Chapter 1

Aloha

God, she hated stiffs. And tonight, anyone in a suit with a drink in their hand was a stiff. Except her. Well, if a dress counted as a suit. Did it count as a suit? Aloha scrunched her eyes as she stared at the delicate clear glass in her hand, contemplating all of the important questions of life. A dress was generally considered as formal wear, especially a red satin halter. Formal wear included suits, and here she was dressed formally with a drink in her hand-Oh god, did that mean that she was a stiff?

Aloha nibbled on her lip in concern and watched the stiffs go back and forth through the pristine white archways of the lobby. These kind of illustrious parties were not her cup of tea. The general population here was men and women well into their forties to sixties. Men strutted in their best like pea cocks, dressed in suit jackets, slacks and ties. The women were sleek panthers in their jewel toned gowns and occasional pantsuit. Everyone here was all about business. One glance around the spacious room and Aloha could see more deals than she had fingers being struck.

Here she was, a fox in a wolf's den. She was twenty one and a half, in a soft red satin sleeve of a dress that was just a few inches past scandalous. Minimal jewelry-because her date for the evening had begged her to take the piercings out-and six inch pumps that were to die for. Her date loved her with big sexy hair, so she had worn it down and styled. As a bonus, it was long enough to hide the tattoo on her shoulder.

She was, without a doubt, the stranger here. Aloha and everyone else inside these walls knew it. She had been gawked and gestured at all night long, and even one or three glasses of alcohol couldn't take the edge off of her anxiety. To make things worse, her date and host of the damn stiff party, had abandoned her to the storm as soon as they crossed the threshold.

As soon as she found Chandler, she was going to drop kick him.

"Aloha?" The voice was male, deep and smooth like satin. Speak of the devil.

Aloha pivoted to face her date, one of the said men in his forties. He smiled charmingly at her, his dark eyebrows lifting in amusement, "I'm happy to see you blending in with everyone, or at least trying to."

Aloha slipped into super-sexy-date-mode. She smiled back at him and lowered her eyelids. "Hello, love. Where have you been?"

He chuckled, "Mingling. Relax. You're looking a bit...stiff."

Aloha snorted and shot him a narrow look but bit her tongue. Chandler saw it and his smile bled into a wicked smirk. At forty-eight, Chandler was the owner of his own personal line of designer furniture. A broad man with a full head of jet black hair, He looked every bit the part of a well groomed business man in his expensive black suit and fancy red tie. He slid up against her side and enclosed her shoulders in one big arm.

Chandler leaned down into her ear and whispered, "You see that old man over there in the red jacket?"

Aloha shifted her attention elsewhere. She followed his direction until she spotted a much older man with silver hair. He stood with his shoulders proudly back, but he was still the shortest person on the premises.

"You mean midget Alfred Pennyworth?" Aloha glanced at her date.

Chandler rolled his eyes, "That's Samuel Tanner."

Aloha's gaze lit up with interest. She said, "That's Tanner?"

Samuel Tanner was the reason why Aloha had agreed to this ridiculous escapade. Aside from the amusement of watching the city's finest throw money and power at each other, the point of her presence here was to put herself on the map. Tanner was an art dealer that often worked directly with the curators of the Layton Museum of Modern Art. He was at every art show and event in the county, and was often the one hosting them.

Aloha was a sculptor that made things out of clay and whatever useful trash she could find while dumpster diving. She had been working in sculpting since an art teacher in junior high saw her potential and nursed it. Making art was Aloha's first and only true love. It was also the only hope she had of a future, even if she would never afford to go to an art college or buy her way into the big leagues.

That's where Tanner came in. All she needed was to talk to him, to show him the small portfolio she had tucked under her arm alongside her purse. A little word from a well known man went a long way.

"Not what you expected?" Chandler's fingers roamed over her bare shoulder. They trailed over her collar bone and left goosebumps on her skin.

"Down boy," Aloha feigned a scold. "How do I get to him?"

"You let me introduce you." Chandler settled his hand back on her shoulder. Aloha let herself be led away, even though she hated being nudged and prodded around like cattle. Chandler brought her toward the Alfred look alike, and the two of them waited patiently for the man to finish laughing with a gaggle of classy ladies.

It took several minutes before he noticed them, and even then he was reluctant to leave his audience. Finally, he shifted his attention to them. Chandler stepped forward, "Mr. Tanner."

"Ah, Chandler." The old man's eyes flicked to Aloha and anchored to her. "Who is your young friend?"

Aloha offered her hand with a shy smile, "Aloha Paige, Mr. Tanner."

"Please, dear girl. Call me Samuel. Aloha is a very unique name."

Aloha took the unspoken hint and explained, "I was conceived in Hawaii." It wasn't necessarily the reason for her name, but it was close enough.

"Interesting." He sounded like he found a lot more than her name interesting. Props for someone who didn't let their libido get as old as their body. Aloha wondered absently how many sweet young girlfriends he had lined up, their hands up waiting for money. Then again, Aloha wasn't one to talk.

The conversation, which was supposed to be one of the greatest breaks of her life, became a lot of nonsense and staring. The men talked animatedly, but said nothing with any meaning, and both of them stared at Aloha, who stared back. She stood still and bit her tongue. It took every ounce of will she had not to slap Tanner in the face with her open portfolio.

And then, like absolutely nothing had happened, the two men parted. Aloha watched, horrified, as Tanner went one way and Chandler tugged her the other. She sputtered at him, "What the hell was that?"

Chandler inhaled at her language in a public place, but said quickly, "You don't know anything, Aloha. You can't just walk up to someone like that and expect a free ride to the top. You have to work your way up, learn your target and what they like and don't like. Once you turn them into a friend, the hardest part is over."

Aloha ground her teeth in agitation. She didn't agree. Her work was good enough to at least be noticed. She'd spent nine years of her life getting to this point, and she wasn't ready to just let an opportunity slip through her fingers. Aloha turned against his arm to see where Tanner had walked off to and Chandler promptly swung her back around.

"Behave." He said.

Aloha tried her best to do just that, though her irritation simmered beneath her skin. Chandler made good work of her, parading her around like a cherished pet at show and tell. There were odd looks from a few of the people there, people that actually questioned why he was with a young girl when he was married with a bunch of rotten kids and a ranch-style home in the next state over.

Fortunate for them, they didn't say a word, then pretended not to even see Aloha for the remainder of the night. It almost made Aloha sick. It was one thing to be apart of the affair, but to watch it unfold and not do a damn thing about it was something awful. Even if they just dropped a hint like, hey, is that your daughter's friend? Or, hey, that looks a lot like your wife's new intern. Little hints that screamed: what the hell are you doing?

No one said a word, though. And once they got over the shock of her age, or lack thereof, a few tried to carefully integrate her into the conversation since Chandler was the host and among the most important names there. Chandler gave no signal that she should be quiet, so Aloha participated when addressed directly. She made sure to be polite and charming.

Her eyes, however, never stopped looking for Tanner, and her brain kept turning over one thought. She really, really, really hated stiffs.

The party lasted long into the night. Cars didn't arrive to pick up guests until eleven thirty in the evening, and the majority of those people didn't clear out until an hour later. There was stragglers left over, the old friends that had reunited and were not ready to break apart again.

Aloha remained at Chandler's side for the remainder of the night. By the time he was walking the very last of the old men out, sassy with drink, her feet felt broken in four different places and her eye lids weighed fifteen pounds each.

Chandler looked at her once and laughed. "You're supposed to be the youthful one! Why are you so tired?"

"Because I'm wearing heels that could take a man's eye out and I haven't sat down in hours." Aloha sighed, "are we done here?"

"In a hurry to get to bed?" Chandler smiled and his eyes went dark. His voice was thick with innuendo, and Aloha fought the urge to groan in her grief.

Aloha caught herself just in time. She flashed him her own patented dirty smile, "I'm not the only one, love."

Chandler swept her out of the room then. Through the lobby and out the doors. Aloha felt the need to point out that there was still a mess to be cleaned, because even the rich and distinguished had their limits on polite mannerisms, but clamped her mouth shut instead. She was really tired, and she just wanted to go home and sleep. The fastest way to do that was to go along with Chandler and be whatever he wanted her to be for the night.

Chandler walked her out to his most prized possession. A bright red convertible 1970 Mustang gleamed in the lot across from them. Chandler called it 'Velvet', though why anyone would name a car was a mystery to Aloha. She didn't have a car, and would never need one. She didn't place any value in them besides the occasional one that had some savage lines that appealed to her artistic eye. Her indifference toward cars was one of their most common arguments. Chandler adored all of the old hot rods and classics, while they were all just old relics waiting to fall apart to Aloha.

Chandler ran a loving hand up the side of the vehicle. "I think we should go topless tonight."

Aloha stared at him, was he implying she go topless? Before she could squawk at him, Chandler unlocked the car and folded down Velvet's fabric top.

Aloha slid into the passenger seat and buckled in. When Chandler just stood there and stared at her like a teenage boy, she flipped her bleach-blonde hair off her shoulder and smiled. "Aren't you going to drive me home?"

"After I finish admiring," Chandler purred, "I just realized how good you and Velvet look together. You both match. Red with," his eyes roved over her, "lovely lines."

Aloha hummed and dropped her eyelids. "Better hurry, love. It's getting cold."

Chandler hopped in and seconds later the engine rumbled to life. The ride back into the hotel was a short one, spent mostly in comfortable silence. Aloha watched the lights blur into colored streaks in the night. For a minute, she was able to breathe and just be. She didn't have to think about the night, or what was going to happen once they made it back to Chandler's hotel room. She didn't have to worry about her father, or the million other issues she had waiting for her at home. She was just there, alive and mostly whole.

The hotel room was barely above cheap. It was Chandler's idea to rent a low grade room in a low grade part of town to avoid drawing more attention to himself. Aloha had smiled and told him how smart he was. Inward she'd asked why the hotel room was the base of his concerns when he'd just paraded her in front of any and everybody with a name in the county. As usual, she kept her opinion locked up and tossed the key. Chandler didn't keep her around for her sass, or at least not that sass.

Aloha lounged across the bed while he went straight for the bathroom. It didn't take her long to spot the mini-fridge crammed under the side table. A quick peek inside and her night got much better when she found it stocked with her favorite coolers and liquor. If she got started right now and worked hard at it for the next ten minutes, by the time Chandler emerged from the bathroom she'd be too drunk to remember anything that happened next.

While she was shuffling through the bottles of her favorite poison, Chandler heard the clinking of bottles and called from the bathroom, "Don't start without me!"

Aloha rolled her eyes, any hope she'd had shot to the pit. Still, she sang back, "Wouldn't dream of it."

With a scowl, she let the door swing shut and rearranged herself on the mattress. Chandler came into the room buck naked seven minutes later. Aloha wanted to face palm when he strutted in with all of his business proudly swinging around. She wondered if he was like this at home, too, or if he was only this brave with her.

Aloha watched him with sharp eyes. Why wasn't he going to the fridge? Chandler knew she didn't like to romp without even a light buzz-the mattress sank beside her and hands slid up her legs to tuck under her skirt. Aloha closed her eyes in feigned pleasure, and mentally prepared herself for the next twenty or thirty minutes.

Chandler's entire focus shifted to her and what he was doing. Aloha put herself on auto-pilot and retreated deep into the number parts of her mind. She moved in sync with him and whispered all the dirty things he wanted to hear. She met all of his needs, and when it was finally over and he lay sated against her bare side, Aloha gradually came back to herself.

Aloha disentangled herself from Chandler's arm and perched herself on the edge of the mattress. The numbness of her withdrawal followed her. It lingered in her head and in her body where she should have been satisfied. Empty and numb, Aloha had one thing on her mind.

She opened the fridge and once more delved into it for the closest, coldest bottle. She wrapped the cap in the bed sheet before she unscrewed it and drained half of its contents in one tip.

"Sometimes I think the only reason you're here is for the alcohol." Chandler said, his deep voice breaking the calm quiet.

Aloha glanced down at him. His eyes were only halfway open, but they had the focus of a predator watching his prey. Aloha tapped the cold lip of the bottle against her forehead and smiled sweetly at him, "Its a bonus, but not the reason, love."

"Then why? Eighty percent of our time together is you drinking yourself stupid."

"I thought eighty percent of our time together was you screwing me stupid?" Aloha lifted her eyebrows in a look of pure innocence. Her tactic worked, and his accusing look turned into one of heated want. In an act of pure will, she set her cooler down and ran chilled fingertips over his skin. He shivered. He clamped his arms around her and pulled her back down into his embrace for a long kiss.

Aloha then offered him her drink, which he happily took. Aloha even let him finish the bottle, but only because she had narrowly avoided a bullet that could have shattered her world. Chandler buried his face in her collar and inhaled, "Are you mine?"

"For as long as you'll have me." Aloha said quietly.

The emptiness spread a little more in her bones. She had learned how to master her own voice and actions to make him believe any thing she said. Chandler knew that there was something there for him, a beautiful rose in her heart that was his to enjoy. He was wrong.

Aloha hummed to him and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. When his body went lax with rest, she once more removed herself. Aloha managed to slide back into her dress and returned to the fridge. She took as many bottles as she could carry, hooked her pumps on two free fingers, and left. As much as she enjoyed sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with a man she had no feelings for, Aloha had things to do in the morning.

The walk home was short and uneventful. She was aware enough of her surroundings to make sure there wasn't any predators looming in the shadows. Chandler's almost-cheap hotel was under a mile from the low brick building that was her home. Aloha bypassed the front door and went straight to the garage. Squatting down, she pulled her purse out from where it was crammed in her bra strap. She unlocked it, shoved her shoulder under, and pushed it up. The metal rolled noisily and the interior was revealed to her.

Aloha felt a genuine smile on her face for the first time that night when she stepped into her room and slammed the door down behind her. She immediately dropped everything while side stepping her turn table, including her dress, and shuffled toward her futon. She put all but one of her bottles in her personal fridge.

Aloha nursed on it when she flopped down on the futon and yanked a quilt over her bare skin. She pulled her laptop to the arm rest and clicked it on to check her account. Yesterday she had sold one of her many small sculptures in an online auction, and the transaction had yet to clear when Chandler picked her up.

Relief flooded through her when saw that the money had cleared. Aloha finally had enough money to hit the auction in two weeks to pick up more materials. Her last buy, a box of 'junk', had been a treasure chest of scraps she'd used for her last few pieces. Her eyes slid over to the rough shape of dancing horses on the turn table in the middle of her garage-room. Her best mixed media pieces yet, had sucked an entire month of her life, and she still didn't get to show the pictures to Tanner.

Aloha tipped her drink back.

She really hated stiffs.

Barricade

Pathetic meat bags!

Barricade hissed and rumbled while he was prodded at. How many times did they need to try to open him up before they gave in? If he was fit for repairs, if he was capable of even half a transformation to tend to himself, he would have done so long ago. Jabbing their crude, prehistoric tools between the mashed plates of his paneling and trying to wrench them open was not going to fix things any sooner.

His vocal processors and speakers were damaged, which made the process that much more unbearable. Not only was he crippled and unableto even run the grease monkeys down, he couldn't tell them exactly what he felt about their incessant tampering. He yelled and cursed and tried to spin his wheels. All that happened was some static that made the humans pause, and a round of clanking from his undercarriage.

Agony shot through him and he abruptly stopped before releasing a silent roar of anger. The static rose in pitch before it shorted out. The organics around him went stiff with horror before quickly withdrawing. A great cry of, "Holy shit, its possessed!" And they were scattering backwards while flinging their tools to get a hold of something more dangerous.

Well, that was certainly interesting. A lighter pain peppered the searing white hot burn in his frame, and chasing its heels was a wave of crushing exhaustion. Pits, he was tired. He would be in recharge right now if these fools hadn't decided to 'fix' him. That was the base of his frustration. He hadn't paid much attention to the human race, but he knew without a doubt that tampering with a strange car was heavily discouraged in their culture.

So why, in the name of Primus and the Allspark, had they picked him-who was in disguise as a cruiser-up and towed him into their shop to be fixed?! He had been perfectly fine tucked away in an alley and, more importantly, hidden where he could rest in peace. Barricade had given up on the notion of ever recovering, but he was alright to recharge his way to the Well as long as no one bothered him. That meant no autobots and no humans.

He almost wished an autobot had found him and put him out of his misery.

Barricade watched the humans with dimming optics. Red symbols flashed across his sight. He was running dangerously low on energon and energy. His frame was shuddering its way into stasis, and this time he didn't bother spouting the override codes. He was close now, and he ached to be without pain. There was nothing else for him in this life. His leader was offline, the Allspark destroyed, and his faction scattered. Now it was time to rest, but not without terrifying these creatures one last time.

The grinding of his frame echoed in the walls of their structure. The humans cowered in fear. A surge of amusement distracted him for a brief reprieve. One of the humans threw up his hands in defeat, "I'm done. Just sell the damn thing!"

Barricade bristled. Sell him? Stupid organics. He was not an object to be-

A low whine of his systems was his only warning before his vision flickered and darkness enveloped him.

I do not own anything but Aloha, her family, her associates and the story.
'Layton', Texas is a fictional town I designed specifically for this story. This includes the museum mentioned early in the chapter.