AN* Personally, I love this story because I love Jack and Leese, but I'm getting worried about its future. 1, the fad has passed. 2, lack of inspiration. 3, lack of comments. These 3 reasons give way to the story's improbable success and impending doom. So, help me if you like it.
Chapter 4 HELL SONG
Her cell phone must be in her rented room, it wasn't in her pocket anymore. "Stupid friends don't even care to look for me."
"Cynthia is enjoying her time with her boyfriend and you see your blind date, wishes he were actually blind just to not see you." He laughed as he drank his Vodka.
She rolled her eyes and actually drank the Seabreeze down on one go. She'd actually be quite happy if he'd slipped poison into her drink, saves them all the trouble.
"You know, Keefe is still going to get killed."
"You just made it harder on the corporation, now that he's got twice the number of security guards as an elected official. Nonetheless, he's got to die."
"I've never exactly had the chance to ask, why is Keefe a target?"
"Truth is, he used to be our boss—the boss who we found out was going to squeal on us. I don't believe that he's grown a conscience, since a chameleon may change the color of its scales but not what it is. You know how a Zebra cannot change its stripes."
"That's impossible, Keefe's a good guy."
"Keefe—a good guy? He's risking his family's life for the skeletons in his closet. We all know the politics is a dirty game. We want to send out a message you know, die before you even get to squeal. He's actually dirtier now more than ever if you ask me."
"I really can't see Keefe killing like some trigger happy bum or like you, a calculated lunatic."
He laughed. "Leese, can you stop being so black and white? That's just the way it is in politics. Have I ever lied to you?" Actually he has lied to her. Not then though, just a few minutes ago. He didn't have men out to kill her family, what a waste of money. Sure money wasn't an object but what would be the difference? If she were to run to her home, he didn't really care that far off. She'd still be threatened especially with their beautiful history. He also did not have men aiming their guns at her right now, just one. Two would disrupt his privacy, too. Also, he wasn't one to hire for personal vendettas, so it wasn't really just her. They were really on the job so the other guys have their barrels on hold. Keefe hadn't arrived yet. On top of that, truth never really worked well with her. Just now she can't believe the truth about Keefe. He wondered what she would do if she found out that he was out to kill Keefe now, who would be, in fact, be in the same building, room 1709.
"It's just… Can't you just kill me to get it over with?"
"How much are you willing to offer?"
"You're asking me to kill someone. That's my job. I should get paid. Last time I tried to kill someone without cash on their head I failed. I suppose if I keep it professional at all times then I wouldn't fail." He raised his brows at her.
She bitterly laughed. "So I have to actually hire you to kill me? Isn't that your plan anyway?"
"Now, now, since when did I say I wanted to kill you?"
"Actions speak louder than words."
"I'm a naturally violent person. I don't need to be murderous just to be violent. People say I'm not physically imposing, so I tend to want to break their neck for it but seldom wind up doing so. People die too quickly that way."
It seemed that Jack the Ripper liked giving away unnecessary details. Maybe it's the liquor, perhaps it's not. After all, he never drank the whole time during the plane trip. "Then why else did you come for me? Do you want to say sorry?" His sarcasm was driving her nuts.
"Why'd I say sorry to you? You just made us waste more resources than necessary just for one job. That was really bad for our reputation."
"Reminds me, you ruined your corporation's reputation and yet they didn't kill you?"
"I am the corporation." He stared into her eyes, hard. He was making a point, and boasting while at it. "Yeah, I was next in line to Keefe."
Her eyes widened.
"My brother and I started our business and Keefe's corporation bought us. The consequence of how that job turned out is our reputation and the ka-bar guy's life. How could they kill the big boss? I ultimately blamed the guy who insisted we take plan B, so he got the beating. Bullets were tempting, but we settled for the classic baseball bat, very mafia-ish if you ask me." He was actually pretty proud of this. He really was the corporation since his co-owner acted more on desk jobs.
"Another Seabreeze, please," she told the bartender after wincing at the emptiness of her cocktail glass and her life.
"Look, don't tell your friends I'm here. They'd think you're crazy. Which is true..." he pinched her cheek. "…And don't try leaving prematurely, I kind of like this place. If you do leave, you know I'll just follow you."
He knew her too well.
Her Seabreeze arrived and the moment she looked back at his direction, he was gone.
"Can't get away from the Seabreeze, huh?" Cynthia's familiar voice piped as a manicured hand snaked around her arm.
"Why'd you leave the reception desk?"
"We thought you were right beside us. I thought you were with Hue… The bellboy told me the storm should pass by night. We could go for a swim tomorrow afternoon when they've flushed out and refilled the pools. I've arranged for us spa treatments later while the boys check out the arcade."
Spa, she did need to relax. Relaxing would help her have a clearer head—better, quicker decisions. Oh shit, she was stuck in the same resort as Jackson. How unlucky can she get?
Before she could relax though, in comes this guy with blonde hair, brown eyes and a mustache. She knew better than to squeal when he swung his arms across her shoulders. "You must be Cynthia, I've heard lots!" the guy's other hand came shaking her bewildered friend's. "I'm one of this pretty gal's many admirers. We just happened to be at the same resort, what a coincidence, right?" The guy, obviously Jackson in a wig, contact lens and a fake mustache was also faking an Irish accent. The accent was very believable, a bit charming really.
Cynthia laughed and winced at Lisa.
"Oh, how rude am I? My name's Vlad," What kind of a name? Did he really go by a vampire's name now? Why hadn't he just used Dracula?
"Maybe it's his fetish… you know, using evil people from history," Lisa thought. Jack the Ripper, worst English man ever who butchered killed with the aide of smog prostitutes. Vlad the Impaler, impaled with huge pointy poles erected arranged in concentric circles prisoners of war and the rest of the people he disliked all the while mandated since he was a ruler.
"I've never hear of you, before."
"Budding relationships need some time for themselves, don't they?" Jackson reasoned.
"Can I talk to her for a while, Vlad? You seem like a nice guy, but I'm not sure about my friend here." Without waiting for "Vlad" to reply, Cynthia had hooked her arm around Lisa's and dragged her behind the potted plant; the same place where Jackson sexually molested Lisa.
"How about you?"
"Me? I'm totally fine! Nothing out of the ordinary! Just a demented spy…"then Cynthia interrupted.
"Not you, Hue! Huebert!"
"Oh. I have to be honest with you, Cynth. You see," then she was interrupted again. Cynthia liked to interrupt out of the workplace. At the hotel, she doesn't interrupt her; she's like a soldier, a weak, redhead, high heeled soldier, taking orders.
"You don't like him? Can't you give him a chance first? Hue's cute. I mean, what's not to like about my cousin. He's my cousin for heaven's sake! He's got good genes! Yeah, he's a bit skinny, but I can tell him to go to the gym or something. He's a really sweet gut, Leese. Why are you going for that Vlad guy? I think he's nice, but how about that porn mustache? You could tell a guy to buff up but not to take off his mustache. IF he had like a month old mustache he'd take it off. But look at that guy's mustache! It's fucking groomed! It's perfect. It's a porn mustache! He might think you're onto his masculinity if you ask him to shave it off. Look at him, Leese!"
Lisa breathes out and looks at the side profile of "Vlad". It was weird, until Cynthia ranted again. Turns out she wasn't finished.
"Gosh, Leese. You don't have to be desperate! I know you don't like blondes, especially dyed blondes. Wait a minute; this guy's not even a dyed blonde. Shit. It's a fucking wig. It's a bit imbalanced. How old is he anyway?"
Lisa then put a hand on her friend's mouth and started to speak. She wasn't really listening to her. So, she got to thinking. She can't tell her. Jack was right. She'll just think she was crazy. Jack also forgot to tell her that she would be putting her friend's life in danger by telling her.
"I've known him for a while now and I don't think that your cousin and I are going to work out. I'm sorry, Cynthia." Cynthia's face went all sad, like a kid you snatched her favorite teddy from. It was irritating. Cynthia not knowing was grating.
Jackson was then closing in on them, at their spot behind the damned potted plant.
"Ladies, I'm sorry but I should probably be leaving. Here on a job, so my minions are waiting." He popped his brows at them and took Lisa's hand. Slowly, like a true Casanova, he landed a kiss on her fist. "We'll get together some other time."
"Bye," they both said. Truthfully though, they both wanted to say, "Good ridden."
Lisa ordered another Seabreeze at the bar before heading for the spa. Lisa was tired of her life and of her horniness. After downing the drink, Lisa decided Cynthia was worried about her and she should probably head to the spa room.
Lisa heaved a big sigh. She sat on the massage table while listening to some relaxing music in the massage room. Suddenly, she didn't feel so insecure and but felt extra horny (she had the itch, damn it! Great timing!) She realized that she had the power to change the course of things. She didn't let anyone bully her. Jackson, was well, she's realized… wasn't such a fuck up. Sure, he fucked her life up, fucking her life up, but he was fuckable. Suddenly, the idea of letting Jackson fuck her wasn't so negative. She wants it anyway. It wasn't making her insecure. In fact, it made her feel the opposite. It gave her a weird sort of confidence to be able to trust herself to flirt with danger up-close to the point she felt completely secure. Life was dangerous and the only way to feel safe in it was to learn the ropes of danger, or so she concluded. Everybody telling you that life didn't need to be dangerous live in a hole. They're only fooling themselves, so they all say the same things to you.
Sometimes, you have to surrender to win. Winning feels good. Carpe Diem. Make best of life, since you don't know when it will be end. Make risky decisions because death is fate, fate is death, so what's the use of being scared of death and all its other complications? She wasn't insecure anymore and she was willing to solve her horny problem.
If Jackson were to walk in this little massage room right now, she might even let him do her right there and then. Or make him do her.
It looks like that moment was now. Stepping into the room and locking it quickly behind him, was none other than the devil himself.
"Look, Leese. I don't think you're going to get a professional massage." He brushed a stray lock of brown hair on his forehead and raised a brow at her.
"I'm not planning to rape you by the way." With her almost naked predicament, he just felt the need to say it. "Yeah. We need to talk about something."
Lisa had moved, sat on the edge of the table, toward him, with the towel discarded, and only paper panties left. Her little bosoms were exposed and calling to him, he couldn't say no to them.
Jackson couldn't speak.
He was on her faster than you could say erection.
They had used the discarded towel after, for cleaning up.
Jackson used to be insecure with Lisa. Why hadn't his ghastly, and, he quotes from former aficionados, "yet intoxicating" charms not work with Lisa Reisert when it really should have. People are by some law of attraction drawn toward their opposite and he was exactly that to her except for their… shall we say aesthetic quality since Lisa was no doubt, beautiful, too. You see, it bewildered him to no end that Lisa Reisert was able to resist the murderous, exciting, and evil, talldebonair that was and is Jackson Rippner. Then it came to him, like a big neon sign of an epiphany exactly why.
Lisa Reisert was not Jackson's opposite. In a way, she was his anima. She was calculated, manipulative, deceptive, gorgeous, and violent as well. In fact, his vile features were not so far away from hers. They were both the cutest wolves in sheep clothing vigilantly willing to do anything for their goal. Yes, they were badly attracted to each other. But as much as likes tend to dissolve each other in orgasmic sighs and amazing pyrotechnics display, they also clash. Clash they did. He must have underestimated Lisa along the way. He must have thought, in his subconscious, that if they were both tumors, surely she would be the underdeveloped one while he was already out there, all malignant and cancerous wrecking havoc.
The insecurities further left him when he strode in the massage room, locked the door, and found himself pounding himself into her warmth, and note it was with excessive requests, begging, willingness, permission, tears of joy and participation!
AN* Please Comment