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“Hey buddy,” I close my hands around my only friend. His nose tickles the key-shaped burn I’ve sustained and his little tongue scrapes over it in comfort. “I know, rough night,” I agree. Pressing a kiss to the black diamond on his forehead amongst the coffee-brown fur, I ease him into my drying hair that’s already beginning to frizz. The curls will bounce back in no time, appearing like I haven’t washed them in a year. Stan’s pink claws are rather chunky for his tiny size, which he proves by shifting across my scalp with light scratches. Finding a place to settle behind my ear, I grab my book and unhurriedly stroll out of the classroom.
“Well, where the fuck is he?” Tweed shouts back as a plucky guard charges forward, only to be hoisted and rolled over the twin’s back. Landing heavily on the ground at my feet, Tweed slams his boot down on the man’s chest, who immediately coughs up blood all over my shin. Thanks for that. Using the guy’s mop of brown locks to wipe most of the blood off, I shift aside the hair by my ear for Tweed to see Stan nestled inside.
“We went through all this trouble for a rat?” he yells and I gasp, even though Cash strolls up with an easy-going smile.
“It really wasn’t any trouble on my part,” he muses while I’m stepping onto the guard, using him as a stool to confront Tweed eye to eye.
“He’s not a rat, he’s a sugar glider. And he’s a damn sight handier to keep around than you.” I prod him in the chest to emphasize my point and then stride on by, ignoring his mutterings about saving our asses.
Calling the elevator by key card once more, the twins manage to hurdle over the groaning bodies and enter just before another wave of guards breaches the stairwell door. Ours slide close on their bewildered faces and shocked bellows as I give them a friendly wave goodbye.
“Well, you’ve got your stupid rodent, so now what? No doubt we’re going to use that card thingy on your belt and just walk out the front door.How original.” Tweed snarls while I hide the fact I need to quickly come up with a better plan. His green eyes swirl with shades of olive to lime in a hypnotizing manner that doesn’t work on me. I’m too busy noticing the braces are still hanging either side of his denim-clad legs and the abs through his transparent vest are more prominent after use.
“The best exit doubles as an entrance,” I shrug. It’s blissfully quiet in here with the gentle croon of violins playing throughout. When the doors open though, a squad of pissed-off guards are already there and I balk. “You know what, why don’t you take the lead on this,” I murmur, stepping behind Tweed. He tosses me an asshole-ish smirk I hate even more than the hit to my femininity.
It’s not that Ineedto hide behind a man or get them to fight my battles, but my faith in this escape is quickly waning. I have a cushy set-up here, tucked away from the sarcastic smirks and taunting tales. The guards tolerate me, the inmates fear me. Do I really want to give that up for a chance at escaping with a pair of very dedicated, method-acting strippers? But then again, this is the calling I’ve been waiting for. The best chance I’ll get to investigate what’s hidden within the pages of the book clutched beneath my arm.
As Tweed shoves a hand into the opposite front pocket from before, he throws a mass of purple powder over the guards and turns to cover me from the explosion rocking through the lower level, I know my decision is firmly made. His woodsy scent of fresh mushroom and pine surges through my body, the firm touch of his palms pinning me against the wall doing wicked things to my lady parts. I’ve never fucked through an explosion before, but then I reach up and slap myself. Stupid Mal, they’re strippers - not prostitutes. Although the jealous spark in Cash’s watchful eyes tells me they possibly could be and I’ll just bill it all to my sister’s credit card.
“Move,” Tweed snaps, breaking through my gyrating against his leg. He doesn’t give me an option, hoisting my arms upwards until I’m thrown over his shoulder, ass in the air. Tossing my book to Cash, I bark at him to guard it with his life.
Everything else is a blur as Cash snatches the key card from my waist and I’m jostled around, my eyes trained on the curve of Tweed’s butt. Who said a man could look so hot in a pair of electric blue skinny jeans? I didn’t so maybe he should take them off. I laugh mechanically to myself, my hands reaching out and retracting a few times as I battle with my self-will. He’s a fucking strip-o-gram, not a new toy I can molest. We haven’t even discussed safe words.
Do it, a voice coaxes in my ear. The smile is back, along with the faintest glow of slitted blue eyes as big as saucers. They dare me to, tricking my subconscious into thinking it might actually be here. Yet, I know it’s all in my imagination because unlike the frustrating cat I once knew, the voice that’s been speaking to me is distinctly female. Alas, thanks to the daily dose of antipsychotics that only work in reverse for someone who’s not actually mentally and criminally insane, it’s all in my head.
Tweed’s arm tightens around my legs just before he lifts into the air and I take my chance. Clutching his butt cheeks,for stability, I make sure I feel every inch of the hardened globes as the shatter of a window echoes around us. The rounded muscles flex beneath my palms, just the right amount of squish covering his squat-induced oh-my-wows before he lands on his feet once more and takes off running into the night.
“You can let go now,” a growl comes and looking up, I’m surprised to find it came from Cash. His face is hidden as the blinking red lights of Charmsfield Institute lend themselves to the backdrop. The alarm softens with the distance being put between us and the building – that or I’m slowly going deaf – as Tweed’s boots eat up the earth at an impressive speed. Disappearing into the woods surrounding the institute’s grounds, we become enveloped in darkness. Coated in shadow, lost to the night. The winter is blowing in on a frosted chill, stripping the trees of any leaves that may have softened the scratches outstretched branches lash us with.
“Over there,” Cash (I think) says, although he’s moved like a whippet to be somewhere up ahead. I lie limply, bobbing up and down as the breeze filters up my dress until Tweed finally skids to a halt. Twisting back, I don’t see anything worth noting, other than both sets of eyes either side of me being trained on my exposed ass. Turns out that breeze has flapped the paper-like material up my back and left me completely exposed in the black G-string that should be called a G-sting, because fucking ow! If I’ve ever wondered what flossing my arsehole felt like, now I know.
Tweed’s turned head is practically touching me, the warmth of his breath reviving my left, frozen cheek. You could take an icepick to my bubbled behind and it’d shatter on impact. At the awkward angle, I’m stuck relying on my peripheral vision but it seems like Tweed leans in just that little bit more and through the icy numbness, I’m sure I feel the scrape of his teeth.
“If you mark her right now, I’ll fucking kill you myself,” Cash remarks. This isn’t the twin I saw in the Institute. Amongst the shadows, his green eyes begin to glow like luminescent peas swimming in a bowl of burnt gravy. A growl is drawn through Tweed’s chest beneath me and in the next second, my face is meeting the ground as I’m tossed aside without a single regard for poor Stan. He’s been clinging to my scalp, his claws imbedded so deeply, I’m sure I’m bleeding.
Shoving myself upright, my hands skid over the damp, fallen leaves I can hear rustling through my hair. So much for a fucking decent shower. The blue dress is coated with a thick layer of mud by the time I stand and turn to face the shadows bleeding into the moonless night, finding myself completely alone.
4
Trekking on forever,
In this tulgey, darkened wood.
A trudge and grudge of canvas shoe
in clogged mud is never good.
On and on I travel
‘til my feet are soaked through
And no doubt when I reach daylight
My toes will be frostbite blue.
Slapping myself to stop thinking in stanza-commentary mode, I come to rest by the next thick trunk I feel. An oak I’m guessing, as I rasp my knuckles on the bark and feel out the width. I had spent a lot of time napping by trees as a child - it’s where my father reckoned I procured the ‘silliest’ of my ideas. I grit my teeth at the thought of him, my anger burning hot. If I had a knife, I’d kill him twice and be glad to see him rot.
“Arghhh!” I scream upwards, frightening a canopy full of birds on flippy flappy wings. Scratching at my eyes, I drop back, drawing labored breaths in and out. I’m rhyming again. Must be the drugs wearing off and my true nature settling back in. If anyone thought medicated Malice was looney, they don’t want to meet sober me in a dark alley. That bitch be crazy.
