Welcome back to Warden City, Besties. It’s finally time to rescue Luna!
…Or at least, Miranda hopes so.
After following a lead she’d found at Vic’s office, our intrepid heroine had to face the monstrous Rost in the most unexpected setting. However, she managed to escape and in doing rescued Mike Castenburg from what was certainly intended to be his final meal. Castenburg was able to shed some light on Rost’s background, and for the first time Miranda has some leverage of her own.
The meeting is set. The exchange agreed upon: Luna for Castenburg.
But can our heroine really send a man to certain death, even in exchange for her dearest friend? Or can she come up with a plan that the master tactician Rost won’t see coming?
If you need to get caught up on the last part (part 2) you can do that here.
But if you’re ready to find out how this all plays out…then let’s begin…

Chapter Eleven

The midnight air over this part of Warden City was thick with the scent of rust and ash. It was one of those slowly-being-abandoned industrial parks, basically a graveyard of crumbling smokestacks and skeletal warehouses.

Miranda, now back in full Bombshell regalia, sliced through the night sky, her lithe form a streak of blue against the moonless dark. The blue and purple Nandex leotard hugged her subtle figure, accentuating her leggy silhouette and the generous curve of her large breasts, the circular cutout framing that daring glimpse of cleavage. The powerbelt was around her waist, white with the LEDs pulsing a high orange after a day’s charge. Hopefully around 40% or better. Her blonde hair whipped behind her in the wind, her green eyes scanning the ground below from behind her blue mask.

In the distance, traffic hummed along the highway, oblivious. Ahead, that warehouse loomed. Its corrugated metal walls were streaked with grime and pitted by years of weather. Broken windows gaped like empty eye sockets. Miranda’s nerves prickled remembering the last time she’d been here, when the Crimson Circle had ambushed her, and-

She banked sharply, circling the structure, watching for any sign of a repeat trap.  The roof was clear, no snipers or drones. No suspiciously lurking shadows. Satisfied but not relaxed, she descended, her blue high-heeled boots touching down on the cracked asphalt outside the warehouse’s massive bay door.

As if on cue, headlights sliced through the dark as Donovan’s yellow Spider roared into view, its engine snarling like a caged beast. The car skidded to a stop, gravel crunching under its tires. Donovan stepped out, tense but composed. He was still wearing his powder blue dress shirt and navy tie, now under an Ashtoncorp issue Kevlar vest. His sleeves were rolled up and he was carrying a tablet.

The two exchanged a determined but leery glance.

Before they could knock or make a move, the bay door groaned open to reveal the warehouse’s cavernous interior. It was dimly lit by flickering overhead fluorescents, the air heavy with the tang of oil and mildew. Rusting machinery loomed in some corners, and chains dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly in an unseen draft.

Inside, Rost stood like a monolith, his cropped silver hair glinting under the lights, his storm-gray eyes locking onto Bombshell with predatory intensity. His weathered black trench coat hung open, revealing a tight spandex shirt with the crimson circle emblazoned on his muscular chest, paired with red camo fatigues and a tactical gun belt.

Beside him was Patton, the bearish president of the Marauders, looming with a salt-and-pepper beard and flames tattooed across his bald scalp. His blood-red biker vest strained against his massive frame. Between them was-

“Luna!” Miranda gasped, but managed to hold her composure.

The chubby brunette was on her knees, naked and trembling, long hair spilling over her shoulders, frizzy and tangled. Her arms were bound behind her back. She lifted her eyes, weary with fear and exhaustion, to meet Miranda’s.

“Bombshell,” Rost’s voice cut through their moment, smooth and cold as a blade. “It’s good to see you this time.”

“It’s never good to see you, Rost.”

“You’re punctual. I’d expect nothing less from Warden City’s shining star.” His eyes drifted toward Donovan. “I can’t help but notice you are not Mike Castenburg.”

“Figured that out all on your own?” Donovan asked.

“I’m impressed actually,” Rost’s eyes narrowed. “I did not expect a soft, billionaire child like you to be brave enough to face me…again.”

“Well, you owe me a very expensive office window, so I’m here to collect-”

“That’s enough,” Miranda snapped, her jaw tightening, her stance radiating coiled strength. “Let Luna go and let’s wrap this up.”

“This was supposed to be a hostage exchange,” Rost said. “You don’t seem to have anyone to exchange for her.”

Miranda glanced at Donovan. He lifted the tablet and tapped the screen. It lit up with Castenburg’s face.

“Mr. Castenburg,” Donovan said, “Can you hear us?”

The head on the tablet nodded, and his voice spoke through the tiny speakers: “Yeah.”

“He’s back at my office with my assistant Miss Dakota,” Donovan explained. “If you try anything we don’t like, he goes live broadcasting your origin story across the entire world wide web.”

Rost scowled.

Miranda stepped forward to draw his stormy glare, “You didn’t really think I’d walk him in here where you could snipe him or kill him at a distance did you? Or that I’d even turn him over to you just to be murdered regardless?”

“Ever the heroine,” Rost said, the granite etchings of his face almost seeming to smile. “I was wondering how that might sit with your conscience, or hers.” He gave Luna a tap on the head, hard enough she winced. “But that does leave the matter of what exactly you hope to exchange for your precious little friend here…”

“Here’s my exchange,” Miranda said boldly. “I know your secret, Jack Clayton. Donovan knows it too, and Castenburg obviously. We will all give you our words, that no one else will find out about your real name, or who you were. I’m still going to stop your plan to destroy Warden City, but you get to remain ‘Rost’ of the Crimson Circle while I do, and all through your trial, and lifetime of prison, if that’s what you want. Now hand over Luna or Casteburg goes live in five.”

Rost considered for a moment, “This isn’t a hostage exchange, this is blackmail.”

“I know, right?” Donovan said. “Ain’t it great.”

 “Not very heroic.”

“Call it what you want,” Miranda said. “You’re a kidnapping, murderous, human trafficker…I don’t give a shit about your definition of heroism. Five…”

“Miss Dakota, as soon as you hear Miss Bombshell say one, begin the livestream.”

“Four…”

“Yes sir.”

“Three…”

Rost snarled, snagging Luna by the hair and hauling her to her feet. He shoved her towards the two Ashtons.

Miranda lunged forward as Luna stumbled, catching her and keeping her moving. “Gawd, L are you okay?”

“M-mostly, just…I will be.”

“That’ll be all Miss Dakota!” Donovan dropped the tablet rushing to help Luna as well. “Come on Luna let’s get you out of here.”

“I expected you to have some trick up your sleeve,” Rost growled after them. “But I didn’t expect it to be as trite and boring as this.”

“This world is full of disappointments,” Miranda called over one shoulder. She and Donovan helped Luna towards the bay door and Donovan’s car as quickly as the bound brunette could manage.

“Allow me to return the favor,” Rost said, and that huge bay door dropped suddenly, and fast!

“Donovan!” Miranda cried, pushing Luna into him. She dashed forward catching the door before it hit the ground.

It was heavy, could have crushed her easily, or trapped them easier than that. But it was metal, and so using her tactile magnesis she was able to hold and lift the door. Easily.

“Get her to safety,” Miranda told Donovan as he hurried Luna under and out. “I’ll catch up.”

He gave her a grim nod.

“M, no!” Luna whimpered.

“See you soon,” Miranda told her with a wink, and let the door drop.

Chapter Twelve

Bombshell turned back to face Rost and Patton, as the warehouse’s cavernous interior echoed with the clang of the bay door slamming shut, sealing her inside with them. With Rost.

Now she only had herself to protect, and with her powers mostly operational… only about 40% charge but I took down La Falce at lower, she told herself. If I take the fight to Rost now, maybe I can just end all of this!

Rost was shrugging off his trench coat, letting it crumple to the floor, revealing the tight spandex shirt clinging to every cut of his imposing musculature, and with that crimson circle blazing on his massive chest.

“Don’t let the billionaire escape,” he told Patton casually. “I’ll handle the superheroine.”

Bombshell stepped forward, heels clicking boldly as she planted both hands on her hips and thrust her chest out, the circular cutout framing the swell of her cleavage, already glistening faintly with sweat from the encounter’s tension.

“Last time you tried to ‘handle’ me,” she said, squaring up to Rost, “I sent you for a swim.”

“Well, I was a bit winded from breaking your boy-toy that time.”

The heroine clenched her teeth, a slight snarl playing on her lips, “It’s time I make you pay for that.”

Outside the Spider’s engine roared and she heard the tires spitting gravel against the closed door. Patton was already heading out the back. She thought about chasing the biker, stopping him from going after Donovan and Luna, but she kept her attention focused on Rost.

Donovan can handle himself, if Patton can even catch them in that car…

“I never welch on a debt,” Rost said, cracking his knuckles. His stormy gray eyes fixed on the heroine, a cold smile etched across his granite-like jawline.

Bombshell stood poised, her blue and purple Nandex clinging to her lithe frame, long blonde hair spilling around her shoulders. Long slender legs set confidently wide. The blue mask accentuating the fierceness of her green eyes.

Between them, the flickering fluorescents cast jagged shadows across the grimy concrete floor. The only sound was the faint creak of swaying chains overhead.

“Last chance to surrender,” the heroine shouted. “Last chance to do the right thing…Sgt. Clayton.”

Rost cackled and they both broke into a charge. Maniacal laughter turned into a roar, his combat boots slamming the aged concrete.

Bombshell came straight at him, but just before they collided, she ducked and slid under his two-armed grab. She sprang back up and spun around thrusting both hands out to fire dual repulsor bursts. The full brunt hit Rost in the back, blasting him forward to slam face first against that metal door.

He spun back towards her, quickly regaining his bearing – Just as the heroine lunged in with a side kick that caught him in the stomach, staggering him back against the door again. She followed up with a reinforced right hook that took him full across that granite jaw. Rost’s head snapped to the side. A looping left caught him from the other direction, but this time Rost turned with the force of the blow, and hit Bombshell with a back-fist that dropped the heroine.

She hit the ground with a gasp, head instantly spinning. Oh right…super soldier… she thought groggily.

Rost was already reaching for her, “Not finished yet, I hope.”

He snagged the front of her leotard, stretching the Nandex as he lifted her up off the floor by it. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, and whipped a high-heeled boot at his face. When Rost moved to dodge the kick, his grip faltered just enough that she managed to slip free.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Bombshell said, levitating and backing away, determined not to let him get too close to her again.

Rost leaped at her, faster and higher than she’d expected, tackling her in midair.

“No!” Bombshell cried in surprise as his powerful arms enfolded her. They dropped slightly even as she struggled, his weight taking a toll on her flight capabilities.

“Let go of me!” she demanded as he trapped her arms in a bearhug. She struggled, trying to squirm free, but he was simply too strong and cinching her tighter as they neared the floor.

“I love to fly,” he growled, his breath hot on her neck and cheek. “Take me for a ride?”

“You got it!” Bombshell twisted, turning Rost’s back to the floor and then cut her levitation all together. “A short one with a bad landing!” They plummeted straight down, crashing onto the concrete with her on top.

Rost groaned and his arms loosened. Bombshell broke free of the grasp, stranding straight up with her high heels digging into his chest. She took flight again, higher and quicker this time, soaring up towards the cavernous ceiling of the old warehouse.

With a hoarse cackle Rost nipped to his feet, and drew his tactical effect gun. “Come down here and face me!” he shouted trying to draw a bead on the soaring heroine.

“As you wish!” she snarled, banking into a dive. She thrust both fists out, the Nandex of her gloves harnessing the kinetic energy of her flight, redirecting it to augment the coming blow.

Super soldier or not, you will feel this, you son of a bitch!

And he might have, but at the last second Rost leapt over the torpedo strike maneuver. As Bombshell passed under him, he caught her by the ankle, then flipped over, using his enhanced strength to break her momentum, and in the same fluid motion wrenched her out of the air, slamming her back first onto the concrete.

Bombshell hit with a hoarse scream as the breath blasted from her lungs, and stars exploded behind her eyes.

Rost stood over her, his stormy gaze moving along the squirming curves of her limp body. Blonde hair pooled out on the floor beneath her groggy head. He leaned down, tracing the rim of her boob-window with the barrel of his weapon. Dazed, the heroine moved to push it away, only for Rost to rap it against her knuckles. She gave a sharp yelp and reflexively yanked her hand back.

He shoved the gun under the Nandex. Bombshell shivered as the cool metal slid over the sensitive skin of her breast. He ran it down around the lush curve stretching the seam until the firm bulb popped through the cutout.

“H-hey…” she whimpered, still trying to clear her head. “…stop…”

Rost only chuckled. then leaned down, using the thumb of his free hand to stretch the opposite side around her other breast. Bombshell crossed her arms over the luscious orbs as Rost took a second to admire them. Embarrassment turned her cheeks red under the blue mask.

“Stop.”

Rost only chuckled, holstering his weapon, then kneeled down to straddle her slim hips. He grabbed her wrists.

“No! No, let go!” Bombshell growled, struggling to try and keep her chest covered as he easily pulled her arms apart and shoved them back against the floor. She was no match for his strength. “Get off!” she groaned, bucking beneath him but unable to dislodge his considerable frame. Her futile efforts only caused her exposed breasts to bob and jiggle even more. Panic rose like bile in the back of the heroine’s throat. He’s so heavy, and so strong…I can’t even fight back!

Now Rost pulled her arms down and in. Bombshell thrashed and growled but her head was still sluggish after being slammed against the concrete. It was difficult to coordinate any resistance. Not that it would have mattered as he was more than strong enough to overpower her. Shifting his weight, he used his knees to pin her arms along her curvy sides.

No! I’m trapped!

Now, with both hands free Rost cupped her naked breasts. She was well enough endowed to give even the big man a nice handful, and he exhaled admiringly, “Now these are heroic…”

“You’re… a pig…” Bombshell gasped, as she kicked and squirmed helplessly under Rost.

He squeezed and gripped her soft, sensitive bulbs, the touch causing her rosy nipples to stand up. Her heart was already racing, now it thudded. Even in her dazed state the thought of being molested by this man, caught here…same warehouse…not again…can’t be happening again!

He kneaded her firm, warm flesh ruggedly. Bombshell couldn’t hold back a gasp, arching beneath him. Rough thumbs worked over the stiff nubs of her nipples, triggering anxious sparks. Every twist and squeeze tightened an unwelcome tension through her chest and shoulders.

Ohhh, why do my tits have to be so sensitive? Not that his molestation felt good, she just couldn’t help from feeling it. A lot.

Forcing herself to focus, Miranda charged a repulsor burst, then turned her left palm flat against the floor. She fired the burst, the force kicking her left side up off the ground, and knocking Rost off kilter -and off her!

He pitched sideways with a surprised shout.

Bombshell scrambled to her feet, exposed boobs bouncing and swaying awkwardly. She ignored that, immediately lunging at the staggered Rost, catching him with a reinforced uppercut that snapped his head back. He let out a groan and rocked back on his heels. She thrust both hands forward to give him a double-barreled repulsor blast, but he caught her by the wrists.

Bombshell let out a noise of helpless frustration, but before she could do more than that – he stepped forward and kicked her between the legs. Hard.

Pain exploded through her hips, shooting up through her chest and forcing the air from her lungs in a sharp scream.

Bombshell tried to pull away, gasping for breath, but Rost’s grip only tightened. He jerked her forward, kicking her feet further apart before driving his boot into her soft cunt a second time. Bombshell screamed a second time, breathless and raspy. Her head swam. The impact stole all strength from her long legs and she crumpled to her knees. He naked breasts heaved as she gasped for air. The pain was exquisite, her pussy throbbed between her thighs sending achy tremors up and down her slim figure.

Rost loomed over her, moving both her wrists to hold them in one hand. Bombshell didn’t even try to pull free, her head and thoughts were scrambled by the pain. She looked up at him, tears already brimming her green eyes.

“L-let …let g-go…you…” her bare breasts trembled as she panted out the words, “…you bastard.”

“I am that,” he said leering down at her, nudging her knees apart with the toe of his boot. “And why would such a bastard let you go?” Then he reared back and kicked her pussy for a third time!

Bombshell’s whole body jolted as his boot slammed against her defenseless mound. In this position he smashed into her clit as well sending a bright pulse of agony up her chest that made her pink nipples twinge. The heroine mewled pitifully, writhing on her knees as Rost kept hold of her wrists. The first tears slipped over the edge of her mask to spill down her cheeks.

Rost lifted her slightly, still on her knees but the helpless heroine could only hang from his grasp. Her tits heaved and quivered as she dragged in ragged breaths, her pink nipples rock-hard and aching. He positioned his boot close, stroking the toe of it along her smooth, blue covered mound.

“D-don’t…” she trembled.

Advanced as it was, the Nandex was ultra thin. She wore a thong underneath for comfort (and to protect against embarrassing camel-toe) but neither afforded any real protection. She could feel his boot against her battered labia, which twinged and throbbed as it rubbed up and down.

“You know Axis has the same soft spot,” Rost said, and there was something almost reminiscing in his voice. “I wonder if it’s a weakness for all heroines? It’d be poetic don’t you think? Tying all that power to an inherent vulnerability of your very womanhood…”

Behind her mask those green eyes rolled, despite everything. “It’s a soft spot for you too…dipshit,” Bombshell managed, shaking her blonde head. “Unless your super steroids shriveled your balls all the way up.”

He scowled for a second, but then smirked. “I suppose you’re right,” Rost chuckled, pushing his boot more firmly into her cleft.

Bombshell shuddered, letting out a distressed whimper as her labia squished. She tried to move away but with Rost holding her wrists and looming over her, there wasn’t far she could go.

“About the soft spot, that is,” he went on. “You may recall that my balls are quite plump.”

“Let’s find out!” Knowing she had to do something, Bombshell forced a measure of resolve. She lunged upward on wobbling legs, driving her knee between his thighs!

Or she tried to, Rost’s reflexes were too quick and he flung her backwards out of range. The heroine flailed for a moment, then landed flat on her back with a grunt.

Not exactly what I had in mind, she thought, but at least I’m free. She turned over, pushing up on her hands and knees. Her big breasts still bare and dangling between her arms. If I can just get in the air, get some distance…

Unfortunately she was heedless of how she looked in that position, bent over on all fours. Her tight little ass thrust up, peachlike cheeks peeking out from under the cut of her leotard. Her smooth, slim thighs looking long and creamy, and tucked between them, the defenseless blue covered curve of prim mound. All of it trembling and swaying as she searched for the strength to stand.

A beautiful target.

Rost ran up and punted her pussy from behind!

The force jolted Bombshell’s entire body off the ground. She screamed hoarsely, her vision spotting from the pain and shock. She fell onto her side, grabbing her aching cunt in both hands. Whatever resolve she’d found, any fight the heroine had left, drained out of her as she lay there sobbing for breath, and writhing in anguish.

“I suppose I would have had that coming,” Rost said, sauntering closer. “But life isn’t always fair.”

He bent down, grabbing her powerbelt and fiddling with the buckle. It came loose and he stripped it off. Bombshell was powerless before she fully even realized it was happening.

Chapter Thirteen

“We can’t just leave her here.”

“This was always the plan, her plan.”

“Well it’s a stupid fucking plan…”

The Spider’s engine roared as Donovan floored the accelerator, the sleek, top-of-the-line sports car tearing through the abandoned industrial area. Gravel sprayed beneath its tires, the neon glow of the dashboard illuminating Donovan’s tense, focused face. His powder blue dress shirt was rumpled, the kevlar vest snug against his chest, his navy tie tucked tight as he gripped the wheel.

Beside him, Luna huddled in the passenger seat. After freeing her arms, he had draped his suit jacket over her naked body. Her hands now clutched it tightly around her shoulders, holding it closed and trying to look like she wasn’t still trembling. Her wide eyes darted to the side mirror, catching the glint of a single headlight closing in fast.

“Donovan…” her voice cracked.

The cold night air whipped through the open window, carrying the distant howl of a motorcycle.

Donovan glanced in the rearview mirror, his jaw tightening. “Patton! On a motorcycle? No way that thing’s catching us.” His voice was steady, trying to anchor Luna’s panic, but his knuckles whitened on the wheel.

The Spider was a masterpiece, carbon-fiber body, 700 horsepower, precision handling…but the motorcycle’s guttural roar quickly became unnerving, and close.

Patton, the Marauders’ bearish president, loomed in the mirror, his blood-red biker vest flapping, the flames tattooed across his bald scalp gleaming under streetlights. His salt-and-pepper beard twisted in a snarl as he leaned low, his bike’s modified engine screaming with unnatural power.

The industrial park’s desolate streets unfolded in a blur of crumbling warehouses and rusted chain-link fences. Donovan swerved around a pile of discarded pallets, the Spider’s tires screeching as he navigated the narrow, pothole laden road.

Luna gripped the jacket even tighter. “He’s gaining!”

Patton’s Harley was close enough now, its headlight flooded the Spider’s interior.

“No chance,” Donovan said, forcing a grin. “This baby’s worth more than every bike in his gang combined. Hang on, Luna.”

He downshifted, the Spider surging forward with a predatory growl, ripped up an on-ramp to the freeway. It was past midnight so traffic was light. Donovan dropped the hammer and the speedometer climbed with abandon—90, 100, 110 mph—but Patton matched them, the bike’s custom exhaust spitting flames.

Donovan’s eyes widened. “What the hell kind of bike is that?”

“It’s got a turbocharged V-twin engine and nitrous boost, gotta be a custom-rig he did himself,” Luna said, her voice trembling as she clutched Donovan’s jacket. “Pretty sure he stripped it down for weight and tweaked the suspension to handle like a demon too.”

Donovan glanced at her with those tense blue eyes.

“What do you think they brought me here on?” she said sheepishly.

Patton was too close now and swinging a chain in his meaty fist. He shattered Donovan’s taillights.

Luna screamed, curling tighter into the seat.

“Son of a bitch!” Donovan snarled, veering away from the biker, even as a second swing gouged ugly streaks in the custom yellow paint job. “Don’t’ worry I got this!”

Perfectly calm despite the adrenaline. He spun the wheel, sending the Spider into a controlled drift down and around an off-ramp this time. Screaming into the concrete maze of downtown Warden City. The move bought them seconds, but Patton roared back into view, undeterred. Donovan’s mind raced. He spotted a narrow alley ahead.

“Hold tight,” he warned, yanking the wheel.

The Spider shot into the alley, its side mirrors inches from the metal walls. Patton followed, the bike’s roar deafening in the confined space. Donovan’s expert handling kept the Spider steady, but Patton was relentless, the chain swinging as he closed in.

Donovan gritted his teeth, looking ahead to where the alley opened into a junk-strewn lot. “Time to end this.”

As they ripped out of the alley, he feinted left, then swerved right at the last second, the Spider’s precision handling letting it hug the corner.

Patton followed, roaring laughter at the feeble maneuver – until he saw the red glow of the Spider’s unbroken break light. He turned, breaking hard and dumping his bike with an angry howl. The big man skid and rolled along the asphalt, both him and his bike slamming into the back of the stopped car in a heap.

Luna looked at Donovan, eyes wide as saucers, her knuckles white and clinging to her seat belt.

“You okay?” he asked.

She just blinked.

“Wait here.”

Donovan reached into the backseat, grabbing his Desert Eagle .50. Then he got out of the car and stalked back to where Patton lay beside his mangled motorcycle.

“You dead?” Donovan asked.

Patton stirred, big and mostly limp, but he managed to roll onto his back. “Ain’t the first time I dumped my bike before, rich boy.”

“Want it to be the last?”

The biker lifted his head, half of his beard was mangled and his face was sporting some gnarly road rash. He eyed the billionaire, and the gun in his hand.

“You ain’t got the guts,” Patton grumbled.

Donovan aimed the gun, thumbing back the hammer for dramatic effect. “Motherfucker, I’m rich. Like make my own rules rich. You think my family can’t make the murder of a degenerate one-percenter piece of shit like you go away? Probably wouldn’t even make the news.”

Patton laughed, then winced. “Alright rich boy, what’chu want?”

“Rost’s next move. When and where?”

“Fuck you. I ain’t no rat.”

Donovan shot him in the leg.

Patton howled, writhing on the ground. When he looked back at Donovan, the billionaire was stepping casually to align with the biker’s head.

“Ashton’s don’t ask for anything three times.” He took aim.

Staring down the barrel of the Desert Eagle .50 with Donovan’s tense blue eyes staring him down from the other end, the head Marauder’s presidential resolve wavered.

“Alright, fine. He’s already made his next move, dipshit,” Patton said. “Where do you think that crazy Russian bitch is?”

“Axis?” Donovan clenched his teeth, “Where?”

“Police headquarters.”

“What? Why?”

Now Patton laughed without wincing. “All my boys, and most a his mercs, hell even that eyetie prick, are already inside like a goddam trojan horse.”

“Fuck!” Donovan exhaled. “They’re going to take out the cops, leave the city defenseless… and all this was just a distraction for Mir- for Bombshell.”

Patton pushed up on his elbows, staring straight up at Donovan, “You think Rost really gives a shit about that fat little gash, or an old army buddy with loose lips? You’re dumb as you as you are rich.”

“I know he wants a bomb,” Donovan said. “Does he have one yet?”

Patton flopped back on the asphalt with a groan, “Fuck off now rich boy, I still don’t think you got the guts.”

Donovan shot him in the other leg.

Patton howled again, writhing on cold asphalt. “You little prick! You know how many arteries there is in the leg?”

Donovan nodded, a grim smirk playing across his lips.

“This ain’t like the movies, you little shit, I could bleed out!”

Donovan knelt slowly, his tense blue eyes fixed on the Marauder’s face. “Yes. Wouldn’t that be a shame.”

Patton recoiled now, his expression shifting to one of understanding. “Alright, fine. No. He ain’t got a bomb yet.”

“But he’s got one on the way.”

“Night after tomorrow,” Patton said, “There’s an abandoned airstrip about ten miles north of town. Some of his ol’ Russian buddies are bringing it.”

Donovan straightened. “Night after tomorrow, are you sure?”

“That’s what he told me.”

Donovan nodded, finally letting the barrel of that Desert Eagle .50 lower. He surveyed the damage to the back of his car. It was thoroughly busted up but should still be drivable. He walked back towards the driver’s side door.

“You gonna send some help?” Patton called after him. “I’m bleeding pretty bad here, you must’ve hit one o’ them arteries. I’m a need some help here.”

Donovan slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

“Y-you shot him?” Luna asked, her eyes on the floor.

“Twice.”

“Will he live?”

“If someone finds him in time.”

Chapter Fourteen

Miranda had never been in so much pain. It radiated out from between her legs, stealing the strength from her entire body. She could feel it throbbing along every fold and lip. Her whole cunt felt swollen and hot…and not in the good way.

The only potential benefit of the pain being that it momentarily dulled her senses to the sheer panic of being powerless at Rost’s feet.

“I suppose I can take this as your tacit surrender,” he gloated, draping her powerbelt over his shoulder like a championship wrestler. A testament to his victory. To her defeat.

I have to get up…I have to get moving, have to get my belt back! Have to… ohhh gawd, my aching pussy… Every train of thought she tried to string together ended that way, scrambled by a fresh wave of pain from her battered cunt.

She lay on the cold concrete clutching her mound, but not too tightly. Her long legs writhed involuntarily. Her shoulders trembled. Her breasts were still exposed through the stretched boob-window, heaving as she gulped in air, and sobbed in anguish.

Rost circled her like a vulture, his storm gray eyes crawling over every shaking curve. Devouring the plump flesh of her voluptuous tits, her rosy nipples stiff points from the intensity of her pain. Miranda could feel his presence, feel his hungry gaze, and she knew there was nothing she could do against him now. No doubt sensing the same thing, he bent down again, this time coiling one hand into her silky blonde hair.

“Come on, hero girl,” he snarled, dragging her up from the floor. “On your feet.”

Miranda squealed as pain shot through her scalp, dragged up to standing as if she weighed nothing at all. Her legs trembled, her high heels wobbled and slipped, she might not have stayed upright, except Rost kept hold of her hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice wavering. “Let me go…”

“It’s no coincidence that I brought you back to this warehouse for tonight,” he said, drawing her closer.

Miranda couldn’t help but sag against his massive frame, on hand braced on his muscular chest, the other still clutched between her thighs. She was all but helpless as he tilted her face up towards his.

“That first night we ambushed you here,” he went on, “I’ll admit, I thought too little of you. A rich girl playing at superheroine. Weak. Easily enthralled by La Falce and his tricks. It was not until I saw you on the boat, after you had bested Axis, that I came to understand. I saw your beauty, your resilience and determination, your true power. Your spirit. I think…. I think I fell in love with you that night.”

Behind her blue mask, Miranda’s green eyes flared wide open, unable to believe what she was hearing.

Rost tilted her head back a little further, then leaned down and kissed her. His lips captured hers, warm and strong, engulfing. She gasped in shock and that soft parting of her lips was taken as an invitation. Rost’s tongue darted into her mouth, wide and velvety, and strong in a way she’d never imagined a tongue could be.

Miranda kissed him back at first, an impulse of sheer confusion. Her lips molding to his. Tasting his saliva. Letting her tongue slip under his. Goosebumps rippled down her curved sides. And there was something unsettlingly compelling in the way he kissed her, the way he claimed her.

Then Miranda came to her senses and shoved him off! Legs still unsteady, she backed away, spitting and sputtering.

“What the actual fuck?” Miranda gasped, looking at Rost in disgust and complete befuddlement. A twinge of pain ran down her legs, and she cupped her mound again, but managed to stay upright. When the motion set her breasts swaying, she moved one hand to try and cover them.

“It sounds absurd, I suppose,” Rost said.

“That you love me? Gee, ya think?”

“But it’s true!”

“It’s impossible.” Miranda moved further back, leaning against a low piece of derelict machinery. It came up to about her waist, but she had no idea what it may once even have been. She just needed to steady herself. Her mind was reeling from the pain, the beating she’d taken, the utter insanity spewing from Rost’s mouth right now. Still she knew she had to focus, regroup, get her belt back and fly the fuck out of here!

“Yes,” he insisted. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for. Not just a woman, not just beautiful, but a true heroine.”

“I’m…? But why? You’re a villain, like a bona fide fucking supervillain.”

“I suppose I am.” His eyes dropped ever so slightly in consternation, before snapping back to her. “Perhaps that is what makes it so perfect. You’re the forbidden fruit, yet mine to claim.”

Miranda could barely process that, but she noticed he was moving towards her gradually. She quickly moved around to the opposite side of that rusting machine.  Hastily she began to tuck her breasts back into her leotard.

“Wha- what about Axis?” It was the only question that came to her mind.

“She has been a fun dalliance,” he said, continuing his approach, “and a loyal servant, but she was never the heroine you are.”

“What are you even talking about?” Miranda couldn’t help but balk. Having fought the ravishing psychopath, she knew exactly how powerful the woman was. To Miranda’s mind she was the perfect partner for Rost. Terrifying as that thought was.

“She was, is, powerful, of course,” Rost spoke it as though he’d already given it a lot of thought. “Extremely competent. Defiant, at one time, even. But I’m not sure her heart was ever in it. She seemed to approach being a superheroine as more obligation, than duty or honor.”

“And you think I do this out of duty and honor?”

“Yes! I see it in the fierceness of your pretty green eyes,” he said, stepping closer more determinedly, even reaching out towards her. “You’re like me, I can see that. And that is why I see such greater things in store for you and I.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Miranda spat immediately. “You’re a murderous human trafficking monster. You’re a madman, bent on destruction…and for what? Revenge? And on who? The people of Warden City? They aren’t the ones who abandoned you, Jacky.”

“You think this is about revenge?” Rost rocked back on his heels. “No. No, you’ve got it all wrong. This was never about revenge, or senseless destruction. I’m completing my mission.”

“Your mission? To become a super soldier?”

Rost shook his head, rubbing a big hand across his granite jaw. “My mission wasn’t just to become a super soldier, but to become a superhero.”

“And you figured if you couldn’t become a hero for America, you’d become a hero for Russia? I highly doubt the people of Russia will see a human trafficking terrorist as a hero any more than we would…”

“That’s not-” now Rost grit his teeth, “No. I know I’ve become a villain to all, but you’re missing the point. I wasn’t meant to become a superhero just to fight for America, but to unite it! Not to go forward as simply a weapon, but to stand tall as a focal point of this country’s patriotism.

“You see I always understood the mission better than the fools who sent me on it. And when they abandoned me, I had to figure out how best to complete it. And now I’m almost there. When the country sees Warden City disappear in a flash of light and fire, they’ll come together as never before! And as long as the Crimson Circle is in the back of their minds. As long as they fear Russia may have sent us, or may send us again. The American people will stand together as the beacon of truth, justice and defiance they always should have been!”

He thrust his fist triumphantly into the air, and Miranda’s stomach churned.

“You’re even crazier than I thought,” she said.

His eyes dropped to hers. “Now you see why I can’t allow my true identity to come out. It would ruin everything I’ve worked towards building the mystique of the Crimson Circle.”

“You’re talking about destroying three million innocent lives,” Miranda said. “You think this will result in you being a hero? It’ll just be another senseless tragedy. Another crack in the foundation of this nation, maybe the world. Patriotism should be about hope, not fear. A shared belief in a better future…not of some common enemy.

“You have to stop this. Jack, you can still stop this. If there’s any part of Jack Clayton left in there-”

“It’s too late,” Rost cut her off. “I’ve come too far to stop now. No! This is the right way, the only way! This is the mission.”

“It’s not too late, you can stop it!” she pressed. “You were supposed to be a hero, not this…” She wasn’t sure she believed any of that, but in her current state, it was her only cards to play. Bile rose in the back of her throat, as she considered one more, “If you truly wish to prove you love me…then stop this before it goes too far.”

Rost was silent. Miranda searched his storm gray eyes for any sign of concession or humanity. Instead, a smile spread slowly across his face, like a man witnessing his final sunrise.

“Now I see,” he breathed. “The final temptation.”

“What?”

“I’ve known from the beginning that to do this, it couldn’t be Jack Clayton in disguise,” Rost said. “Perhaps secretly hoping for someone to stop me. I had to become Rostilav Sokolov. I had to become this. But you…you have exposed that last bit of Jacky I was hanging onto.

“When I saw you on the boat, when I fell in love with you, I saw a house in the suburbs, a green lawn, warm apple pie on the windowsill. I saw the American dream, my –Jack’s American dream. But it wasn’t me, it was that last piece of who I was. And to complete my mission…I have to purge that lingering piece.”

Miranda could feel the air in the room shift. Saw the storm in his eyes turning dark. Fear clutched her, knowing the vulnerable state she was in. Knowing that however Rost determined to purge that final piece of humanity, it meant something bad for her.

Chapter Fifteen

Ignoring the pain still throbbing between her legs, Miranda tried to run. Rost caught her with an easy leap, his big hand snagging her by the arm. She let out a futile shout of protest, which he ignored, flinging her back against that rusted hunk of machinery. She was powerless against his strength, falling back with a dull metallic thunk. She gasped in pain and he was on her before she could recover or even think to defend herself.

His hands shot forward, thumbs digging under the edges her boob-window. He jerked the Nandex open, letting her big breasts spill out once more. He grabbed the fleshy bulbs, powerful hands squeezing so tight the sensation shot through her chest.

“No! No! Get off me!” Miranda cried, clawing at his wrists. She jammed one knee forward, aiming for that soft-spot between his legs.

Rost grunted and backed up a step, grimacing and grabbing his crotch with one hand. Before Miranda could make a move, his other fist slammed into her masked face!

She saw a flash of white. The blow was so sudden it barely hurt, but jarred something loose in her head and she pitched back onto that decrepit machine. Her spine arched awkwardly, arms splayed out. Her silken blonde hair spilling back and down as her head lolled senselessly. Her vision went blurry. The only thing she was really aware of was dull, creeping dread.

Rost circled the hapless heroine slowly, drinking in the sight of her limp body. Her big breasts bobbing as she gasped shallow breaths.

“That did hurt, you little bitch,” he growled, and in her dazed state she heard the threat in his tone more than she could comprehend the words. “I’m going to make you kiss it better…”

He moved closer, a looming shadow in her bleary eyes. His hand slid around the back of her head, and something warm brushed her cheek. His other hand grabbed her chin, prying her mouth wide open, and all she could do was let out a hapless groan. Then he plopped his semi-flaccid member into it.

Miranda tongued his cock and half suckled it on instinct. In her dazed state, it was more that her mouth responded to having something inserted into it rather than any attempt to pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered as Rost began moving his hips, pushing the quickly growing shaft back and forth in her mouth.

His big hands moved back to her chest, gripping and kneading the firm mounds of flesh. She arched into his grasp, sighing warmly around his cock. Reflexively she sucked a little tighter as he pushed in a little deeper.

Rost let out a groan and he swelled even more. Miranda squirmed on top of the machine. Her brain felt sluggish, almost mushy. She could taste him on her togue, pressing, heating. The salty tang made her stomach twist. Her head was light and airy, she felt adrift despite the encroaching dread.

Now Rost was hard enough he could thrust with more intention. The head of his cock slid to the back of her throat, and Miranda’s body jumped against the rusty metal. She gagged and saliva flooded her mouth. Her awareness was returning, a slow drift back. His hands continued to maul her breasts. The sensitive flesh tingled in his grasp, twinging where his rough fingertips dug in. Her nipples flickered and scraped under his palms. She grabbed at his wrists, just wanting to ease the sensation, not yet cognizant enough to really resist.

Not that she could resist.

Her grip actually gave him more leverage to thrust his cock deeper. The deliberate motion and his girth caused her to suck him tighter. It was almost a mechanical reflex at this point. His taste grew stronger as her tongue slid against his shaft. Every time she gagged, it was like a pulse through her whole body. Miranda squirmed, she felt it, but her mind stayed numb and dumb. Saliva continued to flood her mouth, bubbling between her lips and his shaft, dripping back over her mask, running into her eyes and up her forehead.

For a brief moment, he pulled out to let her gasp a breath. The air felt ice cold in her lungs as she sputtered and wheezed.

“Wha- no- plea-UHMM-” Miranda whimpered as he thrust back in.

This time that sensation anchored her. A thick hard dick pumping through her mouth and plunging into her throat. Every alarm in her groggy head began to go off. But it didn’t matter.

She could feel his hands mauling her breasts. She began to writhe. She began to pull at his wrists. She kicked her legs but her high heels just scraped the floor uselessly. The arch in her spine robbed her of any leverage, and coiled unpleasant tension through her body, keeping her weak.

Rost’s cock continued its relentless plunging, back and forth, in and out. Every stroke made Miranda gag. She came back to her senses more and more, and yet there was nothing she could do. Trapped in that position, her blonde tresses swishing the floor as her head lolled and jerked. Her throat bulged around his girth with every deep thrust.

With her returning awareness came utter humiliation listening to the wet sounds of her violated mouth echoing through her own skull; involuntary gulps and slurps, punctuated by hoarse gags and breathless moans. His taste throbbing across her tongue. His heat seeping through her face and neck. A scream rose deep in her chest, only to dissolve as a helpless gurgle the next time she gagged on that thrusting manhood.

Miranda reached back, tears of shame and impotent fury flooding her eyes. Bracing both hands on his hips, she pushed back desperately. Rost’s cock slid out of her mouth a torrent of spit and precum running out into her nose and eyes. She coughed and snorted, choking on a desperate breath.

“Stop it!” she begged through the thick ropes of drool stringing from her lips to his cock.

“I’m almost there,” Rost said.

“No, no…” Miranda tried to turn her head, but he slapped her back into position, “OW!” and thrust in deep. Her throat bulged, she gagged, her whole body cringing on top of that machine.

Rost began thrusting harder, deeper, fucking her mouth properly now! His balls were out of his red camo pants slapping against her nose and eyes with every rugged plunge.

Miranda gagged and choked and moaned helplessly. She tried to push his hips away again, but this time he did not relent. His big hands gripped her tits so tight they ached, actually hanging onto the sensitive mounds for leverage now.

Her throat began to making an involuntary gluk gluk gluk gluk as Rost fucked her face like that, until her already groggy head spun for lack of oxygen. A helpless hapless panic gripped Miranda, realizing she could do nothing but take it. Completely at his mercy now.

Gluk gluck gluck gluck GLUGHCK!!

Finally Rost thrust in deep and held his cock in her throat. Miranda bucked feeling the rigid member twitch and swell, but Rost easily held her cringing, retching body in place. Then a hot gush burst down her throat.

Rost moaned, his hips pressing further in. Warm, sticky cum coated Miranda’s esophagus, and she had no choice but to gulp it down. This can’t be- can’t be happening! She sobbed internally as her throat worked reflexively, swallowing another thick surge of cum.

Rost pulled back slowly, filling her mouth with more salty slime. It flooded and overflowed her trembling lips. She gagged and coughed as sticky gobs rolled back over her mask and eyes.

When he pulled all the way out and let her go, Miranda rolled desperately to the side, slobbering out a mouthful of viscous, milky ropes. She sucked in a wet breath, then in her dizzy haze, actually fell off the machine, landing in a heap. She coughed and sputtered, spewing more of his thick cum onto the floor. She squirmed into a seated position, gasping for air and wiping gobbets out of her eyes. She even peeled off her mask with a disgusted grunt, dropping it on the floor with a sopping splat.

“Oh don’t do that,” Rost chuckled. “I’d much rather fuck the superheroine, than the simpering billionaire brat.”

Miranda looked up at him, drool and cum streaming from her lips to her tits in a glittering web. Her green eyes were glazed and watery, the tears had streaked mascara up her forehead into her hairline. He stood before her, hands on his hips, cock jutting forth glistening with her saliva, still rock-hard, and so large she briefly wondered how it had fit down her throat.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” she found the strength to say. Her voice came out weak, almost painfully hoarse. Ok, maybe it hadn’t exactly “fit”…

Rost’s grin sent ice rushing through her veins. “No. But I’m going to fuck you.”

“Oh gawd…” Miranda frantically began trying to stand. “How… how do you even have anything left?” She already felt absolutely covered in his cum.

“You see, my super steroid, as you put it, had quite the opposite effect to shriveling my balls,” Rost said, coming towards her. “I no longer fuck till I’m satisfied…I fuck till I’m bored.”

Miranda’s head spun as she stood, using that hunk of machinery to pull herself up. Her legs shook, barely able to support her weight. Her whole body was weak from the abuse and lack of oxygen. She didn’t stand a chance against Rost now…if she ever had. That cold dread that had been creeping into her stomach now clenched into an icy terror.

She began reaching down for her left boot, where she had tucked her auxiliary power badge. The small battery would not give her enough power to fight this monster, but maybe to escape him. If she could get it attached and calibrated before he reached her.

“Stay away from me!” she pleaded, fumbling the buttonlike device in her panic.

“What’s this?” Rost balked, lunging forward.

Miranda tried to lunge back and away, but he caught her by the wrist again. “No!” she cried as he casually plucked the badge from her hand. She balled up her fist to take a swing but, he twisted her wrist, savagely driving Miranda to her knees with an agonized moan.

“Auxiliary power, I suppose?” he surmised, turning the small device in his free hand. “Clever. Pointless. Fragile.” He flipped the device into his palm and crushed it in his fist.

“No…” Miranda’s heart sank even further.

Then Rost swept her up in a powerful embrace. He lifted her off the ground, one hand cupping the back of her skull, the other gripping the small of her back. Her lush breasts heaved against his chest, as she pushed back on his muscular arms trying to dislodge herself. Her legs dangled, kicking helplessly. She could only stare at him in horror and disgust, his own eyes somewhat bemused, as he drew her forward into another kiss.

There was nothing compelling this time, only force. His lips engulfed hers, firm and demanding. She tried to keep hers together, but his tongue forced them apart and invaded her mouth. Miranda squirmed and whimpered feeling it thrashing and wriggling, rough and wet. She’d never felt so weak as she did now, trapped in this unwanted kiss. His heat flushed her face. His hunger stole the breath directly from her lungs. And when he moaned into her mouth, enjoying it, she could taste his cruelty.

With a muted snarl, Miranda brought her hands up, clawing at his face, digging her manicured nails into his flesh and sticking her fingers in his eyes. In her desperation Miranda was out for blood.

And the super soldier felt that, snarling as he disengaged from the kiss, “Ow! You bitch!”

Recoiling from the assault, he shoved Miranda onto the floor. She managed to grab her powerbelt from his shoulder as she fell. Unfortunately it did little good, as Rost immediately kicked her in the tits! She cried out at the blast of pain, her naked bulbs crushed against his boot. The force sent her sprawling, the belt clattering out of her grasp. Wheezing in pain and gasping for air, Miranda still kept her wherewithal enough to scramble after the pivotal accessory.

“Not so fast!” Rost growled, grabbing a handful of blonde hair.

Miranda screamed as her hair and head were wrenched backwards. She reached back trying to dislodge his grip, even as he dragged her back to standing.

“Looks like I need to soften you up a bit more.”

Rost’s fist smashed into her stomach, blasting the air from Miranda’s lungs. She doubled over, mewling breathlessly. Rost released her hair, turning her to face him. Then he hammered a fist across her cheek and jaw. Miranda’s head snapped around, her body spinning to collapse on the floor. The whole room lurched and tilted around her. Everything hurt. She barely had the strength to crawl but knew she had to get away from Rost. Even as she knew there was no getting away from Rost…

“Please! Stop-” she whined, pulling her battered figure over the rough concrete.

Rost’s boot crashed into her again and with no chance of defending herself the impact was jarring. The force sent her sprawling out on the floor. She rolled over and tried to keep crawling, but Rost snagged her by the ankle, dragging her back towards him.

Miranda screamed in helpless panic. “No! No, stop!” She looked to Rost, green eyes wide and pleading, only to get another punch in the face. Her head hit the floor roughly, though she’d already been knocked loopy by the blow.

Miranda curled into a fetal ball now, holding her face in her hands and crying. The pain, the beating, the fear. It had all become too much for her. Her helplessness, the hopelessness, overwhelming.

Why did I ever think I could take on Rost… the despair seeped through the fog in her brain. He enslaved Axis. Hurt Vic so bad. And I’m weaker than both of them…just a trailer park stripper from Capital City.

Chapter Sixteen

Rost stood over Bombshell, taking a second to drink in the heroine’s defeat. His victory.

She looked so small and helpless; that blue leotard clinging to her skinny figure. Legs tucked and trembling, accentuating the curve of her tight little ass. Her silken hair damp and draped about her sobbing face. Every slim subtle curve trembling from his power and dominance, and his cruelty. His cock throbbed at the sight. This was the villain he needed to be to complete the mission. Because if he could do this to such a fair and beautiful creature…he could obliterate a city’s worth of the rank and file.

Now, to take his spoils.

Miranda mewled pathetically when she felt his hand on her, “No! Please, stop it!” Her voice was breathless and slurred.

Dizzy and disoriented, she tried to curl tighter, tried to shut him out, but Rost peeled her open easily. He pushed her onto her back. She squirmed, twisted and turned in a feeble attempt to get away. She knew it was useless. He spread her legs and kneeled between them.

Miranda lay there crying, covering her face in shame and despondence. What else could she do?

Rost ran his fingers over her smooth blue mound, it felt firm and soft at the same time. And warm from the abuse he’d given it.

Miranda jerked at his touch, over sensitive and sore. Dull pangs crawled through her cunt and hips, even from those unexpectedly gentle strokes. Then Rost slipped his fingers under the Nandex and pulled it aside, revealing the plain white thong underneath. That, he ripped away.

“No…” Mirada whimpered, feeling the flimsy nylon yank at her hips, then tear out from under the leotard all together.

Rost growled at the sight of her pussy. Her lips were red and puffy, swollen from the blows he’d delt them. He relished the sight of her feminine suffering. Gripping her creamy thighs, he yanked her flush against him, groaning again at the way her soft flesh yielded under his fingertips.

Glancing down in helpless dismay, Miranda saw his monstrous cock bobbing over her pelvis, reaching nearly to her waist, thick, hard and throbbing.

“Please, please don’t!” She sobbed and pushed up on one elbow, reaching out as if to ward him off with the other hand. “I- I …I don’t want this!”

“Jack might have cared about that,” he said, snagging her wrist and forcing it back to the floor as he leaned over her. His storm gray eyes fixed her panicky gaze, and the helpless heroine cowered beneath him. “Rost does not.”

Miranda answered with a mewling sob of terror. She tried pushing him away with her free hand as Rost positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. She squirmed in dread feeling it brushing her tender lips. He stroked up and down a few times teasing her slit. Miranda clawed at his jaw and neck, but no longer had the strength or resolve to do any damage to the super soldier.

Rost thrust. Miranda screamed.

Her body stretched and bucked as he invaded. Her legs shook, curling against his side, desperate to push him out, but lacking the power to do so.

“No! No, please,” Miranda sobbed helplessly. “Take it out please!”

Rost only groaned and began rocking his hips. She jumped and jolted, the sensation raw, stretching her with every stroke. He grabbed her free wrist, which was still pushing against him, and pinned it to the floor as well.

Miranda thrashed with what little strength she had left, and it didn’t matter. Both arms were pinned down beside her head. Naked tits bobbing and bouncing, pink nipples stiff and aching, but not from pleasure. Her entire body throbbed with the motion of him inside her, pistoning back and forth, in and out. Her vagina felt stretched to its limit, and he only seemed to keep swelling with each pump.

“Stop, please, you’re hurting me…” she begged, eyelids fluttering even as tears continued to stream.

Her pathetic pleading only spurred Rost on. He bucked harder, thrust faster. His hands tightened around her wrists, her body jolted every time he pounded into her. Miranda grimaced in discomfort, hoarse yelps issuing from the back of her throat every time he plunged in.

Miranda had never felt so weak and powerless. With Rost looming over her, pinning her down, she could not even move. Could barely squirm. All she could do was endure his violation. He was in a position of absolute dominance, he could do whatever he wanted to her. The realization stole something from within, dimming any spark of hope. She was completely outmatched as a heroine, victimized as a woman; every slam of his rock-hard manhood into her defenseless vagina etched that sense into her mind. She wasn’t a threat to be fought, just a bitch to be tamed. A hole to be used. His pleasure taken at her expense.

They settled into an awful rhythm. Miranda’s heart hammered against her sternum. All she could do was sob and moan as his massive member plunged into her. Heat ripped through her with each surge, making her flesh prickle and sweat, making her head ache and spin. She was wet, her pussy lubricating his driving cock out of necessity not enjoyment, nor even physical stimulation. Just her female biology trying to survive. But the easier his cock slid through her, the deeper his thrusts became.

Rost groaned, pounding his hips against her. The head of his cock rammed her cervix and Miranda let out a choked cry!

“OW!”

He liked that. With a sneer and growl, Rost hammered inside her, battering her cervix with his cock again and again!

“OH! AHH!”

Poor Miranda jolted and shook, each time the sensation stole her breath so she couldn’t even cry out, just making half-strangled sobs until her head was spinning and her vision had gone spotty. The last of her strength drained away. She went all but limp beneath him, her legs leveraged out wide, her hips rocking helplessly in response to his.

Rost was groaning. Miranda could sense a mounting tension, the way his grip tightened on her wrists, the way each thrust was a bit more urgent. Her own body throbbed in response to each pulse of his cock, so hot and swollen inside her. It was a miserable, yet undeniable connection to the man raping her. A dark and unescapable intimacy they now shared.

Finally, Rost jammed in so deep it felt like his erection was piercing the very core of her body. Miranda let out a shrill, desperate sob! He let out an orgasmic roar. A wave of heat rolled through her, every curve trembling in helpless response. His cock twitched and throbbed, then flooded her womb with hot semen.

Her guts twisted. Her head was pounding, yet numb at the same time.

Rost pumped a few times, milking his cock into her. Miranda shivered, her stretched pussy pulsating around his rigid shaft. She could feel his load settling inside her, felt sick with it. Filled up. First her stomach from the forced oral, and now her womb. And as he pulled out, she felt it spurt, thick and slimy, between her pussy lips, before dripping down her ass onto the filthy concrete. Her legs fell to the floor, numb and twitching as Rost stood up over her. As he released her wrists, Miranda covered her face but didn’t have the strength to move otherwise. She just lay sprawled and used at his feet.

“Please…please… no more…” the disgraced woman sobbed desperately. “Please just leave me alone…”

“Pathetic…” Rost grunted. “And boring. I suspect you’ll break even easier than Axis. If you haven’t already.” The last bit he added while walking away.

Miranda shivered with each thump of his boots, even though they were moving further off. She didn’t know where he was going, but assumed when he returned, she would suffer more, probably worse. Although her female mind could not quite wrap itself around how he could make her suffering any “worse” at this moment.

Barely able to collect herself, Miranda knew she had to act fast, some way some how. With what little strength she had, still sniveling and crying, she leaned up to look around for her powerbelt. She spotted it across the chamber.

Every part of her body ached, legs weak and trembling, vagina stretched and raw, head spinning still, temples pounding in exhaustion and terror. Her arms trembled as she turned over onto all fours. Unable to stifle her sobs, she began to crawl anyway. Her achy muscles screamed in protest, her naked tits dangling between her arms. It was probably ten or fifteen feet, but it felt like miles. Rost’s cum ran down her thighs, and she thought she could feel it sloshing inside her womb and stomach as she crawled…although even in her shattered state, she recognized it was probably just a miserable psychosomatic stress response. Which did not make it less disgusting or disturbing.

Focus! she screamed inwardly, her ravaged body aching as she stretched toward the powerbelt, her trembling fingers grazing the white strap.

“Well, perhaps there’s more fight left in you than I thought,” Rost’s voice slithered behind her, cold and mocking.

She screeched, flipping onto her back, snatching the belt as her heart thundered. He was closer than she’d realized, cropped silver hair glinting under the flickering fluorescents, his storm-gray eyes boring into her. She peered up at him through matted strands of her blonde hair. Her large breasts shuddered with each panicked breath, heaving through the stretched-out boob-window, the blue and purple Nandex clinging to her sweat-and-cum-soaked form.

He was adjusting the harness of a bulky, mechanical backpack, the straps looped over his massive shoulders and crossing his chest. It hummed ominously, metallic edges catching the light as he stalked towards her.

“Stay away!” Miranda pleaded, her voice cracking as she fumbled to fasten the powerbelt around her waist. Her fingers shook, slick with sweat and grime from the warehouse’s decrepit floor. The buckle seemed to resist her clumsy grasp.

Rost lunged as if to pounce, then paused, crossing his arms with a predatory smirk. “Surrender now,” he said, his tone flat but laced with menace, “and I’ll make your enslavement easy. You’ll find me a fair and gracious master.”

The word “enslavement” sliced through her, conjuring images that made her stomach churn. After his brutal assault, the violation still searing her body and soul, the threat felt all too real, her ravaged mind already teetering on the edge of terror and surrender.

But then the buckle clicked together and she felt the familiar staticky ripple as her powerbelt calibrated the Nandex. The faintest memory of power clawed from the back of her mind, and a voice that wasn’t quite her own whispered inside her head; “Not now, get up.” And she did.

Scrambling to her feet, Miranda whipped on arm at Rost firing a half-hearted repulsor burst just to keep him back.

He laughed, stumbling from the jolt. “Escape now,” he continued, his voice darkening, “and you’ll only have to face me again, heroine. And I’ll break you even harsher next time.”

His words sank into her, heavier than the bruises blooming across her back and ribs. Each syllable stabbing at any resolve she might still have. She wanted to sneer, to hurl a line like “This isn’t over, you fiend!” But fear strangled the words in her throat, believing the threat more than even he did. Shame piled atop that fear, twisting her into silence. She turned away like a child scolded, and with a shuddering breath activated her flight systems.

“So be it!” Rost snarled as she rose. “Next time, Bombshell, I’ll make you beg to call me Master!”

His words chased her, a venomous promise, even as she flew up and out. Her lithe form threaded between the warehouse’s dangling chains desperate for an exit. The shattered windows ahead glittered in the dark. One stood ajar. She shoved it open and flew through. The night air felt cool against her overheated skin. Warden City’s skyline twinkled in the distance, as if beckoning her escape.

Then a roar followed her -chased her. It was fire and thunder, the scream of turbines. Glancing back, she saw the warehouse windows explode outward in a shower of glass and metal. Rost soared through, a sleek helmet now capping his silver hair…that strange backpack -Ahh, it was a jetpack- roaring.

Miranda screamed in surprise and fear! She braced for impact, braced for his hands to seize her and make good on that final threat…but instead he streaked past in a dizzying rush, his wake buffeting her with heat and wind. Not pursuing, his trajectory aimed for downtown.

Relief flooded her, shameful and undeniable. She knew he was off to continue his dark work, free to wreak havoc on who knew how many other people… and still she was grateful to have escaped him —grateful it wouldn’t be her.

As Rost’s silhouette dwindled against the glittering skyline, Miranda’s heart sagged under the weight of her survival, each beat a reminder of her utter failure.

Author’s Note:

Well, finally, some real peril. What a brutal scene this turned out to be for poor Miranda. If you’ve been following my blog, over the last two years or so I’ve talked about wanting to “Go Harder” on my heroines, and unfortunately those two years have not been an especially high period of output for me. So I have not gotten to really explore “going harder” the way I’ve wanted to or envisioned.

But also, Bombshell: Rost’s War has very much turned out to be my “going harder” novel. And if you want to find out how the rest stacks up to this scene, well then the full 49 chapter ebook is available right now on Smashwords. It also features the exclusive 6 chapter Villain Ending…in which we “Go much Harder” on poor Miranda:

But if not, that’s perfectly fine, I’m just glad you’re here enjoying the ride with Bombshell and the team! Keep your eyes peeled for the next installment, coming soon!

And if you’ve already bought the ebook THANK YOU THANK YOU for your support. It really does mean the world to me.

I did hold off on putting Miranda into peril for the first part of this story because I wanted to see her let loose a little more. We got to see what she is capable of when truly driven, in this case the urgent need to rescue Luna, and Bombshell really comes into her own as a superheroine in these early chapters.

Unfortunately, for her, that means Rost also had to come into his own and show everyone exactly what kind of threat he can truly pose to our ill-fated superheroine. I think this is one of the most brutal, frightening rape scenes I’ve written…if not ever, then in a long time. And fuck, wasn’t it hot?

If we’re going to put the heroine up n a pedestal, then her fall has to be especially hard.

Actually, one of the criticisms I receive from time to time is something to the effect that my heroines lose “credibility” because they are defeated too quickly, too soon, too much, or without establishing their competence and power beforehand. I can admit that’s probably true. And I can certainly see where it might blunt the thrill of the power exchange fantasy if her power has not been properly established. When this happens its most often partly because I want to hook readers early with some sexy peril. And partly because I want to hook me with some sexy peril- me having the author bias of already knowing how powerful and competent my heroines can be…

So hopefully this time everyone got a little more satisfaction from seeing Bombshell really get to cut loose before her inevitable, painful, degrading, fall and violation.

Take Care, Talk Soon,

Your bff, L J