Evening is well underway by the time I get back.  The minute I see Atlantis again I know what I need to do.  Once I’m in my room I’m practically kicking shit around from one side of the floor to the other in my haste to pack.   It doesn’t seem important that I’ve left the door open until Monty regards it an invitation to park himself in the frame and blow cigarette smoke into the room.

“Why don’t you take your temper tantrum somewhere that doesn’t share a wall with me?”

“Fuck you, Monty.”

“Fuck me,” he chuckles and inwardly I groan because I can tell where this is headed and at the moment I don’t feel like being locked in mortal combat with this jackass.

I drop a duffel bag on the floor and meet his eye.  “You want to do this in here or outside?”

“Don’t look so terrified, Mr. Oz.  At the moment I’m not excited about cutting up my knuckles on your face.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, picking up the duffel bag and zipping it shut.

Monty continues to smoke.  He leans against the doorjamb, all puffed up with big ideas about his cocky ass.  He’s insane if he thinks he could take me down, especially right now.  Right now I feel like I could punch my way through six feet of cinderblock before it would sting.  I hate the smell of cigarettes.

“You know, Oz, I keep trying and I just can’t figure out what the hell your end game is.”

“Well, you keep on figuring.  You can even send me a postcard when you reach a conclusion.”

His tone gets darker.  “I think you’re actually just biding your time, waiting for the right moment when you can hurt her the most.”

“God, you’re smart, Monty.  That’s exactly what I’m fucking doing.  That’s why I’m packing up all my shit and getting myself hell and gone from you people and your sick reality.”

Monty has no answer for that.  He doesn’t leave right away either though, so I just keep packing, breathing out of my mouth so I don’t have to smell his disgusting smoke.   After I zip the duffel bag closed I notice he’s finally gone.  A second later I hear the front door.  Good.  With any luck I can get out of here without running into him again.  Him, or any of the other Savages.  If Vogel Productions wants to chase after me for breach of contract or whatever those people call it, best of luck to them.

I throw two hastily packed bags over my shoulder and head for my truck.  It’s parked about twenty yards away, all by itself.   I toss the bags into the back bed and slam the door. I think I heard the crew truck taking off a little while ago, which is a good thing because I’m not too excited about explaining myself to anyone right now.  There’s an acrid, smoky taste in the air. A fire burns somewhere up north, sparked in the dense forests surrounding Flagstaff.  I hear that the season has been dry, meaning any fire will spread quickly.  Not down here though.  There’s not much in the way of brush so when fires start they don’t burn for long.

There are just a few more things I need to grab and then I’ll be out of here.  It’s quiet, no one in sight, so I should be able to make a clean exit.  Now that I’m thinking about it, instead of heading back home straight away I’d rather take a detour for a week or two.  Someplace cold.  Someplace that looks nothing like the barren wastelands of the Sonoran desert.   Montana sounds good.  I’ve always been meaning to go see Glacier National Park.  This is a perfect time for a fresh odyssey.

So why is there a gnawing hole in my chest right now?  Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up somewhere else.  I’ve spent five years troubled by the idea of what would happen if I ever saw Ren again.  Now I know.  And the answer is nothing.  Nothing good, anyway.

Yes.  At least now I know.

Once I’m back in the house I spend a few minutes snatching up the rest of my crap.  There wasn’t much to begin with.  And if there’s anything I’m forgetting it’s either replaceable or not worth having in the first place.

After some quick searches on my phone I calculate that I can be in Montana the day after tomorrow, especially if I push through and drive until morning.  I’m so keyed up, I bet I’ll end up doing exactly that.

When I return to the truck I stop in my tracks for a second because something that looks just like Loren Savage is sitting in the passenger seat.  She doesn’t turn her head even though with the window open she must realize I’m ten feet away.  She just sits there all statue-like, not even blinking.  Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders, grazing the swell of her breasts.

I open the driver’s side door and climb inside even though I almost can’t stand being this close to her.  “Hey, you lost?”

“Yes.”  Her voice is a husky whisper. “I’m lost.”

I toss the rest of my crap into the back and lean against the side of the truck.  “I don’t think I can help you with that, Ren.”

“I know you can’t.”

She’s too beautiful.  I don’t want to look at her anymore.   Instead I look at the last wisps of light in the western sky.  “What the hell do you want from me then?”

“I want you to drive into the desert.”

“What for?”

She looks straight at me.  “Just drive,” she whispers.

“Just drive,” I mutter, but I jump behind the wheel.

At this point I know the surrounding land pretty well.  The terrain isn’t that rough until you get real close to the mountains.  I drove slowly, using the brights to guide my way around towering saguaros and spectral Joshua trees.  After coasting for over a mile I stop and switch off the engine, waiting.

She’s watching me.  My eyes are pretty sharp in the dark, probably on account of spending so much time exploring the underground.

Damn, the beauty of her can still catch me off guard.  Her full lips are parted slightly and I think about tasting them, sucking them.  She stares at me for a moment and then glances around the dashboard.

“You got a camera in here?”

“Fuck no.”

With no warning she grabs my hand off the steering wheel and presses it firmly to her tits.  The hot flesh beneath her flimsy shirt arches against my palm.   All the blood in my body roars straight into my cock.   Whatever she’s doing, I’m not about to put a stop to it.  I flex my hand, lightly squeezing.

“Harder,” she whispers.

I get both my hands on her, one palm on each pleading tit, and start kneading them roughly.  Ren gasps once, then melts right into the seat, letting out a soft moan and covering my hands with hers.  The more I work her the more she gets off on it.  She wants me to be rough.

Fine.  I’ll give it to her rough.  But it will be my version.

With a grunt I ball up the front of her shirt in one fist and haul her toward me.  I feel the snap of her bra breaking as I get her straddled across my lap.  Her hair has fallen in her face so I seize two handfuls of it and yank hard until she winces and finally looks me in the eye.

“I know what you’re doing,” I growl at her.

She cocks her head to the side.  “Do you now?”

“You think if we go at it this way, all filthy and empty, that you can kill every bit of unfinished business there is between us.”

She just stares, stubborn and silent.  But the flash in her eyes tells me I’m right.

I push open the door and drag her outside with me.  I slam the door shut and press her against it, pulling her skirt up and parting her legs with my knee.

“You know what?  I need you gone for good too and maybe this is what it’ll take.”  When I push my hands between her legs she shudders and grips my shoulders as her body rocks against the rhythm of my crude stroking.  She’s ready all right.  This is what she’s here for.   My cock is so hard I’m about to bust out.

“Tell me that’s what you’re after.”

“Yes, Oz,” she pants through gritted teeth.  “This is what it’ll take.”

“And you know that once I’m done with you tonight you’ll just be another dumb snatch I’ve greased.”