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Flame's Past

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I_Am_Nobody

Supernova
Joined
Sep 27, 2011
He was really starting to hate this fucking town.

It had seemed so simple. His parole officer was a drunk that would do and say anything for a bottle of liquor, so that little obstacle might as well not have existed. One hijacking later and he was out of the state, so far gone that the assholes he owed the money to would probably never find him, even if they had the first idea of where to look. And so Johnny Davis had tossed away his record, his debts, the girl who was dumb enough to think she wanted to marry him, and every other scrap of his old life in Chicago and just started driving. When the stolen car ran out of gas he just traded it away for one that still had the title and kept driving. Finally he'd ended up here, a college town that didn't notice when one more dude in his twenties showed up. The perfect place to lay low until he could get back on his feet.

That, at least, had been the plan. But the campus security seemed to regard the entire town as their jurisdiction, there were always crowds wandering the streets heading for bars or restaurants, every job in town was taken by some bright-eyed student, and it was impossible to get anything cheaply without a student id. It was getting harder and harder for a guy to make a living, honest or otherwise. Even the apartment he'd been renting cost too much for the rat-infested hellhole it was, and getting enough money to escape without attracting attention he didn't need was proving far more difficult then it should have been. Another week of this, and he'd have to start mugging people for a sandwich.

Still, on the morning of June 22, Johnny left the apartment feeling a bit optimistic. The town was holding some sort of festival which brought in a ton of touristy folks; mostly students and their families. But lots of people and lots of cash would be floating around, which meant that there were plenty of opportunities for someone observant enough to notice an unattended purse or carelessly stored cashbox. Penny-ante shit, but he hadn't made enough of a name for himself to get in on any of the big scores in town. Not even the pot dealers around here wanted to accept a courier without knowing he was 'cool' and that meant either having someone to vouch for him or pulling some big grab on his own. Neither had been very promising, not without getting arrested, and it would only take one collar before they found out he bailed on his parole. What was worse, he needed to pull this penny-ante shit just to make ends meet; paying the rent had nearly wiped him out.

Johnny's slouching walk kept his tall frame at the same height as everyone else as he passed through the crowd, the grey hoodie pulled up to cover his very light blond hair. Brown eyes looked out at the world with cold calculation, carefully watching the crowd around him for those dumb enough to put their wallets in their back pocket or set down their shopping bags 'just for a moment.' It took a bit of effort to move his wide frame though the crowd without jostling too many people, except of course when he wanted to bump them to hide the hand slipping into a pocket. He'd only scored a couple of wallets as he passed by yet another one of the performance groups scattered throughout the streets, coins jingling as they struck the case before them. Out of vague curiosity he glanced up at the troupe, wondering if he could find a moment to grab the change they'd collected, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

What the fuck... he thought to himself, staring at one of the faces. It couldn't be.
 


  • Festa des Luzas was an annual celebration held by ethnic locals to celebrate their heritage. What once was a bland boardwalk became a colorfully dressed pathway littered in yurts, tents and kiosks. Strings of lights - which heavily resembled the theme of colors mashed into moonmist ice cream - were intricately draped over lampposts, tables and even an elite handful of benches. Anywhere shadow dwelt was lit up like proverbial Christmas tree, sparkling twinkling like the brightest starts in the sky. Performers were no exception; even they were cleverly sporting meters upon meters of eye-dulling lights.

    One of the performers was an exotic looking woman with a mop of thick, starless hair. It was teased and brushed to make it appear shaggy and unruly, much like that of a lion's mane. Though she abhorred the mere idea of cosmetics, flashy make-up was mandatory for the festival was mandatory. Luckily her Egyptian descent made it so she wouldn't have to slather on layer upon layer of bronzer - her skin was naturally shimmery, as if she had rolled in a vat of copper flecks. "Estelle," a young man cried. He peaked warily through the opening of a nearby tent, gazing lawlessly at the twenty-something foreigner. "Ready to go? Show's in a few. I think your man's gonna be watchin'. Is that why you have your boobs all up and out?"

    There was little truth in that statement. The female performer's costumes had to scream playful sexuality and gaudiness. They were revealing, Estelle's especially. She was a naturally busty woman who was forced to wear a glitzy, sequin covered bra that was spotted with a few lights here and there. She certainly was quite the spectacle, if only she'd smile. Estelle was notoriously stone faced; she was often still showing little to no emotion, something her "fiancee" thoroughly disliked.

    After taking a brief short cut through a nearby tent, the pair were brought to a sandy inlet near the beach where several spectators watched on in anticipation. Calypso music was reveberating about, accentuated with the aid of a over-sized silver drum. One of the topless performers standing by tossed her a baton with two bulbous, rugged ends. She drew a gourd-like jug that was attached to her waist, pressed it to her lips then took a long swig. She then raised the baton to her lips and blew. A fire suddenly ignited, casting an eerie glow over the crowd who watched. While the tumultuous onlookers seemed relatively cheerful, Estelle was concerned about simply one thing: if a spark even touched her hair, she was more or less fucked.
 
Johnny was behind the rest of the crowd, well away from the performers. If she even remembered what he looked like, it would be very unlikely that she could see him through the amazed faces and staring eyes. But he could see her from the moment she stepped outside the tent, even distracting him from the topless babe playing with the baton. The bronze skin, the emotionless mask of a face, the fine tits that he was more than familiar with; it had to be her. He may have fucked a lot of women since then, but it was hard to forget the girl you were with when your life turned to shit. That was his Estelle, the sheer impossibility of seeing her sending his mind reeling.

But he'd only been watching her for a few minutes before he himself began a cruel smile began to spread across his lips. If that was really Estelle, and he was almost certain that it was, then he was set. Getting some cash out of her would be easy, even if she was just, based on appearances, a glorified stripper. She probably even knew who was willing to hire out of towners for some dirty work; most strippers quickly learned who the town's players were. Might even be good for a few fucks before she wised up and tried to kick him out, and by that point he'd probably already have everything he could get from her. His luck was finally starting to turn around.

But he didn't want to approach her now, not yet. He needed to take her by surprise when she wasn't surrounded by fans and fire. In fact, if she was here now, then her home was probably empty and she certainly wasn't carrying her keys on her. She had come from that direction, so...Casually he turned and walked away from the performance, slipping around people and tents until he could see a couple of half-naked dancers, in the same ridiculous makeup and whorish clothes as Estelle walking into a tent. The cruelty in his eyes slipped away as he approached the tent, pulling his hood back down and slipping in. There were a pair of gasps from the two dancers, already starting to strip away the remnants of their costume, before Johnny quickly covered his eyes with one hand, waving apologetically. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't think anyone else was in here, Estelle just wanted me to grab something from her purse," he explained with a charming smile; he could be nice. When he needed to be.

"Oh...ok!" one of the girls exclaimed, plainly not the brightest light in this damn festival. "Hang on, I'll go get-"

"Wait," said the other, setting off a brief fit of mental cursing in Johnny. Why couldn't it ever be easy? "What was it she wanted?"

"These little wet-wipe things," Johnny replied quickly, hoping he remembered her various idiocies correctly. "Some kind of special stuff to get her makeup off quicker, so she doesn't have to deal with it until she can get home."
 


  • It was unlike Estelle to send an errandboy to collect her belongings, but given the hubbub and bustle, the girls felt that it was a necessary deed. After little deliberation they felt the man could be trusted and forked over Estelle's overpriced tote. "Tell her that her cards are in the front pouch. And make sure to reiterated that we didn't touch them." Those who were close to Estelle knew she was a well practiced spiritual being who read tarot cards. She had never submitted to a religion, and instead, found peace in Taoism.

    Meanwhile, the show was well underway. Estelle was one of the most praiser performers, twirling and spinning her baton, on occasion crying out in a foreign language that others would respond to with animal-like howls. The show was always a workout - the women had to twist and wind their hips using exotic gyrations while the men danced and banged their calloused paws on Mayan drums. Estelle's boyfriend Jackson was supposed to attend the festival during its first night but, instead, was cajoled by some of his coworkers to go downtown for a beer or two. Any boyfriend in their right mind would be a fool to miss their half-naked girlfriend bouncing and gliding around in all of her exotic, oiled up glory, but Jackson figured he could get a private showing at home later that evening.

    As the opening show drew to a climatic ending, Estelle managed to discretely exit via a series of yurts behind the boardwalk. She sought after the female performer's encampment and quietly stepped in. Two lesser dancers were giggling amongst themselves, women who Estelle knew by brief acquaintance. "Estelle, a guy came by," chortled one of the girls haphazardly, "he was bringing by your purse. Did you get it alright? We didn't touch your cards, either!"

    Her eyes went wild - not at the mention of her cards, but at the mention of her handbag. "Who?" she questioned. Her voice was dark and venomous. "A blonde. He was a cutie! Didn't say his name but he seemed sweet enough."
 
"Sure thing," Johnny said with a smile as he accepted the bag, tucking it under one arm and leaving the tent with a smile. It really was wonderful how trusting people were nowadays, especially in a nice little town like this. Ripping people off became trivial when they would just hand you their stuff and expect you to bring it back. With the bag secured he paused just long enough to get an appreciative eyeful of Estelle's dancing and her half-naked backup before he vanished back into the crowds, eventually finding a rather secluded bench. Calmly he sat down and began looking through the tote, his hood pulled back up to avoid attention.

Vague curiosity led him to check the front pocket, smiling slightly when he pulled the tarot deck from its pouch. That's right, she had been into all this spiritual crap, hadn't she? He'd never had much patience for God, or whatever mystical shit she claimed was the real truth. With a slight chuckle of contempt he tossed the deck back inside before searching through the main pocket. Soon enough he found her wallet, flipping it open. Some cash, which he quickly pocketed. A bank card, not much use unless he could guess her pin. A couple of credit cards, one of which he similarly pocketed. All those needed was a signature, and most clerks wouldn't even notice that he was emphatically not an Estelle. An ID card for the university; surprising and useful, but it was a photo ID which meant he couldn't use it. Not yet anyway.

Finally her driver's license, with an address, as well as a set of keys. Shouldn't take him too long to get there, and he could get there long before she could. Especially if the show was supposed to last a long time, or if there were multiple performances. Laughing slightly to himself he tucked her license into his pocket and stood up from the bench, walking along the boardwalk back towards his car. A good look at her place would tell him just how much cash he could bilk out of her before he left.
 


  • Never before had the girls seen a woman so furious. Estelle went wild, storming rather vehemently around the yurt while the women cowered in unconventional horror. It wasn't the prospect of a tongue lashing that they feared, it was her quiet demeanor. She skulked around the inside of the tent with a look to her that could best be described as terrorizing. "He seemed so friendly," one of them chirped only to be silence as the Egyptian woman gawked lawlessly in her direction. Estelle trusted no one, not even her high-class boyfriend who could likely be fucking a waitress for all she knew.

    "We're sorry!"

    Hollow apologies as they didn't return her personal belongings - her tarot cards, her car keys, her pecacets and certainly not her five-hundred dollar iPhone that Jackson bought her. Much to her chagrin she was in no position to mourn the loss of her belongings. The festival dragged on well past midnight. Once the children were whisked off to their homes came the more adult entertainment. Around 11:30 - just after her last fire show for the evening - Estelle holed herself away at an outdoor bar where she consequentially drowned her sorrows in virtually a full pint of sambuca. The bartender was in no rush to shoo her away; it was rare he was able to bask in the presence of such an exotic locale, certainly not one was wild and as winsome as she.

    It was a legitimate moral war but the woman decided that the two twenty-dollar bills she tucked neatly away in her top would go towards her sambuca binge. "You look exhausted," noted the bartender as he accepted the bills. "Long day?" Estelle flashed him the "you could say that" glance and slipped from the bar. Her goal was to get home to her cozy little bungalow and sleep the night away. Luckily it was only a few blocks away from the boardwalk, close enough for her to strut her stuff down the terrace in heels. Several catcalls later she dragged her feet up to the door step, eagerly twisting and jerking the doorknob. Surprisingly, the door popped open with relative ease.
 
The address turned out to be a small little bungalow a few blocks from the beach; Johnny could have walked easily. There was a car out front, but a few minutes of quietly watching the house confirmed that the place was empty. Ultimately he drove back to the boardwalk and left his car in the public lot there; a strange car in the driveway would attract attention. At last he drove back to the house and let himself in with her keys. Once inside he shut the door behind him and looked around, nodding appreciatively. A small place, but nice enough; there was definitely some money here, even if it wasn't as much as he'd like. Still, you couldn't expect a fire stripper or whatever to make a whole lot.

First things first; it had been quite a while since he'd eaten anything that wasn't fast food or frozen, so he began by mercilessly raiding her fridge. Still munching on an oversized turkey sandwich he proceeded on a self-guided tour of her little house, poking around in every drawer and closet as he slowly built an idea of her life. It was while he was searching that the phone rang, but he just ignored it until the answering machine clicked on; whoever Jackson was, he was sorry for missing her show. She definitely wasn't married, was there a boyfriend in the picture? Interesting. He turned out to have far more time then he'd expected; by the time midnight came around he'd showered, finished a cursory search of virtually everything in the small bungalow, eaten quite a bit more of her food, and checked the news to make sure she hadn't sparked some sort of panic.

When Estelle finally arrived home, the swinging door bumped into her tote upon the floor where it had been casually dropped. Johnny Davis was seated on her couch in a wife-beater and jeans, the grey hoodie tossed aside over the arm of her couch. The parts of a handgun were scattered across her coffee table, Johnny quietly cleaning them one by one while a faint cloud of cigarette smoke hung over his head. He paused when she entered, glancing up to study her appraisingly. "Hello, Estelle," he said quietly, looking up at her from the couch.
 


  • Estelle noted the appearance of her tote disdained near the foot of the door. Initially she assumed Jackson may have stopped by the boardwalk but while she stewed in the notion, it made little to no sense. She slipped out of her cork wedges and sighed at the cool sensation of her throbbing soles against the hawkish wood floor. At that time she drew in a breath of elation. She was home. Her bed was waiting, lined with fresh linens and silky, creaseless sheets. The ghostly tickle of the sambuca she drank was playing guilty love songs in her head, sending sensational buzzes through limbs.

    With her inhale came an unexpected scent - nicotine. Jackson quit smoking months ago; he was so proud of himself that he would go out of his way to hint it to his significant other and made a very strong statement when he refrained from taking a drag after sex. She parted her full lips, ready to beckon for him until she noticed an eerie silhouette sprawled over her haunt. A man with flaxen locks and a chocolaty gaze. She removed her headdress and advanced, leaving the absurd looking hat to roll about before sputtering to a halt. She adopted that wild look to her eyes until she was able to successfully register this man's face.

    It took a moment but the overwhelming force of nostalgia took her buzz by the horns and dwarfed it. The moon caught half of symmetrical her symetrical curves, lighting one part of her body while the other wallowed in shadow. "Johnathan," she sneered. At a glance the light caught his fire arm. She quickly peered down at it then back to him, recalling all of the events that head culminated in his disappearance. "What the fuck is going through your head right now?"
 
A closer look might have told her that the gun was currently harmless; half of it was disassembled and scattered about the coffee table. Johnny certainly didn't seem like he had any immediate plans to use it. After a moment he simply resumed his task of cleaning the weapon, setting one piece down to pick up another. "Been a long time," he said conversationally, years of practice allowing him to easily speak around the cigarette in his mouth. "Thought I'd drop in. Stay a while," he added, speaking as though it was a foregone conclusion. He had always been like that, simply declaring his will and assuming that she, and the rest of the world, would fall in line. A lot of the time it had worked, and when it hadn't he'd just bull his way forward anyway. It was one of those times, when he had stubbornly gone ahead regardless of her protests, that had been their final few days together. A certain high school teacher had been threatening to keep Johnny back for 'disciplinary reasons.' When Estelle had tried to stop him he'd just gone further then he'd planned. Things had gotten....complicated rather quickly after that.

Calmly he set the final piece of the gun down, the shadows playing across his body as he stood from the couch to face her. Calmly his eyes flicked down, openly drinking in her exposed bronze skin and her delicious curves before looking back up at her face, nodding approvingly. "You look good," he said, standing a few feet away and watching her eyes. The next few moments would determine how this went, whether she could be talked around to giving him what he needed or if she would need 'persuasion.'
 


  • "Get out."

    She gave him no time to retort or to plead his case, she merely wanted him gone. The pieces of her life were finally falling into place - she had a boyfriend that she more or less loved, a step-son who adored her and a blossoming career. The last thing she wanted was the scandalous Johnny Davies slithering back into her life to tear down the marvelous empire she had worked so hard to erect.

    Estelle was in the right mind to phone Jackson. He was a well practiced firefighter who dabbled heavily in the policeforce during his first few years of work. However, she wasn't a huge fan of the authorities. Estelle did the devil's dance with a handful of police officers quite some time back. It was a scandal that involved her adoration for her brother which ended in his being imprisoned and her being charged. She found it ironic how her older brother adored Johnny but abhorred Jackson. Maybe it was her penchant for "the good guys" that made him look the other way.

    If Johnny could remember, Estelle was volatile - nonchalant and stoic one instant, murderous the next. She took her time and stood tall and proud like the majestic oak she was, placing one foot ahead to complete her advancement. She brazenly reached into his pocket and plucked forth one of her two credit cards and what appeared to her be license. It seemed that good ol' Johnny Davies never changed. "Get the fuck out of my house, Jonathan."
 
An eyebrow quirked up at the sudden demand, his mouth opening to retort only to cut himself off as she strode forward. They were nearly the same height, or close enough that it made no difference, and he was looking straight into her eyes as she approached. She wasn't attacking, there wasn't enough anger in her eyes for it to be one, so Johnny just chuckled slightly as she reached for him. An amused smile crossed his face as she plucked the cards from his pocket. She was calm now, but it never had taken much to set her off. Frankly he was surprised she had limited herself to a few words instead of simply attacking.

He stayed silent as she delivered her ultimatum, the amused smirk still on his face. "Fine," he said, turning away from her to sit back on the couch. "I'll leave." Metal began to click quietly as he picked up the pieces of the gun, slowly piecing them back together. It was just a little nine mil, but it was his first gun, the only one he'd ever used. He might be forced to temporarily retreat, but nothing was going to make him leave without his gun. Which didn't mean he was going to just roll over and let her win. "I'll leave," he repeated, sliding the magazine back into place, "when I'm ready to leave. We've got a lot of catching up to do, after all." The gun clicked menacingly as he cocked it, a bullet sliding into the chamber. Using it wasn't part of the plan, but she didn't know that.

"There going to be a problem?" he asked, a phrase she would find all too familiar. Usually he said it just before enacting a plan that certainly crossed the line, at a point when nothing she ever said would be enough to deter him.
 


  • "Several, in fact." She gave him a timely reply, uninterested in the firearm he was toting about. Her brother was a cartel affiliate - she had seen her share of guns and other such weapons so Johnny's charade hadn't quite frightened her. "You're ready to leave now." Her command came forth rather menacingly. Estelle was a tall woman with powerful, shapely legs and an attitude that could rival even that of a Texas pageant queen.

    Her eyes suddenly softened. It wasn't dramatic, but noticeable for someone who had known her for a period of time. "There's nothing here for you, Johnathan. If you wanted to catch up you could have pulled my aside after the show, not ... not this." She circled around him and threw herself on the couch, ultimately giving in to the warming embrace of her ethanol high. "I don't know what lead you to this conclusion but you sincerely need to leave before my fiancé comes home."

    She combed her long, elegant fingers through her mane and flattened her wild ethnic hair which sprung forth mere moments later. "If you're going to wave a glock in my face don't bother. I'm too tired."
 
Johnny shook his head slightly with a wry smile, flicking the gun's safety on and tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. "You're here, and that means there's something here for me," he responded, speaking as though the gun had never even been an issue. "And if I just wanted to catch up, I wouldn't have bothered coming in person." Let her think this was a planned event instead of a spur of the moment decision based upon a completely random occurrence. An eyebrow again lifted slightly when she saw down, not because she was sitting beside him but because of the smell wafting from her. Definitely the smell of liquor, probably that alcoholic coffee stuff she had always liked. Being underage had never been a particularly large obstacle in their drinking.

"Fiance? You mean that Jackson guy?" he asked, taking a guess from the earlier phone message. "The one that had to work when you were dancing around in that?" he asked as he indicated her lack of a costume. "Yeah. I'm sure he'll be a real problem for me," he chuckled, leaning back slightly in the couch; he very plainly wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Once he'd settled himself he turned to look at Estelle, once more appreciatively taking her in. It had been a long time since he'd seen anyone look that good doing anything, and she was drunk to boot.
 


  • It was Estelle's nonchalance and lethargy that had coined her a social outcast. She was awkward, unusual and inadvertently blunt; these personality traits were undesirable by locals, however, her fiance seemed oddly attracted to them. It was apparent that Jackson wasn't the only man who enjoyed her unusual mannerisms. The man laying so casually sprawled out adjacent to her appeared to be almost flirting with her unorthodox personality traits. "It's a costume," she half-sputtered, draping her arms around the couch's lapel. Sarcasm was laden in her voice; intoxication was present, as well.

    She knew if Jackson were to return home and see this Johnny fellow, he would be wild. Firstly civil, secondly beastly. Jackson had a mean temper once provoked despite his docile, mellow tendencies.

    Estelle turned her head just in time to catch Johnny's sly glance; he was examining her, undressing her, almost as if he had desired her. Once upon a time Estelle was accustomed to that tenacious sneer - with time, the notion waned and even his image bled from her mind. She figured she'd bide her time until the morning when she was sober, then formally kick Johnny off of her property. Calling the authorities wasn't an option - she had dabbled in some wrong-doing and was notorious amongst local officers.

    "I'm going to sleep, Johnny. You can stay here for now."

    Did she trust him? Certainly not. He still possessed that impish gleam to his eyes. "You're relatively smart. If Jackson comes home, conjure up one of your half-assed lies. I'll be sleeping."
 
"It's one hell of a costume," Johnny chuckled, no longer bothering to disguise his gaze as anything other then what it was; her exposed body was on display, and he was more than happy to enjoy the show. He'd rarely paused to worry about how his actions looked to others or whether he was being polite; if he wasn't running a scam, then it simply didn't matter to him what people thought. If Estelle wanted to get pissy about a guy staring at her half-naked tits, that was her own damn problem. More important was her lack of any other action; she hadn't even threatened to call the cops. Maybe because she knew he'd just leave before they ever arrived, but maybe there was another reason. One more snag for him to sink a hook into, entangle her more deeply until she'd give up anything just to escape.

"Oh, so gracious," he said with a bow of the head towards her, a lightly mocking tone in his voice. It was rather funny actually, Estelle thinking she had the right to tell him where to go and when to leave. But still, even this minor concession was exactly what he needed; the more minor concessions she made, the faster he would have her back to doing everything he said. "Stay," he added after a moment, the word more of a command then anything else. "You mentioned catching up, fine," he rose an arm and laid it against the back of the couch, 'coincidentally' landing his hand behind her neck and upon her shoulder. "Let's catch up. It's been a long time since we've talked, or done anything else," he added with a slight chuckle. "Besides, you want your precious fiance to catch a strange man alone without you to explain it? He might get the wrong idea."
 


  • Estelle's bodily reaction was inhumanly speedy. She undraped his arm from around her shoulders and rest it almost softly back at his side. Johnny's flesh was just as she'd remembered it - hot and twisted. She could feel the foreboding muscle in his forearm and the strong, tethered sinew that wrapped taut about the bone. Jackson wasn't nearly as fit; he was thin, almost lanky, and had a nerdy appearance to him. His only saving grace was the muscle he merited from being a fire marshall, making his untrained structure into lean muscle.

    "And he would assume worse if he saw his future wife curled up on the couch with a stranger." Her tone wasn't particularly venomous, merely matter-of-factly. Johnny's mediocre blackmail was something Estelle had grown accustomed to during the course of their relationship. It was often playful more then not, but she knew there was a hint of seriousness in his husky chuckles.

    As she withdrew from the sofa, her heavily-ringed hands began to hastily unfasten the decorative belt of feathers and stones around her waist. It hit the floor with a lyrical thud as she continued to unravel the skirt, revealing a series of eerie yet artistic tattoos that were inked in her right hip. "Good night, Johnny," she half-hissed, insuring that her tone would be met with no contest.
 
The whiff of cigarette smoke was her first warning, Johnny's quiet movements disguised by the clinking of her belt. Suddenly he was behind her, his bare, muscular arms wrapping tightly around her body. A calloused hand fell upon her breast an squeezed the firm, yielding flesh tightly, possessively, a master testing the condition of his new slave. The other hand seized the place between her legs, a rigid finger rubbing against her slit through the thin layers of cloth that offered her only protection. She was certainly tough, but ever since their split he had needed to be the biggest son of a bitch around just to stay alive. She'd fight, and he'd get hurt, but they both knew that his raw power would bring her down and leave her at his mercy.

Yet the assault broke as suddenly it began, his groping hands slipping away after a final pinch of the nipple and smack on the ass. "Good night, Estelle," Johnny said quietly, silent laughter in his voice as he rapidly stepped away from her; if he stayed in close, a slap on the face would be the absolute least of his concerns. He wasn't ready to force the all or nothing confrontation, not yet anyway, but Estelle could use a reminder as to just who she was attempting to brush aside.

His eyes shot towards the door as he moved back; knowing his luck, the boyfriend had somehow driven to the apartment, opened the door, and stepped inside just in time to see the complete stranger grope his unhappy-looking girlfriend. Dealing with the jackass would be necessary, but he would prefer their first meeting not to be so explicit.
 
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