Bellann Summer

Ice and Timmy - Granite County - has been whispering in my ear. I'm going to keep writing what they're saying until they stop. (uneditied)

“And don’t come back!”

The owner hadn’t appreciated Timmy lurking about in the doorway of his house and chased him away. The situation could have been worse if He had found him. Timmy’s intuition screamed that He was near.

Avoiding the glow from the streetlights, Timmy sprinted down the sidewalk and crossed the deserted street. To avoid He, Timmy’s only chance was to move fast enough to keep his freedom.

Timmy spun to the right, thinking the tall brick buildings of the old industrial section of town a good place to fade into the interior of the city. A place where people slept in boxes and were invisible to the public while living in plain sight. Maybe not invisible but considered less human and not worth more than a sniff of disapproval.

Pitch black bled out in front of Timmy and he hit a wall. The blow tore his breath away, stars burst in front of his eyes, and he sailed back onto the unyielding concrete.

Timmy curled up into a ball of misery, bracing himself for the agony to come.

The roar of an engine and tires scraping against asphalt grew loader until they stopped behind him. A door opened.

“Oh shit, Timmy.” Dom’s blessed voice brought Timmy to tears.

He blinked to clear his eyes and looked up. A figure stood before him, black blending in with the shadowed streets. A hood covering the person’s face.

Timmy scrambled backwards, ignoring the grit tearing up his palms, until he was pressed against someone’s legs and their hands rested on his shoulders.

“Who are you?” Domonic demanded.

Dom’s presence gave Timmy hope. Maybe He would go away. Yeah, and moose could learn to fly.

Another set of legs appeared next to Timmy. He looked up to find Bishop Clark standing next to Dom.

“Welcome to Granite City, Mr. Ice.”  Bishop stated.

The man reached up and pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt. Silver eyes reflected in the light from the truck’s open door.

Timmy froze.

 

* * * *

 

Ice nodded, acknowledging Mr. Saint’s statement while watching the cowering man before him.

The man’s fear grated on his nerves, inciting a reaction to find the person who terrorized him. A taste, Ice’s style, would show the perp the error of his ways.

The man tempted Ice to touch his smooth, caramel colored skin, trace the outline of his wide nose, and bring a sparkle to the man’s dark, dark eyes. Was his straight black hair, that reached his shoulders, as soft as it looked? Ice wanted to find out which part of the Northern reaches of the continent bespoke the man’s ethnic appearance.

Their gazes met and locked. Ice let the moment happen as it was destined by fate. He had learned long ago that fighting what was supposed to be, a folly.

If he had it in him to feel mercy or empathy, he would have let the moment pass. He would have let the man go on with his life, free of his presence. But there were reasons he was called Ice.  Destiny had spoken, and for the first time he wanted more than a brief fuck.

The bottom line. The little guy intrigued him.