[TM RDX] Summer Memory
[private]
It was summer when I left the Hounds, and they left me for dead. I was only...fuck, maybe twenty? Twenty one? No...I was nineteen, just a fucking kid. Sorry if my memory fails me, but six months in a coma will do that to you.
We had a spot out in the Mojave where we met for stuff we didn’t want anyone tipped off to...not the cops, not the mob, and especially not the Mejandro family...they’re the goodfellas we did the most business with. Terrain’s wide open, and there’s a set of caves that make good shelter if you burn like me and gotta wait for any length of time.
I figured enough power and money would keep me safe...God knew I had plenty of both. The fellas I ran with were just Nietchzean enough in mindset and Darwinian at heart to go for it. I mean, I wasn’t asking for much...just my life, by my rules.
That was part of the problem, though...the goddamn rules. Rules I made, rules *I* set. That’s right...story for the masses is that I was second in command for the Hellhounds. I was running that shit at nineteen. *My* second was a fella named Crawl...kind of a psycho, and all jackass. Still, he was loyal...*I* thought, anyway.
When my inner circle showed up...four guys total...I laid it out, hard and fast. They let me walk away, and Crawl could have my slot...plus they could all split my “payroll” account courtesy of the Mejandros...it was nearly three million at the time.
But the rules always apply...and the rule I made was ‘blood in, blood stays.’ Cops don’t even get a body to ID, *nobody* leaves the Hounds of their own volition.
I tried to ride out, but they took me clean off my bike. I don’t remember much after that...just the heat of metal and sand and sun on my skin...the snap of bone, and the way cold steel felt piercing my flesh. I’ll never forget that odd sensation...the cool metal of a switchblade slipping between my ribs, wrapped in the heat of muscle, sinew, and flesh.
Had myself a nice little coma after that...nearly six months of time I’ll never get back.
But I woke up...that’s all that matters. I woke up, and I was free...from the law, anyway, and from the Hounds. They wouldn’t be back to see if I was alive or dead...dead meant they were living large, alive meant I might come back for retribution.
Not happening, though...oh, them fuckers best be afraid of me, that’s a fact, but if Mikey taught me nothing else? It’s that I got a lot more to live for than busting heads...maybe not all the shit *he* goes on about, but there’s stuff.
It took my brother to make me see reason...but it took a summer brush with death to make me see the light...and it’s not a lesson I’m ever likely to forget.
[/private]
Muse: Jim Riley
Fandom: Stargate:Atlantis/SG1
Words: 511
It was summer when I left the Hounds, and they left me for dead. I was only...fuck, maybe twenty? Twenty one? No...I was nineteen, just a fucking kid. Sorry if my memory fails me, but six months in a coma will do that to you.
We had a spot out in the Mojave where we met for stuff we didn’t want anyone tipped off to...not the cops, not the mob, and especially not the Mejandro family...they’re the goodfellas we did the most business with. Terrain’s wide open, and there’s a set of caves that make good shelter if you burn like me and gotta wait for any length of time.
I figured enough power and money would keep me safe...God knew I had plenty of both. The fellas I ran with were just Nietchzean enough in mindset and Darwinian at heart to go for it. I mean, I wasn’t asking for much...just my life, by my rules.
That was part of the problem, though...the goddamn rules. Rules I made, rules *I* set. That’s right...story for the masses is that I was second in command for the Hellhounds. I was running that shit at nineteen. *My* second was a fella named Crawl...kind of a psycho, and all jackass. Still, he was loyal...*I* thought, anyway.
When my inner circle showed up...four guys total...I laid it out, hard and fast. They let me walk away, and Crawl could have my slot...plus they could all split my “payroll” account courtesy of the Mejandros...it was nearly three million at the time.
But the rules always apply...and the rule I made was ‘blood in, blood stays.’ Cops don’t even get a body to ID, *nobody* leaves the Hounds of their own volition.
I tried to ride out, but they took me clean off my bike. I don’t remember much after that...just the heat of metal and sand and sun on my skin...the snap of bone, and the way cold steel felt piercing my flesh. I’ll never forget that odd sensation...the cool metal of a switchblade slipping between my ribs, wrapped in the heat of muscle, sinew, and flesh.
Had myself a nice little coma after that...nearly six months of time I’ll never get back.
But I woke up...that’s all that matters. I woke up, and I was free...from the law, anyway, and from the Hounds. They wouldn’t be back to see if I was alive or dead...dead meant they were living large, alive meant I might come back for retribution.
Not happening, though...oh, them fuckers best be afraid of me, that’s a fact, but if Mikey taught me nothing else? It’s that I got a lot more to live for than busting heads...maybe not all the shit *he* goes on about, but there’s stuff.
It took my brother to make me see reason...but it took a summer brush with death to make me see the light...and it’s not a lesson I’m ever likely to forget.
[/private]
Muse: Jim Riley
Fandom: Stargate:Atlantis/SG1
Words: 511