In The Dark

Four: Conversations and Proper Healing

Conversations and Proper Healing

Zeke looked flummoxed at the comment for a quick moment before he went back to full-on fight mode.

"Back the hell up, Riddick," Johns said warningly, his hands tight around the gun. Jack was standing flat up against the wall, trying to evade the situation as much as possible. I was all the way at the head of the cot now—my head pressing against the metal wall—eyes shifting from Johns to Zeke to Jack and the new, towering figure that was added to the atmosphere. The convict.

He was tall, six foot at the very least, and not one inch of him wasn't brawny. His caramel, honey-like skin was tight around his large muscles—slickened with sweat that ran from his brow to his lips and down, slipping beneath a pure black 'wife beater,' as they were called. Goggles of the same color covered his eyes, and cargo pants of a similar hue adorned his hips very low—even past the cloth of the tucked shirt I could tell they hung just below his v-line. I caught myself staring and immediately my eyes shifted back to Johns and Zeke—Shazza just then clambering through the doorframe. "What's goi—" she had no time to finish before the same deep, gravelly, dominant voice collided with the hot desert air once again.

"What, Billy-boy, you're gonna kick your foot up my ass before I can fix the grease-monkey's fuck up?" He faced Johns' direction—the mocking tone that accompanied the nick-name visibly making the cop's eye twitch, and Zeke looked taken aback by the stranger's insult. Without another word he turned to me and pulled out a strange looking blade—moving his hands dangerously close to my leg. I froze up in fear and Johns shifted in his spot—near ready to pull the trigger. Shazza, Zeke and Imam looked just as prepared to back the merc up in any way they could, and Riddick seemed to notice.

"I. Said. Back. Up," the cop enunciated slowly, as if speaking to an imprudent animal. A tiny smirk pulled at one corner of the con's lips for a moment, and then it was gone—his hands held up in a mocking manner.

"Johns, you and I both know I could ghost your ass before your finger so much as twitches," he said matter-of-fact-ly, and returned to his work without any more protest from the blue-eyed-bobby—a now compassionless expression on the con's face. I whimpered again as I pulled my leg away from his hands each time they neared—fear and pain in the small whine I emitted. He tilted his head up—I could tell he was looking at me in tolerance past his goggles. I stared at them, trying to make out the eyes beneath them—trying to plead for him not to touch me. An authoritative, low rumble met my plea. My eyes widened as I found it was coming from him. 'What on earth....'

Suddenly I felt the pressure of the blade on my upper thigh—not too light, but firm enough to make its existence known. My breath hitched in my throat and my lips trembled in panic. The rumble I heard before grew louder, and I couldn't find it in myself to stop the knife-edge from ripping through my pants leg. I was utterly confused as he pulled it carefully down the length of my limb until it came apart all together—leaving my leg, from my upper thigh down, bare. I felt a wave of heat reach my cheeks that I knew was not from the sweltering climate.

*

Riddick didn't care to stifle the smirk that came along when he sensed her blush in the atmosphere—her embarrassment almost radiating off of her like the sun. He felt her body heat rocket even more when his hands made contact with her skin.

*

"What the hell are you doing," Johns stated more than asked. Riddick ignored his outburst and asked a question of his own.

"Where you hidin' your stash, Johns? Some of your hype would be pretty useful right about now,"

Zeke and Shazza looked at one another in suspicion, and then Johns could feel two pairs of eyes boring into his head in anger. He tensed. "What the fuck are you talking about," the merc demanded in faux innocence, and Riddick growled. Growled.