The Safety of Nowhere (12 page)

She let him pull her down against his chest. “I love you,” Malcolm said again. “You know I do.” She pressed her face into his neck and sobbed while he caressed her hair, her shoulders, and her back.

Somehow Dinah calmed herself and started kissing him again. Her eyes were wet; her mouth was hot; her heart was pounding. She planted one last trail of kisses down his stomach to his cock. This time he was hard, and so she put her mouth on him.

“Come here.” He pulled her by the elbows, and she let him. Passive. Not herself. Not a princess either. When he had her where he wanted her, he fumbled underneath her skirt until he could caress her skin, her ass, her waist, and her back. She loved his hands, his firm, warm touch.

“Take my cock,” he said. She straddled him. They both fumbled to find the right position. She slid her pussy over him, and it was tight and hot and good.

“I’ll miss you,” Dinah said. Those were the words she’d looked for all along. That’s what her actions meant. “I’ll miss you every day.”

“You’ll never have the chance. “

She drew away and looked at him. Were they still playing? She was losing track of where they were. “Kiss me.” Her mouth covered his, and he kissed her while he rubbed the cleft of her behind. His eyes were on her, splintered blue and full of what she’d call gentle concern.

“I won’t leave you,” he repeated.

She shook her head. “If you don’t go, they’ll kill you. It’s much too dangerous for you to stay.”

“We’ll leave together then.”

“I can’t,” said Dinah. “If I leave my kingdom, I’ll disintegrate and turn to dust.”

She closed her eyes; his warmth was comforting, the movement of his breath a lulling sound. Dinah snuggled closer and let his smooth, muscled shoulder block her vision of the world. He rocked her gently, and in time she fell into a peaceful sleep.

* * * *

Dinah woke up later in the day to find him on his back beside her, staring at the ceiling. There was no mention of their half-played game. No mention of who would save whom or who would leave and who would stay. They rose and shifted back into their quiet companionship, and Dinah reveled in the pleasure of it so much that her mind found peace. She went on with her day and almost couldn’t hear the ticking clock or see the blinking messager in its bag.

Chapter Ten

Rocco took his shot and missed. He didn’t know why he still bothered playing pool these days. Once upon a time, it had been fun. That was before they’d stopped cleaning the place and all his friends had started to stink.

The constant stench in town was the worst part of living without women. Rocco couldn’t stand to be within five feet of Charlie. The old man’s ratty sweater smelled like he’d soaked it in milk and left it in his beat-up truck to dry. That musty, sour stink-cloud seemed to get worse each passing year, and Rocco had had just about as much of it as he could take. He made a face around the effort to get down his beer. “Christ Almighty, I can barely breathe. Don’t any of you know how to do laundry? For fuck’s sake, buy some extra clothes. Take them down to Sadavail to get ’em cleaned. Do something.”

Jim hit him with a look, and Rocco knew his so-called best friend was about to shoot his mouth off. “Well la-dee-dah. Aren’t we grand, Princess Rocco. Maybe you just can’t get the smell of Julie’s ugly snatch out of your nose.”

Rocco let the wide end of his pool cue hit the floor, straightening to his full height. “We’re not talking about my woman now.”

“What woman?” Jim said looking innocent, confused. “Last I heard you’re on your own again. How long were the two of you together? Two months this time? Took nearly two years for Joanne to get enough of your sorry ass. Congratulations, Stud. You’re getting quicker.“

College had turned Jim into a real mouthy fucker. Rocco didn’t give a shit. “We’re talking about the stench rising off old Charlie’s clothes and how sick to death I am of breathing in his stink. Don’t change the subject, fuckwad. In fact, why don’t you fuck off out of here?”

“Ah shit, Rocco.” Donnie sunk his shot and started sizing up the next. “Leave poor Charlie alone. It ain’t his fault his life’s going to shit. We’d all be doing a damn sight better with some help, but what do you want? There’s all of three fuckable women for every hundred men around here nowadays.”

“There are gonna be even fewer if Rocco keeps chasing them away.”

Everyone laughed at Jim’s little joke—a loud round of raspy guffaws that turned into stifled titters aimed at the floor. Rocco weathered it but didn’t laugh himself. He didn’t find the fact that all their women had run off particularly funny.

Rats from a burning barn, that’s what the Outland women had turned out to be. Vermin. Not even the courage to be up-front about it. Most just sneaked away without a word.

Rocco enjoyed getting his dick wet like the next guy, but beyond that he was done with women. Joanne and Julie had hit him with the same line of shit, telling him how long and hard they’d prayed for a good man. And so he’d done his best to be that man, willing to marry them, give them a roof over their head, all the kids they wanted. Every fucking thing a man was supposed to do, Rocco did. Then both of them, Joanne and Julie both, they just went back on all the things they’d said. One little upset and they jump on it as an excuse to break it off with him. Call them on their shit and ask them why they want to end it and they hem and haw about how they’re confused and need some time.

“Women are nothing but a hand full of gimme and a mouth full of thank you very much.”
That’s what his dad had said. Rocco had just seen the gimme. He’d never heard a woman bother to say thank you yet.

“You’re up,” said Donnie.

Rocco slammed his cue back in the rack. “Someone take my turn. I’m done.”

Anger made it hard for him to breathe. He craved his bike. The open road would mean a clearer head. He strode across the bar and out the door, but when he caught sight of the motorcycle, Rocco paused.

Gordon. How fun had it been listening to him whooping in his ear, his little hands clutching his belt. He should have his son with him, never should have let Joanne’s parents take him over like they did.

Cindy. Fuck! Now, there was another smiling bitch working behind his back to mess things up for him. Acting all apologetic and concerned so she could get her hands on Gordon.

Julie was supposed to help get his kid back, but if she couldn’t stick, then fuck her. The boy wasn’t a toddler anymore. At twelve he could fend for himself. Rocco stared down at the loose dirt covering his boots as the idea played out. He was doing this. Instead of sitting like a lump in front of infoscreens with a pussy-whipped old geezer, Gordon should be with his father. Learn what it was like to be a man. Someone had to teach him how to throw a punch and wield a wrench. It meant the kid would have to spend a lot of time alone, but if he got lonely or ran into trouble while Rocco was out on a long run, he could always ride his bike to Granny’s. Dinah Kelley’s house was even closer.

Rocco sniffed and swallowed down a sour taste, remembering that bitch. He’d never liked her much, and after their last conversation, he could say he liked her even less. That prissy little garden with the monument to Cy all front and center. As if the two of them had had some fairy-tale marriage. Disgusting. Shameless. She’d sucked the old man’s dick to do him in and get his loot. And now she had some city stud holed up with her in the dead man’s house.

Sometimes he swore the world was too disgusting to stand upright in. Rocco turned in a circle looking at what had become of town. Everything run-down, the houses barely better than shacks. Rust-covered, pieced-together vehicles were all anyone drove these days, ugly two-tone, four-tone fuckers parked any old way around his pristine bike.

Their side had won the war, goddammit. What had happened to their self-respect? Their dignity? It was time they all started to act like men. Rocco didn’t give a shit about Backusians, but Earth First definitely had one thing right: to get things done, they had to band together. Aliens were just one rallying point. There were others. For example, every man inside that bar had been fucked over by a woman—divorced and left. Even smart-ass college boy had gotten his engagement ring mailed back to him by whoever he’d been going to marry. Rocco turned around and headed back into the bar. No doubt Jim and Charlie would be interested to know the widow Kelley was back in the market for a man. Hell, maybe they should pay a friendly call. Let her know she was on everyone’s mind. That her good buddies down the road were watching out for her.

Chapter Eleven

The motorcycle was the loudest. The other rumbling engines blended in with one another. Were there three of them? Four? Even more than that? Just one at this hour would be bad enough.

Dinah’s heart was hammering, her consciousness still crawling its way out of sleep. She pushed her torso upward and was instantly dragged backward off the bed onto the floor. “Quiet.” Malcolm yanked her farther from the windows. The unpolished wood was hard and cold on her bare skin, displaced dust an irritant to her already tightening throat. The arms around her were so hot it frightened her. She’d seen what men could do in such a rage.

“Stay here.” She watched his shadow cross into the kitchen. He pulled Cy’s service weapon from the drawer and moved toward the door.

“Don’t,” she croaked, not certain what she meant to warn against.
Don’t go out there. Don’t confront them. Don’t get hurt.
Definitely the latter. She pulled her shaking body upward, crawling toward Malcolm, hoping somehow she could keep him safe.

There were voices coming closer now, the low, rumbling sound of determined men. How many of them, ten? Could there be more?
Oh Jesus, go away.

The sound of breaking glass confused her. Before she could make sense of it she heard the shots and knew Malcolm was firing. She recognized the hollow
thuck
of the Rockwell. Dinah pulled herself toward him, hoping against hope that he’d been right and that the shots would frighten them away. She knelt beside him, peering through the exposed corner of the window at just the moment when the panicked male voices rose into shouts. Calmly Malcolm fired three more shots. Two men went down. She saw it with her own unblinking eyes.

“What are you doing?” Dinah grabbed at him and found his body hard as stone.

Horror squeezed the words out of her throat, sounding barely human. She got her arms around his neck and pulled with all her strength, yanking at his ear and kicking hard. “Stop it!”

Dinah pulled at his resistance until there was a shifting of the tide and he was pulling her. Before she could react, he had her turned, her back to him. One arm was underneath her armpits, and he was dragging her, no matter how she kicked and pressed her bare feet into the rough floor.

She was caught up in a whirling tide of anger, blown so far off course from anything she recognized that even if she could resist, what would she hope for? What would she fight for? Which way was safety? Justice?

For an instant, Dinah saw the ugly, bubbling shape of the black Rockwell on the floor beside her, and then the door into her closet was flung open. He shoved her headfirst into it, picked up the gun, and came in after her. Darkness closed around them both. Dinah struggled for control. She pulled something from underneath her and scooted backward into the thick forest of her coats. She managed one breath. Two. The smell of cloth and dust and old shoes curled around her. The choke of the indoors and darkness—too many evil omens for one night. She heard Malcolm fumbling and went tense. She knew what it would be, before he slid the Luger over to her.

“Stay here.”

She grabbed his neck again and pulled and kicked until he turned and knocked her down to lie on top of her. His skin was burning hot, on fire. Was he sick? Or only mad? She herself was chattering with cold.

“Dinah, please.”

She couldn’t see him. There was no light in the closet, but the sound of him, the feel of him was something to hold on to. The wind of fear and panic let her go. She came down from the storm and landed, someplace awful but with him.

“Why did you kill them?” The sound of her own high-pitched whisper, hoarse and garbled with her tears, made Dinah stop herself and grit her teeth. “They might have gone away. I might have talked them out of this.” She might have. She might have.

Malcolm grabbed her shoulders. Maybe he could see her with those eyes of his. She was completely blind. “They were splitting up,” he said. “Half coming to the front, the others sneaking to the back. Think what that means. This is no social call. They were coming for you. Either I kill them, or they kill us. Those are the choices. We don’t have any others.” He lifted himself off her and touched her face. “I won’t let them hurt you, which means I can’t let them kill me. We can die together here and now. That I could accept. But if you want to live, it means death is theirs. You have to choose.”

Her stomach lurched. Her throat tightened to keep bile down. Somehow Dinah whispered, “I don’t want to die.”

The sound of gunfire made her press backward, all but hidden by her clothes. They both heard people on the back porch a few feet away. “Stay here,” Malcolm said, and she wanted to. But she wasn’t a child to die hiding in a closet.

She heard the whistling of hunters, which meant in their eyes she was an animal to be taken down. She could almost see them making loops and circles with their fingers, organizing themselves for the kill. Some of them at least. There were the dead ones, don’t forget. There were the ones who thought they’d all be having fun.

She stood up and pulled on a shirt and pants. She picked her Luger up and thumbed off the safety, the way Cy had made her do a thousand times. Calmly, she stepped from the closet and stood waiting for a stranger to come through one of her doors.

Malcolm had positioned himself in the bathroom. She heard the tinny
thuck
again. There was another shout, the sound of bodies falling. His naked body sprinted past her, back to the front of the house.

Dinah stood in the center of the cabin and looked right and left.
If they come through this door, I’ll shoot. If they come through that door, I’ll shoot.
An engine started. Bright headlights made a crazy silvery path crawl over the far wall. Only one car this time. She half expected they would ram the house. They might have done that from the start. A thousand ways she could be dead, but she was still alive. Malcolm was still alive, his body tense and deadly by the door. The lone car pulled away. She listened till she couldn’t hear the engine anymore. More stillness. Total silence. Malcolm put the gun down on the table. He stepped into his pants and pulled his sweater on.