Reunion by Meli Raine

grinds out.
    My heart sings.
    “Excuse me?” The dean’s voice is a metal spike through the eye socket.
    “Got a text. Huge MC fight between the Mephists and Loogie’s gang. Rolled into town and the chief needs all his officers. Paulson got set loose but on administrative leave,” Frenchie barks out. H e runs a tight hand through his greasy, black hair. “Galt’s on his way.”
    Galt? Mark and Chase’s dad ?
    What does all that mean? I don’t understand a word of it. I just know this has delayed the dean by one minute, and if I can string together enough delays, I can make sure Allie and Amy escape.  
    The dean’s face puckers with rage. “Explain in one sentence.”
    Frenchie mutters, “DEA agent loose. Motorcycle gang fight in town. Chief distracted. Galt busy.”
    “That was four sentences,” I whisper.
    The corner of the dean’s mouth rises a fraction of an inch.
    SLAP! The back of Frenchie’s hand cracks against my cheek before I can even see it coming. I’m used to smelling Amy’s blood.
    Now I can taste my own.
    “ Shut your piehole, you useless little slit,” Frenchie shouts at me.  
    He’s hit the same cheek that I banged in the parking garage a week ago. It begins to throb. Heat floods the skin around my eye and tears fill my vision. My good eye looks at his hand and sees a big ring on it.
    Ah. That’s where the long, hot feeling comes from. I reach up and my fingers slide along blood.
    “Learn to keep your mouth shut, Girlie Girl. There’s more where that came from.”
    The dean just sighs, as if he doesn’t approve of Frenchie’s actions.
    He doesn’t stop him, though.
    “There is nothing that imbecile can do,” the dean says with an airy tone. “He was perfect three years ago, though, when we needed him most.”
    As I gingerly touch my face and watch Frenchie to make sure he stays away from the hole in the wall, I realize I need to say something.
    “Who?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
    Frenchie rolls his eyes, reaches over toward my chest, and pinches my nipple. “Your little boyfriend. Bet he loves dipping it in you.”
    I go cold.
    “Unless you’re still a virgin,” Frenchie adds, the implication clear.
    I look at the dean in horror. Allie’s story ripples through what few brain cells I have left. “No. No. I’m not a virgin. I’m sleeping with Mark.” I stumble over my words, my tongue swollen now. I say it again to make sure they understand me. “We’re sleeping together.”
    The dean’s mouth stretches in a disapproving line. “So sad. What a waste of pure flesh.”
    Frenchie’s nipple twist turns onto a palmful of my breast. Bile rises in my throat. I let him touch me because it buys Amy and Allie time.
    It’s a given that I’m going to die. But I won’t die in vain.
    “You like that?” Frenchie says in a husky voice, moving closer to me. T he fact that I’m not fighting him seems to make him think he has permission. He smells like old spunk, cigarette smoke, and the sour nastiness of someone who dr i nks themselves into unconsciousness on a regular basis.
    I say nothing, but I don’t move.
    Frenchie’s phone buzzes again.
    “Ah, damn. Work comes first,” Frenchie says, moving his hands off my body. I release my held breath. My neck is tightening, nerve pain filling the bones around the side of my face. A jagged lightning bolt starts around the edge of my eye socket. A migraine. I haven’t had one of those since I was thirteen.
    I’m not surprised it’s happening now.
    “ Fuck,” Frenchie hisses, looking at the dean in alarm. “We gotta go.”  
    “I’m not going anywhere,’ the dean declares.
    “Shipment’s compromised. Fifty-three of them intercepted by a roadblock.”
    The dean is examining the saw blade with the emotional interest of a person looking at Egyptian artifacts at a museum. “Roadblock?”
    “We were moving them from here to the next target point.”
    “Fifty-three? We only had fifty.”
    Frenchie snickers.