12. Twelve

My head throbbed in time with the lurching of the semi, every bump in the dirt road sending a fresh lance of agony lancing through my brain. I blinked, trying to clear my blurry vision. Everything seemed to waver and tilt at strange angles.

Sticky wetness matted my hair and ran down the side of my face. I reached up with a shaking hand to touch it and my fingers came away stained crimson. Blood. So much blood. It coated my naked skin in macabre swirls and spatters, some of it mine, most of it belonging to Romeo's goons. The coppery reek of it mixed with the stink of sweat and fear in the close confines of the cab.

In the driver's seat, Stu gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack. Blood and gore were splashed across his face and chest like war paint, turning him into a feral, primal thing. His eyes blazed with barely contained violence and I shivered, my cock stirring traitorously at the sight. Stu in a rage got me hot like nothing else.

Behind us, Tammy sat in the sleeper cab with the first aid kit sprawled out around her, trying to patch up her wounds.

My eyes fluttered shut, the ache in my skull making it hard to string two thoughts together. In the sleeper cab, Tammy let out a pained groan.

"I think my tits stopped some of the bullets," she said, her voice shaking. "But there's one stuck in my side. Hurts like a motherfucker."

"Hang in there," Stu growled. "I know a doc in Escondido. He's discreet, he'll patch you up real good."

"He better," Tammy muttered. "Deacon got me these double-Ds for our fifth anniversary. I ain't letting no back alley butcher hack 'em off me."

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the desert landscape blur past in the pre-dawn gloom. My stomach churned, and I swallowed back a wave of nausea. Fucking concussion. If I ever saw Romeo again, I was going to crush his skull like a watermelon.

Anger bubbled up inside me, cutting through the pain and fuzziness. "You should've killed him," I spat, glaring at Stu. "You had Romeo dead to rights. Should've put a bullet right between his eyes."

Stu's hands flexed on the wheel. "I coulda shot you, you fucking idiot!"

"So? You still shoulda taken the shot," I growled .

I stared at Stu, my concussed brain struggling to process his words. Why the hell would he care about shooting me? It's not like we had some grand love affair going on here. I was just a piece of ass he'd picked up on the side of the road, a warm mouth to stick his dick in when he got horny. Sure, the sex was hot as hell, but that didn't mean shit.

At the end of the day, I was nothing to Stu. Just another hitchhiker, just another easy fuck. He'd drop me on the side of the road again as soon as he got bored. So what if he accidentally put a bullet in me while taking out Romeo? I was disposable. Replaceable.

I'd learned that lesson the hard way, from every John and every so-called foster parent who'd used me up and tossed me aside. Stu was no different, even if the sex was a cut above the rest. He didn't give a single fuck about me.

So why hadn't he taken the shot?

I glared at Stu's blood-splattered profile, trying to puzzle it out through the pounding in my skull. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the road, his jaw muscles twitching as he clenched his teeth. A vein throbbed in his temple.

"Ungrateful little shit," he muttered.

My head spun, thoughts churning like clothes in a washing machine. I slumped against the seat, watching Stu through heavy-lidded eyes. The first light of dawn painted the angles of his face in shades of gold and shadow, catching in the blood that streaked his skin. He looked like some ancient god of war, fierce and terrible in his fury.

I couldn't make sense of it. Stu had the perfect shot at Romeo, could have ended that asshole once and for all. But instead, he hesitated. And for what? To avoid hitting me? Since when did I rank above revenge on Stu's twisted priorities ?

The pounding in my skull intensified, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the stabbing pain. Nausea roiled in my gut and I breathed slow and shallow, fighting the urge to puke all over the cab. Last thing I needed was to choke on my own vomit after surviving a fucking drug lord's betrayal.

"So what now?" I managed.

"You two are going to see the doc. Then we'll deal with the fucking fallout." Stu struck the steering wheel. "Shit! Fuck!"

The truck lurched over another pothole, and I bit back a groan as pain lanced through my skull. My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges. I clung to consciousness through sheer, stubborn determination.

I focused on Stu, on the raw fury emanating from him in palpable waves. His knuckles were white on the wheel, tendons standing out like steel cables beneath his blood-smeared skin. The muscles in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth together.

I'd seen Stu angry before, but never like this. This went beyond mere rage into something primal and volcanic. It thrilled me even as it terrified me, sending shivers racing down my spine to coil hot and tight in my gut.

Stu was a force of nature in the seat beside me, all coiled menace and leashed aggression. I could practically feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, could almost taste the violence crackling in the air between us. It was a dark and heady cocktail, dizzying in its intensity.

My cock twitched and began to swell, pressing against the jeans I'd yanked on as soon as we got on the road. Apparently, my libido had no sense of self-preservation. Getting turned on by Stu when he was in this mood was like playing with a lit stick of dynamite.

But I couldn't help it. Stu's fury called to something deep inside me, something savage and brutal and hungry .

My cock throbbed insistently, aching with need. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn't press directly on my swelling erection. But there was no relief.

I wanted him. Wanted to feel all that seething, barely leashed violence focused solely on me. Wanted to be pinned beneath the crushing weight of his fury, battered by the force of his rage until pleasure and pain blurred into one searing, electric sensation.

My cock jerked, a fresh pulse of blood surging into its already engorged length. A low groan escaped my throat before I could bite it back.

Stu's eyes flicked to me, narrowing. "How bad's the pain?"

I licked my cracked lips, tasting blood and salt. "I'll live," I managed, my own voice rough and throaty with lust.

Stu grunted. "You fucking better."

The sun was just cresting the horizon as Stu pulled the semi into the parking lot of a low-slung building on the outskirts of Escondido. A flickering neon sign proclaimed it to be a twenty-four-hour veterinary hospital. I blinked at it through bleary eyes, trying to make sense of why Stu would bring us to an animal clinic instead of a regular doctor. But I was too concussed and in too much pain to puzzle it out. I slumped against the door as Stu killed the engine, the sudden silence ringing in my ears.

Stu helped Tammy out of the sleeper cab first, slinging her arm over his broad shoulders as she hobbled on unsteady legs. Her blonde hair was matted with dried blood, her double-Ds barely contained by her torn halter top. She grimaced with each step, clutching her side where the bullet was lodged.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as Stu practically carried her to the clinic's battered metal door. He pounded on it with his fist, the sound reverberating like a gunshot in the early morning stillness. A few moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a short, balding man in a lab coat, his eyes wide and wary behind thick glasses.

Stu muscled past him, half-dragging Tammy into the dimly lit interior. Low voices drifted out to me, terse and urgent. I let my eyes fall closed, the throbbing in my skull making it hard to focus.

Time slipped by in strange lurches and lulls, seconds stretching into eons before snapping back like a rubber band. I drifted on the knife's edge of consciousness, the pain in my head a constant roar.

The cab door wrenched open, and I startled, instinctively swinging a fist. Stu caught it easily, his callused palm engulfing my bloody knuckles.

"Easy," he rumbled. "It's just me."

I glared at him, but allowed him to haul me out of the truck. The world tilted and spun around me as soon as my feet hit the pavement. I stumbled, my knees giving out, but Stu caught me before I could face plant onto the asphalt.

He slung one of my arms over his broad shoulders, wrapping his other arm around my waist. I leaned into him, breathing in the heady scent of sweat, blood, and pure masculine aggression. My cock, which had barely flagged during the drive, surged back to full hardness.

Stu half-carried, half-dragged me across the parking lot.

The harsh fluorescent lights inside the clinic made me squint, my head pounding even harder. I let Stu maneuver me onto a stainless steel exam table, the metal cold against my bare skin. The balding man in the lab coat—the vet, I assumed—hovered nearby, snapping on latex gloves.

"Another gunshot wound?" he asked, eyeing the blood crusting my hair and skin.

Stu grunted. "Pistol whipped. Probably concussed. "

The vet sighed and reached for a penlight. He shone the light in my eyes, tracking the movement of my pupils. I flinched away from the stabbing brightness, nausea churning in my gut.

"Definitely a concussion," the vet confirmed. "Looks like the laceration will need stitches, too."

"Just do what you gotta do, Doc," Stu said, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "And I'd appreciate some discretion, as usual."

The doc clicked off the light. "And I expect you'll pay extra for it as usual?"

"You know I'm good for it," Stu growled. He reached into his pocket and tossed a wad of bloodstained bills on the exam table next to me. "Stitch him up."

The vet snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and reached for a suture kit. I watched through hazy eyes as he threaded the curved needle and doused the wound on my temple with disinfectant. The sting barely registered through the pounding ache in my skull.

"This will hurt," the vet warned as he poised the needle over my torn flesh.

"Good," I ground out.

Stu's hand landed on my thigh, his grip just shy of bruising. "Shut up and hold still."

I hissed through my teeth as the needle pierced my skin, dragging the thread through in a burning line. Stu's thumb rubbed slow circles on my thigh as the vet worked, his touch searing even through the denim of my jeans.

My cock throbbed in time with my racing pulse, trapped in the confines of my blood-crusted jeans. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to flood my mouth with the coppery tang of fresh blood, trying to distract myself from the insistent ache between my legs .

The vet finished stitching the gash on my temple and snipped the thread, then began cleaning the blood from my skin with rough efficiency. I flinched as he prodded at the swollen knot on my skull, tears of pain pricking the corners of my eyes.

"Take these," he said brusquely, shoving a bottle of pills into my hand. "No more than four a day."

I squinted at the label, the words swimming before my eyes. Fentanyl. Fuck yeah. At least he gave out the good stuff.

"He's all yours," the vet said to Stu, stripping off his gloves. "Keep an eye on him for the next day or so. Any vomiting, seizures, loss of consciousness, take him to a hospital."

Stu grunted in acknowledgment and hauled me off the table. I swayed on my feet, clutching at his shoulders for balance as the room spun sickeningly around me.

"Come on, pumpkin," Stu growled. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He half-carried me down a dimly lit hallway to a small, dingy bathroom. The flickering fluorescent light buzzed and spat overhead, making me wince. Stu kicked the door shut behind us and propped me up against the sink.

He turned on the tap, the water gushing out in a rusty stream before running clear. Wetting a wad of paper towels, he began roughly scrubbing the blood and grime from my face and chest. I hissed at the sting, flinching away, but Stu just clamped a hand on the back of my neck, holding me in place.

"Quit squirming," he grunted.

His fingers dug into my nape, blunt nails biting into my skin. A shudder raced down my spine, my cock jerking against the confines of my jeans. Fuck, even concussed and in pain, Stu manhandling me got me hard .

He continued his rough scrubbing, the damp paper towels chafing against my skin as he wiped away the crusted blood and gore. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, my breath coming faster. Stu's face was set in concentration, his brows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Up close, I could see the blood splatter across his stubbled cheeks, flaking off as it dried. His white t-shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat and more blood, the peaks of his nipples visible through the thin fabric. He smelled like violence and rage, like gunpowder and hot metal.

"Why didn't you take the shot?" I asked again, my voice rough.

Stu paused, his hand tightening on the back of my neck. His eyes met mine in the mirror, blazing with barely contained fury. For a long, tense moment, he just stared at me, his chest heaving. Then he spun me around and slammed me back against the sink, crowding into my space until we were nose to nose.

"You really are a fucking idiot," he snarled. "I didn't take the shot because I didn't want to risk hitting you, you ungrateful little shit."

I blinked up at him, my heart pounding. "Since when do you care about not hurting me? I thought you were a hard bastard who didn't give a shit about nobody."

Stu's jaw clenched. "Since I decided you're mine, you dumb fuck. And I protect what's mine."

He crushed his mouth to mine in a brutal kiss, more a mashing of lips and teeth than anything. I groaned into it, my cock surging against his thigh. Stu reached down and palmed me roughly through my jeans, squeezing almost painfully.

I bucked into his touch, craving more of that sweet sting. Stu broke the kiss and spun me around again, bending me over the sink. He yanked my jeans down just enough to expose my ass and kicked my feet apart .

"This what you want, you crazy little fucker?" he growled, reaching around to grip my aching cock.

I gasped as Stu's callused hand wrapped around my shaft, his grip just shy of too tight. He stroked me roughly, his other hand clamping down on the back of my neck to keep me pinned against the sink.

"Yes," I panted, pushing my ass back against him. "Fuck, Stu, I need it."

He ground his denim-covered erection against my bare ass, the rough fabric scraping deliciously over my sensitive skin. I whimpered, my hips working in desperate little circles as I tried to get more friction.

"Fucking slut," Stu growled approvingly. "Always begging for my cock, even when you're beat to hell."

He released my dick, ignoring my whine of protest, and brought his hand to my mouth. "Suck."

I eagerly drew his fingers between my lips, swirling my tongue over the callused digits. Stu cursed, jabbing his hips against my ass as I got his fingers sloppy wet.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away and brought his slick fingers to my hole, rubbing roughly over the furled muscle. I moaned shamelessly, trying to push back and take his fingers inside me. But Stu held me firmly by the neck, keeping me right where he wanted me.

"Beg me for it," he ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"Please, Stu," I rasped out, my voice wrecked. "I fuckin' need it so bad it hurts."

"Yeah? You want me to finger fuck this tight little hole 'til you're loose and sloppy for me?" Stu growled, rubbing his slick fingertips over my entrance.

"God, yes," I whined, trying to grind back against his hand. "Do it. Shove 'em in me."

With an approving hum, Stu thrust two thick fingers knuckle-deep into my ass. I cried out at the sudden intrusion, pain and pleasure shorting out my nerve endings. He set a brutal pace, pumping his fingers in and out, forcing me open.

"Greedy little hole," Stu grunted. "Bet I could fit my whole fist up this slutty ass."

I whimpered and clenched around his fingers, the filthy words going straight to my cock. It bobbed hard and leaking against my stomach, smearing the skin with pre-cum.

Stu twisted his fingers viciously, jabbing them against my prostate. My cock jerked and spat pre-cum onto the grimy sink.

"There it is," Stu said, voice smug.

He rubbed his fingers relentlessly over that sweet spot inside me, making my legs shake so hard they threatened to give out under the onslaught of sensation. But Stu's bruising grip on my neck kept me pinned in place, bent over the sink and taking every rough thrust of his fingers.

"You're gonna cum on my fingers like a bitch in heat, ain't ya?" Stu growled in my ear. "Gonna clench this tight hole around me and make a mess all over yourself."

"Fuck, Stu!" I choked out, my voice high and thready with need. "I'm gonna... shit, I'm gonna cum..."

"Do it," he ordered, sinking his teeth into the side of my neck.

I groaned at the flash of pain in my shoulder. My cock pulsed wildly, untouched, as I spasmed and clenched around Stu's thick fingers. Cum splattered the dirty sink as I shook and writhed in his grip.

"Good boy," Stu purred, working me through the aftershocks.

I whimpered as he slowly withdrew his fingers from my sensitive hole, feeling empty and aching at the loss. Stu gathered some of my release on his fingertips and shoved them into my mouth, making me taste myself.

I sucked my own cum off Stu's fingers, the salty-bitter taste coating my tongue. He groaned, grinding his still-hard cock against my ass. "Filthy little cumslut. Look how much you needed that."

He pulled his fingers from my mouth with a wet pop. I sagged against the sink, my whole body trembling from the force of my orgasm. Stu reached around and gave my spent cock a rough squeeze, making me yelp.

"Don't think we're done yet, pumpkin," he growled in my ear. "You're gonna get me off with this tight ass, then we're gonna get out of this shithole."

"Fuck, Stu, give me a minute," I panted. The room was still spinning from my concussion and the endorphin rush. "I can barely fucking stand."

"I'll hold you up."

Stu grabbed a small bottle of hand lotion from the sink, squirted a generous amount into his palm. He shoved his jeans down just enough to free his thick, angry-looking erection. Stroking the lotion over his shaft, he notched the blunt head against my loosened hole.

Stu's cock speared into me in one hard, deep thrust that punched the air from my lungs. I cried out, scrabbling at the sink for purchase as he hilted himself inside me. He was so thick, splitting me wide open, the burn of the stretch making my eyes water.

Stu grunted and rolled his hips, grinding his cock deeper.

I whimpered, my over-sensitive hole clenching around him. It was too much, too soon after coming, but I endured it because I needed to feel something besides the awful helpless fear I'd felt in that junkyard. I needed to feel him .

Stu set a punishing pace, slamming into me hard enough to rattle my teeth. Each brutal thrust nailed my prostate dead-on, sending white-hot sparks of pleasure zinging up my spine. My spent cock twitched against my stomach, valiantly trying to rise again.

"Who do you belong to?" Stu's hand closed around my throat, squeezing just hard enough to make me light-headed.

I managed a ragged gasp. "You. I belong to you, Stu."

His grip tightened, cutting off my air. "Damn right you do. Don't you ever fucking forget it."

Black spots swam in my vision as Stu pounded into me, his cock driving so deep I swore I could feel it in my throat. My head throbbed in time with his brutal thrusts, the pain blurring into dark, twisted pleasure.

Distantly, I heard myself making desperate, broken sounds, wordless animalistic noises punched out of me with each slam of Stu's hips. I scrabbled weakly at his wrist, not trying to break his grip, just holding on as he used me.

"Take it," Stu growled, loosening his hand just enough to let me suck in a thin, wheezing breath. "Fuckin' take what I give you."

I did. I took every punishing inch, every brutal thrust, my body going lax and pliant in complete submission. Stu could do anything he wanted to me in that moment and I would let him. I craved it, ached for it, needed him to take me apart and put me back together again.

Stu's hand closed around my throat again as his hips snapped forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside me. I felt his hot breath on my neck, his stubble scraping my skin as he mouthed at my racing pulse.

"Gonna fill this tight ass up," he grunted. "Mark you up inside, make you mine. "

I whined high in my throat, clenching desperately around his pistoning cock. Stu groaned like a wounded animal, his grip tightening until starbursts exploded behind my eyes.

With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and stilled. I felt the hot rush of his release painting my insides, marking me as his. Stu shuddered and cursed, his hand falling away from my abused throat as he slumped against my back, breathing hard.

I gulped in huge lungfuls of air, my head swimming from oxygen deprivation and the lingering effects of the concussion. My whole body felt wrung out and used, like an old dishrag. But beneath the soreness was a bone-deep satisfaction, a sense of rightness.

I belonged to Stu. He'd claimed me, body and soul. Bound us together with violence and depravity and something that might be love, if either of us were capable of such a thing.

We stayed like that for a long moment, Stu draped over my back as we both struggled to catch our breath. Finally, he pulled out. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness, clenching uselessly around nothing. The slick slide of his cum dribbled down the backs of my thighs.

Stu tucked himself away and did up his jeans, then roughly yanked mine back into place, ignoring my hiss of discomfort.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered gruffly. "We need to get moving."

I pushed myself up on trembling arms and turned on the tap, splashing water on my face.

Stu watched me in the mirror as I tried to clean myself up, his expression inscrutable. I met his gaze, noting the fresh bruises darkening on my throat in the shape of his fingers. My ass and jaw ached, along with the rest of me, but it was a satisfying sort of pain. It meant I was his.