"Do you think that's the last of them?" Sandra asked as she gingerly stepped over the smoking, shredded carcass of a brown-banded thug.

"Uh... yeah," Drake replied as he scanned the room they were in. Apart from the two of them and some shot to all hell furniture, the only thing to be seen were the former members of Wretch's gang/army/cult/whatever you want to call it, who were now lying around the floor (and in some cases, the walls and roof) in rapidly-stiffening heaps.

"Good. I think I'm out of ammo," Sandra sighed.

"I ran out hours ago," Drake stated, matter-of-factly. "I've been pilfering guns from the guys I've been dropping for ages."

"Yeah..." Sandra looked at her razors, now stained a deep crimson. "Don't these things have an auto-clean function? It'll take ages to get the gunk off these."

"Er Sandra?" Drake began. "Your shirt..."

"What?" She looked down at her shirt, only just now noticing the large chunk of gore on the middle of it. "Ewwww... His brains went down my front!" She hastily stripped off the top and began shaking it out while trying to figure out how to get the offending lump off. "If this stains, I'm going to be so mad..."

Drake stood back, watching her, casually admiring her form. Despite the scars along her right arm and shoulder, Sandra was rather attractive. She had a very good figure, with a smooth, flat stomach and firm, beautifully rounded breasts, which were currently moving somewhat provocatively under the black sports bra as she was shaking out her shirt. Drake chuckled to himself, thinking about how he didn't just admire her for her honesty and personality, but also for her shapely body.

"And what she can do with it..." He thought to himself, a smug grin on his face. He stepped over a few more steaming carcasses and walked up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. "Let's not worry about that now," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh really?" Sandra replied in a smooth, seductive voice as she turned around to face him.

"Yeah... We're both tired, we've wiped out his gang... I'm sure we can take a little break..."

Sandra grinned as she put her arms around his neck and drew him closer. "There's a mostly intact bed over there, if that's what you mean." She hugged him close and kissed him on the lips. They held the embrace for a few seconds before breaking.

"I think that's what I meant," he replied as he continued to kiss her along her shoulders.

"Good" Sandra replied with a grin as Drake, after shifting aside a few more bodies, knelt before her, kissing her smooth belly, his tongue playing over her navel. She looked down in anticipation as he played with her fly, finally undoing it. "That's what I was hoping," she finished as she stepped out of her trousers, leaving her in only her bra, briefs and combat boots.

Drake stood again, wiping the gore off his suit's kneepads, eyeing her long, shapely legs. Sandra just smiled as she slipped a hand under one of the straps on her bra. Drake took the hand, sliding it, and the strap, over her shoulder. She placed her other hand on the other strap, and Drake did the same. She stood back, smiling, as she slowly slid hear hands, and the bra upwards, revealing-


"What... was that?" Drake said blinking.

"Tool." Sandra swore as she put her bra back on. "Let's go."

"What?" Drake asked. "What about..."

"Never mind." She picked up her pants. "The authour just had a nosebleed and passed out."

"He what?"

"Happens to him all the time."

"Right." Drake sighed. "Later, maybe?"

"With this guy? All we can hope for is a 'morning after' scene with carefully concealed nudity."


"This never happens to Marta," she muttered as she zipped up her top. "And I've still got brains all over me."

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