Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
NOTE 1 - I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my' assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
NOTE 2 - I want to thank very good friend and wise ,wise lady for all the priceless medical information for both Eye of the Deceiver and Through the River of Fire. Julie, without you my story would have huge holes in it! Thansk for being so very generous.
NOTE 3- A wise sage, in the guise of my editor, KET, advised me to warn y'all not to be eating or drinking near the keyboard when you read thebeginning of this next part. So, fair warning is issued... Don't spew!
What the hell happened?" Vin demanded, eyeing the mangled remains of something in the tub. "Cut that out!" he interceded, moving himself between the irate blond and the obviously dead creature. "Hell, it ain't got no head left. Ya keep smashin' it and there's gonna be nothin' left t'send t'the lab." He yanked the bashed cordless phone from the tense leader's fingers. He wrinkled his nose and tossed it aside. "I ain't payin' fer that, it's on yer half o'the bill."
"Fuckin' thing bit me!" Chris panted. "Christ, that hurts!" he vented, bending over the sink and gritting his teeth.
"Where?" the half-asleep roommate inquired, his own body throbbing from moving too fast.
"Where do you think, Einstein!"
"Huh?" Vin blinked, cocked his head and then smiled, seeing Larabee's hand pressed to his ass. It started as a smirk; he tried to suppress it but couldn't. The laughter snuck out and then doubled.
"You think this is funny!"
"Yer tight ass gettin' chomped on by a rat," Vin wheezed from his lack of breath. "That poor critter died o'shock long b'fore ya mashed it to kingdom come. He picked the wrong ass to chomp on. I'm what ya call tender like... real digestible." He stopped laughing then, seeing blood trickling down the blond's inner right 'cheek'. "I never thought I'd hafta be sayin' this t'ya," he tried to keep a straight face. "Bend over and spread 'em, Princess."
"Vin, I'm warning you!" Larabee growled, bending over the sink. His mind kept seeing that devilish light in Tanner's blue eyes. He knew he'd never, not ever, hear the end of this. "OW!" He shoved away from the basin. "Get away from me."
"Shut up," Vin countered, blocking the path to the door. "Listen t'me. That rat could be carryin' rabies. It's a nasty lookin' bite, he chomped ya right good, must have been desperate. I'm gonna clean it up with soap and water then rinse it with whiskey. We can patch it up and then we're visitin' the ER."
"ER?"
"Yeah," Tanner supplied, "The hospital, not the television show."
Great," Chris mumbled. The only consolation was that they weren't at home where the ER personnel knew them. Had that been the case, by the time he was taken care of, the whole hospital would know. "Alright, but be careful!"
"I'll be gentle," Vin whispered, winking seductively, grinning as the green eyes rolled. Chris never moved during the soap and rinse process.
"How the hell did it get in there," he hissed, eyeing the toilet bowl.
"Come up through the out door, so t'speak," Vin countered. He took a clean white cotton facecloth and put hot water on it. "Here, hold it tight," he pressed the rag over the wound. "Lie on the bed, belly down and I'll find yer whiskey."
Chris lay on two pillows, his upper body flat and his backside raised. He saw Vin pass by with the bottle of whiskey and clenched his teeth, preparing for the burning sensation.
Nothing happened. He frowned and had his head half turned. He saw a series of flashes and then the camera.
"What the Hell are you doing?" He roared, stood and yanked his briefs up.
"Takin' pictures," Vin replied innocently. "Fer insurance purposes only, o'course. Took some of the critter too." Then he smirked, his eyes dancing. "Then again, with the right moves, I could retire a wealthy man. Lots o'women would pay top dollar fer a shot of yer ass, even with an extra hole in it. With Ezra's darkroom and Bucklin's string of fillies, hell, maybe I could post 'em on EBAY."
"The day after your funeral!" the wounded man replied, eyes glowing. "Just get it done..." He turned back around, moving stiffly and painfully to the bed. The wound was throbbing relentlessly.
"Buck, we got a problem, ya see..."
"Put that phone down!" Chris drilled the smaller body, sending both of them onto Tanner's bed. The wiggling Texan was pressed hard into the blankets, his face obscured by a pillow. The phone fell away and the leader grabbed it.
"We gotta tell them somethin', they're gonna be waitin'," Vin muffled, trying to dislodge the weight pressed against him.
"I'll take care of it. You say one word and it'll be your last!" the injured man declared.
"Hello?" Buck winced. "Vin, is that you?"
"What's wrong?" J.D. asked from the chair by the pool. They were waiting on the other two men. After a quick stop in town to hit a few stores, they were starting the long trek back to Denver, over six hours of driving.
"I don't know, I could have sworn, I heard Vin..."
"Buck, does J.D. have the keys to the truck?" Chris panted, trying to contain the squirming body and hold onto the phone.
"You got the keys, Kid?" He waited and saw them produced. "Yeah, he's got them. Why?"
"You two head on out. We'll get a... rental... and..." He fell backwards as Tanner freed himself, but the fight was painful and his injuries from the day before were pulsating. Chris eyed the damp hair clinging to the Texan's face and the heaving chest.
"Buck, ya there?" Vin's eyes searched the bed for the phone. "Chris got..."
"What?" Buck cupped his ear, hearing bangs, crashes, two sets of curses and then a voice. "Are you two okay?"
"Fine!" Chris scorched, one hand holding the sniper's face into the bed and his left side pressing the body there.
"Ben, the two of us need look no more..." Vin sang off key. "We both found what we were looking fer..." he warbled before a pair of socks was shoved into his mouth.
"I swear, if I didn't know better," Bewildered, Buck turned to his companion, "I'd say Vin's drunk."
"This early? No way... he's too loaded with codeine. Maybe he's having a reaction. Why?" J.D. puzzled.
"He's singing that rat love song from the movie... you know, the Michael Jackson song?"
"Ben?" Dunne flinched.
"Yeah. Hey, Chris? You there? Hello?"
"Yeah..." the blond panted, out of breath and in pain. The Texan was gagged and he was using his body weight to keep him down. "Vin's... he... can't talk right now..." he shoved the muffled cries further into the bed.
"He sick?" Buck paused.
"He's sick alright!" Larabee snarled, wincing as Vin's elbow hit his abdomen. "We... I gotta go... we'll get a rental. We'll come back tonight."
"Hell, Chris, we'll wait..."
"No!"
"Damn," Buck held the phone away, both for the loud noise and even more crashing sounds.
"Gimme that fuckin' phone!" Vin hollered, on the bottom of a pile of limbs on the floor. His bruised body was burning, the muscles agitated. He was totally out of breath and Chris had him twisted like a pretzel. "Buck! Help! I'm bein' assaulted by Ratman. Get me outta here 'fore I get..." He coughed, then began to sing a unique version of an old Cat Stevens song, "...rat scratch fever..."
"What?" the rogue cupped his ear again. "Chris? Are you there? What the hell is wrong with Vin?"
"He's out of his fuckin' mind!" Larabee yelled, having shoved the soggy socks back in Tanner's mouth and holding him on the floor. "Don't wait on us, Buck. I mean, Vin's not up t'travelin' any time soon. He's sick!"
"You sure?"
"Positive. Besides, Josiah's expectin' you two at the kid's charity bowl-out tonight." The preacher organized many benefits during the course of the year to raise money for impoverished youth.
"Hell, I forgot about that," he eyed his watch. "We better get moving. I'll get Nathan to pitch in for Vin. Listen, don't rent a car. I'll drop my keys and registration off, okay?"
"Yeah, fine..." he pressed, out of breath and bearing the brunt of a throbbing butt
"Be right up!" He updated J.D. and stood up. "Vin must have had some bad reaction. He's carryin' on likes he's delirious. I'm leavin' my keys, be right back."
Chris hung up the phone and dragged his body upward, gingerly pulling on a pair of sweat shorts. He eyed Vin who'd rolled over and spit out the socks.
"...damn near suffocated." He spit his tongue out, wrinkling his face up. "Get me up, Cowboy!" He raised a hand but was denied. "Come on, Chris. I can't move," he panted, his body screaming in protest. The bruised muscles, battered body and tender areas were all throbbing. The adrenaline rush died and left him unable to move. He closed his eyes, not hearing the door shut.
Chris stood in the hall, holding the keys to the room and maintained a frozen smile. His ass was on fire. He nodded to several women who passed by, wondering how bad he must look. His hair was sticking up at all angles; he hadn't shaved and he was wearing filthy shorts, inside out. Finally, he saw the elevator open and Buck stepped out.
"What's goin' on?" Wilmington demanded, eyeing the green-eyed man suspiciously. "Why are you out in the hall? Where's Vin?" He tried to move past and was blocked.
"You don't want to go in there, it's not pretty," Chris managed between gritted teeth.
"Oh, damn, he's that sick?"
"Sickest little fucker I know," Larabee clenched, hearing Vin's laughter in his ears. "I'll take care of him. You don't want to catch anything what with all those phone numbers you got last night."
"Aw, hell," Buck backed up defensively. "Don't breathe on me. You might be totin' Tanner germs. Here," he handed the keys and owner's card over and backed up several feet.
"Thanks, Buck, 'preciate it," Chris paused. "I don't know when we'll be back. Late tonight, maybe not. Could be sometime tomorrow. My registration's in the glove compartment."
"Check in, okay?"
"Will do," Chris nodded as Buck padded off. Then he saw the ice machine and got an idea. Vin was still on the floor when he returned. He frowned, seeing the eyes closed and both arms splayed out to his sides. "You alive?"
"...barely..." Vin whispered, then unleashed an unearthly howl when something cold was dumped down the front of his shorts. He shot up, doing a wicked dance and dispelling the ice cubes. "That ain't funny!"
"From where I'm standing it is!" Chris laughed, then winced, grabbing his butt. "I made an executive decision to get that mangy body up."
"Well, get yer 'executive ass' over t'the bed and let's get this done," he growled, moving to the closet and taking out the bottle of whiskey. He returned to find his friend bent over the pillows and waiting. A cruel smile appeared, as he unscrewed the bottle and picked up a clean, white washcloth. He soaked it and moved it to his left hand, gently patting the bronzed flank before him with his right. "Don't ya fret none, yer jes' another pretty face, nothin' t'be embarrassed at." He paused, "Course ya ain't got a Tanner ass, but we can't all be perfect."
"I gotta six foot Tanner ass I gotta look at every day," Larabee shot back as his eyes rose and caught the devilish light in the blue eyes reflected in the mirror. Vin didn't see him looking and he watched the fine features light up. The slim Texan began to bob and move in a soul-like dance.
"Who let the rats out? Who... who... who... who... who..." he warbled, shuffling his shoulders and dodging his head. "Who let the rats out? Who... who... who... who..." he mimicked the Baha brothers classic song.
"Why me?" Chris groaned, dropping his head back onto his arms on the bed. "I should have taken up golf... like normal guys do. No, I gotta follow a fuckin' lunatic cycle-ridin' Texan," he moaned as another song drifted past the would-be singer's lips.
"Stray rat sittin' in a toilet bowl," Vin mimicked the Stray Cats rockabilly hit 'Stray Cat Strut.' "...ain't got enough sense t'pick the right hole. Chris's half 'wake and he don't care. He squats on down with his tail in there..." He laughed, wagging his shaggy head. "Hell, I got a million of 'em!"
"Lucky me," the blond head shook and dropped even lower. "Christ, I'm never gonna live this down."
"Drop yer drawers, Cowboy!" Vin used a low, seductive voice and arched an eyebrow to where Larabee's gaze met his in the mirror. "I need t'inspect the merchandise I'm buyin'..."
"Shut that Tanner mouth up and get it over with!" Chris moved his abdomen, tugging his shorts down. He resumed his position. "You enjoyin' yourself?"
"Hell yeah!" the guileless blue eyes fired up. He moved the whiskey saturated cloth over the nasty wound. "Jes relax now, I'll be gentle, I know it's yer first time."
"Quit foolin' around, Vin! I mean it," the wounded pride surfaced. "Just stick it in there and get it over with.":
"I ain't rushin'," Tanner touted, prying the cheek open and wincing at the nasty wound. "Never did this b'fore and I need t'make sure I'm doin' it right. I don't wanna hurt ya." He lowered the cloth. "I'm puttin' it in now..." He winced, then frowned as Chris's scream was joined by a woman's.
"Christ Almighty!" Larabee groaned between clenched teeth. The liquor seemed to burn a hole right through his skin. His smoldering gaze lingered on the maid briefly before he buried his head back in the pillow. How long had the woman been standing there? "Can this day possibly get any worse?"
"Mornin' Ma'am!" Vin crowed, keeping one hand on Chris's lower back and pulling the sheet over his pride. "Lovely day, ain't it? Don't mind Chris, he's shy, it bein' the first time an all... ain't that right, Cowboy!" He slapped the cloth-covered backside, grinning at the lethal growl that seemed to foam under the pillow. "Damn! Yer frothin' at the mouth." He rubbed the tense neck and shoulder. "He's a real tiger, ya know what I mean?" He winked at the blushing maid who blessed herself, kissed the cross around her neck and moved her supply cart out of the room.
"Get your affairs in order, Tanner!" Larabee hissed and felt the Texan's hand prodding him again. "Move it or lose it," he warned, trying to rise.
"Shut the hell up!" Vin sassed, slapping a large, square bandage on the wound. "That'll do 'til we get there. I'm takin' a bath. Get the water runnin', find yer face and get dressed."
"A bath!" Chris yanked his shorts up and stood, green eyes flashing. "I got a hole in my ass and you're takin' a bath?"
"'scuse the hell outta me fer bein' thrown inta' a tree yesterday!" Vin hollered, limping painfully towards the bathroom. "I ache down t'my bones and I'm the one drivin'. Take a fuckin' bus if yer impatient ass can't wait. Hell, I can barely walk."
Chris flinched as the door slammed and he quietly got washed up at the sink in the foyer. He scrubbed his teeth, gargled and got dressed. He tried sitting down and quickly found out that was not possible. So he put more ice in a plastic bag and placed that onto the chair, then gently eased himself down. Twenty minutes went by and he got worried. Flinching painfully, he rose and approached the door, tapping gently. "You okay, Cowboy?"
"'s'open."
Chris paused a second, hearing the dejected voice and then entered. He walked over to the tub and eyed the large amount of Tanner flesh mottled in shades of purple, black, deep scarlet and blue. He'd been in more than a few accidents himself and knew all too well how painful the day after was.
"You take all the time you need," he decided, despite his own fear of rabies coursing through his body.
"...been done..."
"Well... why... are..." he stopped when one damp arm came up; the head didn't. Without a word, he hooked his own hand under Vin's arm and helped him stand. "Vin, the water's cold. What were you waiting on?"
"Couldn't get out." Vin winced and hissed, lifting his right leg over the edge of the tub. He grasped Chris's forearm in a death grip, then got his left leg out. "Gimme a... second..."
"Why didn't you call me?" the blond scolded, not hiding his anger at the pain he saw radiating from the younger man.
"Yer hurt."
"Dammit, Vin," he sighed softly, rubbing the wet curls. "What am I gonna do with you?"
"Well," the Texan managed a sly grin. "I could sit down and wait... could be that hairy bastard'll have some kin come lookin' fer supper."
Chris smirked and reached for a towel. "You okay?" he offered and saw a grateful smile.
"...am now, thanks." Vin carefully took the towel and began to slowly dry off, using one hand on the wall to support his battered body. He saw Chris heading out the door and stopped. "Hey, Chris?" He waited until the head turned. "I'm sorry, fer blastin' at ya b'fore. That wasn't right..."
"That's okay, Vin," he smiled. "If I was painted up like a Welch's grape juice ad," he noted of the vast colored areas on the lean body, "I would have shot first too." He got the soft smile he was so used to and returned to his ice pack.
Chris stared out of the glass feeling the heat of the day penetrate his throbbing skull. The ice pack beneath his butt had long since melted, soaking that area of his pants. What started out as a simple trip to the Emergency Room had taken a bad turn. The road construction was bad enough, but add to that a major accident and navigating down unfamiliar side streets, and his patience was wearing decidedly thin. His ass pulsated with pain. The frustration spilled over when they passed a restaurant.
"Looks like a table opened up since we passed the last time," he vented. "Maybe we ought to stop in this time around!"
Vin remained silent; he knew Chris was beyond the point of reason. He tossed the directions the kid at the desk gave them and pulled over. He ignored the string of curses from the other occupant as he climbed out. He was only inside the cafe for a few minutes, then got behind the wheel again.
"It ain't far," he answered the six foot pile of exasperation.
"You said that a half hour ago,"
By the time they pulled up to parking lot next to the red sign with "Emergency' written over it, the driver was in a lot of pain as well. It had been over twelve hours since his codeine and everything below the middle of his back throbbed without mercy. Plus, the confusing drive and the hot-headed patient had his skull doing a frenzied dance as well. He bit his lip as his back and hips protested the move from the car. The rest of his muscles were still angry at just being in the car. He made a sour face as Larabee's surly voice was heard.
"'bout fuckin' time."
He grabbed the bag off the seat and hobbled painfully behind the limping Larabee. Even the large wet spot on Chris's backside didn't draw a smile. He stopped twice, gritting his teeth as his back flared up worse. Whatever damage that he'd done yesterday had been aggravated by the shenanigans in the room earlier.
By the time he got to the sliding doors, Chris Larabee was well past the red zone. A monster headache had exploded inside his head adding to the pain radiating from his right posterior cheek.
"Should have stayed home," he vented, "should be relaxing at the ranch..." He flinched when the bag was slapped hard into his chest and the lean Texan shuffled painfully past him.
Carmela Toscana looked up from the admissions window and saw the two men approaching. She stood up, moved around the desk and intercepted a body limping the wrong way.
"I'm Carmela. Let's see if we can get you taken care of."
"Ain't no 'we',' Vin pulled away, his ears still stinging. "He's yer patient." With that, he limped past the small waiting area following the green signs marked 'Cafeteria'.
"Vin?... Vin, wait a minute!" Chris hissed, juggling the bag, a clipboard and trying to answer the clerk's questions.
"Is that a sample, Sir? Sir?"
"Huh? " Chris paused, sighed in frustration and raked his gaze over the crowded room. "No, it's a dead rat. I got bit, it needs to be checked for rabies."
"Okay, follow me. I'll get Doctor Televado for you."
Four hours later, Chris pulled his pants on and fingered the bottle of antibiotic pills. The rat was sent to a local animal control facility. Rabies wasn't suspected, but he'd get a full report of the results. He'd been given a shot and the wound was cleaned and covered. The pills were very strong and needed to be taken for seven days. They had a rather harsh effect on the digestive system though. The doctor warned him to eat well with the pills and be prepared to sit on the toilet a lot. But under no circumstances was he to defer; a serious infection could result.
"A real vacation..." he murmured, slipping them into his pocket. He slipped into the waiting area and scanned the faces but didn't find the one he sought. Frowning, he limped to the desk.
"Hi, I came in a few hours ago, with my friend. I don't see him..."
"I'm sorry," Carmela apologized, juggling a ringing phone, a squawking intercom and a line of impatient customers. "Long hair, sad eyes... I remember him. I haven't seen him all afternoon. Try the cafeteria, follow the signs," she jerked her head to the left.
Chris padded through the corridors until he saw the cafeteria which was surprisingly empty. He sighed and was about to try the car when he spotted the missing man through the window. There were a series of cafe tables outside and Vin was sprawled at one of them under an umbrella. He made his way toward the door, pausing beside it as he heard the soft drawl.
"Hey Bucklin!" Vin yawned, eyeing his watch. How long had he been dozing? "Ya got back okay? Me?" he sat up, raking a hand through his hair and rubbing his pulsating eyes. "Oh, yeah. Listen, I'm sorry 'bout that. I got a bug 'er somethin'. Naw, nothin' t'worry on, Buck. I'll be okay in a couple days. Stomach feels like two wet cats fightin' on a hot griddle." He closed his eyes; the harsh sun was like a knife. "Chris? Oh, uh, he ain't here... most likely he's at the pool."
"Damn," Chris whispered, hearing Vin cover for him.
"The phone in the room? Oh, I never heard it. Sorry. I had the pilla over m'head. I jes' happened t'be headin' fer the bathroom and heard m'cell phone. Yeah... Okay," he nodded. "I'm fine, Buck. It's jes' a virus. I'll have him call, okay? Thanks."
He tossed the phone on the table and stared at the bottle of codeine-laced Tylenol. He took out the two much needed pain pills and laid them on the table. He'd checked on Chris several times, the last time the nurse shooed him away sternly. The patient was being released and she had other things to do. He thought on the long drive ahead, over six hours worth. Chris wouldn't be able to sit; he'd be lying in the back. He sighed again, drawn by the lure of relief from the pain. Then he sighed again and put them back in the bottle. He shook the empty can of soda and rose to throw it away, cursing softly and gripping the edge of the table. Gingerly, holding his aching back, he wobbled to the trashcan and back. Vin settled in, resting his head for just a minute. He laid his head down and closed his eyes.
Chris remained frozen in place, having heard the call and seen Vin deny himself relief from his pain. A mental calculation told him just how long it had been since his young friend took his pills. He recalled the horrid bruising and added the headache often brought on by too many hours in a waiting room. He dropped a dollar bill into the soda machine, pushed the cola button and took the icy can over to the table. He rested it against the back of the tense neck and slid the pill bottle closer, nudging the slack hand.
"Go on, I'll drive."
Vin didn't move at first; the cold, wet can felt damn good. Then he sat up, taking the soda and pressing it to his temple. He eyed the bottle and shook his head.
"It ain't s'far..." he rasped, eyeing the other. "Nurses was gettin' a mite pissed at me. Said I was bein' a pest. I kept checkin' back..." He let his voice trial off but locked eyes. He didn't want Chris to think he'd been lounging the whole time.
"I know, Vin," Larabee returned quietly, watching the wet rivulets running down Tanner's face. "Headache bad?"
"Truth be told," Vin popped the can and took a gulp. "I'm feelin' kinda poorly, Chris. I hate t'ask but... I don't think I'm upta drivin' six hours tonight. I'll take m'pills and hit the sheets. I'm sure by tomorra I'll be okay."
"Vin, I wouldn't expect you to drive," Chris placated, resting his hand on the damp shoulder. "My ass isn't ready for a six hour trip either. How 'bout we lay low a couple days? Head out Tuesday night? I got a divisional meeting I can't miss early Wednesday."
"Thanks," Vin sighed, totally relieved.
"Listen, Vin, about before, when we got here," the blond paused, remembering his harsh words. "I was in a shitty mood. I'm sorry for bein' such a jackass."
Vin tucked his pills away and let a slow grin form. He eyed the hand in front of him and handed the half empty soda over. "I'm partial t'sharin..."
"Thanks, Cowboy," the green eyes softened, both understanding that the gratitude was for far more than the soda.
Bull watched his boys pack up the van and smiled. He draped an arm over each of his son's shoulders and whooped.
"This time tomorrow, we'll be in the land of milk and honey!" he crowed. "Freedom! Your Uncle Linc found some nice real estate on the Internet. We're gonna live like fuckin' kings!"
"Did he talk to the pilot?" Arlee asked, still not used to his father being bald.
"Yeah, we're meeting him in a lonely stretch of the desert west of Silver City. A short flight into Mexico. He's puttin' 'er down outside Hermosillo. There'll be a car waiting," Lincoln updated as he joined them. He took a swig of bourbon and passed the bottle.
"Sweet, sweet rise of the sun!" Bull exuded. "After we eat and finish this baby," he tapped the glass encasing the amber liquid, "we hit 160 and New Mexico. To freedom!" He took a long drink and shoved the bottle skyward.
It was a rough couple days for both men. The doctor's words were true; the pills kept the blond ATF man on a constant parade to the bathroom. Vin, on the other hand, rarely moved. He roused himself to eat and hit the bathroom, but the hot baths with medicinal salt, finishing his pills and resting helped. By Tuesday at five p.m., they checked out. Vin put the back seat down, placed a pillow on it and shoved the arguing blond towards its welcoming softness.
"Shut the hell up and get in," he directed. "I got a lotta road t'cover and yer cranky face fer six hours is gonna make it worse." He paused, seeing the green eyes narrow. "Ya know I'm right. That bite's still inflamed and tender. Ya been mashin' it t'much sittin' on the can."
"I can't help that, that's the pills!" Larabee countered of his 'runs' to the bathroom. "Okay, but only for half way. I'm comin' up front later. Vin?" He flinched when the driver's door slammed. "Dammit," he muttered as he climbed inside.
"Fuck!" Vin pounded the dashboard a few hours later and stopped, eyeing the blackness outside. He shut the engine off and jumped out.
"Vin?" Chris croaked, sitting up and feeling his bowels roar again. "Jesus!" He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and quickly slid out. After he was done, he approached his pensive friend. "What?"
"Take a look!" the Texan was distressed. His body was aching; his back felt like there was a knife in it and his head was pounding. They'd been detoured off of Highway 84 two hours before due to a rockslide. Now the detour road was washed out. "FUCK!" He kicked a rock and winced, grabbing again at his back.
"We're a fine pair!" Chris commiserated, eyeing his weary friend. "Where are we?"
"In the middle of nowhere." He eyed Route 64 with a grimace. "We got two choices. We can camp here in the car and head out in the daylight."
"Or?"
"I know these parts, Chris." Vin scrubbed his weary face. "It'll take a couple hours, but I can get us into Durango," he noted of the Southern Colorado town. "We can hunker down there and head out 'fore dawn."
Chris nodded, hearing the unspoken words clearer than those uttered. Vin was wiped out and very sore. His body language told the blond his back was killing him. Sleeping in a car would make it much worse, although his own injury was also throbbing as he rejected the bed in the back and headed for the front passenger seat. "Let's roll."
"Ya sure?"
"Said so, didn't I?"
The quartet were celebrating wildly as they drove. The two older men were in the front; the boys were in the back of the van.
"Hey, Pa? Can we stop and eat? I'm starving," Troy decided, heady from the joint he'd shared with Arlee earlier.
"Yeah, Pa, I need a few burgers and a pile of fries with cheese melted on 'em," the blond boy added.
"Linc?" Bull asked, knowing his brother knew their schedule by heart.
"We got plenty of time." He spotted a deserted diner approaching. It was nearly ten p.m and there was only one car outside, most likely the owner's. "Looks like Ramblin' Rose's Cheap Eats..." He eyed the blinking sign as his brother pulled in.
The door was locked and they saw a small man behind the counter.
"I'm closed!" he hollered, then noticed they continued to rattle the door, banging and shouting.
"Unlock it, now!" Troy screamed as Arlee whipped out a gun and aimed. The nervous owner dropped the keys twice before he got the door open and backed up.
"No, please!" the owner cringed as the bullet split his eyes.
"Put him in the freezer, Troy. Linc, get that grill fired up. I got a itch for a thick steak. Arlee, check the register and I'll see if there's a safe."
"Shit!" Chris grabbed his abdomen.
"Again!" Vin said too harshly.
"It's not exactly my idea of a good time, Vin!"
"Sorry, Chris."
"Just pull over, hurry."
"Hold up!" Vin eyed the red beacon in a long stretch of nothingness. "Jes' my luck ye'll squat over poison ivy 'er somethin'."
"Sayin' I'm a pain in the ass?" Chris smirked, trying to ease the other's tension.
"Statin' a fact is all," the blue-eyed one replied. "Looks like a diner..." He squinted. "Ramblin' Rose's Cheap Eats."
"Hurry!"
"Okay!" Vin pulled in, jumped out and grabbed Chris, shoving him through the open door. He saw the Rest Room sign on the left and propelled him towards it. His pained friend ran for the Men's room.
"Howdy," Vin said, spotting a young man behind the counter who was frying something. "Cain't believe our luck. Ya'll bein' open and in the middle of nowhere. My friend's sick..."
"Yeah," a voice from behind him leered, grabbing the back of his shirt collar. "You're one fuckin' lucky prick!" Troy spun him around before slamming the long-haired stranger's abdomen with a rifle butt, sending him to his knees. Then he watched as his Uncle Linc rammed the man's face into the wall, sending blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
By the time Vin's foggy brain reacted, he was on his side, a rifle to this throat. Someone was tying his hands up and groping him. The faces were distorted and he blinked off the black wall that was falling. It was hard to breathe and he felt a familiar fire in his chest from injured ribs. He opened his mouth and blood spilled out.
"Shit!" Arlee spouted, eyeing the wallet he found. "Get Pa! We got trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" Linc asked, grinding his boot into the stuperous man's groin.
"The Federal Pig kind!"
"What?" Troy grabbed the worn leather jacket bearing a shield. "Fuck! Hey, he said he had a sick friend."
"I'll take care of him," Arlee vowed, caressing his gun.
Chris was still drying his hands, his head down, when he trotted back towards the entry, lost in thought. Because his eyes were trained downwards, he saw Vin's bloodied face first and reacted from his gut.
"Vin!"
Arlee wheeled and fired in one motion, sending the blond man flying backwards and toppling the sad, salad bar.
"No!" Vin choked, spitting more blood out. The last thing he saw before passing out was two of the killers standing over Chris's bloodied body, a rifle aimed at his blond head.
What the fuck is goin' on!" Bull Savage thundered as he flew out of the office. He grabbed the rifle and moved it from the face of an unconscious blond man. "Somebody talk to me! Who is this? Where'd he come from?"
"He came in with the other pig," Arlee nodded to the other stilled form. "They're both Feds." He tossed the badges on the counter near the cash register. "We'll do 'em both and put 'em in the deep freeze with the other stiff." He placed the rifle against the wounded agent's temple and readied his shot.
"Hold it!" Bull roared. "I'm givin' the orders around here. I gotta think about this. Until we're on that plane and airborne, we're not home free. They could come in handy."
"How? Why?" Troy demanded. "You're the one that says the only good cop is a dead one..."
"Truer words were never spoken." Savage moved past the one body, dropping down next to a long -haired man. He cupped the chin, eyeing the blood covering most of the young man's features. "It's not a matter of them being dead," he grinned as the young man began to stir. "It's a matter of when." He smiled, tapped the sticky face and saw two blue slits appear. "Maybe we toss 'em out of the plane at 30,000 feet."
"Splat!" Troy exuded.
"I don't like it, Bull," Linc shoved his body from the counter where he'd been reclining. "Cops spell trouble. It's a straight run from here to the airstrip."
"It was a straight run." The leader turned, eyeing the trio. "The weasel that owns this place had a television. There's a large part of route 64 washed out. That means a detour and I don't know this area. But maybe pretty boy here does." He eyed the pair and decided the long hair, deep tan and rustic clothing bespoke an outdoorsman. "How 'bout it, Sweetheart?" He grabbed the prisoner hard between the legs and felt a leg lash out, striking him, and the head moved trying to bite his arm.
"I'm gonna slice yer balls and skewer 'em 'tween that large hole in yer head where brains oughta be," Vin rasped, kicking out again.
Bull laughed loudly and backhanded the growling victim. "Well, how about that, boys? We got us a real live Texan."
"Feisty little fella, ain't he?" Troy moved over, raking the rifle up the worn denim clad legs and shoving it under his chin. "I heard about backwoods boys like you, sleepin' with your kin."
Vin bit his tongue; his keen eyes saw the bloodied white shirt Larabee wore rising and falling. He was still alive. It was up to him to keep them both alive any way he could. He eyed the foursome, sizing them up. Once he figured out the weak link, he'd work on him.
"That right, boy?" Bull leaned over, enjoying the fire shooting from the blue eyes. "You one of them wild types from the hills that fuck your own sister?"
"Leastwise they're real women on two feet." He spit a wad of blood onto Bull Savage's chest. "I'm not on my knees behind a pile o'hooves."
"You gonna let him get away with that, Pa?" Troy flared, kicking the prisoner hard in the back.
"You two move Harvard over there," he nodded to the unconscious, well-groomed blond man with a designer shirt. "Into the supply room. I checked it out; it's clean, one door and no windows or phones. Go." He jerked his head and grabbed the struggling Texan by the back of his worn blue denim collar, yanking him up. "Me and Texas here are gonna have a nice talk... in private. Get moving." His answer was an elbow to the throat and a boot in the shin. He slammed the fighting agent onto the smooth top of a booth. He pressed his full weight on the slim man, hearing the sucking sounds as the air was taken from his lungs. He pressed his mouth close to the damp head. "We can do this two ways, Tex, easy or hard. I got a taste for pretty boys like you in the joint. I bet that ass of yours," he groped the young man freely under the table, "would be a real sweet piece. You understand?" Getting no reply, he moved, jerking the long hair up and pressing a knife along the exposed throat. "Of course, I got a taste for GQ blonds, too..."
"Ya lay a hand on him and I'll slit ya from yer belly t'yer balls..." Vin gritted, then curled his lip up. "My mistake. Most likely ya ain't got any..."
"Let me cut him, Pa!" Arlee moved in, his eyes glowing. "Me and Troy haven't had us a good tic-tac-toe game in a while."
"Yeah, I bet he'd bleed real pretty," Troy added. "We could mark a nice board on his back."
"You can play with him later." Their father yanked the still struggling man up and shoved him towards the office. "After I talk to him. You do as I tell you and move Harvard to the supply room. Go!"
Vin was thrown onto a plastic sofa and glared up at his captor. As long as he hid his fear for Chris's life, he'd have the upper hand. He swiped the blood running off his chin on his shirt and winced as his injured body began to throb. His ribs weren't broken, but they were bruised pretty good and his back was killing him. He watched the tall man eyeing a map on the wall of the state of New Mexico.
"Get your mangy hide over here, boy!" Savage ordered.
"Go t'hell, ya sick mother fuckin' loser." Vin coughed, spilling more blood.
"You talk a good game, Texas, but know this," Bull turned. "I can make that blond friend of yours bleed... hard... without a knife." He grabbed his crotch and saw the other man pale. "They don't call me 'Bull' for nothing. Now get over here!"
Vin shoved off the cheap couch and walked to the map.
"We gotta get to a stretch of road near Silver City, right about here," Savage moved his finger. "Sixty Four is washed out. How long and how far?"
Vin made no reply; he was configuring a bargaining chip. Maybe he could convince them to leave Chris behind. If the highway patrol did rounds, they might find him in time.
"I'm talking to you!" Bull rammed his fist into the lean abdomen sending his prisoner to his knees. He waited for a moment, listening to the harsh coughing and seeing blood hit the floor. He yanked him up by the scruff of the collar. "Quit fuckin' with me, boy. I'm short on patience. I bet that blond friend of yours smells real nice. I'll bet he puts a lot of time in at the gym. I got a taste for muscles like..."
"All right!" Vin rasped. "Shut yer filthy trap up." He pulled free and let his hot eyes bore into the other man. "Ya so much as breathe near him and ye'll never see that plane." He saw the eyes narrow and laughed. "Ya ain't that smart, Savage. Yer faces'r plastered the hell all over. No way yer drivin' over the border. I know them roads and there's a lot of old air strips left over from the war. Ya let me patch Chris up and leave him here. I'll take ya south, take three hours'r so. That's the deal."
"You're in no position to be making demands, Texas," Savage snapped, not liking the fact the slim prisoner was not the least bit intimidated by him.
"That's the deal, take it'r leave it. Even stupid fuckin' sideshow freaks like them demon seeds ya fathered oughta be able t'understand that."
Bull snarled, pushed him forward and shoved him over the desk. He pressed his victim's neck down with one hand and squeezed his backside with the other. "You think on this, Sweet cheeks. I'll decide about any deals. You're one uppity young-un and need to be taken down a peg. Linc!"
Vin's breath came in pants and his eyes widened in panic. He struggled and kicked and his head was slammed down again causing him to see stars. He felt his pants lowered and air caress the skin on his back and buttocks. He flinched as a harsh smack crossed his backside. His heart leapt to his throat as visions of what was sure to transpire appeared.
"Damn, Bull, this boy's already marked." He saw the bruised back and legs. "Looks like somebody already rode him."
"He's got a loud mouth," Bull moved back, letting Linc hold down the prisoner's upper body from the other side of the desk. He took his belt off, wrapped it around his meaty fist. He left the razor sharp edges on the custom made belt buckle hang loose. With a cruel sneer, he let the leather fly.
"Bull, he's had enough!" Linc moved around the desk as soon as the victim passed out. He never uttered a sound but bit his lip bloody. That only infuriated his brother more and Bull yanked the groggy man's head up and wrapped the belt around his throat. "Bull, we need him alive for now, right?"
"Get him out of my sight!" Savage kicked the trashcan over. "I need to think."
"Okay, but that detour is gonna add time... we need to be out of here by one a.m."
"I'm not stupid, Linc!" He snapped, watching his brother pull the pants up over the bleeding welts on the prisoner. With little effort, Linc lifted the unconscious man and left the room.
Vin waited until the door slammed shut before rolling onto his side. He rubbed his wrists where the ropes had cut off his circulation. Both hands were numb and he flexed them to restore circulation. He'd lost count of the lashes, fifteen, before he passed out. His lower body down through his backside and upper legs was raw and stinging wildly. He didn't dare roll on his back. He took small breaths trying to quell the pain in his ribcage. His face was bloody and he swiped at it, feeling dried blood sticking fast. He eyed the room slowly, taking in the shelves of food, dry goods and other supplies. Water. It could be worse; they could be in the freezer. Here, at least, he had tools to help himself and Chris. He rolled onto his knees and pushed off the blue-tiled floor, gaining his feet. He remained bent in half and slowly straightened up.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" he hissed, seeing stars of every color explode in front of his pained eyes. He grabbed the edge of a tall shelf and clenched his eyes shut until the wave passed. Then he turned stiffly, seeing the dark legs and bloodied shirt of his best friend. He walked to the shelf with dry goods and got towels, a large container of antibacterial soap with a pump, a twelve pack of Evian water and a straw. He placed the items on the empty crate near Chris's head. He then got a pile of tablecloths and folded them, giving the injured man a pillow.
Kneeling down carefully and biting his lip in pain, he cleaned his face off first, glad that none of the cuts were serious. Then he unbuttoned Larabee's shirt and examined the wound. It was on the right side of the ribcage and a crimson tide saturated the previously white cloth. Gently, he eased the prone body over, his nimble fingers seeking an exit wound.
"Thank God," he sighed, finding it and lowering the body down. He washed the wound with water, then soap, then water again and packed wet strips of soapy cloth in the front and back. He ripped the table cloth into several pieces then fell back, the effort shredding the raw wounds on his lower body. Tears pressed into his eyes as the wall of pain threatened to explode. Taking several breaths, he continued until the bronzed chest was securely bandaged with white linen and tied off tightly. He buttoned Chris's shirt and raised him, shoving the large pile of cloth under him. Now, his body was in an upright position, the wet neck resting on the edge of the crate.
Vin saw packets of sugar in a clear plastic bag and ripped it open. He mixed them into the water and took a swig. Tapping the pale face, he nudged the slack lips. He saw the familiar scowl crease the handsome features. He smacked harder then saw the brows crease more, this time in anger.
"Chris, open up. I got water fer ya." He held the damp hair with one hand and tilted the bottle with the other. The lips worked and the mouth suckled just as two green eyes blinked. A hand rose up, grabbing the bottle and shoving his assistance away. Vin popped his own bottle and sat on a crate full of large juice cans. The white pain ripped through the flesh on his back and buttocks. His wide-eyed stare and death grip on the bottle went unnoticed.
Chris eyed the room, frowning as he tried to match the burning pain in his side with the unfamiliar walls. He turned slowly, cocking his head and studying the dried blood rimming Vin Tanner's fingernails. He lifted his throbbing skull and saw the marred face above him. New bruises joined the older ones. A swollen lip covered bloodied teeth. The whole left side of his face was swelling rapidly. But it was the reddened impression of a handprint on the right cheek that stopped him. His mind's eye saw the bloody face on the floor and then... then...
"Shit!" He rubbed his side, feeling the explosion of pain and then nothing. A bullet wound. They stopped in a diner and he hit the bathroom. Vin was hurt. He turned again, seeing that hand print marking the Texan.
"...put... hand... on... you..." He demanded, sipping his water.
Vin managed a soft chuckle. If Chris only knew what he'd endured. The backhanded slap was the least of his worries.
"Hurt... Vin?"
"I picked up a couple o'new dents." He paused, "Leastwise, I ain't sportin' any new holes." He saw the leader's slim fingers reaching for his side. He moved, intercepting the shaking hand. "Don't touch it, ye'll ruin m'fancywork. Bullet went right through, it stopped bleedin', but ya need t'keep still. We're in the storeroom in the diner. They kilt the owner." He ripped open a box of chocolate cookies and handed one over. "Ya need t'eat... sugar'll help some..."
"How bad?" the wounded man inquired, rinsing the cookie with a dose of sugar water.
"Don't get much worse," Vin replied, shifting Chris's body so he could sit up straighter.
Chris saw something he didn't like in the expressive blue eyes. He snagged the sniper's wrist and held it firm. Their eyes locked and he waited.
Vin slumped a little when he saw the green eyes despite the pain zoning in on him. His gaze lingered on the strong grip on his wrist. He felt the power this man held coursing through him. He'd need every bit of that indelible Larabee grit if they were to survive. He blew out a long, slow breath tinged with defeat and turned away.
"Bull Savage and his kin..."
"We're fucked..." the blond agent anguished, mentally drawing up a body count. He dropped Vin's hand and pounded a fist to the floor. The bloodthirsty clan had left a bloody trail of bodies in many states and he was sure they'd be next on the tally sheet.
"Pretty much," Vin stood, not able to relax. He paced the small pantry, kicking a large can of spaghetti sauce in frustration.
"Breaking your toe isn't going to help..." Chris coughed, biting his lip as pain ripped through his side. Then he saw Vin cock his head and the blue eyes working. "No."
"Ya ain't even heard it yet," Tanner scowled, hands riding the slim hips.
"No."
"I got a plan..."
"Why does that thought scare me more than bleeding?"
"From where I'm standin', Larabee, ya ain't in any position t'argue." He paused, thinking on it again. "It'll work... maybe."
"That's what the pilot of the Hindenburg said," the older man argued of the ill-fated air ship that crashed in New Jersey in 1937.
"Who?" Vin screwed his face up.
"Never mind... let's hear it," Larabee asked.
"I'm still workin' the kinks out..." Vin stalled, knowing his best friend would blow a gasket.
"Oh, that's encouraging."
"They're runnin' scared, Chris," he moved back to where his injured friend sat. "They got our wallets. Hell, they even took yer rat bite pills."
"Don't mention them," Chris pained, anxious about the familiar gut rumble. "I got three days worth in me, it'll do. Scared how?"
"They got a pilot waitin' on 'em, down sixty-four, near Silver City. They're gonna fly into Mexico. But the road's washed out. They're losin' time..."
"...and..." Chris frowned, seeing something he didn't like in Tanner's blue windows.
"...and that's the only reason we're still breathin'," he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "They don't know these parts... I do... I made a deal with that ugly bastard. They keep us breathin' until they get on that plane. We got us a short stay of execution."
"What kind of deal?" Chris didn't like this face he saw, not one bit. Vin was hiding something. Worse, he was scared, something rare and something that he'd seldom seen on the handsome face. "Vin, talk to me..."
But he couldn't let Chris see so Vin turned away. Turned too quickly and the pain ripped through the raw wounds on his body. The blood was stuck to the cotton on his underwear and shirt. Every movement was like razors slashing him. The damage from the accident didn't help and he had to grab the metal lip of the shelf.
"Oh, God..." He hissed, his knees buckling.
"What's wrong?" Chris demanded. "Start talkin' or I'm gettin' up..."
"No!" Tanner panted, white-knuckling the shelf. "Jes' gimme a... min...minute... okay? It's m'back... from the accident," he partially lied.
A sudden bang on the door interrupted them. Vin handed Chris another bottle of sugar water and squeezed his shoulder.
"I'll be back, ya got m'word."
"Vin, what aren't you telling me?"
"Hey, Texas!" Arlee sauntered into the doorway, brandishing a gun and a surly grin. "Get movin'..."
"Fuckface ready t'take m'offer?" Vin snarled, seeing the anger rising in the other man.
"Nice move, get on his good side!" Larabee hissed as the younger Savage's fist flew, sending the sniper flying hard into a shelf full of canned goods. "Vin!" He struggled to sit up, only to see the irate Texan leap forward, using a flying kick to send the criminal through the door. "...don't!" His warning fell on deaf ears as Tanner went to his knees, his faced locked in pain. Then a beefy arm shot into the room and yanked him by the scruff of the neck. He flinched when the door slammed, shutting him out. He moaned in frustration, pounding his bloody fist on the floor. His heavy eyes fought hard to stay awake. `
"Get offa me," Vin growled, taking advantage of the lone captor in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and the dining room. He turned and delivered a stiff shot from the heel of his hand to the other's nose. Coupled with a sharp downward boot motion to the top of Troy's foot, the other was stunned and the weapon fell. His own battered body waning, he leapt for the stray weapon, only to find his forward motion intercepted. A solid blow to his side, sent him on his belly.
"You don't listen good, do you Texas?" Bull pressed his boot hard onto the back of the blue cotton shirt. "Troy?" He asked of his son, who had recovered and was getting to his feet.
"I'm okay, Pa," he pulled himself up and gripped the snarling agent by the back of his shirt. He jerked the squirming body up and pushed him forward hard, sending him skittering into the first cluster of booths off the kitchen. "Can I do him? I got a dull knife in the back of the van? I'm gonna cut his prick off and make him eat it!"
"No, not yet!" Linc ordered, turning the bleeding man over. Blood ran from his nose and split lip. The eye was already swollen from the beating earlier. "We might need him... and that badge."
"You listen up, Texas," Bull ordered as he ran the shotgun up the leg of the lean man, jamming it into his groin. "You I need alive, that blond friend of yours ain't looking so good. You pull one more stunt like that and I'll let Troy make some tattoos on him before I make a woman out of him, comprende?" He spit a large wad onto the coughing man's cheek.
"Ya spit on me again and I'll teach ya some manners," Vin squirmed, kicking out at the youngest man who tried to grab his leg. Finally, he was secured. Arlee stretched and tied his legs to each of the chrome supports on the counter stools. Linc forced his hands above his head, kneeling on them, before securing them as well.
Troy used his knife to slit the buttons on his shirt, exposing his bare chest. The sinister look on the other man's face as he used the knife made Vin wince.
"I can get ya out o' the country..." Vin paused, reading the icy-eyed killer who stroked his most intimate area with malicious glee. "Into Mexico where yer headed... without any cops..."
"Hey, how'd he know we were going to Mexico?" Arlee piped up, pouring beer onto the prisoner's face, grinning as it stung his eyes and cuts. He laughed as the prisoner sputtered and choked.
"Shut up, Arlee," Troy issued through clenched teeth. "Pa?"
"Lucky guess," the leader replied. "He knows these parts... claims he can get us to Silver City."
"Seems obvious t'anyone with half-a-brain," Vin sputtered, spitting out a wad of blood. He blinked back the beer running into his eyes as the four killers surrounded him. He was tied, spread eagle between them and totally at their mercy. "Ya made an arrow in them towns," he noted of the robberies, "pointin' up t'Canada... in the wrong direction."
"...and?" Linc asked, curious as to how this young man figured out their plan.
"...and ya got a shit load o'money hid down... there..." he gasped as the rifle moved, shoved brutally into the soft side of his abdomen.
"Get him!" Arlee squatted down, using his knife to trace a line across the naked, sweaty throat. "...like you got anything to bargain for." He moved the blade carefully around the fed's nipple, leaving a ring of blood. "I could pop it off real easy," he predicted.
"Roads is closed, airports, bus terminals... they got shoot t'kill," he snarled at Savage, ignoring his son. "Yer fried and ya know it..."
"...and you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" Bull squatted down and moved the gun again, tracing a lazy circle around the bellybutton and easing the barrel under the waistline. "Well, now... I heard they grow 'em big in Texas." He laughed, enjoying the flush of color over the already bruised face.
"Oh, I get it," Linc laughed, jabbing the young man's knee hard with his boot and gaining the groan of pain he wanted. "You noble fucks' make me sick." He shook his head. "You're tradin' on that blond guy?"
The other man didn't move. Bull moved the gun again, running it along the bloody lips. Laughing, he pulled the gun away and nodded to his men.
"It'll work. Ya got nuthin' t'lose," Vin steeled, glaring openly at the man.
"You got balls, Tex, I like that!" he paused, chugging on his beer. "Linc, we got some plannin' to do. Arlee, you and Troy, keep the little prick company while we pack."
"Hey, Troy," Arlee said, moving to where they had thick steaks on the grill. "I can't find any clean plates..." Pressing down on the meat, he sent up a steam cloud over the sizzling metal. "These babies are done... whadya think?"
"Well, now," Troy caught on, picking up two steak knives and forks from the utensil caddy. "How about a picnic, piggy style.?
"Onions, brother?"
"By all means..." Troy grinned, watching the blue eyes darting as the still sizzling meat approached. The frantic bobbing of the victim's Adam's apple made his mirth grow.
Vin flinched as the dripping grease hit his unprotected skin. His mouth went dry when the first of the two large cuts of hot meat was lowered over his flat abdomen and navel. But when the second piece of red hot meat hit flesh, he cried out.
Chris's eyes shot open as a scream pierced his senses. His breath came in pants and he blinked through the fog in his brain. Forgetting where he was, he shook his head free just as another muffled scream sounded. That wasn't a dream... it was real. It had a name.
"Vin!"
He turned and rolled, sitting up and biting his lip as his side exploded. "Fuck..." he hissed, watching blood seeping through the makeshift bandage. Breathing heavily, he felt sweat running down his face. The sticky fingers pressed to his side reminded him of what transpired. The blood thirsty killers had his friend. Their loud laughter, coupled with his friend's screams, paled him more than his own pain. He was locked in a storeroom, bleeding badly, unable to help his friend, who was being tortured.
The first steak had sent a burning wave of pain through him; he hadn't recovered from the intense fire when another was laid to his chest. The fried onions came next. Then they began to eat, leaving tiny razor-like nicks and cuts in his skin where the blades fell. The grease from the meat ran into the wounds causing more fire. He bit his lip, the pain from the burn causing his eyes to tear. He shut them, panting heavily and praying Chris hadn't heard him. He felt the pressure easing up as they finished.
"Damn, that was good," Troy burped, slapping the burned chest of the captive. "Did you like your dinner, pig?"
"Yer gonna fuckin' die..." Vin panted, his chest and naval ringing with stinging burns and cuts.
"Shut up," Arlee kicked him hard in the side, enjoying the cry of pain. "You got a bad mouth..."
"Hey, I got an idea," Troy said, popping the cork center out of a coaster. "Open up, pig."
Vin didn't know what they were planning, but he clenched his jaw tight. He braced himself for another blow, watching Arlee's steel-tipped boots moved to the sensitive area between his legs. Vin tensed up, but instead, the young killer bent down, tossing an open salt shaker over the bleeding cuts. Vin kept his lips clenched until the hand began to grind the salt into them.
"Leave him alone, you sick son of a bitch!" Chris hollered, tossing a can of peaches at the door. After what seemed like an prolonged amount of silence that frightened him, he heard Vin scream again. "It's gonna be slow... and painful..." he vowed, flinching as Vin's cries ceased.
"That's better!" Troy said, forcing the round white plastic ring inside the prisoner's mouth and creating a human bulls-eye. "Hey Arlee, twenty dollars says I can piss in that ring from back here."
"No fuckin' way!" the other laughed, sitting on a stool over the bound Texan and dropping small pieces of ice into the open mouth. He enjoyed the gagging and flexing.
"Oh, yeah." Troy's first attempt missed, hitting the eyes. This brought laughter and the next attempt hit the nose and cheek.
If there was a time in his life when Vin Tanner was more humiliated, he couldn't remember it. Unable to move or defend himself, he jerked his head away when the second stream hit his face. Then the boots clamped down on either side of his head, securing him.
"Quit moving around!" Arlee ordered. "Go on, Troy..."
He shut his eyes when the warm urine invaded his mouth. He closed off the back of his throat, letting it build up and spill over his jaw. But that upset the brothers and someone, he knew not which, planted a hard fist into the soft side of his belly. That forced his lungs to work. He gagged and coughed, vomit mixed with the urine which was spewed all over his exposed chest.
"Hey, that little bastard puked on my boot," Arlee howled, kicking him again.
Vin nearly blacked out then; the voices were far away and his whole body went slack. He felt the tension leave his legs and arms and heard a buzzing in his ears. Voices hovered above him, like circling vultures. He felt his bound limbs freed and tried to recover.
"Okay, you two had your fun," Bull eyed the battered body. "Get him off the floor and dump him with the blond. We're leaving in a couple hours."
When they sat him up to lift him, Vin rebelled. His martial arts training kicked in and he sent one boy hard into a table. He lashed out at the other one, using the heel of his hand hard, driving it up against the second one's jaw. A blinding pain exploded in his head, then Vin knew nothing.
"I thought I taught you two better!" Bull ordered, shoving the pistol back into his belt. "What if he got your gun? Never take a chance. Now move him!"
Chris's head jerked when the door opened. He felt sluggish and hot; his eyes were barely able to stay open. Then he saw Vin's limp body being hauled into the room. The two brothers dropped him from waist level. He flinched when the Texan hit the ground and didn't move. His eyes flashed in unbridled rage when he saw the burns and cuts on his best friend's chest and the crystal salt glistening. Then he saw blood running down Vin's neck and nearly frothed at the mouth.
"Now, don't you fret, Harvard," Bull teased. "I didn't hit him that hard. I need him to navigate. Had to teach him a lesson. He hurt my boys." He saw the green eyes flashing again, taking in the marred chest. "Nothing like a sizzling steak hot off the grill. Just ask Tex when he comes to... he was nice enough to provide a table..."
"...fuckin' lunatic..." Larabee vexed, now having a clear picture of where the screams he heard came from. He raised his stone cold face, leveling a stare that ripped right into the core of Bull Savage.
Bull's smile faded and he felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn't often someone could unnerve him as easily as this cool blond did. He shifted his weight, pulling out his pistol.
"The only reason you're still breathing is because that badge totin' hippie made a deal." He jerked the blue shirt up and yanked the back of the loose pants down, exposing the raw, bleeding welts. He got what he sought; the body rippled in rage and the green eyes grew molten. The long-haired kid was this guy's Achilles' heel. "He's got a cocky attitude. I had to take him down a peg. He's lucky all I used was a belt. I could have used my meat and split him in half."
Chris didn't speak for several moments; then he raised his head again, leveling an icy stare at the brutal killer. "Mark it down," he said calmly. "I will be the one who takes you and the rest of your freak show out..." he paused, keeping his voice low and lethal. "Permanently."
The door closed; Chris moved to Vin's side, ignoring his own pain. "Vin? Vin?..." He tapped the face but got no reply. He eased the injured man onto his back and made three long trips across the room. Staggering badly, his own wounds protesting, he managed to get water, soap and bandages into a pile. As he gently cleaned the grease and salt from Vin's burns and cuts, he killed Bull Savage slowly, gutting him like a fish. By the time he eased Vin onto his belly to treat the horrid lashes, he was cutting the head off both offspring with a dull hatchet. Finally, he pulled Vin's pants up and moved him over.
Chris pulled his own knees up, rested his back against the wall and felt himself drowning in his own sweat. There was little air in the close room and it was brutally warm. He tugged Vin closer, soaking a cloth and wiping the filth and blood from the bruised and battered face. He spotted blood running from Vin's lips and frowned. Prodding the slack mouth open, he gently probed the area, noted cuts on the gums, then he smelled urine and realized what had been done. He saw the cuts then formed a circular pattern. He continued his tender ministrations, his calm hands betraying the volatile storm that brewed inside.
Finally finished, he rested, one hand on his throbbing side. He drew Vin over, tugging the upper body across his thighs and sideways. He threw his other hand over Tanner's collarbone, vowing his vengeance with fire in his eyes.
"They'll pay, Vin. You got my word."
He was dozing, still protecting his friend, when the door opened and Bull appeared.
"We're pulling out in five minutes." He leaned into the room. "You make sure he's awake and on his feet, or I'll find a way..." His sick laughter remained behind even after he shut the door.
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