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New Vegas was a far cry from the city The Ghoul remembered from his time in the entertainment industry—no more cocaine-dusted celebrities stumbling from the Sands to the Flamingo, no more white Cadillac limousines purring outside the velvet-roped entrances of the Desert Inn. But compared to the rest of Nevada's sun-bleached buildings, with their shattered windows like missing teeth in the skull of a civilization long dead, the city still pulsed with a ragged heartbeat. Jury-rigged generators coughed and wheezed, pushing current through salvaged copper to light the Strip. Merchants hawked scavenged wares while the desperate and dangerous alike prowled for whatever resources they could find.
Leather-clad men with pompadours guarded each intersection, their boot heels clicking against cracked pavement as they circled their territory. They kept watch over Freeside with narrowed eyes, sending vagrants scurrying with just a glance. When Lucy and The Ghoul rounded the corner near the School of Impersonation, weapons visible, one greaser's attention locked onto them immediately. A scar ran from his temple to jaw like a lightning strike across his face. His lips curled back as he gripped his blade, jerking his chin toward the newcomers—a silent command that brought his fellow Kings slinking from the shadows.
The Ghoul stiffened up instinctively, radiation-ravaged muscles coiling beneath his weathered duster, but Lucy seemed utterly entranced. Her big doe eyes widened even further to take in the sights, irises reflecting the kaleidoscope of colors that danced across her sunburnt face. Neon signs—red, blue, and sickly green—buzzed and flickered with images of big busted, half naked women with come-hither smiles, their electric glow buzzing in the dusty air. The signs promised Sex! Sex! Sex! and the broken dream of a good gamble in a world where pleasures were rare.
"Wow! Would you look at this place!" Lucy exclaimed, wholly unaware of the four gang members slowly emerging from the shadows around them.
“Yeah, its a real marvel, sweetheart.”
He pulled Lucy closer, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist, while his other hand curled around the trigger of his gun, index finger twitching with anticipation.
"Well, don't you two look like chickens who've just been hatched," the scarred greaser drawled, his vowels stretching unnaturally in an accent that he hadn’t quite mastered. The switchblade in his hand caught the neon glow from the overhead sign as he aimed it at Lucy’s neck.
“What in the ever lovin’ fuck is that supposed to mean?”
The Ghoul felt cold steel press against his spine, the unmistakable circular pressure of a gun barrel digging between his shoulder blades. "Hey, hey, easy now," a voice drawled behind him, the words stretched thin. The barrel nudged harder, forcing him to stumble forward a step. "What are you two doing in Kings territory?" The question was punctuated by the soft click of a safety being released.
Lucy's throat constricted as she tried to speak. "We-we're just passing through—" she stammered, her voice high and thin. She backed away from the gleaming switchblade, only for her heel to catch on a crack in the concrete. The misstep sent her stumbling backward, colliding with a wall of leather jackets that was two Kings who had silently positioned themselves behind her. Their hands, calloused and adorned with crude tattoos, gripped her shoulders with unnecessary force.
"Touch her again and I'll tear your throat out." The Ghoul's voice dropped to a guttural rasp.
The Kings' laughter echoed in the night, a chorus of mockery that made Lucy’s skin raise with goosebumps underneath her jumpsuit. Their rugged, but handsome faces twisted with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. It was the sight and sounds of men who knew exactly how much power they held over this corner of the desert.
“No one passes through without seeing The King first.”
“I'm a little confused," the Ghoul said, his hands raised in surrender. "Are all of you assholes called The King, or is there only—"
Before he could finish his sentence, he felt cold steel collide with his temple. Pain exploded like a mini-nuke behind his eyes, followed by a high-pitched ringing that drowned out the jeers of The Kings. His knees buckled, and the world tilted sideways before dissolving into inky darkness.
Consciousness returned to Ghoul in fragments. First came the burning sensation of ropes at his wrists and ankles, then the absence of familiar weight—his duster, his firearms. His vision swam into focus through several painful blinks. Beside him lay Lucy, bound in identical fashion, silver tape plastered across her mouth. She writhed against her restraints, each desperate scream trapped behind the adhesive gag.
A booming voice, echoed from the back of the room. "Get 'em to their feet!"
Before Lucy could even turn her head toward the sound, rough hands seized her upper arms, yanking her upward. Beside her, the Ghoul grunted as two Kings hoisted him from the ground. As Lucy's vision adjusted to the dim light, the decaying grandeur of their prison revealed itself—they stood on the stage of a once-majestic amphitheater, its walls draped with moth-eaten red velvet curtains. Faded posters peeled from every surface, each displaying the same pompadoured figure with a curled lip and rhinestoned white jumpsuit, his image repeated in various poses.
The voice sliced through the stale air once again. "Does anyone care to explain to me how they stumbled upon my Kingdom?"
From the shadows of the audience, a man lounged in a threadbare tufted chair, one leg draped carelessly over its arm. His followers formed a protective circle, seated in the chairs surrounding him with their hands hovering near concealed weapons. The jumpsuit he wore was pristine white, an exact replica of the one in the posters.
The greaser behind Lucy shoved her forward, presenting her to The King. "We found them on the outskirts, just wandering around, armed to the nines," he announced, ripping the tape from Lucy’s mouth. "This one says they're just passing through. But look at her suit— she's from underground."
The King straightened his posture, drawing a protest of metal from the weathered chair beneath him. Light glinted off the gaudy rings adorning his fingers as he hunched forward, his carefully trimmed sideburns framing a tightened jaw, his gaze constricting with distrust.
"Underground, uh huh huh..." he mused, his lip curling. "The NCR's getting bold."
Lucy stared down at The King from where she stood, flanked by his leather-jacketed goons. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as she worked her jaw, trying to make sense of what this living caricature was implying.
“Why don’t you tell us why you’re really here, huh, Satnin?”
The Ghoul's voice finally cut through the tension. "Like she said, we're just passin'—" His words died in his throat as one of The Kings jammed the butt of a revolver against the back of his neck.
Lucy gasped, the rope fibers digging into her wrists as she strained against them, desperate to reach the Ghoul. "I'm trying to find my dad," she said, forcing her voice to steady despite the hammering of her heart. "I heard—" she swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears, "I heard he lived nearby. I haven't... I haven't seen him in years." The lie slipped from her lips with ease, her gaze never wavering from Murphy's face as a bead of sweat traced a path down her temple.
The King's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm in show business, sweetheart, which means I can smell a bad performance." He flicked two fingers behind his shoulder. One of his boys produced an inhaler loaded with a blood-red cartridge, pressing it into The King's waiting palm. The King inhaled deeply, his eyes never leaving Lucy's face, then passed the device back without looking. "Bring them upstairs. All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me.”
Before either of them could protest, rough hands seized them both. The Ghoul choked as fingers twisted into the collar of his shirt, his boots scraping helplessly against the wooden stage. Lucy's vision flipped upside down as she was hoisted over the shoulder of a King. His leather jacket creaked against her ribs, and the pomade in his hair filled her nostrils with the scent of artificial cherries. The man carried her effortlessly, one arm locked around her thighs.
The pair were dragged up a winding staircase to the uppermost level of the School, where a set of double doors opened into the master bedroom. Neon light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and in the center of the room sat a gaudy heart-shaped bed with threadbare pink velvet covers. A jukebox stood in the corner, its lights dead, a relic of better days. The Ghoul was roughly propped up and tied to a chair across from where The King lounged, while Lucy was unceremoniously dropped onto the bed, springs creaking beneath her weight.
The King reached across the pockmarked wooden table, unfurling his fingers to reveal three empty glass vials, their insides still coated with a thin film of amber residue. "Found these tucked in the lining of your coat," he said, his upper lip curling into a sneer as they clattered onto the surface between them. "Where did you get these?"
The Ghoul's spine went rigid, his teeth clenched behind lips pulled into a thin line.
"Me and my boys," The King said, voice wavering slightly as tremors ran through his fingers, "we ain't been right lately." He balled his hands into fists against his thighs. "Been looking for something like what I know’s in these vials of yours, but we ain’t found nothing but goddamn Jet. Make’s things… bearable…. but it ain’t what we need.”
Four Kings circled the room, fingers twitching at the mention of the drug. Lucy looked up at them, taking in their features—slicked-back hair, switchblades peeking from denim pockets, tattoos crawling up muscular forearms. Their style reminded her of the kind of men women in the vault had warned her about in hushed tones over dinner— the "bad boys" who would drag a good girl down into a life of regret and ruin. As much as they made her nervous, they… intrigued her.
“Just tell me where you got it and I'll send you on your way," he continued, voice honey-smooth despite the looming threat beneath. His fists tightened until his knuckles went white, rings digging painfully into his flesh. “Don’t, and I’ll have to do something… real inhospitable.”
The Ghoul's lips peeled back, revealing bloodstained teeth before he launched a crimson-tinged projectile that found its mark on the man's immaculate white jumpsuit, leaving a constellation of red droplets across the fabric.
"Had you pegged for smarter than that." The King let out a long sigh and rose from his chair. He took slow, deliberate steps toward the bed where Lucy sat, his fingers twitching with each movement. "Thing about us Kings— I'm in charge, sure, but my boys get their turn to reign now and again. Been some time since they wore the crown." He bent down, his thumb grazing Lucy's jawline with an unexpected tenderness that sent a chill down her spine. "Your call, Satnin. How bad do you wanna see that Daddy of yours again?"
Lucy caught the Ghoul's eye, something feral and determined flashing across her face. The Ghoul's leathery skin tightened around his jaw as he gave a small, urgent shake of his head. He'd grown accustomed to Lucy's casual approach to physical intimacy, her unabashed willingness that sometimes bordered on recklessness, but this was different. This wasn't a game. He couldn’t let her do this— the thought made his chest feel tight.
The King caught their silent exchange and brought his hands together in a slow, deliberate clap. "Well now, fellas, looks like we got ourselves a devil in disguise," he drawled, triggering a ripple of laughter from his crew that seemed rehearsed, like backing vocals. "You've already been introduced to the finest Freeside has to offer. Sad Sack, Joe, Henry, Bugs—they'll look after you real nice, if you’re willing, little lady. How’s about a little more action?"
Lucy accepted the King's proposal with a nod, her gaze still locked with the Ghoul's. The chair creaked as he thrashed against the ropes binding him, but they held firm, and the heavy wooden seat refused to topple. A greaser caught the movement, sauntered over, and dropped into the chair opposite. He laid his pistol on the table, its muzzle aimed squarely between the Ghoul's furious eyes.
The second The King left the room, something in the air shifted, and his goons wasted no time in circling the bed. Two of them worked at their belt buckles while the third knelt to untie Lucy, each touch against her skin lasting a heartbeat longer than necessary.
The mattress springs protested as Lucy shifted her weight. She looked from the three men to the Ghoul, her eyes seeking his before she gripped the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. Her bra, worn thin from too many washings, revealed more than it hid.
Joe's breath caught audibly at the sight, while Sad Sack's hand disappeared below his waistband, his expression darkening with pleasure. Bugs reached forward to cup Lucy’s breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple through though the fabric. Behind them, Henry tapped metal against wood—a deliberate sound that drew the Ghoul's eyes back to the weapon resting casually in his grip.
Lucy laid back on the stained mattress, her spine pressed against its lumpy surface as she submitted to their desires. Joe and Bugs followed her movement, their calloused fingers pushing up her bra with practiced efficiency. The cool air made her skin prickle before their hot mouths descended. Each man claimed a nipple with hungry urgency, Joe's stubble scraping against her skin while Bugs made small humming sounds against her flesh. She bit back a moan, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as their tongues traced wet circles.
She felt the third man, Sack, pulling at her jumpsuit, eagerly trying to strip her. Lucy lifted her hips to assist him, and the blue garment was gone faster than she could blink. Only her panties remained, already damp at the center. Sack hooked his thumb beneath the elastic waistband and pulled the fabric aside, his rough fingertip gliding down her slick, pink slit with deliberate slowness. He raised the glistening digit to the dim light with a wolfish smile, seemingly pleased by the evidence that Lucy was enjoying herself. He dipped his head down between her thighs and traced that same path with the hot, wet pressure of his tongue, drawing a ragged moan from deep in her throat that seemed to tear through her trembling body.
The Kings found every place that made her gasp, attending to her body with a fervor that made the dim room spin around. They sucked on her nipples with such intensity that the edge of teeth against sensitive flesh made her wince, her back arching involuntarily off the bed. Meanwhile, between her trembling thighs, the concentrated, lazy lapping at her pussy—warm tongue tracing deliberate patterns around her clit—transformed that almost-pain into something else entirely.
Then, they stopped, repositioning themselves on the creaking mattress just long enough to rid themselves of their clothing. Lucy couldn't help but stare; they each had their different lengths and thicknesses, veins mapping across taut skin, and Lucy found herself imagining what each of them would feel like against her tongue, inside her.
Sack took his place first, his hands spreading her trembling thighs just far enough to fit between them. He rubbed himself against her entrance, spreading her wetness over his swollen head before pushing inside, inch by excruciating inch, building up a slow, deliberate rhythm. Lucy moaned loudly, her back arching involuntarily off the mattress.
The Ghoul shifted in his splintered wooden chair, his milky eyes narrowing, leathery face contorting with discomfort and barely contained rage, but Henry tapped his polished revolver barrel against the wood once more, warning him.
"Shh," said Joe, his voice husky as he offered his cock to her, tapping the leaking tip against her parted lips. Lucy wrapped her mouth around him, tasting salt and musk as she sucked gently. "Fuck—" he hissed through clenched teeth.
Bugs rejoined them on the bed, his skin hot against hers, and almost instinctively, Lucy reached out for him, her fingers wrapping around his throbbing length.
Her body trembled as waves of pleasure washed over her, the sensation like floating weightless above the night sky. Her release came in shuddering pulses, but The Kings merely exchanged knowing glances—they were far from finished. Sack's calloused hands gripped her waist as he withdrew, then roughly guided her to her knees on the bed. Bugs stepped forward, his eager eyes raking over her flushed skin before he thrust into her with an urgency that made her cry out.
The stretch of him was different—fuller, more insistent—his rhythm punishing. They allowed her only moments to accommodate before continuing their game; Sack’s fingers found her sensitive nipple, pinching and rolling between thumb and forefinger while he stroked himself with his free hand, and Joe teased her parted lips with the glistening head of his cock, pushing just far enough to make her chase it when he pulled away.
"You're missing quite a show," said Henry, lips curling into a smirk. The Ghoul’s gaze remained fixed on a water stain on the farthest wall. Anything to avoid seeing Lucy like this. "She's loving it. Taking it so well." Henry added, voice dripping with satisfaction. The Ghoul's milky eyes finally snapped toward him, glowing with a hatred that could melt steel, but his lips remained pressed in a tight line. He was determined not to give the Kings the reaction they so desperately craved.
But the first chance he got? These bastards were dead.
It wasn't long before Lucy was coming again, her legs shaking wildly against the sweat-dampened sheets. Her screams were muffled by the thick, pulsing cock in her mouth, buried so deep in her throat that tears streamed down her cheeks as she gagged around it. Bugs pulled out with a satisfied grunt, tapping her hip to signify to the others that he had finished inside her, his warm seed already beginning to leak from her. He laid at the farthest edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched his friends position Lucy's limp, willing body exactly where they wanted her.
Joe took his turn next, settling Lucy onto his lap so that she was straddling him, her soft thighs spread wide across his hips. He lifted her by her waist just enough to line himself up with her slick entrance, then guided her back down onto him with a firm grip. Lucy's eyes widened as he filled her completely, stretching her, then rolled back in pleasure.
Before Lucy could even think to move, Sack wrapped his thick, calloused fingers in her hair, twisting the strands until her scalp burned. He angled her body toward him where he stood beside the bed, his muscled thigh pressing against the mattress. The taste of salt filled her mouth as he forced himself between her lips. Lucy's throat constricted around a moan that turned into a guttural scream when Joe's arched his body upward in a rhythm that sent shockwaves through her.
Sack came first, his fingers digging into her scalp as he thrust roughly into her mouth, his body tensing with a guttural moan before spilling hot and thick into her throat. Lucy's eyes watered as she swallowed what she could, the bitter tang coating her tongue, but the rest escaped, trickling down her chin and chest in rivulets while she gasped desperately for air, her lungs burning.
Just as she recovered, Joe's thumb found her clit, circling the swollen, pink flesh until she lost control again, her thighs quivering against his hips. His grip—five fingerprints surely bruising into her skin—was the only thing keeping her upright as pleasure crashed through her body. He didn't last much longer, his rhythm faltering into desperate, selfish thrusts, his breathing ragged before he finally shuddered beneath her, his fingers digging deeper as he shot his cum deep inside her.
The men took a moment to gather themselves, their heavy breathing finally slowing as they settled Lucy down onto the mattress with a surprising gentleness. Her skin was mottled with fresh bruises, and her eyes were glassy, but there was an undeniable satisfaction in her expression. They dressed unhurriedly, the rustle of leather and denim filling the silence as they filed out one by one.
Henry was the last to go.
He dropped a small satchel full of bottle caps onto the bed near Lucy, then positioned a pearl-handled switchblade in the Ghoul's trembling fist so that he could cut his bindings. Then, after a moment of consideration, Henry dug into his pockets once more and left half of the Ghoul's vial rations on the table, almost as a peace offering.
"Thank you," he said, a smirk twisting his lips as he backed toward the door, his nickel-plated pistol aimed steadily at the Ghoul's face. "Thank you very much."