* * * *
Molly was moving beneath him in the darkness of the little basement room. He felt her bucking beneath him, clawing at his back, but the pain only made him thrust harder. Her eyes screwed up tight in orgasm, then opened as she screamed in passion.
Her slit pupils widened in their yellow irises as her tongue shot toward his breastbone ...
* * * *
Valentine woke, the sheets wet against his back, a rancid taste in his mouth as though someone had wiped his mouth with a discarded diaper.
"What's going on?" he whispered. There were thumps and a shout or two from below.
RC turned against him. "Eyuuhh? I don't hear anything."
Valentine felt a Reaper, somewhere below. Its presence pulsed with cold energy. He heard the crash of a table overturning.
"It's two in the morning," RC yawned. "They're just closing up downstairs. Sometimes they have to drag people out."
The Reaper moved into the street as RC spoke. He heard an engine start.
"They took someone out," Valentine agreed. He could picture the scene downstairs. The Reaper arriving, possibly with a human goon or two, and shaking someone awake. The horrible realization that they probably had less than an hour to live as they looked under the hood at the pale, emotionless face. Handcuffs, a waiting vehicle. "The Meet Wagons," they used to call them in New Orleans. Then the final struggle against its embrace: the last dance.
"God, your heart is pounding," RC said, pressing her palm to his chest. "That always happens when you wake up?" She was a shadowy presence beside him, nude, her long hair tied up for sleep. He felt her skin against his leg, softer than the sheets, save for the tickling tangle of hair between her legs.
"I startle easy," Valentine said. The Reaper was gone. He collapsed back on the bed.
Her hand moved lower. "Do you always get a gun when you're startled?"
Valentine's hand had moved to his gunbelt hung on the corner of the bed when he woke, but her attention was fixed on flesh, not steel.
"A gun?"
RC turned up the corner of her mouth as her hand explored him, tugged at his pubes, tested his shaft, cupped his testicles. "That's what I've always called them. Men take a lot of pride in them. Wave them around. They can be dangerous if mishandled." Something of a Texas twang came into her voice. "They shoot. Hell, you've got a real rifle, Knox." She began to stroke him, gently, before turning on the bed. Her nipple left a long, electric trail across his stomach. Her mouth met her hand, and he swelled in excitement. "Big game," she giggled, a string of saliva linking them.
He lay there, enjoying himself, until it occurred to him that Malia Carrasca's baby-his baby, their baby, was due soon. His orgasm, while apparently thrilling to RC, was just an empty series of physical sensations.
* * * *
Valentine was on his third glass of water and was reaching for the pitcher again when he heard a knock.
RC rose and slipped a robe on her slight shoulders. "Melanie probably wants the room back. Don't worry, you don't have to leave until you feel like."
"I should be off anyway," Valentine said.
"Mel, gimme a break, woul-" she said to the door as she opened it. Duvalier stood there, her hair tucked in some kind of bag and a mask of creamy mud on her face. "Oh, Ty, hi... I've got company."
"I know, RC. Can I talk to him, in private? I need him to do something so I can surprise the Number One on his birthday."
"Umm, yeah ... I guess."
"Just five minutes, sweetie."
RC looked at Valentine, hurriedly pulling up his trousers. "Knox, you remember Ty?"
"The singer from last night? Check her for forks," he said. "I'm sorry. I was a little drunk last night, Miss, uhhh, Bright. I didn't even know the general's birthday was coming."
"Thanks, sweetie," Ali said. She put a finger to her lips. "Shhhhh, okay? Secret mission."
"My lips are sealed," RC said, grabbing a basket of towels and soap and moving into the hall.