Anvil

They placed their order and waited for the waitress to leave.

"I'd say the plan worked out as well as we could have expected," Henry said and got nods all around.

"The turd getting hit by a car was an unexpected bonus," Rick added.

Kevin frowned. "Seriously fucked up that sweet corvette."

"Yeah, Todd's dad is going to seriously fuck him up. The old bastard loved that Vette more than Todd," Henry chuckled. "I do feel bad about the car, though."

"So, we shouldn't expect Marin back anytime soon, yes?" Kevin asked.

"How the fuck should I know? I'm not his doctor," Henry snapped.

They were quiet for a minute, then Rick frowned at Greg. "We should have amended the list of recipients for that message."

Greg looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Yeah, to exclude our girlfriends," Rick explained.

"Seriously. Did you want to paint a bullseye on us?" Greg asked incredulously.

Henry spoke up. "Rick, there are a number of reasons what you suggested is a dumbass plan. Firstly, Greg's reason. Second, the email was pulled quickly, but it still got to everyone through the online sites where it was posted. Our girlfriends, discovering they weren't included in the initial distribution, would have looked for it online. Next comes a simple question: what the fuck does it matter if they see the picture? The dude is a freaking goth boy. No one likes him as he makes everyone uncomfortable."

"He doesn't look like a goth boy in the picture!" Rick insisted. Henry frowned at him, and Rick's expression turned puzzled. "You did look at the picture, didn't you?"

"Why would I look at a picture of a naked guy? I'm not a fag!" Henry retorted.

"You'd look at it for the same reason I did. You start thinking, what if my girlfriend sees it? How will they react?" Rick insisted.

Greg laughed, and the others looked at him. "You're seriously worried the bubble brain is going to dump you for him?"

"No! Dump me, no, but I don't want her looking at other guy's junk. It's different if it's in a movie or on TV as that's not here, in our town, going to our school."

The pizzas arrived, and they shut up while they had company. The moment they were alone, though, Greg started in on Rick with another grin.

"You've put some serious thought into this doomsday theory of yours. So, the ladies are safe to see Michael Fassbender, Viggo Mortensen, or Ewan McGregor flash their dicks in a movie, but you draw the line at them seeing a picture of the local creepy goth dude's cock."

"Fuck off! It's different if it's someone they can actually meet!" Rick growled.

"So, you're saying you don't want them meeting the meat?" Greg asked with a grin.

Henry waded in with a thought he had before Rick exploded. "How did you come up with that list of male actors so quickly? Your favorite movie list?"

"Fuck you! My sister knows all the actors and the movies they bared themselves in," Greg explained.

"I say again, you have to introduce me to this horny sister of yours," Henry said with a wicked grin.

"I wouldn't let any of you degenerates near my sister. She'd bust your dicks off," Greg said with a grin.

The table erupted into rowdy laughter.

They got down to the task of eating, but a seed of doubt had been planted.

Henry reviewed his relationship with Brigette as he recalled her reaction to the last intimate photo he'd sent her. Her enthusiasm had been... less than he'd hoped for or expected.

Rick was becoming increasingly nervous about how Steph might react to Marin's picture. Rick was self-conscious about his lack of size down there and compensated with vigor. She seemed to be less and less appreciative of that. She'd also been on his case about his temper recently.

Kevin was blissfully unaware that Lindsay was reassessing their relationship based on what she heard from her friends.

Greg enjoyed his meal, comforted by the fact that his friends had covered for him, and the coach had to keep quiet or lose his chance to go to the championships. He also had another date lined up with Brian, who enjoyed being treated like the little bitch he was. Greg wasn't sure how many more dates they'd have as he was getting bored. It might be time to move on. He realized he couldn't dump Brian too soon, or he might expose Greg as the source of Marin's photo.

That thought soured his mood. Brian wasn't that good of a fuck to keep dating him.

All of them knew that there would be scouts watching at the games, so they'd give their best effort.

Chapter 8

It was the weekend, so Cassandra could take care of Andre for two days uninterrupted. She expected the first days to be the most difficult for him.

The night before, she'd spoken to his boss and let him know about the accident and that he'd be off his feet for at least a week. The man was thankfully sympathetic and wished Andre a speedy recovery.

There was a moment of awkwardness when Andre needed to use the toilet and insisted he be alone in the bathroom. She'd helped him from the bed and all the way down the hall when he suddenly became stubborn about doing it on his own.

She could hear him gasping and moaning, but when he called her back in, he was dressed in his shorts once more and leaning against the counter. His muscles were trembling, and he looked one second from collapsing, but he'd done it.

This morning she'd given him his pain medication, but he insisted on only one pill. He said he didn't like how it made his brain feel.

She went out to get the ingredients he listed for her to make dinner. Cassandra was quite aware of her lack of culinary skills. Before Andre came to live with her, her diet had been less than healthy and far more expensive with all the takeout she ordered. Andre set up a weekly menu for them, did all the grocery shopping, and cooked their meals. He was far more organized than she was and far more skilled in the kitchen. She got him to confess that Gloria taught him these life skills as the woman had done nothing herself. Andre had been her slave.

Cassandra fought back another wave of rage and guilt as she thought about Gloria and her father. She knew Andre didn't blame her, as he'd told her so many times since he'd come to live with her, but she'd never let herself forget how she'd fled and left him behind in that poisonous environment.

When she got home with the groceries, Andre forced himself up into a chair in their small dining area so he could instruct her on preparing their dinner. She wanted him to go back to his bed and rest, but he just shook his head and looked at her with his glassy eyes. Her heart melted, so she gave in.

She made a fairly close approximation to the lasagna Andre made for them, and it went into the oven. Looking over at Andre, she could see his muscles were shaking again, so she helped him back to his bed and eased him down onto it. He shuddered in relief when he was on his back again, then he was out. Just sitting in the chair for an hour had wiped him out. The pill likely assisted with dragging him into sleep, but she had to insist he stay here for at least a few days to let his body recover.

Speaking of his body, he probably needed a shower. His sheets would need a washing tomorrow as well. That was another chore Andre took care of. She was aware he did all these things for her as he had for Gloria, who'd forced the work on him. But for her, he said he wanted to do them. He said there was a big difference. In her moments of self-doubt, she wondered how true that was. Was she taking advantage of the man?

She could do something for him now. She collected a large mixing bowl from the kitchen and filled it with warm water, then she got a facecloth and towel and carried these and the bowl back to the living room. She set it down on the small table next to the sofa bed and got the facecloth wet. She wrung it out and began cleaning Andre's skin, starting at his face. She slowly made her way down his neck to his shoulders when he started to make sounds. She paused to listen.

He was whimpering!

"no... please..."

"Oh my god, Andre! I'm sorry!" she gasped, and his eyes opened in surprise. They scanned the room in confusion, then settled on her face, and she saw his body sag in relief.

"Ah, it's you."

"I-I thought I'd give you a quick wipe down to freshen you up. I'm sorry if I--"

"I thought it was the nurse... again. I told her no, but she didn't stop." A tear rolled down his cheek, and a shudder went through his body. Andre's eyes were rolling in his head as the pill dragged him down. "Only you... can... touch." He was out.

Cassandra gaped at him, her mind torn between her need to beat this nurse bloody with her fists and shock at his confession. Only she could touch? What did that mean? He was high on painkillers and exhaustion, so she wouldn't put too much meaning into his words at this point, but it did seem to give her permission to continue.

She washed away the tears again, then worked her way down the left, uninjured side of his body, skipping past the area covered by his shorts. That would be creepy of her to do while he was unconscious.

His right side got the same treatment but gentler. He moaned softly, just the same. Then she used the towel to pat his body dry.

His shorts were tenting by the time she was done, and she stared at this a little too long for her own comfort. She felt like a real creeper, so she moved back to the kitchen to dump the bowl and wash it. The facecloth and towel went into the laundry bin.

Truthfully, she wasn't looking forward to doing the laundry down in the creepy basement laundry room, but it needed to be done.

She walked back to the living room and watched Andre sleep. The bulge in his shorts had relaxed, but honestly, it wasn't that much smaller. She pulled his top sheet up to cover him, then rushed back to her bedroom to relieve the sudden need she had. Guilt and lust battling within her mind.

What kind of sister was she?

-=-

Sunday morning, Cassandra gave Andre his pill and served him breakfast in bed.

"Don't get too used to this pampering!" she teased, and he smiled at her from behind his bangs as he munched on peanut-butter toast. When he was done, she got him into a chair as she pulled the sheets from the sofa bed and dumped them into the laundry bag. She folded the bed back into the sofa and put the cushions back, so he'd have somewhere to rest while she cleaned the sheets. She helped ease him back onto the couch.

"I'll be back in ninety minutes," she said. "Will you be okay?"

"Yes," he said with a smile.

With a last nod, she left the apartment and headed downstairs.

It was still early, so she lucked out and had her pick of machines. She got two washers going, one for clothes and one for the sheets and towels. She cracked open her paperback and settled herself on a chair to wait.

Laundry day sucked.

-=-

At ninety minutes, the alarm on Andre's phone rang. This pulled him from the fuzziness clouding his brain. He sat up on the couch and looked to the door. No sign of Cassandra yet, but he listened for the sound of her key in the lock.

Ten minutes passed and still nothing. Andre began to get nervous. There was no real reason for him to worry, as there could be many reasons for her to be late. The noise in his brain got louder, and he couldn't remain seated on the couch. He grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment.

Then he heard something. Cassandra's voice. Raised and agitated. His feet had him moving as his brain swam. He reached the door and looked out the peephole. Someone was covering it. He frowned and listened.

"TJ, move away from my door!"

"I'm jess sayin' we had some fun. We should do it again. I heard your pet pitbull is out of commission, so we havin' this moment. Stop bein' such a whiny bitch--"

The door suddenly swung inward, and TJ was falling back. Andre grabbed his throat and accelerated his fall until he slammed into the floor. He pulled back his fist and slammed it against the unconscious man's face twice before Cassandra grabbed his arm and stopped the third strike.

He looked up at her as his vision swam. He shouldn't have gotten so excited or moved so quickly.

"Can you help me get TJ back to his place?" Cassandra asked quietly.

Andre nodded as he tried to slow the room's spinning. He'd do anything for her.

Cassandra ducked across the hall to open the door. It was still unlocked. Then she was back and grabbed one of TJ's arms as Andre grabbed the other. They got him up, and she made sure the hall was empty before they carried him across and laid him down on the floor just inside his front door.

Andre looked at the determined expression on his sister's face as she looked around. Her eyes widened in fear, and he didn't know why.

"Andre, go back to our apartment and wait there. I'll be right with you," she said, and he nodded.

He crossed the hall and got to the sofa before his pain broke past the pill's fog, and he slumped.

-=-

Cassandra watched Andre wobble across the hall and wondered how he'd been able to hit TJ so hard in his state. She looked back at the coffee table in the asshole's apartment and stared nervously at the gun in plain sight, a box of bullets next to it. There were stacks of bills and a few bags of drugs as well. What an idiot.

She contemplated taking a few stacks of bills, but that would be a mistake. It probably didn't belong to TJ, and she didn't want any part of that mess if they came looking for it.

She checked, and the coast was clear. She made sure TJ's foot would keep his door open, then crossed the hall and quickly made a call on her cell.

"911. Please state the nature of your emergency."

"I think my neighbor across the hall was just mugged. There was some yelling, and I looked out my peephole, and there was someone with a gun in his hand pushing into the apartment. I screamed and ran away from my door and called you."

"Your address?"

Cassandra gave her details and TJ's apartment number.

She got Andre off the couch so she could open it up into a bed and put the sheets on it. She inspected his right hand, and his knuckles were red from punching TJ, but the arm and elbow were also scratched from the crash, so his knuckles blended in. She guided the barely lucid man back into his bed. No sooner was he stretched out than he was asleep once more.

Seven minutes after she called 911, two police officers were at TJ's doors with guns drawn. With the door open and all that evidence visible from the doorway, it wasn't long before the place was swarming with police. TJ was rushed out on a stretcher.

Cassandra answered the knock on her door and let two detectives in.

"Good day, Ms. Marin?" Cassandra nodded. "I'm Detective Parsons, and this is my partner, Detective Giovani. I understand you were the one who contacted 911."

"Yes."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Parsons asked.

She nodded. "I'd just returned from the laundry room. I put the sheets back on my brother's bed in the living room and walked past the front door when I heard a loud yell. I looked through the peephole and saw someone pushing his way through the door. I saw a gun, and I screamed. Then I called."

The two men leaned around the corner to see Andre asleep.

"This is your brother? Is he okay?" Giovani asked.

Cassandra walked into the room, followed by the detectives. She gently pulled the sheet down and caught the men wincing at the sight of the bruises she exposed. "He was hit by a car two days ago. Nothing was broken, but he's in a lot of pain. I was given powerful painkillers for him. They put him out for hours." She pulled the sheet back up.

"So, he didn't see or hear anything?" Giovani asked.

"I had to get him off the sofa to put the sheets on it, but I doubt he'll remember that. They're really potent drugs. Maybe a little too strong," she said with a frown.

The two men nodded as they were used to hearing that. "Try to get him off the pills as soon as you can," Parsons said, and she nodded and walked them back to the front door.

The man gestured to the door. "Can you give me a description of the man who accosted your neighbor?"

"All I saw was a dark jacket, dark pants, and what I thought was a gun in his hand, which made me scream. I think he was wearing dark gloves, too. If you look yourself, you'll see the peephole isn't very clear."

Parsons bent down and looked across the hall. He saw it was true. The visibility wasn't good.

"Your scream probably frightened off the assailant and may have saved your neighbor's life," Parsons replied. He frowned when Cassandra didn't react with a smile. "How well do you know him?"

"Well enough to keep my distance. I regret to say I went on one date with him a long time ago. He turned out to be a sleaze bag back then, and he never improved. If anything, he just got worse. He wasn't one to accept a no if you get my meaning." Cassandra said, holding Parson's eye.

The man nodded. He put his notepad away and handed her a business card. "If you think of anything else or see that man around the building, please give me a call." Cassandra nodded.

"I hope your brother gets better soon," Giovani said.

"Thank you."

The men left, and Cassandra locked up. She walked into the living room and dumped the laundry out onto the bottom corner of the sofa bed. She began folding the clothes and towels as she watched Andre's sleeping face.

He'd come to her rescue and would have killed TJ if she hadn't stopped him. That gave her tingles in places she shouldn't tingle for a family member.

She put the sheets back on her bed and put their clothes away. As she loaded his stuff back into the dresser, she wondered if Andre ever did anything kinky with her underwear when he did their laundry.

She snorted and shook her head as she knew the answer to that.

She was the freak in this relationship.

-=-

TJ woke in a strange place, and his head hurt so much.

He heard a beeping sound and tried to turn his face toward it, but that was too much effort.

Someone came into the room, and he looked at the nurse who was looking back at him. He... recognized her. He was at work? What was he doing in bed? He tried to lift his hand and heard a metallic rattle. He knew that sound. He was cuffed?

The nurse left, and moments later, the doctor came in. "Mr. Johnson. I didn't expect to see you as a patient in this hospital." He flashed a light in TJ's eyes, then looked at the chart. "You have a nasty concussion, so thinking may be painful for the next little while. That said, can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?"

Doctor Pembrook was a decent enough man, so TJ did his best to answer the man's question. "Uh... going home Friday night. I-I can't remember shit after that." He liked to get high on the weekends, so that didn't help. He rattled his wrist. "Why am I cuffed to the bed?"

"I'll let the detectives explain that," the doctor said as he left.

Two men in suits arrived, and he could see cop written all over them.

"Hey! Why am I locked to the bed?" TJ said, going on the offensive.

"Mr. Jackson, you were the victim of an attack. Your neighbor, Ms. Marin, witnessed someone attempting to enter your apartment with a gun in his hand, and she screamed. This seems to have scared your attacker away. The police arrived to find you unconscious. They also found a large quantity of money, various illegal drugs, an unregistered handgun, and ammunition. You're going to be charged for trafficking, and we're running ballistics on your weapon. It had your fingerprints all over it."

TJ looked at the men's smiles, and a bead of sweat popped up on his forehead. "Wait, something isn't right." His recent memories were lost in a mist, but he recalled the time Cassandra's brother threatened him. "I don't know about being attacked... I can't fucking remember anything, but that bitch wouldn't have called for help for me."