by Jesse Jordan
Larissa swallows, and I can see in her eyes that she's slightly jealous, and maybe a little sad at the same time, but also proud of me. “I can no longer be your teacher in the sensual arts, Jessica. You have far surpassed me.”
I reach out, taking her hand and clasping it to my chest. “No, my friend. I would never have been able to be there for my Master if it weren't for you. You will always be my teacher... and my friend.”
Larissa smiles, her hand twitching. “Is that all it takes to cop a feel of your boobs?”
I laugh, letting her hand go and step back. “Something like that.”
“So have you said it to him?” Larissa asks, and I raise an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I mean. That you love him.”
Love. I haven't heard that word from Larissa or Rodrigo ever, other than in casual use that could mean 'really like.' I love cheese, I'd love a back rub, stuff like that. But the way Larissa's saying it....
“That's pretty difficult, Larissa. I'm a slave, he's my Master. Just because I'm happy that way...”
“You Americans are so full of shit,” Larissa says with a harsh laugh. “It's because your fucking English is so limited. You throw around the word love almost as much as you use the word fuck. We Greeks do it better. In Ancient Greek, there's four words that you translate as love, you know that?”
“A little,” I admit. “I took French though in school though.”
“What you and I feel, that's philia, the love between friends and equals. And yes, I consider you my equal Jessica. What you first had for Rodrigo, eros. You can guess what that means,” she says, her lips twitching. “You and I, we're experts in eros, although yours is naturally light while mine can be quite dark.”
“In other words, he made me horny as hell and I loved getting fucked by him,” I say ironically, and Larissa nods. “So what are you saying now? That I don't?”
“No, far from it. You can feel eros for him now more than ever. But what you're also feeling is agape, the unconditional love that most people think of as God for his children, but can also mean total, complete trust and love for another person. Remind you of any feelings you have?” she says, her lips twitching. “Don't lie to me, Jessica. I can read people like a book.”
I sigh, then nod. “So what if I do, Larissa? Yes, I'd follow him to the ends of the earth, and I'd throw myself in front of a train to save him. I will obey him without question for the rest of my life if he lets me. Fuck, yesterday I literally placed my life in his hands, no safe word, no way to free myself and had the most intense, mindblowing experience I think anyone could ever feel. But what if he doesn't feel the same way? If he doesn't, then what does it matter if I tell him or not? He lets me remain as his slave, and while it's not perfect, it's a damn sight better than what I could have with any other man in the world.”
“It can change your world even more than you've already changed it,” Larissa says with a soft, sad smile. “Jessica, I know what Rodrigo thinks about me. He thinks I might be a sociopath, and I'll admit that he may be right. I do know that I've never felt agape, and I'm starting to wonder if I can ever feel it. But I also very much know what it looks like, and I've seen the way you and Rodrigo interact.”
“And the fact that we get off by having extremely dangerous kinky sex? Hell, I was having an internal discussion with myself last night wondering if he'd go the whole candle wax and burn thing on me. Even our mild sex has a kink to it.”
Larissa laughs. “Candles are fun. And there's nothing wrong with liking what you like. Jessica, take a hint from a criminal and someone who also likes what you like sexually. Who the fuck cares what other people think? If you feel for him, and he feels for you, I don't care if you both get off from the training room, or if you want to have sex in a bathtub full of olive oil in the middle of a crowd of strangers, or if you just do the straight lights off missionary position once a month for five minutes. Although that last one is far too boring for the likes of us, isn't it?”
I laugh, nodding, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good,” Larissa says, positioning her targeting pad again. “Now, let's see what you remember of the knees that we practiced.”
We keep going, and towards the end even I have to admit that my body is getting worn down, I haven't fully recovered from last night and Master. Finally, Larissa stops me, and she leads me around the curve in the hill to her car, which I'm surprised to find isn't some sort of sexy sports car, but a rather plain looking four door Fiat. “Wow... uh, I would have expected something more....”
“Lamborghini?” Larissa asks, and I nod. She laughs, opening the driver's side door. “I already have one. Just not here. See you around.”
She drives off, and I look down the road, regretting the fact that I told Larissa that I'd be happy to jog back to the villa. At least I'm not being timed as I start off, going slowly to let my tired muscles cool down. It also gives me a chance to think as I slow to a walk. I need to think more than I need the extra exercise.
Larissa's right. I do care for Rodrigo in a way that transcends me being his slave, his friend, or just his sex partner. And maybe he feels the same way. I mean, last night he took that moment to loosen the cord around my neck just a little, and the way he kissed me... the way he kisses me in general is almost as good as the way we fuck.
Okay, I decide as I crest the last little hillock and start cutting cross country towards Rodrigo's villa. When he gets home, I'll make him a nice dinner, sit down... and then I'll ask him about how he feels if I do stay with him permanently. As more than his slave. If he says no, that I'm to remain his slave and that I'm to wear this silver collar for the rest of my life, then I'll be content with that. Better to have Rodrigo as my Master only than to not have him at all.
My path takes me to the back of the villa, and I circle around, heading for the main gate. Tomorrow Rodrigo said that he's going to get the gate fixed so that we can use the remote control system again, but for now the gate has to be left open, which I don't like but it's only for one more day. As I approach I pull out my pistol, part of my training with Larissa was on how to shoot properly. We didn't do any actual shooting, but a lot of dry firing in addition to the basic Krav Maga moves that she went over with me. Still, I feel better as I approach the house, my key in my left hand.
I'm halfway up the steps when I hear the scrape of a boot on the dirt behind me and I try to turn, but my feet aren't on the same level and I stumble slightly, having to go a little more slowly. That time is precious, because in it I feel the sting of something hit me in the thigh, and suddenly I can't really control my body. I sag to the steps, lucky that I don't go tumbling head over heels down the steps to break my neck. I can see though still, kind of, and I can still hear as two men approach, coming out of the shadows further to look me over.
“Is she?” one asks, and I try to focus my eyes, but I'm having problems. The other one looks me over, then nods.
“Yeah, she's alive. She's not going to give us any problems though.” He snaps my fingers in front of my face, laughing harshly when I blink. “Good stuff, disables the big muscles, leaves you able to breathe and awake. How're you doing, American bitch?”
“Fuck... you...,” I whisper in a tiny voice, the most I can manage. The second man laughs, and slaps my face hard. If there's any justice in this world, he'll pay for that. Preferably with Rodrigo ripping his balls off.
“Come on,” the first man says, getting his friend's attention. “The Sultan wants her as untouched as possible. You get her in the van, I'll get the note.”
The second man grabs me and pulls me to my feet before slinging me over his shoulder with a grunt. “Damn... I need more exercise.”
“What, you think those tits and ass weigh nothing?” the first man laughs harshly. “You just need to stop fucking drugged out teenagers and get some experience with a real woman like her. Too bad The Sultan's got other plans for her.”
“Maybe,” the second man says as he carries me. I can't see much except
his ass and the ground as he lugs me out the gate, I recognize the track for that, turning left whereas I came around from the other side. He slides the door open on a van before setting me down with a grunt. At least he cradles my head to make sure I don't crack my skull on the cold metal floor. Once down, he takes a look at me again.
“Omar's right. You are one hot piece of ass. Maybe I can talk The Sultan into letting me fuck you before he kills you. That'd be worth the bonus on this job at least.”
I laugh, or at least I breathe more heavily, and whisper again. “Master's... gonna... kill... you.”
“Master, huh? Heard Rodrigo was a kinky motherfucker. Doesn't matter. Although maybe you'll like me tying you up some then.”
I can't resist as he binds me up and slams the door, going around to the driver's side and getting in. The engine starts up, and I close my eyes, praying to the God that Rodrigo goes to confession for that he looks after my Master and love.
Rodrigo
I know something is wrong even a couple hundred meters from the villa. The gate's open, and even if Larissa and Jessica's training went long, there's no way that the two of them would have been out for ten hours without giving me a call. I speed up a little, jamming my brakes and hopping out, my pistol ready as I get out. The villa is quiet, the sun's gone down and I sweep the yard, making sure there's nobody waiting for me before climbing the steps towards the door. The window in the back door's been broken open, and I find on the kitchen counter a brown envelope, my name written on it. I tear it open to find a single sheet of paper in Omar Al Gazi's refined hand.
You took out my primary assistant. I felt that I should do the same.
If you want to see your American slave again, come to my ship
no later than ten thirty tonight. I want to conclude our business
before I have to leave for the Mideast. If not, well, I'm sure that I
can fetch a good price for a used slave in the markets somewhere
or another.
Remember, ten thirty. And if I see anyone other than you approach
the Ali Baba, then she'll be dead before you even get up the gangplank.
Cheers
OAG
I feel a flare of anger and something else inside me as I re-read the note and then glance at the clock. It's almost eight forty five now, I've got enough time to get to The Sultan's boat, I know where it's docked in Termini Imerese. I head to my room, changing clothes quickly. There's no time to waste but at the same time I'm not going into a nearly assured gun fight wearing a thousand dollar suit with leather loafers on. Instead, I go to the back of my closet and hit the catch that releases my secret panel, opening a small storage area that even Jessica doesn't know about. Inside I pull out my SWAT boots and pants, standard military issue along with my tactical holster with spare magazines and my Kevlar vest. I've never had to use any of this in three years, I've only cleaned it and made sure everything still fit.
Pulling it on, I know that regardless of whatever happens, tonight's going to mean one of two things. Either Rodrigo Camponini dies, or Omar Al Gazi dies. He took Jessica from me, and as I buckle the holster around my thigh, I realize that I care for her more than The Network, more than the FBI... more than my own life even.
“Somehow, some way, you'd catch me and save me before I drown. I trust you with my very life Master. So... let's walk that tightrope. I know you won't let me fall,” she said right before taking the most intense experience of her entire life. She trusts me, and as I double check my holster and pull a baggy t-shirt over top of my Kevlar, I vow that I won't let her down.
I hurry out to my truck, where in the glove compartment I change out the magazine, exchanging the normal rounds for a clip of alternating armor piercing rounds and hollow point magnum rounds. It's a super-hot load, more than I should carry in this pistol, but as I slip it into my holster, I know that I'm going to need it and a lot of luck.
The drive to Termini Iverese seems surreal, and I know what's happening, I'm in panic mode. We went through this at Quantico, how to keep calm when you're in a stressful situation. Of course, Quantico never prepared me for keeping calm when the woman that... the woman that's the most important person in the world to me is being held hostage by an evil man with no morals. I can't even call The Sultan crazy, at least at crazy he could be dismissed. No... The Sultan's as sane as anyone else on the planet. The problem with him is, he's just evil. The church can talk about original sin, about choice, about whatever... I just say Omar Al Gazi's an evil motherfucker.
The docks for Termini Imerese are in two sections. The larger section is near the actual port itself, and is used by most of the larger ships such as the cruise ships that dock here. It's not as popular a tourist dock as Palermo, but some of the smaller ferries and local cruises use Termini's location to bring people to Caccamo and away from the more crowded cities.
The second portion, what I want, is another third of a mile along Viale Targa Florio, the seaside road. I see them up ahead, the series of small artificial bays that were built when the port was put in, and the local fishermen and pleasure craft owners were pushed out. It's at one of these, almost all the way at the end of Targa Florio that I see the lone light that is the running lights on the Ali Baba. It's perfect for Omar Al Gazi, as he can run it with a small crew and dock nearly anywhere.
There's nobody on the deck when I pull up, but I didn't expect there to be, Al Gazi's never been the type to do things in public. The gangplank takes me to the main deck, where I see the crates on the cargo deck, strapped and covered, ready to go.
Above me on one of the crew decks there's movement, and I level my pistol, aiming carefully. The crewman is surprised when he goes to head down the walkway, but recognizes me quickly. “The Sultan is waiting for you.”
“Take me to him,” I order roughly, pulling back the hammer on my pistol. “And pray none of your buddies decide to do something stupid.”
He nods, his hands up as I climb the steps, keeping my pistol on the sailor. When I get up, I gesture with my pistol. “Okay, move it.”
We make our way into what had been one of the passenger decks of the ship, redone into Al Gazi's personal quarters, extravagant with Turkish rugs, hardwood paneling on the walls, and other such luxuries that you'd expect on a billionaire's yacht and not the headquarters of a smuggler king. The sailor points, and I nod, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing. His larnyx crushes easily before I pistol whip him, knocking him out to choke on his own blood. I don't need to have anyone possibly coming up behind me.
I open the door to The Sultan's stateroom to find him and two of his thugs waiting for me. Also, to my joy, is a very alive and very pissed off Jessica, her mouth gagged but her eyes widening when she sees me. “Al Gazi!”
“Come in, Rodrigo,” The Sultan says, ignoring my pistol. “And shut the door behind you.”
“Let her go, Al Gazi,” I demand, raising my pistol, but two of The Sultan's thugs raise their own guns, pointing them not at me but at Jessica. I immediately lower my gun and holster it, knowing that I'm not fast enough to put them both down before they shoot Jessica. “Let her go, and we walk away. I go to America, you stay here, and we don't fuck with each other's territory.”
The Sultan laughs like I just told a good joke. “Go to America? Oh, the irony of that, wouldn't you agree... Special Agent Campo?”
Al Gazi hits a button on his desk, and the large flat panel display on the side wall lights up. The picture's familiar, I remember the day it was taken. The hair color's a little different, I was into highlighting my hair back then, it was the height of the metrosexual craze. Still, I remember that face, back when I was innocent.
“Roderick Corleone Campo, second in his class at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virgina,” Al Gazi says, his voice rising slightly but still he sounds so under control it's creepy. “Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, graduated from The United States Merchant Marine Academy before entering the FBI.”
“I never did
like that portrait, the goddamn look on my face is so stupid,” I admit, Al Gazi tapping the button on his desk again and the slide changing to my grad photo from King's Point. “Bad haircut, but much better. You can see why I did the highlighting though, you ever try living at a service academy?”
“Enough with the jokes,” Al Gazi says, switching off the slides. “You're very good Campo, but not perfect. And while I would normally let Scoglitti take care of this, the fact is you've been threatening me directly for far too long.”
“A job is a job, Al Gazi,” I reply, keeping my cool and closing the door to his stateroom before crossing the room and standing in front of his desk. It gets me closer, which is what I need. “You've been pissing off the US Government more than the rest of The Network.”
“I see. I assume this was about the sales to the 'freedom fighters' in the Mideast? It doesn't matter,” he says. “You could have gotten away with it too, but you made a mistake. This woman. You bought her, gained my personal attention. Before that, I thought you were just an ambitious pup trying to kiss Scoglitti's ass.”
“She's no mistake. She's a better person than any of your men. Better than you, better than me,” I reply, looking over at Jessica. “She's one of a kind.”
“Then she can watch you die first,” Al Gazi says. “Put your pistol on my desk.”
I reach for my pistol, one of the thugs taking his gun off of Jessica to point it at me, and I know that now's the time. I draw, depending on the skills that I've ingrained in myself over the years, the quiet hours in the hills that were as much a part of my training as the running, the lifting, everything else. I disregard the gun that's pointed at me and fire at the thug who's still covering Jessica, my first round taking him in the gun shoulder, making him pull his pistol up even as he fires. The round misses Jessica and hits Al Gazi's desk, and before he can do anything I fire again, this time taking him high, just above his upper lip, the bullet smashing through his teeth before blowing his brains out.
