5 comments/ 11741 views/ 0 favorites Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 01 By: 100 Angry Bananas I. Death Comes to Blue Oaks Cold, hard eyes, eyes the color of cooling coals, looked down the barrel and through the sight of the carefully balanced rifle. The eyes locked onto the over-alled man with sandy blonde hair and a stupid grin: Lauren Starr's target. Her heart skipped a beat, but Starr's face betrayed no emotion. As far as she was concerned, her emotions were as dead as her parents, six feet deep in a lonely Tennessee cemetery. And the man on the business end of her rifle was partly to blame. At least, this is what she tried to tell herself as her finger tightened on the trigger. Sure, Tristan McCranie, the smiling over-alled idiot, hadn't been a direct contributor in her parent's death; hadn't been there to rape her mother and mock her father before sending them both into another world; hadn't been in Christian Cross's gang when they'd set fire to the farm, but he was a part of Cross's gang NOW, and that was enough to sign his death warrant. So she tried to tell herself. Anything to flush Cross out of hiding. She had hunted him down for so long, nothing else mattered anymore. In fact, the face she saw now down the long, cobalt barrel of her rifle no longer even belonged to Tristan McCranie. The stupid, toothy grin had turned to a dazzling smile framed with lusty lips and a set of perfect teeth. Blue eyes sparkled like the reflection of the sun on Turtle Creek during a hot summer day. His features were smooth and sculpted, the kind that can only be obtained as genetic gifts from God. The face was that of Christian Cross. In the end, McCranie, like the rest of them, was just an extension of Cross. Starr pulled the trigger, and the face dissolved into nothing more than a cloud of red soup. "Soon," she promised herself before pulling back into the shadows and into the murky barn loft, away from the place she had dealt lead from above like a hovering angel of Death. *** Hair swishing, her heaving breasts barely contained by a tight red brassiere, the blonde whore bobbed her thick lips over his stiffened manhood with genuine enthusiasm, and while Christian Cross normally preferred redheads, he had to admit the whore had something about her. Too much time had passed since a woman had affected him in this fashion. The whore looked up at him with pale blue eyes, a sorry contrast to his own, Cross's cock half stuffed in her mouth. Loretta: a fitting whore's name, he thought. Did she crave receiving this degradation as much as he craved giving it to her? Cross smiled with twisted lips. He thought so. Loretta had become his favorite past-time since he'd begun his stay in town, and he frequented her as often as possible. She seemed to enjoy his company as well. Then again, she was whore, so it was impossible to tell the real sounds, the sincere moans and cries, from the fabricated ones. She'd probably been at the business so long, she didn't know the difference herself. And in the end, it all came to the same conclusion: Cross's semen glistening on her white skin. Cross thrust himself deep into her throat without warning, and the whore coughed, gagged, and spat him out, fat tears springing into her wounded eyes. Cross hadn't ever met a whore who could take all of his thick cock in her mouth. He prided himself on the fact. "Too much?" he asked and laughed. His chiseled features drew up in a challenging expression, one eyebrow slightly raised. Loretta growled at him like an animal. She grimaced, shot him a stony look, and grabbed his ass cheeks firmly with two hands. With steely determination, she pushed Cross with surprising force, showing him that she could, in fact, take him even deeper into the recesses of her throat. Cross gritted his teeth, trying not to gasp. He had to admit, the whore was good. He'd only known one woman with a more talented mouth, and the thought brought a blood curdling smile to his lips. He thought of Lauren Starr on her knees, sucking him tenderly and passionately, her eyes still bright with longing for him, never realizing what Cross had planned in store for her and her parents. The image of Starr on her knees morphed into her family's ranch house burning, plumes of smoke billowing into the night sky, her parents' corpses scalped and frying, the smell of burnt flesh wafting on a warm breeze. With such a glorious memory filling his mind, he couldn't keep himself from creaming into the whore's mouth. Loretta recognized the look on Cross's face and popped him out just in time to take the first blast of jism across her bottom lip. The fire of desire flashed through her eyes, knowing she had completed a job well done. A loud rapping on the door ruined the rest of Cross's orgasm. Loretta turned toward the sound, and the rest of Cross's spending dribbled uselessly onto the floor. "Chris! Chris! Big trouble!" the voice of Smith Dooley cackled on the other side of the door. "It can wait!" Cross boomed back, his voice trembling with anger. Fucking Dooley, the wretch. The skinny bastard had no concept of what it was to be with a woman, so he had no idea what he had ruined. All Dooley cared about was his stupid fucking knives. "Can't! McCrainie's dead!" Dooley barked. "What?" Cross's face bore testament to his startled surprise. Loretta wiped her chin and scurried into a corner, knowing better than to get in the way in case surprise might turn to rage. Her hand slipped in a wad of Cross's gooey sperm, and she banged an elbow against the floor. Dooley coughed on the other side of the door, clearing his throat, then hawked a large glob of phlegm onto the door. His voice rang, the words chilling Cross's heart. "His brain's blowed out!" *** On the west end of town, the burnt out husk of an old church stood like the backbone of some long dead prehistoric beast. The town had moved on since the church had burned, and presently a new church with a stretching white steeple sat in the middle of Main Street, giving God a worthy place to keep an watchful eye on the sinful proceedings two blocks away at the bustling saloon and brothel. But on the other side of town, where the remains of the old church stood, no one came to pray anymore; within its charred frame nothing stirred but a nest of squawking birds and the occasional coyote, a perfect site for Starr's camp. Lauren Starr closed her eyes and gathered her thoughts. She hadn't been this close to Cross since... well, since before what had happened. She heaved a deep breath, pushing away the rage that threatened to build within her. She knew she needed to keep a cool head if she wanted to finish this business for good. Anger would only taint the pleasure she'd take in killing him and everyone who stood with him. She consciously slowed her breaths, and her mind wandered back through time, when she had first met Christian Cross and had fallen immediately under his wicked spell. II. Turtle Creek, 13 Years Earlier Plunk! The knife struck dead center of the painted bulls eye, sending small splinters of wood flittering to the grass. Lauren had never seen such skill. Since she'd been watching him, the dark haired ranch hand had yet to miss. She was captivated by him. It didn't hurt that the young man was also strikingly handsome, black hair swept carelessly back, gleaming blue eyes concentrating on his objective. Her father hadn't been sure about hiring the boy after hearing the rumors in town about his recklessness, but Lauren decided that she was glad her father had taken a gamble on him. Her heart fluttered in a strange but pleasant way every time she laid eyes on him, and yet the only thing she knew about him was his name: Christian. "Ever miss?" she asked just as Christian released the knife at the end of one throw. He jumped at her voice, and the knife thunked at the top of the wooden post, well above the bulls eye. Christian frowned, considered the protruding knife for a moment and then shrugged. "Only when pretty girls distract me," he said, swinging his penetrating blue eyes in her direction. Lauren's heart froze for a moment as her eyes met his. She felt blood rise in her cheeks, turning them red. Dammit, she thought. I'm blushing, aren't I? She forced her eyes away from his gaze. "Teach me?" "Sure," Cross said, and he waved her over. He walked to the post, withdrew his knife, and handed it to Lauren. "You try," Christian encouraged, and he had a smug expression on his face as if waiting to be amused by Lauren's certain incompetence with weaponry. Lauren, playing the part, cocked her head at him with a confused, questioning look. She waved an auburn lock of her hair away from her eyes, girlishly batted them and tried her hardest to keep a sly smirk off her face. Then Lauren bit her bottom lip, closed her left eye, and raised her arm slowly, holding the knife by its tip between her thumb and pointer finger. Her arm flew down in the blink of an eye, and an instant later the knife smacked into the center of the bulls eye with a dull thud. Christian's jaw gaped open in surprise, and he didn't bother to shut it as he looked her over with a renewed sense of respect. Smiling, Lauren placed her left hand under Christian's chin and gently pushed his mouth closed. "You look like a trout with your mouth hanging open like that. My brother taught me how to throw. It's one of the only memories I have of him before he disappeared. Only my father isn't keen on girls playing with knives," Lauren explained, stammering as she held his hand against his jaw, feeling the scratchy bristles of his unshaven face. She slid her hand away, already missing the contact with him as she did so. "Here," Christian said, and he walked back to the post and tore his knife from the wood. He came back to Lauren, holding the knife toward her. "Take it," he said. Lauren hesitated before taking the knife from his hand. Christian nodded at her, and Lauren held the knife in her palms, feeling its deadly weight. The handle was ivory, a gold cross design inset across the middle. It gleamed like hell's fire in the midday sun. III. A Need for Revenge A dark red blotch smeared the grass where Tristan McCranie's brain had met its horrible fate, splattered across the ground like a spilled bowl of crimson oatmeal. Cross had only Smith Dooley and Biggie Dawkins with him. The last thing he needed was word getting out that someone had taken out a member of his gang with such apparent ease. Even in death, Tristan McCranie was an embarrassment. "Probably nailed 'em from up yonder," Dawkins opined, nodding towards the nearby barn. Dooley hung back, picking his teeth with the end of a long knife. He pulled out a whitish glob of something and considered it a moment before wiping the blade clean on his faded jeans. Dawkins turned away in disgust. "Who?" Cross wondered aloud, scanning the horizon. "Who wouldn't? That's the question. Asshole had lotta debts all over town," Dooley said, twirling the knife over and through his fingers. Smith Dooley had a thing for knives; Cross had never seen him without one and had never seen Dooley with any other kind of weapon, not even a single pistol... ever. "Goddamn fuckin' idiot. What was he doin' out here anyway?" Cross said, staring at the mess of blood at his feet. The body was gone, dragged away and hidden by Dawkins before anyone else could stumble upon it. He swore to Cross that no one would be able to find the corpse, expect maybe the coyotes. "S'pose to meet some lady, he tells me yesterday," Dooley said, sniffed the ground and peered around nervously, as if he might catch the murderer still lurking in the trees. "Lady? What lady?" Cross said, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. He didn't like the sound this. The thought of any woman being attracted to Tristan McCranie was immediately suspicious. The kid had been a complete dolt. As soon as he would smile over that set of horse teeth, women were running for the hills. "Some lady, he says. Didn't say much 'bout 'er. Pretty. Reddish hair," Dooley said in a throaty, croaking voice and punctuated his remarks with an indifferent shrug. "So the girl lured him out here and BANG!" Cross swung around to face his underlings. A deadly expression shaded his features. His jaw clenched. Fire burned at the back of his eyes. "Find this girl. You find the girl, and she'll lead us to the killer. Fellas, you don't kill a member of Christian Cross's gang. Not without severe repercussions." His lips pulled back over his teeth in a snarl. His teeth ground against one another. If the legions of women who lusted after Christian Cross had seen him in that instant, they would not have recognized their gun-toting, bank-robbing Casanova of the West. They would have only seen the devil. "Severe repercussions." IV. Rumors of Gold (Turtle Creek) The young Lauren Starr wondered if there had ever been a fuller, more beautiful moon. It hung above the creek like a beaming lover, surrounded by admiring stars that twinkled in hopes of attracting her attention. Meanwhile, the night serenaded her with the love songs of crickets and cicadas. Lauren dipped a toe into the cool water, rippling the reflection, and in response, the moon danced on the waves, lovely and glimmering. Christian chanced draping an arm over her shoulders, and Lauren didn't bother to stop him. The night was too perfect, and sometime over the past two months, she had stopped trying to fight off her feelings and Boone's advances. She enjoyed his warmth next to her. "You know," Christian whispered, breaking the silence, "when we marry, this will all be ours." "You mean my father's," Lauren corrected. She smiled and intertwined her fingers with his. Christian was such a strange boy sometimes. Why would he just assume her father would give them all this land as a wedding gift? Had her father spoken to Christian? Lauren wondered. "He can't live forever," Cross said, looking up at the moon. Shadows from the overhanging oak tree obscured his face. Lauren frowned at him. "What do you mean by that?" she said. Christian shrugged in reply. "Nothing. Just that no one lives forever. No matter what you have, someone will come along and scoop it up when you die. Like your father's gold, for instance," he said, his voice barely audible above the hum of crickets Lauren hid her surprise. She should have known better than to think the subject of the gold was still a secret. When it came to something like gold, someone was going to talk sooner or later, and her father was far too trusting of too many people. "What have you heard?" Lauren said, turning to face Christian. He leaned towards her, his face moving out of the shadows and illuminated by the moon's glow. He was smiling, flashing his set of perfect teeth, and his eyes sparkled. He looked like the least suspicious person on Earth. Lauren told herself that he was just being innocently curious, and why not? Secret gold was always an interesting topic. "Just rumors, really. You know how people in town are. Things like your paw found some buried treasure, some pirate's booty. Used it to accumulate his wealth and squirreled the rest away just in case anything bad happened. Those kinds of things," Cross said, peering deep into her eyes. "You can't believe everything you hear. Sounds pretty silly, don't you think? Don't know why anyone would spread talk like that," Lauren said, leaning back and staring straight up into the night sky, her back against the wooden planks of the dock. She wondered if her voice sounded sincere. The last thing she wanted was Christian Cross to be interested in her solely because of her father's riches. Christian laughed and said, "People always talk when it comes to gold. And they'll always think of ways to take it away." V. Blue Oaks Lust Loretta moaned in mock lust as Mayor Brunson's flab clapped against her own taut stomach. She was experienced enough to know how to make the moans sound real, and to her knowledge, every one of her clients believed himself to have given her the greatest orgasm she'd ever known. This was probably why she proved to be such a sought after lady of the evening. In reality, the distinction of the greatest orgasm she'd ever known belonged to none other than Christian Cross, who had given it to her just a few nights before. In fact, with Cross, it seemed that every new experience proved better than the last. Greasy sweat lathered Brunson's panting face, a face so red that it looked like he might burst a blood vessel at any moment. The last thing Loretta needed was Brunson keeling over while trying to pop his shot into her. A drop of sweat fell and splashed between her flopping breasts. Loretta thought about Brunson's pretty wife with her dimpled smile and flowing blonde locks and wondered why the esteemed mayor of Blue Oaks couldn't get it up for her. Probably the poor thing had no idea how to use the goods God gave her. Loretta, herself, wouldn't mind spending some quality time with the girl and turning her into a woman. This thought was cut off by the slam of her door. Brunson froze, his penis still buried inside of her, and Loretta felt it wither away in fear. If the mayor was afraid he'd just been caught with a whore by an upstanding citizen of the town, he had nothing to worry about. Christian Cross's darkened frame stood at the door, motionless. The fact that it was Cross was something to worry about for other reasons entirely. Loretta felt her heart flutter in her chest. "Get out," Cross said quietly. "Now, see here, sir. I don't know who you think..." Brunson babbled, his bald head slick and shiny with sweat. "Get out," Cross said again, the implied threat obvious underneath his voice. Brunson opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and climbed off Loretta. He scrambled to find his clothes in the darkened room and deciding he'd rather dress outside the room than take his chances with Cross's temper, stumbled out the door. Even the mayor was held captive by Cross's power. Loretta felt the blood rise in her cheeks. Was she in love? She thought she might be. Cross only stared at her. Loretta's heart thudded in her ears. After a moment of silence, she shifted on the bed. "Keep 'em spread," Cross said. Loretta complied. Her knees trembled. She heard a rustle of clothing as Cross undressed. Then his lithe form moved through the shadows, towards the bed. Loretta felt moisture trickle down her thighs. She licked her lips in anticipation. No man had ever had such an effect on her. Christian Cross was a special breed, rotten to the core. Just like her. Perhaps that why she craved his cock so much and so often. The cock was already hard, straining from Cross's crotch to meet her slick pussy. Cross's cock was at its hardest when he was angry or frustrated as if he could fuck his problems away. Or perhaps relieving his sack of its distracting juices simply allowed him to face complications with more clarity of thought than normal. Who could say for sure? And it didn't matter much either way to Lorretta. As long as it stayed hard long enough. He slammed his cock into her forcefully, a thin squeal of pain issuing from her lips. So that's how it was going to be tonight. Not that she minded. She liked it when Cross fucked her senseless. Where Brunson's penetration had been a pleasant if innocuous sensation, Cross's cock plunged into the depths of her soul and reviled in its blackness. She gritted her teeth, sucking in greedy gulps of air. Cross slammed into her again and again, growling, spittle flying from his lips and peppering Loretta's face. His face was a venomous snarl, eyes open and determined to see an expression of hopelessness on the whore's face as he forced this degradation upon her. Loretta would not give him the satisfaction. She snarled back at him defiantly, daring him to give her more. More was precisely what she wanted. Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 01 Cross cupped her breasts with his hands, squeezing them, his fingers closing on her nipples and pinching. Loretta's entire body rippled from the force of his thrusts. She dug her fingers into the flesh of Cross's back, scratching him as he moved in and out of her, his cock pulling and pushing into her pussy with wet, squishy noises. "Yes, fuck me, Christian! Fuck me with that big cock!" Loretta grunted. Cross shut her up with a stinging slap to the side of her face, a glowing red hand imprinted on her left cheek. Loretta felt tears spring into her eyes, and she was helpless to stop them. She knew Cross wanted to see her vulnerable, but Loretta forced herself to keep the tears from leaking over. She would show that asshole that she was just as strong as him. In ways, probably stronger. "Don't speak, whore. Don't fucking ruin it," he said, pushed her down forcefully into the mattress with his strong hands on her shoulders and thrust himself as deep into her as he could. Loretta came with a screaming howl. Some time later, after what seemed an eternity of senselessness, orgasms and hits and curses, she felt Cross empty his seed into her, filling her with his black essence. For the first time in her life, Loretta Reed wished she could get pregnant. VI. More Death on the Other Side of Town Biggie Dawkins would probably never have found her if it wasn't for the horse. He heard it before he saw it, a quiet neighing by a stream. Dark brown and muscular, it was the best looking steed he'd ever seen, and Biggie decided that it would catch him more than a fair price in town. Or, perhaps, he could offer it to Cross. Such a horse might earn him a few steps up the gang's food chain. At least as far as that ijit Dooley's equal. Being considered lower than such a man turned Dawkin's stomach. The thought the horse most likely belonged to someone else didn't bother him; Dawkins was no stranger to murder. Still, something about the situation worried him. Why wasn't the horse tied down to something? The owner must be nearby. Dawkins surveyed the surroundings with cautious eyes: birds chirping, the last slivers of the sun setting. Not much was around but the remains of the old church, its frame a blackened wart on the green countryside. Biggie licked his lips. Inside would be the most likely place someone could hide; in fact, he'd hid there once before when he'd first passed through town, years ago. Dawkins' senses heightened. Maybe this was the very killer he sought. He slid off Stranger, his own horse, and upholstered his pistol. He didn't want to take any chances in case an encounter with McCranie's assassin might be in store for him. He checked the barrel: fully loaded, just as he expected. Dawkins flipped the barrel closed. He swallowed, feeling a certainty of violence coming upon him; Dawkin's always had a kind of sense about those kind of things, his own personal sixth sense, and it had always kept him alive. Up to this point anyway, and Dawkins had no plans for that to change. He crept to the side of the burnt building and glanced through an old window, the glass broken out by rambunctious kids some time ago. Broken boards, cobwebs, the remains of split and twisted pews. And there, in the corner, the form of a woman, her hat pulled over her face, her long hair flowing down her shoulders. Reddish hair, just like McCranie had described to him and Dooley Smith over beers just yesterday. Yep, this had to be her. The woman's chest moved up and down in slow, deep breaths. She was sleeping. Dawkins' lips curved up in a devious grin. It had been some time since he'd had the pleasure of forcing himself upon a hapless female, and he would have no trouble disarming a sleeping woman. He could already hear her cries, feel her wrists squirming in his steel grip, taste her fear on his tongue. The beast in his pants stirred a little at the thought. It was going to be a good day, after all. Something moved behind him, and Dawkins swirled around, his finger tightening on the gun's trigger, and then he lost his footing on a mound of dead leaves, stumbling roughly against the side of the building. He grunted as his shoulder met with the charred timber of the church. It split with a wooden crack. A crow cried and fluttered from his perch on the roof and soared into the oncoming evening sky. Dawkins cursed under his breath. The fucking horse! It had followed him to the church and snuck up behind him, and he'd almost put a bullet into its stupid fucking head for all of its trouble. Maybe he still would for pissing him off after his business with the woman was done. Fucker could have ruined everything! Dawkins stole a peek through the window to see if the woman had been startled out of sleep. Her chest still heaved long breaths, her hat still pulled over her face. Thank God for that. A chance remained for some fun before the killing had to start. Dawkins tiptoed to the entrance to the church and deftly ducked inside and behind an old pew. The door had either burned or been ransacked by kids or looters, and Dawkins was glad. One less object to make noise and give away his position. He didn't think he could afford any more mistakes. He slipped out of his hiding place, holding his gun before him towards the sleeping woman, and a moment passed before he realized that she was no longer there. Confusion dizzied him. Had he gotten the angles wrong? Hadn't she'd just been sleeping right there in that corner where... yes, Dawkins recognized a knothole that he had noticed in the wood just above her head when he'd looked through the window but then... "Looking for someone?" her cool, hard voice said, and Dawkins swung around to put an end to her life, his gun ready to blaze, his face a snarl of vehemence. Her knife swished through the air, and a jet of blood spewed from Dawkins' throat in an arterial spray that painted the far wall in splashes of red. VII. Lauren Starr's First Love (Turtle Creek) "You know I love you," Christian told her, and his soft lips slipped over hers. Lauren felt electric tingles sizzle through her nerves. The smell of hay and straw was strong but his scent overpowered even that and made Lauren feel weak, and she knew her inhibitions were slipping. Slowly but surely, Christian Cross had lowered her defenses over the past six months, and Lauren knew that there would be no turning back, she'd allow him to enter her keep and take her prisoner for the rest of eternity. Christian allowed their kiss to end and looked at her, pulled a bit of hay out of her hair and smiled his perfect, dazzling smile. Was this how her journey to womanhood would end, in this barn with this arrogant, foolish and beautiful boy? Lauren hoped so. Her body trembled in the anticipation of such an act. Her hand drifted up and touched the side of his face. Her heart ached for him almost as much as her body desired him, and was this how love was supposed to feel? This terrible, needy ache that made her want him, not his body but his soul, so badly that it hurt her, twisted her insides? Should it feel so bittersweet? As though she was missing it before it was even gone? Then his mouth met her mouth again, and Lauren was swept up in it: the emotions, the passion, the overwhelming need. Lauren drifted through the lusty haze, her mind clouded by the drug of passion. She came up for air just long enough to notice: His hands on her, moving up her legs, caressing her thighs, pushing up her dress, inching ever closer... His kisses hot and wet on her neck, moving down her chest, pulling down her blouse, just as slowly as his hands moved up... Her own gasps, fighting for air, fighting to somehow stay in control... Then his mouth found her breasts, his hands found her gathering moistness, and Lauren Starr felt the wave of this drug pull her under and not let go. Her hands were in his hair, clutching, holding on to him, her moans building in intensity. His fingers slipped into her, and a blast of pleasure shook her body. She tried to open her eyes, wanted to see him, to look into Christian's eyes and show him how he made her feel, but all they wanted to do was roll up in their sockets and allow her body to feel the pleasure that absorbed it without distraction. Then Christian's lips brushed against hers, and Lauren let his tongue slip through and flick against her own. He fumbled with his pants, and Lauren's curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes grew wide seeing Cross's engorged member protruding from his lower extremities. It looked nothing like she'd thought and was much bigger than expected. She tried not to panic at the knowledge that thing was going to try to worm its way inside of her. And then Christian thrust forward, and it was inside her. She pushed him away just so she wouldn't bite off his tongue. A bolt of pain howled up her stomach, and Lauren gritted her teeth, a gasp of air rushing through her lips. "You ok?" Christian asked her, a look of concern on his face. "Yeah, yeah," Lauren said, and after the initial pain it did seem to be ok. After some time, Christian began to gather speed, and he bucked on her with more and more authority, eager to please, working up his courage, or so Lauren believed. Lauren began to understand her classmates obsession with the act of sex, and with each mounting thrust from Christian, Lauren felt ropes of good feeling pulsate from within her, his breath hot on her shoulder. More and more, Lauren knew that she would want this again and want it as often as possible. But only from Christian Cross because she loved him, and with him, this act was beautiful. It wasn't just fucking, as her classmates had described it to her with such vulgarity. This was lovemaking. "I love you," she whispered into his ear as he took her towards the threshold, her body speeding towards the inevitable peak. "I love you," Christian said in reply, and the words brought Lauren to climax. She bit her lips to stifle the scream, lest she wake her parents at the house. And then she surfaced, the waves of pleasure bringing a surprising high, and Lauren felt herself leave her body for a moment and soar to heaven. She blinked, and she was back, half naked in the hay in the loft of her barn, and Christian was grunting and pulling himself out of her. Lauren didn't understand completely what was happening, still trying to force her mind back to some form of clarity, but she saw that Christian was stroking his member furiously until his body clenched. Then streams of what appeared to be white snot squirted out of the end of his penis and splattered onto her legs with gooey warmth. Lauren did her best to hide her repulsion, understanding that this was what her classmates had told her a boy's "cumming" was like. Lauren already felt more like a woman of the world, experienced in ways that young girls were not. "I love you so much," Christian gasped when it was all over, and Lauren found that she didn't mind his cumming on her that much, not as long as it brought them closer together. A month later, her parents were dead. VIII. A Message Christian Cross stood above the bloody corpse of Biggie Dawkins and let loose a flurry of expletives that would have made the devil proud. Smith Dooley stood to his side, scratching his throat, hoping that wrath of Cross would not head somehow in his direction. Dooley let his eyes drop back to Dawkins. Dawkins' throat had been cut, a jagged red slash from ear to ear, but that wasn't what troubled Christian Cross. The thing that troubled him was the message that had been carved into Dawkins' chest. The words sent a chill up his spine that he hadn't felt for years. It felt a little something like fear. Two words: "I'm coming." And in the dirt, next to the body, a knife protruded from the ground, standing proudly, no doubt the culprit that had cut Biggie's life short. Cross recognized it at once with its ivory handle and gold cross design. The knife he'd given Lauren Starr 13 years ago. It gleamed like hell's fire in the midday sun. Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 02 I. It Begins in Turtle Creek and Everything Burns Virginia twirled her grandmother's silver pendant between her slim fingers, cursing herself under her breath, wondering how she would tell Lauren about her betrayal. The pendant hung from her neck, dangling between her breasts, a gift from her dead grandmother, and Virginia had a habit of playing with it whenever she got anxious. She felt as though she took some refuge, some comfort from her grandmother. Her grandmother's voice softly calmed her, guided her through whatever hardship lay before her. Virginia hoped that today would prove no different. But it was going to be very hard. Her grandmother certainly wouldn't have approved of what Virginia had done. Upon touching the pendant, her mind immediately turned to how it felt slapping against her breasts while Christian Cross took her from behind, and Virginia's cheeks burned a bright red. She hadn't meant for anything to happen. It just did. Not that she'd expect Lauren to understand nor forgive her, at least not at first. Virginia had committed the grievest sin one could upon a friend, short of murder. At the same time, Virginia felt a sickening thrill at the thought of what she'd done with Cross. It had been wrong, and partly, that was what had made it so exciting. She hated herself for knowing that if the opportunity presented itself yet again, she would not hesitate to take it. Cross was a bastard, but the bastard knew how to fuck. Virginia hated herself for having such a thought. "Ginnie?" Lauren asked from behind her, startling Virginia almost out of her riding boots. "Laurie! Hey, thanks for meeting me," Virginia replied, her eyes fluttering and her heart beating rapidly in her chest, pressing against her sternum. She felt as though she might explode from the pressure; and upon seeing her friend, Virginia loathed herself for what she had done. "Did I startle you?" Lauren said with a sly smile. "A bit," Virginia replied, trying to match Lauren's smile with one of her own but failing. "What's with all the secrecy? Secret meetings in the woods, intrigue and all this?" Lauren said, leaning against a tree. A shaft of sunlight speared Lauren's hair with a warm amber glow. Lauren's beauty struck Virginia more than ever, and Virginia knew that her jealousy partially had made her do what she had done with Cross. "I've done something horrible. And you'll probably hate me for the rest of your days because of it, but I need to tell you because you're my friend and it hurts to keep this bottled up inside," Virginia babbled, twirling her silver pendant between her trembling fingers. Virginia felt tears seeping into her eyes and leaking over across her cheeks. "Oh, shit. What is it?" Lauren said, walking over and putting her arms around Virginia's frail shoulders. Lauren pressed her face against Virginia's, feeling the wet tears and making them her own. Virginia opened her mouth, and before she could stop, it all came tumbling out. *** The previous afternoon, Christian Cross approached her on the walk home from town, smiling his perfect smile. He stepped in front of her, blocking the path. Birds twittered in the trees, and Virginia fluttered her eyes as her heart skipped a beat. The appearance of Cross was an unexpected but far from unwelcome surprise. "Well, if it isn't Miss Virginia Hart. Looks like you could do with some help," Christian said, motioning to the armload of books that Virginia carried. His sparkling blues eyes dazzled her with their clarity. Virginia playfully turned her nose up at him. "I'm doing quite fine, myself, thank you," she said. Virginia attempted to walk around him, but Christian stopped her with one strong arm. "I wouldn't be doing my gentlemanly duty if I didn't help you carry your books at the very least," Cross said, pulling them away from Virginia's grip before she could protest, not that she planned on protesting. On the other hand, she basked in the attention that Cross gave her. She wished that it would happen more often, however unlikely since things seemed to be getting more and more serious between him and her best friend. "Since when have you ever been a gentleman, Christian Cross? I've heard the stories, and I'm not as naive as some," she said with a coy expression, pressing her lips together, and allowed Cross to fall into step beside her. "And what's that supposed to mean?" Cross asked in a mock-hurt voice. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and Virginia could feel her heart beating against her chest. He had the face of a Greek god, perhaps Zeus or Hermes; they had just studied mythology at the school much to the disdain of her parents, devout Christians. Funny how a boy could have such an effect on her, even when Virginia knew that he was unattainable. Or was he? Something about the way Christian was looking at her made Virginia wonder. "It means I know you're no gentleman, so there's no need to try and prove otherwise," Virginia retorted, forcing herself to keep looking straight ahead. She didn't want to show how interested she was; better to let Cross make all the moves. Not that she thought he would. Or hoped he would. "Well, that's good to know. No reason to put up any front for you. As long as Lauren still thinks I'm a gentleman. And you wouldn't inform her otherwise, would you?" Cross said, his arm brushing against her. Virginia swallowed. She felt strangely lightheaded. All because of one boy? Ridiculous! "A good friend keeps no secrets," Virginia replied. The two of them walked a few steps without saying anything. A breeze stirred the tops of the trees, and a few leaves flittered from the limbs and drifted towards them like dying dreams. "Well, let's think. What can I do to ensure you keep your mouth solidly shut?" Cross said, breaking the momentary silence. A fallen leaf crunched under Christian's boot. Virginia licked her lips and shrugged. "Fuck me?" she said and turned to look him in the eyes. She meant it as a joke, or at least she thought she did. Or so she told herself. The main thing is that she said it and left herself open to what happened next because of her words and her growing lust. Christian laughed. Everything that happened next was a haze. Cross pulled her off the dirt road and into the woods, far enough to not be seen by a passerby. Virginia's pulse drummed in her ears. And then his hands were all over her, and she ran her hands all over him, feeling his tight muscles bulging underneath his shirt. She wondered if Lauren touched them the same way Virginia did now, her heart hammering in her chest. His hands were smooth and cool, unlike the hot, sweaty palms of the other boys that Virginia had let slip up her garters, and Christian seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Virginia wondered just how true were the stories she had heard about him. He swirled his tongue in her mouth, and tingles worked their way through her stomach. Virginia pulled away from a lingering kiss. Impatiently, she got on her knees, fumbled with his belt, and took his cock in her mouth. She ran her tongue along his girth. It was bigger than she could have expected, but she wasn't going to let her momentary surprise dissuade her from giving Cross everything she could. Every time Lauren went down on him from then on, she wanted Christian to think, "this just isn't as good as the time Virginia sucked me. THAT girl knew how to cock-suck." As it turned out, she choked, gagged and spat him out, saliva dripping from his shaft, a large wad hanging between her lips and his curving, erect penis. The string of spit bowed to the shape of a pregnant "U" before collapsing on itself and splattering on the ground. She coughed and took a moment to catch her breath. "Don't worry," Christian said with an air of pleased arrogance, "it happens to everybody." He pulled her up and turned her around, Virginia suddenly facing a tree, the scent of pine and bark strong and deep in her nostrils. Cross flipped her skirt up and maneuvered through her undergarments. She felt the heat of his hardness pressing against her bare thigh and with an unexpected thrust, Christian plunged his cock into her. "Ouch!" Virginia squealed. Christian's cock was substantially bigger than the ones she'd previously experienced inside of her, and it took a moment for the initial pain to subside and Virginia to realize what it truly felt to have her pussy filled with fat cock. She smiled, pleased at the thought. She must feel so tight to Cross that he could barely stand it. He would remember this experience for years, every time he fucked Lauren Starr he would think of Virginia's slick, tight pussy. She couldn't have been more wrong. Christian started to gain speed, his eyes growing large as he watched Virginia's ass ripple against his thighs every time he pounded into her, her moisture dribbling down her thighs. He moved one hand up to pull one of Virginia's tits out of her dress and he grasped it firmly, squeezing as he ground his cock deeper into her. With his other hand, Christian grabbed a handful of Virginia's long, curly brown locks of hair. While he had to play it soft and sweet with the likes of Lauren, he could take all of his aggression out on this slut now, and it only made it better for him that he was fucking Lauren's supposed best friend. Tonight was the night, he decided. He was growing tired of these games. When Virginia started to buck wildly against him, Christian knew that she was getting ready to cum. He knew that she would remember this moment for the rest of her life, particularly after certain things would be attributed to the name of Christian Cross once the Wanted posters became customary. Every time she would get off, whether from her own hand or another man's cock, she would think about the time she had cum on the biggest, hardest, meanest cock east AND west of the Mississippi. "Ohhhh, gaaaaaawd!" Virginia cried, and Christian went ahead and let his cock unleash its ample load inside of her. It would be an even better story to get this girl pregnant and make her sire him a bastard son. Christian almost laughed out loud as the first blast of cum jettisoned inside of Virginia's spasming cunt. When Virginia later related the story to Lauren, she neglected to mention the part about Christian Cross cumming inside of her. *** Lauren didn't know how far she had run or for how long; all she knew was that the sun had set, and the dark was chilly and silent. Tears blurred her eyes; for a moment, she had no idea where she was, only that it was somewhere in the woods, and the woods were dangerous at night, especially alone. With a deep moan, she gave up and collapsed to her knees, her legs refusing to go another step under her. Maybe they just knew what Lauren didn't want to realize: that she couldn't run away from the fact of what had happened. "No," she groaned. Yes. It had happened. It had been done. Sickening visions of Virginia and Christian together wouldn't leave her spinning head, and finally, a spew of vomit erupted from her mouth, wrapping her tongue in the sickly bitter taste of bile. Lauren wiped her mouth with her wrist and sat back against a tree. The scent of pine and bark and fresh vomit enveloped her. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe in some kind of normal fashion. She had to work things out in her mind. Her best friend. Her true love. Or was he? Not much of a true love if he couldn't even keep it in his trousers with her best friend. But that wasn't at all like Christian! Was he really capable of such an act? Something about Virginia's story just didn't make any sense. Either her story was a complete fabrication, or Christian Cross had played Lauren for the biggest fool of the century. She sniffed and wiped away a tear. She had to get to the bottom of all of this, and she would. First of all, she had to stop sniveling and prepare to confront Christian. The last thing she needed to do was give him the advantage of thinking herself into a panic. Lauren stood up, got a sense of her direction and headed home. She sniffed. This time not because she was crying but from catching the smell of burning wood on a breeze. The scent grew stronger as she neared the ranch. Her mother's screams faintly pierced through the night air. Lauren broke into a run. *** Max Starr recognized his attacker even through the make-up and Indian garb. He hoped that someone else would as well if they would only get close enough to see that it wasn't red savages burning his ranch and torturing his family but an exemplary member of the so-called civilized white race. Only Christian Cross could have such a stunning, perfect smile before murdering another human being. Max had heard stories about the kid's unreliability and rash behavior, but usually, such stories had at least some bit of exaggeration attached to them. Nothing Starr had heard had prepared him. Starr could never have imagined that it would all come to this. Killed by his daughter's fiancee only a month before their wedding, forced to watch his wife raped before his eyes. "I think she likes it, Mr. Starr, but not as much as Smithy does, wouldn't you say?" Christian whispered, leaning in close to Max's bloodied face. Christian's teeth shone like dead-lights in the orange glare of the flaming curtains. Across the room, Smith Dooley slapped Elizabeth Starr hard against the face, forcing himself into her prone body on the kitchen table. A long string of drool dripped from the corner of Smith's mouth and onto her bare breasts. Elizabeth's screams tore through Max's ears like stinging accusations. WHAP! 'Stop them!' WHAP! 'Save me!' they seemed to echo. Max only watched on helplessly. "Please, stop this, Christian. I'll tell you. I'll tell you about the gold," Max said in a raspy voice, struggling not to choke on his own blood. It hurt to talk, and Max wondered if his jaw had been broken. He had swallowed at least one tooth following a Christian Cross left hook. Christian smiled his demonic smile. "You know what the funny thing is? Lauren already told me all about it, the truth about your gold. It's funny the things you share in the throes of true... or rather not-so-true love, isn't it? All of this..." Christian motioned to his compadres, also decked out like Indians, setting fires to the Starr ranch-house and then towards Dooley's unwanted bonding with Mrs. Starr. "All of this is for my own personal amusement. And also to cover our tracks when we steal the gold. Who would suspect little ol' us when they can pin it on savage heathen fucks? Which they will when we come a whoopin' and and hollerin' like savages through town in the middle of the night. Late enough so that no one will be awake or too sober to recognize us, of course. So why don't you just... shut..." Christian punched Max Starr hard across the right eye. "... the fuck..." Kicked him in the ribs. Starr fell to the ground. "...up!" Stepped on Starr's face with his boot. Something broke with a crunch. "Whoops. Uh, Christian," Smith Dooley's voice croaked across the room. "I think I might've killed her." *** Lauren knew instantly that the men burning her ranch were not Indians. They didn't walk or carry themselves like Indians, and there were no tribes nearby known for attacking folks unprovoked. Worse, she heard two of them yelling in English. They were too arrogant to think anyone could be watching. Lauren hid herself deep in the brush at the edge of the woods as two of the costumed attackers came close. "Hurry up, Jonesy. Christian's going to be pissed if he catches us gone," one of the men said in a low voice. Lauren covered her mouth and lowered herself even farther to the ground. Christian? Christian was behind all this? It hardly seemed possible. This morning he was her fiancee, her lover, her everything. After Virginia, she felt things go a little topsy turvy... but this? THIS? A large wood roach scurried over her hand and under a broken branch. "Gots tah piss, don't I? Don't wanna catch mah pecker on fire, eh? So what's about this girl, the missin' one?" the other man replied. "He said if she shows up, kill her. No raping though, just kill her. But we're to throw her in the ol' BBQ," the first said and cackled a hideous laugh. The other man's expression grew grave. He was so close, Lauren could smell his bitter piss on the breeze. "Don't like this killin'. Be happy to get gone and have a few pieces of gold in mah hand and forget this whole fuckin' thing." The second man stuffed his cock into his trousers, and the two of them hurried back to the ranch. Uncertain, confused, her entire world in shambles, Lauren felt her senses go numb and wondered if she wasn't already dead. *** The two men that Lauren had heard talking where named Richard Graves and Bart Jones. Lauren learned their names after a few innocently dropped questions into the origins of Christian Cross's gang, following her parents death. No one suspected she'd go after them because no one suspected Cross was involved with what had happened on the Starr ranch. Everyone knew that Indians had been the culprits, the red savages. Some years later, Lauren killed Graves in an outhouse near New Orleans. Forcing his head into the bowl, she'd made him drown in his own shit. She killed Jones in Colorado in some no-name town. He'd developed a taste for young boys, but apparently not one for lead. She'd made him suck on the end of her gun before decorating the walls red and gray with his brain. *** Lauren peered at the remains of the Starr ranch. Moments before, Christian and his friends had galloped off, whooping in their best imitations of generic Indian war cries. Lauren waited to see if any of them came back, and when they didn't, she stumbled from her hiding spot to view the disaster from a closer perspective. She felt like a shadow of her former self. Like a phoenix, she was all that floated above the destruction. Flickers of flame licked at her toes like the tongues of demons not yet satisfied by the carnage. Her father hung limply from a noose tied to an oak tree branch. Lauren had swung from that very branch as a child. Her father had been scalped and burned alive. She tried to push his cries out of her ears; she knew she still couldn't possibly hear them. He was dead. And her mother? Mere ashes on the wind, traces of ashes, somewhere in the remnants of what was left of the house. She could barely recognize it but for a few bits of scorched lumber. The scent of their burning flesh was still fresh in the air. All this for a bit of lousy gold, some money in someone else's pocket. Was it worth it? Lauren would make sure that it wasn't. She had to. "I'll find them," Lauren promised, looking up at Max Starr's corpse with tears in her eyes. "I'll find them and make them pay." II. Years Later in Blue Oaks, Getting Close "Who's the fresh face in the hall?" Cross asked, closing the door behind him as he stepped in Loretta's room. She caught his reflection in the mirror as she brushed her sandy blonde hair; Cross looked ill at ease today, Loretta thought, but it was always hard to tell with Cross. He didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve like some of the other johns she entertained. His intriguing demeanor was only another reason she loved him more and more. She tried not to think into it too much. "Is that blood on your boots?" Loretta said. "Yes, it fucking is, and there'll be more where that came from if you don't answer my goddamned question," Cross said shortly, a snarl leaping to his face. He was still handsome with such an expression. The face of an angel on the devil, Loretta decided. She shuddered. Oh, how she ached for his cock. Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 02 "New girl," Loretta said. "Showed up late last night. Hasn't worked a john yet though. Think she's a little shy." The brush caught a knot, and Loretta worked it out, her hair pulling sharply against her skull. "Bring her in here. She's going to join us tonight," Cross said, daring her to disobey him. His eyes burned with an internal fire; Loretta knew that even if she wanted to disagree that would only bring pain. Besides, the new girl might prove to be more than a little fun. Loretta had no qualms with women in her bed; sometimes she preferred it. But she didn't want Cross hurting or scarring the girl her first time on the job. "Don't break her in too rough," Loretta warned, her lips curling up into a devious grin. Her eyes locked onto Cross's, those shimmering pools of blue radiance surrounding his inky pupils, in the reflection of the mirror. Eyes that sent a chill up her spine. "Just shut up, and bring her in," Cross said, his face grave. *** Lauren Starr figured the horse would fetch a fair price in town, and no doubt, someone from Cross's gang would recognize it. And if someone did, they might lead Christian right to her. Which was exactly what Lauren wanted. A large barn close to the middle of town caught her eye. A little behind the buildings around it, somewhat shrouded in the shadows of the midday sun, it was the kind of place where one could do business without unwanted eyes and ears overseeing or overhearing transactions. In other words, the perfect place for those who didn't want their presence announced throughout town to store horses and materials that might catch the discerning eye of a half-intelligent sheriff, or worse, marshall. Lauren led the horse while sitting tall on her own, scanning the area with experienced eyes, calculating the possibilities of hiding spots and perches and angles that might become helpful if the proper situations presented themselves. One could never be too careful when one dealt in the business of revenge. *** The girl had long, jet black hair and rich, deep brown eyes, eyes that were wide and anxious like those of curious deer. Loretta led her in by the arm and ran the fingers of her free hand through the girl's dark, luxurious hair. The girl stiffened upon seeing Cross with his cock out, his erection already freed from the confines of his jeans and sticking up towards the ceiling like the horn of an angry bull. "Ain't you ever seen a hard cock before?" Loretta cooed into the girl's ear, and her tongue whipped out and flicked the girl's earlobe, sending a shiver down the pretty babe's spine. "HAVEN'T you ever seen a hard cock before, is the correct way of saying it, you ignorant whore," Cross corrected, raising an eyebrow. He moved his attention towards the new girl, and asked, "What's your name?" Loretta frowned at him, wondering what kind of game Cross had set upon the chess board. Was he trying to make her jealous by bringing this girl into her room and belittling Loretta in front of her? She was sure Christian Cross enjoyed this battle of wits he seemed to have to wage against her, but she would not let him break her. She would prove to be harder than any other woman Cross had ever known. Harder, perhaps, than Cross even. The girl's doe-like eyes focused on Cross's straining pink penis; she licked her lips and said, "Name's Ashlee. And I seen a cock before. Just not... one so big." Cross tipped his head back and uttered a loud, guttural laugh. Loretta felt the girl jump slightly in her arms at the intensity of it. "I bet you say that to all the boys, Ashlee. Don't you?" Cross said through fading barks of laughter. A wolf's grin split his lips over a set of gleaming white teeth, and Loretta felt her heart skip a beat in her chest as she thought about how much she would like him to devour her. "First time I ever meant it," Ashlee replied, her youthful voice gaining a bit more confidence. She straightened up and placed a finger on her face, coyly running it across her lips and then slipping it into her mouth. Loretta giggled and gave her a slight kiss on the neck. She was impressed with the girl for not allowing Cross to intimidate her. Cross looked the girl over a bit more closely. She was thin but curved in all the right places. Her breasts were not large but quite pert; milky and smooth, they bulged dangerously in her white corset. Her ass was round and taut, mouthwateringly so. She had the face of a wounded angel, beautiful and yet haunted by ghosts only the young girl knew and would never discuss. A good selection to toy with, if only for Loretta's benefit. Cross had to show the blonde whore that she was not the only woman he desired and would have to continue to work for his affections. And what way would prove to be more fun? "Come over and suck on it," Cross invited. He beckoned her over with one hand like an emperor sitting on his golden throne beckoning a serving girl to bring more wine. Ashlee walked over slowly, Loretta at her side with one arm around her waist, and the young dark-haired girl bent over to get a closer examination of Cross's member, wondering desperately how she was going to get all of it into her mouth. "Let me show you how," Loretta offered, whispering into Ashlee's ear, guiding the girl's hand over Cross's engorged shaft. Cross gasped as Ashlee's slim fingers closed upon his throbbing flesh, sweet tingles scurrying up through his spine. Ashlee watched in awe as Loretta slipped the cock into her mouth as Ashlee slowly stroked the hot cock with her hand. Loretta took more and more of the cock so deep into the recesses of her throat that Ashlee could barely believe it. She knew that she did not have that kind of ability. Instead, she watched longingly as Loretta nearly took Cross's cock into her throat all the way down to his balls. Intent on doing what she could to help, Ashlee's tongue flicked out and lapped at the underside of Cross's prone nut sack. A low sigh escaped from his mouth. It had been some time since two women had simultaneously gone down on him, one of the failings of living a life on the lam. He closed his eyes and let the pleasure wash over him as Loretta engulfed the majority of his cock, her tongue quivering over his girth, and the younger girl, Ashlee, licked his balls with her wet, pink tongue while stroking him into Loretta's mouth. Saliva dripped from Loretta's lips onto Ashlee's hand, helping to lubricate as Ashlee stroked the long, thick shaft. Ashlee peered at Loretta with her deep brown eyes, and Loretta caught her gaze and held it. Loretta thought about the last time she had tasted a woman's cream and hoped Ashlee's would taste as sweet; Loretta was almost positive it would. She had a feeling that she would remember this night for a long, long time. Ashlee thought that Loretta looked worn and experienced and beautiful; her pale blue eyes spoke of horrors and knowledge that only a whore would know. Ashlee envied and desired this for reasons she could not comprehend. *** A man with thinning white hair and squinty eyes peered over the horse with thorough eyes. His expression refused to betray his thoughts, but Lauren could tell that the man recognized the horse as the one belonging to Biggie Dawkins, the member of Christian Cross's gang killed the day before. Lauren knew this because she recognized the horse in the next stall as the very own of Christian Cross. Lauren thought about killing Dawkins, knife in hand, and the sight of red spraying from Dawkins' throat as his life jetted away with each passing beat of his suddenly-traitorous heart. The memory was not an unpleasant one. "A healthy steed, no doubt, miss. Though you understand that this ain't whatcha'd call a rich town. Can't offer you what some others might," the man said in a throaty drawl. "Maybe you know someone who'd like to take it off my hands. For a fair price, of course," Lauren said, petting the horse's mane. "I just might," the old man said, his jaw drawing tight. Lauren didn't miss the underlying message of the expression. The old man knew what was coming. He had no choice but to tell Cross and his gang about the woman with Dawkins' horse, or he would suffer the consequences. Blood would be spilled this day. She looked forward to it. "Perhaps you could go fetch him for me," she said, her voice cold. The old man regarded her for a moment, soaking in the woman's appearance, her fair skin and dark reddish hair, and he wondered what could have turned the blood in her veins to ice. Surely, there must be something of the girl she once was inside of her. He didn't feel right leading such a pretty lamb to the slaughter. "Why don't you sleep on it? This here's a fine horse, and maybe you shouldn't be so quick to give 'im away. If you'd still like to sell tomorrow..." "Now is fine," Lauren cut the old man off with a harsh voice. She wasn't afraid of Cross and his ruffians, and the old man's attempt to dissuade her was a futile effort. The old man stammered for a moment, his arms shaking with age. For a moment, Lauren felt her heart ache for him and hoped that he would not be among the dead when the smoke cleared. She understood that he was trying to help her, but the last thing she needed was help. The only thing that could save her now was the corpse of Christian Cross. "Just get him for me, please," she said softly. The old man nodded. After all, it was HER funeral, he thought before shuffling away. *** Cross worked his way into Ashlee's unbearably tight pussy slowly but surely, reminding himself that the tortoise always won the race. Or in this instance, got off the hardest. Loretta sat on the young girl's face, facing Cross, holding his head with her hands and leaning in to kiss him on the lips while Ashlee pleasured her with tongue and hands from below. Cross had forgotten what fun he used to have with multiple women before he'd become such a wanted man but still notorious enough to have all the bad girls lust after him. He worked his cock inside of her, filling her up, feeling himself stretch her from the inside. She was so wet and warm and young, but he still hungered to be inside of Loretta more than ever. However, he couldn't let the blonde whore know this, or the entire point of the present experience would be lost. He pulled back a bit before thrusting even deeper, and he become lost for an instant in the sensation of Ashlee's female desire. Loretta kissed him passionately, and he kissed her back. Using the girl for common pleasure only seemed to make them want each other more. Still, Cross figured they should utilize Ashlee while they had the chance. Ashlee's slim thighs clapped against him; her toned stomach rippled with each of Cross's thrusts into her. She moaned deeply into Loretta's pussy, her tongue lapping the juices that dripped from it. She began to squirm under Cross in pleasure. "You're going to make her cum," Loretta breathed against his face. The smell of Loretta's sweat drifted through Cross's nostrils, and he inhaled it and held it a moment in his lungs, taking a part of her and making it his for an instant. He knew he shouldn't let himself become attached to this woman, that he had overstayed his time in this town and should move on, but every time he prepared to leave another excuse popped up to stay. Cross thought of the knife as he pumped his veiny manhood deep into Ashlee, the whore, the beautiful young girl, again and again, and thought of the knife erect in the dirt, the one he'd given Lauren Starr that afternoon so many years before. He thought of the words carved across Dawkins' naked chest, etched into his flesh. He thought of Starr's glowing amber hair as she rode him in a field on Turtle Creek, the sun streaming over them both, warming them and covering them with a sheen of glimmering sweat, her breasts sliding under his rough, groping hands. He hadn't been this close to Starr since the ranch on Turtle Creek had burned. Ashlee cried out, her voice muffled as she screamed into Loretta's thigh. Just as it ended, Cross pulled his cock out of her, sticky and coated with her juices and pulled Loretta towards him. Ashlee scooted out of the way as Cross flipped Loretta over onto her stomach with a grunt and took her roughly from behind. "Fuck! Christian!" Loretta squealed. Cross dug his fingers deep into the flesh of her hips and drove himself into her. Her body shivered uncontrollably, Loretta gnashing her teeth together, her mind becoming blank to all but the intense pleasure that flooded over her. She groaned and then began to grunt as Cross repeatedly slammed against her. Ashlee positioned herself under Loretta's body and took a flopping tit in her mouth to suck. "Take it, baby, take it," Ashlee encouraged then sucked on Loretta's other swinging breast. Ashlee's face was flushed a bright red, bearing the proof of her intense orgasm. Cross looked down and for a moment his cock was not buried into Loretta but Lauren Starr's dripping pussy. Had he forgotten what a joy robbing that girl of her innocence had been? Before he could stop it from happening, Cross's cock exploded deep into Loretta's cunt, filling it with gobs of overflowing cum. Smith Dooley exploded through the bedroom door. Ashlee, turning suddenly shy, squealed in surprise and covered up her nakedness with skinny arms. Dooley didn't notice her in the slightest. "Boss, it's her! She's HERE!" Cross didn't have to ask who he was talking about. *** Lauren Starr felt the calm settle over her, the calm she always felt before the storm. She wasn't sure what had deadened her fear, cut it off from the root for all time; it had simply become a non-factor. Death didn't frighten her, only the thought of meeting it before Christian Cross. He would underestimate her. Only come with a few men and not much of a plan. She numbered only one, and she was a woman on top of that. He'd come with maybe two or three others and let them do the dirty work while he watched. Starr almost felt sorry for them. They had no idea what who they were dealing with or what capabilities she possessed. When someone walked through the entrance of the barn, Starr felt no surprise that he was not Christian Cross but yet another of his toads. The old stable master paced next to the toad with a crooked, nervous expression, and he ran his hand through a patch of wild, thinning white hair. Cross was close; Lauren could feel his presence heavy on the air, his scent masked by hay, horse shit and sweat. For a moment, Starr thought she caught a whiff of burning flesh, the ghosts of her parents lurking under the skin of this world to await and watch their vengeance. Cross' toad was a foreboding presence, heavy and thick, a stubbly shadow of beard darkening the lower half of his square-jawed face. The toad eyed her with a slow, long gaze as if wondering if this was the woman they were making such a fuss about. You're not so much, the gaze seemed to say to Starr. Starr gave him a dry smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a body slip into a corner to her left, working his way behind her. Cross had more than underestimated her; they acted as though she were some kind of brain-damaged idiot. Starr fought off an urge to straight up shoot them all down, then and there. "Nice horse," Mr. Toad said in a deep voice. He hooked a thumb under his belt in a casual manner. Starr sensed more than saw another presence ducking into a stall to her right. Her eyes remained focused on Toad's face. Nothing betrayed the mounting tension in her muscles, the coils tensing to strike. She couldn't tell if either one of the men in the shadows was Cross or even if Cross was there and within killing distance. She'd have to kill them all. Just to be sure. "Looks familiar," Mr. Toad said. He stretched out a hand to pet the horse's mane. Starr's hand moved like animal of its own, a separate part of her that blurred to one of her pistols, and before Mr. Toad's brain reasoned to react, she fired a round pointblank into his face. The white-haired man standing next to them yelled and somehow turned his shuffle into a staggering run and was out the barn door while hell opened up behind him. * Upon seeing her, Cross felt his breath catch in his throat, lodging there and refusing to come out until he forced himself to exhale. The same amber hair, the same slim and athletic figure he remembered from the days on Turtle Creek. Cross could almost smell the sediment from the river on them after a dip on a sweaty summer day. A part of him knew she'd come someday, and this part had even wanted her to find him and lay past sins at his feet. The appearance of the knife at Dawkins' murder had brought back so many old emotions and memories that he still had just begun to sort through them. Now that it might happen, Cross wasn't sure how he felt about it. A mixture of excitement and anxiousness pitted themselves against one another within Cross's stomach. But he couldn't see her face. He had to be sure. He needed to see... Then the shooting began. He watched as the woman mowed down Thorne, more or less blasting Thorne's head through the back of his own skull. Her other gun was suddenly out in her second hand. Then she dove her to left and unleashed two shots in the opposite direction. A shrill cry evidenced the woman's precision. Something thudded dully in the shadows where she had shot. Another of Cross' gang dead. Cross realized that only left Rogers to his right and Dooley up above on the rafters. Cross glanced up and saw Dooley creeping towards her. She hadn't seen him yet. Rogers fired his weapon at Starr and ducked behind a post. "Damn, she's good," he said, turning towards Cross. Then the woman fired in their direction, and Rogers looked at Cross with shocked and somehow accusing eyes, his life leaking out of the hole in his neck and down his chest in erratic spurts. "This can't be her," Cross mumbled to himself. The Lauren Starr he remembered could barely lift a gun let alone use it with such uncanny skill. Cross bit his lip. He was no coward. Yet he made no move to give away his position in the corner. * Where the hell is he! The words were not a question but an accusation in Starr's head. She felt movement above her, her senses screaming out in warning, and she twisted back just as a knife whizzed by and thunked deeply into the stall wall beside her head. She glanced up. Smith Dooley stood on a wooden beam that ran across the length of the barn, one hand balancing himself on a connecting rafter, the other already whipping another knife out of a sheath at his belt and tossing it in a single swift motion. Perverse excitement flashed across his face. Dooley was fast, flinging death through the air like Zeus raining lightening upon the hapless Greek masses. But Starr was faster. She flung herself forward, and her guns blazed. She missed. So did Dooley. The knife grazed her shoulder, blood welling and trickling from the wound. The knife jiggled crookedly in its path and landed harmlessly on the dirt floor behind her. Starr landed with an awkward lurch on her stomach, breath rushing out of her lungs, and she rolled over to see Dooley above her. The bullets had almost brained him but ended up only taking a piece of his ear; Dooley flailed as he lost his balance, falling backwards and catching the wooden beam between his legs, simultaneously saving him from a fall that would have likely broken his neck and crushing his balls into his pelvis. Dooley tried to shriek but no sound would come. He almost wished he'd fell and broken his neck. The beam splintered with a wooden crack before breaking completely and swinging towards Lauren Starr with dangerous speed. She rolled out of the way and caught a glimpse of Christian Cross standing to peer at her. Recognition lit up his face. She swung her guns in his direction and fired just as the beam exploded into the ground next to her, centimeters from crushing her body into paste. Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 02 A cloud of dust and dirt and hay whooshed over her, enveloping everything as Starr uttered a cry of infinite frustration. * It was her, Cross thought. It was really her. He'd seen her face, and she'd seen his, and she'd tried to kill him. Now he was sure of everything, and an electric thrill triggered through his veins. "Ho there! Halt," a voice came from the entrance of the barn. Cross made out the form of Sheriff Markus and the white-haired stable idiot. He licked his lips, thinking his cover in town was officially blown. The heat would come down swift and heedless, burning everything he'd earned in its wake. In other words, time for Christian Cross to leave Blue Oaks with a not-so-fond farewell. Cross swirled through the cloud of dust and dashed out the side door. * Starr fought her way through, coughing and clawing her way past the suffocating cloud. Her stomach smacked against the bottom of a window, and she pushed it open and collapsed through to the other side, her breaths gulping in the unpolluted air with a rare greed, the side of her face splashing into a soggy puddle of mud. "Hey, hey! Miss, you ok?" Starr peeked open one eye and saw the skinny, old man with the crazy white hair standing above her. He reached out a feeble, trembling arm to help her up out of the mud. She didn't take it for fear that his arm might break off if she allowed him the chance to pull any weight against it. "Where is he?" Lauren said, getting to her knees. Filth covered her. A film of dust and dirt had turned her into a tan ghost. "Who?" "Cross," Starr said and barked a ragged cough. "He's gone," a tall, mustached man said, walking over to them. The man bore a silver star on his chest. The star twinkled in the sunlight. Starr recognized the sheriff and hoped he didn't plan to arrest her. For his sake. "So close," Lauren whispered to herself. Then louder: "We have to find him." She struggled to her feet, picking up her pistols and clutching them so tight that her knuckles turned pasty white. "We will, ma'am. Don't you worry about that. I'm going to round up some men. He can't have gone far. We'll get him wherever he goes," the man said, brushing his mustache with two fingers. Starr wasn't so sure. *** Cross snatched the little belongings he had from Loretta's room while she watched on with haunted eyes. "Where will you go?" she tried. Cross shook his head. "Away. Every bounty hunter and lawman with a thirst for fame or justice will descend upon this town like the fucking Bubonic plague," he said. Loretta wanted to ask him what Boob-tonic plague was, but she held her tongue. She knew better than to interrupt, and she had more important questions on her mind. "Gotta go and keep going until it dies down," he said, checking his guns and shoving them into the holsters at his sides. Loretta said, "I'm coming with you." Cross opened his mouth to refuse, looked at her with a searching gaze, and replied, "Get your things. You've got five minutes." Dooley shuffled his feet at the entrance to the room, nursing his sore testicles with one hand. The bandage on his ear dripped blood. It fell to the floor with a tiny plop. Dooley just loved a good near-death experience to get the juices flowing, and they could always use a whore wherever they might be going. Dooley figured it was straight to hell.