To no one. Or, or ... I’ll kill you.” “What the fuck?” He cried out, pushing himself off the couch and walking over to her. “Why?” “I love him, Brian,” she cried, this time for real, tears beginning to run down the side of her face. “I love Colby. I know its wrong, but I love him.” “You are ... ugh,” he began, throwing his fists down to his sides. “I don’t even know what to call you right now.” Brian flung open the door to the office and made his way towards Colby’s room. “Are you okay Brian?” Mrs. Clark passed him in the hallway, a concerned look on her face. “I heard yelling.” “Yeah Mrs. Clark,” he faked a smile. “Everything is fine.” Everything was not fine, everything was far from fine. Brian had never been so angry in his entire life. Sure he had coaxed her into sleeping with him originally, but afterwards she made it seem as if they had something going. Now this. It was bullshit in his opinion. Brian pushed his way into the room that he was sharing with Colby. To his. 151st fighter group, Hell's Angels was stenciled on the back, along with a logo of a starfield with a scantily clad female devil on a motorcycle. On the left sleeve was a stylized hand of cards. Five of diamonds, two of clubs and three aces of Diamonds. Only an ace with over fifty sorties to their credit could wear the jackets, in lieu of a dress jacket. The patch was her badge of honor, the five and two representing sorties flown and the three red aces each represented five confirmed kills. Hearts indicated ten, Clubs twenty. An ace of spades represented fifty. Any pilot who saw her would know immediately she had flown fifty two combat sorties and scored fifteen confirmed kills. Lucky wore hers mostly because "Surfer" Gibson couldn't and it gave her a leg up in the pussy contest. Lucky was a tall girl, with wide hips and heavy breasts. Her face was pretty, but not stunning and the glasses and long brown hair softened her appearance a bit. She was excited today, more so than she.
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