyone else seems to ignore her.

I don’t like how this turned out. The plan was that I would be leader and Trista would stay a normal member, so that way we have the best of both worlds. But their reactions to what happened to Maddox were stronger than I’d anticipated. Now they’re basically shunning Trista, and they only respond to me whenever I initiate it, and even then as though I’m some new boss, not one of the guys who’s been here for years. I’m not used to it. I miss the way things used to be.

The others start trickling in and they join the group, essentially ignoring me. I pull out my phone and check it for texts from Will. Still nothing. I debate sending him a message but decide against it. I don’t want to run the risk of pissing him off, especially if I need to keep him calm when he’s here. I think about what needs to be done. It’ll be hard—killing Maddox wasn’t easy either, and I certainly didn’t anticipate how I’d feel about it. But after Will’s gone that’ll be it. Smooth sailing from there on out.

Once everybody’s arrived I stand up from my chair and come over to the group. They notice me and the conversation dies away, until there’s just silence and the sound of my footsteps. I stop at the edge of the circle.

“Morning everybody,” I say to them. “How’re we all feeling?”

Nobody responds. Some of them, like Chloe and Matthias, aren’t even looking at me. That’s fine. They’ll all appreciate it in the end. It’s fine.

“So I haven’t gotten a text from Will yet today about what we’re all doing. I expect he’ll send me something—I know he’s been busy getting things set up with the cops so he might’ve just forgotten. He might also come by later, so we can look forward to that. But until then I guess we can just hang tight and wait to hear what he has to say.”

“Why are you just waiting to hear from Will?” Chloe pipes up, lifting her head to look at me. She looks angry. “Why don’t you text or call him, tell him he’s forgotten to text you?”

Everyone turns from her to me, waiting for a response.

“Well I didn’t want to piss him off or anything,” I tell her. “I mean, he’s been really busy lately—”

“But isn’t this exactly what you said Maddox was doing wrong?” she asks. “You said that he was just being a puppet for Will, that he wasn’t being a good leader. That’s why you killed him. And now you’re doing the same thing.”

Matthias puts a hand on her arm.

“Hey, Chloe, calm down,” he says in a low voice. Chloe snaps her head from me to him. I can see the fire in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snarls. “You said yourself—”

“I know what I said,” he tells her, his eyes darting to me for a moment. “But later, okay?” Turning to me, “Sorry, we were up all night talking. We’re both just tired.”

Chloe’s breathing heavily but Matthias’s hand moves down her hand and his fingers link with hers.

“Later, okay?” he says to her. “We can talk to him later.”

People are now either watching Chloe and Matthias or glaring at me. Even Trista seems unsure of what to do as she glances around at the others. I need to put a stop to this.

“All right,” I announce, and everyone looks at me. “I think we need to have a conversation. About what happened last week with me and Maddox.”

Nobody says anything. The entire room is silent. I take a breath and let it out.

“Yes, I killed Maddox. You all saw it happen. Well, most of you. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t the right way of doing it, but it had to be done. Maddox had it coming. He was getting soft and he needed to be taken out, all right? And besides that, he was getting crazy. Like that plan to massacre the Chains. Seriously? Who here really wanted to do that? Show of hands.”

I look around and nobody raises their hand. A few seconds pass.

“Exactly,” I go on. “Somebody like that needed to be taken out, for the good of the gang. Because who knows what he might have done next? Who knows who he might have tried to kill?”

“So why didn’t you talk to him about it?” Chloe says, still holding onto Matthias’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell him this instead of just shooting him in cold blood?”

“Yeah,” Alyssa adds. “You’re saying, who knows who he might have tried to kill next? Well, who knows who you might try to kill next? Huh? What’s to say that any of us are safe around you?”

“You never talked to us about it, man,” Tyrone says, a look of disappointment in his eyes. “It was just you and your woman. You didn’t include us in any of it.”

“And why her?” Kendal asks, pointing at Trista. “Why not any of the rest of us? Don’t we mean anything to you?”

“You’ve only known her for a month,” Chris points out. “How do you know you can trust her?”

“Hey, everybody leave Trista out of this,” I warn them. “Killing Maddox was my idea. I’m the one who did it. And yes, I trust Trista. That should be enough for anybody.”

“It’s not,” Chloe says. “You might trust Trista, but I don’t. All I know is she waltzed in here a month ago, and in that time you’ve been more distant around us and now Maddox is dead. Because of her.”

“None of us are safe,” Kendal says. “Not while she’s around.”

“What are you saying?” I ask them, starting to get angry. “Just what in the fuck are you trying to say?”

But before anyone can answer the front door of the warehouse bangs open. We all turn our heads at the sound. Inside my anger-addled mind my first thought is that it’s Will, finally come to discuss things. But it’s not. A bunch of people pour in instead.

“Hello there, you fucking Bullets!” shouts a voice.

My stomach feels like ice has just dropped into it. Leather jackets. Guns in every hand. And the guy in front, over six feet tall with jet black hair, holding a shotgun in both hands. Jake Hawksley. The Chains.

My group is hesitant for only a minute, but soon everybody scrambles, spreading out. Guns get taken out of holsters. People move behind shelves for safety. The only person who hasn’t moved is Trista. She looks like she’s frozen in place.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I shout as people yell, guns cock, and feet scuff against the ground. “Wait! Just wait!”

Jake raises a hand and the Chains behind him stop in place, all spread out. There are half a dozen of them, just a couple shorter than our number. But they’ve come prepared, and they’ve got the drop on us. My heart is racing. I need to stop this before it starts.

“What’s this about, Jake?” I ask him. He cocks his head to the side and gives me a strange look for a second.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says. “You fuckers attacked us. In the middle of a truce!”

The guns rustle and I can feel the tension in the air. I take a step closer to Trista, who’s still rooted to the spot.

“Don’t move!” Jake yells.

“Okay!” I shout back, stopping in place.

“That was unforgivable, what you all did,” Jake tells me.

“It wasn’t our idea,” I decide to try. “It was Will’s. He was the one who wanted to break the truce. He wanted to fuck you over, not us! We were just following orders.”

“Yeah?” Jake says. “Well this is my idea. And my Chains here? They’re just following orders too.”

Their guns all raise, and I can feel the guns on our side raise too. Jake racks his shotgun, a horrible sound.

“Wait, Jake!” I shout. My heart is pounding in my chest. I just want to go home. “We have to talk! We … I have a plan!”

“The time for talk is over,” he says, his voice sounding oddly calm. “See you in hell.”

I make a dive for Trista.

Jake pulls the trigger.

And it begins.

THE END

 

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