Chapter One

Dead Quiet inside the car's interior as well as out in the empty parking lot.  Nothing stirred, the shinning street light hanging high above about a hundred feet away, the only source of illumination.  An artificial sun fighting against the darkness.  Such a silly, naive little thing.  All it would have to do is give up, cut the current which powered it and it would die.  That's the thing about anything good.  Always fighting for survival.  All it would have to do was give up and that which is considered bad and dark will consume it, swallowing it whole.

"Where the hell are they?," she asked herself more then him, growing more and more irritated with each passing second, "Sitters ain't cheap and call be paranoid but I don't trust Ben enough to go to sleep when he should.  Kid would gored himself on Cracker Jacks all night."  Her voice, harsh and dry to his ears yet soothing at the same time, snapped him from his distant thoughts.  He always thought he must look stupid whenever he drifted off like that.  Why he always tried not to do it whenever he was around other people.  Strange that the incest prince himself did not want to appear to be some weirdo.  She probably noticed his far off look, distant stare in his eyes, but he did not expect her to say anything about it.

"I don't know, Shane," he answered, "But it's really starting to piss me off.  Waiting out in a unattended parking lot in Chicago in the middle of the night isn't the smartest of ideas.  If the crackheads don't swarm us, fucking narc cops might think we're drug dealers or some shit."  She stifled a laugh, keeping it to a scoff, turning to look at him with a sly smirk.  "Don't start," he answered with a grin of his own, "You look pretty good after taking a tire iron to the head.  How'd you get away from Damien or whatever the fuck his name is?"  "I threatened to fill Ben's Super Soaker with holy water and hose him down," she said very matter-of-factly.

He smiled at her words, resting his forearm over the top of her seat to his right, quietly looking at each other.  That was her, not exactly willing to go along by someone else's rules.  Always the resister.  "You should do a better job of hiding it from Ben though," he said softly, moving his hand over the side of her head, brushing her hair away from her face to expose the bleached bandage over a good portion of her forehead, "Don't want him to know about how bad you got split open do you?"

Quickly, she brushed his hand aside.  "Hey ass, I don't do screwing around with your hair do I?," she said pushing his hand back to him, "I can't believe you cut it.  Can I rub it if I give you a shiny nickel?."  She reached up, roughly rubbing the top of his head.  If she were lucky, maybe Robin Williams would pop out and offer her three wishes.  "Bitch," he laughed, "You've rubbed other things for cheaper.  Fucking extortionist."

"Asshole," she responded, "Fuck you."  "That game again?," he smirked, cocking an eyebrow in her direction.  Roughly, she pushed a heavy palm against his chest.  He answered with his own to her shoulder, pushing her against the interior of the car's door.  "Careful.  Remember I don't have a problem hitting a girl or cripple people.  You being both doesn't change a thing," he laughed.

Her arms extended, closed into a pair of fists and hit into his arm, shoulder and chest before he stopped her, grabbing her around her wrists.  She struggled against him at first, trying to pull away to resume the playful assault.  Gradually, her resistance subsided, drawing closer to him as he did to her.  Inches from each other's face, their eyes fixed on the other's, breath puffing out in softened streams against their faces.

He released the grip on her wrists, but instead of dropping down, her arms reached up to wrap around his neck.  Her hands clasped together behind his neck, a brief moment before their lips met together.  Both sets of lips pursed open, both giving themselves into it.  The moment of passion flowed back and forth between them, his hand moving up from her waist to cup itself around her breast.  Her latest additions did indeed have their advantages.  There was no excusing what was happening this time.  Neither of them were drunk in the least, both completely sober, not a hint of alcohol on the other's breath.

There was a scuffling outside, seconds later the back doors of the BMW swung open, the light over their head switching on to cast a glow upon them.  In an instant, they parted, leaning against their respective car doors as if nothing had happened at all.  Shane cast him a sidelong glance, laughing at Xavier as he wiped at his lips, making sure there were no signs for anyone to see, trying not to appear to obvious to the two men sliding down into the seats behind them.

"Motherfucker, that hurt," cursed Cable at Xavier.  "Bitch, you said you wanted it to look real.  Well it did," he answered.  "Alright already.  Too tired to argue with you.  Let's go sister fucker."  "Yeah," Xavier prodded at him, "It's kind of a habit with me, even doing yours."  A look of confusion on Cable's face, trying to make sense out of what Xavier had just said, "Wait... What the fuck?"  "Ew, that's just nasty," chimed in X-ecutioner.

"Ahem," Shane coughed, changing the subject, "I'm fucking tired.  Let's get out of here."  With the promise of an approaching rest, Cable and X-ecutioner pushed the remark from their minds.

Chapter Two

Lips joined, tasting her, their bodies meshed together in an intricate web of flesh.  Almost two years had passed, and he yet again found himself in a position he thought impossible.  Not too long ago, he had detested her, the very idea of even touching her was repulsive.  Now they were involved in intimate of acts.  It is funny how alcohol can just wash away any and all inhibitions as bathing would filth.

He drove into her, head tilted back against the pillow beneath, a hissing moan slipped from her parted lips.  As intoxicated as they both were, at least there was some semblance of common sense.  A massive fuck-fest the likes of one from their past would've been irresponsible to say the least.  Ben, her adopted son, was sleeping comfortable and unaware.  If he was going to stay that way, they were going to have to be discreet.

Her face inches from is own, the heavy scent of alcohol washing over each other, refreshed with every exhalation of breath.  Her head turned to the side, the ecstasy flowing between them growing in volume from her lips, silenced by a hand clamped over her mouth.  Her eyes looked into his, glazed over with pleasure.  He probably had the same look, but was on the inside looking out.  At least the fleshy barrier of his hand muffled the sound.  The last thing the kid needed was to wake up in the middle of the night and walking in on the spectacle.

She really sucked at being a lesbian, or maybe it was just him that turned her around to the cock-side.  Then again, who was the man who married his sister to throw stones at someone's sexuality?  When they first met, she would always tell him that sexuality was fluid, all you had to do was go with the flow.  He just always had a way of being the prime example of just how fluid hers really was.

His eyes shot open with a start.  The glowing red digits of the digital alarm clock glared at him.  The twin circles of zeros stare as the eyes of a beast would from a pit of darkness.  How the hell he managed to what up on the hour on the spot like that, he could not figure out, but it had become something of a habit for him.  He preferred patterns and habit most of the time.  They gave sense and form to chaos, making the most arduous tasks simple with the repetition of routine.  The were, however, drawbacks, like waking up at five in the god damned morning.

The other side of the bed weighted down by another slumbering body.  This time, however, it was Melissa, not Shane.  He turned over, draping an arm over her side, bringing her to curl into his body.  Gently, he brushes the hair along the side of her head, pulling it back behind her ear, planting a soft kiss on the side of her neck.  A slight moan from her chest and throat, his hand trailed down down her semi-conscious form to her rounded stomach.  She met his touch, laying her own hand atop his, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Your daughter's been active tonight," she mumbled in a half-asleep slur.  "She takes after her mother," he whispered softly to her, "Active as hell and always keeping someone busy.  I don't want to go, but I have to drop this off and take care of another headache.  I'll be back in a few hours, I promise."  "You better," she threatened, "When you get home, expect to be ambushed by a table full of open baby name books."

Slipping out from under the covering bed sheets, he let her slip off back into the realm of dreams.  So peaceful she looked, calm, innocent.  He reluctantly stopped casting sidelong glances at the shape that was her covered snuggly, closing the door to the bathroom before flipping the light switch to bath him in the light of the seventy-five watt bulb humming away silently above.  The only bit of the light slipping from the room into the bedroom was a small sliver under the door, no where near enough to disturb her.

A flick of a wrist to turn the brass handles within the shower's fixture sent a steady stream of water cascading from above.  He stepped inside moments later, slid the glass door across the track shut to isolation himself in the deluge.  His palms rested on the tiled wall in front and above him, supporting him as he leaned forward and bent his head under the watery cascade.  He watched the water swirl in the vortex, pouring down the drain, wondering if it carried off his feeling of guilt with it as well.

What the fuck was going on in his head?  After everything that's happened the last couple years.  From the marriage to divorce with Riley, the sexual history he shared with Shane in between, eventually finding love in the oddest of places and marrying his own sister only to come back to square one brought no end to the mess of confusion in his mind.  Drunk or not, he had slept with Shane again.  Shortly after standing before Melissa, exchanging their vows, promising that he would love only her for the rest of his life, he found his eye wondering.

Maybe it was not really an accident.  Did he really have to be drunk to sleep with her?  Or was it merely an excuse saving himself from admitting that which he could not bring himself to say?  Yes, there was no denying that she was still attractive to him.  As much as she attempted to cover it in the costume of white trash, her sexuality had a way of coming through to reveal itself to his eyes.

But was all that there was to it?  A plain and simple fuck with no strings attached?  Or was there more that he wanted from her?  Given what had happened in that car in Chicago, after Ides of March, it was obvious there was more to it.  Besides Melissa, she knew him better than anyone else.  She was always brutally honest with him, telling him the truth whether or not he wanted to fess up to what she saw in him.  Maybe he did feel something for her, he would just never tell her so.  Not now.  Pride has a weird way of stopping people from saying or do anything that could possibly make them appear weak.  Besides, she would never let him live it down if she knew as much.

Besides, the plant he had been nurturing for almost a year now was almost near fruition.  Unlike his first marriage, he was actually happy.  Melissa had been pregnant months longer then Riley had.  Their daughter would be born in a few short moth, the normal life he so desperately wanted was soon within grasp.  Once he had the title of father, watching the small infant girl in Melissa's arms, he would be perfectly at peace for the first time in his life, of that much he was positive.  No matter what he felt for Shane now, he would not allow it to cause a hitch in his dream.

Sometime during the next couple days, they were going to have to see each other again.  The business shit had to be taken care of regardless of whatever was going on his head.  He was simply going to have to trust himself to maintain his self control and not completely fuck things up.

Chapter Three

He hated Brooklyn.  The second he crossed the bridge onto the stinking, smelly island, he swore he could smell the odor of tar coming through the vents.  Taking a look at a map of the eastern side of the country, it could be seen that Maine would be the head of a body, Florida the feet, and sticking out like a little dick was Long Island.  It even smelled like the unwashed cock of a dirty, homeless, old bum.  Why Grant had to pick the shitiest borough of New York to have Vulgar at was beyond him.  Xavier knew he wanted to go with a dirtier, grungier look then usually done, but Jesus Christ, neighborhoods in Beirut looked better to him.  Why not just say fuck it and move it to Detroit?

Nevertheless, this excursion into New York's toilet was not meant for the area around Vulgar.  Wherever in the world the club was built, it was going to moving in on someone's territory, stepping on some very well armed yet easily paid toes.  And that was the purpose of this today.  The usually first impulse of a typical cocky group moving in to make their own mark is to just move right on in, thumbing their nose at whoever was already entrenched.  That was stupid.  It attracts too much attention to things and that was the last thing they wanted around them.  It was why he had gotten involved the way he had at the end of Cable's and X-ecutioner's match.  The most probably possibility was most often the correct one.  And that was the beauty of the whole set up.  No one would think it.  No one would believe it.  Hiding in plain sight, they had the freedom to run things however they wished.  The key was to keep it that way.

Wrestling.  What a fucking hassle.  Having to go out in front of people and fight someone else.  It had gotten to the point for him where it was becoming a chore.  Financially secure from his past successes, he did not need wrestling.  It was, however, a necessary evil to maintain everyone's cover.  And who had that cock Eli decided to throw him in a match with?  The poster boy for emo-ism and a guy who watched The Omen way too many times as a kid.  Oh happy fucking day.  Good to see ESW hasn't gone completely to shit where he'd main event with two completely new people.

They should really get a team going, Jace and Savage.  Emos tended to be all suicidal, cutting themselves and shit to see their own blood.  But Satanists though, they were an entirely different fucking story.  All into the bathing of other people's blood, not just their own, going on about higher powers and shit.  Self absorbed sacks of shit, the whole lot of them, and this Savage seemed to be no different.  Taking Eli up on that fucked up offer of his and "buying" Shane.  Xavier chastised himself for only hearing about it afterwards, pissed he could not get her off the hook and not "bought" by the guy too "cool" to wear the devil costume for Halloween.  Eli would get his for that shit in due time.  All in due time.  First on his list though was Savage.  His let's-be-friends shit he was doing with Shane had the possibility of completely fucking things up just as they were getting started.  Outsiders tended to have that effect, especially when they just came out of the blue like this.  The whole thing completely stunk of shit.

He slid the packed full white envelope into his jacket pocket.  The agreed on monthly payment to keep them happy and content.  They had tried some shit with getting a percentage of everything they made, a spot in the running of the business and everything they did.  Fuck that.  The same principle as his position on Savage applied, no outsiders that could not be trusted.  These fucking people would only bring their grease-ball friends into it, eating canolies at a poker table and doing absolutely nothing.

He pulled out the heavy steel handle in his hand for a moment, looking down at it thinking.  The safety clicked off with a flick of his thumb, he reached on the top to pull it back, sending one into the chamber.  There was always one rule with these people:  don't come heavy unless you intend on using it.  Fuck it.  He did not think anything would go wrong.  They cared about making money so they could buy shit for their mistresses and get the wife a new soccer mom-mobile then anything else.  Besides, even if anything do go wrong, he would not need it.  With a sigh, he bent down to slide the black steel under his seat, taking one look outside the driver's side window before opening the door.