Free Cracked Porcelain by Drake Collins Page B

fellow miscreants, cutting a swath towards Mardo’s bed chamber. Chota stood guard by the door, but she wasn’t having it.
    “He’s busy, M,” he uttered passively.
    “Not this time, Chota," she pushed past him, shoving the door open. Mardo was laying back on the expansive couch, balls bare to the wind, a hairless petite beauty’s lips affixed to the tip of his cock. The poor girl hopped off of his meat, scurrying away as Maximillia hunted after the tubby messiah.
    “What?” Mardo muttered, confused.
    She picked up a discarded bath robe from the floor and threw it at him with beastly vigor. “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant and it’s yours!”
    He stood up, yanking up his pants, striding at her. “Pregnant? Pregnant you stupid bitch?!”
    “Do you know what I have to do out there?!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Do you know what I have to do for you? For your problem?! Do you have any idea?”
    He was an unstoppable mass as he backhanded her, sending her toppling to the floor. The heavy blow rung her bell. She gurgled, trying to stand, her vision blurry and her brain struggling to assume control. Their exchange echoed loudly through the entire Bruiser camp. The gang members could only wander in silence, pretending they weren’t hearing what they were hearing.
    Mardo yanked her to her feet as Maximillia spun around and latched onto his face, dragging her nails across his cheek, clawing him. “I hate you! I hate you!” she bellowed.
    He swung his meaty fist up into her stomach, folding her in half and knocking the air out of her. She gasped, wincing as he smashed her head into a wall, sending her plopping into a limp heap. He reared back with his foot and kicked her in the head, sending her hair whipping up and cascading down her now bloody face.
    Chota inched his way apprehensively into the room. “Boss?” he said, trying to interject as delicately as possible. “Dom. She’s making a lot of money for him. Don’t you think maybe you should reconsider —”
    “Fuck her,” Mardo blubbered through labored breaths, looking down on the messy ball of tussled hair and loose limbs at his feet. “Fuck Dom. If this bitch is going to be making money for anyone it ought to be for me.”
    Chota winced at the sacrilegious nature of Mardo’s words. “Why don’t I take her in to see a medic?”
    “She’s been taking my loads for free and Dom gets to charge some slimy fuckin’
pad-hoppers and pond swimmers to let them cum on her face?” Mardo protested, his chest still heaving. He delivered several more kicks to her inert, semi-conscious body, finally spitting on her. “Bitch. Oughta just take her out into the desert and bury her ass out there.”
    “Boss, we can’t do that,” Chota reminded. “Dom is expecting her to show up at the club. If we don’t get her fixed up, he’s going to come down on all of us.”
    Mardo pondered Chota’s words.
     
    ***
     
    Maximillia awoke to find her head pounding. As the world came into focus she found herself staring up at a pristine, eggshell-colored ceiling, a white sheet strung tight across her chest, keeping her bound gently to the bed beneath her. She saw the smart-glass assemblies built into the far wall and the radiant pictographic real-time data crawling along it: her vital signs, blood pressure, brain activity, metabolic condition. The smart-glass emitted a low, audible ping which whispered in a harmonized frequency.
    The hospital room was disturbingly serene; sterile and quiet, a heavenly scent hung in the light air. For a moment she thought herself dead.
    She felt a strange tickle on her side and reached up under her hospital gown to touch it. It was a small, cauterized incision on the right side of her hip which had already nearly healed over.
    A medroid wheeled in. “According to your stress level readings, I was led to believe you were in need of assistance.”
    She cleared her throat, still terribly weak. “I’m pregnant,