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Christmas in Dixie	By : roxyfic Category: 1 through F > Fast And The Furious, The > Male/Male Views: 16547 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Fast and the Furious, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Christmas in Dixie
- 2-2
- 3-3b
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 2
- 3
- 4
Christmas in Dixie

Part Three
Dom could do nothing as they hauled Brian toward the bed. He watched as they threw the long body onto the mattress and flipped him face down. Brian moaned as they freed his arms -- then moaned again when they re-secured them to the bed's rail.

Dom struggled to free himself, to go to Brian. He ached to tear the bastards' hands away from Brian, to pull their masks off, to rip their leather harnesses off and shove them so far down their throats that they'd choke on them. He growled deep in his chest, impotent rage nearly driving him insane.

"You're magnificent," Eddy's oily voice whispered in Dom's ear and he shuddered in revulsion. When Eddy's soft hands began to stroke his ribs and belly, Dom began to gag around the rubber ball that filled his mouth.

~*~

Pastor O'Connor saw a slender man sitting in the front row of the pews. He knew everyone for miles around; he had grown up in the village and been the Pastor of this small church for over twenty-five years -- yet this man was a stranger to him.

"Hello," he greeted the stranger warmly. "I'm Pastor O'Connor and I'm glad that you've stopped in." The stranger didn't turn his head; he just continued to stare at the large painting above the altar. "Is there anything that I can help you with?" the Pastor asked softly.

The man was small of stature, he had medium brown hair, and when he turned his face enough, Pastor O'Connor noticed that he also had pale brown eyes. The stranger blinked at him for a moment or two before speaking.

"I've traveled a long way to see some old friends," the man said softly. "I've been waiting outside for most of the morning with no luck. Apparently, they've been delayed." The stranger gave the Pastor a searching look. "Do you mind if I sit in here until they come?"

"Of course you may," the Pastor said. "Though I haven't turned the heat on and it's nearly as cold in here as it is outside," he said with a shiver. "Wait -- I've got an idea," Pastor O'Connor said brightly. "I was just about to walk home for lunch. Why don't you come along? We'll leave a note on the door for your friends."

Brown eyes blinked rapidly. "You'd invite a stranger into your home?"

"Everyone is a stranger until you get to know them," the Pastor mouthed automatically.

The man smiled gently and then rose to his feet as he said, "And sometimes it's the people that we think know the best, that we understand the least."

Pastor O'Connor rubbed the stump of his wrist as he mulled over the stranger's words.

"Thank you for your offer, Pastor, but I'm very tired," the man said wearily. "I was up late last night and a disturbance in the room next to mine awoke me early this morning. I think I'll just continue on my journey." With that, the stranger began to move painfully down the aisle toward the door.

The Pastor noticed the pronounced limp and his heart went out to the man. "You shouldn't travel when you're tired," the Pastor began to follow him. "You're welcome to rest at my house. We have company, but there's always room for one more."

"Is there, Pastor?" the man asked as he stopped and turned. "Can you truly make room for one more?"

"We have a big house," the Pastor said with a frown, feeling uneasy.

"I didn't mean inside your home," the stranger said. "I meant, inside your heart." The stranger jerked his head toward the painting that hung above the altar -- Christ knocking on a heart-shaped door.

The Pastor stiffened, stung and confused. "What about your friends?" he asked as the man limped away. "What shall I tell them if they show up looking for you?" The stranger opened the door. "At least tell me your name and I'll give them a message ..."

"My name is Lenny and tell my friends to stay away from the Gold Crown Motel, bad things happen there." With that cryptic remark, the small man limped out into the cold, crisp December day.

The Pastor hurried out the door after him, but Lenny was already getting into the passenger side of a heavily detailed, brilliant-green sports car. The Pastor barely got a glimpse of the young man, barely more than a boy, who was driving. All he could make out was a baby face, a stocking cap, and black painted nails before the car sped away with a squeal of tires.

The Pastor shook his head at the strangeness of the encounter, then immediately pushed the incident to the back of his mind as more immediate worries took over. He shoved his hand into his pocket and began the short walk down the quiet village street to his home. He was late for lunch and Marlene wouldn't be pleased.

Should he tell her about the call he'd received from the FBI? Maybe there wouldn't be any need. Maybe Brian ... and Dom -- mustn't forget him -- would be home by the time he got there. Maybe Brian ... he smiled sadly at the thought of his son.

Despite his angelic looks, or perhaps because of them, Brian had always been his problem child. The other two boys, Neal and Tony, had never gotten into a single scrape. They had breezed through adolescence and skipped right over the teen-age rebellion stage. Neal had joined the Army and married an absolutely lovely German girl that he'd met while stationed in Europe. Tony had gone to college and was now an architect working in Boston. He too, had met and married a girl that was perfect for him. But Brian ... Brian had always been a trial.

The Pastor kicked idly at a rock on the sidewalk. Perhaps the wildness came from the fact that Brian was the eldest, perhaps it came because his striking looks made everyone tend to spoil him, perhaps it came from inherited genes, or perhaps the boy's behavior was God's way of keeping the Pastor humble. He'd never been able to claim his children were perfect -- not that he would have.

The harder he had tried to tame Brian, the wilder his eldest son had become. When Brian had turned sixteen -- he groaned at the memory -- cars, drugs, girls, and more girls. The Pastor smiled sadly, no doubt the whole Dominic scenario was a result of the hundreds of hours he'd spent on his knees praying that the Lord would stop sending so many willing girls in his son's direction. Somehow he doubted that God would answer his prayer by sending a willing man to Brian -- but then you never know.

If he hadn't been so depressed, he would have chuckled at the thought.

It had almost been a relief when Brian had stormed out of the house right after graduation from high school. He'd been lecturing the boy on the amount of time, money, and sin that was being invested in the nights spent at the Gold Crown Motel. They'd started to fight in earnest then, the result being that Brian had moved out.

Later, the Pastor had learned that Brian had lived at the motel for a week before heading out to California. Rumor had it that it had taken Brian that long to say goodbye to all his adoring ladies.

"Damned motel," the Pastor muttered. It had always been a den of iniquity. The stories he'd heard of that place --

Something tickled his mind -- something the stranger had said. He shivered as his flesh broke out in goosebumps. He'd had these feelings before, and had always written them down as the Holy Spirit reaching out and touching him. He tried to clear his mind. He willed his ears to hear.

But there was nothing -- nothing beyond the vague impression of the motel, the knowledge that the place was trouble, that there had been a disturbance there loud enough to wake someone in the next room, and the thought that Brian never should have stopped there. He should have come home last night ...

The Pastor stopped in his tracks. Was it possible?

Had Brian and Dom stopped at a motel just an hour's drive away? Brian had called in the early evening. What *had* he said? Something about the car, then he'd muttered something about being overheated and needing to take care of some business.

A hot flush pushed the chill off the Pastor's cheeks as instinctive understanding hit. Instead of completing their journey, the boys had stopped at Brian's old haunt to ... to ...

Shame filled the Pastor, so swiftly and so strongly did it descend on him, that he fell to his knees and knelt there on the sidewalk until he was able to draw breath again.

"Forgive me, Lord," he begged as he surged upright and ran the rest of the way home. A quick glance confirmed that no hemi-orange Dart had miraculously appeared. He didn't even bother going into the house. He went to the garage instead and fired up his old mini-van. Seconds later he was breaking speed limits, sliding around corners, and driving in a way that he hadn't since before he'd heard the Lord's voice calling him to preach.

The Gold Crown was an hour's drive; he intended to arrive there much quicker than that.

~*~

The closest airport that the private jet could land at was nearly an hour's drive from the motel. As an elegantly dressed man descended the steps, he looked about the crude airfield with a disgusted look on his dark features.

"Tell me you were able to arrange a decent vehicle?" he asked snidely.

"Yes, Sir. There should be Lincoln here somewhere -- there it is!" The flunky eagerly pointed out the big black car to his boss.

Five black clad men crossed the field to where the car sat waiting for them next to a small office building. The leader of the group moved like a cat, fluidly, and with an aura of leashed power. His dark hair glinted in the sunshine with red highlights, giving him the demonic look that had made him famous.

Devlin Jones had arrived in Dixie.

~*~

The whip bit into flesh with a sickening sound, halfway between a whistle and a slap. Brian cringed and tensed and prayed for it to end soon.

Six more times the quiet was broken by the hiss and crack of leather meeting flesh, then there was silence as a new phase of the torture began. A sound of grinding teeth, a whimper of pain, the crackling sound of meat frying, and the acrid stench of burning flesh filled the Gold Crown Motel room.
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Christmas in Dixie