Chapter 31: Patricia & Dariana - Double Battle
The gate loomed ahead like the mouth of some rusted beast, chain-link teeth bared against the gray afternoon sky. Roger and Callum stood before it, still arguing, their voices carrying across the empty lot in fragments.
"—told you we should've checked the east perimeter first—"
"And I told you to shut the fuck up, so we're even."
Callum spat on the ground. His purple hair caught the weak sunlight like a bruise, and the piercings in his lip and brow glinted as he turned. He saw them first.
"Well, well." His grin was all teeth. "Look who wandered into the wrong neighborhood."
Roger spun around. His spiky hair looked even more ridiculous up close, gelled into something that might have been fashionable in a different decade. His eyes swept over the group and landed on Briv with immediate, undisguised hatred.
"You," he said. "The fucking champion."
"Roger." Briv's voice was flat. "Callum. Still playing dress-up with the Eclipse Squad?"
"Still pretending you're hot shit?" Callum shot back. He cracked his knuckles, a stupid gesture that made him look like a kid trying to act tough. "We've got orders to keep this place secure. And you're not on the list."
"Then we'll make our own list." Briv took a step forward. Shinx crackled at his side, blue fur bristling. "Move, or we move you."
Roger laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound, like a knife scraping bone.
"You think this is a battle you can win?" He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the facility behind him. "We've got reinforcements inside. A whole squad. The moment we call for backup, you're fucked."
"So call them," Nicola said. "See what happens."
The standoff stretched. Roger's hand hovered near his belt, fingers twitching. Callum's grin had faded into something more calculating. They were outnumbered—four trainers to two—and they knew it.
But they didn't back down.
"Alright," Roger said. His voice had gone strange. Softer. Slippery. "How about a different kind of fight?"
"What kind?" Patricia asked warily.
"A double battle. Two on two. You pick your fighters, we pick ours." Roger's smile widened, and there was something deeply unpleasant in it. "Winner takes the field. Loser... well."
He exchanged a glance with Callum. Some silent communication passed between them, some shared joke that made them both smirk.
"Loser follows the old rules," Callum said. "The ones from back in the day, before all this League bullshit made everyone soft."
Briv's stomach dropped. He knew those rules. Everyone did, though most trainers had abandoned them years ago—the old circuit customs from before the modern League standardized everything. When a trainer lost a battle in the underground circuits, they paid a price. Sometimes their Pokémon. Sometimes their gear. Sometimes something worse.
"What rules?" Dariana asked. She'd stepped forward, Gallade at her side, its blade-arms gleaming in the weak light.
Roger's eyes crawled over her. He took in her tanned skin, her long brown hair, the curve of her hips beneath her loose training gear. His tongue flicked across his lower lip.
"You know the rules, girls," he said. "If you lose, we fuck you. Right here. Right in front of your dear friends."
The words landed like a slap.
Patricia's face went white. Dariana didn't react at all—just stood there, Gallade's red eyes fixed on Roger with laser intensity. Behind them, Samuel made a sound low in his throat, and Axel's hand moved toward Rotom's ball.
But Briv spoke first.
"You're out of your fucking minds," he said. "That's not happening."
"It's not happening if we lose," Roger corrected. "You don't want your girls getting railed in front of you? Then they better win." He shrugged. "Or you can walk away. Just leave the way you came. No harm done."
"Except we still can't get past you," Nicola said flatly.
"Yeah, well." Roger spread his hands. "Not our problem, is it?"
Briv's jaw clenched. His fingers curled around Chimchar's ball, ready to call his partner out, ready to end this with fire and fury. But before he could move, Patricia touched his arm.
"Let me," she said.
"What?"
"Let me fight." Her eyes met his. They were steady, determined, and absolutely unafraid. "I'll do the double battle."
"You're not—"
"I know what I'm doing." She turned to face Roger, squaring her shoulders. "Me and Dariana. Two on two."
Dariana nodded without hesitation. "I'm in."
"No—" Briv started.
"It's the only way," Dariana interrupted. Her voice was calm, measured, the voice of someone who had already calculated the odds and decided they were acceptable. "They're not going to let us through otherwise. And if we try to force our way past them, they'll call reinforcements. We don't want that fight. Not here."
"Then it's agreed." Roger clapped his hands together, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Double battle. Six Pokémon each side, no switches, no items. We fight until one team can't continue."
He and Callum walked to the far end of the lot, putting thirty yards between them and the group. They moved with the swagger of men who had never been punched in the face, never been humbled by defeat. Briv had seen their type before—bad boys who thought attitude was armor.
He wanted to prove them wrong.
But he couldn't.
Not tonight.
Patricia stepped up beside him, Buneary in her arms. The rabbit Pokémon's ears were trembling, but its eyes were fixed on the Eclipse Squad members with fierce determination.
"I need you to trust me," Patricia said quietly.
"Of course I trust you."
"Then don't interfere. No matter what happens." She passed Buneary to him, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Take care of her."
"Where are you—"
"Just in case."
The implication settled over him like ice water. He wanted to argue. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. But Patricia was smart—smarter than him, always had been—and if she thought this was the right play, then he had to respect that.
Didn't mean he had to like it.
Dariana stood beside her friend, Gallade and Pachirisu flanking her. The tiny Electric-type was puffed up and bristling, sparks dancing along its fur. It had grown stronger in the past weeks. Braver.
"You guys ready?" Dariana asked.
"Ready."
Roger and Callum had sent out their first Pokémon.
Sneasel materialized at Roger's side—a sleek, dark predator with dagger claws and a single red feather behind its ear. Its eyes were cold and calculating, and they fixed on Gallade with predatory interest.
Beside it, Callum's Nidoran appeared in a flash of purple light. The small Poison-type was all sharp edges and angry eyes, its tiny horn bared.
Patricia and Dariana exchanged a glance. It wasn't the last time they'd be doing that tonight.
"Buizel," Patricia said.
"Gallade."
The two Pokémon appeared. Buizel did a quick lap around its partner, spraying water from its tail with excited precision. Gallade simply stood there, motionless, its blade-arms crossed over its chest like a knight at rest.
"Begin," Roger said.
---
All four Pokémon moved at once.
Sneasel went for Gallade, claws extended. Nidoran lunged at Buizel with a Poison Sting that gleamed purple in the streetlight.
"Gallade, Protect!" Dariana called.
The barrier snapped into place, and Sneasel's claws screeched against it, throwing sparks. Gallade held firm, its eyes tracking the Weasel Pokémon's movements with uncanny precision.
"Buizel, Water Gun!"
The blast of water caught Nidoran mid-leap and sent it tumbling across the asphalt. The Poison-type scrambled to its feet, shrieking with a mixture of pain and rage.
"Good," Patricia said. "Keep it—"
"Sneasel, Shadow Claw!"
The Dark-type blurred forward, darkness wreathing its claws. It bypassed Gallade entirely and drove straight at Buizel, catching the Water-type square in the back and sending it flying.
"Buizel!" Patricia's voice cracked.
But Buizel rolled with the impact, coming up on its feet, its twin tails whipping. It was drenched in water and already furious, and that fury translated into speed.
"Aqua Jet!"
Buizel launched itself forward like a missile, water trailing behind it. It caught Sneasel mid-turn and slammed it into the pavement, the impact cracking concrete.
"Sneasel!" Roger snarled. "Get up and hit it with Icy Wind!"
"Gallade, intervene!"
Gallade moved like liquid. One moment it was standing still; the next it was between Sneasel and Buizel, its blade-arms extended. The Icy Wind sprayed out and Gallade took the hit, frost coating its white body. It didn't slow. It slashed, and Sneasel barely blocked, its claws screeching against Gallade's blades.
"Firework combo!" Roger shouted.
Sneasel's claws lit up with blue flame, and it dove forward. Gallade deflected the first strike, sidestepped the second, and redirected the third. But the fourth got through, clipping Gallade's shoulder and carving a deep gash.
Gallade grunted but didn't retreat.
"Shellos," Dariana called. "Now."
She'd switched Pokémon without warning. Shellos materialized behind Buizel, its soft body rippling in the cold air, its eyes already glowing with calm intelligence.
"Mud Bomb."
The projectile struck Sneasel in the chest and sent it sprawling. Buizel, sensing vulnerability, capitalized with a Sonic Boom that threw the Dark-type into the chain-link fence.
Sneasel got up. Barely.
"Fall back," Roger said. "Poochyena, replace!"
Sneasel returned to its ball. Poochyena appeared in a flash of dark fur and sharper teeth. It was smaller than Sneasel but faster, with a look of cruel, unearned confidence.
"Poochyena, Bite."
The tiny wolf lunged, jaws snapping. Shellos tried to dodge, but Poochyena was quick—its teeth sank into Shellos's side, and the Water-type squealed in pain.
"Shellos, Water Pulse!"
The pulse hit Poochyena at point-blank range, knocking it back and stunning it briefly. Shellos retreated, wobbling. It wouldn't survive many more hits.
Patricia and Dariana locked eyes.
"Switch?"
"Switch."
Shellos returned. Gligar appeared.
Poochyena, still dazed from the Water Pulse, didn't see it coming. Gligar dropped from above—silent, precise—and hit the Dark-type with a Fury Cutter that left three parallel gouges across its flank.
Poochyena howled and retreated.
"Useless," Callum muttered. "Nidoran, replace! And Ariados, get out there!"
Both of his Pokémon hit the field at once. Nidoran was joined by Ariados—a massive spider with striking yellow-and-purple markings and eyes that reflected nothing but hunger. It moved with eerie grace, its legs clicking against the asphalt.
"Double team," Roger said. "Sneasel, come back out!"
Now there were three opposing Pokémon on the field: Poochyena, Nidoran, and Ariados, with Sneasel's ball still in Roger's hand.
"Rules say six each," Dariana said tightly. "But you're rotating."
"Rules also say no switches." Roger grinned. "We're not switching. We're... substituting."
"You're cheating."
"Prove it."
Patricia's jaw tightened. "Buizel, Gligar—split them up!"
Her Pokémon launched into action. Buizel went for Nidoran, spraying water and sonic booms. Gligar took to the air, diving at Ariados with Fury Cutter after Fury Cutter. The spider tried to web it down, but Gligar was too fast, too precise, its wings humming as it danced through the air.
"Pachirisu, help Gligar!" Dariana called.
The Electric-type bounded forward, sparks flying. It hit Ariados with a Discharge that made the spider seize up, legs curling inward. Gligar followed up with a slash that sent the Bug-type skittering backward.
"Poochyena, Take Down!"
The wolf tackled Pachirisu from the side, sending them both tumbling. Pachirisu cried out—a high, pained squeal—but it didn't stay down. It staggered to its feet, fur bristling with electricity.
"Pachirisu, Thunder!"
The lightning was blinding. Poochyena took the full brunt and collapsed, smoke rising from its fur.
"Poochyena's down," Briv said. He'd been watching from the side, fists clenched, Shink and Gible at his feet. "That's one."
Roger recalled the fallen Pokémon without comment. He sent out his third: Carvanha.
The piranha Pokémon materialized in a splash of dark water, its toothy mouth already open, already snapping. It was smaller than the others but infinitely more vicious, its eyes burning with mindless aggression.
"Carvanha, Aqua Jet."
The Water-type shot forward like a bullet and slammed into Pachirisu before anyone could react. The Electric-type flew backward, hit the ground, and didn't move.
"Pachirisu!" Dariana's voice was sharp with pain.
"Recall it," Officer—no, not Jenny, just Dariana—said quietly. "Now."
Dariana recalled her Pokémon, her eyes wet but her expression hard. "Gallade. Chrono."
The battlefield shifted.
Gallade appeared beside Gligar, its blades extended. Together, they formed a wall of steel and patience against the three remaining Eclipse Pokémon.
But the numbers were still three to two.
"Carvanha, Crunch! Ariados, Poison Jab! Nidoran, Double Kick!"
The attacks came in perfect coordination. Carvanha went low, aiming for Gligar's legs. Ariados went high, its poison-tipped stinger stabbing toward Gallade's throat. Nidoran attacked from the side, both feet extended.
"Protect!" Patricia and Dariana shouted at the same time.
Twin barriers flickered into existence. The attacks rebounded, and for a moment, the Eclipse Pokémon were thrown off balance.
"Now! Aqua Jet and Psycho Cut!"
Gligar and Gallade moved in perfect synchronicity. The water impact knocked Nidoran off its feet. The psychic slash carved through Ariados's carapace, sending ichor spraying across the pavement.
"Get up! Get up!" Callum was screaming now, his voice cracking. "Kill them! Fucking kill them!"
Nidoran tried. It really did. It got back to its feet, swaying, its horn glowing with poison energy for one last strike.
But Gligar was faster.
One more cut. One more slash. Nidoran collapsed and didn't move.
"Two down," Dariana said. Her voice was steady, but sweat beaded her forehead. Gallade was bleeding. Gligar's wings were torn.
"Carvanha, kill the flying one!" Roger's voice was hoarse with rage.
Carvanha rocketed toward Gligar, teeth bared. Gligar tried to dodge, tried to rise, but its wing gave out. The piranha's jaws closed around its tail and yanked, slamming the Ground-type into the concrete.
Gligar cried out.
Patricia recalled it before it could be hit again. "Buizel," she said. "You're up."
Buizel was still fighting—still standing—despite everything. It was bleeding from a dozen cuts, its fur matted with sweat and water. But its eyes were bright. Determined.
"Buizel, Waterfall!"
The Water-type launched itself at Carvanha with the force of a falling ocean. They collided mid-air, and the impact sent both Pokémon spinning. Carvanha hit the fence. Buizel hit the ground.
Neither got up.
"It's down to Gallade and Ariados," Axel said. His voice was clinical, detached. "One on one."
Ariados was still moving. Its legs clicked as it circled Gallade, its mandibles dripping venom. The spider had taken more damage than it showed—its carapace was cracked, one leg hanging useless—but it was still in the fight.
Gallade was worse. The gash on its shoulder had widened. It had taken a hundred small wounds, and its breathing was labored.
But it was Gallade.
It would not fall.
"Psycho Cut," Dariana commanded.
The blade swept out. Ariados tried to dodge, but it was too slow—the attack carved through its legs, severing one completely. The spider shrieked and lunged with what remained, its poison stinger stabbing toward Gallade's chest.
"Gallade, no!"
But Gallade caught it. Caught the stinger in its free hand, the poison burning through its skin. It held on, teeth clenched, muscles trembling, and looked at Dariana with eyes that said everything.
"Now," she said. "Close Combat."
The barrage of punches and kicks was brutal, unrelenting, beautiful in its violence. Gallade struck Ariados again and again, each blow precise, each blow devastating. The spider's body crumpled under the assault, legs curling inward, chitin cracking.
When it was over, Ariados lay motionless on the asphalt.
Callum stared at the fallen Pokémon. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"That's three," Patricia said. She was breathing hard, her face pale, Palpitoad—no, Buizel—uh, her team was battered but standing. "You're out of Pokémon."
"We're not out," Roger said.
"Yes, you are. Six vs. six. We've taken down all six of yours."
"Actually." Roger's smile returned, wider than ever. "We've only taken down four of yours."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Patricia looked at her belt. Buizel was down. Gligar was down. Buneary was still with Briv. All three of her Pokémon were out of the fight.
Dariana's belt told the same story. Gallade was barely standing, its body a map of wounds. Pachirisu and Shellos were already defeated.
"That's three each," Dariana said slowly. "We've each lost three."
"Correct."
"So it's a draw."
Roger laughed.
"No, it's not." He gestured at Gallade, which had finally collapsed, its body succumbing to exhaustion and poison. "Your Gallade was your last Pokémon. It just fainted. You've lost all six of yours."
Silence.
"That's not—" Patricia started.
"That's the rules," Callum said. "Your Pokémon can't battle anymore. Ours can't either. But yours all fainted. Ours... well, we could send one more out if we wanted to. We just don't have to."
"That's—that's a technicality," Patricia said, her voice rising. "Your Pokémon were defeated first—"
"Rules are rules, sweetheart." Roger walked toward them, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "You agreed to them. We all did. And now..."
He stopped in front of Patricia. His eyes crawled over her body like hands.
"Get ready to undress, girls."
Patricia's hand moved—toward her belt, toward the single ball she had left—but there was nothing there. Buneary was still in Briv's arms. She was unarmed, defenseless.
Dariana put a hand on her arm.
"We made a deal," she said quietly. "We have to honor it."
"The fuck we do," Briv snarled. He'd marched forward, Shinx and Gible flanking him, Chimchar's ball already in his hand. "This is bullshit and you know it."
"Careful, Champion," Roger said. "You wouldn't want to break the rules, would you? We're not the ones who agreed to the stakes."
"You set us up."
"Maybe." Roger shrugged. "Or maybe we just knew your girls weren't as good as they thought they were."
"Fuck you," Patricia said.
"Later, maybe." Roger's grin was obscene. "Right now, I think you owe us a show. Both of you. Strip. Now."
=====
Roger's fingers found the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was lean, wiry, not the bulk of a fighter but the coiled muscle of someone who spent too much time in front of mirrors. Callum followed suit, stripping off his leather jacket and the black tank top beneath it, revealing a pale torso covered in ink and piercings.
Patricia didn't move.
Her hands hung at her sides, fingers curled into fists. She was staring at Roger's chest, at the stupid tribal tattoo winding around his bicep, and she was thinking about how much she wanted to break his nose.
"Come on, sweetheart," Roger said. "We don't have all night."
"You're enjoying this."
"Of course I'm fucking enjoying this." He unbuckled his belt, let his jeans drop to his ankles. His underwear was black, tight, already straining. "I've been waiting to fuck the champion's girlfriend since the League. You think I forgot how you looked at me? Like I was shit on your shoe?"
"I didn't look at you at all."
"Exactly." He stepped out of his jeans, kicked them aside. "Now you're gonna look. You're gonna look real close."
Behind her, Briv made a sound—low, dangerous, the kind of growl that preceded violence. Patricia held up a hand without turning around.
"Don't," she said.
"Patricia—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked on the word. "I made a deal. I'm keeping it."
She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
The cold air hit her skin like a slap. She was wearing a simple black bra, functional, nothing fancy. Her nipples hardened immediately, and she resisted the urge to cover herself. Callum whistled.
"Damn," he said. "The quiet ones always got the best bodies."
"Shut up," Dariana said. She was already undressing—faster than Patricia, more mechanical. Her top hit the ground, then her leggings. She stood in matching black underwear, her tanned skin glowing under the streetlight, her dancer's body lean and flexible.
Callum's eyes went wide. "Fuck me."
"Maybe later," she said flatly. "If you earn it."
Roger laughed. "I like her."
"I don't care what you like." Dariana's hands went to her bra clasp. It popped open, and she let the garment fall. Small, firm breasts, dark nipples, no hint of embarrassment. "Let's get this over with."
Patricia's hands were shaking. She undid her own bra, let it drop, and stood there with her arms at her sides. Her breasts were larger than Dariana's, full and round, the kind that drew stares even when she wasn't trying. Roger stared now.
"Jesus," he breathed. "Briv, you lucky bastard."
"Don't talk to him," Patricia said.
"I'll talk to whoever I want." Roger hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled his underwear down. His cock sprang free—hard, thick, already leaking at the tip. "And right now, I'm talking to you. Get on your knees."
"Not yet." She stepped out of her own underwear, kicking them aside. Her pussy was bare, neatly trimmed, and she could feel the air on it, cold and invasive. "You want to fuck me? You're gonna have to catch me first."
She didn't run. She just stood there, naked, defiant, her eyes locked on his.
Roger's grin faltered. Just for a second. Then it came back, wider than ever.
"You think you're tough," he said. "You think because you won some battles, you're strong." He walked toward her, cock swinging between his legs. "But you're not strong. You're just a girl with a pretty face and a tight little cunt. And I'm gonna fuck both of them until you forget your own name."
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her forward.
Patricia gasped. Her hands came up automatically, grabbing his wrist, but she didn't fight. She'd promised. She'd agreed. And she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of breaking her word.
"Open your mouth," Roger said.
She did.
His cock slid between her lips, thick and hot and tasting of salt and sweat. She gagged as he pushed deeper, but he didn't stop—just kept pushing until her nose was buried in his pubic hair, his balls resting against her chin.
"There we go," he groaned. "That's it. Take it all, you fucking tease."
Behind her, Dariana was already on her knees too. Callum had her by the back of the head, fucking her throat with short, sharp thrusts. The sounds were obscene—wet, choking, punctuated by moans that weren't entirely unwilling.
Briv watched. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. Shinx pressed against his leg, confused, and Gible had stopped grinning. Even Samuel looked uncomfortable, his easy smile replaced by something darker.
"Don't," Nicola said quietly. She'd moved beside Briv, her hand on his arm. "You'll only make it worse."
"This is fucked."
"I know."
"We should—"
"If we interfere, they'll call reinforcements. We'll lose our only shot at the facility." Her voice was cold, clinical. "This is the price. They knew it when they agreed."
"She's your friend."
"She's a trainer. She made a choice."
Roger pulled out of Patricia's mouth and slapped his cock against her cheek. She was breathing hard, her lips wet, her eyes watering.
"Look at you," he said. "Champion's girlfriend, on her knees, covered in my spit. How does it feel?"
"Like I want to kill you," she said hoarsely.
"Keep talking." He grabbed her by the hair again and pulled her to her feet. "I like it when they fight."
He spun her around and bent her over a chunk of broken concrete. Her hands scrambled for purchase, her ass thrust up, her pussy exposed and glistening. She wasn't wet from arousal—she was wet from fear, from adrenaline, from the sheer physical vulnerability of the position.
But Roger didn't care about the difference.
"Fuck," he breathed, staring at her. "That's a nice ass. Briv, you ever fuck this ass?"
Briv didn't answer.
"I asked you a question, Champion."
"Go to hell."
"Maybe later." Roger lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against Patricia's entrance. "Right now, I'm gonna fuck your girlfriend's pussy. And you're gonna watch."
He thrust in.
Patricia screamed.
It was a raw, animal sound, torn from her throat before she could stop it. Roger was thick—thicker than Briv, thicker than she remembered anyone being—and he didn't give her time to adjust.
"Fuck, that's tight," he grunted. "You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Fuck you," she gasped.
"Already am." He pulled back, slammed in again. Patricia's body jolted against the concrete, her tits swaying, her fingers scrabbling for grip. "God, you're tight. Briv must not be hitting it right."
"He hits it fine." She was panting, each word forced out between thrusts. "You're just... an asshole."
"An asshole who's fucking you." He slapped her ass, hard, leaving a red handprint. "Now shut up and take it."
He fucked her rough. No rhythm, no pacing—just raw, brutal thrusts that drove her further into the concrete with each stroke. Patricia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something else. Briv's face. Buneary's fur. The last time she'd felt truly safe.
None of it worked.
Dariana wasn't faring much better. Callum had her bent over a rusted girder, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other gripping her hip. He was shorter than Roger but stockier, his thrusts jerky and aggressive.
"You like that?" he demanded. "You like my cock in your tight little pussy?"
"Yes," Dariana said. It wasn't true. But she'd learned a long time ago that lying was sometimes the best defense. "Harder."
Callum obliged.
The slap of skin against skin echoed across the empty lot. Patricia's moans were reluctant, forced out of her by the sheer physicality of Roger's thrusts. Dariana's were quieter, more controlled, but her thighs were trembling.
"Time to switch," Roger announced.
He pulled out of Patricia with a wet sound. His cock was slick, glistening, and he stroked it once before turning to Callum.
"Trade you."
"Finally." Callum pulled out of Dariana and shoved her toward Roger. "I've been wanting a piece of her since the League."
The two men swapped positions. Roger grabbed Dariana by the hips, spun her around, and pushed her to her knees. Callum took Patricia by the arm and bent her over the girder.
"Open up," Callum said.
Patricia opened her mouth. Callum's cock slid in, shorter than Roger's but thicker, and she gagged as he pushed past her throat.
"Good girl," he said. "Now you're gonna suck me while Roger fucks your friend. And you're gonna like it."
"I'm not gonna like anything."
"We'll see."
Roger, meanwhile, had bent Dariana over the same concrete block Patricia had been using. He didn't bother with foreplay—just pressed his cock against her entrance and drove in.
Dariana didn't scream. She just gasped, her body arching, her hands gripping the concrete.
"That's it," Roger groaned. "God, you're flexible. You do yoga or something?"
"Something," she managed.
"Good. Stay flexible. I'm gonna fuck you in every position I know."
He did. He fucked her from behind, then pulled out and flipped her over. He pushed her legs back until her knees were near her shoulders, folding her in half, and drove into her again. Dariana's eyes rolled back, her mouth open in a silent cry.
Callum watched while Patricia sucked his cock. His hand was in her hair, guiding her, forcing her to take him deep.
"Look at them," he said. "Roger's destroying your friend. You like watching that?"
"No."
"Liar." He thrust deeper, making her gag. "You're soaking wet. I can smell it."
She was. Her body had betrayed her—the rough handling, the adrenaline, the sheer overwhelming sensation of being used. She hated herself for it.
Roger finished with Dariana's pussy and pulled out. His cock was glistening with her juices, and he stared at her ass for a long moment.
"Flip over," he said.
Dariana didn't argue. She just rolled onto her stomach, her face pressed against the concrete.
Roger pressed his thumb against her asshole. Dariana tensed.
"Relax," he said. "Or it'll hurt more."
"Fuck you."
"That's not very nice." He spat on his fingers, rubbed the saliva against her hole. "But I'll let it slide. This time."
He pushed in.
Dariana screamed. It was a real scream, raw and piercing, and even Callum paused to watch.
"Jesus," he said. "You're really going for it."
"She's a dancer." Roger was sweating now, his rhythm uneven as he forced himself deeper. "She can take it."
Dariana's fingers clawed at the concrete. Her eyes were wet, but she didn't beg. She didn't plead. She just took it, biting her lip so hard it bled.
Callum turned back to Patricia. "Your turn," he said.
He pulled out of her mouth and flipped her over. Before she could react, he was pressing against her asshole too, thick and insistent.
"Wait—" she started.
"No waiting." He thrust in.
Patricia screamed too.
They fucked them like that for what felt like hours—switching positions, switching holes, leaving bruises and handprints and marks that would last for days. Roger fucked Patricia's throat while Callum fucked Dariana's ass. Then they switched, and Roger was in Dariana's pussy while Callum fucked Patricia from behind.
"You like that?" Roger grunted, his hips slapping against Dariana's ass. "You like being shared?"
"I like... nothing... about you..." she gasped.
"Liar." He reached around and found her clit, rubbing it roughly. "Your body says different."
It did. She was wet, dripping, her thighs slick with her own juices. She hated it, hated her body for responding, but she couldn't stop it.
Callum, meanwhile, had pulled out of Patricia and was jerking himself off. His eyes were fixed on her, on her ruined makeup and swollen lips and the red marks on her ass.
"I'm close," he said. "Where do you want it?"
"Nowhere."
"That's not an option." He stroked faster. "Open your mouth."
Patricia looked at Briv. He was still standing there, frozen, his face a mask of barely contained rage. She saw the pain in his eyes, the helplessness, the guilt.
She opened her mouth.
Callum came with a grunt, hot and bitter, filling her mouth and throat. She swallowed because she had no choice, because it was either that or choke.
Roger, seeing this, pulled out of Dariana and stroked himself frantically.
"Me too," he said. "Open up, dancer."
Dariana opened her mouth. He came across her face and lips, thick ropes of cum that dripped down her chin and onto her chest.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Roger stepped back, breathing hard, and laughed.
"That," he said, "was worth the wait."
"Fuck you," Patricia whispered.
"You already did." He pulled on his jeans, not bothering to clean himself off. "Now get dressed. We've got a facility to secure."
Callum was already dressed, adjusting his jacket like nothing had happened. "What about them?"
"They can come. Or they can stay. Doesn't matter." Roger looked at Briv. "You want a tour, Champion? Or are you too busy crying?"
Briv didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there with his fists clenched and his eyes burning.
"I'll take that as a yes." Roger turned and walked toward the gate, Callum falling into step beside him. "Come on. You've got a lot to see."
They disappeared through the chain-link fence, leaving the group in silence.
Patricia was the first to move. She got dressed without looking at anyone, pulling on her clothes with mechanical precision. Her hands were shaking, but her face was blank.
Dariana did the same. She wiped her face with her shirt before putting it on, then stood there, waiting.
"We should go," Nicola said quietly. "They're getting away."
Briv didn't move.
"Briv." Nicola's voice was sharper now. "We can't waste this. We knew the stakes. We knew what it would cost."
"I know."
"Then move."
He moved.
They followed the Eclipse Squad members through the gate, into the facility, into whatever waited beyond.
Patricia walked beside him. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them knew what to say.