Hell Comes to Mercy
- 3 days ago
- 16 min read
A short story by Conner Von Kuetzing
This story contains: her and him, fantasy, friends to lovers, self-pleasure, exhibitionism/voyeurism
1.
It was a blistering, languid day when the stranger rolled into town. He came the usual way, on foot, dead tired, and with a fresh bounty to cash in. Well, not so fresh anymore. The wet burlap sack hung heavy against his broad shoulders, dripping down his back and making his long coat glisten in the hot sun.
Jack Hell was used to the dirtier part of his job, but he still preferred taking his bounties alive. That hadn’t been an option this time. The outlaw whose head Jack was now carrying had led him from the irradiated shores of the Broiling Sea, all the way to the petrified timberlands, and beyond. He had finally caught the man just outside a trading post called Frostbite. Then it had been a long haul back to Mercy, and Astrid.
He had hurried to get back. As much as the born and bred Wastelander hated to admit it, he liked civilization. He liked the saloons and the brothels and especially the walls. Once you tried to sleep out in the big nothing, where the mutants howled and every other sumbitch wanted to knife you for your bullets, you started to appreciate having a warm bed inside an armed compound. Especially when you got to share that bed with a particular someone.
But first he would have to impress her, and even then it wasn’t a done deal. He was attracted to her beauty—but even more so to her power, for it was the only real power in these parts.
The Mercy guards met him at the gate.
“What do you want, Jack?” asked the one he recognized as Patience.
A tall, tawny girl with buckteeth. She was pretty, with a plump figure, freckles, and truly wicked eyes. Jack flashed her what he hoped was his most winning smile. “Here on business. Got a bounty for Astrid. You gonna let me in?”
The girl chewed her lip, shooting a glance at the other gun-toting ladies posted at the gate. “What do I get if I do?”
Jack indicated the bag over his shoulder. “Your boss’s gratitude? She’ll be mighty interested in what I brought her. Been looking for this one a long time.”
Patience made a face at the bloody sack. “She’s got a lot more on her mind ever since Panzer put out a price on her head.”
“So, the Mad German’s finally had enough.” Jack sighed and looped a thumb through his belt. “Well, it ain’t got nothing to do with me. I’m here to sell a head, not take one.” Patience shrugged. “I’ll still be needing your gun.”
The bounty hunter’s face darkened, as a protective, almost loving, hand went down to the polished grip of the big-iron strapped to his thigh.
“New policy, I’m afraid,” continued the girl, reaching out her hand.
Begrudgingly, Jack unclipped his holster, then drew the foot-long firearm out of its soft leather sheath. “Now can I come in?”
“Almost,” purred Patience. “First I just gotta make sure you ain’t smuggling anything else that goes bang.”
Without warning she stepped forward and deftly slid her hand down the front of Jack’s pants. Apart from an initial jolt, he managed to keep his cool.
“I guess the legends are true about you,” she said.
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