Draven didn’t intend to develop feelings for the whore-Gretchen-but did, and that screwed everything up. His initial plan was to have her go to the bar this evening, come on to one of the bikers, and then lure him into the back alley for a blowjob. Then Draven would pop out of the shadows and give the asshole a lesson he’d never forget.
The problem is that the scumbags would figure out what had happened, afterwards, and go after the woman.
She wouldn’t be hard to find, not in a town this small.
This morning, when he first hired her, he didn’t give a shit what happened to her.
Now, unfortunately, he did.
He had to regroup and figure out how to get one of the bikers separated from the pack.
After lunch at Wendy’s, Gretchen asked, “What now?”
Draven thought about it.
The sky above was clear.
The temperature was absolutely perfect.
“Let’s take a hike somewhere,” he said.
She beamed.
“I know the perfect place.”
They ended up at the Pueblo Reservoir, which looked like a mini Lake Powell. Gretchen knew a trail that descended into the back of a canyon. They hiked down-well over a mile from the car-found the place deserted and went skinny-dipping.
The rocks baked the water and kept it surprisingly warm, especially in the shallow spots.
Draven felt the need to show off and swam across the canyon, about a hundred yards, as fast as his overhand stroke would take him.
When he got back Gretchen was impressed.
“You look like Tarzan,” she said.
He beat his chest and did his best Tarzan yell.
A lizard darted by and Draven chased it. It took a full three or four minutes, but he finally caught it. Holding it by the tail, he walked toward Gretchen swinging it back and forth.
“Got a friend for you,” he said.
She screamed and jumped in the water.
“Don’t you dare!”
He tossed the lizard on a bush and jumped in after her.
Then it was time to make love. Right there in the water. They both knew it.
Neither hesitated.
This time, unlike Monday night, she kissed him.
Long and deep.
He kissed her back.
Afterwards they dressed and sat in the sun. Draven’s thoughts returned to the bikers.
“I have some scumbags after me,” he said. Then he told her the story of what had happened in the bar Monday night and how his apartment had been trashed yesterday.
“I heard about the bar,” she said.
“You did?”
She nodded.
“The word’s out that one of them got beat up in the bathroom.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“I know that jerk,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yep. They call him Two-Bits, but his real name’s John Sinclair. I know his three friends, too. They’re all first-degree assholes. They gang-raped me one night, the little pricks. One of them paid money for it, but the other three jumped in and took me for free. To me, that’s rape, not to mention that my ass bled for a week.”
Draven felt his jaw muscles tighten.
“Do you know where they live?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, why?”