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The chains on the gate banged and rattled with the ram of the deathclaw’s horns. The Ghoul half expected it wouldn’t hold, that he and Lucy were about to enter the second act of their escape.
But the gate remained true, even if the deathclaw gave it another ram for good measure. The Ghoul’s stomach twisted at the scrapes and the bangs of the creature’s horns and claws against the metal and wood. The deathclaw’s taloned feet were visible from below, and The Ghoul watched the embodiment of Hell on Earth finally give up, turning and bounding away with heavy steps. It was a few more moments before it disappeared into the dark.
He chanced a glance at Lucy beside him, his irradiated heart still hammering in his chest. Lucy looked just as frightened as he’d felt. He hadn’t thought her eyes could possibly get any wider, but he was wrong: they were practically bulging. Any other circumstance and it might’ve earned her a chuckle, but who could blame a person after seeing that? He probably looked the same the first time he laid eyes on a deathclaw back in the day, and that terror never really went away. Hell, this was far from his first rodeo and his expression was probably her mirror right about now.
“Just when I think I’m starting to understand this place!” she exclaimed, finally trusting the thing was gone.
He shook his head, hiding his amusement under the wide brim of his hat. There really was nothing like watching someone experience the Wasteland for the first time, especially high on Buffout.
“Give it 200 years, at that point you just might,” he said.
They both rose to their feet, her dusting off her jumpsuit. The Ghoul didn’t bother, just subtly fingered his pocket to make sure his vials were still secured on his person. Not that it mattered much; even his medicine wasn’t worth facing a den of deathclaws, not now that they were safely nestled in Freeside, where you could find just about anything for sale.
He eyed Lucy, whose head was on a swivel as she took in the city for the first time. Watching her was fascinating, and it struck him again and again just how expressive, just how earnest, she was. Right now, on her face he clocked surprise, intrigue, and an almost childlike excitement at the bright lights and all the people criss-crossing through town despite the late hour. Freeside must be the most bustling place she’d seen since Filly, and Filly had just been a backwater trading hub as far as The Ghoul was concerned.
The places their journey took them were of little interest to The Ghoul, lately only intriguing him insofar as how her face might betray every thought and emotion that crossed that mind of hers as they encountered sight after sight. And boy, there were plenty of emotions in her; many he hadn’t felt in centuries, but could still recognize.
He tried to downplay his reason for staring, calling it something innocuous, like detached curiosity. That was something he could live with, something he could justify; it’d just been so long since he’d shared prolonged company with someone that wasn’t a bounty begging for freedom.
As he saw the city lights twinkle in the reflection of her eyes, he felt nauseous. Try as he might to fool his brain, his body knew better. Lucy was his latest bounty, by any meaningful definition. The only real difference between her and the ones who went kicking and screaming was that she just didn’t realize yet that she should be kicking and screaming, too.
The girl was just so damned trusting, even if she was trying not to be, he thought sadly. It was a miracle the Wasteland hadn’t eaten her alive already.
Then he recalled the way she handled a gun. Even with the weight of his imminent betrayal on his mangled conscience, he felt a grin tugging at his lips. The girl could put up a helluva fight, he’d give her that.
“All right, Miss MacLean, time t’ get a move on,” he said.
“Sounds great! Where do we go first?” she asked, righting her shoulders and becoming the picture of focus.
The Ghoul rolled his eyes. “To a hotel. We’ll keep trackin’ your daddy tomorrow.”
Her jaw went slack and she looked at him bewildered, as if his whole face had become a wart. Like it wasn’t already.
“Are you kidding?”
She gestured to the buzzing streets, where buskers played on the corners, people were coming and going from stores open late, pubs, restaurants, and hotels. Drunks and junkies were stumbling, the occasional street urchin was skipping, but mostly people were going about their business, not trying to attract any unwanted attention. The Ghoul spotted a couple others of his kind smoking cigarettes outside a boarded up diner. One of the ghouls met his gaze and lifted their chin in acknowledgement. The other’s eyes were cloudy, their face trained forward and unseeing.
“This is a prime opportunity to gather intel. To sleuth!” Lucy said, shifting from foot to foot. Her hips swayed as she did so, but The Ghoul tried to forget he’d even noticed.
“Vaultie, you’re high as a fuckin’ kite. You couldn’t sleuth your way out of a goddamn paper bag right now.”
“Dare me to try!” she asserted.
He raised what was once a brow, and Lucy huffed defiantly. Her head went back on a swivel before landing her sights on a boy ringing a bell and trying to sell newspapers.
“There! A journalist! I bet he’ll know something we don’t.”
She strode up to the kid, who was in dirty slacks and a vest missing half its buttons. Grime was smeared on his chin. She approached with a loud, “Howdy!” and then the rest of the conversation was inscrutable to his ghoul ears.
Her hands started on her hips, fingers drumming against the fabric of the vault suit hugging her curves, and then she was fumbling through the pouch at her waist for a few bottlecaps before resuming her confident pose. Once the caps were in the boy’s gloved hand, Lucy glanced at The Ghoul over her shoulder with a wide grin. The Ghoul winked back at her, just in time for the boy to take off running.
“Hey!” she shouted after him, chasing him a few steps, but he’d already ducked in an alleyway. “You left your papers!” she called in a chastising tone before stomping a foot in frustration.
The Ghoul snorted, watching the girl’s outburst. How many times would she need to learn this simple lesson over and over? You can’t trust a damned soul out here. Not a friend, much less a stranger. And of the strangers, street rats were near the bottom rung.
Lucy took a moment to straighten out the boy’s pile of newspapers before trodding back to where The Ghoul was leaning against a streetlamp pole.
“Golden rule, motherfucker,” he drawled, bouncing off the pole and walking down the main street laid out before them.
Lucy ran up behind him.
“Those papers were dated a month ago! But… whatever! Every investigation has dead ends along the way. So, where to next?”
“You deaf? H-O-T-E-L.”
He heard her stubborn footsteps stop in the middle of the street.
“Persistence to the point of annoyance appears to be a MacLean family value,” The Ghoul muttered, mostly to himself. He stopped and turned towards her.
“I’m just not ready to call it a night. First of all,” she said, her voice taking on an authoritative quality that had yet to work on anyone outside her vault. “I believe that while people are out and about, we’ll have more success finding clues about my dad. Secondly,” she said, scratching the back of her neck. “I’m… too wired right now. I won’t be able to sleep. So I think it’d be best to work off this energy instead of wasting time on a futile effort.”
Satisfied with her own argument, she straightened again, tilting her chin upwards. “If you’re too tired,” she added. “You can go to the hotel yourself and I’ll meet you later.”
“And how’re you planning on finding me later in this unknown city, missy?”
“I’m resourceful.”
The Ghoul grinned and shook his head. “No. We’ll stick together.”
I can’t afford to lose sight of her, he thought. A twinge of dread bloomed in his chest, a feeling that was getting stronger with each passing day as they closed in on Hank MacLean. With each passing day that The Ghoul grew more accustomed to the daughter of the monster who was keeping his own child’s whereabouts from him. Even starting to like her, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do in 200 years.
“Fine. Then I guess you’re coming with me,” Lucy said, and strode past him, straight arms swinging in time with the determined march of her legs.
“A saloon!” she called out a couple blocks later, gazing up at a bright purple fluorescent sign. “The Stardust Spoon. A little on-the-nose, don’t’cha think?” she said, tapping her nostril with an exaggerated wink.
“The fuck they teachin’ y’all in those vaults?” The Ghoul said.
“This and that,” she said, pulling the large door open. The pane of glass on the door was cracked but hanging in there, looking like someone had smeared glue over the surface of the window to hold it together. The Ghoul caught a whiff of old blood, which explained the brown crust that was on some of the cracked lines.
“After you,” Lucy said, gesturing him inside.
Past the entrance was a rather drab looking lobby occupied by a single guard. She was short and slight, wearing a gas mask, and carrying an assault rifle about as long as she was tall, though she slung it on her shoulder with ease. The Ghoul could hear piano music coming from below, and sure enough, behind the guard was a staircase draped in red carpet. It was brown in the middle where foot traffic was heaviest, but to the establishment’s credit, that was probably about as clean as they could manage without vacuum cleaners or a Mr Handy.
“No funny business, y’hear?” the guard said before letting them pass. Lax security, all things considered.
As they made their way down, multicolour sconces buzzed and flickered as the sound of upbeat jazz grew and grew.
They crossed under an archway into a lounge, fit with a chrome bar, seating, and a large stage that was mostly blocked off by a curtain hanging precariously by a few bent nails hammered into the ceiling. In the small space of the stage that was left, a trio of musicians were performing on piano, harmonica, and something that might have been a trumpet at one point, but the ends of the brass instrument had been sawn off and replaced with crude metal sloppily welded onto it. With every blow into the Franken-horn, there was a rattle. The sound it made was…rustic, to say the least, but not entirely unpleasant.
For a relatively smaller joint, the place seemed popular. Most tables were occupied, the barseats were full, and a small group of men with slicked-back hair in dusty suits stood at the end of the bar smoking cigars. Women, looking to be at least in their forties, or hard-lived in their 30s, circled the tables in flimsy sequin flapper dresses of various colours, carrying drink trays on their shoulders.
There was a momentary hush that fell over the place as Lucy and The Ghoul passed the threshold, but after a brief pause, chatter started up again. The Ghoul swallowed. Freeside had no strict policy outlawing ghouls like other places in the Wasteland, but whether he would be harassed the moment he walked into an establishment was a crapshoot. It appeared that for now, they were in the clear. The Ghoul found a seat close enough to the bar that, if he was lucky, he might overhear a conversation or two from the suited fellas, though their voices seemed to lower to whispers as he approached.
Too bad, he thought, falling into a chair and flagging down a sharp-eyed waitress in red with a small wave.
“So,” Lucy started, wetting her lips. Her eyes were darting, and her hands were fidgeting on the table. “We don’t want to look like we don’t belong. I think we should have a couple drinks each. And maybe see what they have for… for…”
“Drugs?”
“Yes! Glad we’re on the same page. You know, a place like this, I think it’d come off as strange if we didn’t do drugs. Don’t you think?”
“Stranger than a vault-dweller and a ghoul walking into a bar?” he said with a sideways glance at the rest of the lounge. The men at the bar were only a few feet away from him, and they seemed to be talking at normal volume again.
“That sounds like the start of a really great joke, but we need to be serious,” Lucy said, brows knitting together. The Ghoul narrowed his eyes on her. She was starting to sweat, already in withdrawals, and was maybe minutes from re-experiencing her pissy mood from the day before. “So, how about–”
The scarlet-clad waitress The Ghoul flagged down interrupted her. The woman was probably in her fifties, and one of the few staff here that wasn’t currently strung out on chems. No, her gaze was clear. And she was well-kempt: though her dress was missing some sequins, her eyeliner smudges were in just the right places and her burgundy lipstick was painted perfectly on the thin lips stretching in a sly smile.
“My, my, aren’t you two quite the pair,” she said in a flirtatiously rasp, resting a hand on The Ghoul’s shoulder. He stiffened. Lucy just stared at her with a strained smile. “What’ll you be havin’, darlin’s?” She rubbed her calf against The Ghoul’s with heavy implication.
Lucy spoke up without hesitation, seemingly unaware of the woman’s sexual undertones. “I would like some alcohol please. Two drinks of… whatever is good?”
The Ghoul sighed. “She’ll have two gin and tonics. I’ll take a bottle of whiskey.”
The waitress placed a manicured finger, painted perfectly red to match her dress, on his shoulder and dragged it down his arm. “I couldn’t happen to interest you or your companion in anything extra tonight?”
“Nothing of that variety, ma’am,” The Ghoul replied as cordially as he could muster, moving his hand under the table just as her finger reached the seam of his sleeve, threatening to touch the skin of his wrist. The waitress withdrew her hand in understanding, glancing at Lucy before offering The Ghoul a knowing look. He wished with every fibre of his being he didn’t know exactly what her look implied.
Lucy, thankfully, was unphased by the woman’s come-ons. “I don’t think either of us want to pay for sex this evening,” she started, before taking on a hushed tone. “But do you have any drugs?”
The Ghoul’s eyes shot daggers at her, but the waitress burst out laughing until she started coughing. With a hand to her chest, she said, “Of course, sweet thing, though most don’t ask so outrightly. But I’ve got something special for you.”
She lifted the bottom of her dress, revealing a red puffer strapped to her thigh by a black lace garter. Jet. God damn, this woman had tricks up her sleeve, The Ghoul thought with a raised brow. In another life, she was the type of woman he would’ve had all sorts of fun with for a week before parting ways and cherishing the memory forever.
“What’s your name?” The Ghoul asked, glancing up from the thigh that was on prominent display for them.
“Valerie,” she responded, dropping her skirt. “But I like you two, so call me Val.”
“Well, Val, you’re cookin’ up to get a mighty fine tip t’night,” he drawled. “Especially if you can find my friend here some Buffout to accompany the chemical strapped to your leg.”
From across the table, Lucy beamed, likely from relief more than anything. She’d be less happy tomorrow when Addictol was making her puke her guts out, but for now she could ride the dragon in blessed ignorance.
Val whistled, and a brunette in a bright yellow dress approached the table.
“Addie, darlin’, mind giving this young lady a hoot?”
Like Val had just moments ago, Addie playfully lifted the bottom of her skirt, sequin tassels flying in a flourish, and revealed a different inhaler strapped to her leg, secured even further up her thigh than Valerie’s was, almost at the line of her underwear. Though Buffout was cheapest in pill form, you could turn anything into an inhalant, and The Ghoul could see that appeared to be this joint’s shtick.
Lucy’s eyes darted between the inhaler and The Ghoul, as if asking permission. It was his pouch they’d be paying with, after all. He gave her a small nod, and she bit her lip and smiled gratefully. His mouth watered.
Christ. That innate sweetness of hers, it used to piss him the fuck off. Made him want to wipe the smile off that stupid, naive face because it reminded him so much of himself back in the day. Now her attitude was agitating, but for far worse reasons: because he was starting to like it.
“One caveat,” Addie said, her voice light and airy with feigned innocence. “We have to keep these strapped to our thighs at all times. So I sincerely apologize, but you’ll need to lean in if you wanna take the chems.”
The Ghoul rolled his eyes and chuckled.
“Sounds fine by me,” Lucy said with a shrug, and The Ghoul’s laughter died on his lips, replaced by a stiffness between his legs. Vault-dwellers, always full of surprises.
Or maybe just this one is.
A new jazz song started, peppy and bright, and Lucy leaned in, wrapping one hand around the back of Addie’s thigh and using the other to push down on the inhaler as she took a long puff of Buffout.
The Ghoul kept his eyes on her, watching her pupils dilate, watching a shiver run down her shoulders and back, as he, too, leaned in and inhaled some Jet, without touching Val’s thigh. His eyes fluttered shut as the chems hit his bloodstream, and when he reopened, he found Lucy watching him with a strange expression. Without thinking, he shot her a wink, and she jumped ever so slightly in her seat. And was that a blush creeping to her cheeks?
The Jet flooding his system was making him see things, it had to be. Now he understood why this place was popular, how they could afford the live music and fancy lights. This shit was good. To a ghoul of his tolerance, one puff of Jet shouldn’t do jack shit, but the head rush was instant, and so was the way his vision faltered for a moment as the world slowed…
Soon, Val and Addie were bringing drinks to the table. Lucy’s drinks came with little umbrella toothpicks despite not ordering anything remotely tropical, and she was delighted.
“We put these in our Shirley Temples at home!” she exclaimed.
Drinks were poured in their glasses, then poured down their throats more times than The Ghoul could count. The music grew louder as the place got busier, and soon people were dancing all around him, though mostly just janky combinations of spinning around and shuffling from side to side.
Lucy, though, was dancing up by the musicians. And Lord, that girl surely had some admirable talents, but dancing was not one of them. She was about as graceful as a marionette being thrown down a flight of stairs, legs kicking and arms flailing.
The Ghoul heard himself laugh from the belly when she nearly tripped over her own feet.
“I’m okay!” Lucy shouted, righting herself, as the harmonica player jerked back to avoid the vaultie falling on her.
But The Ghoul’s breath caught. When was the last time he’d heard himself laugh like that?
Sweat built up on the back of his neck. It’s just good Jet. The bottle twirling in his gloved hand, his second whiskey and nearly empty, probably didn’t hurt, either.
Just when he was thinking of concluding Lucy’s supposed reconnaissance, the jazz band’s song ended, the lights dimmed, and the room went quiet in anticipation.
“Fuckin’ hell,” The Ghoul slurred under his breath. If this was about to turn into a shootout, he was in no headspace to be getting out of it unscathed. Between the booze and the four hits of Jet over the last couple hours, he could barely see straight.
From a curtain behind the bar, a woman in a pressed blazer overtop her dress emerged with a microphone in hand, making her way through the tentative crowd to reach the edge of the stage. Lucy stumbled her way back to the table and practically collapsed into a chair next to The Ghoul. His eyes darted to her. She was breathing heavily, sweat dampening her tank top. She’d pulled down her vault suit and tied the arms around her waist. After dancing up a storm, the girl was clearly feeling the heat.
He tried to ignore the way her nipples had pebbled beneath her shirt, but the vision had already invaded his periphery. And he definitely ignored the throb in his pants seeing her smiling and sweaty.
Perverted fuckin’ zombie, he thought to himself, gritting his teeth.
“Thank you everyone, for enjoying tonight’s festivities. It’s the busiest we’ve been since we reopened as New Vegas’ only all-female owned and operated business last year. But we know why you’re here! It’s time we unveiled the star of the show this evening. Valerie, show ‘em what’s new.”
Spotlights pierced the dark with a whoosh as electricity flowed into the bulbs, casting bright light upon the owner and the curtain shrouding half the stage. The woman winced and ducked out of the way along with the band. There were three spotlights, two of them a stark white but one of the bulbs emitting a warmer yellow. It couldn’t be helped; working lightbulbs were a hot commodity and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Val sauntered to the stage, swinging her slim hips as she made her way through the crowd. Now that the hour was late, the customers consisted of humans and ghouls alike, and they all watched astutely as the waitress in red approached the large space obscured by the curtain.
“Without further ado!” Val shouted, unmic’d over the murmuring crowd, and ripped the curtain from the nails barely holding it in place. The Ghoul’s eye twitched as the sound of shredding fabric made way for what was revealed.
It was a mechanical bull.
Of all the goddamned things.
Lucy’s jaw dropped. “No. Fudging. Way,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.
“Yes way,” The Ghoul growled, taking the final swig from his whiskey bottle and slamming it down on the table. It could hardly be heard over the roar of cheers from every human and ghoul in the lounge.
It wasn’t the same bull–no, that had been a missile–from that fateful night at the weapon’s conference right here in Vegas. The night he met House and couldn’t pull the trigger. The night he drank himself half to death and rode the missile like a dancing monkey for Vault-Tec vipers. The night that changed his relationship with Barb forever.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, reminding himself that he wasn’t at the Lucky 38, he wasn’t with Barb, he wasn’t Vault-Tec’s whore anymore. The memories flashing were just the Jet and booze talking, taking him somewhere far away, just like he’d wanted it to. But getting fucked up was supposed to distract him from imagining Lucy’s face when the news broke that she was just his bargaining chip. He wasn’t supposed to be reminded of old regrets in place of these new ones.
God, he was just fucked, all versions of him: past, present, and future. Even getting shitfaced couldn’t hide him from himself.
He opened his eyes, blinking a couple times before realizing Lucy wasn’t next to him anymore.
“Where the fuck she run off to,” he muttered, but it didn’t take long to find her, not with how bright she was under the stage lights, her shapely leg slung over the saddle of the bull, the cheers of the crowd egging her on.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, but too late. Val was already placing a silver sequined cowboy hat atop Lucy’s pretty little head, she was already gripping the strap at the front of the seat, straddling the bull like it wasn't her first time.
His mind was screaming to him that she didn’t belong there.
The bull looked menacing to him, with black eyes like a dead void. It was a white and brown, which instantly gave away the age of the ride–pre-war, no doubt, since any “new” mechanical bulls were refurbished and modeled after the brahmin that now travelled the Wasteland with their caravan owners. But no, this was a white cow with brown spots. Or at least it had been, before the paint on its face had been all but chipped to oblivion. From the looks of it, the saddle had once been black, still apparent around the edges, but the paint on most of it was worn off right down to the shiny steel shell, presumably from use by men much larger than Lucy trying their hand over and over to stay seated on the chaotic ride. How many people, living and dead, had given this same bull a go? How many folk had lost their paycheques betting that they could succeed in lasting the full sixty seconds it took to be in the running for a grand prize?
Too many to count, The Ghoul wagered, remembering nights at the bar with Charlie before the world got too big for them, watching this exact scene play out over and over. The same raucous laughter, the same eager hands passing around bets. Some things never change, even if time takes the sheen off. Looking at the bull, its wear and tear reminded him of himself, missing horn and all.
But with Lucy sitting on top, he found himself wishing he could only be so lucky.
There were a few hoots and hollers from the crowd as the bull started up. It began slow, it always did. It’d lull you into a false sense of security before unleashing its wrath. Would Lucy know what to expect?
Her eyes found him through the crowd, and they remained locked on him as she began rocking her hips in time with the bull’s creaky movements. The Ghoul swallowed, and Lucy licked her bottom lip before capturing it between her teeth and swivelling atop the bull.
Fuck, was she flirting with him? She better get that lip out her mouth before–
There was a loud clank and the bull jerked. Lucy stumbled, somehow remaining seated. But when she lifted her head, blood was pooling on her lip. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, and when she saw it come back red, she laughed, and so did the crowd.
The Ghoul didn’t find it nearly as funny. He wanted her off the damned thing, and without a broken neck. For the bargain, he told himself. Because even drunk and stoned out of his mind, it was easier to lie to himself than accept that a young lady from a vault had lassoed him so tightly he swore he couldn’t breathe sometimes.
Like now, watching her ride the bull that was steadily increasing its intensity and erratic movements. He was half concerned, half utterly mesmerized at the jerk of her hips, the delicious way her belly tensed under her thin shirt as she rode out the mechanical onslaught.
At forty seconds, she was finally thrown from the bull, landing on the cushioned floor the staff had prepared, but out of his line of sight with all the people standing around. So he sprang into motion, shoving his way through the crowd until she was at his feet. He could practically see the stars in her eyes.
He crouched before her, her disoriented expression upside down.
“Done enough research for one night, darlin’?”
She nodded through half-lidded eyes. He stepped onto the padded floors, and with her arms wrapped around his neck and a firm gloved hand against her back, he lifted her to her feet.
The hotel room on the top floor of The Atomic Wrangler was dark, save for the moonlight shining through the open windows. The Ghoul could still hear some bustle from the street below, but finally the night was coming to a close.
He was exhausted. It had been a long day, between traipsing through the desert, escaping deathclaws, and then his impromptu outing with Lucy. The Jet was starting to wear off. The come down was always the worst part, and the headache was already starting.
He set Lucy down on the bed, and she fell back with a deep sigh.
“Atta girl, get some rest,” he murmured, depositing himself on a chair and propping a foot up on the edge of the bed.
Tomorrow’ll be a big day.
Lucy rolled onto her side, her heavy eyes gazing at him with a smile. “Tonight was fun. We really needed that. Or at least I did.”
The Ghoul looked down at his lap, unable to meet her eyes.
“We all used to dance in the vault every weekend. We’d gather in the courtyard, hook up the radio, and dance the night away.” Her voice was dreamy, nostalgic.
The Ghoul’s lips were in a tight line, but when he looked up and saw her still gazing, he cleared his throat.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be rough, comin’ down from the chems and the liquor, but it’ll hurt less after some rest. Turn over, now,” he said.
“There’s just one thing that was missing…” she trailed, not acknowledging his words.
She shuffled to the edge of the bed. The Ghoul swallowed, shifting in his seat, tucking his feet against the legs of the chair.
“Now Miss MacLean–”
His protests were cut off by Lucy’s knees landing on either side of his hips on the wide-seated chair as she straddled his lap.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken,” she started, hovering over him. “But the way you were looking at me in the club made me think you might not mind if I rode you the way I was riding the bull.” She paused, and her teeth caught her bottom lip, next to where she’d bit herself on the ride. It was puffy and a little red where the wound had scabbed over. “Before I fell off, of course.”
The Ghoul was frozen in place, hands gripping the arms of the chair. Slowly, she pressed herself against his leg, he took a sharp breath, willing his cock to ignore her hips moving back and forth on him. Half his mind was wondering if this was real, if Miss Lucy MacLean was truly grinding in his lap right now. The other half was wishing he hadn’t lost his sense of smell to radiation so he could drink her in.
“Lucy,” he said. His voice came out gravelly. “You’ve had a lot to drink and a lot o’ chems.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Did you like it? How I was riding it?”
He blinked, and looked away, to the drawing of the fool on the wall. “Yes,” he confessed.
“I could tell by the way you were watching me,” she said, still slowly gyrating her hips, bearing down on his leg. Her breath caught as she used him to stimulate herself. It was music to his ears.
“I guarantee nobody in that room could keep their eyes off you.”
“That’s nice, really. But the only eyes that mattered were yours.”
A pained noise rose in The Ghoul’s throat. He hated that he’d been so obvious, that she could see his interest clear as day but still not see the ugly truth behind their partnership. He hated that they’d wound up here, in this life, in this hotel room, and that no matter what happened tonight, Lucy was going to be loathing him this time tomorrow.
He hated that he wanted to tear off that stupid vault suit and show her with his tongue how sorry he was for all of it. He would write it out against the warmth of her folds all night, a whole letter of apology.
The Ghoul gritted his teeth. He couldn’t. That would only confuse her, make the pain of tomorrow’s exchange that much worse.
But she was so insistent, riding his leg in his lap. How could he tell her no without hurting her more?
His fingers flexed against the armrests when her core dragged over the bulge of his hardened cock.
“Take me to bed?” she asked, and his gloved hands scooped her up under her bum, setting her on the bed for the second time that night. He sat next to her, watching her remove her vault suit, so she was just in her tank top and underwear.
Wordlessly, she pushed him against the mattress and he silently obliged. But when her eager fingers went for the button of his pants, he instinctively pushed them away.
“Wait, aren’t we gonna have sex?” she asked, brows twisted in confusion and a hint of hurt. Like a preview into tomorrow, he thought.
“Not gonna let you do something you’ll regret in the mornin’.”
Lucy frowned. “So it's not that you don't want to?”
The Ghoul opened his mouth to protest, but no words would form.
Lucy paused, tilting her head in thought. “Okay. I can work with that.”
She climbed on his lap again, and The Ghoul couldn’t resist the groan that slipped through his mangled lips. She situated herself over his bulge, her bare legs encasing him once more, and brought herself down on him.
“We’ll just do this until we come.”
“Christ,” he moaned.
Even knowing how wrong it was, somehow in The Ghoul’s mind, this did feel like the best way of giving Lucy what she wanted. He was well-aware the girl had voracious appetites, he’d heard her during their travels breathing heavily under her blanket when she thought he was asleep. If she remembered this in the morning, at least she wouldn’t have to remember his marred skin, and she’d know he’d shown some semblance of restraint.
Not that it mattered. When he handed her over to her father tomorrow, she would hate him forever, though not as much as he hated himself. Letting her use his body to take what she wanted was the least he could do. It paled in comparison to the way he was using her.
The Ghoul gasped at the drag of her hips over his clothed length. His cock slotted so perfectly against her, even if layers of fabric still separated them. Dampness was soaking through her underwear, no doubt leaving some of her essence on his pants. Her breathy moans were growing more erratic as she rocked against him, her breasts bouncing under her shirt.
In a moment of weakness and pleasure, his gloved hands gripped her thighs, sliding up to her hips, and he moved her against him hard.
“Yes,” she cried out, and The Ghoul’s hips stuttered, toes curling. But he willed himself to still beneath her. It would be fucked up to take more enjoyment from this than he absolutely had to. But she was testing his restraint, challenging him with every slide of her core against his. He could practically hear how soaked she was. It was too much, too fuckin’ erotic watching her and feeling her. He was just a man.
No, he reminded himself. I’m a fuckin’ ghoul in every sense of the word. Even if this was the most human he’d felt in over 200 years.
Lucy’s hands landed atop his own as her movements got jerkier, her eyes squeezing shut in ecstacy. Her parted lips were always so pretty, whether she was smiling, frowning, chewing him out, or panting as she took her pleasure. Nobody in this God-forsaken land would ever be worthy of her. It was a sad truth that she’d always be stuck settling for less than she deserved. He wouldn’t be the first to eventually disappoint her, nor the last.
With that in mind, The Ghoul tilted his hips slightly, raising his cock so she could more easily rut against it.
“Oh God, oh God…” Lucy moaned.
He squeezed her hips, and she toppled over the edge with a cry. The Ghoul groaned at the delicious noises coming from her mouth, at how good she felt along his length. She collapsed forward, her hair falling in his face, her panting breath hot against his throat.
Even as she came down from her high, her breaths came out in sweet little moans. The Ghoul stared at the ceiling, falling into his own sort of daze along with her even though he was still hard as a goddamned rock.
“Did you come?” Lucy asked, her voice thick with sleep. He gently slid her off of him and onto the bed.
“Yeah, darlin’,” he lied. “You did... real good.”
She sighed deeply, and Cooper stayed sitting with her, rubbing her hip until he knew she was asleep.
Once he was alone, a familiar coldness crept into him, slithering around his bones. His erection was still straining against his pants, and he would let it. Call it the last shred of his humanity, but even he wasn’t wretched enough to fuck his hand to the girl he was about to screw over. Just the thought made him sick.
His only saving grace, he thought as he lit a cigarette by the window, was that soon he would know where Janey was. She would be safe, he’d make sure. And so would Lucy, even if she’d gone through much harm and headache to seek justice on her daddy. The Ghoul sighed and a big puff of smoke went out the window. He looked down at the street below.
Lucy was a good girl, but he was a bad man. And family was a fucked up thing.