Cáel and the Manhattan Amazons: Part 22

Living the nightmare; hungering for a normal life.

In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.

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“If your heart starts the fight, you can lose without regret.”

 (Thursday Night)

It was well past the descent of Night's veil when the Havenstone jet landed outside of New York City. Naomi and team gathered us up and led us to the main building downtown. An unlooked for conflict developed. Naomi's team was there to present me to Hayden. Rachel's team was still focused on securing my wellbeing and they didn't like the attitude Naomi's squad was giving off.

With Buffy (Helena was in a different car), there was no concealing Rachel's hostility toward the latest group of SD ladies. The new group was treating me like a 'package', not a Head of House, and that infuriated my First too. All of that ill-will simmered as we made our way to Havenstone. The situation was compounded by the elevator ride.

Naomi, her team, Buffy, Rachel and I went into the first elevator. By the time we made it to the top few floors, it was clear that the rest were not immediately following along. The situation ratcheted up to nasty when Naomi demanded Buffy's firearm. Buffy looked ready to use it.

"Buffy; gun," I held out my hand, palm up. Buffy reluctantly handed it over.

I walked over to the nearest trash can, dropped out the clip, chambered out the first round then dumped the entirety into the trash receptacle.

"If they touched it, the weapon would be fouled and not fit for a true Amazon," I explained to Buffy. "Best to save your noble tool the indignity and dispense with it instead."

Buffy snorted with amusement, Naomi's crew pretended not to care while Rachel was deeply disturbed. It took a perfunctory gesture to stop Buffy outside Hayden's office. In I went to face Hayden, Katrina, Saint Marie and Troika of House Šauška alone. Šauška was the 'sister goddess' of Ishara; together they formed Ishtar in later incarnations.

I didn't believe Troika was here for any sister solidarity this time around.

"Why did you do this? Start a war; is this your hatred of Amazon culture shining through, trying to get us all killed in some global struggle against the other Secret Societies?" Hayden opened up with in an even tone.

"No," I kept it succinct. They waited for more of an explanation.

"Do you have anything you can say to defend your actions?" Troika glared.

"I don't need to defend my actions," I regarded her as if she was of alien origin. "The actions speak for themselves."

"Why don't you explain it to us, Ishara?" Saint Marie rumbled. Insulted yet again. As an equal, I warranted the use of my first name.

"Do I have your permission to fully and completely lay out my reasoning without everyone closing in like a pack of hyenas on a leopard?" I looked to Hayden; not happy. She gave a curt nod. It wasn't like running away would get me far.

"I will speak slowly because all of you appear to have become incredibly stupid," I started. "My parent and carrier of my Amazon ancestor's genetic heritage was murdered. The leader of the Amazon Security Detail identified herself, Then they were fired upon. Somehow you do not see those actions as Casus Belli. [cause for war]

There are three possible reasons for your blindness: you are all cowards who bully behind closed doors, but fold up like gutless wonders when a true challenge presents itself. Or, the male penis renders you incapable of intelligent thought and induces irrational and unsustainable hostile deductions in your though processes. Or, you want me and the line of Ishara dead and are willing to accept any accident of fate that will render us so," I laid things out for them.

"Or, you were in pain over your father's loss and used Havenstone as a tool to lash out at your perceived foes without concern for what price the other houses would have to pay for your personal vendetta," Hayden suggested.

"Your gender bias is appalling, High Priestess  Saint James," I shook my head.

"Have I been such an out of control, emotional male that yours is the logical assumption for how events unfolded?" I smirked. "Except for the meeting where I learned your secret; only Katrina caught that. I've risked death three times for Amazons; yet I hate all of you enough to kill those people and myself. Besides,  Saint James, your opinion has been rendered irrelevant."

"You will call me Hayden," Hayden simmered.

"I will when you and your lackeys get around to calling me Cáel," I countered. "I don't like being insulted any more than you do. I could keep up this childishness forever, but, as I was pointing out, we don't have forever.

War is coming. Between my father's murder and my threats to the Condotteiri and Seven Pillars' emissaries, I've guaranteed that. Apologizing won't do any good. They won't believe you. Offering me up won't do any good. They think you hold male life to be worthless; the truth of which I am personally witnessing here and now. They are coming for you no matter what you wish.

The best chance for an alliance rests with me. I can establish truly good will with the Nine Clans, Illuminati and the Earth  and  Sky. Without me, they don't trust you enough to do any good. I'm sure only Katrina believes this; I did all that alliance-building for Havenstone. I am House Ishara and the fate of the Amazons is my fate.

Yet here I am, being insulted, being treated like a traitor; an infantile traitor at that, and being informed you will not honor your oaths and obligations to me," I shook my head. "Are there any other issues to discuss, or can I go home now? I'm beat."

"You will be housed downstairs for your own safety," Hayden informed me.

"Unless you arrest me, I'm going home," I shrugged. "Not only do I not want your protection, I have ceased to trust you. You do not treat me like a sister. Instead you accuse me of atrocities against MY people and layer on the petty insults. Goodnight." I made to leave so Saint Marie interposed herself.

"That wasn't a request, Ishara," Hayden murmured with menace.

"Beat me up," I chuckled, "and you will be more screwed than you know." The Golden Mare and I locked gazes. I tried to move around her so she put a hand on my chest. "Welcome to the consequences of being known liars and bigots, ladies."

"I am tiring of your insolence," Saint Marie growled.

"Runners'," Katrina sighed with melancholy amusement.

"What about them?" Troika mocked.

"The majority of the 'Runners' aren't going to see this as the Council punishing Cáel for starting the upcoming conflict," Katrina chided her cohorts.

"They are going to see the Full-blooded shutting down the Only House letting them in. Going to war? They are willing to fight and die for our cause. They assume we are too," Katrina regaled her unwilling audience.

"Pleased with yourself, Ish; Cáel," Hayden's eyes narrowed.

"He has almost nothing to do with it, Sisters," Katrina chortled. "We were the ones who promised to let the 'Runners' join the houses then reneged on that promise. The worst you can say about Cáel was that only after we picked out, loaded and handed him the gun, did he use it for what it was intended for."

"We are not punishing him for this 'Runner' insult," Troika spat. She meant my 'hasty' inductions.

"Then why are we punishing him; and thank you for making Cáel's point for him; 'Runner' insult indeed. Since your disgraceful attitude is overwhelmingly common, the 'Runners' are not going to believe your excuse for dealing with Cáel."

"Katrina," Hayden cautioned.

"Hayden, as your 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death', I am required to give you this news," Katrina bowed her head in reverence. "I tell you Cáel's actions have been a lightning rod for the 'Runners'. He gives them hope where there was none. Putting Cáel down will have repercussions you do not understand.

They will then 'Know' for a certainty we look down on them and treat them little better than slaves; which is the truth," Katrina responded to the others. "Not only are we going to war, we are successfully convincing half our population that they Cannot trust the Council to spend their lives wisely."

"How dare you?" Saint Marie seethed at me.

"Are you seriously blaming me for keeping the oaths the rest of you made in my name; while Ishara was dead to the Council?" I laughed. "The 'Runners' are your idea, Saint Marie, not mine. You promised to bring them into the Houses ; and didn't. You lied and I chose to not perpetuate that lie, thus honoring my ancestors, my founder and my Goddess."

"Do I need to remind you who Ishara is? The Goddess of Oaths; particularly military oaths," I added. "In case you missed it, I am implying that you have failed your ancestors;” and I went flying. Damn, Saint Marie was fast. I rolled as best as I could, ending bumping into Hayden's desk.

No one said a word which I found tragically consistent. My follow-up pain wasn't 'Mare' induced. Spiritual flames consumed me internal organs, causing me to cry out in torment and vomit copious amounts of something. I was cradled inside a horror film as first my esophagus, then stomach and finally my intestines seemed to flush forth from my lips.

The stench was beyond horrid; putrid and corrupt combined with the atrocious odor of bloated flesh left to rot in the Sun for weeks. Considering the minimal amount I had eaten on the flight home, I was even more baffled by what felt like 100 liter quantity of discharge. When the ordeal eventually ended, I half-rose then flopped backwards into darkness.

I hurt. I hurt in the same way you have 'pins and needles', except mine were industrial capacity and giving it 110%. My head was resting at a slight incline and someone was flipping a lock of my bangs on and off my forehead. I opened my eyes into infinity; seriously worse agony consumed my brain pan.

"That is too much for you to know, Cáel," she murmured.

Those eyes had been feminine, just not in a human way and definitely filled with more joy and suffering than could be granted by a thousand lifetimes.

The pain faded, so I tried the whole eye thing again. At the top of the lap that cradled my head was a really nice pair of boobs clothed in thin wool; lush, mature, yet firm like a young virgin's.

"Thank you," she lilted. Mind-reading?

"Do I want to know what has happened to me?" I groaned. I reached for a boob because if it was a toxin-induced delusion, what was the worst that can happen?

"Careful, I haven't been with a male in 1800 years, my Preciously Odd Amazon," she laughed.

"I like challenges," I bantered with my mental conjuration. Definitely mind-reading.

"I am not the creation of your fevered dreams, my Cáel," she flicked my nose. "I have pushed you near death to place a curse on the Host. As a side benefit, I am able to have metaphysical contact with you."

"To date you, I have to have a near-death experience? I don't know if I should admire 1800 years of male common sense, or that last guy who risked everything for one night with you," I shrugged.

"So much compassion; and so little fear," she petted my scalp.

"Since you clearly aren't getting into the name game and I am more than happy to doubt everything I've experienced in the past five minutes," I smiled at her, "what am I supposed to do?"

"You know," she smiled back.

"No, I don't," I insisted. "Something extra-concise that doesn't come from a fortune cookie."

"I've always wanted to eat a fortune cookie," she looked away.

"I'll start walking around with one in my pocket so next time you nearly kill me, you can indulge," I offered.

"Save my people, Cáel," she placed her hand over my eyes. "Save their spirits."

"A bit of help would be nice," I pressed forward blindly.

"I've given you help," she whispered on my lips. Since I didn't consider that to be helpful, I opted to give a gentle twist to her nipple.

Either something was really going on inside my head, acting as a conduit between me and something else, or I was experiencing a psychotic break with reality. If it was the former, I was a Class-A idiot. If it was the latter, it was me being me, rolling the dice with the pretty girl.

"I wanted you to be brave," she laughed melodically, the echo of every woman I'd ever given a reason to sing out with joy, "yet now I find myself wishing you would expend a tiny bit more caution on my behalf." Sensing my dissatisfaction, she added "I cannot give you 'the' truth, so I will give you 'a' truth. Nothing is set in the future while much is foreseen."

"As long as you know I've disappointed every women I've ever been with," I reminded her, my eyes still shielded and her lips tantalizingly close to mine.

"Oh, you like to think you are selfish, Cáel Nyilas of Vranus and Ishara, but you justifiably take pride in the sensuality you bring to so many women's lives," she pointed out.

"Many lovers are far more truthful yet far less giving," she said.

"Pain heals while an education is forever," I countered. Another joyous note.

"It is time for you to wake up, my Cáel," she sighed. "Go now." Wakefulness required a return to the putrid qualities of my current surroundings. I forced myself to my knees.

No one did anything; no reaction, or assistance, so it fell to me to save myself.

"What; what was that?" Troika nearly retched at the stench. Katrina stood, visibly pale and shaken.

"Hayden?" Katrina requested of her leader.

"Cáel, what have you done?" Hayden snapped. She also stood up so she could look down at me from her desk. I mumbled something. Even I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. The last touch of a lady far chillier than the one in Chicago caressed me and I knew the gist of what had happened. Why was I the one suffering at the hands of my Goddess?

I was the easiest to get at because I was already devoted to her, her chosen children and I was Patron and Head of the house dedicated to her honor. The forecasted ass-kicking wasn't aimed at me, though. I was the necromantic shotgun barrel into this reality. Too many bitches had spat on me, her hand-picked patsy and punching bag, and her temper was beyond sending some vague signs and portents to the Host.

I didn't know the particulars of this curse, yet I didn't doubt for a second it was both fiendishly evil and well-deserved. My jacket, shirt and tie were goners. The lower part of my tie which had been thoroughly drenched in my vomit was already decaying into filth, soon passing into nothingness. I tried speaking again.

"Having exhibited no faith in me, you have committed apostasy to Ishara," issued the words from my acid-scared throat. "You are condemned to live with that choice. Good night."

I fumbled and stumbled to Hayden's door, weakly opened one of the two double doors and left. The confrontation I had departed outside remained in force; Naomi and detail versus Rachel and Buffy.

Helena, and a former 'Runner' named Madori who worked at Havenstone HQ with us, had not been sent up.

"I am going home," I rasped. With no orders to keep me there, Naomi let me pass. Rachel and Buffy closed in.

"Boss, you smell like;” Buffy searched for words.

"A red tide," Rachel said. "All those dead fish floating on the water for days and days; it is that level of horrible smell."

"Rachel," I stated as we got on the elevator, "thank you for the loyalty, intelligence and understanding you have given me in this trying time."

"I am a member of the Host, Ishara. I would do no less for Hayden herself; but you are welcome," she sighed.

"How about we postpone our date night until I've cleared up a few things with the Council and Ishara?" I suggested. Rachel nodded. I briefly talked to Helena over the phone, went with Buffy to the basement where she checked out a car then sat back as she drove me home. I must have looked like a disaster because Buffy didn't give me an ounce of grief.

Home was home now. There was a house with my name on it now, but it wasn't my hearth; this mid-town, 'just above the poverty line' apartment was definitely home now. I would suspect that business travel was like a clothes dryer; you mystically pulled out less clothes than you put in. I was coming back with twice the amount of luggage I had departed with

Odette would be home in an hour, so it was me and Timothy for a bit.

"Hey Bro," Timothy greeted me. He set down one of those fanciful Asian vegetable mish-mashes that he liked from time to time, stood up and gave me a hug. "How bad was it?"

"Let's just say I finished it up this evening by vomiting all over the Big Boss's rug, and that was the highlight of the trip," I mumbled.

"That would explain your bare-chested look," Timothy snorted. I had been so out of it, I had spaced on the need to put on clothes like a normal human being. "Something to eat?"

"Nah, my insides were spewed forth, so I'm foregoing food for a while," I mumbled. That reminded me. I went to the bathroom and gargled repeatedly with mouthwash. I could still smell the aromatic abomination, but at least I couldn't taste it anymore.

"Do we want to go down the lists of women who have called you?" Timothy was trying to cheer me up. I wanted to be cheered up so I told him to go right ahead. Brooke and Libra; an immediate call back with the briefest of details; no weekend date for Brooke and I yet. Jason, the bar-back I had met chasing down Katy Lee, had called. I dialed his number and we had a short chat.

He and his buddies were coming along well, I was invited back any time, and the Latin Kings had gotten the message because they hadn't been around since. I requested he and his friends keep their eyes open just in case and I'd be around for another pick-up game soon enough. Since most of those LK's were dead and the remainder scattered, I wasn't worried about Jason.

Nikita; I called and she 'agreed' to come over. I was too fatigued to fight her off. Ulyssa called and I had to inform her that this weekend didn't look good for me; funeral and all. I initiated contact with Nicole. She was still wrapping up some of my business in Chicago and would be gone until Saturday morning.

Timothy crashed for the evening, I was nibbling on some of his fodder and the doorbell rang. A check at the peephole revealed Nikita. She came in, hugged and I could sense something was definitely wrong. We were back to first date material. We hadn't been separated long enough; crap. I gave us space on the sofa.

"That was incredibly fast," I groaned. "What tipped them off?"

"What do you mean?" Nikita tried to scoot down the sofa to me. I held her off with one hand.

"I am hardly one to uphold honesty in a relationship, but I normally consider it a selfish endeavor and not done for the benefit of a third, unrelated party," I sadly met her eyes.

"Cáel, what do you?" Nikita stammered.

"You are not a very good liar," I pointed out. "You are wearing a wire of some kind?"

"Have you done something wrong?" Nikita evaded.

"My loss," I moped. "All I wanted was the semblance of a normal life and now that's gone down the tubes."

"Nikita, what do you want to drink?" I restarted the whole fiasco. Drinks were served and we kept to our separate ends of the sofa talking about mindless shit until Odette showed up. Then I could politely show Nikita the door and be with someone who did care about me. We made slow, passionate love. I gave her orgasms and giggles with the added benefit I felt more human when we finally fell asleep.

(Friday)

The morning started out with the same routine. I pulled up various routes for my bike ride into work, chose none of them and off I went in the pre-dawn dark blue/grey sky. I came within 20 seconds of my best time, so I was feeling pretty positive about what lay ahead. Security was a full 180 from their normally sour selves.

"Good morning, Cáel Ishara," the security team (not Security Detail) leader greeted me. That was part 'thanks for letting my sister 'Runners' into a house' and 'maybe pick me next time.'

"Good morning, Wilma Draper," I nodded back. I went to the counter and leaned in. I needed to fortify my supportive base and I knew how to do it.

"You do realize I don't choose who joins House Ishara, don't you?" I addressed her softly yet loud enough for the two closest security women to hear.

"You do not?" the woman appeared perplexed.

"No," I shook my head in the negative.

At that moment she wondered if this was a trick of the Council. Good girl.

"The senior Amazons of House Ishara chose the next candidates. I make the ritual appeal to Ishara, of course. Selection remains in the hands of former 'Runners' who nominate the 'Runners' who have proven themselves.

I was inspired to initiate Buffy and Helena because I had enough faith in them to believe they knew Havenstone and what House Ishara needed. The Amazons in the second ritual were all Buffy and Helena's choices. I think those two and the latest group Ishara has approved of, will make the perfect judges for picking future 'Runners' of accomplishment and worth; not only for House Ishara, but for the new Amazons who have risked everything for our People," I piled on the propaganda.

She nodded. The two closest security guards nodded as well. Off I went to the gun range. With less than a minute worth of words, I had reinforced my perfection. I wasn't a male. I was a male with a passel of hardcore, praiseworthy Amazons working around me, insulating me from committing any errors and making all the important decisions while I behaved like a bobble-headed doll.

The range was back to 'normal' except I could smell the chemicals this time out. Whatever concrete and surface coating substances they had used to repair my grenade-inspired damage left my nose with a terrible itch. I had a gun selection today. I had no instructor yet was hopeful. I packed up my 40 caliber, my back-up 3 80, the combat shotgun and my Personal Defense weapon then headed out.

I patiently waited behind one of the stations, soaking up the view of medium gray yoga pants worn by a woman who presented a meticulously crafted, awesome bubble-butt to the world. After she finished off one magazine, the Amazons looked over her shoulder at me. Horn-dog time. The woman smiled as she motioned me forward.

We put my weapons on the stand and prepared for school.

"I am Wiesława of House Živa," she smirked playfully. By the Almighty, she had a thick Polish accent, rich lips, russet hair and 'come hither' eyes. I was prepping for some early 'nookie' time.

"Hello, I am Ash Ketchum and I have an unhealthy relationship with free-roaming, anthropomorphic creatures," I replied as we clasped forearms Amazon-style. As Wiesława was trying to puzzle that out, an Amazon from an adjoining booth came over and punched me in the arm. I couldn't even recall this one's name though I knew that face and physique.

"Stop that, Cáel," the woman chastised me. "She's new here."

"I thought he was bringing me more weapons to use. Was this male being insolent?" Wiesława tried to put things in their proper place. "Should he be disciplined?" At least she wasn't taking me being beaten as her Goddess-given right.

"No, Wiesława. This is Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara, he brought those weapons for His use and most likely came to your station looking for instruction," the unnamed Amazon stated.

"Does this mean we are passed that whole 'grenade launcher' thing?" I inquired of the women.

"We are not sure. For now we have decided to not pre-judge you since you remain consistently combative no matter what. Constanza is recovering," she tacked on.

"Good," I grinned. "How soon can she return to duty? I imagine she makes a lousy patient."

Pause. The 'Constanza' bit had been a test. I had a feeling that my emotional tendency to spare lives and show mercy was getting around. It wasn't the Amazon way, though it did mean Constanza would remain alive for a while longer when it was generally accepted she should not.

"She will have to retrain her vision. Her doctors are hopeful," the woman responded.

"That is for the best. I do hope there are no ill intentions toward Pamela," I warned her. "Such a vengeance would be personal and I would feel no obligation to treat those criminals as I would my fellow Amazons; are we clear?"

"It has been made expressly clear that this issue is at an end," she bowed slightly.

"Let us commit this to the 'nothingness'," was my suggestion. The two Amazons twitched. That was a phrase straight out of their cultural playbook. Both nodded, the familiar Amazon left and I turned back to Wiesława.

"Do you still want a go at training me?" I asked the Pole.

"Yes; yes, I would like that," she gave me a bright, toothy white smile. "I find you interesting." Off I went again. Wiesława was diligent and definitely 'hands-on'. Twenty minutes into the training one of my familiar SD firing partners showed up.

"Don't let him take his clothes off," Felicité teased me. Her Congolese French contrasted erotically with Wiesława's Polish.

"His clothes come off?" Wiesława seemed puzzled. "How is that accomplished?"

"A deeply scientific, psychological process," Felicité teased my latest friend/fish in the barrel.

"Cáel, take off your clothes," she commanded me. I gave her a haughty, condescending glare. "Please." My biking shirt came off first then my biking slippers and finally the shorts.

"Your turn," I regarded Wiesława. She shot a look to Felicité. Her sports bra was millimeters from exposing her goodies when my Congolese tormentor stepped in.

"You don't have to take off your clothes for him," she intervened.

"But I like seeing you ladies naked," I protested. Felicité patted my package.

"We like seeing you naked too. Now put on your pants before a hot shell casing creates yet another incident," Felicité teased me again.

A great chasm of misunderstanding had been bridged since Friday. The grenade-launcher was part of it, yet I think Rachel and Velma were far more constructive than I could have been. Velma had seen me in crisis mode. I hadn't panicked. I had seen to my partner (though she was an inconsequential female) and been cool throughout the process in Katrina's office as Velma and her four team members had overheard.

Rachel, Charlotte, Mona and Tiger Lily had probably given a different story; less professional and more human. That must have worked in my favor. A stone-cold bad-ass would have been more worrisome; a challenge. No, I had been shaken, irrational, brave and grieving. I had fought an assassin of the Nine Clans and not lost (thus not an embarrassment to a culture I didn't really belong to; until that moment).

I had insulted the Condotteiri and the Seven Pillars, who were universally hated. I had been nice to the Earth  and  Sky and Illuminati, who they didn't like much, but could be handy if a war did break out. I had been 'friendly' to the Egyptians and Nine Clans, who the Amazon rank and file did approve of. The SD had no doubts; they were looking at a war.

Unlike their leadership, the Security Detail was anticipating this, even anxious for the test. Fighting is what they spent their whole lives training for. Thirty years had passed since the last major clash between Havenstone and the others. For the youngest, this was the ultimate chance to prove their training had been perfect.

For the oldest members of the SD, this was the culmination of a lifetime's devotion. 'Take themselves to the cliffs'? Not now. Now came the chance to make every burn, bullet hole, stab wound and piece of shrapnel worth it. Their Host lavished care and resources on the Security Detail; their Warrior Elite; and they were about to reward that glorification with a fervor only female's with 3000 years of martial tradition could match.

Like me? Allowable yet not required. Respect me? Constanza was their lesson on respect. Obedience? No. Rachel had most assuredly related my contact with the 'Runners' and Buffy, so they could hit me like they could no other Head of Household; as long as it was 'appropriate'. Since they were not forced to give me full equality, they could stomach my 'almost' equality.

Think of it as being able to punch your manager at work in the arm whenever you thought they were doing something stupid. Imagine how much worker morale would benefit. By stepping up and taking a punch, or two, I bought myself and House Ishara much more respect than a snippy insistence on etiquette would have ever done.

Bringing 'Runners' into a First House? The SD wasn't jumping for joy. Here, the SD's sense of superiority worked in Ishara's favor. What did it matter to them that a few 'Runners' had been exalted to Full-blooded status? SD was the best of the best. That they were the best of the 'best available until now' hadn't occurred to them yet.

All that circled back to Felicité playing with me, no one taking exception to me making a play for Wiesława and the return of the firing range to an educational platform for me. As I had told Oneida, 'defeat starts in the mind'. Along with that came 'Victory starts with a plan', and 'seize the moment'. I was aiming for seizing victory in the flesh.

I bent over to put my pants back on. Since Felicité was departing for jobs-unknown, I ran the pants, and my hand, along Wiesława's inner right thigh. By the look in her eyes when I was finished, she didn't mind in the slightest. At the end of my allotted time period, my marksmanship had improved and Wiesława was mine for the taking.

What bothered me was that it felt too easy somehow. Weird huh; that 'easy' would bother me.

"You don't hang around men much?" I questioned the Pole as the weapons were being put away.

"No," she sighed. "The last male in my hold died eight years ago. That is one reason I was re-assigned here," she informed me.

"What department are you with?" I asked as we waited on the elevator.

"Security Detail," she answered.

"Fantastic," I murmured. "Elsa is a great boss. The two of us get along great."

"Really? That is good news," Wiesława sounded upbeat. "How close are you?" Hint, hint.

"Like the Cobra and the Mongoose," I grinned. Into the elevator we went. "I'll let you figure out which is which."

"You are the Cobra," she patted my thinly covered cock. Yay! No personal boundaries.

Less I forget I was still on the list of approved prey animals the door opened on the first floor and Brielle, her buddy, and Oneida stepped onboard.

I had no clue where Wiesława was supposed to go. I guessed she was along for the ride.

"Good morning, Cáel," Brielle greeted me before licking my left nipple. Wiesława was confused; could she have been licking me, and getting licked by me, half an hour ago?

"What are you doing?" Oneida squawked.

"Yum; someone has been to the gun range this morning," Brielle smiled at me. "Oh, and; sorry about your paternal person," she hastily added.

"They are called Fathers," I sighed. To defuse Oneida, I slipped a hand to the small over her back then wiggled three fingers between the top of her skirt and panties.

It was 'dangerous' enough to give her pause before going after the other women.

"It is good to see your new, exalted status hasn't gone to your head, Cáel Ishara," Brielle looked very naughty.

"Sisters first, last and always," I responded. "I'm not going to take credit for my ancestors being kick ass."

"They must have been very courageous women," Wiesława stated. I snorted.

"Wiesława, my Ishara lineage goes down the male side of the family, so those lethal ancestors were all male," I chided her.

"When the Dacian-Thracians moved into the region, they joined with those tribes fighting the Celts. Later, they joined with the Dacian kings and fought against the Romans. Germans, Avars, Bulgars and finally the Magyars came their way; my ancestors impressed them all enough to be accepted.

I know this because my Father's name was Nyilas, which means Archer in the Magyar tongue. We were fighters under the Arpad dynasty the same way we had gone to war with our Amazon War leaders thousands of years earlier. I also know this because of my bloodline; if the female folk had been raped, the bloodline would have perished," I explained.

"Where exactly was your family from?" Wiesława inquired.

"My grandfather said we Nyilas' were from Székelys Lands in Northern Romania," I replied. "My great-grandfather grew up under the Romanian King, hated it and died fighting as a Hungarian soldier against the Soviets in World War II," I continued.

"That is why my great-grandmother took her children and came to America. They had lost their homeland in her opinion. Dad said she was bitter until the day she died," I sighed over my forerunners intransience. "She even wanted to be buried at her home town of Szászrégen," I let them know. "That never happened."

The elevator door opened, I waved good-bye to friends new and old then raced to Katrina's bathroom. Katrina was at her desk, working away.

"Cáel," Katrina acknowledged my passage with a wave of her hand. "Hayden and I have been examining a list of possible; "

"That boat has sailed, Katrina," I cut her off. "I'll take care of my business without Hayden's help, thank you very much. I know you tried to warn her. I should have known there was no use dealing with the Council in any way, shape, or form. There isn't." I paused. "Tell your allies that there will be many in House Ishara and Warrior-Fathers too."

"Aren't you worried in the least?" Katrina requested.

"We both know that some of these bitches want to face their end like the lead characters in a Wagnerian opera. All we can do is remind them they are traitors to their Race, not patriots to some modern day concoction of a cult of gender blood purity," I stated, "as we work to save our people."

"Those 'Old Guard' broads have forgotten what an Amazon is supposed to be," I explained.

"And a man is going to show us the way?" Katrina studied me with emotionless intent.

"Yes," I muttered. "A man who prefers love over hate and counts his worth by the lives he saves, not the one's he takes."

"Do you ever fear this 'softness' will weaken your masculinity?" Katrina mused. That hurt; not because of her words, which could be true for any man. It hurt because the bastion against such thinking had just died.

"My only fear is that I won't live up to my father's example," I responded.

"Not only as a man and a father in my time, but as a human being," I delved into the wounded portion of my soul. "He never went to college, served in the military, or even got into a fight until that last minute of his life. He covered for co-workers with family issues, never failed to answer a call out to work in inclement weather, and did all that normal boring shit few here even understand.

He let me be weak and let me be strong. His greatest lesson was that no matter where my life led, I had to take responsibility for it. The strong ask for help. The weak ask for someone to do the task for them. Love is not a word. Love is the star you chart your life by. The worst weakness is letting fear stop you from pursuing what you want.

That is what I have to measure up to," I finished. In the interim, several of the new hires showed up and were observing the spiel.

"I would think he would be happy if you measured up to what you wanted out of life," Katrina said.

"I aim to do both," I grinned. I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into my work attire. The meeting started on time with the additional of a gnat-bite; Dora was two minutes late. At the time, nothing seemed out of sorts to me. It was a day on the job with Rosette.

Around 3:30 pm, Pamela stopped our knife training (her with her wand and me with my weighted, wooden blade). She went to the corner of the room, ran her finger along the central point and drew back a finger with dust on it. She raised the finger so I could clearly see it.

"It's dust?" I shrugged.

"Normally they do a much better job," Pamela noted and back to training we went.

The nightmare became real with one phrase in common usage: 'I'll get to it when I can', one Runner told Desiree when Desiree gave her a task. One of the most fascinating things in my book about Havenstone was that it hummed along like a well-oiled, organic machine. Tasks were completed, back-ups were always on call, and promptness wasn't a virtue; I was the absolutely expected.

"What did you say?" Desiree asked for confirmation.

"I said I'll get right on it," the woman sighed. I caught the look in Desiree's eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. Oaths and obligations; the lubricant for patently lethal Amazon society.

Those words tossed out without too much consideration were now fraying around the edges. This wasn't the Plague, boils, lesions, leprosy, rickets, or the Home Loan bubble bursting. Those you could fight. How did you counter the devaluation of someone's word? Ishara's curse was crawling toward a very bad end unless I did something, but what?

Personal respect would remain. Hierarchy? Amazons would begin to question why they were prioritizing their lives around someone they didn't know, or knew and didn't like. We weren't at that final destination, yet it was coming, and best of all, every woman in the company had a weapon, or quick access to one.

A phone call grabbed me before I went in for the 'end of day' meeting. It was Brooke.

"Christopher Cáel-umbos," I murmured. "Economy Class Oriental tours. How may I help you?" Laughter; and more than Brooke's.

"Libra and I were getting ready to head out to the Hamptons and wanted to give you one last chance to come along," Brooke pleaded. An impressive dicking indeed.

Thousands of reasons not to go; safety, responsibility, risk for other;

"Sure, I'd love to come along. Can you pick me up at Havenstone at 6:10 pm? We'll make a quick run to my place to pick up some stuff and then head out, unless that's too late?" I offered.

"See you then, Cáel," Brooke purred.

"See you," Libra called out as well. It was a loathsome indicator of how out of control my life was ;  that me, a working class kid, was going on a romp with two rich, high society girls to some mansion for a weekend of hedonistic fun; because that was more 'normal' than my week had been. I entered the meeting, took my teasing and made for the gym.

This hour was devoted to a hardcore workout and nothing but. Rapid repetitions, quick shifts, rolling through the muscle groups. Even a few of the dedicated lifters gave me appreciative looks. I didn't have the time today. I hit the showers and made the doors before I hit a snag. Security held me up yet again. They seemed nervous, so I asked and got a bottled water and made some jokes.

These ladies were going to be my allies, damn it, before I was done. Troika caught up with me a minute later. She extended a handful of round, brownish-yellow balls in a necklace. Each ball had a symbol inscribed on it.

"We received this and a message this morning," she snapped. "We have decided to reject it."

"It is horse-hoof," Pamela whispered in my ear. The gears went spinning. There was one person I knew who would send me keratin scrimshaw jewelry. Those nasty bitches were piling on the stupid. I looked it over; it was old, maybe going as far back as Timur aka Tamerlane to the English-speaking world. The 'cord' was made of hair; probably horse tail hair.

I had no reciprocal gift to offer; absolutely nothing this valuable. But wait, I did! Somewhere there was a Havenstone bureau, department, or office that hung on to the artifacts ALL the Houses had accumulated over the passage of years. Some of that shit was mine; Ishara's. Our house had expired before the colonies became states.

That still equated to a long period of pack-ratting. I'd put a minion on it right away! I'd pray that they didn't have plans for the weekend; later.

"It arrived this morning and you are only giving it to me now?" I grumbled. "That message was meant for me, not for any of the rest of you. Where is the rest of it? Oh, and you're on the list."

"It was consumed in its examination," Troika blatantly lied.

"You have a visual copy," Pamela sounded bored. "Give it to him."

"I do not carry such things around on a handheld device," Troika parried.

"Ah; that's theft," Pamela gave a slender grin. "Just so we are clear."

"If Cáel Ishara wished to put forth such an accusation to Hayden, I will be prepared to defend my actions," Troika gave a hostile glare right back.

"That won't be necessary," I snorted. "I'm good. Pamela, I'm out for the weekend. Have fun." I turned and walked away.

"Count the days, Troika," Pamela menaced.

"I'm not afraid," she countered.

"I don't care, but in 21 days, Cáel's ban on internal conflict will be at an end. Like me, he will not go to a corrupted Hayden for justice. We will be exacting it in our own way and in our own time. That you should worry about," Pamela gave a tilt of the head, a feral grin and joined me in departing.

In Hittite, she said;  "A matron, 21 Runners and one archaic mistake," Troika joked.

In Hittite, she said; "But how many more 'Runners' can he recruit between now and then?" one of Troika's bodyguards worried.

"More than enough to raise your daughters after you are all gone and forgotten," Pamela shouted over her shoulder.

(Starting Friday Evening in the Wrong Damn Place)

Waiting outside for me were two beauties and a small car. I hefted my bike, detached the front wheel for easier storage and climbed into the Lilliputian backseat.

"Sorry," Libra in the passenger seat sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure Brooke and I thought this through. Do you have a seat belt?" She was referring to the rear-mounted cup holder I was sitting in.

"This is not rated for human occupation," I grinned back. What that really meant was there were three conflicting emotions pulling events along. Wanting me to fuck them; the easy one. Loyalty to your social/sorority sister; the relationship under stress. Me being a 'suitable' human being; the one that they were both stumbling toward which made the second emotional force such a problem.

Had I solely been a fuck toy for either one, the other could have gracefully exited the field (with the occasional sharing). I was far from 'husband' material yet I was closing in on being the 'crossing a crowded club to greet me' kind of guy; already passed the 'not embarrassed to introduce me to their friends' phase.

"You can sit in my lap," Brooke offered. With her driving and our height differential; we'd be lucky to be pulled by the PD before we wrecked.

"How about you drive, I sit in Libra's seat and she sits in my lap?" I offered.

"That's no fun," Brooke shot me a pout.

"It sounds like fun for me," Libra giggled.

"Now Libra remember, for the seat belt to be effective, you will have to sit facing me;” I sighed.

"Facing you?" she winked.

"Yes; facing me naked," I assured her.

"Hey!" Brooke protested. "How come she gets to be naked in your lap?"

"Otherwise me being naked would be pretty pointless," I explained.

"Libra," Brooke demanded, "you get to drive."

Petty arguments and playful exchanges followed. I left a message for Timothy and Odette, letting them know I was heading out to some address on the far end of Long Island. I even shot myself in the foot with the Nerf gun and told Timothy so he'd feel better. Brooke and Libra were dressed similarly.

Red and khaki almost 'short-shorts', white/yellow bikini tops under white wife-beaters covered with a denim shirt (sleeves rolled up) and white cargo short-sleeved shirt, tennis socks and canvas shoes. In a way, I was a victim of my own success. Both ladies wanted to fuck me bad, but their desire to prove to me I was more than a fuck toy meant I didn't get sex at my place. If you are a girl, that will make much more sense.

The car ride out was an issue. If I drove, Brooke and Libra promised to put on a Sapphic display for the ages. If Libra drove, I promised to publically molest Brooke at every stop. The reverse went for Brooke driving. The solution was that the girls would take turns driving and I would be a truly diligent cunnilinguist, with a strong background as an anatomically astute Braille harpsichord player.

Our destination turned out to be the hamlet of Sagaponack, aka the most expensive place to live in the United States. Why was I doing this to myself? For starters, Brooke thought our host, Brennan Sulkanen, lived in one of those $50+ million homes; funny, I thought those were called estates. The girls laughed when I told them that.

My utter lack of forethought, underutilized intelligence gathering capabilities, and even not acting my age were coming back to chew a huge hunk off my heine now. Brennan was a fraternity brother of Trent; warning indicator #1. Brennan didn't actually do anything, but his father was loaded; situation getting worse.

Brennan was the youngest of the three sons from the first marriage with three other children from two other marriages waiting in the wings. A quick search revealed that the third and current Mrs. Sulkanen, was very elegant for a thirty-two year old lady. His current Mom being the same age as his oldest brother could be an issue. I was living proof how good parenting could help build up a child. Improper parenting; could do the opposite. Nothing was guaranteed though.

"So, why are we going to Brennan's?" I hazarded to inquire as we cruised down Highway 27 through East Patchogue. In the back of my mind, I realized I was due south of scenic Doebridge and their frisky policewomen/Stasi law enforcers.

"Oh, we met in college when I came up for one of Trent's; that loser; frat functions," she told us.

"He was very drunk and tried to hit on me," the tale continued.

"How and where did he 'hit' on you?" I prodded.

"He stumbled into the Ladies' room, knocked my drink over and tried to give me his, but I was insulted by his inebriated pawing and left," Brooke said.

Lone drunk men DO stumble into Ladies' rooms; usually to vomit. Frat brothers hit on each other's girls; men are pigs. Greeks are pigs with tie pins and secret handshakes. Drunk people do not demolish another person's drink then offer up their own. The spilling of alcohol is a drink-worthy event which you can't do if you have given your drink away.

Man math: Brennan stalked Brooke, ambushed her in the bathroom and tried to roofie her with his drink because our host was a dirt bag and a total ass-bandit. How had I failed to do some basic 4 1 1 on this bastard? Oh yeah, brought an extinct First House to life, multiple threats to my well-being, treated like crap by most of my co-workers and then my father was murdered.

"I repeat; why are we going to this guy's house?" I asked.

"He's been persistent ever since Trent bailed and he sounds so worried about me," she answered. "Oh, I don't want you to think I'm using you as Brennan-deterrent, Cáel," she added. "I wanted to get out of the city and be with you; and Libra." I was more than Brennan-deterrent alright. I was a 'Highway Closed Indefinitely' sign for his edification. This was okay with Brooke (and me) because of all the sex we were going to have.

"Thanks," Libra teased her pal. My dilemma was that despite all the positive emotions wafting my way, I wasn't one of 'them' yet. I couldn't simply say 'this dude is a scumbag. Let's go somewhere else.' This was going to take some tact and pretty much annihilated my hopes for a weekend to unwind.

I had to play nice and at the first opportunity pull our host aside and politely inform him that I was going to floss his teeth with his still functioning intestines if any of us partook of something we hadn't asked for, ended up in some spot we hadn't wanted to go to, and/or doing something we didn't want to do. My diplomatic approach was from some movie that was way before CGI. It was ('you' meaning 'me': 'I want you to be nice; until it is time; to not be nice.')

I was going to give Brennan's survival instincts the benefit of the doubt. I felt certain he wasn't enchanted with the idea of personal pain and I was going to let him know there wasn't a bank account deep enough to protect him from my wrath. If there was ever any doubt; I'm an idiot. We pulled up to the gate right before eight. Yes; one of those nice wrought-iron, automatic opening double gates. Brooke answered the security screen and in we went.

Two people, definitely staff, met us as we parked. There was six cars present already, all variations of the high-performance, turbo-charged, 'Daddy/Mommy don't love me so they gave me this deathtrap instead' ideal. Cargo space? Fuel efficiency? Excessive safety features? Not a concern for this crowd. There was a momentary bout of confusion as the male staffer came for my baggage. I thanked him. He looked at me funny.

Brooke insisted the female staffer give directions to where her/Libra's luggage was going so I did the same with the guy. My stuff was not only not heading to Brooke's room, I was being banished to another branch of this sprawling villa.

"Take my stuff to their room," I directed the man.

"Sir, a different room has been set aside for the gentleman," he insisted.

"Oh; okay," I nodded. I took my bags from him, much to his surprise, and followed the 'maid'. Brooke and Libra laughed at my obstinacy and tagged along. Our introduction to the 'pack' was delayed and, by his look, Brennan wasn't happy with my detour. I wasn't happy either, but for a different reason.

"Brooke; Libra, right? Cecil?" he clearly was disrespecting me straight out of the gates.

Brooke and Libra said 'hi'. I was a little less diplomatic and I was staring down the barrels of a serious crimp in my main battle plan. There were two dissipated young ladies, three men of the same caliber and two guys I identified hangers-on. Most likely rich; just not rich enough to be treated as equals by the majority.

Then there was this one girl who was certainly the unsuspecting party favor. You can learn all kinds of thing about the darker side of male-female relationships at Spring Break if you pay attention. The vacation can be wonderful, but seeing fuck-head bottom-feeders getting girls wasted for the eternal glory of Girls Gone Wild and the ability to stick their prick into someplace it doesn't belong, and they haven't earned the right to be in, truly sucks. For the moment, I had to look past her.

The focus of my anxiety was a couple, both African-American and from a different mold than everyone else there. I knew the guy because he was somewhat famous.

"Hey Bitch," I replied in an off-handed manner.

"What?" Brennan hammed up his confusion. The 'Home Alone' gasp. What had he done wrong?

"What?" I responded.

"Did you just call me a 'bitch'?" he clarified.

"No," I lied. "I didn't even know you were talking to me. Hi, I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who are you again?"

"I think you called me a bitch," Brennan watched his whole weekend plan to dispose of me coming gift wrapped here in the opening round. He looked to the 'famous' guy. I am an idiot.

"Well, with your family money, I'm sure you can hire top notch Otolaryngologist to handle that hearing problem of yours," I grinned.

"Orlando, what do you think Kibble here said?" Brennan indicated the guy.

"Orlando Keyes," I smiled. "Man, you are one mean son of a bitch. That fighter from Ecuador; missed his name; you broke his left cheek with one hit during that MMA bout in New Orleans last Thanksgiving. The only thing almost as impressive was that guy managed to stand up afterwards."

No, I wasn't buttering this guy up. There was no point. I only knew about him because the whole 'martial ardor' doesn't have to be yours to get some tail. Girls who like watching physical combat; MMA, Kick-boxing, Boxing, and the NHL (WWE if they are somewhat gullible); will jump on your bones at the completion of that match.

"I think this cunt called you his bitch," Orlando came my way. I gently pushed Brooke and Libra aside to give me space.

"You are mistaken," I kept smiling at Orlando. "I was calling that lady over there," I pointed at the lady he had been talking to, "my bitch for tonight. The acoustics in this place must suck."

Outdoor pool; the Atlantic Ocean crashing less than 100 meters away; this place rocked.

"You are going to die," Brennan laughed at me. Keyes kept coming.

"Right, or left?" I asked him in a pleasant tone. He glared yet hesitated.

"What does it matter?" Orlando studied me. He had stopped being a hired thug and returned to being a modern day gladiator.

"I'm packing so I wanted to know which knee you can live without," I stated.

"He's got a gun?" one of the other males mumbled.

"Gun?" Orlando's eyes narrowed.

"Knife," I corrected.

At this point, everyone but Orlando and I felt better. In that snippet, Orlando and I exchanged a vital piece of information; I was going to hurt him. No matter what he did, I was going to put a knife into him. How did he know? I had warned him and I laughed at Death. I wasn't bluffing and Orlando made his life's work piercing his opponent's deceptions.

"That's my fiancé," Orlando grumbled. I extended my hand.

"I apologize then," I said as he shook my hand. "That was rude of me and uncalled for. Not only is she one of the classiest ladies here, she was hanging out with you, a man not known for accepting anything short of the perfect match. Besides," I whispered, "we both know who I was truly talking about."

Orlando wasn't happy with me, or forgiven me. What he did accept was that I'd given him an out. I had backed down and apologized. Brennan was frowning. Orlando and I didn't care; we were both fighters and we'd both ponied up on the promise of pain. If there was to be a conflict, he wasn't going to do it for Brennan. He was going to do it because he always wanted to know how tough the other guy really was.

Names floated around. The only people that mattered to me were Anima and Casper. Anima was Brennan's 'girlfriend' which I translated as a debauchery enabler. She was under the delusion that life was boring and pointless, so she should punish the world for her ennui. Her life's cup had been emptied at twenty-three? Bitch, I worked with real women who couldn't even consider such nonsense.

Casper; Casper was going to be a problem. For starters, Anima had taken Casper under her wing; was going to show Casper the 'ropes'. Casper proudly proclaimed that. Casper was also not as rich as the 'in crowd' and not a hanger-on; she was the weekend's amusement, or would have been if Brooke hadn't shown up. And, of course, she couldn't see the danger, she was so eager to be with the super-rich.

After the name game came the initial party shuffle. Who was aiming for whose bedroom tonight and how would they get what they wanted. Brennan sent two backup boys cruising for Libra while he angled in for Brooke. Anima and Casper were supposed to keep me busy. Libra promptly showed she'd thumbed through my Book of Social Fugliness.

"I only date real men," she shredded the 'second-stringers' to pieces. The blast socially staggered them. "If you have to think about it, boys, you are not a man. Don't strain yourself trying to be something you can't even comprehend. Now one of you go get me a drink while I think about what Cáel and I are going to do to Brooke tonight."

In social parlance, that was shooting someone with both barrels of a shotgun then using the stock to tenderize the remains.

That was one flank secure. Next, Casper and Anima. Anima had the feeling I didn't like her; good for her.

"Would you really have cut Orlando?" Casper asked me softly while she ran a fingernail over my right forearm.

"Casper, to begin with, call him Mr. Keyes. There will come a time when you can freely use his first name, but you ain't there yet," I cautioned her. "To answer your question: yes, I would have sliced down and across, cutting his right hamstring." Keyes heard me, as I had intended.

"Brennan says you are a co-worker of Trent," Anima cooed.

"Kind of," I shrugged. "Trent is a big-shot with the Far East Unit while I remain in Personnel in the city (Manhattan)." They both looked disappointed then Casper handed me a plum. She wasn't stupid, just willfully blind.

"Where did you learn to use a knife then?" Casper tried to 'salvage' me. She was doing herself a favor by trying to make me look better to the rest; doing me a favor. Nice.

"I'm with the Records Redaction Unit of Havenstone's Executive Services," I lied. Blink.

"That doesn't make any sense," Casper's brow furrowed. "You delete records?"

"No Casper," I returned her arm rub, "someone creates a list with names on it. I am part of the team that reduces the number of those names on that list to zero." Blink.

"You fire people?" she remained uncertain. She had to believe I was playing with her, which I was.

"No," I shook my head. "That implies extra paperwork. We take a more ergonomic approach. No termination rigmarole; no traceable termination at all."

"That sounds vaguely like you murder people," Anima murmured.

"Murder is a crime. Converting all the data of a given person into one, misplaced file is a way of circumventing the whole 'exit interview/providing references for other jobs/pension' process." If you believed that this nation, nay, the whole world, was run by soulless corporate monsters that made scary sense.

"What do you do with the people?" Anime was showing the tiniest bit of enthusiasm for this conversation.

"What people? People have names," I smiled. "Bodies with no records are normally handled as John and Jane Does and are buried in Potter's Field, or used at medical schools."

"Do you enjoy sex with multiple partners?" Anima smiled; veering the conversation off in a different direction for reasons I couldn't fathom.

"Yes. Do you always use protection?" I bantered back. Casper was heady with the hedonistic direction this weekend seemed to be taking.

"I do," Anima gave me a droopy, somewhat sexy smile.

"I don't believe you," I chuckled. "That's okay because I don't find you all that interesting anyway. Casper here is a peach; you; you would pay for the experience of using a stick to push a dying person's head beneath the quicksand; the more they trusted you, the happier you would be. Casper doesn't believe it, but you and I know it's true." The blazing necrophiliac wasn't put off in the least.

Anime found me attractive because she wouldn't have to hide her evil around me. My understanding meant she could be as creepy, callous and vindictive for no damn good reason. By now, Brennan bored her to tears as did all people after a random amount of time. I was new.

"I'm going to have fun with you," Anima purred. Even Casper was unsettled by that.

"You are having a blast being a terribly miserable person, Anima," I began.

"If something happens to Brooke, Libra, or Casper, you are going to discover that you haven't a clue about what real misery and suffering are. I don't know those depths either, but I know some people who do and once I relate the tale of this weekend, they are going to proactively beautify the human species," I smiled. "We clear?"

No answer. Again, Anima's pampered existence had given her false certainty about what happened in the dark, neglected recesses of the world and how she was untouchable. I had to shift fronts, as Brennan was using every sleazy, oily, subliminal physical contract trick in his arsenal to maneuver between Brooke and me. Moron.

"Hey Brooke, do your parents know you are hanging out with Trent's Wal-Mart substitute?" Brennan had begun his assault.

"Felix?" Brooke deftly parried. "Nah. I dated him once, but he turned out to be another degenerate frat-boy loser, so I dumped him." Maybe I should have let Libra and Brooke dispose of Mr. Keyes for me as well. "Cáel's not like that. He cares."

"Come on now," Brennan battled back. "He's some minimum wage paper-shredder whereas Trent worked directly for his department head."

At this same moment I was convincing Casper and Anima that I was a professional assassin; just for some relevance.

"That's why they pay him a quarter-million a year," Brooke snickered. "Or put him on a jet to come back from his father's funeral, or around the clock bodyguards.

Minimum wage has improved a good deal under the Obama Administration, but I don't think it has gone up that much," Brooke finished up.

"He told you that?" Brennan mockingly laughed. "Come on Brooke, that's a total snow job."

Back to the current reality.

"Cáel," Brooke got my attention, "can you prove you are rich?"

"Nope," I reassured her. "You've seen where I live and what I ride to work. I'm a pauper."

"What about those bodyguards?" she prodded me. I had to turn so that Brooke and I were face to face. I was back with Aya explaining how 'not' is a very dangerous word.

"We do not talk about that, Brooke. Never. You've seen my office, you know I work for Executive Services and I'm only an intern. I am not some 'specialist-in-training' for ES," I clarified. Yes; I was Nyilas, Cáel Nyilas of Ishara's Secret Service; license to invalidate reality.

Life got better.

"So, you've convinced Brooke you are James Bond," Brennan kept trying to belittle me.

"Why, yes I have and that would make you Octopussy; congrats Stud," I laughed at him. Worse, several others laughed as well, Anima included.

"What are you doing here again?" Brennan tried to use the 'host' thing to insinuate I was rude, which I was.

"You think you can bamboozle Brooke into having sex with you and I'm telling you right now, barring drugs, or blackmail, that isn't happening because she's far too independent minded to be attracted to a shallow, immoral creep like you," I answered. "I think that covers it."

"Stop it," Brooke touched my left bicep. "Don't go picking fights on my account." Brooke was having pity on Brennan, exerting her authority over me and letting everyone know that she could 'unleash my wrath' at her will; the 'picking fights' detail.

"Four hour sex session tonight, or I'm going to be a very grumpy guy come sunup," I challenged Brooke.

"Four?" Brooke giggled. "Not feeling up to your normal level of excellence?" I kissed her then roped in Libra for a quick bonding moment.

That was it for Brennan's first attempt. Palatial pad, sports cars, rich friends and making me look like a stock clerk/bag boy/guy out for a payday; all failures. Even his 'ringer' hadn't delivered; my disrespectful self hadn't been spanked and/or humiliated by any stretch of the imagination.

(Illusions)

"Let's go to Illusions," Brennan called out. I was curious about his next angle of attack. The pathetic thing was that if he devoted his weaseling ways toward bettering his life, he could be worth a damn. "It's a members club, Kibble. Let me know if you need something to wear."

"No need to bother yourself, Brennan," I grinned.

"I found a garment truck stalled on 33rd and engaged in a little 'social justice' and 'wealth redistribution'. Your fake generosity has been noted and found to be rather weak and unoriginal," I nodded as I turned to leave with 'my' two ladies, "though consistent with your performance so far." More laughter at Brennan's expense as we headed off to our rooms to change.

"Wow," Brooke muttered as we put on our party attire, "I hadn't recalled him being so; underwhelming."

"Honestly, I think the three of us are the only ones to have graduated college," Libra added. "I noticed Brennan didn't have a Carnegie-Melon ring." We three had our 'we've been slapped upside our heads with a sheepskin' jewelry on; two Vassars and a Bolingbrook.

Driving/seating assignments were the next social rumba. Unluckily, it was obvious that we couldn't go to this club with the same set-up as Brooke, Libra and I came in. The plan was to split apart the new people under the auspices of us not knowing where Illusions could be found. Since it made sense, we had to go our separate ways.

Brennan ended up with Brooke, Libra ended up with a waste-of-space guy whose name I hadn't bothered to remember, and I found myself driving some custom sports machine with Amina.

"Why don't you like me?" Anima mused after twenty minutes on the road. She wasn't asking me to defend my vibe. She wanted to know what she was doing right about being 'wrong'.

"You find creating excuses for bad behavior to be tedious," I enlightened her. When my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler, had educated me about women, she had opened my overly romantic eyes to all sorts of pitfalls young men could fall into including emotional ant-lions like Anima. "You find it amusing that people consider you broken, hollow, depressed, despairing of hope, or empty of life. They are so wrong; you are evil.

You feast upon the weaknesses you find in others and drink in their misery as you publically expose their painful secrets. Creating random suffering bores you," I continued. "You revel in destroying virtue, hope and trust, staying close and concealed as a confidante until you administer the coup de grâce. Only a lack of anything approaching a work ethic keeps you from being a serial emotional rapist. I think that description covers how I feel about you."

"You've only just met me," Anima said. "This sounds all a bit contrived and hurtful. I think you are the person who likes tormenting others." I laughed. "Do you know what I see in you?"

"It is hardly something I care about, but by all means, give it your best shot," I chuckled.

"You want every women in the room to want you," she began.

"Having a woman reject you attracts you. You have to turn that woman around and once you are done, you abandon her to her doubts, worries and regrets," Anima weeviled her magic.

"Whoa; that is what you made of the discussion between me, you and Casper?" I snorted. She gave me a smoky, sexy twist of the lips.

"Hmmm; how much longer is this road trip going to take?" I asked.

"Half an hour," she answered. We had been driving west, back toward NYC; for three-quarters hour almost.

"Ah, what the hell," I mumbled to myself. "Anima, I'm not a psychiatrist, psychologist, or spiritual advisor. I'm a responsible man and that's all I've ever wanted to be.

Sex with women? Absolutely. Intercourse is wonderful and it doesn't have to be a contest. A lady says 'not interested', I'm moving on to the next one. Am I unfaithful? Hell yeah and I'm honest about it now. Do I have other vulnerabilities? Yes and go looking for them. I dislike you enough to send you that way knowing you could get killed for doing so. Since I've warned you about the potential threat, I remain a Good Guy," I finished up.

"Death isn't all it is cut out to be," Anima gave a depressing lilt. "I'm not afraid."

"Anima, nothing short of decapitation will cure what ills you," I grinned. "Not a damn thing I can say will convince you that your demise will be anything, but bad. That misconception it totally on you. I've been on the cusp of death and it was awesome for me; that was because I love and was loved.

Laugh if you like. You are evil, so 'love' doesn't register with you the way it would to a normal person. Evil isn't strength. Evil isn't a 'tool' that the foolish mass of humanity can't conceive of. Evil is a defect and you are going to find that out the hard way, no doubt," I ruminated.

"Philosophy major?" she wondered.

"Philosophy minor; Business major," I replied.

"Do you believe people can truly be evil?" Anima took her eyes off the road to drink in my introspection. "Without being crazy," she qualified.

"Of course. Evil isn't a 24/7 thing so it isn't like you wicked freaks run around with a flashing neon sign over your heads announcing your 'monstrosity' status," I started.

"Evil slips around the sides," I went on. "As I alluded to earlier, those actions are layered in excuses and misdirection. Science wants to wrap the whole concept of evil in bubble-wrap and give a descriptor to the psychosis with the open suggestion that it can be cured with therapy and pills. Not you; you don't inflict pain out of some sadistic impulse, Anima.

You aren't lashing out because Mommy and Daddy didn't love you enough, or because you were abused by someone close, and no one did anything to help you. Nope, you are a beast with above average looks and more financial resources than is remotely healthy. Please don't get me wrong; I don't care about your nature. I am not trying to save, or change, you.

Feel free to be you without an ounce of concern on my part as long as you leave me and mine alone. Anima, you are hardly unique. I have more than enough on my plate without worrying about your predilections. Here ends my lecture on the kitty-poo that is your soul," I sighed.

"Casper is mine for the weekend," Anima stated after a few minutes.

"I'm going to bypass the 'people are not property' debate and go straight to the 'I' warned you' and going back up my threat with a promise of escalation," I looked deep into her dark eyes.

"You are going to hurt me?" she gave a sloppy smirk.

"No. This is a matter of restraint. Pain doesn't scare you; it should, but it doesn't," I smirked right back with greater energy.

"This isn't a game, Anima," I clarified. "Either you are an anathema with self-control, or a slithering horror at the edge of human perception; that is the issue. If you wanted to be treated like an inhuman threat to a community I am a member of; well, you know the fate of monsters, don't you?"

"Ewww, a death threat," she giggled.

"You will be hard pressed to find the words 'exterminate', 'murder', or 'killing' in my lecture above," I grinned. "The 'fate of monsters' could be exile, entrapped, or killed; open to interpretation."

"You sound like a lawyer," Anima kept talking.

"My father was murdered Monday night, so I've been dealing with some lawyers," I replied.

"Murdered? What did he do?" Anima attempted to not seem terminally bored.

"Married the woman he loved, had a son who he was proud of and mostly minded his own business," I said. "He owned his house, left no debts, and lived and died by the same simple code he taught me; take charge of your own destiny."

"How noble," she sneered.

"If you thought I was soliciting your input, you were mistaken," I shook my head mirthfully. "The polar opposition of our natures makes anything you think/say about me so much drivel. Women; I came with better looking ladies. Engaging personalities; I have three with far rosier outlooks on life. Wealth and connections; I don't give a damn.

You have nothing I want, but if you did, I'd find a less onerous way to get it than getting socially close to you," I dipped into the Amazon credo.

"I've met people who thought they were untouchable before; independent, moral, or cloaked in happiness," Anima laughed. "They've all been wrong."

"You have gone from a prattling annoyance to an overworked joke, Anima," I looked at her with pity. "Take my job? Good luck with that. Sully my reputation? I don't care. Take a 'woman' away from me? There is precisely one woman I care about enough to bend my life for. If you go after her, I'm not going to be the one you need to worry about." Aya.

"Money? I can always get more. Dwelling? Mine isn't all that grand anyway. Friends? Good-luck finding any that would ever be deceived by you. Physical pain and suffering? I have been hurt before and my health plan borders on the magical. I'm not untouchable. You simply lack the imagination to affect me," I laid out truth for her. She didn't believe me. In her mindset, everyone was a potential victim for her to devour.

I had done my due diligence. Anima attempted to get me to open up. I sandwiched lies with the truth until we finally rolled into Illusions' parking lot. It was a gentlemen's club; that's a strip joint for us less fortunates. I clawed my way through life feeding upon the small, positive sparks I brought to lives around me. Brooke held forth her own sparkler for me to enjoy.

Brooke, Casper and Libra were outside the club, waiting on me (and Anima). Brennan's plan was for the group to arrive separately, he and Brooke first. Brooke wouldn't have a choice, in his mind, except to go in this place with him. Mind you, it looked very high-class. The shock for Brooke was being taken to a gentlemen's club in the first place.

The old Brooke would have been outraged yet stumbled over her ignorance. The new Brooke was still outraged. She countered that by putting her faith in Libra and I showing up and supporting her decision about how to proceed, which we did. Brennan had kept trying to 'shame' Brooke into going inside until the next car arrived.

He had left Brooke outside to face the scorn of the other dirt-bags on his troupe as they went into the club. Casper decided to wait with Brooke, Libra had rallied to her as well and I rounded them all up. Anima pretended to approve of Casper's kindness then flashed her ID to the first of the bouncers of this 'Members Only' establishment.

First impression: big and competent security; always a mixed blessing at any club. The rest were given a cursory glance while I got the magnetic wand. Nothing beeped. Amazon knives had ceased being made of metal two decades ago so Brennan's attempt at annoying me failed. The super-rich crowd was made obvious by the professional female attention gathered around their cushy seats.

"You look like trouble," this Vietnamese-American dancer/waitress stroked a finger from my Adam's apple to the cleft of my chin. That was 'exotic' dancer speak for 'I'll let you be a little bad'. Trust me. I've met a plethora of exotic dancers over the past two years.

"Dad was a grifter and Mom was a monkey-whisperer," I winked. "That has left me morally confused and financially directionless."

Laughter.

"Get us some drinks, you skank," Brennan commanded loftily. My latest buddy huffed and rolled her eyes.

"I apologize. It isn't small penis syndrome," I 'explained' to her.

"In fact, Brennan here is so well hung, when he gets excited, it crawls up his ass crack and he fucks himself," I grinned. As she turned to fill the current drink orders, she showed me a smirk and brandished her pinky, indicating she thought Brennan's anaconda was more of an earthworm.

It was blatantly obvious there was one spot on the circular lounge for Brooke; right next to Brennan with Anima on the other side and Casper pinned in next to her. Libra could sit on one end of the 'U' and I could sit on the other. Nah.

"Excuse me," I motioned to the closest poster child for the failures of the posh and pompous.

"I'm good," he snorted derisively. Ah, he thought I was making a request. I surreptitiously grabbed the back of his shark-skin jacket, yanked him onto his side on the seat then rapidly slid him straight out of the 'U'. I motioned Libra in and took 'his' seat by the time fuck-nut regained his feet. Extensive time in various nightclubs had helped me become a past master of knowing how to avoid attracting attention from bouncers.

"Mother-fucker," he yipped at me. I looked slightly up at him, face blank. At that moment, his drug and booze soaked mind began grasping the enormity of his major life mistakes. His friends weren't friends. They were more than happy to sneer, mock and derided his discomforts and failures. We weren't in elementary school. There was no 'seating assignments'.

He could attack me, but we both knew what that outcome would be. He could complain to Brennan. Short of unleashing his attack dog, Brennan could do nothing and without a doubt, his 'leader' cared much more for Brooke's curves than 'dumbass's' pride. Mumbling, he took the seat on the other side.

"When it occurs to you to throw a drink at me, do realize I will publically strip you down for towel material," I gave the cock-sucker a crocodilian grin.

"They have towel's here," one of the useless women pointed out. It is an indicator of how little I thought of her that looking her ways didn't automatically incite the siren song of 'sex' in my mind.

"I know," I nodded her way.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Orlando challenged.

"You had a good view of the door, Keyes," I met his simmering anger with my iron-clad bravery. "Did you see them take anything from me? If not, you may assume I'm still armed."

"Drinks," one the waitresses showed up with a tray. Another waitress and my V-A exotic mistress followed.

"I brought you a Rust Nail," she grinned. Since she was behind me, I had to roll my head back into her enhanced cleavage as she handed it over.

"You do see me sitting here; right?" Libra half turned her body and fully turned on her petulance.

"Best of luck with this one, Miss," the girl chuckled. "I can tell he's a handful and I mean that in the best possible way."

"I know," Libra mastered the situation. "He does all kinds of things; including bondage." Libra was swiftly becoming confidently adventurous.

"Top, or bottom?" our exotic hostess grinned seductively. Libra was uncertain.

"Both," I informed the lady. To Libra, "She was asking if I tie you down; top, or get tied down; bottom."

"Good for you," she patted my head then sashayed away.

"Hey Dog, you got a way with hookers and strippers," a gibbering chump snorted at me.

"Dude, it is not that dark in here," I shook my head. "White tops indicate waitresses (they wore a risqué, white, pseudo-peasant blouse); don't grab one and we won't get thrown out. The lightly clad ladies are exotic dancers; they are only called strippers by polyester-clad, middle-aged businesspersons, and illiterate knuckle-dragging degenerates."

"Even the waitresses put out in this place," Brennan tried to sound worldly, "; if you have the money." Sigh. Beating the poverty drum.

"Have you ever paid for sex?" Brooke gave me a smoking hot, hungry gaze. She was 'playing' and really getting into it.

"Physically, or financially?" I requested.

"Both," Casper jumped in.

"I've been too poor most of my life to ever afford it. Later on, girls weren't happy until I bled and no number of zeros on a check would have kept them at bay," I let my eyes spark her way. Blush.

"Or maybe you don't know how the system works," Brennan countered. "You treat ladies properly; you treat pick-ups like nameless screws and move on."

"You mean you initiate sex with a woman with the prejudiced decision of never seeing her again? What fun is that? Ladies are always the 'road less traveled', not a cul-de-sac," I smiled.

"With every woman I've been with, it has been the journey we've shared that mattered. Had I not constantly crossed lanes into oncoming traffic, I'd have a lot fewer scars, but I am who I am," I shrugged.

"See," Brennan snaked an arm around Brooke's shoulders, "he's no good for you. He is one of 'those' people."

Perhaps Brennan should have taken into account that Orlando Keyes was one of 'those' people as well. By the man's look and that of his GF, they weren't pleased.

"Brennan," Brooke pulled away slightly, "you do realize Cáel is sleeping with me and Libra tonight, don't you?"

"Besides, Cáel also has a live-in female fuck-buddy, has had sex with at least two women at work as well as this female lawyer he met at an upscale club (Nicole)," Libra added. But wait; there is more!

"Brennan, I didn't come up this weekend because I'm lonely," Brooke continued.

"I came up because Cáel has had a rough week; his father dying, and him having to handle all those affairs; so I thought he could relax, unwind and sex me up a whole bunch; and Libra," Brooke winked at her friend. To Brennan, "I thought you were simply being apologetic about initially taking Trent's side in that blow-up instead of mine. Is that not the case?"

Of course that wasn't the case. No one at the table thought Brennan was acting apologetic, or out of the goodness of his soul. Brennan was well-connected enough to lash out like a spoiled brat and get away with it. His father's lawyers would bury the mess and he was far, far away from feeling self-conscious about being 22 and having his parent still picking up after him.

What Brennan couldn't figure out was why he was losing and looking foolish. Brooke was perfect; as in perfectly vulnerable. She was a non-sleazy, rich girl who was arrogant yet kicked to the curb; totally a prey animal in his book. What had gone wrong? Hmmm; Brooke refused to have sex with me then did.

Brooke refused to have anal sex with me yet did and loved it. She came over to my hovel and had sex again; because she wanted it. She dated Felix; a disaster, then I showed up and stood by/slept by her; then we had sex. Then she felt strong enough to share me back with Libra. Kinky sex at my place was replaced by some sort of corporate disaster equipped with macho women with guns.

And Cáel took Brooke to her home, for her own safety, first. The bottom line was that in two short weeks, Brooke had corralled her sexuality and made some serious post-Trent decisions. The most crucial was to get over Trent; he was old news now. She could even make jokes about him. Felix had come and gone, leaving her feeling shabbily treated, despite their shared social class.

She hadn't even needed to come back to me. I had come to her and made her feel good. I had lavished her with the proper accolades and compliments. I hadn't given her any new concepts, only reinforced the traits she wanted to use to define herself; free-willed, independent and intelligent.

"Of course, Brooke. Anything for you," Brennan's words came out like molasses.

"I'm glad we got that out of the way," I took a sip of my Rusty Nail. Then, I decided to toss Brooke another gem. "I'll be naming my third condom after you, Buddy." Brennan prepared his verbal retort yet it was Brooke who responded first.

"Cáel, apologize," Brooke insisted. Who was in charge? Brooke was. "That was uncalled for."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Brennan, I lashed out and it was damn rude of me. Please accept my apology."

"You don't know your place, so I understand," Brennan sneered. Dumbass. I knew my 'place' and it was with Brooke. Brooke and Libra knew it. Why couldn't he see it?

But wait! It gets better one more time!

"Cáel, where is your place?" Brooke's body language was positively molten.

"Beneath Brooke, beside Brooke, on top of Brooke, in a Libra/Brooke/me sandwich; need I go on?" I answered.

"See," Brooke turned to Brennan, "Cáel knows precisely where he needs to be. He's Libra's male companion, but I don't mind. After all, when he isn't devoting all his sexual energy to me, he turns on Libra so I can catch my breath."

"Good to know," Brennan grumbled.

Brennan decided that since his huge house and pushing around working class people had made no headway with Brooke, he'd up the ante. He had access to an insane amount of his Daddy's money. The problem wasn't the approach, but the amount of moolah squandered, so all he had to do was throw even more of his father's money around. Fiscal responsibility was the problem he couldn't grapple with. Brooke herself was an unemployed college graduate living off her very wealthy family.

What separated Brooke in her mind from Brennan was that she had an exit plan. She had, probably with Trent's connivance, decided to move towards being a 'professional' wife. Trent pulled a social vanishing act so she was allowed some recouping time. I believed she was going to go job hunting. She had a college and sorority network to fall back on so her future looked good.

Brennan apparently had decided to take both his native intellect and family fortune for granted and was a four year college non-grad. He had finished with some top-flight grades from some snobbish prep school which, with some influence pedaling, had gotten him into Carnegie-Melon and he repaid everyone else's efforts on his behalf by becoming a party animal, frat boy, educational failure. Would/could he go back to college for another year in hopes of earning a diploma?

Who cared? Certainly not me, or Brooke, or Libra. The two ladies were a step above Casper's folks; two well-respected doctors in Delaware; and money was not on my list of top ten concerns. Despite the clear indicators that finances weren't a stumbling block, Brennan opened up the dollar spigot. He bought us a private room and ratcheted up the humiliation.

To the dancers escorted to the suite, it was a race to suck up the dollars before the cost of disinfectant needed to put this night behind them exceeded the reward. By dancer number two, they had figured Libra and I were the 'safe' corner. The rest of the clientele thought nothing of slapping, spanking and disrobing the ladies. I had never witnesses such outrageous behavior in what should have been regulated surroundings.

Bouncers? They apparently knew the score. For the girls, it was running a gauntlet. As a depiction of the human experience, I wanted to leave before I did something stupider than showing up in the first place. Anima did me a favor by smiling at me with a sense of accomplishment.

The Vietnamese dancer had been shanghaied down to Brennan's area and he upped his show of superiority by twisting her nipples until she yelped, then mocked her silicon-enhanced assets. There were two other entertainers with us at the time.

"Libra, why don't you give it a shot," I prodded my friend. Libra looked shocked and unwilling.

"Rope in Casper," I whispered. "Let's kick Brennan in his pea-sized testicles." That brought Libra into my scheme. Libra's efforts brought out some hoots from the other 'guests' and looks of relief from the dancers trapped in the room with us. Whatever Brennan thought about their smarts/desperation, the girls latched onto the situation immediately.

This was hardly their first 'girl-customer dances with the entertainment' go-round. I had never seen it so quickly seized upon by the professionals. Libra and one of the exotic dancers had Casper up in no time. Less welcome was Anima coming my way and proving she was both limber and coordinated. Worse, she didn't even put on an overly trashy effort.

I almost missed Brooke and the Asian pro double-teaming Brennan. It was rather clever of the Vietnamese to rile our host up then shield herself with Brooke. On either the fourth, or fifth such ploy, he chose to sexually molest Brooke for her collaboration with the working class. Brennan must have forgotten that Brooke wasn't 'paid for'.

Brooke slapped him hard enough to bounce his head off the padded backrest of the sofa. He slapped Brooke back, clearly enraged. The Vietnamese lady yanked Brooke away from all but the tip of the blow. Brennan stood, I stood and Orlando stood. Then two barbs connected with Orlando and he danced with the lightning. Huh? I wasn't alone in that expression either.

The barbs' wires went back to the private room's doorway and the lithe figure standing right inside. I hadn't seen her enter and if I had, I wasn't sure how happy I would have been.

"Estere?" I murmured. "Estere Abed, what are you doing here?" The business suit was tailored to be salacious yet causal. The turquoise veil was the give-away. Everyone stopped moving.

To be continued in Part 23

By FinalStand for Literotica.

Cáel and the Manhattan Amazons: Part 23

Finishing the normal weekend.

In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.

Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

“Being an asshole is not so much a matter of anatomy as one of social consciousness.”

(Where we left off)

"Bitch, did you just Taser my fiancé?" Orlando's lady stood up. Orlando was struggling back up as well.

"You are questioning the obvious," Estere mused as she dropped the device. She deftly pulled out what I thought was a compact Bersa 9 and began applying a silencer.

It was sort of amazing that no one was screaming yet, then it dawned on me that we were in a soundproofed room and Estere was standing at the only exit.

"Would you have preferred I use this?" the Hashashin killer motioned with her firearm.

"How did you get a gun in here?" Brennan stammered. He looked ready to pee himself, so tonight was coming out in spades.

"Estere," I greeted the woman from Kurdistan. "Those two are okay," motioning to Orlando and his lady. "He's got some testosterone issues; I'm sure you understand."

"Is this a kidnapping?" Anima sounded rather upbeat.

"Your rung on the Ladder of Heaven is not high," Estere commented to Anima. "Your outlook is not promising either. Silence is your best option, so exercise it."

"Cáel, do you know this woman?" Libra had begun piecing things together; as in; my life was so crazy that women with guns showing up was much too common an occurrence. I thought about 'Yes Honey, she's a member of an 11th century mystic order of Nazri Ismailis assassins. In fact, her people gave us the word assassin'. Telling the truth at this juncture didn't seem wise, so;

"Yes, Estere and I are old pals," I lied. "She's a freelance archivist, genealogist and an Olmec-tastic historical pioneer." Don't bother looking it up; Olmec-tastic is a made up word; it is the crunching of Olmec (a Mesoamerican pre-Columbian culture) and '-tastic' which means; I guess it is a truncated form of 'fantastic'.

"You mean she's in 'record reduction', the same as you?" Casper whispered.

"Precisely!" I grinned her way. "Except she's got a Masters diploma on some wall somewhere alongside the shrunken heads of her first three victims; I mean clients; Clients!" Why was I blathering? There was a strange (to most of the room) woman between us and the only exit and panicking would suck; big time.

Pause.

"So, Orlando," I restarted things, "are you going to get up and attempt to kick my ass, causing my friend here to shoot you, or can I return to explaining to Brennan how the world is NOT his oyster and I'm willing to slam anal beads made of flesh-eating scarabs up his rectum to prove it?"

That was a gross visual, even for me. A momentary pause as Brooke and her new friend wedged their way toward me (and the girl with the gun).

"Every time we meet," Estere observed, "you are surrounded with a curtain of women."

"Sucks to be me?" I shrugged.

"At least these are sheep," she noted. That didn't go over well. Libra confronted Estere.

"Hey now, you can't talk about us that way," Libra insisted.

"Or what?" Estere regarded her.

"Or; or, Cáel will make you stop," Libra growled; THEN looked at me. Wrong sequence of events.

"Libra," I pulled her back into my embrace, "I've been on the job about a month. She's been making character-building life decisions since before I hit puberty."

"What was that; a month ago," Brennan snorted. A yelp followed. Estere had shot at him. "What the fuck!" he staggered back into his seat. "You shot me."

"No, I shot 'at' you. Had I shot you, you would be bleeding," Estere glowered. "I am not one of Cáel's normal guardians. I take insults to any women as a personal affront; a sickness best dealt with in a pain-filled, educational fashion. You are not bleeding because that would displease Cáel. Now say 'thank you' in the next ten seconds, or be prepared to go through life as a eunuch."

Brennan looked to Orlando in hopes he had some secret mojo to handle this situation.

"Dumbass," Orlando snarled at Brennan, "you are the punk who put us in a room with only one damn exit. I'm not taking a bullet for you."

"You are the martial artist," Brennan snapped back. "Do something!"

"Brennan, you had better say something quick." Casper urged her host.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Brennan whined.

"I have crippled supplicants for groveling with twice that level of passion, Cáel Ishara," Estere stared at me. She began removing her silencer. "Cáel and I have unfinished business, so I will let this pathetic insult pass."

She shoulder holstered her weapon and moved to sit at my side. The problem was the passel of ladies around me. Estere looked past the last woman (Brooke) to the somewhat stupefied rich thing beside her.

"Move," she stated politely. Unlike my difficulties earlier, the whole crowd quickly shuffled down to make space.

That tiny hiccup settled, we returned to the abnormal activities of the Illusions Gentlemen's Club's private room. Some of us had fun. A few, used to tormenting the staff, found themselves shooting fearful looks Estere's way whenever they began to act out. I took a few seconds to quietly talk to Estere, now that I had some breathing room.

"I talked with Ishara; the Goddess," I related. "She's pissed with the Host right now and I'm not sure what to do." Divulging information? Yes. I needed help somewhat badly.

"Your Order has been out of balance for some time," Estere counseled. "Without balance, there can be no true strength. You are dying out and there must be a blemish behind that; some cancer eating away at the foundation of your belief system."

Wow; actually useful. Essentially ;  I needed to stay the course.

"Cool. Thanks Estere," I smiled. "Can I plumb the depths of your knowledge for two more pieces of advice?" We both knew what 'plumb' really meant. I pulled out the necklace from beneath my shirt. "An Earth  and  Sky envoy sent me this gift, but; the message didn't make it."

"What would a suitable gift be and how would I find the person in New York City?" I asked.

"That is not a gift," Estere smiled warmly. "That is a token of passage from a Beg of the E and S; essentially a regional commander. Pretty impressive. Unfortunately, he, or she, is expecting you to return it at some pre-described place and time; which was probably stated in the message you never received."

"My turn," she twisted in her bench seat and placed her left leg over me then inserted it between my legs. "What will be the fate of our daughter?"

"She will automatically be a member of the Host. Heritage passes through the male line. If she has the genetics that conspire against fate, then she would be in the running to become Head of House."

"Not automatic?" she questioned.

"No. Such things, at least while decided by me, will be based upon merit. I couldn't keep faith with the members of the House otherwise," I explained.

"Would she be allowed to be passed between us?" was the next question.

"Absolutely. Not only am I a huge fan of motherhood; I see such an education making her stronger and more flexible when dealing with issues with outsiders," I assured Estere.

"You act freely. Don't you have to consult your High Priestess; perhaps the Council?" she mused. "I must seek direction from my superiors."

"Over the welfare of my children? Nope, not happening. The daughters and sons of; the House are our responsibility as a group. We do not need the other Houses meddling in our affairs," I stated.

"That is good," she snuggled up even tighter. Sadly for that romantic moment, we had less romantic company to contend with.

(Later that Night)

Why was I still at Casa da Sulkanen? Brennan couldn't take a hint, buy a clue, or learn a lesson. Why was Estere with us? It was the Pamela factor. Who was going to tell her to leave? After five, non-continuous hours of sex with three women (Casper still hadn't come over to our side yet), how was I still standing? Simply put, I wasn't.

Brooke and I were in the nicely heated pool, her arms wrapped around my neck, mine massaging her naked ass and us doing a little whisper/snicker/tickle/giggle game that is very whimsical and hard to explain. Brooke went from micro-orgasm to micro-orgasm to the Big One. Fortunately, our mutual experience allowed me to be in water shallow enough that my toes could touch bottom.

"I've decided I'm not jealous of Estere," Brooke panted into my ear. "I see the happiness in your eyes when we make love. I think you and I are doing okay." Not quite a Writ of Possession. I was working out the uncomplicated response when our gentle, body-bonded, circular motion caused Brooke to tense up. I followed her gaze to the lounge chair where we had stacked up our belongings, and the dark, dark blonde-haired women sitting in it.

Her dress was business chic yet rumpled. Her eyes had the lines of someone who spent too much time looking at a computer screen and she looked mentally and emotionally drained.

"Good evening," I greeted her. I steered Brooke toward the closest ladder only to realize that even our towels were by her seat. There was nothing we could do but face the situation head on.

"I'm Cáel Nyilas and my beautiful friend here is Brooke Lee," I made our introductions. "Please excuse our condition, but we weren't expecting company at this hour by the pool."

"You are not my brother's normal flock of seagulls," she commented. "Hana Sulkanen, by the way." The way 'seagulls' rolled off her tongue, I knew she meant 'winged rats' instead of any true avian.

Oh cool; she had a Carnegie-Melon ring. Oh cool; she was watching my still erect penis bobbing her way. I thought a little damage control/diplomacy was in order.

"As I said, I'm Cáel. I work as an intern at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Brooke recently graduated Vassar, was going to get married to some other guy, but that fell through a little while ago," I directed the conversation to Brooke and I not being parasites.

"School?" Hana inquired. So much for that.

"Bolingbrook in New Hampshire," I answered.

"Never heard of it," she yawned. Brooke simmered with outrage over that.

"You and 99.99% of North America," I joked. "It doesn't change the fact that I kick ass at my job, am constantly underestimated and enjoy making my own way in the world."

"And you consider making your own way in the world to be swimming in my father's pool at four in the morning?" she snorted. Her drink was a V-8. No alcohol for her.

"We came because Cáel's father was murdered this week," Brooke snapped. "He needed a break." That brought a few seconds.

"Really now," she regarded me studiously. Out came the E-device.

"Ferko Nyilas; Burnham Illinois which is a suburb of Chicago," I fed her the pertinent data. Brooke was even unhappier that I felt compelled to verify her statement, so I distracted her by suggesting we gather our belongings.

"Your father was killed in a gun battle; still under investigation," Hana muttered.

"Are you some sort of criminal? Was your father?" she probed.

"Ah, I see you possess the same level of common courtesy as your brother, Brennan," I responded. "To answer the first and only question I feel like answering; no; making my own way in the world means I don't answer the questions of exhausted, over-extended, junior plutocrats who somehow assume they can provide any useful input to my life."

Verbal hammer to her facial self-esteem. Hana was a 'producer' in that she had a job she felt she deserved, worked at it to some acclaim and added to her family's productivity; the opposite of Brennan.

"If you feel insulted, by all means leave, Mr. Nyilas," Hana glared.

"Oh, thank God," I sighed happily. I began dressing, as did Brooke. Hana looked uncertain.

"Cáel's been looking for a cordial excuse to get us out of here since we arrived," Brooke explained. "I imagine I should thank you. I wasn't sure how I'd keep Cáel from punching out your little brother over breakfast." Hana looked out-maneuvered.

"What is that?" Hana pointed to my horse-hoof necklace. She almost reached for it, then politesse kicked in.

"It is gift from a stranger," I told her. "It is from Central Asia."

"May I see it?" she inquired. I nodded, then handed it over.

"Looks old," she muttered. "The language; it's not Uzbek;” Seeing the curious look on my face, "I do some business for my step-father in the old SSR's, so I've picked up some of the languages." Then, "I swear it's Chagatai." (SSR = Soviet Socialist Republics.)

"Where is that from?" Brooke leaned in.

"Nowhere today. For 500 years, it was the lingua franca of the Turkish people ;  until the Soviets wiped it out a hundred years ago. They wanted Russian to be the unifying language, so they promoted regional tongues and regulated Chagatai to the long list of dead languages," she answered.

I added my attempt at Russian conversation; "In Soviet Russia, you do not speak a language, a language speaks for you." I joked.

Hana snorted. Then replied in her Russian; "Be careful comrade, or your cleverness might get you promoted to the rank of apparatchik," she snickered. I feigned horror.

"No!" Brooke protested. "Speak something I can understand, damn it."

I quickly translated for Brooke as the three of us migrated inside. Hana led us to a third, and newer, section of the estate. The goal was her purse and the reading glasses there in. Compared to the few bedrooms we'd seen, Hana's room was rather austere.

"Well, I know Uzbek and this is similar; say Canterbury Tales English to Modern American," she mused.

"The only thing I know for sure is that it belonged to Shahrukh Mirza of the House of Barlas," she read off several of the symbols. No one said anything. "Please don't tell me you found this at some rummage sale, or flea market." she grew intense.

"No. As I said earlier, it was a gift and given with the understanding it would be returned at a future place and time," I told her.

"Too bad. I would pay a pretty penny for this," she held it up to the light for further examination.

"I'm not one of those dreamers that feels money cheapens stuff and blah; blah; blah. Money has its uses," I countered. "I also believe some things are priceless. They either can't, or shouldn't, be sold. As I said, this was a gift meant to be returned."

"Maybe you can put me in touch with the owner so I can make them an offer," Hana suggested.

"I'd do that except that I have no idea who gave it to me, or where I am to return it," I shrugged. Hana was now looking for some deception on my part. "It was delivered to my place of work and a person who intercepted the necklace destroyed the message that came with it."

"Well, I hope they got a stiff reprimand, if not outright loss of employment," Hana sighed.

"Oh no," I chuckled. "That's not the Havenstone way. My people and I are going to stalk her and her people down and then beat/stab/scar each and every one of them. What she did wasn't a mistake. This was a direct and calculated insult that only blood will cleanse."

"That sounds positively Old Testament," Hana nodded.

"Cáel's women don't kid around," Brooke added.

"Really, now. What is it exactly that you do?" Hana asked me.

"This should be good," Brooke muttered through her saucy grin.

"I'm a facilitator for an aerospace project with our R and D division," I feigned concentration. "Its high-tech stuff; I don't understand all the details. I'm relatively positive we are creating nano-thin, artificial polymers for balloons aimed at space. You know, fill up the aerial unit with Helium, create a powerful x-direction buoyancy then let the package accelerate into high orbit."

"I've never heard of anything like that," Hana furrowed her brow.

"Neither has anyone else before now," Brooke laughed, then hugged me. "The miraculous part is; I think he creates these employment opportunities off the cuff; no rehearsal."

"Wait; you just lied to me?" Hana grew petulant.

"Yes, I did and I apologize, Hana," I looked rather shamefaced. "I work as an intern for Executive Services. I am also on the Board of Directors, but that's a truth best gotten into at another time."

"Oh; if you are on the Board of Directors for Havenstone, how can you be an intern?" Hana frowned.

"I was given the position on the board, I earned the position of intern," I answered. "Being a guiding force for a corporation I know nothing about is rather stupid, in my book."

"I couldn't agree more," Hana said thoughtfully and seemed make a severe weather-vane shift. Brooke stifled a yawn rather unsuccessfully and it quickly made a circuit of our little troupe. It was bedtime for us all.

(Breakfast and fast breaks)

I could have used a good deal more sleep. But I knew working out and jogging were better for my body and soul. Brooke and Libra acted as if I had betrayed their friendship in favor of torture. Estere took secretive amusement at their suffering and at my ability to stress myself as hard as I did. She had already enjoyed the physical benefits of my exercise mania last night.

A wonderful distraction to the whole ordeal (beyond listening to Libra and Brooke spit death curses at me between ragged gasps of breath) was the rising sun setting the Atlantic Ocean on fire.

We had been summoned for breakfast at 9:30 am. That translated to me and three lady companions showing up to an overly large dining room on time to find Hana already there.

The South wall was a series of French doors, all open, whose long white curtains billowed in the morning breeze. It was a bit chilly for our 'beach casual' attire, yet survivable. A staffer I hadn't seen before verbally related this morning's menu; blink. By quick consensus, we agreed to order the same things to make our orders easier to recall.

In hindsight, that was probably unnecessary. The woman servicing us was very professional. She was also sympathetic enough to our efforts at kindness to acknowledge it. The vigor with which we demolished our fruit bowls caused Hana to chuckle.

"Building up your energy reserves?" she teased us. Libra and Estere didn't know Hana.

"He made us run this morning," Brooke griped. "It was utter Hell."

"On the beach?" Hana asked me.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Try running along the road next time," Hana snorted. "It is easier on the arches."

Libra hit me with a backhand to the bicep.

"Asshole," she glowered. "You had better get those magic fingers to work on my calves when breakfast is over."

"What's in it for me?" I countered.

"Oh, have mercy, Cáel," Brooke pleaded. "You do this every day; as does Estere apparently, but Libra and I don't. Help us out here."

"We have a masseuse," Hana offered. "He's very good. I can give him a call and have him come over from the spa."

"Please do, Ms. Sulkanen. I'm feeling a real yen for some time alone this morning," I requested.

"I can do that, Cáel, and call me Hanna," she finished just as;

"Hey Hana," Brennan yawned as he came stumbling into the room wearing boxers and nothing more. "Brooke, Kibble, Lisa," he added. His not unimpressive cock was strategically placed in the opening.

Hana rolled her eyes in disgust. Brooke snickered. Libra did one better.

"I didn't know they made them that small," she said to Brooke who began giggling.

"Shut up, you lesbian freak," Brennan's amusement evaporated to bitterness. The attendant showed up, got his order and then the orders of the next two to stagger in.

The low course of the conversation included the arrival of Orlando and his fiancée, only to dissipate with the appearance of Anima leading Casper. Casper could barely take her seat, even with Anima's help. Anima's look was victorious and challenging. Casper; she was stoned, wasted and not in anything approaching her right mind. Her body was sweaty and her hair was slick.

The kicker was the splotches of dried semen and vaginal fluid on Casper's face.

"Say 'hi' to Cáel," Anima pressed the issue.

"Hi," Casper waved as her body swayed. Hana was uncomfortable. Libra and Brooke were furious. Estere was; studious. Anima's eyes remained lock on mine.

I pulled out my phone and began taking pictures of the participants. By the time I made it to Brennan, he was laughing and joking at my efforts. Orlando had a different tack.

"What are you doing?" he menaced.

"Life should be about moral decisions, compassion and consequences," I related drolly. "You made your call last night. Live with it."

I finished the photo session while Orlando was still trying to figure out what was going on. I had to use my phone for a different function.

"Buffy, I'm sending you several pictures of people who think they are above the law. Those people raped, or facilitated the rape of the woman in the final picture," I told the First of House Ishara. "I cautioned those people about appropriate behavior last night."

"They chose to ignore me. The legal system can't touch them. I don't know what a proper punishment for such a horrendous act is, so I thought you might give me some council on this matter," I added. Long pause.

"Don't worry about it, Cáel," Buffy responded in a ghostly voice.

"Take care and I'll see you on Monday," I finished up. She hung up and that was it.

"That was spooky," Brennan chuckled. "How about I make a scary phone call and mention the words 'Cáel' and 'trash collection'?"

I ignored him.

"I could call the sheriff and have you charged with menacing."

I continued to ignore him.

"Stop serving him," he snapped at the server as she came to my plate.

"Serve him breakfast, Donna (the server)," Hana interrupted. "He's my guest, Brennan, so no longer your worry." I didn't acknowledge Hana's kindness as this was still part of a family feud and I wasn't family. I'd thank her later. The Vacuous Think Tank members weren't done yet. The privileged shit-heads began playing a video on their ultimate phone devices, sexually feeble soundtrack included.

Deep down in Casper's mind she began to put the current audio input to her recent nightmare. Tears fell down her cheeks. On the video, the name 'Casper' was used enough to move it past the throws of ecstasy into the realm of sorry-ass amateur date-rape porn.

"We may have broken Casper a teensy bit," Anima feigned sincere regret well.

"Oh," I chuckled, "it is too late for word play now, Anima. That train has left the station and the whole crew here missed it. I warned you about slithering horrors and the beautification of humanity. Here is the final lesson;"

"Fuck you and your bullshit," Brennan mocked me.

"Brennan; my guest," Hana insisted. His response was to blather some noise; nah, nah, nah; an act several of his playmates took up. It was a display more appropriate for 5 year olds than men and women above the age of consent. Estere tapped Brooke next to her, motioning with her fork to a melon ball in her bowl. After a momentarily confusion Brooke tossed the melon up.

Estere tossed the fork, skewering it with enough force to sail past me and land on Libra's plate. Two more exhibits, including the final one that had her spitting her thrown melon on a tumbling fork and Estere turned on Brennan, fork ready. The melons were nearly the size of eyeballs.

"Do it and go to jail for fucking ever," Brennan tried to 'man-up'.

"Diplomatic immunity," she smiled. "I doubt the government of Azerbaijan will give a rat's ass about you and your drug-consuming, alcohol-guzzling, whoring lifestyle. The worst that happens to me is that I have to go home for a few months. You will be blind forever." Estere revealed her second fork.

"Not this morning, Bitch," Orlando stood up. "I'm not afraid of forks and side-show tricks." I stood up as well, but went in a different direction. Brennan was at the top of the table; Hana was at the bottom. Casper and Anima were on the opposite side of the table and closer to Hana so that was the route I took.

Anima, Brennan and Orlando had a problem. Estere was threatening Brennan. I was clearly coming to retrieve Casper. The quandary was which way Orlando went; he couldn't both safeguard Brennan and stop me. I was pretty sure that Brennan was convinced Orlando would come his aid because of his role as paymaster.

Orlando Keyes wasn't a thug, or a dog. He was a tactician and he planned to win this fight. Contrary to my desires, that meant I came first. I was far closer and getting nearer all the time. Even if Estere managed to fork out one of Brennan's eyes, Estere couldn't contribute to the fight with me quickly enough to make a difference.

"Casper, you want to stay with your friends, don't you?" Anima cooed to her victim. Casper's head bobbled, making a tragic contrast to her tears. Hana had done as much as she dared at this juncture. Orlando came closer, snatching up an unused chair to counter my knife. I backed up. It was my only true choice.

Charging forth against Orlando certainly would have been romantic. It would have also been futile. I couldn't beat the man; hurting him didn't equate to actually winning. Estere blinding Brennan accomplished nothing. When I had back-pedaled to Hana, Orlando relented. Once his bladder-weakening fear turned into post-survival euphoria, Brennan started laughing.

"Fucking dipshit," he sneered. The thump of helicopter blades began dominating perceptions. "I knew you didn't have it in you. You are a wimp and a chicken-shit coward." Brooke and Libra were worried and confused.

"He could not win against Mr. Keyes," Estere stated to them. "Getting pummeled would have been a wasteful gesture."

"Oh, now you are his apologist." a random fuck-nut snorted. The helicopter kept getting closer.

"What about Casper?" Brooke worried. Anima smirked at the show of heartfelt concern.

"They haven't gotten her out of the room yet," Estere pointed out. "Once they depart the table we will be able to double-team Mr. Keyes and break him. The aftermath is an absolute certainty."

"I don't think so," Orlando challenged.

"Oh yes," Estere grinned wolfishly. "Once we have you on the ground, I'm going to shatter your palms then tear off your fingers. Pull up, twist and snap; I've done it several times; it is quick and easy. If you think you can continue your career without fists, by all means, stay on your present course of action."

"What is it that you do again?" Hana asked Estere.

"I'm a; a freelance archivist, genealogist and an Olmec-tastic historical pioneer; according to Cáel anyway," she answered.

"From Azerbaijan?" Hana murmured.

"I never said I was from there, only that I have diplomatic status with their UN mission," Estere clarified. Hana said something in an unknown tongue to which Estere responded. Their conversation lasted about one minute.

"We both speak Farsi, though mine is 'schooled' and hers has a Tabriz accent," Hana enlightened us.

"I apologize for last night, Cáel," Hana nodded. "I mistook you for one of my little step-brother's normal crowd of useless nitwits. You appear to be both smart and know interesting people."

 'And how', I muttered internally.

"I take it your daughter is with Philip," Brennan intervened. "Miss her?"

By this time, the helicopter had traversed the ocean-side view of the villa and was humming its way to the east end of the estate. Philip must have been Hana's divorced whatever who most likely had alternating weekends of child custody.

"Cáel, you mentioned something about a 'final lesson'," Hana turned to me.

"Only this: there was a woman who trusted a man. She decided to leave him; so he, and a few buddies, held her down and gang-raped her for two days. When they passed out, she didn't run away, or call the police. No, she took a baseball bat and knocked them into la-la land. She secured them with garbage ties, woke them up by stabbing them in non-vital areas and then proceeded to castrate each and every one with a dull kitchen knife.

She went to prison, got out and put her life back together. She eventually rose to a position of some importance and influence with various questionable characters at her command," I continued. "If confronted with a similar situation, especially when money renders justice mute, I'm not sure what this woman would do to assuage her haunted memories."

"Do you really want to put poor Casper up on the top twenty free porn sites, Cáel?" Anima pouted.

"Not my concern anymore," I sighed. "I put the facts out there. What other people make of that information is no longer under my control. From here on out, it doesn't matter what you do, Anima. You've chosen to act in a heinous manner, as have the rest of your crowd; Orlando and his lady included."

"If something happens;” Orlando rumbled.

"You will do nothing," Estere laughed. "You can do nothing. I know the person of whom Cáel speaks and there is nothing you can do, nowhere you can hide where she will not find all of you and balance karmic accounts."

"We didn't do anything," the fiancée proclaimed.

"Standing back and abetting a vile deed is hardly an effective defense," Estere stared with pitiless eyes. "Did you attempt to alter Mr. Keyes' course of actions; you clearly could have? You did not. Mr. Keyes safeguarded the perpetrators of the heinous deed, and thus both of you are condemned by that crime."

The boot was on the other foot now for Orlando. He couldn't come at me. He couldn't come at Estere. None of the 'men' on his side were going to stand up to any pain while Brooke and Libra, though unschooled, looked ready to be a serious nuisance. That meant Orlando would be fighting Estere and I simultaneously; and he would lose.

Worse, he would lose over a phone call that might not mean a thing. Oh, Estere and I were confident retribution was coming his way and that was unsettling. It wouldn't hold up in court and Hana's presence negated everyone else's legal immunity, except for Brennan who remained her family- the nut sack. Anima's gaze shifted from me to Libra, which my girl found unsettling.

"Cáel, what is going to happen; over this and getting Casper back?" Libra whispered. For starters, we hadn't rescued Casper yet, so there was no 'getting her back'.

"Libra, you've seen the scars crisscrossing my body; the bruises and sore ribs I've suffered through," I told her.

"Those were from the co-workers who hold deep and abiding affection toward me," I continued. "Imagine what they are capable of inflicting on those they do not like. Think about what they might do if they thought I was in danger and distressed. Couple that with the intimate knowledge of exactly what Casper has gone through ;  is going through, and then draw your own conclusions." There was a pause while the others ate and Libra digested the information.

"Are we ever going to see Trent again?" she leaned in and whispered.

"It can be done, but that it isn't something either of you would enjoy," I whispered out of the side of my mouth. Sending Brooke and Libra on a one-way flight to Indonesia/Philippines definitely wasn't part of my life plan. It was the safest way to let her know Trent was alive.

"Does Brooke know?" Libra nudged me quietly. I shook my head. "Does Trent?" Another head shake. Pause. "That day in the office; when Trent dumped Brooke; you really were trying to keep us from harm, weren't you?"

"Yes," I mouthed. "Now eat up."

The helicopter noises had a purpose and the consequences entered the dining room as breakfast was winding down. It was Jormo and Misty Sulkanen, aka Dad and Wife #3.

"Brennan," Jormo said in a neutral voice. We, Brennan's guests, barely rated a glance.

"Hana," Dad greeted his step-daughter with much more affection.

"Hey Dad," Brennan laughed. "You've almost missed Orlando here busting up Kibble," he waved a fork at me.

"Good Morning, Father," Hana waved, "Misty."

"Kibble?" Jormo sighed, distracted from his path further into the villa by his son's statement.

"That would be me, Mr. and Mrs. Sulkanen," I swallowed a piece of my omelet quickly and raised my hand, "though my fellow homo sapiens call me Cáel Nyilas."

"Mr. Nyilas, along with Brooke, Libra and Estere have agreed to be MY guests for the weekend," Hana added.

"Very well," her dad nodded. "Mr. Keyes, your endorsement contract with 'Fitness Tech' doesn't include you getting into fights on my behalf, or my son's." Mr. Sulkanen must have owned Fitness Tech, thus Brennan's believed power over an athlete endorsing some product.

"It also doesn't stop me from getting into unsanctioned bouts," Orlando glared at me. The tension was broken by Casper starting to sob loudly and uncontrollably.

We all did the standing-up game once more. This time Casper saw me coming back for her and stood up. Anima tried to calm the shaken woman. Orlando closed in.

"New target," Estere stated serenely. She had a fork at the ready and was staring at Orlando's fiancée. It gave me the opening I needed.

I took hold of Casper's left arm. Anima took Casper's right. This time she had misjudged the situation and I wasn't settling for a vocal educational moment. I pushed Casper aside, put both hands under Anima's arms and lifted her up.

"I told you this wasn't a game you wanted to play," I cautioned her right before I slammed her length-wise on the table.

Anima's head cracked-down hard and the breath was driven from her body.

"Mr. Nyilas!" Mr. Sulkanen shouted. "What do you think you are doing to Anima?"

"I'm not being an enabling bastard, Sir," I growled back. "Come on, Casper," I began leading her back to my seat.

"Why don't we see what security has to say about that," Jormo shot back angrily.

"Father, something has happened to the young lady; Casper; and neither Anima, nor Brennan, were adequately helping her," Hana stood up. "The last time Cáel tried, Mr. Keyes got in his way. This time, Anima discovered she wasn't the same level of deterrent."

"He slammed Anima into the table, Hana," the old wolf snarled. There was nothing wrong with this guy's macho. Anima shot me a treasured, smug glance as she rolled off the table. The spiraling tension was a super-cell caused by the Hana-Brennan poison and Jormo's displeasure with me. Hana decided to not abandon me, which allowed Brennan to go after her like a starving piranha.

"Hold on," Misty tried to calm the pseudo-sibling shouting match. She strode majestically over to me, Casper, and Libra to take a look at our charge. Within a meter there was no doubt what Casper had been put through. The smell of an orgy's aftermath, the tattered look, the listless smile belying her tears and her inability to focus, clearly chilled Misty.

We were thrust back into Sulkanen family politics. The purely human reaction was for Misty to lambast Anima and Brennan then call the cops. Except, Misty was wife number three, Hana was step-daughter from marriage number two; not even blood-relations with Jormo, and Brennan was a blood-heir for what little time he had left on Earth.

"Come with me," Misty curled an arm around Casper's waist.

"We are coming with you," Brooke announced.

"That won't be necessary," Misty smiled wanly.

"That wasn't a request," Brooke snapped angrily. "After this, I don't trust any of 'you' people."

That went over as well as a father realizing his son looked like the butler. Jormo's demeanor turned thunderous; he was being disrespected in his own home, Brennan looked happily vindictive and the rest didn't matter at the moment.

"Young lady;” the old wolf growled.

"Shut up!" Brooke screamed. "The fact that neither you, nor any of your people, are calling 9 1 1 speaks volumes about the lack of character and untrustworthiness of your clan, Mr. Sulkanen."

Brooke had just discovered her noblesse oblige. All that crap I'd been talking about the upper crust of society, the top 1% etc.; here was finally the 'face slap' that was married to the 'backhand' so many of us lower class schmucks experienced. Sulkanen was nouveau riche; a self-made man if you considered coming to America with three million in family assets to be a low enough starting point.

Brooke wasn't going to attack his credit rating, or bad-mouth him to his business associates. No, there were a ton of socially critical charities and committees that were about to be told by an impeccable source (Brooke) that Dad Sulkanen harbored his rapist son from criminal prosecution. No, this wasn't some 'nobody' being defended either. Casper wasn't known, but she was notable.

"You can certainly leave," the Old Man rumbled. "The young lady stays. I'm calling Security and my concierge physician."

"Go," I glanced to Estere and off she sprinted. A moment too slow, Brennan and Orlando clued into the threat. Orlando took after Estere.

"She's got a gun!" Brennan squealed. Jormo was busy dispensing orders over his phone as the situation spiraled. But then there was Hana.

"Mr. Nyilas, please exert some control over this situation," Hana urged.

"I'll try. Brooke, why don't you, Libra and Mrs. Sulkanen take Casper to a more comfortable setting," I suggested.

"What about your Azerbaijani friend?" Hana pressed.

"Oh," I chuckled. "Me giving Estere advice about conflict resolution is like me giving you advice on," I had to wrack my mind about something the Sulkanens were invested in, "natural gas exploration. She'll be fine."

"This way," Misty directed. I was so much more enamored and impressed with my two princesses than I had been during our initial meeting. They both shot me quick looks that said the same thing. They knew I was sending them out of harm's way, not exiling them from the decision-making process.

Only three of the remaining people weren't scared; myself (I'm an idiot), Anima (sick fuck) and Jormo Sulkanen, who seemed to know the difference between fear you could do something about, and the fear you ignored. We heard bellows from upstairs as Orlando finally discovered that he didn't know what room my group was staying in and that Estere had evaded him.

The hopeful-to-be Mrs. Keyes stood up and looked in the direction her fiancé had disappeared into.

"Don't worry," I said. "The moment Hana expressed the bonds of hospitality to Ms. Abed, you were protected from premeditated mischief." I wasn't 100% sure of that. Keeping the woman from racing after Estere was crucial.

The two security types showed up first. They must have had some part of the house dedicated to their use, because I had no idea they were about, yet here they were. They wore moderately expensive, off-the-rack suits, seemed to be in decent physical condition and had pistols and stun guns. One word from Jormo and the guns came out. They had the polished look of pretend-professionals.

Had I not worked at Havenstone and seen its malicious underbelly, I would have been impressed. As it was, how could things go more wrong? They split up; one going after Orlando and Estere and the other closing cautiously with me. He looked cool, but his gun was held too high and he blithely came within hand-to-hand combat range.

Oh please, everyone I cared about had left the room. If this guy and I wrestled for his piece, I could have cared less who got shot while it was his damn job to see that no one besides me got a scratch. I was sure his corporate employer cautioned him about such mistakes a lot; because he still had the safety engaged on his firearm. I'm an idiot; I'm an idiot; I'm an idiot.

"Your bitch is going to get shot now, Cocksucker," Brennan sneered. The security guy was reaching for my arm to pull me away from the table. He hadn't bother to ask me, instead being engrossed in his ear piece chatter. I snatched his gun from his grasp, disengaged the safety and pointed it at the guy.

"Put the stun gun on the table then back up nice and slow," I eye-balled the shocked man.

I was pretty sure that was the moment Brennan wet himself. No one said a thing. The guard did as I requested, then backed away. At three meters, I dropped out the magazine then put it on the table. Next, I removed the chambered round from the pistol and put them both on the table.

"Mr. Sulkanen, you don't know me so I'm cutting you some slack right now," I sighed.

"Dad, his father was murdered Monday night in a gunfight," Hana interrupted. "Pointing a gun at him probably wasn't the best course of action."

"So it appears," Jormo glared at me.

"G; get your gun back, you idiot," Brennan squawked at the guard.

I slid the stun gun to Hana then reloaded the pistol before handing it back to the guy, grip first.

"Keep your distance to two meters, or more, unless you have a partner ;  and whoever taught you to keep the safety engaged is a moron. Guns aren't toys, so don't treat it like one," I told him. The guy took his gun back.

"You served?" he muttered to me. Me? In the military; I guess I now qualified.

"Nah, I work with a bunch of girls at the Customer Complaint desk at a major telemarketing firm. After a few weeks on the job, you learn to get squirrely when you see people coming into the office with trench coats in this early summer heat," I said. So much implied with no real information.

"Oh God," Hana snorted in amusement. "You really do that job thing all the time," she giggled, "don't you?"

"At Havenstone, my sadistic task-mistresses often require me to think on my feet, so I've learned to share the love at work and abroad," I nodded.

"What?" Jormo scowled.

"Cáel Nyilas is on the Board of Directors at Havenstone, as well as an intern for their Executive Services division," Hana stated. "He is learning about the corporation from the bottom up."

"Bullshit," Brennan snapped.

"Can you prove this, Mr. Nyilas?" Jormo challenged me.

"Normally your recognition would mean nadda to me, but Hana has gone out of her way to be nice to my friends," I agreed. "Who do you want me to call that you will believe?"

"I don't actually know anyone at Havenstone Commercial," he admitted.

"Wait!" I had a brainstorm. "Call Javiera Castello. She'll verify who I am and she's pretty much as 'an unimpeachable source' as I'm likely to get."

"Who is she?" Hana pulled out her phone.

"She's an United States Attorney for the District Court of the Northern District of Illinois," I babbled.

"Are you sure we can reach her on the weekend?" Hana was already networking. She wasn't a lawyer; she was a power player, if a small one.

"Tell her you think Cáel Nyilas is involved with some crime, and she'll be in touch ASAP," I assured her.

The call went in to her team of corporate lawyers and the countdown began. Brennan decided it was time to migrate away from the danger, so he and his buddies decided to take the yacht out after changing; by way of using its crew to escape. Anima elected to remain behind. She kept expecting a reaction from me. She wasn't getting one.

No anger, sullenness, contempt, or pity. I'd save my anger for those a bit farther from the grave. I wasn't sullen because her victory wasn't a victory. It was a loss for both of us. I had requested that she exert some self-control in my presence and she hadn't; end of discussion. I certainly didn't pity her. Anima was evil, not merely a creature ruled by compulsions.

She had thought I was bluffing. I wasn't. Anima thought she was in an emotional endurance match and if she waited long enough, my façade would crack and she'd get her first taste of my pain. Twenty-four minutes. That was the time it took Javiera to call back.

"Yes, Ms. Castello," Hana answered, "I have Mr. Nyilas here with me right now."

"What's he done wrong; that's difficult to explain," Hana began. I heard the laughter coming from the other end. "You sound like this happens to him a good deal." Talking. "That doesn't sound promising." Talking. "I'm not a criminal legal talent, but I'll give it a shot. Theft, theft of a firearm, assault, obtuse death threats and possible possession of a stolen object." Talking.

Hana gave me her phone. At the same moment, Estere dropped down in front of one of those beautiful French doors with their southern exposure and sauntered back into the dining room. Her hastily applied clothing additions suggested she was better armed. The guard gave a startled jolt as Estere drew even with him.

"Don't worry about him," I told Estere while covering the phone with my hand. "I chambered in the first round backwards." Estere smirked. The guy tested his piece and, sure enough, a normally chambered round popped out; I had lied. The poor bastard gave me a nasty stare. Estere's look to me was pricelessly appreciative.

Ninja were all about stealth, the Black Hand was all about making use of whatever weapon was handy; and the Hashashin were all about misdirection and deception. Estere was a Mistress of M and D giving a young trainee a congratulatory nod. Would the guard search Estere for weapons? Not anymore. Now he was worried his pistol would fall apart and Hana had never returned his stun gun.

His confidence had been shattered before combat had actually begun.

"Hello, USA Castello," I spoke into the phone.

"How are you going to get out of this mess this time?" she began.

"Can't I simply be innocent?" I pleaded.

"No," Javiera asserted with authority. "Now tell me what is going on."

"For the sake of the interested parties swarming about; some with guns; I'll use pseudonyms. 'A' invited 'B' to his domicile for the weekend. 'B' invited me and 'C' to come along. 'A' had a friend, 'D' plus a cast of assorted losers.

'A' and 'D' also had 'E' here for the weekend. She trusted them so ended up drugged and sexually assaulted; a great deal. Video was made," Estere tapped my left upper arm and exhibited her phone suggesting to me she'd gained access to the video the group had taken of Casper. "'F' showed up and decided to help myself, 'B' and 'C' get 'E', only to be outmuscled by 'G'.

'H' shows up, takes charge, and decides that myself, 'B', 'C' and 'I' (new friend) should leave while he sits on 'E' and waits for the bought-and-paid for doctor to show up. Goodbye any evidence, trot out the legion of lawyers, crucify the victim and justice dies," I related.

"What do you want me to do?" Javiera sighed. She believed me.

She also believed that I was going to seek revenge for the young lady and while she had to publically chastise me and privately urge me to stop, she knew what motivated me.

"The caller wanted some confirmation that I'm a Big Wheel at Havenstone along with being an intern," I stated. "Personally I could care less, but 'E's fate is in jeopardy."

I handed the phone to the guard after motioning toward Jormo. A few seconds later, he had his own little chat with Javiera. I had a feeling it was rather heated. Was I who Hana claimed I was? Yes. Was I a criminal? No comment on ongoing investigations.

"Is he dangerous?"

I imagine she said 'What do you consider dangerous?' because Jormo wasn't pleased. After a pause, the conversation from Javiera's side picked back up.

"What do you mean, 'have I crossed him?' You are a part of the Federal law enforcement process. You are paid to handle those things. Now answer me," Jormo simmered.

I imagine it boiled down to 'yes, I was a dangerous human being' and 'no, I wasn't a homicidal maniac' which didn't help him much. That concluded Javiera's participation in events.

"Do you think you can inconvenience me, young man?" he shot his steely gaze my way.

"Mr. Sulkanen, there are precisely two things keeping me away from you; basic civility," I enlightened him, "and Hana."

"I have discovered in a few short months that there is nothing as precious a resource as nice people. The world is overwhelmed with assholes with a highly overestimated sense of their worth in the greater scheme of things. I do not hate you, or like you. You do not register on my interpersonal radar," I said.

"You think you've learned some harsh life lessons, Mr. Nyilas? You don't know anything," Jormo met me anger for anger. Hana, in her short time, had gained a far better picture of me.

"Cáel, he is my father," Hana called to me. "You know about paternal respect, don't you?" That was a good shot on her part; painful, but not crippling.

"You are right, Hana. I am in your father's house and I owe him both that respect and the respect for how he treasures your person," I responded. The tension began to bleed away. Jormo wasn't an ass-hole, just driven by an iron determination to get his way. It had made him stinking rich and, I was beginning to think, outwardly ruthless.

Why weren't Brooke, Libra, Estere and I being flung out of his home after our collision? Hana. That man had the same honest and trusted affection for the step-daughter that wasn't even his offspring as my father held for me. You don't mistake it once you've witnessed it. He knew this wasn't her vagina talking. He held Hana in higher regard.

Hana saw something in me that made her stand up to both him and Brennan. I doubted that happened often. Hana made the call and her step-father honored it; end of the debate for now. That meant Hana, Estere and I went to find Casper and the others. Libra was helping the focus of such anguish shower off. It had been accepted there would be no police rape inquiry.

Another advance, if you could call it that, had occurred in my relationship with Brooke and Libra. Their quick glances said it all- 'Get the bastards' and they expected it to get done. Like Odette and the now-deceased Latin Kings, those two didn't truly understand what that meant. In this case, most likely messy, painful deaths for those who would learn too late that a little law is a good thing; it keeps the really nasty things, like the truly lawless, at bay.

There was no mention of events passing beyond my control. Those two had no idea where their wealth came from, what homes they owned outright, versus still under mortgage, or rented, and what their actual tax rate was; as opposed to the mythical 'tax bracket' the masses dreamed the rich were in.

Casper came right at me, even slipping out of the towel Misty, and the newly arrived maid, tried to get around her. Why? I had gained an unanticipated affliction. Girls in the worst possible mindsets wanted to trust me. Oneida, Cameron, Wiesława and now Casper homed in on me being a gentle, honest and trustworthy soul; but damn it! I wasn't!

I wrapped my arms tightly around Casper, making her feel snug, safe and warm. I lied to her. I told her things were going to be okay. We'd work things out and she'd get better in no time. No one was going to get to her while her 'real' friends were around and we promised to stick around as long as it took. This was supposed to be my vacation. I need to stop making plans for the future and avoid the disappointment from having my hopes trampled by cruel reality.

(Saturday Night)

The Hamptons gathering had transformed from a post-college exploration to a mature gathering. We had an adult-level task laid out before us; creating an emotional buffer zone for Casper. I gave Estere an 'out'. There would be no more 'fun time' this weekend. She elected to stay anyway.

When we moved out to a cliff-side patio for dinner, Brennan and company showed up, sans Orlando and his lady. Casper tensed up, Hana and I rallied and put up a warding wall, so the cast of idiots settled for taunting Casper as she shivered behind us. Because, you know, all of this was one big joke;

I had enough peripheral awareness to not get blind-sided by Casper. Hana didn't and went tumbling into Anima. Casper launched herself at Brennan. He had some under-developed martial talent while Casper was clearly driven by frantic energy alone. Brennan received a few scratches then flipped Casper over his shoulder and down hard on the patio's deck.

A punch to her face was coming Casper's way when I pushed Brennan several steps back. The one scumbag who attempted to get behind me took an ice cube to the eye, courtesy of Estere. His yelp allowed me to yank Casper up and circle my arms around her.

"The whore scratched me," Brennan exhibited his scarred forearm. "I guess she goes to jail now."

I didn't do anything and I think three of the ladies were thinking I should. Brennan snorted. Now for a lesson in community.

"Okay," I shrugged. "Casper can go do jail." By the depth of her whimper, that wasn't what Casper wanted at all. I looked to Libra and Brooke. Giving someone the unwarranted label of 'snob' was wrong and those two ladies were going to exhibit that.

Libra hurled her drink from the patio table at Brennan. She missed but that was okay. Brooke missed as well.

"I guess we are going to jail with Casper," Brooke declared as they moved up. Casper wiggled around in my grasp so she could take in the scene. "We'll stick with you, Casper."

"Bitches!" Brennan snapped. "What the fuck;"

"These people can't help you, Casper," Anima stepped up. "You are in trouble now and they don't know trouble."

"You are horrible," Brooke seethed in response.

"Why all the hostility?" Anima gave a disarming smile. Libra had definitely tapped into her 'Inner Cáel'. That was only fair, since her 'Outer Cáel' had been tapping her pretty vigorously.

"Because we are better than you and you consistently fail to acknowledge that, you soulless tramp," Libra volleyed.

"Cáel, I apologize so much for bringing you here this weekend," Brooke touched me.

"I'm not," I squeezed Casper. Crap, I could use a break. It was so wrong that I suddenly wished for Monday and to be back to the work week. It was even screwier that I thought that would give me any sort of relief; it wouldn't.

"Touching, but foolish," Anima sighed with amusement. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket. She made a call then showed the device to Casper. "I'm sure your boyfriend will be very impressed with last night's antics. Of course, he may expect a repeat performance." Casper trembled. I rubbed her back as she sobbed into my shoulder and bicep.

"I'm not very impressed with your virtue," Anima sounded disappointed in me.

"You and your ilk deserve only two words; 'Good bye'," Estere sounded serene. "As a general instruction, anyone on this deck that I do not like and that hasn't left by the exits in the next three minutes will be flying over the railing."

"This is my fucking house!" Brennan shouted.

"Actually, it is Dad's house, Brennan," Hana smiled.

"He's not your father, shit-for-brains," he snapped.

"Brennan, for every time you have forced your way into my life through bratty behavior; I consider this moment long overdue," Hana snorted.

"I'm not leaving," he took a defiant stance.

"Good," Hana laughed. "In; "

"Two minutes 25 seconds," Estere supplied the data.

"I'm taking every other lady and leaving, locking the doors behind me," Hana kept grinning.

"Before I leave, I will ask Cáel to physically obstruct the stairs leading down the bluff," she added. "Then it will be you and Ms. Abed. She is going to kick all of your asses, I'm not letting you inside and trying to get past Cáel constitutes assault and he may defend himself. Ms. Abed has diplomatic immunity courtesy of Azerbaijan; an oil producing country Dad's contacts at the State Department won't want to upset, even for you."

I pushed a reluctant Casper far enough away so she could see my face.

"You need to go with Brooke, Libra and Hana now," I soothed her worries. "This shouldn't take more than three, or four minutes; "

"No scarification?" Estere sounded upset. She polished that off by covering her veiled mouth and giving that enchanting little Arabic women's warbling cry for action.

"I don't know about that," I looked past Casper. "Surprise them." Estere's veil didn't disguise the whiteness of her teeth, or the panther-like savagery of her smile.

"Fifty-one seconds," Hana noted. "Cáel?"

"Go with the others. Estere and I will be back inside within ten minutes, tops," I pushed her hair away from her eyes.

She nodded before folding back into Libra and Brooke. I went to the top of the stairs and took my stance. Estere pulled out a thick, short, curved blade from Allah-knows where and the stampede began. Only Anima retreated with any pretense at style. She shot me a wistful look that insisted she was waiting for the next round. It wasn't happening.

Some people obsess on victory being a mass of bleeding wounds and broken bones. It can be that, but it is often much, much more. In this case, it was Casper seeing her tormentors in flight; revealed to be nothing more than selfish, rudderless cowards. The eyeball math would never be the so lopsided. They had seen her degraded, humiliated and violated.

That was the lowest ebb. Now those people were less a pack of monsters and more a puddle of vile sleaze that you wouldn't want to step in. That crushing hold they possessed was weakened. Dispelling the pall over this weekend would be a long time coming, yet here it had stopped, bottoming out and her desire to overcome this nightmare began.

For Casper, it was recoiling from the pain and betrayal. For the monsters, the Abyss wouldn't be long in calling.

Sometime later our group was in a small home theater when a security guard came for me. Hana had left a few minutes earlier so Casper and Estere were a bit edgy. I gave a comforting kiss on the head to Casper, a kiss on the lips to my ladies and a quick 'I have no idea' look to Estere.

I was taken to the old man's study. Jormo was behind an old 19th century desk, Hana was standing by the unlit fireplace and Brennan was looking incredibly petulant in an overstuffed chair near his father.

"What's he doing here?" Brennan snorted. He didn't warrant a reply.

"Mr. Nyilas, an hour ago one of my personal jets went down off the Virginia/North Carolina coast. From what I've been told, they apparently suffered a catastrophic loss of cabin pressure at 25,000 feet, lost control of the aircraft and slammed into the Atlantic at over 500 miles per hour," Jormo looked at me. "Mr. Keyes, his fiancé, a business associate and the pilot were on board. The search for survivors has only now begun. Do you have anything to say?"

"You mean do I have anything incriminating to say while this conversation is being recorded?" I sighed. "Sure; I had no idea where Mr. Keyes and his lady-friend were. I wasn't even aware they'd left this place."

"It was an accident, right?" Brennan half-rose out of his chair.

"I'm working on that," Jormo grumbled. "Mr. Nyilas, is my son's life in danger?"

"From what?" I met his unsettling intensity. I could have said 'bad parenting', except that would be cruelly truthful. "Danger? No, Mr. Sulkanen, your son is a dead man. He and all his friends are dead. They simply haven't had the inclination to lie down yet."

"That is not a death threat," I interrupted the oncoming outburst. "It is my assessment of the forces at work here; namely your son and his crowd's cruelty and the universe working as it should."

"I won't let you harm my son," Jormo came around his desk. He was a powerful specimen, just not one who should be taking on a physically fit man thirty years younger.

"Don't make this personal," I refused to back down.

"It is my son's life; it is personal and I want you to know if anything happens to Brennan, I will make damn sure you pay for what you, and whomever you work with, have done," he threatened.

"That is incorrect," I began loosening my own anger. "What is happening to your son and his friends has nothing to do with his name, or your continuous failure to hold him accountable for anything. It has to do with a violation of a young lady after my direct plea that she not come to harm. He and his gang ruptured the rules of hospitality and heaped derision on the basic concepts of humanity with willful, evil intent. They even made a video of that vile act.

This morning, they confronted me with their defiance. I took some pictures and sent them to a colleague;” I was saying.

"Who? Give me their name," Jormo got in my face.

"I can't recall. It is probably filed away with every other crime you've bought and paid for that Brennan has committed," I was only a few centimeters away.

"Give me the; "

"Shut up and listen," I moved in, suddenly cluing the old guy into me being several inches taller and broader in the chest. "You don't get a name. I didn't break the law; you and your son did. I am hoping that pain and blood is answered with pain and blood; a balancing of the scales of justice.

You don't want that and now you don't want to face the fact that his latest stunt has gotten way beyond what you want to pay," I insisted.

"You won't get away with it," Jormo glowered. "This is my family. This is personal to me."

"Personal; personal, Mr. Sulkanen? No; personal is not you and me," I clarified.

"Personal is your other two sons, a baby daughter, three step-children and a young wife," I laid it out. "You come after me, the parties concerned will go after them; and you. Not on my orders, though. They will act upon a different social agenda which you know nothing of. In the end, you will save no one and fill a few more graves."

"I won't back down," Jormo flared.

"Fine. I don't care," I turned to leave.

"Wait, Cáel, how bad will this personal vendetta get?" Hana pleaded.

"Not sure. I would imagine two generations around; grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, sons, daughters, sons and daughter-in-laws, children and grandchildren," I mused.

"Father," Hana pleaded. It was Deoxyribonucleic acid test time. "Cáel, I saw something last night my father needs to see. Please take off your shirt."

"What will that prove, Hana?" Jormo rumbled.

"Look at the man's body. See his scars. Father, Cáel isn't kidding. You and I both know he's not bluffing. This is some Old World madness that; that Brennan has stepped into and; I want to know if you are going to bring down this family because of him," Hana made her stand as my shirt came off.

"All those scars and bruises," the Sulkanen patriarch muttered. "How?"

"I'm a rather disreputable and dishonest man, Mr. Sulkanen. I would rather treat life like a sexually-explicit romantic comedy instead of confront the darkness that is all too fucking common. Turning my back is easy; but that is not how my father raised me. He never told me to be a crusader of any stripe. He did tell me to live with my decisions. I have recently come to realize that includes me being unwilling to bear the burden of refusing to stop wickedness I could have prevented. No fear, Mr. Sulkanen and no regrets. Flesh heals; memories are eternal."

"Father," Hana stood silhouetted by the flames flickering in the fireplace. "What is this man's price? What threat can you make to deter him that he most likely has already faced and defied? I believe him. I believe he has sent events in motion and are now beyond his control. Mr. Keys and the others are dead because of what Brennan and Anima conspired to do and the blood-letting will go on longer than we can afford."

"Run, you fucking slut-coward!" Brennan screamed at her. He was now standing, and very scared. "You've never been a part of this family."

"Father, if you give your life for Brennan, I will understand. I would be heartbroken, but understand," Hana picked up her appeal. "If you sacrifice everyone else for him; that I do not understand.

I can't follow you in that course of action; not and be the woman you have raised me to be. You taught me to protect my family and this is not what you are doing. You are throwing the rest of us away for something that is ENTIRELY Brennan's fault," she said.

"Shut up, Bitch!" Brennan howled.

"Father, if you proceed down this road, then we must part ways. You will have my resignation on your desk Monday morning and I will begin the legal proceedings to return your surname; one of my most treasured gifts, Father," she concluded.

"Cow," Brennan hissed.

For some, blood is thicker than water. In this case it was a matter of the child you have versus the child you wished you had. Even the way Hana stood by the fireplace was a close mimicry of the Old Man. At some point early in her development, Jormo had given Hana guidance and direction. She had repaid that with daughterly devotion.

The guy's first marriage had been a disaster; strong hints of an affair then a fatal car wreck. During the second marriage he had formed an emotional anchor with Hana. As the marriage unraveled, they had become mutually supportive. There was nothing sexual. It was something stronger; shared trust. When the second marriage failed, Hana had stayed behind. She got along well with wife number three because that was what made Jormo happy, and that mattered to Hana.

Brennan was the opposite. He took everything for granted and repaid every gift with mockery and hostility. He was 'owed' this lifestyle. He was anointed at birth to be a person of privilege and the lesser folk best beware. Except now, someone was handing his dad the bill for Brennan's misdeeds and Dad was balking.

"Brennan, be off the grounds by noon tomorrow," Jormo painfully dropped each syllable. "Your trust fund is intact. Stay away for a few months. I will let you know when I have made suitable arrangements."

"Dad; what the fuck?" Brennan was confused.

"Your mother, half-sister and I could have been on that flight as well, Brennan," Jormo's eyes drilled into his son. "Stay away from the rest of the family. You can use any family property, but be gone within 24 hours of any of our arrivals."

"Fuck you, Dad! This was a freak accident," Brennan tried to rally.

"Then this will be a lesson for you in building and keeping an itinerary," his father retorted.

"Bullshit. This is Hana's doing, Dad. She wants your money and wants to shut the rest of us out," Brennan kept attacking. Even I could tell that was the wrong move at this juncture.

"Brennan, Hana gets it all. I re-wrote my will after your youngest sister, Karvala, was born," Jormo glared at his boy.

"Hana gets all the assets. The rest get some level of addition to their Trust Funds, but Hana gets the company. This was decided a year ago. Hana and I didn't tell you because we both hoped you would turn your life around. That hasn't happened. Now, you've revealed yourself as a selfish spoiled child, willing to risk your own family in your wrong-doing.

Do you know what the only thing worse than being called a beast in your own home is? It is acting like a beast. A Man treats each guest like family. A beast ignores the cries of those guests for justice. Damn it, Brennan. I saw what you and your carrion-feeders did to that girl," he was starting to redden with rage.

"Dad, who the; "

"Shut up!" Jormo was now trembling and livid. "You violated her trust in the safety of my house, you violated your responsibilities as a host and lastly, you violated my word as host that she'd be safe here. And you laughed about it, Brennan; you and your friends laughed about it.

If I was more the man I wish I was, I'd throw you off the damn cliff. If I was more of a father, I would have the police here by now to arrest you. I'm not. I'm giving you a chance to run away. You can make your own arrangements, or Hana can make them for you; your choice," he suggested.

"What if I don't run, Pops?" Brennan sneered at his father.

"Then everything comes out Monday morning. I'll be in trouble, you'll be in serious trouble and you will also be a colossal disappointment, guilty as sin, and broke; as I will freeze all your assets," Jormo stated matter-of-factly.

"You'll go down for this," Brennan threatened.

"This time, Brennan, it is a matter of family. I have sons, daughters and a wife to protect. Hana will take care of the corporation while I'm otherwise occupied," Dad said.

"She'll steal everything," Brennan pointed at Hana.

"There is nothing to steal, Son," the old man shook his head.

"It is hers. Unlike all my other offspring, she's earned it. She's learned the company starting at the ground floor, so she knows what she's doing. No one else has shown the slightest interest. Best of all, I know I can rely on Hana to look after the rest of you once I'm gone. She's never been jealous of any of you, though the reverse isn't true.

We are done here," Jormo sighed. "Brennan, you can go. Mr. Nyilas, you too." I left at a crisp pace. I wasn't running away. I was hurrying back to Casper, to comfort her, and to the rest to give them the news. An hour later, we were all on the road.

To be continued in Part 24

By FinalStand for Literotica.