her first rodeo. I appreciated the encouragement, claiming her lips with bruising force. My lips trailed to her neck.
She gasped. Her fangs playful sank deep into my shoulder. As she drank my blood, I mauled her pretty flesh. At one point, she whispered into my ear. “You are my lord. I pledge heart and fist, life’s blood and full strength to your service.”
I continued my ground-and-pound on her throbbing pussy. Through the slap of flesh on flesh, I said, “Oath … accepted!” The golden dragon—my other half—stirred, murmuring from a dream. Mine!
Yeah, I thought , now shut up, I’m busy.
SIX
“Yes, I’m a vain-glorious dick. What’s your point?”
—Caine Deathwalker
I reached the gate in front of the Victorian and stopped to watch a pack of mongrel kids in black denim jeans, Nike’s, and raider’s jackets swarm my Mustang. With its deep blue paint job and the pale blue lightning bolts for contrast, the vehicle was a thing of beauty. The boss, a kid with a shaved scalp and a backwards hat pressed his wide nose to the driver’s window, looking to see if there were valuables inside. “Jackpot! High tech stereo.” He pulled a slim Jim out of his pants, bringing the flat metal strip up to the door window. “I got this. Someone get those designer hubs off.”
I smiled. Oh, this is going to be good.
There was a crackle of real electricity. The nosy kid fell back on his butt, his face a bit on the smoky side. The car’s anti-theft AI announced her presence with a sultry voice modeled after Gloria’s. “Attention, scum, this vehicle is protected. Any attempt to compromise its integrity will result in massive carnage and blood splatter. You have been warned.”
Damn, I love that sexy voice.
I stepped out of the gate and summoned both Berettas Storms. They popped into my hands, comforting weights. “Hey, douchebags!”
I thought it funny that they all identified themselves by looking at me. One of the punks was packing. He demonstrated this by grabbing under his shirt at his waistband. I placed a shot between his eyes, a neat little hole. The exit wound at the back of his head was quite a bit larger. Most of the others ran for it. One big bruiser looked like he spent four hours a day lifting weights. Probably getting ready for a life behind bars. He lunged at me, grabbing for my hands.
I let him get a good drip and held myself immobile.
Being slightly on the small side—except where it counts, in my pants—I sometimes gave a false impression of weakness. Ridiculously big people thought I ought to be easy to shove around. This guy thought so; he wrenched, and tugged, and grunted manfully, and accomplished nothing. I don’t think he budged my hands more than a few millimeters. Failing to understand the dragon-born strength in me, he glared, his brow furrowed in confusion as his nostrils flared.
I politely asked, “Are you done, ass-wipe?”
He let go of one wrist and hauled his free hand back, making a fist to bust me in the face. His knees were bent. His back hunched as he leaned into me, throwing the punch with only his shoulder muscles behind it. With my freed gun in hand, I shot him in the shoulder. He stood there, barely moved by the impact. I hopped, using his left knee as a stepping stone to launch myself into the air so we could see eye to eye. The punk’s dark face was strained with pain.
I said, “Kiss the devil hello, he needs a new bitch,” and shot out his left eye while kicking him in the chest. He fell back, dead before he slammed into the sidewalk. My fun was over too fast. Two dead, everyone else hauling ass. I blame X-Box. Too many kids playing Grand Theft Auto instead of living it. Makes you soft. I went around to my driver’s
She gasped. Her fangs playful sank deep into my shoulder. As she drank my blood, I mauled her pretty flesh. At one point, she whispered into my ear. “You are my lord. I pledge heart and fist, life’s blood and full strength to your service.”
I continued my ground-and-pound on her throbbing pussy. Through the slap of flesh on flesh, I said, “Oath … accepted!” The golden dragon—my other half—stirred, murmuring from a dream. Mine!
Yeah, I thought , now shut up, I’m busy.
SIX
“Yes, I’m a vain-glorious dick. What’s your point?”
—Caine Deathwalker
I reached the gate in front of the Victorian and stopped to watch a pack of mongrel kids in black denim jeans, Nike’s, and raider’s jackets swarm my Mustang. With its deep blue paint job and the pale blue lightning bolts for contrast, the vehicle was a thing of beauty. The boss, a kid with a shaved scalp and a backwards hat pressed his wide nose to the driver’s window, looking to see if there were valuables inside. “Jackpot! High tech stereo.” He pulled a slim Jim out of his pants, bringing the flat metal strip up to the door window. “I got this. Someone get those designer hubs off.”
I smiled. Oh, this is going to be good.
There was a crackle of real electricity. The nosy kid fell back on his butt, his face a bit on the smoky side. The car’s anti-theft AI announced her presence with a sultry voice modeled after Gloria’s. “Attention, scum, this vehicle is protected. Any attempt to compromise its integrity will result in massive carnage and blood splatter. You have been warned.”
Damn, I love that sexy voice.
I stepped out of the gate and summoned both Berettas Storms. They popped into my hands, comforting weights. “Hey, douchebags!”
I thought it funny that they all identified themselves by looking at me. One of the punks was packing. He demonstrated this by grabbing under his shirt at his waistband. I placed a shot between his eyes, a neat little hole. The exit wound at the back of his head was quite a bit larger. Most of the others ran for it. One big bruiser looked like he spent four hours a day lifting weights. Probably getting ready for a life behind bars. He lunged at me, grabbing for my hands.
I let him get a good drip and held myself immobile.
Being slightly on the small side—except where it counts, in my pants—I sometimes gave a false impression of weakness. Ridiculously big people thought I ought to be easy to shove around. This guy thought so; he wrenched, and tugged, and grunted manfully, and accomplished nothing. I don’t think he budged my hands more than a few millimeters. Failing to understand the dragon-born strength in me, he glared, his brow furrowed in confusion as his nostrils flared.
I politely asked, “Are you done, ass-wipe?”
He let go of one wrist and hauled his free hand back, making a fist to bust me in the face. His knees were bent. His back hunched as he leaned into me, throwing the punch with only his shoulder muscles behind it. With my freed gun in hand, I shot him in the shoulder. He stood there, barely moved by the impact. I hopped, using his left knee as a stepping stone to launch myself into the air so we could see eye to eye. The punk’s dark face was strained with pain.
I said, “Kiss the devil hello, he needs a new bitch,” and shot out his left eye while kicking him in the chest. He fell back, dead before he slammed into the sidewalk. My fun was over too fast. Two dead, everyone else hauling ass. I blame X-Box. Too many kids playing Grand Theft Auto instead of living it. Makes you soft. I went around to my driver’s
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