Page 65 of Fire Meets Fire

He even clinks his tumbler with Ogre’s when invited, and gleams. “You’re going to fulfil the bargain, aren’t you? Hey, man to man. You don’t allow females into your clubs. You know where I’m coming from.”

My head shakes in confusion.Has he bonded with Ogre in the time I’ve been gone?Nah, he couldn’t have done. Helo was with them.It’s more likely that Chet fully believes he is in a likewise-minded male world.

“Look, I’m no angel, but you know I have a point.” Ignoring me, Chet appeals to Ogre, as if having given me up as a lost cause.

“Don’t have much truck with bitches,” Ogre agrees, topping Chet’s now empty glass up. Chet doesn’t notice the side-eye look he spares for us. I might not wear the same patch, but I understand him just fine.Can you believe this dick?he’s asking without using words. I manage to suppress my laugh.

The three of us sip our drinks while Chet downs his, not appearing to notice his never-emptying glass. He swallows, licks his lips, and seems to enjoy watching Helo until something clicks in his rapidly befuddling mind. “Why’s she not running?”

“Don’t worry,” Ogre says soothingly, tipping the whisky bottle again. “She knows there’s no way out. There’s more than enough of us to stop her.”

I actually doubt that or not without a fuck of a lot of bloodshed. But I’m not telling him that.

“She’s got a bomb,” Chet suddenly remembers with a decided slur to his words.

“Dummy,” Ogre reassures.

“No, no more,” Chet finally protests. But Ogre pulls his hand away from the top of his glass and offers him more.

Chet starts to sway. I nod my head toward Weasel and Skunk that it’s time for their part of the plan, the man now so far gone having consumed half a bottle of whisky fast, that he’s unlikely to hear the running of the bath.

“Hey, Helo. Why don’t you help the man out of his clothes?” Ogre’s mouth splits his face from one side to another. I stiffen, but Helo cottons on fast.

She tightens her fingers around mine before letting me go and kneels in front of her tormentor. “You’re a handsome man, Chet,” she purrs. “How about one for the road?” Ogre produces a pair of rubber gloves from somewhere, and so gone, her victim doesn’t notice her sliding them on.

“You’re… deaf… Dead,” he corrects, having difficulty forming words.

Looking totally unbothered, she replies, “Maybe I am, but how about some fun first. Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

He might hate her, but I can see that male gleam in his eyes showing he’s not going to turn down any chance to get his dick wet. As eagerly as a drunken man can, he sits up and accepts her assistance to pull off his shirt. His paunch is flabby, and I have to give top marks for her acting skills as she doesn’t let any disgust show.

“Now your pants.”

“Undo me.”

There’s clearly a limit to how far Helo will go, but at the shake of her head, Chet’s so eager that somehow, he manages to fumble and undo himself, and manages to raise his hips and kick his pants off, followed by his underwear. I’d laugh at his flaccid, unimpressive cock, if I thought that wouldn’t spoil the show.

His eyes are all for Helo. I think he’s forgotten his audience now. She takes the glass Ogre offers, and yet more whisky goesdown the senator’s mouth. His head rolls back as I notice a second bottle of whisky is half-empty.

Ogre produces more rubber gloves, and we both put them on, then haul Chet to his feet and half-guide, half-drag, him to his final ever bath. It takes a little manoeuvring to get him into the water, but we manage it. He even helps. Being so drunk, he slides under the water. Then, at first, little resistance as I apply pressure to his head, keeping it down.

His automatic sense of self-preservation kicks in and he makes a feeble attempt to fight for his life as water enters his lungs, but so drunk, it’s ineffective, barely making a splash. It seems anti-climactic when he goes completely limp.

“I almost wish his final moments had been worse,” Helo remarks softly.

“Dead is dead,” I tell her, though I agree. What we’d done to him was nothing like the mental torture he’d put her through for months. “And now, you’re free.” I grimace as I voice the truth.

She’s free. Will she still want anything to do with me?

What can I offer as a jaded MC prez when she can pick up the reins of her life?

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HELO

While getting a story into the press used to involve the expertise of typesetters and a whole printing press, let alone the distribution network it then required, nowadays any news can have worldwide reach within minutes of the words being written.

We’re still checking that we’ve left no trace of our appearance in this bedroom. Legend appears with his phone showing an article. All the sordid details about Senator Netherton have come out, about his statutory rape of a child, and the resulting son he’d ignored. It was the perfect excuse for his suicide.

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