Chapter 3

Chris pulled into her own driveway with much more dignity and care than she had exited the garage with. The people who lived in her neighbourhood worked for a living after all. She killed the engine and sat for a moment in the car, reflecting on the previous few hours events. Who could have predicted the she would have been plunged into gang warfare, met the most hunky man that had ever lived and walked away with one of the most luxurious cars in the world ,all within the span of a couple of hours. She shook her head in amazement.

On the quiet drive home, she had felt her cell phone vibrate in her back pocket and knew that she had received a text message from the boss. She had cursed to herself, she never did get his name and she'd be damned if she would call him 'Boss'. She dug her phone from her pocket and glanced at the message with his return number.

"Nice Exit" was all it said. She smiled and keyed in the number under the header 'THAT man'.

She got out of the car and made extra certain that it was locked. She walked towards the porch in the front of the house. And then walked back to the car to check again. It was quite unnerving having a car of this calibre in her possession. She steeled herself and headed into her house. She dumped her cell & the transponder onto the antique hall table that her mother had carefully chosen for the entrance hall. She stood there for a moment her hand resting on the transponder. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, remembering the subtle fragrance of his cologne mingled with the very powerful something else that accompanied it and the warmth of his hand as it enclosed hers. She then snorted in disgust with herself. Why was she fantasising about a man who not only tried to jack her car but also pointed a gun at her, granted the gun was empty but that wasn't the point. He was responsible for an epic car chase, endangering her life and trashing her precious Hammerhead.

Because he was sexy as hell she sighed. You don't become the leader of a Criminal Empire or be a Media sensation by being a slouch.

She had left her handbag in the Hammerhead, she would get in touch with Tank tomorrow to get it back. Her mind had been all over the place on the drive home. She had searched her memory for as much information as possible about the people that she had met tonight.

Tank was the owner of Rim Jobs, the largest chain of automotive parts and service in the state. Despite his somewhat unkempt appearance he was a very rich man and she did vaguely recall her dad talking about him fondly. She had seen Pierce Washington on TV in the Saints Flow and Planet Saints ads, Shaundi as well and she did a dating show too. Chris had recalled the name Johnny Gat as well, he was a famous Saint too but he hadn't been there though. He was apparently scary as all hell.

She walked through her house to the kitchen and straight to the fridge. It seems weird to be doing such ordinary things after such a monumental afternoon. Before 5.30pm she had been processing paperwork for drivers licences, talking to Beth about her weekend of doing as little as possible and theorising about the possibility of going to the movies soon for girls night out, swearing at the photocopier for being so crap and making about a dozen cups of coffee. Then she was embroiled in the criminal underworld of Steelport, getting shot at by snipers in helicopters with a sexy Criminal Boss and driving like a bat out of hell through downtown… she'd almost hit a cement truck. Now she was cooking herself dinner. All in a days work? She shook her head in wonder and began to rummage around for food. She was ravenous and if she were to admit it, exhausted. She would eat, do a little googling and then go to bed… the googling was essential, she needed to familiarise herself with the Third Street Saints.

She decided to whip up a bacon & asparagus frittata. She had all of the ingredients, which she began to gather up. She spilled it all onto her counter and got to work. Her father may have been a famous driver, but her mum had been a homebody through and through. Chris was not allowed to drive if she didn't absorb an equal amount of the domestic arts. So she had learned to cook and sew as well as tear up the roads.

In no time she was sitting in the lounge, balancing her laptop on one knee and her plate on the other. An image of the man that everyone called boss flashed up on her screen after a quick search… she made it full screen and studied it as she put a forkful of frittata in her mouth and chewed slowly as she contemplated him.

He was so very hot. Tall with broad shoulders & narrow hips, his face was handsome and chiselled and his hair was artfully dishevelled and a rich chestnut colour. She remembered those hazel eyes boring into her and shivered. Best not to dwell on him, she closed the tab.

She found a Saints fan page, one of many, which made her laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She scrolled through the bios of his lieutenants and read through their sordid history, from their roots in Stilwater to their current attempted takeover in Steelport. The giant Oleg was from Steelport and formerly of Morningstar she read with interest, wondering how that change over had come about. She sat hunched over on her couch, munching her dinner and reading from the glary screen.

There was not much about 'Him' on here. There were plenty of pictures and everyone seemed to know who 'He' was but there was no name and no back story before his leadership of the saints. He was simply referred to as "The Boss".

She sighed as she placed the last bite of Frittata in her mouth and chewed slowly, her face a picture of deep thought. Very unsatisfying, she thought. She snapped her laptop shut and dumped it on the couch next to her, got up and took her empty plate into the kitchen, she rinsed her plate and fork and put them into the dishwasher and pressed start. She stood for a moment at the kitchen bench staring out of the window at the Bronze Infuego sitting in the driveway.

It struck her how lonely her life was. Her dishwasher had dishes for one in it, she lived in this house alone, she didn't have a boyfriend and no friends outside of her work and until today nothing had happened to her since the fateful night that the SPD knocked on her door to tell her that her folks were dead. She had been different before then. But when her parents died, her boyfriend, Grant, had left. She's gotten rid of her apartment to move into the house and she had kind of, closed in on herself. She wasn't even sure why.

She realised that she was staring out the window at her neighbour from the apartments next door. She gave a small wave. He stubbed out his cigarette on the ground, flipped her off and then turned to slouch inside. She sighed.

There was not much point in staying up, she had to go to work in the morning and get back to her life after this small exciting blip. Besides, considering her evenings events, she was mentally & physically drained. She headed upstairs switching off all of the lights as she went. She wandered into her room and through to the ensuite, she started to wash her face and decided to jump into the shower instead. Under the hot water she washed away the thrilling memory of the day. Afterwards her skin was pink and squeaky clean, she felt fresh and snuggly and very ready to sleep. She put on her favourite and ultra cheesy satin 'little devil' boxer shorts and the fitting white singlet that she normally slept in and slid between the cool sheets of her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

As tired as she was, as soon as she closed her eyes, his damn face floated into her consciousness. His striking hazel eyes and his lovely shaped lips, the tiny scars that spoke to a life lived in the edge, the splash of stubble that covered his jaw… oh and his strong jaw. She groaned and rolled over and buried her face into her pillow. He was perfect.

She was now restless and her hot skin seemed to grow warmer as she lay in the dark with pictures of that man in her head. Those big hands, rough but warm, sure and somehow secure despite the danger that surrounded him. The way his jeans had hugged his narrow hips… she groaned again. He had been so close, his head bent towards her intimately, if she had leaned forward just a little and got on her tippy toes , theirs lips would have touched.

She sat up abruptly and strained her ears, was that a sound downstairs?

She sat in the dark, listening intently. She heard a soft thump that could only have been a footstep and a whisper of a mans voice.

There was someone in her house.

She silently slipped out of her bed and tip toed to her closet. She opened the door carefully, if you opened it too fast or too far, it squeaked. She felt inside until her fingers brushed against cold steel. She gripped into her dads shotgun and pulled it from the cupboard. Almost everyone in Steelport owned a gun of some kind. She got down onto her knees and felt around on the floor until she found the box of shells. She opened the box carefully and quietly, listening all the while to the noises downstairs. She heard the unmistakable creak of the fourth stair and knew they were heading upstairs, whoever they were . The box only had two shells in it. She loaded the gun awkwardly, fumbling a bit in the dark but slid the shells home into the chamber.

She was kneeling on the floor in the corner of the room, in the dark watching the door. Her heart was beating fast. Who were they? Was it the Saints? She was reluctant to ready the gun just in case... but surely they would have knocked…or let her know they were coming.

She didn't need to wait too long, her bedroom door started to open and she saw a big man dressed in a green muscle tee shirt and army fatigues. Most alarming was the Mexican wrestling mask covering his whole head. A luchador!

The man looked at the bed and seeing it was empty and messed up started to look around the room. His eyes fell on her crouched in the corner of the room and he started forward arms extended.

"Killbane wants a word, bitch." He growled.

Click-Clack! She pumped the shot gun and levelled it at her intruder. She squeezed on the trigger and it boomed in her hands. The large man shot backwards as the spread hit him square in the gut. She hadn't braced the gun properly, so it leaped backwards and out of her hands with recoil, thumped into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her, before clattering to the floor. She clutched at her stomach and staggered to her feet. The sound of the gun had drawn shouts and thumping footsteps from downstairs… lots of footsteps.

She lurched into the ensuite and locked the door behind her. She looked around wildly. There was a small window above the bathtub. She could fit through it and it lead to the porch roof. She shook off the pain in her stomach and made for the window wrenching it open and going through it head first. She fell hard onto the roof of the porch outside. She looked back up at the window to see a masked face looking down at her, he had broken through her ensuite door with ease and had been so close to grabbing her… she shuddered. The street was alive with Green and Black four wheel drives. She scrambled off the roof, hitting the ground harder than she hit the roof. Something inside was damaged for sure now she thought, grunting slightly in pain. She could hear thumping in her house and shouts, they were coming out.

Ignoring the pain in her torso, she took off across the street towards the alleyway that led to the next street and hid there in the shadows looking back to see of they were following her, when she saw flames licking at the back of her house.

"No!" she breathed in despair.

They had torched her house. Her mums pride and joy.

They were spilling out onto the pavement, driven by a green suited monster roaring abuse. Gesturing wildly towards the burning house, the Bronze car and more wildly, at the street around him.

She only made out two words "Find her!"

She didn't have time to grieve for her home or even think, she just ran, her bare feet slapping on the asphalt. She could hear the roar of engines in the next street over as they began looking for her. The alleyway opened into a street that was walled off with shop fronts. She ran across the street and around the last building in the line and found herself on the waterfront walkway. She looked left. The bridge was already blocked by the Luchadores trucks, so she started to run in the other direction. She could see the headlights of more Luchador vehicles move to block that bridge too. She whimpered in fear and looked with longing across the water. There were men blocking both bridges and they were coming fast in the streets behind her. What was she going to do?

Across the water in the distance, Chris saw the lights of the Saints building in between the skyscrapers of Sunset Park, it seemed so far away especially with the enormous body of water in between her and it. She heard the sound of truck tires in the road she had just been on and without another thought she jumped over the concrete barrier and into the icy water below.

The cold hit her like a hammer and she floundered for a moment, before catching her breath and swimming for the far shore with all she had in her. It was late Autumn and the water was colder than anything she had ever experienced. The far shore was further than she had thought and she tired quickly. The cold stole her breath and made her body heavy, but she ploughed on coughing and spluttering in the salt water as she fought to swim and breathe at the same time.

For what seemed an eternity she was lost on the water. Her numb fingers finally touched the slimy wooden pillars of the wharf on the other side of the channel. She was too tired and cold to pull herself out of the water. She tried in vain for a few minutes before giving up, her body was too numb and every ounce of her strength had been sapped on the swim over. She panicked a little as she clung to the greasy pillar in desperation. She closed her eyes ready to give up and leaned her forehead against the wharf. There were service stairs under the bridge her brain reminded her. You jumped off them on the Carver Island side when you were a kid there had to be some on this side too. She swam as quickly as she could towards the bridge, casting scared looks upwards, hoping that the Luchadores didn't think to look over the side. She reached the stairs and started out of the water and her legs failed her and she sank to her knees. She summoned every once of strength and forced herself to her feet and up the stairs to the street. At least the cold had numbed the pain in her gut.

There was a walled alleyway directly across from her, she made for it looking over her shoulder as she ran. She stumbled on the gutter and fell painfully to the ground, grating her body on the gravel strewn concrete. She dragged herself to her feet and sank into the shadows of the alleyway. They didn't seem to be following but she had better keep moving just in case.

She limped as fast as she could down the alley towards the Saints building. It was only two blocks from the water, but it seemed to take forever. Luckily the alley way stretched a whole block behind the tall building She tried not to think about what was on the ground that she walked on in the unlit alleyway but she shied in pain as something sliced into her bare foot, maybe a broken bottle maybe something worse. She also saw movement next to a dumpster, a sleeping homeless man. She quickened her pace as much as she was able and when she reached the last street that stood between her and her destination, she stopped and looked both ways looking not only for the Luchadores but also any sign of the Morningstar, their traditional cohorts. The coast was clear so she bolted across the road and into the side street that led to rear of Saints HQ. She was well passed exhausted, shaking with cold and dragging her bare feet on the concrete, willing her body to just get her there. She sobbed outright when she spotted a man in a purple jacket, even better, she recognised him for earlier in the day in the penthouse and in the garage.

"Rocco" She gasped breathlessly.

The young man turned at the sound of his name and his eyes widened at the sight of her scrambling down the street at him. Soaked to the skin, bleeding, filthy, blue and shaking with cold.