Biker Bitch Ch. 12

Carlo ground and rubbed against Cassie as he orgasmed until his intense pleasure slowly subsided. Carlo held Cassie still and extracted his penis. He leaned over and took a handful of tissues from the bedside table and wiped his cock dry and dabbed at Cassie's ass.

That was when the firefight started.

The sound of automatic weapon fire, screams of pain and the shouts of the FBI agents ordering everyone to lay down their arms filled the air. Flashes from the gunfire reflected in the dark windowpanes.

"Puta! You fucking set me up!" Carlo scrambled at the bedside table, trying to open the drawer.

Cassie used all her strength and rolled over but she was still pinned under Carlo, who used his body weight to hold her down.

They struggled but Carlo was able to get his hand on the pistol he kept in the drawer and he tried to bring the silver automatic 9mm pistol to bear on Cassie but she used both of her hands to keep the gun away from her.

Carlo struggled, trying to keep Cassie pinned to the bed and aim the pistol at her while she writhed beneath him and gripped his wrists so it was extremely difficult for him.

The both heard the stomping of footsteps on the stairs which had to be either approaching FBI agents or Carlo's bodyguards. The both renewed their efforts to survive.

Carlo was able to turn his wrists and point the gun at Cassie.

"Prostituta travesti!" he sneered and pulled the trigger.

Cassie felt a burning sensation and a force like someone had hit her in the chest with a sledgehammer. She was blacking out and Carlo was able to aim his gun at her head.

Cassie was losing consciousness but she knew she was about to die.

As she passed out she heard a gunshot ring out and her face was suddenly covered with blood and brain matter.

Carlo fell dead on top of her.

"Get a fucking medic in here! Get a fucking medic here!" Natalie Styles screamed frantically as she bolted into the room.

...

Cassie woke up in the same hospital room that she had two years earlier. She opened her eyes, closed them again against the fierce bright light, and then forced herself to open them again.

She had a drip going into each of her arms and a patient monitoring system was connected to her by various wires and pinged away on its colourful flat screen.

Cassie felt a pain like fire under her right breast which subsided into a throbbing ache across her chest and belly. She knew the drill and she squeezed the trigger of the attachment taped to her palm and felt the opiates enter her veins take immediate affect.

When she awoke again the tubes and the monitoring system had been removed; she was now cuffed to the bed by one wrist. A slim man in a dark suit stood at the bottom of her bed.

"This can't be good," she tried to smile.

"Cassandra Rivers, I'm Special Agent In Charge Richard Layman," the man didn't return her smile.

"I'm here to offer you the following: Sex reassignment surgery known as vaginoplasty, entry into the witness relocation program and a new identity. On acceptance of the terms and conditions laid out in the document I am about to place in front of you, the FBI will cease to be responsible for your wellbeing or any liability for your security and future existence. You are required by the contract and agreement that you signed at the beginning of your tenure as an FBI undercover operative to abide by the terms of the contract, particularly the official secrets act," SAC Laymen said matter of factly.

"Where is Natalie?" Cassie asked.

"Agent Styles will be in to see you shortly. This will be the last time you will have contact with her or any FBI operatives," he placed the documents on the overbed table, turned on his heels and left.

Natalie entered the room. A trim, redheaded woman in a tight-fitting navy blue business suit with ginger hair styled with layered bangs that rested on her shoulders, her makeup emphasised her peaches-and-cream complexion although she favoured heavy black mascara and bright-red lipstick. She wore ultra-sheer pantyhose that gave her long well formed legs a lustrous sheen. She was wearing her usual Christian Louboutin high-heels.

She looked tired, haggard and had obviously been crying recently; her eyes were red and moist.

Cassie tried to smile.

"There's no happy ending is there?" Cassie looked up a Natalie who took her hand in hers.

"It was a cluster-fuck. Five agents dead, seven Cartel bodyguards plus Carlo and Diego. Steve Monahan got caught in the crossfire," Natalie bowed her head.

"Dale?" Cassie asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Arrested at the scene and released for lack of evidence," Natalie replied.

"You?" Cassie squeezed Natalie's hand.

"I'll get a citation publicly, the FBI wants the positive press. But I'm fucked professionally. They'll have me working in document research in Bumfuck Idaho or somewhere," Natalie whispered.

"Us?" Cassie whispered.

Natalie sat on the edge of the bed and gently kissed Cassie on the lips.

"There is no us. You go into Witsec and I go to purgatory in Bumfuck. They screwed us Cassie," Natalie stood and turned to walk away.

Then she turned around and raced back to the Cassie's bedside and tried to hug Cassie, she kissed her face fervently.

"I love you Cassie! I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry!" Natalie broke down sobbing.

Two agents quickly entered the room and dragged Natalie away.

SAC Laymen re-entered the room.

"We hand you over to the US Marshals as soon as you're well enough to travel. They will provide you with vocational training and relocate you," he said, is if Natalie had never been there.

"You can keep the cunt surgery; I like the way I am. Next time you see Agent Styles, tell her Cassie said to keep her skinny ass safe," Cassie rolled over and began to cry.

...

Cassie entered the law offices of Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe dressed in a dark business suit. Her makeup was perfect and her brunette hair, worn in a bob with bangs, rested on her shoulders. She strode across the open-plan office in her Christian Louboutin's to the door of Mr Cheatem's private office.

She could feel the men's eyes on her tits, ass and legs and the envy and antipathy of the female lawyers and law clerks.

She had been provided with a new identity, a little apartment in Tulsa Oklahoma, a small Toyota hybrid, some clothes befitting a woman employed by an affluent law firm, ten thousand dollars in a bank account, and two months training as a legal secretary.

She hated it.

Mr Cheatem arose from his desk and pointed to a comfortable chair he usually used to interview clients. She sat down and saw the sweat break out on Mr Cheatem's forehead when he heard the swish of her nylons as she crossed her legs. She pulled down the hem of her skirt but Mr Cheatem's gaze drifted between her legs and breasts throughout the 'welcome interview'.

Cassie could see her future: being ogled and pestered daily by married, middle-aged, powerful men wanting a quick fling or dipshit young professionals who fancied a roll with the office MILF. Tedious bookwork, filing and typing. The barbs and quips from the other women in the office.

She hated her life even more by the end of the day. The animosity towards her in the law office was palpable and that night she drank a full fifth of Jack Daniel's and smoked twenty cigarettes.

"I guess this is my life now," she sighed as she passed out on the couch in her tiny apartment.

Epilogue...

Jill Saint John leaned on the rail of the balcony of the Sisters of Satan's small clubhouse, smoking and drinking a beer from the bottle.

She watched the headlight in the distance down on Highway 93 wavering in the heat-haze and listened to the accompanying growl of a Harley Davidson road bike. She knew that note well.

She sipped her beer and smoked her smoke as the bike got closer.

The bike turned off the highway into the dusty parking lot. Up close the bike was beat up and had seen better days, the rider was dressed head to toe in black. Black skinny jeans, black boots, and a tight black leather jacket. The rider even wore a black full-face helmet with visor.

As the rider dismounted, Jill saw the patch on the back of the rider's jacket, there was no club emblem, just a bottom rocker that read 'Nomad' in black on a white background.

The rider removed the black helmet and her long dark hair spilled to her shoulders.

"I heard you bitches are want to give a lonely gal a cold ale and maybe a bed for the night," Cassie grinned.

Jill threw her empty beer bottle in the sand and strode over to Cassie and gave her a hug.

"Yeah. Us biker bitches gotta look after each other," she grinned.

The end.