“No story,” I said. “Just tired of running.”
She snorted. “Everyone’s got a story. Especially guys who fight like you.”
I looked up, met her stare. “Maybe I just don’t like assholes who grab women.”
That made her pause, just for a second. She flicked ash into the hallway and said, “You’re a shitty liar, Axel. But you got decent manners.”
She turned to go, then stopped in the doorframe. “Vin wants you on the floor at seven. Wear a shirt.”
I saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
She grinned again, then let the door swing shut behind her.
I lay back on the bed, boots still on, arms folded behind my head. The springs whined but didn’t break. I stared at the ceiling, tracing water stains that looked like Rorschach tests for the criminally insane.
For the first time in a long time, I felt something close to peace. Or at least, the edge of it.
A few minutes later, Red’s voice drifted in through the thin wall. “Axel?” she called.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I rolled over, facing the window, and let the silence fill the cracks.
Night crept in slow, drowning out the last blue sliver of daylight in a haze of nicotine. I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, listening to the low hum of voices from the bar below. Every so often, a laugh spiked through the floorboards or a chair scraped hard enough to shake the dust from the lampshade. I heard the rumble of a bike kicking over in the parking lot, followed by the staccato bark of Red cursing someone out back.
It was almost… comforting.
I reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo. The paper was soft and dog-eared, the ink faded like a bad memory. In the shot, I was maybe sixteen, grinning like I didn’t know any better. The woman next to me had her face scratched out with a pen—angry, deep gouges that went straight through to the other side. I traced the outline with my thumb, feeling the ridges. I couldn’t remember her voice anymore, but I remembered the smell of her perfume, sweet and thick, like overripe fruit on a hot day.
I shoved the photo back in its hiding spot and stood up, stretching until my back cracked. The window gave me a perfect view of the parking lot. A couple of patched members smoked and bullshitted by the curb, laughing about something that was only funny if you’d served time together. Another guy, older, swept the sidewalk with more care than the place deserved. Every person down there moved like they belonged—like the asphalt was an extension of their own skin.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the urge to keep my bag packed and one foot out the door.
I lay back on the bed, boots up, arm flung across my face to block the light. The mattress sagged, the springs held, and the world outside faded to a low throb of engines and muffled shouting. Somewhere, a bottle shattered. Someone cheered. Red’s laugh—smoky and sharp—echoed up the stairwell.
I listened to the building settle, the creak of old beams, the groan of pipes, the heartbeat of something bigger than myself moving in the dark. It was loud, it was rough, but it was steady.
Shortly after I heard the last bike rumble out of the parking lot, a knock brought me out of my slumber. The door opened, and Red stepped into my room. She said not a damned thing, just smiled and took her clothes off. At first, I thought maybe it was an initiation to see if I’d flinch. I didn’t, and it wasn’t an initiation. It was a thank you.
No words. I pushed my jeans and underwear off, and she kneeled at the foot of the bed, grabbing my cock and wrapping her mouth around the head.
She took me all the way down, and not gentle, either—Red wasted no time, like she’d been thinking about this since the second I walked in. She sucked cock like she was ringing out a bar rag, all business, no hesitation. Her lips slid hard, then soft, then she pulled back and jerked me with a twist that had my toes curling in the sheets.
She smiled up at me, mouth wet and lipsticked, then swallowed me again with a hungry moan. I gritted my teeth and let her work. If it was a test, I figured I’d already passed, but she clearly wanted to enjoy the process.
When I got close, she laughed around my cock, then left me throbbing and leaking in the humid air while she climbed on top, straddling me with a practiced ease. I wrapped my hands around her hips, palming the curve of her ass, felt her heat grindagainst me through the cotton of her panties, and then nothing between us. Just skin. She sank down, slow at first, and when she took me inside her, she gasped, sharp and guttural, a sound that slammed straight into my marrow. Her hands were in my hair, nails at my scalp, and her hips rolled like she was trying to squeeze every last drop of fight out of me. I was barely holding on, clutching her thighs, the curve of her back, her sweat-slicked sides. She was nothing but muscle and need, and the copper flash of her hair in the hallway light.
She whispered, “Don’t you dare fucking stop,” and I would’ve tattooed it on my chest if I could.
We moved for a long time, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, like the tide pulling us out. She scratched at my ribs, bit my shoulder, and every time I felt her tense up, I thought, this is it. But it never was—she’d let it ride, then haul me back, harder, until the headboard whacked the drywall and probably left a dent for the security deposit. I thought I’d seen hungry women before, but Red rode like she was making up for every shit day in her entire life. Something knotted inside me, and when I finally lost it, she mashed her mouth to mine and bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.
She shuddered on top of me, then went boneless, collapsing against my chest. We lay that way for a minute, both of us catching breath like we’d been chased, or maybe like we were about to be. I stroked her hair, ran my hands down her back, felt her heart beating so fast it shook her whole body.
After a while, she rolled off and sat on the edge of the mattress, fishing a crumpled pack of Camels from her jeans and lighting up. I watched my come glisten on the red swatch of hair between her legs, the carpet matching the drapes. She smoked in silence, watching the smoke curl in the moonlight, not looking at me, just puffing and letting the world rewind a notch. When she was done, she left the stub burning in the chipped dish on thenightstand. No talk, no drama, just a quick up-and-out to the hall, bare feet slapping the wood slow and careless.
3
