Flash Fiction

Here is a little spec fic romance flash fiction that I wrote that is having difficulty finding a home but I thought it was a fun little story. A quick read on your Friday

(image from MS Office stock images)

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There was a revolver pointed at her and she lifted a brow in disdain. 

“Honestly, darling, do you enjoy hurting people?” 

“Yes, quite frequently,” he replied. “Now get out of the vehicle.” 

Lady Yvaine only gripped the controls more tightly and glared at her current lover. Former lover, perhaps, with the way he waved that pistol in her face. Future lover, depending on how tonight went. 

“I just got this,” she pouted. 

“And I’ve got someone who will pay a pretty penny for it,” Tom shot back. 

The Hydra was Yvaine’s newest creation, a marvel from its sleek lines to its hydrogen pumps, to the jets that curved out the back. She hoped to refine the engine to continue her winning streak. And with an impressive 0 to skyward in 1.5 seconds, she would surely beat Phryne at the Monaco Grand Prix next week. 

Tom’s blue eyes darkened under Yvaine’s refusal to step out of the vehicle. Her heart leaped into her throat and fingers spasmed on the steering wheel. His nails dug into her arm as he yanked her out onto the landing pad, her yelp lost in the wind. The racer bobbed in the air and the streetlights below blurred. Yvaine grasped the railing and watched Tom climb inside. 

“You can’t really mean this.” She hated her plaintive tone. Tom glanced at her, that rakish look that had compelled her to ask him for a drink all those months ago. 

“Not all of us have trust funds, darling.” He drew out the syllables, a mockery of affection, and she wondered if his kisses had ever been true.

 Tom slammed the door and took off, the engine’s flaring as the car shot toward the moon drenched skies. 

Well, there went her chance of winning the Grand Prix, she thought bitterly. Yvaine sighed and hurried across the landing pad into her apartment building. An elevator ride later brought her to the lush pied-a-terre and the realization that Tom had taken her favorite earrings too. Fuming, she rang for her veloped to be sent up to the sky pier. Yvaine took the time to change into something more suitable, with a knife in her boot for insurance.  

Yvaine’s veloped was a shark fin designed for aerodynamic speed. She dodged clunky aero cars and gunned over floating billboards. She ordered her navi system to find the Hydra, keying its individual identity into the system. Tom was thirty miles ahead of her and in the veloped, that distance was nothing.

She rarely lost a race and she wouldn’t lose her new car. Yvaine’s mind wandered as she tried to uncover where she had misread Tom. She knew he was a con man, knew he had pilfered more than a few items, but that hadn’t stopped her heart from stuttering at the sight of him, at the feel of her hand in his.  

Yvaine skimmed over clouds, her engine thrumming between her thighs, her goggles flush with her face. She couldn’t believe he’d stolen the Hydra from her and that perhaps had been his dreadful purpose. She knew from the moment that they met that something drove him, something she couldn’t name, revealed in the reckless way he wore his clothes, in the amount of liquor in his cocktails, in the ferocious way he kissed her as if she were the last bit of air. 

She had assumed it was the thrill of a theft that fueled Tom. An emerald necklace here, an exhaust schematic there, a pair of silk stockings discovered occasionally jammed into his pockets. But, too late, it seemed that his dreadful purpose was stealing her beloved car. 

Yvaine crept up on him as he approached Star Diviner labs. That rake was working for Phryne! This explained Phryne’s smirk at the race during the last practice, crowing about her inevitable win. She’d been nipping at Yvaine’s heels for years, never content with second place, and it appeared that she had finally found her winning ticket in Tom. Yvaine practically snarled in disgust.

Huffing, she maneuvered her veloped beside the Hydra. Ordering it to tether to the car, she pressed a button and the Hydra’s doors opened. Tom swore and Yvaine leapt inside, her revolver against his temple. 

“Stupid of you to think you were the only dangerous one,” she hissed. Tom’s smile was a blade. His fist was faster, and the revolver clattered to the floor. They wrestled for it, car bobbing in the air, alarms screaming as they plunged earthward, and she jerked her knife out. A quick swipe and blood stained the new leather. 

Tom wiped his cheek with a grin. 

“A closer shave than I normally like.”

“Get out of the car.”

“And go where? You’re not a murderer, darling.” He drew the syllables out, lush and lusty, and Yvaine pressed the knife hard against his throat. His hand was on her wrist, his mouth near her throat, his lips brushing leather and lace. 

“You can do more than chase titles, sweetheart.”
“I don’t need a dreadful purpose like you,” she hissed.

“Don’t you?” He kissed her aching pulse and Yvaine felt the knife fall from her fingers. Tom ran lips over her knuckles and her traitorous heart fluttered. 

“Give me my car.”

Tom smiled and spread his hands. “Have I told you how much I cherish you?” She shoved him aside and took over the controls. 

“I don’t trust you,” she said more to remind herself. 

“Nor should you. But, darling, isn’t it wonderful to be adored?” He pulled out a disk from his pocket. “Enough that I bring you schematics for Phryne’s newest racer?” Yvaine smiled coolly. She couldn’t trust him to be anything but himself, yet she let him kiss her anyways, blood dripping down his jaw and onto her jacket. He tasted of copper and danger and sky, and she knew victory was hers. 

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