Standard Disclaimer:
You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...you know the rest.
This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use.
This work is complete fiction; celebs don't act like this in real life…probably.
Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.
Comments and suggestions are welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have to the address in my profile.
(Another disclaimer: Fans of a prominent author of our community will no doubt notice remarkable similarities in both tone and subject between parts of this chapter and one of his most beloved works. Similarities so peculiar that it couldn't possibly be a coincidence, that I must be plagiarizing him or ripping off elements of his story to enhance mine. All I can say is that it truly is a coincidence and his work was not in my mind when I wrote this chapter. The only proof I can offer is that I SWEAR it was raining around 5:30 pm on July 5, 2003 here in Chicago and it would have been derelict of me to ignore what fate had so perfectly laid out for my timeline. If he happens to read this series, I hope he understands why I had to write it the way I did)
* * * * *
Chapter 9: The Shoot
9:45 pm. Tuesday, July 1. Hotel Allegro. Chicago, Illinois.
Michael waited, rubbing his knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. Three seconds passed and he knocked again, this time with the bottom of his fist. There was nothing but a short scream from the woman. He pressed his eye to the peephole again.
The man was screaming, and the woman did nothing but cry in response. He pointed his finger at her, then reared back with his foot and kicked her viciously in the stomach. Michael was banging on the door now, yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs.
The man turned towards the door. He held the woman up and punched her flush in the cheek. Laughing, he started ripping her clothes off. She struggled but there was as much muscle on her small stature as one might expect. He forced her up against the windows. Holding her by the back of her neck he began pushing her pants down.
Michael drove his shoulder into the door. Once, twice, then again and again and again. He took a step back and began kicking the door with his heel. When it finally began to give, Michael moved back against the opposite wall and dashed forward, pounding his way through in a shower of splinters. The man let go of the woman and turned around in surprise.
He was even more surprised when Michael grabbed his hair and cracked the television screen with his forehead. Then Michael shoved him out of the room where the man landed on his chest. The woman made no attempt to stop Michael from following his prey outside of the room; indeed, neither did Michael himself.
The man got to his feet. "What the fuck is your problem?!" Michael's hands shot forward and grabbed the man by the collar. He yanked him around in a circle and threw him head first into the wall, splitting the man's eyebrow. "FUCK!" cried out the man.
Michael grabbed him by the top of his pants and proceeded to bounce the man's head off the opposite wall. He staggered away from Michael down the hall. Thomas walked up to him. "Where do you think you're going?" he said. He drove his knee into the man's stomach and then punched him in the solar plexus.
"Having trouble breathing Connor?" asked Michael.
"You know this guy?" said Thomas as he held the gasping man up. Connor flailed wildly at Thomas.
"Send him over here." Thomas shoved Connor forward. Michael set his feet, snapped his hips and broke Connor's nose with the hardest punch he had ever thrown. Connor's head whiplashed and he landed flat on his back. Slowly, he got to his knees and tried to crawl away, Thomas and Michael circling like vultures. "Let's get him outta here," said Michael.
They latched onto Connor and dragged him down to the elevators. Thomas hit the call button. Connor's blood was dripping to the carpet and he feebly struggled against their grips. "Urgghhg, why did, ur."
"Shut up," said Michael.
"Urrh, fuck you!" yelled the man through his tears.
Michael yanked the men's head up by his hair and glared into his eyes. Then he and Thomas used him like a battering ram, driving his limp body into the golden doors of the elevator over and over. "You better hope these doors open soon or we'll be pounding your face into it all day long," said Michael through clenched teeth.
As they were rearing back for another thrust the doors opened and Connor ended up slamming against the back of the elevator. He fell into a heap on the floor. Michael entered the elevator and propped Connor up against the wall. Then he took a few steps back and kicked Connor so hard in the stomach that he vomited. Michael waited until Connor was done, then grabbed his hair and rubbed his face into the freshly regurgitated bile that was pooled on the floor.
Thomas reached in and slapped the button for the lobby. "Doors are gonna close in a sec Mike," he said. Michael let Connor go and stepped out of the elevator. "Who is this guy?"
A terrified hotel guest was standing at the back of the ice machine room, clutching an ice bucket. "Can I borrow that?" asked Michael. The shaken guest handed him the bucket. "Thanks." Michael went down the hall and into the woman's room.
"I'm sure he'll bring it back in a sec," said Thomas. The guest nodded hesitantly.
"Oh my god Tom, what's going on?" asked Keira. She was standing outside of her room. "What were you doing to that man?"
Thomas walked back to the woman's room and looked inside. Michael was entering the bathroom with the ice bucket. Thomas picked up Keira's bag and continued down the hall. "That cocksucker was slapping around a woman in the room over there. We took care of it."
"Is she okay?" asked Keira as she took the bag from Thomas.
"I think she'll be fine, Mike's in there right now," replied Thomas.
The woman was huddled against the wall clutching a blanket tightly around her body. Michael came out of the bathroom with some tissues and a small towel. He knelt down and held the tissues out to her. She visibly flinched at his outstretched hand. "Natalie, Connor is gone. I'm Mike, we had lunch together once?" Natalie slowly raised her eyes. Even through her tears she looked beautiful. Michael pulled the sofa chair closer and she sat.
Natalie accepted the tissues from him. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. He gently lifted her chin and looked for any marks on her delicate features. Michael took some ice out of the ice bucket and wrapped it in the towel. He held it to Natalie's left cheekbone. "As far as I can tell it's just a light bruise."
She did everything she could to hold back the tears coming down her cheeks. Natalie blew her nose and replaced his hand with hers on the makeshift ice pack. She clutched the blanket even tighter. "How did you know?"
"Are there any cuts, sprains, anything like that? Anything feel like it's broken? Like a finger or something?" asked Michael as he examined her face, carefully avoiding her eyes. Natalie shook her head at each question. "Did you hit your head? Are you dizzy or having trouble focusing?"
"No," said Natalie. She sniffed. "You never said you were in med school."
"I'm not," said Michael. He went over to the table and picked up the phone. Michael dialed the front desk. "Hi, I'm calling for Natalie Portman from room 8042. She would like a new room as soon as possible. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No sir, it won't be. Just one moment," said the attendant.
"What are you doing?" asked Natalie.
"I'm assuming you don't want to stay in this room, you can't even close the door anymore," answered Michael.
"There is a suite available right now if that is alright?" said the attendant.
"Fine."
