The wind on her face was soft and cool. The Fatboy beneath her was quiet and smooth. She missed the reverberating snarl of her Sporty through the slant cut drag pipes and the vibration of the 1200 Evo engine. But she had willingly traded in the Sportster, as well as her meager life savings, to buy him the Fatboy. She pulled out from the light, the bike beneath her responding easily but not as quick as she would have liked. She wanted more speed off the light, more response as she wove recklessly through traffic, challenging the cages. She just wanted more.

She cruised the city, her eyes taking in the neon, the crowds and the scents of urban dwelling. It was aimless meandering. She had no place to be, no one waiting, nothing to do. Not a good way to spend what might be her last free night out. Her eyes focused on her surroundings, 37th and Sandy. She knew a place near here. He used to bring her here years ago, when they first began dating, when he actually took her places. There it was. She backed in next to one of the half dozen bikes parked at the curb. Her heart fluttered a little at the thought of being unescorted. It was exciting, and this was no time to be alone.

Pushing open the battered door, she stepped into the under lit, smoky bar. The Eagles were playing on the jukebox, Hotel California. Her eyes scanned the small gathering of humanity. Two couples were at the pool table, leather-jacketed backs turned toward her, and a slender young man was talking earnestly to a big-breasted brunette by the jukebox. She recognized the bartender, the same shriveled old man who had always worked here. She had always thought of him as a troll. She walked slowly to the bar and rested her weary body on the red vinyl stool. The troll came over, wiped the bar in front of her and set down a square bar napkin covered with tasteless cartoons.

"What'll you have?"

"Scotch on the rocks, please."

"Sure thing."

He served her, took her two dollars and left her to her own devices. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the glass. Bringing it to her lips, the smell of the liquor hit her nose. It was the same sour smell so often on his breath and oozing from his pores. She took a sip and rolled it around on her tongue. The tremor in her hand stopped and she smiled.

Another sip. He had smelled of Scotch tonight. Night had barely fallen when he walked in the door three hours late and reeking of his favorite, Johnny Walker. He wrapped his strong, thick arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his broad chest.

"Give me some sugar, baby," he had breathed against her neck.

"Sarah?" The soft voice broke her from her reverie and she turned toward the source. A familiar, bearded face with dark hazel eyes looked at her hopefully. Her mind wavered for a moment, struggling to focus.

"Sammy?" The question was more doubt than greeting.

"I didn't think you'd remember me. It's been a while. You here by yourself tonight?" he asked hopefully, smiling into the bright blue eyes.

"Yep. Gonna paint the town red," she laughed, "all by myself."

"By yourself? That doesn't sound like much fun. Want some company?"

"Sure, have a seat," she let her eyes wander from the handsome face to the flat stomach and narrow hips, then back to the hazel eyes.

They drank silently for a moment. She was savoring every sour sip of the cheap Scotch, breathing in the fumes and letting them remind her of what waited at home. She turned on her stool to face her new companion.

"So what's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?" she teased.

He smiled back. "Not much. Just stopped in for a beer after work. Nothing to go home to. How about you?"

"Nothing at home I need to take care of either," she answered.

“Unchained Melody” came over the speakers and she watched the slender young man lead the buxom brunette onto the postage stamp-sized dance floor and encircle her with his arms. Sarah sighed.

"Want to dance?" Sammy asked, seeing the direction of her gaze.

"Really? Sure. I haven't danced for a long time."

He took her hand and led her onto the floor. He politely placed his hands on her hips, her hands settled on his broad shoulders. She closed the gap between them, letting her body press against his. His arms tightened.

As she settled her cheek against his shoulder, she could almost hear the thick voice again, "Give me some sugar, baby."

She closed her eyes and let her hips rub against him, feeling him harden, feeling the arms tighten a bit more. They swayed to the music.

"Give me some sugar, baby."

The calloused hands had been rough, insistent. The familiar kisses were rank and repulsive. The fingers tugged at her shirt. She had pushed him away, knowing how angry it would make him. He came after her. She had backed away, into the bedroom, knowing there was no escape. There never was.

Now she felt the tentative hands in the small of her back and brought herself back to the present. Here and now, in the arms of a near-stranger whose hands were gentle and who smelled sweetly of Old Spice. She snuggled against him, enjoying the feel of the warm body. She let her lips brush his neck ever so gently and felt goosebumps arise at the touch. The song ended and she let him kiss her softly.

This was not a night for temerity or hesitation. She whispered, "Do you want me?"

She could see the look of shock in the hazel eyes, quickly replaced by desire. "Who wouldn't?"

"Do you live near here?"

"Just around the corner. Would you like to see my place?"

"Since you asked so nicelyŠ"

The two left the bar under the watchful gaze of the troll. He too had recognized the woman from her visits a few years before. He couldn't help but hope her ape of a boyfriend didn't show up and kill Sammy, he was a good customer. But it was none of his business. He wiped the bar with a white towel.

Neither spoke as they walked arm in arm to the small house around the corner. He fumbled with the keys, suddenly more than just a little nervous about the inevitable outcome of this evening. But his desire mounted as he caught a whiff of her perfume, sweet and floral, and thought of honeysuckle. He flicked on the living room light, revealing a small, tidy space with little thought beyond function and comfort.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"I don't think so," she stepped close, her arms returning to the firm shoulders, her hips pressing against him again.

He wasn't going to question her actions. He pulled her tight and kissed her hard. She felt like warm honey in his arms, flowing against him, conforming to his body, rubbing gently against him. He was hard as a rock in seconds.

She could feel his eagerness, barely suppressed. It was good to know she was still desirable, that she wasn't the ruined husk he had made her feel she was. Despite the warm body in her arms, she felt cold. She knew he had meant to hurt her, rape her, maybe kill her. He had threatened it often enough, usually with his hands at her throat. But this time she had stood her ground, daring him. She had seen the doubt flicker across his face, replaced as quickly by red-faced rage. His face had taken on the red hue and arched brows of Lucifer. His teeth glinted as he snarled his fury at her sudden daring.

"Do you want to go into the other room?" a soft, kind voice whispered against her ear, gentle hands caressing her full hips and round ass.

"As long as the other room has a bed," she whispered back. She would not be alone tonight. But she was still cold.

He led her by the hand into the bedroom. He lit two candles on the nightstand, casting the room in an amber glow. The flickering light played across the amiable face and glittered in the dark eyes. He smiled down at her, helping to lift a bit of the chill that had settled on her soul. She stepped back into the eager arms, willing herself to accept the caresses, allowing herself to feel the desire and need in the warm hands. The heat in her groin was helping to dispel the cold.

He unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it from her shoulders. The deft fingers unhooked her bra, dropping it to the floor. Deft fingers so unlike the brutish fingers that had so often left their tracks behind as tattle tale reminders in the morning. Bruises that even now showed, livid on arms, shoulders and thighs, but camouflaged by the shadows cast by flickering candlelight. Soft, tender lips unknowingly kissed the welts and bruises on her shoulders before kissing their way to her soft, pink nipples. She moaned softly at the unaccustomed sweetness of a gentle touch. The nimble fingers found their way to her waistband, unsnapping and unzipping the jeans, slipping them from her smooth hips before pressing her back onto the bed. He paused long enough to remove his shirt and jeans, adding them to the pile of still-warm clothes accumulating on the floor. She opened her arms and legs to him, he settled down on top of her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the additional weight pressed her down into the mattress, pressing on the painful bruise on her back, a reminder of the blow that had knocked her to her knees beside the bed. On hands and knees she had fought against a red haze that threatened to swallow her, fought hard. The raging voice faded from her ears to be replaced by a roaring not unlike a stormy sea. With a will of their own, her fingers curled around her salvation, just before the booted foot connected with her ribs. She did not lose her grip.

Hot lips nibbled the soft flesh of her stomach, a teasing tongue trailed from her belly button down to her inviting pussy. He kissed her softly, his tongue flickered against her, eliciting a moan. Her fingers ran through his silky hair, encouraging the skillful mouth, letting it take her body far beyond any place her mind could follow. Even as she arched against him, the cold still held her in its vile grasp. But for a brief, shining moment it was forgotten in the pleasure of the purely physical. Pulling him up to her, she kissed the warm mouth that tasted of her own juices, guiding him inside of her.

As they thrust in unison, the bruises on her long frame were nagging reminders, keeping his presence near at hand even as another man pleasured her. She could feel his specter looming over her. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, but behind her lids his furious face and sneering lips loomed large above her. He had towered above her, hauling her viciously to her feet by her blond hair.

"Give me some sugar, baby," he had repeated with only hate and rancor in the low voice. His hand clung to her hair, holding tight, painfully tight. She knew he was capable of removing the hair and scalp beneath it. She had no options left. If he had felt the steel beneath his chin, he gave no indication.

The warm body on top of her shuddered and moaned. Lips sought hers, kissing as if he could pass his life force to her through the contact. She returned the kiss feeling as if she could drain him to revitalize her own depleted spirit. Whispers, caresses, kisses, given and returned.

Behind her closed lids, the image was seared into her retina, the soundless image of his head dissolving under the intrusive impact of a .32 slug entering at high velocity and exiting nearly as rapidly. He had fallen backward across the bed, a look of surprise frozen onto his face. She stood above him for a moment, gazing wonderingly down at the suddenly silent monster. A smile played across her lips as she wiped the handle of the gun on her shirt before placing it carefully in his limp hand and leaving the room.

She lingered only long enough to wash her hands in the bathroom sink and run a brush through her hair. She grabbed the keys from the hook by the front door and stepped out into the welcoming twilight glow of the city night. The Fatboy sat silently at the curb, as if waiting to whisk her from the reality of her life and into one final night of living. He had started easily at her touch, as if he lived to serve. She had only ever been allowed to ride pillion, even though the bike was in her name and paid for with her money. She had smiled as she pulled from the curb, realizing that it was now her bike. Who would dispute her claim?

She looked into questioning hazel eyes, seeing a trace of doubt. Concern for her, concern for her needs.

She kissed him softly, smiled and whispered, "Want some sugar, baby?"