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The knife is already drawing blood off the skin of her throat before she even registers the arm around her waist.
“Give me one reason,” the voice rasps right against her ear, “I shouldn’t open you up right here.”
But she just ain't any victim. She doesn’t flinch.
“You wouldn’t.”
A low, ugly laugh vibrates against her spine.
“Lots of dead people thought the same thing.”
She twists fast—too fast for the blade to do more than carve a shallow line across her skin—and locks eyes with him.
Hancock. Black-pit eyes, scarred lips already curling.
That close. Her breath pusbing his. Her nose would nudge his if he still had one.
“I said I was sorry,” she snaps. Could have try to bite. “I didn’t know it was your turf.”
“Sorry don’t pay the tab, General.” The knife stays under her jaw but the blade is not the only thing shining is that little space. “You owe me.”
“Caps don’t grow on trees. I’ve been avoiding your streets. That slows the work.”
He snorts at that, calling the bullshit.
“Poor baby. The great Minutemen General can’t hustle without stepping on my toes?” The blade tilts, another bead of red slides down her neck. “Cute.”
She bares her teeth, insulted, her imagination already working to match his lips to this whole in the middle of his face.
“You say it! I’m the goddamn General of the Minutemen. You don’t get to play with me like this.”
He slams her back into the bricks. The impact rings through her skull. His body pins hers, heavy, unyielding.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he growls, voice dropping low and mean. “This ain’t your castle. Tonight you learn what happens when you fuck with Goodneighbor.”
“You’re stalling. If you wanted me dead I’d already be bleeding out.”
His grin flashes wider instead of angry.
“Goddamn. You really don’t shut up.” His free hand clamps her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Every raider I buried talked big too.”
“Then you should know it’s a bad idea to keep me breathing.”
For half a second something flickers in his face—then it’s gone, replaced by that sharp, nasty smile.
“Keep running that mouth and I might enjoy this too much.” The knife nicks again. “But unless you got caps hidden somewhere, I’ll take payment another way.”
She doesn’t blink. “Do whatever you want. I’ve survived worse.”
“Worse?” He laughs, a harsh sound, gravel against gravel. “You haven’t even started with me.”
His hand slides from her jaw to her throat, thumb pressing where her pulse hammers, as to check the water. Then lower—under her shirt, rough fingers closing on her breast, pinching hard enough to make her hiss.
“There it is,” he mutters, watching her face like he’s memorizing it.
“All you’re proving is you need a blade to feel big.”
He laughs again, low and smoke-rough, and gives another mean twist before palming her fully, thumb dragging slow circles just to mock her.
“You don’t scare me,” she grits out in defense of his gesture as if her tongue could lie against her will.
“If I wanted you scared you’d be pissing yourself.” He grinds his hips forward, so she feels exactly how hard he is. “This is about debts. And tonight you’re settling up.”
The knife disappears into his coat. Both hands are free now—one bruising her hip, the other smearing the blood from her throat down to her collarbone.
“Your heart’s racing,” he murmurs, almost amused. “Body don’t lie.”
“Neither does yours. You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Guilty.” His hand drops lower, gripping her hip hard, then tugging at her waistband. Fingers sliping inside, finding heat, pressing deliberately. “Well shit. Not made of stone after all.”
She clenches her jaw. “Keep telling yourself that. You’ll need it when I cut your throat later.”
He barks a laugh. She is a pure joy.
“Goddamn I love that mouth.” His fingers draw low circle, slow and taunting. “Spits fire even while it’s singing for me.”
Her breath hitches—she hates it—and he catches it, eyes gleaming.
“You think this proves anything?” she hisses.
“Proves you’re not untouchable.” He grinds harder against her thigh. “Proves the great General’s just flesh like everyone else.”
Her head thumps back against the wall as his fingers press deeper, coaxing a sound she’d rather die than admit to. Not fear. Not pain. Something hotter, angrier.
He hears it. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted.”
Before she can spit another insult he grabs both wrists, wrenches them above her head, slams them into the brick. His knee forces her legs apart, body caging hers completely. He yanks her pants down to mid-thigh in one rough pull. Cold air hits skin. She hisses, but her glare doesn’t waver.
“Still got that sass?” he drawls.
“Always.”
“Good.” His voice drops darker. “Makes this more fun. Get on your knees,” he continues, low, almost casual. His grip tightens just enough.
She doesn’t beg. She spits, “Fine. You want me down? Make it worth the caps.”
His grin flashes—approving, nasty. “Now that’s currency I respect.”
He shoves her down hard. Knees hit stone. His hand fists her hair, keeping her exactly where he wants her.
“Get comfortable,” he says, looming over her. “Not every day the Commonwealth’s big hero kneels in an alley.”
“When I get up you’re dead.”
He laughs, hoarse and real, already working his belt open. “That’s what makes you interesting.”
The buckle clinks. He frees himself, strokes once, eyes locked on hers.
“Go on, General. Say hi.”
She glares up, lips curling. “Pathetic way to collect a debt.”
His grip tightens in her hair. “Ten seconds. That mouth’s gonna be too full to talk shit.”
He pulls her forward. She holds his stare—defiant, furious, unbroken.
Hancock jerks her head forward, cock insistent and not backing away. “Open wide, General. Time to settle up.”
Her eyes flick up—sharp, unbowed—and she parts her mouth slow, deliberate.
When her lips part, it’s not surrender.
It’s a dare.
Teeth scrape lightly along his length as she takes him in, just enough to make him hiss.
“Fuck—” The word tears out rough. His fingers knot tighter in her hair, hips twitching forward despite himself. “You bite, you sass, you choke… you really don’t quit.”
She hums around him—low, smug—eyes never leaving his. One hand wraps the base she can’t reach, stroking steady while her tongue works the rest.
“Shit.” His laugh cracks into a growl. “Minutemen General on her knees in my alley, sucking me off like it’s her job. If your people could see this…”
She pulls back just enough to speak, lips slick. “They’d see who actually runs this shithole.”
He slams her back down, fucking her throat harder. “Lucky me—I know exactly what to do with it.”
She gags but doesn’t falter, meeting his rhythm, one hand sliding lower to cup and squeeze his balls. His growl deepens; for a second his eyes roll back before snapping to hers again.
“Goddamn, Sunshine… you’re too fucking good at this.” His breath is ragged. “Trying to finish me off quick so you can gloat?”
Her answer is a sharper swirl of tongue, a harder squeeze. The wet sounds fill the narrow space between them.
“You’re a menace,” he mutters, jaw clenched as she works him. “That mouth was built for trouble.”
She gags again but holds his stare, mocking even with spit running down her chin. Another tight squeeze makes his hips jerk.
“Careful, Mayor,” she rasps when he lets her pull off for air. “Keep talking and I might bite something permanent.”
He laughs, hoarse and wild. “Almost hope you do.” He forces her back down, deep, holding her there until her throat clenches around him.
His whole body locks—right on the edge—then he yanks her off suddenly, cock wet and shining. Chest heaving.
“Not like this. Not yet.” He drags her up by the hair, rough, shoving her face-first against the wall again. One hand clamps her hip; the other palms her ass as he grinds against her, slick from her mouth.
“You’re paying every cap,” he mutters, voice low. “Every fucking one.”
He yanks her panties down in a single pull, baring her to the cold. Fingers spread her, thumb sliding through the slick heat he finds there.
“Look at that.” His grin presses against her ear. “All that fire, and you’re soaked anyway.”
She jerks against his hold. “Not for you.”
“Bullshit.” He lines up, thick head nudging her entrance. “Tonight it is.”
He hauls her up, drags her to a dented metal bin nearby. Shoves her over it—face down, hips up, cold edge biting into her pelvis. The position’s clear: she’s paying. He’s collecting.
One hard thrust and he’s buried deep. Her back bows, a sharp cry ripping out as her walls clamp around him.
“Fuck—” He drops his forehead to her shoulder, still for a beat, just feeling her grip him. “Tighter than I pictured. Trying to strangle me in there?”
Her nails scrape the brick wall in front of her. Breath saws in and out. “You wish you were special.”
He laughs, low and mean, and starts moving—hard, punishing strokes that slam her into the metal of the bin. One hand fists her hair, yanking her head back; the other finds her breast, pinching roughly.
“Listen to yourself,” he growls against her neck. “Moaning like you belong on my cock.”
She grits her teeth, but another sound slips out anyway—raw, unwilling. “Damn you…”
“That’s the idea.” He snaps his hips harder, driving deep enough to make her legs shake.
He keeps the brutal pace, brick scraping her palms where she braces. Every thrust jolt through her, wet and loud in the alley.
“You feel that?” he snarls. “That’s me taking what you said I’d never get.”
Her voice cracks between breaths. “You’ll never own me.”
“Don’t need to own you.” He slows for a second, grinding instead—deep, deliberate circles that make her whimper. “Just need you to remember who fucked you stupid tonight.”
She snarls, but it fractures into a moan when he angles just right, hitting that spot that buckles her knees.
“There we go,” he lets out with triumph in his rasp. “Knew I’d find it.”
Her head thumps back against his shoulder. “Smug bastard.”
“Mayor Smug Bastard.” He picks up speed again, pounding until the alley rings with the sound of skin on skin and her choked cries.
He pulls almost out, then slams back in—hard—drawing a sharp yelp. Grin wide against her neck.
“Let the whole Commonwealth hear it. Let ’em know who’s got the great General screaming.”
Her pride flares through the haze. “They’ll know you’re just a junkie ghoul who can’t get laid without a knife or a debt.”
He laughs against her skin, dark and unbothered, and drives deeper.
“Keep talking, Sunshine. Makes it sweeter when you break.” His laugh comes out harsh, hips slamming forward intense, each thrust like a punctuation mark. “Call me junkie, ghoul, bastard—whatever gets you through it. But tonight? I’m the one makin’ you scream my name.”
He doesn’t let up. The bricks scratch her as he drives into her, her cries echoing sharp off the walls. His breath burns hot against her neck, words spilling rough between growls.
“Goddamn, you’re tight. The great General. How’s that for your rep?”
She gasps it out, voice raw but steady. “Better than being the junkie who couldn’t finish.”
He barks a laugh, teeth grazing her shoulder as he thrusts deeper. “You really don’t shut up, do ya?”
Her body shudders—betraying her—and she clenches around him anyway. He feels it, grins wider.
“There it is. Your body gets it, even if your mouth’s still runnin’.”
He pounds twice more, then pulls out suddenly, leaving her empty and shaking. Before she can do it herself, his hands grab her waist, yanking her off the bin and spinning her to face him. Cock slick and hard, smearing wet heat across her stomach.
He fists her hair, tilting her head again so their eyes lock. “Wanna see that fire when I finish breakin’ you.”
His other hand hooks under her thigh, hauling her leg around his hip. He grinds in close, tip nudging her entrance again.
Hand kneads her thigh, thumb sliding through slick heat.
“Are you ready?”
Her voice stays level, fierce. “I know the price. Take it.”
That snaps something. No more games. He lines up and slams in—firm, deep. The metal in her back digs into her hips; the alley fills with wet slaps, his curses, her grunts.
“You wanted to play rough, General?” he rasps, driving deeper. “Pay up.”
She rocks back into him, meeting every thrust. Hands grip the bin rim, knuckles white.
“Think you can break me that easy?”
He switches it up—brutal pounds, then slow grinds—making her feel every inch. Leaning in close, he murmurs at her ear. “Remember this next time you stroll through my town. Tell the Commonwealth what you paid.”
She laughs—hard, breathless—and curses him out. It tips him over.
Hands clamp her hips like vices. Pace snaps frantic. He comes with a low growl, burying at the bottom, pressing her hard against the bin. She takes it—not helpless, but on her terms.
He pulls out slow, wipes himself carelessly on her shirt, grinning that lazy, satisfied grin that all the man emptied have.
“You paid in full.” He slides out slowly, letting her slump to the ground in a heap against the cold concrete. No gentleness—just done. He tucks himself away, fastens his pants with lazy fingers, that crooked grin still sharp on his scarred face.
“Next time you feel like messin’ with the mayor of Goodneighbor,” he says, “remember who’s callin’ the shots.”
He turns, starts whistling some old pre-war tune like he’s strolling home from a bar, not an alley fuck.
She stays down a beat, chest heaving, legs shaky from the aftershocks—pleasure and ache twisting together. Too wrecked to stand yet.
“Damn you…” It comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You’re a bastard, Hancock.”
He pauses at the mouth of the alley, half-turns, tricorn shadowing his eyes. That grin flashes again—amused, not cruel.
“Yeah. But I’m your bastard tonight, Sunshine.”
He tips his hat once, mock-formal, then melts into the neon glow of the street. Laughter trails back, easy.
She watches him go, slumped there with brick dust on her palms and his scent still on her skin. Anger simmers—sure, he won this round, pinned her, made her break first. But underneath it? A dark, grudging satisfaction. She pushed him right to the edge too. Made the unflappable mayor lose his cool, even for a second.
She drags in a breath, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and pushes to her feet. Legs wobble, but her spine straightens anyway.
Not broken. Just… paid up.
For now.