like it’s my life’s mission, his low, hoarse moans driving me on. His hips keep lifting off the bed.
I suck my cheeks in hard, and he shudders. My throat is filled with him. I swallow it quickly and he moans, “Oh God, Red!”
He moves quickly, almost frighteningly so, tossing me back down on the mattress, climbing over me, positioning his head at my entrance.
“I need to be inside you, Red. I need to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
He drives inside so hard I’m thrust into the headboard. “Race! Oh Race!” I grab his arms. He pumps his hips.
“Tell me that you like it, doll.”
“Oh yes.” I lift my legs and encircle his hips. “I love your cock!”
“I love that cunt.”
And that’s the last thing that he says before I hear a metallic click. I hear a click and I look up, and there’s a man standing in the doorway. He’s pointing a gun at us. I recognize the face immediately, but I’m so surprised, my voice won’t work. I’m not sure what happens. I guess I must stiffen, because Race looks down at me, and when he does, he sees my face.
He turns around, and— “What the fuck? BOB? ”
He sounds as uncertain as I feel, but there’s no denying: That is Bob pointing a gun at us. Not us. Now that Race has climbed off of me, it’s obvious he’s got the gun pointed right at me .
Race looks from me to Bob. His face is a riot—shocked, confused, helpless, angry. He’s off the bed like lightning and Bob fires a shot.
I shriek, and the lamp beside me shatters.
“I’d sit down if I were you,” Bob snaps.
The gun, for a moment pointed at neither of us, trains back on me. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I’m chanting.
Race stands in front of the bed, putting himself between Bob and I. I can see his shoulders rising and falling fast. He’s as scared as I am, but his voice is smooth and steady.
“Bob—what’s going on, man?”
“Nothing new,” Bob says. He sounds the same way he did in the restaurant with me.
“What are you doing here?” Race’s voice lilts a little on the end, and I’m shocked to see he’s moving subtly toward Bob.
Bob chuckles. “Just thought I’d drop by. It’s a nice day out here. Nice island. It’s been years since I was here. I keep this place running, so why shouldn’t I see it? Why shouldn’t I see it?” he repeats, his voice a little tighter. “I should see it! I should move here. It’s my island, my paintings, my women.”
“Okay. Whoa now. Let’s just all take a second,” Race starts.
Bob fires again, this time at the ceiling-mounted lamp. It shatters over us, and Race jerks backward, sprawling out on the bed, knocking me—no, kicking me onto the floor. I land hard on my ribs, and Bob’s voice raises, shrill and high.
“I don’t need a second, Race! Don’t tell me what to do, I call the shots here! You’re the shadow man! The shadow government paints! You’re the shadow. I’m the light! Cookie saw it. Cookie knew.”
“What are you talking about?” I scramble up and peek over the bed. Race sounds angry now. “What the fuck are you talking about Cookie?”
“She was fucking mine! Not yours!” He laughs. “Did you believe Linn, that raving moron? Linn was lying! Took you for a ride! Not his story.” Bob shakes his head. “That was my story. Cookie and me. Jack of all trades, couldn’t pass the bar! I couldn’t pass the bar but I know laws, I’m good at that, I helped her try, but she couldn’t, so she died.”
Race inches closer to him, and Bob points the gun right at him. Heat fills my body like lava. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Please don’t do it! Please, no, God! Not Race!
“What are you talking about Bob? Put the gun down. Are you on something, man?”
“I’m on fire,” Bob snaps. “I’m on fire, and I need the sprinklers to come and wash my sins away!”
“Under the bed, Red,” Race barks. But I can’t do it. I can’t take my eyes off Race.
“You think you’re smart. The big artist.” Bob laughs—more a cackle really. “I
I suck my cheeks in hard, and he shudders. My throat is filled with him. I swallow it quickly and he moans, “Oh God, Red!”
He moves quickly, almost frighteningly so, tossing me back down on the mattress, climbing over me, positioning his head at my entrance.
“I need to be inside you, Red. I need to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
He drives inside so hard I’m thrust into the headboard. “Race! Oh Race!” I grab his arms. He pumps his hips.
“Tell me that you like it, doll.”
“Oh yes.” I lift my legs and encircle his hips. “I love your cock!”
“I love that cunt.”
And that’s the last thing that he says before I hear a metallic click. I hear a click and I look up, and there’s a man standing in the doorway. He’s pointing a gun at us. I recognize the face immediately, but I’m so surprised, my voice won’t work. I’m not sure what happens. I guess I must stiffen, because Race looks down at me, and when he does, he sees my face.
He turns around, and— “What the fuck? BOB? ”
He sounds as uncertain as I feel, but there’s no denying: That is Bob pointing a gun at us. Not us. Now that Race has climbed off of me, it’s obvious he’s got the gun pointed right at me .
Race looks from me to Bob. His face is a riot—shocked, confused, helpless, angry. He’s off the bed like lightning and Bob fires a shot.
I shriek, and the lamp beside me shatters.
“I’d sit down if I were you,” Bob snaps.
The gun, for a moment pointed at neither of us, trains back on me. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I’m chanting.
Race stands in front of the bed, putting himself between Bob and I. I can see his shoulders rising and falling fast. He’s as scared as I am, but his voice is smooth and steady.
“Bob—what’s going on, man?”
“Nothing new,” Bob says. He sounds the same way he did in the restaurant with me.
“What are you doing here?” Race’s voice lilts a little on the end, and I’m shocked to see he’s moving subtly toward Bob.
Bob chuckles. “Just thought I’d drop by. It’s a nice day out here. Nice island. It’s been years since I was here. I keep this place running, so why shouldn’t I see it? Why shouldn’t I see it?” he repeats, his voice a little tighter. “I should see it! I should move here. It’s my island, my paintings, my women.”
“Okay. Whoa now. Let’s just all take a second,” Race starts.
Bob fires again, this time at the ceiling-mounted lamp. It shatters over us, and Race jerks backward, sprawling out on the bed, knocking me—no, kicking me onto the floor. I land hard on my ribs, and Bob’s voice raises, shrill and high.
“I don’t need a second, Race! Don’t tell me what to do, I call the shots here! You’re the shadow man! The shadow government paints! You’re the shadow. I’m the light! Cookie saw it. Cookie knew.”
“What are you talking about?” I scramble up and peek over the bed. Race sounds angry now. “What the fuck are you talking about Cookie?”
“She was fucking mine! Not yours!” He laughs. “Did you believe Linn, that raving moron? Linn was lying! Took you for a ride! Not his story.” Bob shakes his head. “That was my story. Cookie and me. Jack of all trades, couldn’t pass the bar! I couldn’t pass the bar but I know laws, I’m good at that, I helped her try, but she couldn’t, so she died.”
Race inches closer to him, and Bob points the gun right at him. Heat fills my body like lava. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Please don’t do it! Please, no, God! Not Race!
“What are you talking about Bob? Put the gun down. Are you on something, man?”
“I’m on fire,” Bob snaps. “I’m on fire, and I need the sprinklers to come and wash my sins away!”
“Under the bed, Red,” Race barks. But I can’t do it. I can’t take my eyes off Race.
“You think you’re smart. The big artist.” Bob laughs—more a cackle really. “I
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