Emergency Council Makes Bold Move..
In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.
Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..
“You may outrun your sins, but never forget that someone will pay the toll.”
I biked home, brushing a city bus and a BMW getting there. On the landing between the second and third floors I found an Amazon with baleful eyes; waiting.
In front of my door was her psychic twin.
‘Can I get you and/or your cohort anything?’ I politely inquired. Yesterday; the cold shoulder.
‘Thank you for the consideration. We will wait until our itinerary is clarified,’ she nodded. I went in, catching the abrupt cut off of some 'O' talk.
'O', as in Odette and Oneida. They were on the sofa, half-turned to face each other when I walked in. Oneida stood and gave the standard Amazon respectful nod.
‘Oneida was all screwed up inside about last night in the Park, so I was explaining some of the basic tenants of BDSM to her,’ Odette blithely blathered.
‘BDSM? What do you know about BDSM? I barely know about it and I've been having non-stop sex for years,’ I exclaimed.
‘Cáel of Ishara, did you do those things to Rhada in an effort to fulfill her dreams?’ Oneida desperately pleaded. Worse, it was spoken in English.
‘I can't talk about it,’ I replied.
‘That is 'Cáel' for 'yes',’ Odette intruded. ‘I began reading up on BDSM after you got the suspension rig,’ was her saucy response to me.
‘Would you ever do that to me?’ Oneida gave me those big doe-eyes as she sat down.
No, she didn't want a rape fantasy. That kind of submission wasn't her thing. I paced around, stomped into the kitchen then back to the living room.
‘No Oneida, I would never do something like that to you,’ I promised. ‘I like having sex; a whole bunch. I like the women I'm with to have a great time too.’
‘That means I figure out what really excites her and provide it because I normally want to have sex with that girl again,’ I explained, neglecting the 'and again and again and again.'
‘Is it over between you two?’ Oneida asked. She meant Rhada and me.
‘Oneida, did I ask you to come over today?’ I countered.
‘Have I upset you?’ Oneida's lower lip trembled. 'Yes' would make things so much easier.
‘No,’ I lied. ‘Let's look at this from another angle. How would you feel if Paula showed up at your domicile unannounced? You walked in and there she was.’
‘Oh,’ she stood up again. ‘I apologize.’ At this moment, saying nothing meant she'd leave. I'm an idiot.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’ I offered. It took a few seconds for Oneida to forgive herself enough to accept my suggestion. Me raping Rhada less than 24 hours ago? We'd deal with that later, or so she promised herself.
‘Okay; if it is not too much trouble,’ Oneida nodded.
In came the doom and gloom duo and we ordered some over-sized sandwiches from an Italian Deli two blocks away. After the two walked through my place (again, I was sure) and the food arrived, the bodyguards relaxed into a close proximity of human beings. The freakishness continued as Odette bonded with the Amazon killers with tales of my sexual exploits.
At the same time, I romanced Oneida in half a dozen languages. Storming those gates was going to take more time than I normally gave a single sexual encounter. Oneida kissed me. She loved kissing me. She was ecstatic about kissing me. She made it real clear there would be not petting; yet. Penetration wasn't even on the (her) agenda.
This didn't meant I was accepting her marching orders. I was far craftier than that. My plan was one of 'setting an example'. I stood up; we were sitting on the bench press seat, shot Odette a sexy look then went to the kitchenette. We got something; whatever it was wasn't important. The crucial activity was my surrounding Odette in my arms from behind.
I kissed her neck, Odette wiggled her ass against my crotch and murmured happily. More kissing along the neck, ear and jawline ensued. Odette exhaled a happy breath, and twisted around in my grasp until we were face to face. An exhaustive French kiss finishing up with a few light pecks and led to us rubbing noses like Inuit.
‘Thanks buddy,’ I smiled warmly at Odette.
‘She blue-balling ya?’ Odette snickered.
‘Big time,’ I muttered. Odette squiggled down my body then bit both my nipples through my shirt making me gasp.
‘That should do nicely,’ Odette's eyes were alight and she was super-pleased with herself. She smacked my ass then returned to the living room. I returned to Oneida. After a few seconds,
‘Does it disturb you to be treated like that?’ Oneida murmured.
‘Like what?’ I sounded so innocent. Trust me; this is a crucial relationship tool.
‘Like; like we would treat one of our males,’ she looked for my reaction. I laughed.
‘The critical difference is that I can say 'no',’ I smiled. ‘Oneida, do you think the original Ash Men spent every moment not in battle, contemplating their place in the Universe?’ Clearly, she had. ‘Believe me, men hunted, worked their crafts and chased female Amazons when they weren't eating, or sleeping.’
‘Warfare is an emotional undertaking,’ I had read that somewhere. ‘You can believe that with the battle safely won, your ancestors and my ancestors fooled around. They sang songs, wrote poetry, and created artwork for the ladies they courted. They wanted the attention of the strongest, bravest and most courageous mates, just like your ancestors did.’
‘I think I do know something about the Ash Men you don't,’ I prodded her.
‘What? I have studied them for many years,’ Oneida was now more engaged.
‘What can you tell me about Vranus?’ I asked. That stumped her.
‘I; nothing is written of his exploits,’ Oneida admitted. ‘We know he was a young warrior for Ishara.’
‘Think about this, Oneida; Vranus was only twenty yet a member of the Host,’ I started. She nodded. ‘He is shown with twin axes; no shield and no bow. That means he had to be very brave, rushing through the initial exchange of arrow fire and thrown spears to attack his enemy. His House probably directed him to large clumps of opponents, breaking their formations for the Host to exploit.’
‘That means he fought alone for several seconds until his accompanying Amazons could pick apart his foe,’ I explained.
‘That must have been horrible,’ Oneida frowned.
‘Not at all,’ I protested. ‘He was trusted with a crucial task; to hold the enemy's focus so the faster moving Amazons could attack their foe from multiple directions at once.’
‘The Amazons of House Ishara must have been very proud of him,’ I fluffed out the fantasy. ‘From what you saw from my two exhibition with twin axes, it is very tiring. Vranus had to have absolute confidence his sisters were coming for him. They trusted one another, thus fighting as one organic unit. It was a synergy that included the best of both genders.’
That last bit confused her.
‘Back then, most of the Host would have been of the same genetic stock from the time of the First Betrayal. Short and fast. The males of the region they took over were taller; the local men being even taller than the local women. That means you give men heavier and longer weapons. Your people would have favored bows, light shields and short spears; ranged, or quick in and out tools.’
Was any of that true? Not a history major, so I have no clue.
‘Many of the Host at the time rode horses yet there are also pictures of them forming battle lines,’ Oneida enlightened me then her own eyes expanded. ‘Males are always shown with solid round shields while the Host; women had the oval wicker shields.’
‘Lacking stirrups, the Amazons may have used the men to grapple with the enemy then rode their horses around the flanks, dismounted and engaged their opponents from the rear; Amazon style,’ I grinned. It was. Amazons were all about out-maneuvering and confounding their foes. The Amazons hadn't been callous with their males' lives.
At one time, chosen females had held the center line. Over time, as males joined, it was practical to adapt the solid wooden shields of their opponents for their own males and put them in the place where their upper body strength and size were of best effect. The unknown older male with Vranus had probably held his place in the battle line dozens of times.
I doubt he complained, or even thought to complain. Who would have taken his place? A smaller sister, aunt, or daughter? Had other males objected? Sure, the battle line in Amazon tactics was not the place of glory. The striking arm were the horse-riders. Countless times adversaries had spent the last minutes of their lives with the echoes of horses, hooves and female Amazon war cries seemingly all around them.
Some wise old dead fucker once said 'defeat starts in the mind'. I wholeheartedly believed in that; except my version was 'having sex with me starts with my insidious nature'.
‘Defeat starts in the mind,’ I stared intently into Oneida's eyes. Love poetry is a matter of emotional context, not actual words.
I pulled Oneida to me, letting her straddle my lap because I desperately wanted her to understand my tortured soul. Grinding her vulva against my hard-on was totally accidental, as was our renewed French kiss and me grabbing two handfuls of her ass. There was no rushing of things. Oneida was a skittish mare and I had to keep her feeling safe despite her sexual peril.
Any woman who bothers to get to know me knows I am not a complicated guy. Case in point: by the time Oneida was feeding me her left nipple, Odette already had the security types sweep my bedroom (again) then the three retreated to Timothy's room and shut the door. Were Oneida's guardians worried about Oneida's carnal violation?
No, why would they? Amazons had dick on demand. Virginity didn't hold any religious significance for them; killing things did. With the speed and efficiency those other two Amazons made themselves scarce, I imagined they were happy that Oneida had stopped mooning over me and getting a good grip on reality. A righteous dicking was in the offing.
Oneida's open eyed, opened-mouth countenance when she found herself naked on my bed with a naked me hovering over her was precious. That look always was. It did necessitate a question.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I whispered. My aroused cock brushed along her thigh. The question was a courtesy.
The answer was always the same because girls want to have sex. They also want to believe they have a say in the process from beginning to end. I say 'believe' because sex done right is passion and passion is the rejection of reason. At some point in the seduction, intercourse becomes an avalanche. Logic can scream all it wants; the hormones are not listening.
I slipped into Oneida's velvety liquid embrace. She gave up a sigh of relief. She'd made the jump into intimacy. Any other explanation for what was going to happen would have implicated me as a 'Player'; which everyone else thought I was. Oneida had this romantic ideal of me that no amount of evidence appeared to shatter.
Personally, I was starting to dread ever going to her bedroom. I wasn't sure of her 'My Little Pony' comforter would be a turn-off for me. I had done in it on Pocahontas and The Little Mermaid, so odds were I'd pull through in the clinch.
‘I am not hurting you, am I?’ I moaned.
Said for emotional impact alone. If I was causing a girl pain, I would have stopped first.
‘No,’ happy murmuring, ‘I'm wonderful.’ The most powerful organ human's possess is the brain. Oneida was a 'talker'. She wanted to express her feelings during intercourse; not give to directions, but as an effort to increase her participation in the sex act itself.
Slow, steady strokes followed, withdrawing my glans half way along her labia, moved up and down slightly then gradually pushed back in. Every entry held something new for her. I added to the process by tilting her thigh and leg forward so that my next penetration tantalized a whole new series of trigger points in her cunny.
On the next pass, Oneida began her own experimentations, twisting and adjusting the angle of her hips as I worked my rod in and out. Oneida began crying. I wasn't upset and that didn't make me a callous bastard. She was shedding tears of joy and regret; joy because her first climax was in the offing; regret because she wish she had done this with me sooner.
She had been a Havenstone employee so we hadn't done the deed. We still had to keep our liaison secret. Why? I'd think of something. The real reason was pure politics. I never knew what wacky dame hated another wacky dame for reasons I couldn't even get into, but I knew it would curtail my dating opportunities.
I'd pay the price of deception later. What I couldn't take was being denied sex without having done anything wrong first.
‘Am I making you happy?’ Oneida gasped. No flippancy here; romance was the key.
‘You demand things from me few other women do,’ I replied breathlessly.
I wasn't going to lie to her. Prettying up the truth was good enough and it made her happy. I also got something new; to her, not to me. She orgasmed. Whatever she'd been satisfied with before, I obliterated in a few quick, decisive strokes. Oh God; did she go off! It has happened to me before; the door being kicked in; just not in mid-orgasm. Guns being pointed at yours truly while the girl was in mid-scream was new.
And Oneida was still carrying on and on.
‘I was trying to tell you!’ Odette was screaming. ‘He does that to us all the time; please don't shoot him.’ The whole 'girl screaming at me in Old Kingdom Hittite' was also new. My mentor preferred Minoan.
‘I have come back from Death,’ Oneida rasped. Her skin was flushed deep red from her exertion, she had bathed us both in sweat and she was coming up with any form of vocalization from Goddess-knows where she had screamed for so long. She looked at me with love in her eyes; damn it. She looked and looked and looked and; finally noticed the two women at the foot of the bed.
‘Is; some; thing; wrong?’ Oneida panted while gazing at her two guardians with worry.
‘You may outrun your sins, but never forget that someone will pay the toll.’
There was someone pounding on my apartment door.
‘Neighbor; door; I'm on it,’ Odette called out. Seconds later the deadbolts clicked and the door opened. ‘Hello, Mr. Finnes.’
‘You God-damn Whore!’ he screamed. ‘Where is that homo and his butt-buddy? The cops are on their way and this time you are all in the street.’ He had a good head of steam on tonight. Slayer of Testicles #1 looked at Slayer of Testicles #2, nodded and left. ‘Who is this bitch,’ Finnes got out. It was so wrong that I recognized the next sound.
It was the barrel of a gun being inserted into a person's mouth.
‘Listen and listen carefully,’ SoT#1 spoke softly. ‘You are going back to your hovel. If I get word, or even a bad premonition, that you are causing this apartment a hint of worry, I am going to come back and end you in a fashion the New York City's Coroner's Office will find memorable.’
‘I do not care if you have to puncture both eardrums to drown out the noise. I am not a compassionate person. In fact, I am considered sadistic by those who know me well. Now go back home, tell the police who show up this was all a mistake and give a prayer of thanks to whatever deity you grovel before that I didn't simply ram my firearm up your anus and decorate the ceiling in what passes for brains in your pathetic bone-sack of a body,’ she menaced.
There was a choking/gagging noise then the sound of heaving.
‘Mr. Finnes; are you okay?’ Odette worried. As a wonderful counter-point.
‘Have you given me your seed?’ Oneida asked hopefully. I was still hard. It had only been ten minutes of sex after all. I gently rocked my penis deeper in. ‘Oh,’ she happily babbled.
‘Again?’ SoT#2 questioned. I made a few more penetration cycles instead of speaking. ‘Do they train you in some sort of Sex Academy for this? Are there more males out there like you?’
‘Is having a viewing gallery a real damper on the mood?’ I asked her while looking into Oneida's eyes. I was actually proud of Oneida for not sending the other woman away.
It showed me she respected the woman's job. I also heard the apartment door shut.
‘Wow, your threat was nice and spooky,’ Odette snickered.
‘Threat? Child, what do you think I do for a living?’ SoT#1 asked.
‘You are one of those wacko, psycho-chicks Cáel Nyilas works with,’ Odette was undoubtedly smiling.
‘Correct, I am one of those wacko, psycho-chicks;’ SoT#1 left that hanging out there.
‘You weren't playing with Mr. Finnes, were you?’ Odette grew quiet. Pause. ‘There is really a job which allows you to do that kind of stuff?’ Pause. ‘Can I apply?’
‘This is not something you apply;’ SoT#1 began, but then, ‘I guess if Cáel wants to; ‘
‘Cool,’ Odette was truly irrepressible.
‘If he does that, there will definitely be consequences and repercussions,’ SoT#1 cautioned.
‘Oh, I think I had better stick with being his fuck-buddy,’ Odette conceded.
‘Wise choice,’ SoT#1 agreed. My bedroom door shut. SoT#2 had slipped out.
Do you often have sex with an audience?’ I teased Oneida.
‘Yes,’ she answered matter-of-factly, ‘I do. Don't you?’
‘Now that you mention it;’ and I got back to the pleasure that encompasses so much of my life.
Sunday Night.
‘Cáel,’ a voice purred over my phone.
‘Hey Nicole,’ I greeted my lawyer not-quite a hook-up anymore. Also, unless you are Sure you know the female caller, don't take a gamble with the name.
‘So, do you have something going on tonight?’ she queried.
‘Nope. My normal engagement had to cancel so I'm sitting back with some friends who do not appreciate the depth of my depravity,’ I sighed.
‘Canceled?’ She laughed. ‘On you? Have your recovered from the shock?’
‘Actually, they had a death in the family and had to go to South Carolina,’ I explained.
‘Oh; sorry,’ Nicole apologized. ‘Well, if you are feeling lonely and neglected, you could come by work and do me a favor.’
‘I am feeling neither lonely, nor neglected, but I am certainly missing you right now. Give me a half hour and I'll be there,’ I promised. She thanked me and hung up.
‘Who is it this time?’ Odette snickered. Man, I was becoming so used to her hanging around.
‘Nicole the lawyer,’ I replied. I trekked back to my bedroom to prep. I opted for the 'Bad Boy' look; worn jeans, high-top tennis shoes (equally worn), my Plant Smashers t-shirt (Quebecois ska band; yes, I will road-trip to another country for sex) and my Bolingbrook bomber jacket.
Yes, I was going to an Ivy League Law firm dressed like a carjacker. Every other male was going to be dressed in finely-tailored silk and I had to stand out. Since I couldn't outspend them, I was going to make them look like effete pussies by dressing like I just didn't care what anyone thought. I was coming over to screw Nicole and there would be no doubt about it.
‘Isn't that chick rich?’ Timothy teased me.
‘Yeah. I'm packing the glow in the dark Trojans tonight; cause she's special,’ I grinned.
‘Oh! I love those,’ Odette squealed. She really needed to trust me less. I walked over, cupped her ears with my hand then kissed her on the forehead.
I did the same to Timothy. His look suggested that I had best make a hasty exit before he kicked my ass. I caught a taxi a block away. It turned out he was from Qatar and he asked if I was sure about the address I gave him. I grinned then told him I could outrun 95% of the yPD so was feeling good about my chances.
He snorted, countering with 'If you were an Arab, they'd shoot you.' Not to be outdone, 'I'd claim to be a Syrian anti-government protester; you know, because we all look alike to these Caucasians'. We laughed for a bit then he said he had a younger sister back in the homeland. I insisted I was immoral; a wicked man.
'Was I religious?' 'Only when it suited my purposes.' 'Would I consider converting to Sunni Islam?' 'Only if the girl was cute enough.' He showed me her picture; dammit, she had a really beautiful face. I got her name, his name and the name of his mosque. I considered it. Yahweh, Christ, Bacchus (wine, an orgy and 'bull' testicles; long story) and Jehovah all had reasons to barbeque my ass already.
Why not add Allah to the mix, besides it being an incredibly stupid thing to do for a man in constant mortal peril like me? In theory, three of the four definitely had the possibility to be the same Omniscient and Omnipotent Galactic Being so the odds were I wouldn't get too much more screwed.
I finished up my journey imagining Buffy in a burqa. That evolved into a vision of me being force-fed a burqa; in private; where no one could hear my muffled cries for help. Buffy; murdering me; made me horny. I am a sick puppy.
‘Buffy,’ I called her as I paid the cabbie.
‘What; huh; are you okay, Cáel?’ Buffy muttered.
‘Yes, I'm fine. I was dreaming of you and decided to give you a call,’ I related in a sleepy voice.
‘Oh;’ she sounded affectionate.
‘Yeah. In the dream you were murdering me. It was so romantic; so you,’ I related.
‘Shit-for-brains, do you have any idea what time it is?’ Buffy turned all savage in an instant.
‘Hmm; 11:45?’ I offered up.
‘Call me this late again when it is not an emergency and your dream will become a reality,’ she growled.
‘You know you sound so;’ and she hung up on me. I called Nicole and warned her I was at her building, pursued by two FDIC investigators and could she please come and rescue me. She snickered, came down and retrieved me, but not before the yPD stopped by for a casual conversation and I hadn't even been standing there two minutes.
In my neighborhood you were lucky if you saw a patrol car every thirty minutes and short of offering them some crack cocaine, cheap nookie, or shooting a gun off, they never stopped. Was I my normally fuck-wad self? No. I told the man/woman team the truth. Some upper crust weenies I worked with dragged me off to Yuppie Hell. I hooked up with a lawyer who I screwed repeatedly in the Women's bathroom and she was calling me for round 2.
Second question (the first one was name/ID/reason for being in this part of town dressed like I was)? Was she paying me? 'No'. Was I practicing safe sex (female cop; married even)? 'Yes'. Was she the red-head at the door behind me? 'Yes she was and goodnight.'
‘What are you dressed like that for?’ Nicole smiled.
In her mind she already knew the answer; I had come here to screw her; raw and primal.
‘Ballroom dancing was not on the itinerary you gave me,’ I smiled. We went inside.
‘My co-workers are still here,’ she hinted seductively.
‘Whoa now!’ I protested humorously. ‘I am not here to pull a train; girls only.’
Nicole nearly fell over laughing. She was so embarrassed by me and my attire, she dragged me straight to the conference room 'her' team was working out of. Everyone else was eating. Two of the lawyers were clearly the top dogs; a man and a woman. The woman had a vague resemblance to one of the portraits I'd seen coming in; a legacy.
The man screamed 'serial killer'. It probably made him one hell of a lawyer, but spooky to live with, or work for. The other nine people in the room were in two groups. Two were obviously paralegals. They dressed in what must have started out as clean, starched clothing from off the rack as opposed to tailored.
The other seven were lawyers in their own dual set-up. My amateur guess was two different branches of law. This group was dressed in fine clothes now wrinkled from a long day's work, plus it was a Sunday. They were not at their best yet they were still better than most of what I had. The most endearing part was how they looked at me.
Even the female contingent thought that I was trash. I had certainly given them the opportunity. Seriously, they should have paid more attention to Nicole, her intelligence, competence and tastes. Come on now; there was no way she'd bring some grease-monkey from Flatbush to her workplace. They needed to engage their brains and not their social bias.
A murmur slithered through the crowd. Amusement and condescension were the clear messages shot my way. I imagine the poor soul who delivered the food got less crap because he/she was providing a tangible service.
‘Nicole, who is this?’ the woman asked. Sex.
Outside of her being a soulless cancer on the hopes and dreams of mankind, she was an alluring forty-something.
‘This is my friend Cáel;’ Nicole began, both her arms wrapped around my right arm.
‘Cáel Belafonte,’ I interrupted. You could tell who the trial lawyers in the room were. Their expressions told me they knew I was lying.
‘Fascinating Mr. Belafonte,’ Mr. Serial-Killer droned on. ‘What do you do?’
‘I am an Ichthyologist,’ I met his gaze. ‘I'm involved in a twenty year study to determine the cause for the reduction in the size of Tuna fish scales.’ That had them stumped.
‘That sounds like yet another great waste of government funds,’ a young male lawyer with more bravado than combat-sex experience fired off.
‘Oh,’ I shrugged. ‘Smaller scales, smaller full-sized Tuna, a spike in tuna prices and an eventual world-wide restriction on Tuna fishing, similar to the one currently covering virtually all whale species. Now, I doubt you know which people will decide who the recipient of those lucrative Tuna contracts will be, but I do. By all means; mock what you don't understand.’
‘Government research project results will be in the public domain,’ a woman joined the struggle.
‘Yes; and?’ I asked in a bland tone.
‘Your research will be available to all kinds of commercial concerns,’ male asshat grinned.
‘Your ability to show that you are as smart as any pre-law student must make someone, somewhere very proud,’ I grinned back.
Confused looks. Nicole was struggling to keep it together.
‘He never said he was in any manner part of the government, or a government program, Mr. Cherrie,’ the female lead barracuda gave me her own hungry look. The guy looked pissed.
‘Oh, Mr. Belafonte, are you a private researcher, or a government one?’ she female junior lawyer asked. ‘Heather Pulaski,’ she gave her name.
‘Call me Cáel, Heather, and I am in no way associated with any government, I barely know what an Ichthyologist is and I'm certainly not one. Rude, arrogant people annoy me when they treat my friends like they are stupid; especially when they should know better. I can rarely stop myself from ridiculing them,’ I grinned.
‘And now you think you are better than everyone else in the room for tricking us with this juvenile prank,’ the Serial Killer sounded bored.
‘No. The lives of strangers are not my concern,’ I bantered back. ‘I did what I did to make Nicole smile. If my antics remind the rest of you what a hotshot lawyer she is so much the better.’
‘Mr. and Mrs. Dyoung, Cáel, Cáel Nyilas, is a joker. He's is also brilliant and just joined Havenstone Commercial Investments in their Executive Services Division,’ Nicole bragged. She got points for the 'Executive Services' part. More smirks; some people never learn.
‘Havenstone doesn't employ too many men, does it?’ Mrs. Dyoung said.
Maybe she was looking for a Discrimination lawsuit.
‘Five men to be precise and two of us are out of the country,’ I enlightened her.
‘So you are brilliant,’ Mr. Dyoung seemed barely engaged; and was Mrs. Dyoung's Mr. Dyoung. ‘What are your insights on DNA ownership, Cáel?’
‘DNA ownership is a fallacy,’ I stated. ‘People are not pigs, soybeans, or corn. You cannot create a financial liability for your offspring because that amounts to slavery and is forbidden by the 14th Amendment to the Constitution. DNA is a person; their blueprint. Only the person owns it and they can't even sell it outright.’
‘That is hopelessly naive,’ he snorted.
‘Not really. If you apply an accepted price tag to every human being on Earth, the anarchy will begin. Crimes like murder, torture and mutilation are based on the concept that human life has an unspecified value. Give something a value and you can trade in it.’
‘Murder somebody? How much was their DNA worth?’ I postulated. ‘I pay the cost, or somebody pays it for me. You are calling me naïve? I'm not murdering somebody. I'm repossessing their DNA. Mr. Dyoung, I'm not a lawyer, so I am not approaching this from a limited field of vision like you are. I live in the World.’
‘Oddly enough, I've had some recent encounters with real slavery and that has convinced me that I'll go down standing up, thank you very much,’ I grinned. ‘In case that was misconstrued; my DNA is mine, no legal precedent will change that and I'm more than willing to put bodies in the ground to keep it so.’
‘You sound like an anarchist,’ Mr. Cherrie chimed in.
‘Nope. I'm independent-minded. There is a difference,’ I indicated. ‘Just like you, anarchists don't want to let me be me either.’
‘Laws exist for a reason,’ Nicole chastised me.
What she was really saying was 'you are here for a reason and it isn't entertaining my co-workers'.
‘This is the point where the smart man goes 'yes ma'am, they do',’ I nodded to her.
‘Your young man is not stupid,’ Mrs. Dyoung chuckled.
‘This young man knows what happens if he behaves,’ Nicole bowed to her superior; her boss, not me.
‘Oh goodie,’ I rubbed my hands together. ‘Are we about to do some file-sharing?’
‘Something like that,’ Nicole laughed and off we went.
All I could imagine was that Nicole had to be God's Own lawyer at this firm to get away with the crap we'd just pulled. Honestly, I had other things on my mind. We coasted into her office, with her name etched on the glass door; with the glass walls and floor to ceiling glass windows. Just because, I picked up a water-smoothed stone on her desk; glass houses and all.
‘That is from the Canadian Shield; some of the oldest rocks on Earth,’ she told me.
‘You are also going to have one of the most painful hard substance on Earth in your office if we don't do something soon,’ I teased.
‘Where do you want to start?’ she leaned against her desk.
Her office was small, but it was her own. Considering her age, it was another 'she rocks' indicator.
‘Your lips,’ I murmured. Nicole liked that. She pushed off the desk enough so our lips could lock. It was very nice.
‘The other lips,’ I teased her. She liked that idea even more. Her black, mid-thigh skirt came up, I knelt and decided her scarlet thong was more than skimpy enough for me to work around. I let my hands run along her calves. Nicole hummed out her acclaim and was even happier when I began lifting both legs up.
Before long, she was laying on her back, her legs were raised high and spread wide. Nice and easy was replaced by rapidly energetic and fiendishly cunning. Nicole was fighting back the tidal surge of her ecstasy.
‘What are you holding back for?’ I slurped around my tongue-lashing.
We weren't in a bathroom stall this time. Nicole tilted her head up, gave me a simmer glance then embraced her orgasm.
‘Damn!’ she screamed followed by a dozen slightly less vocal 'damns'. I gave her just enough time for me to shed my pants, roll down a prophylactic then I mounted.
Had there been any doubt of our forceful ardor, my heroic efforts and Nicole's dynamism shattered them. Half of the lawyers I'd briefly met stopped by and peeked through the glass. I didn't care and Nicole reveled in 'bending the minds' of the onlookers. After a while, her office was not enough. That sofa in the executive reception area?
I bent her over the art deco beast and pummeled it, half way across the room. The bathroom? To be gender-equal, we screwed around in the Men's room this time. Nicole and I revisited her erotic fantasy of being bent over in the toilet, sodomized, then completing the act with dispensing of the condom and a glorious blowjob.
Our last encounter involved a men's standing urinal, Nicole's legs wrapped around my waist as I gyrated.
‘Oh my God!’ she yelped. ‘I've got it. Put me down.’ I put her down because the reason I was here was to crack the mental block she had found herself in.
Me? I'd come for the sex and Nicole delivered in spades. She had upheld her side of our bargain. Now that I'd reciprocated, it was time for 'hook-up' Nicole to become 'lawyer' Nicole. She made herself somewhat presentable and quick-stepped in back to the conference room. I secured my cock and pants before following.
Nicole was babbling in an eldritch dark-tongue similar to Lady Sauron relaying doom to her pack of Nazgûl. They responded with various other arcane invocations until their agreement confirmed that millions of voices had cried out in terror then been suddenly silenced. In my universe, female devotees of Evil were all black leather-clad gorgeous sex kittens who used their dark arts to increase galactic lecherousness.
‘Time to show you out,’ Nicole gave me a sultry smirk. ‘Come on.’ Arm in arm, we traveled closely to the elevators.
‘Hold the door,’ a female voice commanded right as the doors began to shut on the two of us. Nicole put a hand out to keep us from a few more second of alone time.
A Caucasian women with short brown hair and a fierce scowl entered first. An imperious damsel came in next. My heart stopped in shock while I barely registered on her radar. A dusky man, nearly my height came in last of all. The doors shut and down we went. I was spending too much time watching the woman and her two bodyguards as we all headed to the door and not enough with Nicole.
‘Don't even think about it, Cáel,’ Nicole teased. ‘That's Miss Brianna O'Shea, she leads our client's team and she's totally off limits.’
O'Shea pulled a 'Katrina' the moment after Nicole used my name. She spun in place so that she was now facing Nicole and me.
‘What was your name?’ she asked with sugary smoothness I associated with Bolivian tourism officials; the nice ones. You know, the ones that thought using a truck battery attached to the jumper cables and your testicles was too much because a car battery would do.
‘Percival Fenris, ma'am,’ I introduced myself. ‘I'm a product engineer for Cyberdyne Systems. My team is creating a process that uses constantly recycling colored sugar dust as a medium that will replace current LCD technology. We are calling it Pixie TV.’ Nicole was giggling. I was feeling less giggly, mainly because I was staring at my Mother.
Not my Mother-mother; the woman who gave birth to me and who had been eaten alive by cancer. No, this was my Mother the way she looked when she was twenty-five and in excellent health.
‘Miss O'Shea, this is Cáel Nyilas. He is a good friend of mine,’ Nicole cut through my obfuscation.
O'Shea took several steps toward us, away from the exit. Her guardians kept up and were ratcheting up their vigilance.
‘Interesting eyes,’ she noted. ‘What is your heritage?’ Rude and scary. Even Nicole knew something was incredibly wrong.
‘Cáel, you two have the same eyes,’ Nicole mumbled.
‘I was thinking the same thing, Miss Lawless,’ Brianna said. Huh?
‘You are a lawyer named Lawless?’ I gawked at Nicole. ‘How did that happen?’ Why had that not registered when I went to Nicole's office? Oh yeah, her leading me in, eyes pleading for sex.
‘That is not relevant, Mr. Nyilas,’ O'Shea kept coming.
‘What do you mean 'not relevant'? Are you saying you'd hire a male escort named Quick-fire Small-Penis?’ I wondered. ‘If so, you are a more trusting soul than I.’
‘Why are you avoiding my question?’ Brianna queried.
‘Why are you asking questions I clearly don't want to answer?’ I retorted.
‘Cáel, please don't antagonize my client's representative,’ Nicole was playful yet concerned.
‘No problem Nicole Lawless, Attorney at Law,’ I grinned to her. I gave her a secretive ass squeeze then made to leave. Miraculously, Brianna let me slip by. The deceptiveness of that kindness was revealed when I stepped outside and found the limo; with another bodyguard standing beside the front passenger door.
O'Shea/Mom's double was hot on my heels. As I turned and headed up the street, she grabbed my right arm.
‘Why don't we go out for a late bite to eat,’ she stated. I wasn't being invited. I was being told.
‘No can do,’ I shrugged off her hand. ‘I promised my Father to leave a recognizable corpse.’
‘What makes you think I have sinister intentions?’ she questioned. There was a lot of that going around; not answering stuff, that is.
‘Why do you assume you aren't giving off the same bad vibe as a half-dozen 18th Street gangbangers on a Meth binge?’ I teased. Brianna made a hand signal and the three bruisers put their hands on their guns. The closest to me moved around me to block off that escape route.
To be correct, the guy at the car door was African-American, around my height with maybe 10 kg on me. The two guarding O'Shea were a guy of Moorish decent and a woman of the English Midlands. I knew this because I was afraid and making shit up.
‘Was I supposed to be impressed with the quiet appeal of desperation you exhibited by playing patty-cake with yourself,’ I kept smiling.
‘Or are these three supposed to scare me?’ I chuckled. ‘Here; in downtown Manhattan; one of the few places on the planet Earth trying to rival London in video surveillance.’
‘Video evidence can be altered,’ Brianna gave me a wicked gleam.
‘Was that supposed to be your Evil Henchwoman voice?’ I kept snickering.
‘If so, get a refund from that mail-order firm you took lessons from,’ I grinned.
‘You appear to be rather fearless, and obstinate,’ O'Shea nodded. ‘Foolishly so.’
‘Lady, I'm staring into the face of my dead Mother who is trying to get me into a limo with three goombahs who think they are intimidating. They are not,’ I pointed out.
‘This whole weekend has been a disaster, so me beating the crap out of those three, you and the driver isn't going to change a damn thing,’ I enlightened them. The Moorish guy extended a collapsible cane.
‘You seem very confident,’ she informed me.
‘Of course I am,’ I stated. ‘You haven't spotted my bodyguard yet, meaning all of you are truly screwed.’
‘Why would you have a bodyguard?’ she inquired.
‘Why would you want to know?’ I countered.
‘Do you practice being irritating, or is an innate talent?’ Brianna regarded me.
‘We can do this 'answering a question with a question' thing all night long, except I have to be at work at six a.m. so how about you tell me what you really want to know and tell me why you look like; screw that; are my Mother's clone,’ I sighed.
‘Tell me about your genetic heritage,’ O'Shea demanded. She was that kind of authoritative prick; actual penis not required.
‘I apologize. I don't seem to have a handle your native vocabulary and your English-as-a-Second Language skills suck,’ I sneered. ‘I should go home now.’
Moorish guy blocked my egress. English chick was on my right flank, back to the limo and the street. The most pressing issue was a matter of privilege; O'Shea's people thought they'd get away with breaking the law. The moment the Moor popped out is baton, it was 'on'. A baton is a weapon plus O'Shea and her bodyguard were blocking my exit.
I was legally free to attack him now. Normally I was lawfully compelled to exit the scene as opposed to engaging in violence. Since I couldn't run away, I was allowed to kick his ass; and O'Shea and company didn't give a crap. I worked five-plus days a week with people like that.
The wavy-red haired, emerald green-eyed O'Shea wasn't the daughter of some Mafioso, or Nigerian Warlord. I didn't know what she was, but she was the many opposites of good news.
‘I imagine you think I didn't notice that Taser,’ I addressed the Englishwoman while getting in the Moor's face. ‘That is an unfortunate miscalculation on your part.’
‘See, your dumbass partner, with his wonderful 80 cm tool, has let me get inside his reach. Before he can bring it to bear, I'm going to crush it trachea,’ I outlined. ‘Now I have his tool and the whole reach thing is working in reverse. You have a hand-held device with a 10 cm reach and I have one that is 80 cm and the distance to make effective use of it.’
‘Don't worry about the guy at the door. By the time I face you, my bodyguard will lethally wound Miss O'Shea there. In case you missed it, now you are all screwed because your job is to guard her, not suppress me; and you all just failed,’ I kept the Moor's eye contact. ‘While this horror crosses your mind, I'll break your hand.’
‘Your buddy isn't coming to help you. He's running to Miss O'Shea because he's supposed to keep her alive and that takes all his time and concentration. You poor driver will get out and, not yet having his situational awareness, my bodyguard will neutralize him. About the same time, I will crack your skull open. This allows me to decide whether, or not to kill Miss O'Shea,’ I concluded.
All of that was an utter and complete fantasy. Collapsible batons; I'd seen them in a few movies. Tasers? I have been tazed and never, ever want to repeat the process; three separate incidences was enough for me. Did I have a bodyguard close by? I had not asked for one and Havenstone had the sad habit of not telling me a damn thing that concerned my personal survival.
On the plus side, I could be a compelling actor, or successful conman. I'm not an actor by the grace of two little words; sex scandal. If I sleep with a girl I want it to be because I've tricked and deceived her, not because she wants to tape us then sell it to the media. That would make me feel degraded; cheapened even.
I'm not a conman because they use seduction to get what they want. For me, the seduction IS what I want. Steal their money? That would imply I would never, ever be able to sleep with them again. I couldn't do that and remain true to myself. To prove my point, the Moor looked past me to O'Shea for instructions.
I punched him in his Solar Plexus and took his toy as I shoved his breathless form to the sidewalk. The Englishwoman expected me to attack her, just like I'd told her I would. It took her a second to realize I'd played her. By then it was too late. I could flee up the street if I wanted.
‘You attacked my man,’ O'Shea noted casually.
‘Well, your ears are dicey, but your eyes are spot-on,’ I snorted.
‘Shoot him,’ O'Shea was decided to wrap this up. I was ceasing to be amusing. ‘In the legs.’ Out came the guns and down went my likelihood of getting out of this intact.
Pamela walked out of the building we'd exited a minute ago. She was wearing tight black stretch pants, a red turtleneck and a short beige jacket.
‘Protocols,’ Pamela invoked in a bored voice.
‘Define,’ O'Shea demanded.
‘Cáel,’ Pamela kept her gaze on O'Shea, ‘who do you work for?’
‘Havenstone,’ I answered. O'Shea looked from Pamela to me.
‘This does not protect a simple employee,’ O'Shea stated.
‘I am invoking the Protocols. This does not require me to explain things to you,’ Pamela was cool and relaxed. ‘By all means, if you feel I am abusing the Truce, kick it upstairs and it will be adjudicated.’
‘What is your name?’ Brianna O'Shea requested of Pamela.
‘Cáel Nyilas. That is all you need to know,’ Pamela smirked.
‘That is not possible,’ Brianna gained her own barracuda grin. ‘He is Illuminati business. Look at his eyes.’ Pamela laughed. The WHO? Weren't they some kind of Freemasons?
‘He walks away right now unless you explain yourself. He is at Havenstone. Whatever relationship he possessed with the Illuminati ceased when he was hired,’ Pamela informed her.
‘Cáel Nyilas, tell me about your Mother,’ Brianna commanded.
‘No,’ I shrugged.
‘It is a simple enough question,’ Miss O'Shea persisted.
‘And it is simply none of your business,’ I held my ground.
‘I am her sister,’ O'Shea declared. Pamela snorted but otherwise kept silent.
‘Ugh; that was not what I wanted to hear,’ I groaned. Pamela snickered. She knew where my mind was. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘You had your genetic sequence analyzed Thursday, didn't you?’ O'Shea said. ‘That was flagged by people working for me because you and I share half of the same DNA.’
‘That's not possible,’ Pamela stated in the same way she knew I was a cosmic joke.
‘How is that not possible?’ I looked to Pamela. I was really starting to accept me and Homicidal O'Shea were family. Why? I'd never had to confront the incest taboo before and here it was looking right at me.
O'Shea looked to Pamela, to me, back to Pamela then finally back at me.
‘Do you have a single clue about what is going on?’ Brianna addressed me.
‘Yeah, of course I do,’ I lied. ‘You are with the Illuminati and you know Havenstone is more than a bunch of greedy bitches.’ Pause.
‘So you know nothing about what is going on here, right at this moment,’ O'Shea's eyes skewered me. Sigh.
‘Mom; your sister, is dead;’ I got out.
‘Yes, she died seven years ago,’ Brianna interrupted.
‘What?’ I glared. ‘No, she died fifteen years ago. Where do you get your information from and why didn't you at least check out the fucking gravestone?’ I snapped.
‘Fifteen; that doesn't make sense; I didn't know where she died, only that when her medication ran out, she would have been consumed by some kind of aggressive cancer,’ O'Shea responded.
‘What;’ sort of slipped out.
‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ O'Shea probed.
‘Like I'd tell you,’ I growled.
‘None,’ Pamela stated.
‘Thanks,’ I glared at Pam. ‘Why don't you give away all my bargaining chips?’
‘Cáel, they know your last name,’ Pamela stated. ‘Do you want them to hunt down your father and torture him for the names and locations of any other children?’
‘If you go after my Dad;’ I became aggressive.
‘You will do nothing,’ Pamela interrupted. ‘He is not covered by the Truce.’
‘A Truce I know nothing about,’ I grumbled. ‘Screw all of you.’
‘Don't sweat it, Cáel. They need you and I can prove it with two honestly answered question,’ Pamela smirked. ‘What name are you using today?’ to Brianna.
‘Brianna O'Shea,’ the red-haired lady replied.
‘How quaint; your real name. Brianna, how many other nieces and nephews do you and your sisters have?’ Pamela inquired. Brianna glared. ‘I'll answer that for her; none. That begs the question of why you,’ Pamela smiled at me, ‘exist at all. I'm sure that come Monday morning every medic at Havenstone is going to be crawling all over you looking for that answer.’
O'Shea had a new game plan. She was going to murder Pamela and kidnap me. This meant I was going to get screwed up; maybe killed. Pamela would kill everyone else and sex would be extra painful for the next week to ten days; I was tired of that crap. I dropped the baton and walked up to Brianna.
The bodyguards were twitching, Brianna was calculating multiple variables and Pamela looked mildly amused. I hugged Brianna.
‘If we are family then we are family,’ I explained. ‘If there is something you want to talk to me about, give me a call. I'm in the book and I'm sure Havenstone can patch you through if you want to get in touch with me at work.’
Pamela was struggling to contain her mirth.
‘Can you keep this discussion under wraps for now?’ Brianna requested. The likelihood of that happening must have showed in my eyes. ‘Okay, who do you work for?’ Pamela was laughing into her hand.
‘Umm; I work for Katrina Love of Executive Services,’ I answered. O'Shea almost had an embolism. ‘It is okay, my desk is in her office, so we are pretty close.’ Not at all what she wanted to hear. ‘Okay, I'll stop teasing you. I know who Katrina is and what she does; basically making people like you have believably fatal accidents.’
‘You are a man? Why are you still walking around free?’ O'Shea muttered.
‘His sexual dynamism supersedes the sublimely addictive,’ Pamela enlightened O'Shea, ‘and if you don't believe me, go up and ask that 'Nicole Lawless' woman.’
‘I was going to say 'I look great in hose and a push-up bra', but that works too,’ I muttered.
And the last thing I wanted to envision at that reality-cracking moment happened. Brianna O'Shea looked me over and that look said 'Sex'. She was my aunt! Technically; somehow; that should matter, right?
‘Aunt Brianna; Brianna; Auntie O'Shea; what do you want me to call you?’ I stammered.
‘Brianna will do,’ she pulled those plush red lips into a grin and extended her hand. I shook it. She had a strong grip. She was tapping the pulse in my wrist with her forefinger; a tried and true arousal technique I'd used countless times.
‘I'm really happy that we are family;’ I evaded.
‘I had regular sex with mine and your mother's father, your grandfather,’ Brianna discussed with the outrage normally reserved for the 'do you want your cantaloupe in wedges, or scoops' debate.
‘My; we'll just toss that in the category of things I never wanted to know,’ I coughed.
Wait! I could do better than that. This deserved sympathy, not comedy.
‘I am glad you got that off your chest,’ I stroked her hand back; okay, not my brightest idea. ‘Has Grandpa stopped doing that?’
‘Your Grandfather is dead,’ Brianna delivered the bad news.
It was doubly bad because she seemed to really miss the jack-ass. At least I didn't have to feign grief at the bastard's funeral. This also would explain why Mom ran away from home and told Dad and I that her family all perished in a freak Sperm Whale hunting accident in the Arctic. You know, that sounded much more believable when I was five. Dad was crazy in love, which explained his suspension of disbelief whenever she walked in the room.
‘He was assassinated in his study in our mountain home, his throat slit clean through and his body desecrated beyond our ability to resurrect him,’ Brianna shed a tear. This was the point where I seriously began worrying about there being a natural gas leak that was either screwing up what I was hearing, or what other people were saying.
‘Wow; how sad,’ I tried to sound shaken by the news.
‘I know,’ Brianna hugged me. But wait, ‘You smell like him (deep, sensual purr); Dad, that is.’ Oh God No!
‘Well with Granddad gone, you seem to have done well for yourself; lves,’ I corrected. It sounded like I had aunts in the plural, I was praying for the positive, plus a quick exit.
‘No, we can't move on until we find the assassin,’ Brianna told me. She added in a whisper, ‘We know she was an Amazon.’ Ah, look, an invitation by my freakish, incestuous aunt to betray the insane fanatics I worked for. I began crying. ‘I understand,’ Brianna reached around and patted my back, ‘This must be a lot for you to take in.’
‘You have no idea,’ I sniffled. What was my mind was saying: 'By the way, Aunt Brianna, the wacked-out chick that offed Granddad is two meters away from you and you definitely didn't bring a big enough army to deal with her'.
‘Why don't you come home with me tonight?’ Brianna offered somewhat plaintively.
Sex; worse, I wasn't coming up with any really convincing reasons to not have sex with her. We would do it with the lights off. That way I wouldn't be looking into the face of the Mother of my youth having an orgasm impaled on me. Maybe dim lighting would be okay too.
‘I can't go home with you tonight,’ I looked away. ‘I'm feeling vulnerable.’
That was exactly why she wanted to take me home with her; confused and vulnerable would allow her to revisit her nostalgic Father-Daughter fornications.
‘You need someone who loves you to look after you,’ Brianna prodded.
‘That's what I'm for,’ Pamela came to my rescue.
Glares and snippets of wrath ensued. In the end, Pamela and I made our getaway. A few blocks away; I didn't want a taxi yet; Pamela speaking voided my introspection.
‘Questions?’
‘Where were you hiding while Nicole and I were having sex?’ I mused.
‘Which time?’ Pamela taunted me.
‘You mean you followed us to the Men's bathroom (we were reliving our first sexual encounter and then some)?’ I groused.
‘I am not saying I was there. I'm not saying I wasn't. I'm not saying,’ Pamela smirked. Pause.
‘You killed Grandpa?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You stole his soul?’
‘Yes.’
‘You took yourself to the cliffs to destroy his soul; and yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘You decided not to because of his curse/warning?’
‘No.’
‘Um; why didn't you kill yourself?’
‘He; your Grandfather; had a back-up plan. Having me kill myself was a ploy. Had I done it, I would have lost my soul, his soul would have been released and Havenstone would have thought him dead. At the last moment I gained the insight he had a body already prepared for him that no other person knew about,’ Pamela informed me. ‘You.’
‘My Mother didn't know?’ I worried.
‘I am not sure. Most likely she thought she had escaped the Old Bastard.’
‘Ugh; family life around Christmas must have been a blast,’ I grumbled.
‘The Illuminati make a mockery of the Cult of Christ. They have influenced the Catholic hierarchy for a millennia.’
‘How did she get away; if she got away?’ I muttered.
‘Your Mother and Aunts were born to be slaves, but contained nearly all the DNA of your Grandfather; essentially female 'hims'. That meant they are all very, very smart so your Mother figured out a way and fled. Somehow she found your Father and happiness.’
‘He let her get away, didn't he?’ I asked.
‘Don't sell your Mother short,’ Pamela chided me. ‘He most likely engineered her escape from his estate, but the rest was her. Otherwise, you would have had Illuminati watchers all this time. No, your Grandfather wanted her to be completely free of the Illuminati, and all the other secret orders, until he was ready to make his return.’
‘Why did Brianna think Mom died of cancer seven years ago?’ I went for next.
‘All your aunts need medication to keep them healthy and young,’ Pamela related. ‘The only one with the formula was your Grandfather and, after so many decades, those bitches have to be running out of it soon, if they haven't already exhausted their supply.’
‘Without the drugs, your Mother would have aged and developed various cancers that would have escalated in their aggression until she died. For some reason, she stopped taking her medications before they ran out,’ Pamela ruminated.
‘To have me,’ I lowered my head. Mom had died because she knew Dad wanted a child; me.
‘It is not impossible that she couldn't have a child while on the regimen. That sounds like something that bastard Cáel O'Shea would have done,’ Pamela agreed.
‘What?’ I gulped.
‘You were named after your maternal grandfather, who I studied for weeks, and I can tell you that Cáel Nyilas is a hundred times the person he ever was,’ Pamela assured me.
‘Let's not tell my aunt that,’ I grunted.
‘Don't worry about that,’ Pamela patted me on the back. ‘All of your aunts are most likely addicted to his pheromones and you have some variant of them.’
‘The fuck you say!’ I gawked.
‘Oh yeah. He was that kind of son of a bitch.’
‘So when I get scared, they get horny?’ I despaired.
‘Or if you are your regular horny self,’ Pamela chortled. ‘Hell, Brianna is probably humping that urinal you and Miss Lawless engaged as a; prop earlier this evening.’
‘You are just a cornucopia of horrific knowledge, aren't you?’ I groused.
‘I've never had a friend like you,’ Pamela enlightened me.
‘You've never had a friend before,’ I countered. I hadn't known her a week and I already wanted to kill her half the time as it was.
I wondered if women felt the same way about me on occasion.
‘That would definitely make you my finest friend then,’ she snickered.
‘Thanks,’ I grumbled. ‘Just for that, when I have Daphne bent over with her head and shoulders pressed against the wall while I slam her from behind with all this pent up rage, I'll be thinking of you.’
‘Really?’ she queried.
‘Of course not. Daphne is smoking hot. When I finally have sex with her, the only thing I'll be thinking about besides Daphne is how I'm going to have sex with her again,’ I grinned.
‘Good,’ she smiled happily. Yes, we were talking about me boinking her granddaughter and she was A-Okay with it. ‘Remember, there is no need to use a condom.’
‘I'm not falling for that, you evil witch,’ I shook my head. ‘Sometime before that 'romantic' moment, you are going to poke holes in all my condoms, I know it.’
‘I really admire your deceitful nature,’ Pamela was happy as a clam. ‘Besides, Amazons don't normally give birth to children that way, but thanks for thinking that I'd sabotage you.’ She sensed my confusion. ‘Surrogates; Amazons have been using surrogates for two generations.’
‘The best part about meeting you is I get to understand why no one who knows me trusts a thing I say,’ I imparted. ‘You are very bright, eloquent and deceptive.’
‘You are very bright as well,’ Pamela commented. ‘Your other failings you compensate for by being an exceptionally erotic fucker.’
‘Exceptionally? Not really. Any situation that has 'screw' in it, I'm usually on board with; even if it is 'screwed-up', 'screwed-over', and 'royally screwed',’ I joked. I paused. ‘I need to warn Dad. This is a truly demented situation and I need to warn him to burn anything to do with Mom before the freak show arrives.
The gift from Grandpa that keeps on giving. I almost miss not killing him myself.’
‘That man was an eternal foe of the Amazons, Cáel. His death was necessary for peace with the Illuminati, thus peace with all the other factions,’ Pamela related. I began laughing.
‘So my misogynistic family heritage comes from my Mother and my misandristic lineage comes from my Father,’ I clued Pamela in. She found it to be hilariously ironic too.
‘We still have to be careful,’ Pamela nudged me. ‘After all, your Grandfather had plans for your body. Whether we choose to believe it was to be a vessel for your Grandfather's essence; or, if you prefer, he put something in your Mother's DNA that, when combined with the machinery he used to store his memories, would bring him back to life; Cáel O'Shea always was thinking three steps ahead.’
‘Why didn't you kill me when you figured this out?’ I stared at her.
‘You hold the fate of House Ishara inside of you,’ Pamela smiled warmly. ‘Besides, I like you. No one really understands me like you do. Everyone else thinks I have a sick sense of humor.’
‘I wish you had been my Grandmother,’ I nodded.
‘Wait; wait,’ Pamela held me back from continuing. ‘Because if I had been your Grandmother, you would have known to avoid a nut-ranch like Havenstone.’
‘Are you like my psychic twin?’ I teased her. She was right, of course.
‘I had a twin brother,’ Pamela turned sad. ‘I have always wondered what path his spirit traveled once they took him to the cliffs.’
‘The fact that you still recall him with empathy speaks volumes for you, Pamela,’ I hugged her.
‘I felt the same way, you know,’ Pamela drew comfort from my warmth. I was uncertain of her meaning. ‘When they told me what happened to boys; I couldn't accept it. Their reasoning rang hollow and I saw their denial of their own blood to be self-defeating.’
‘I have always wanted to believe my brother waits for me in the Hall of Ancestors so I can finally see his face and tell him I'm sorry that I was the one that was spared,’ she confessed.
‘You weren't spared, Pamela,’ I comforted her. ‘You had children and grandchildren so that way your brother will have grand-nephews and great grand-nephews whose actions are recorded in the deeds of your house and their names inscribed in the roster of the Host.’
‘That's my hope anyway,’ I added.
‘Let it be so,’ she whispered.
A Step back in time: that Weekend, between Oneida and Nicole.
The weekend; I'd had plenty of relaxing sex over the weekend, bonded with Oneida somewhat while we biked Saturday morning, had sex with Gael, junior of House Bendis (the woman who let me borrow her phone so I could invite Buffy, Helena and Desiree to my little induction ceremony), then had a late afternoon date with Nikita.
Escorting Yasmin and her son to the airport for the start of her Havenstone training after dinner was unsettling. The boy, Braulio, seemed worried, Yasmin was glad to see me, really glad to see me then finished it off by commenting that she could tell 'something had changed'. I affirmed her hunch without going into the details. As Yasmin's mood improved, so did her son's. I wished her luck. She told me I'd need it more.
Late Saturday night I was invited to a party by Libra. Brooke showed up date-less (she wasn’t jumping into a new relationship) so she glommed onto me; us. Marla and Libra had a huge phone fight about her (Marla) not being 21 yet, thus not invited to the party. Felix was there having reconnected with Gina because he had both a glib tongue and an awe-inspiring sexual arsenal.
Felix's attempts to recoup any ground with Brook failed miserably. She had her own bitterness toward Trent, her memory of me handing her panties under an outdoor cafe's table as a trophy Felix had taken the night before and displayed openly in my office, and my own masculine support to draw strength from.
Felix and I did not verbally, or socially, spar. He accepted the verdict of our first contest and, for all his faults, he acknowledged that my victory had worth and obeyed his conscience on the matter. If anything, he was visually more respectful than ever before. I wasn't his equal; no man and definitely no woman was; yet I was now a competitor he would have to give his very best to defeat.
Sunday morning had been just me and Odette. We'd cuddled on the sofa, watched some TV and then I took her to Havenstone for time in the pool. I kept the overly-aggressive Amazons at bay while getting Odette used to the idea of regular exercise; hanging out with Timothy and I required greater endurance than her sedentary youthful stamina provided.
An early afternoon invite to a 'pick-up' basketball game at the community, two-court, outdoor lot with Jason, the bar-back from the Yuppie bar, brought me back in contact with Katy Lee Baker, aka Delivery Girl. Odette tagged along. It also brought me in contact with the local 'wild-life'. A Latin King clique was starting to operate in the area and Jason's crew were the native inhabitants who took exception to this.
We played for about half an hour were everyone learned I was a big, fat liar. I was actually good at basketball, despite my earlier claims at ignorance. The Kings showed up, drove off the younger teens playing on the other court. A few more of those jokers showed up and it was now 'our turn' to make space.
That went over like a shit brick. The Kings outnumbered us a good two-to-one, but Jason wasn't backing down. I was struggling to convince Jason that discretion was the better part of valor when some of the new Latin King arrivals tried to play with a few of the local ladies who had come down to watch their menfolk pull off their shirts and get sweaty.
Poor Odette; she had been in the company of so many powerful, confident and lethal women she'd forgotten she wasn't one. A King grabbed Katy Lee's breast. Odette hit the asshole in the stomach, put a shin to his nuts and finished him off with grabbing his head and driving it into her upward moving knee, dropping him like the sack of shit he was. But wait, he had five buddies.
Poo was being served up and the electric switch was about to be flipped.
‘I'll be back to help in a moment,’ I growled to Jason as the gang members jumped Odette. Katy Lee and a slightly older woman rushed to Odette's aid. The Kings didn't ignore my approach, peeling off two to 'deal with me'. They really shouldn't have hit Odette because now I was angry.
The feces hit the rotary wind machine. With their last shows of bravado, I lay into the closest bastards. The sixteen year old was hesitantly pulling out his 32 caliber ACP while reconsidering his poor life choices as I hit his buddy so hard he went airborne, two teeth and a fountain of blood coming from the ruin I'd made of his face.
Gun guy was next. I clamped my left hand on his right, gun-toting wrist then drove my knee into his elbow. The elbow snapped upward with a sound reminiscent of a car backfiring. His screams drowned out the thud of his gun dropping to the court surface. For the three remaining Latin Kings I was closing with, a terrible social reality came crashing in.
Gangs rely on several tools to exert power; a propensity for violence, illegal finances, a fierce reputation, and superior numbers. By the look on my face, they discovered that their numbers didn't bother me in the least. I knew exactly who they were and didn't give a damn. My desire to destroy them was motivated by something far stronger than any currency, and I was clearly better at this whole violence thing than they seemed to be.
They had their pride and the fidelity with their gang, plus their intimidation tactics were going wrong so fast, they couldn't process the disaster quickly enough to alter course. These guys were not professional warriors by any stretch of the imagination. 'Warriors'; perhaps. 'Professional'; definitely not. Their ability to rapidly adapt to a changing situation was woefully under-developed.
In gang hand-to-hand combat, you bunch up your members, overrun a foe and beat him to the ground. Fighting a practitioner of Brazilian jujutsu, standing close to one another is the Last thing you want to do. I was a whirlwind of destruction, fed by the understanding that Jason's bunch needed me back real soon.
The asshat who tried to use a knife on me got his hand pinned to the court for his audacity. I repeat, threatening Odette had infuriated me. At center court, Jason had his hands full and then some. The Latin Kings had the edges in both numbers and ferocity. The only other hometown boy holding his own was this thick, solid Puerto Rican guy named Bennie; the rest were in trouble.
I started with the four-on-one stomp-down on one of Jason's friends; I'd missed the guy's beat down. My inner Amazon was leading the charge. Unlike all my previous encounters, I was intentionally causing pain. I wasn't trying to drive them off, or render them hors de combat. No, my desire was to strike terror in their hearts, inflicting suffering in order to eradicate my foes' resolve to fight.
Knees snapped, bones broke, faces were stomped into the court and internal organs ruptured. Even my erstwhile allies were aghast at the wickedness with which I treated our enemy.
‘Ah; Cáel; are you okay?’ Jason mumbled when the last King went down. He'd have a shiner on his left eye soon and his lip was split and bleeding. I hadn't come through unscathed either.
Havenstone had seriously upped my pain threshold. Jason wasn't really asking about my physical well-being anyway. I had to get ahead of this; predicament.
‘Let's get this trash off the court,’ I commanded. The boys hesitated until Jason picked up one of my semi-conscious victims.
‘Come on 'Pendejo', leave and don't come back,’ Jason yanked the man up and began shoving him toward the gate he and his buddies had arrived by. The rest of Jason's friends joined in and we began cleaning up the place. One gangster decided he was too hurt to be moved. I'd rammed his shoulder into the goalpost, breaking his collarbone. He was crying about the pain he was in.
I pulled him up. He was around 7 foot 2 inches tall and 275 pounds. I wrapped my hands around his thick bull neck and slowly raised him up off the ground. His face was reddening, his good hand was trying to break my hold and his legs were flailing about in the open air.
[In Spanish] ‘Pain, Asshole? No, pain is me having to come back here and hunt you and your vermin buddies down,’ I seethed.
‘I don't live here. These men are not my friends. You touched my girl and I am God Almighty when it comes to defending those of my household. I am not in a gang. I am not a criminal. If you, or your gang, come within a block of this place, I will become Death. Today, there are too many witnesses. This is your reprieve; your moment of grace,’ I snarled.
‘Use it wisely. It will not happen again,’ I finished in a fury. I dropped him to his wobbly feet, catching his good hand before he fell over. That act of compassion after my dire threat confused the guy.
‘Go,’ I returned to English. The rest of the Latin Kings walked, stumbled, were dragged from the court.
‘Who are you again?’ Bennie inquired.
‘Cáel Nyilas,’ I grinned. ‘I'm an Aerospace Engineer working on the feasibility of having hamsters running on their wheels being used to recharge batteries on manned flights to Mars.’
‘Hamster wrangling has to be one tough profession,’ Katy Lee snickered as she and Odette came up.
‘Come on now,’ Jason winced as he licked his lip.
‘Brawling is about panic, anger and the management of those two forces,’ I told them. ‘I was the only one in this fight in control of himself, so my actions look out of proportions to what really happened.’
‘They were kicking our asses,’ Bennie chuckled.
‘Not as bad as you guys think,’ I consoled them. ‘None of you guys ran, or curled up in a ball. That allowed me to pick my fights. I clearly have more hand-to-hand combat experience, but none of that would have mattered had you guys freaked out.’
There was some truth in what I said. Had they panicked, I would have grabbed Odette and Katy Lee then fled as well. Since they toughed it out, and the Latin Kings exerted virtually no command and control, I was able take on the gang members in small, bite-sized chunks. My training and experience took care of the rest.
This also made the somewhat traumatized ballplayers feel proud about the cuts and bruises they'd received. Now they realized they had 'won' this scuffle, they'd played their parts courageously and had all been instrumental in a successful stratagem. The fact that none of them knew that when the blows were raining in it meant nothing.
The women who'd come out to watch the game then witnessed the beat down knew their men had been brave, taken their licks and routed their enemies. Martial ardor, baby! 'Defending' a woman does not diminish her. It increases her odds of dealing with insults and threats in a positive manner.
Women who look down on women who use their pussies to better themselves are being stupid. It is the equivalent of having a complete toolbox and only using the hammer. The women were going to give up some level of sex to reward the men. The men, in turn, had an example of the kind of behavior that would get them what they wanted; defending your ladies equated to feminine reward.
That did not mean penetration; life was far more complex. It did mean she would hang around you, talk to you and trust you (most likely more than she should). Guys still had to seal the deal, figure out what she wanted and deliver. That had been the working arrangement between men and women for most of the last 80,000 years.
What I didn't know at the time was that I was being spied upon, that this spy called Buffy; my 'spear and shield'; and Buffy would gather up some Security Detail chicks. Why would SD help? Some morons had tried to murder the Head of House Ishara and that wasn't something the Amazons would tolerate.
That Latin King clique was contemplating revenge. They were about to get schooled by the Grand Mistresses of that brutal and unforgiving Art form. I could never let Odette know. After all, to her they were someone's sons, brothers and husbands. My chilling rationalization was that, for whatever reason, the Latin Kings had redefined themselves as carnivores, preying on the rest of mankind.
They should have studied what nature was really like. Predators had predators of their own. They'd been big, bad caimans, snatching all that came to the water's edge. In nature, the caiman was careful because jaguars hunted and ate caimans. In the urban jungle, there were things far more dangerous than gang-bangers living in the shadows that jealously guarded their spot as apex predator.
Odette and I exited the field. I'd have to catch Katy Lee another time. I was to get the bad news from Ulyssa and her sister about the death in her family. Timothy, Odette and I worked out some more as Odette and I took turns relating the fight to Timothy. He reminded us that the Latin Kings were a powerhouse in the city as well as nationwide. Nicole called at the point I was ready for bed and the rest was family history.
To be continued in Part 18
By FinalStand for Literotica.