Pairings/Characters: Billie/?, (mention of Mel/Johnny/Billie and Mel/Johnny)
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: Angst, AU, Drama
Warnings: Dub-con, battering, violence
Summary: Billie has paid a heavy price to keep her boys safe, but now they’re gone.
Date Of Completion: November 4, 2009
Date Of Posting: January 20, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 589
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Please heed the warnings! Very dark AU that came to me last fall, and I held off posting while writing lighter holiday fic. Have to warn you, I’m sure there will be more twisted fic in the future! :)
The entire series can be found here.
Billie slipped out of bed, shivering as she grabbed her robe off a chair and wrapped it around her naked body, glancing back at the bed and the man snoring under the covers. She walked over to the dresser and picked up a bottle, pouring herself a shot of whisky. She tossed it down, the cheap liquor burning down her throat. It mixed with the nausea in her stomach.
The room was cheap and tawdry, just like she was now. Her hand shook as she poured another glass, late afternoon sunlight winking in the amber liquid. The color reminded her of Johnny’s eyes.
Her eyes burned as she thought of Johnny and Mel, the Southerner’s accent as rich as good whisky. Her time with them had been all too brief, all too golden. She should have known it wouldn’t last.
She winced as she rubbed her shoulder, the large bruise still tender. It was an ugly greenish-purple, matching the bruises on her thighs and arms. She didn’t even bother to look in the mirror over the dresser to know that her black eye was puffed up.
The man in the bed shifted and she tensed, but he muttered in his sleep and settled down.
Her fingers curled around the glass, remembering the contemptuous voice, “And what would you do to keep those two queers safe? If they end up in the jug, they’ll be in hell for sure, and especially if the other prisoners know they like to take it up the ass. Oh, sure, Johnny would be a king inside, but even he would find life difficult as the authorities would make sure of it after he humiliated them, if they didn't succeed in frying him in the electric chair first, and as for Purvis, you know what happens to a cop in jail?”
So she had struck a deal and her boys were safe, as safe as they could be on the run, but the man who owned her now had kept his word, or at least she had thought so.
When the FBI had caught up with her boys, they hadn’t bothered with niceties like a warning. One newspaper story had described it as being shot down like dogs in the street.
At least they were together when it happened.
Now there was nothing to keep her here, but she would never truly be free. Her tormentor would use the considerable resources of the FBI to track her down and drag her back, by the hair if necessary.
She glanced over at the bed again. He thought she was browbeaten, one of those women so battered and stomped on that she wouldn’t dare try anything.
She slipped the handgun out of the holster hanging over the back of a chair and approached the bed, stomach tightening as she remembered all the times spent in that bed, her skin crawling and her heart breaking, but at least she had kept Mel and Johnny safe for a little while.
Now they were gone.
Images of what she’d been forced to do flashed in her mind, and her disgust and rage deepened.
She flicked the safety off.
The FBI combed over the hotel room for clues to the killer but came up empty. No one had ever known of the deal struck with Billie Frechette except for the dead man in the bed, his blood still soaking into the sheets.
The bullet had blown away part of Agent Harold Reinecke’s head.