by JJ Giles
“Exactly,” Jerry replied with a grin.
Bryant shrugged. “So if she gets greedy and tries to go to the press about whatever you’ve got planned for her, you can always send her to prison.”
A slow grin spread across Jerry’s face. “Exactly.” He threw his head back and downed the scotch.
But the one thing Jerry wanted was an evaluation of her integrity. Can she keep her mouth shut or will she run to the tabloids? Is it possible for a murderess to harbor integrity? It’d be a shame to put something that pretty in prison to rot for the rest of her life.
Chapter Five
In near desperation to focus, Brian sat at the computer trying to work up something ‘that no one else has’ for his old friend. But his mind wouldn’t think. A week had passed since he’d issued the ultimatum to his father and according to his mom his father had been ‘chillingly’ silent and uninterested.
Maybe his threat had had some impact.
Miserably distracted, he opened Morgan’s e-mail and searched the new messages for something from his father. Nothing, as he read briefly through a few. That his father would have Morgan investigated he knew, but that would only take a week or less. Almost everything Jerry would want to know could be found out within minutes.
It suddenly occurred to Brian that his father had found something that caused reticence to approach her. What could that possibly be? Brian wondered even as another message popped up. A message from JBAAV.
Brian smiled. Jerome Bryant Alexander Abernathy the fifth. Quickly, Brian opened it and read it.
Lady Morgan, you are reputed to be the kind of woman I can appreciate. I was given your name by a very satisfied client. If you have any room in your schedule, please let me know.
“Good,” Brian whispered. If there was one last hope for his family it was Morgan. Morgan could get his father’s attention. Morgan could beat that son of a bitch into ataxia and let his father know exactly what he was doing to his mother. If there was one last hope for Brian, it was her birthday next month and the million dollars worth of diamonds being crafted as an engagement ring this very moment.
* * * *
“Hi, Baby,” Morgan mewed as she walked in the kitchen door.
“Hi,” Kitty offered lamely.
“Shit, what’s the matter now?”
Kitty shrugged. “What’s the matter with Mouse lately?”
Heavily, Morgan sighed. “I think it has something do to with his family,” she whispered.
“Family? I didn’t know he had any.”
“Yep. A mom, a dad, a sister. An uncle he talks about every now and then. Worrying about his mom who gets beat up pretty regularly.”
Sadly, Kitty peered into Morgan’s eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. Frankly, there’s nothing he can do, either, but he doesn’t yet realize that. I’ve offered to let her stay here but he doesn’t seem to want to commit to that.”
Kitty moved toward Morgan to be reassured that things were all right. Morgan held to her, stroked that soft skin on her back. “Are you feeling neglected?”
“No,” Kitty mewed. Tenderly, she pressed her breasts to Morgan’s. But it was obvious she was feeling left out. Kitty was the most loyal little slave they’d ever had and never went outside the family for gratification because she loved them.
As much as Morgan wanted to remind her that she was loved, she asked, “When did he get home?”
“He hasn’t left the house today.”
All the vibrant color drained from Morgan’s face. She fell back onto the barstool to catch her breath. Mouse never blew off work, not even for fun. This was getting increasingly worse.
“Upstairs?” Morgan asked.
Solemnly, Kitty nodded.
Morgan trudged the stairs knowing what she would find. The smell of beer was rank in the room. The empty bottles sat around the periphery as the ashtrays spilled their filthy contents onto the floor.
She moved a little closer to his quietly snoring body and laid a hand on his chest. He was still feverish with the aggravation of emotional turmoil. How was she to make him realize that he can’t help people who don’t want help? Who don’t even know they need help?
Rather than disturb him further, she went to the bathroom for a trash bag. Quietly, she laid the bottles in it and went for the ashtrays. Two roaches crawled among the butts.
Pained, she studied him. When the hell? Did he start partying again? Not that she minded, but he gave it up years ago long before she quit. What the hell, Baby? she thought, her face creased with concern.
* * * *
Brian lay unconscious, yet the penis knew it was being fondled. The hand was warm, careful, soothing and the penis rose to greet it.
The fog cleared and he heard the voice of a submissive begging, begging to not be left alone, to be used for whatever purpose the Master desired. He tasted the blood in his own throat, his own voice gurgling with blood. The Master’s hot heavy hand fell on his penis and twisted it. The only gratitude he could offer was that gurgling.
In his dream, his body was constricted, enflamed even as the Master, an artist with rope, tugged on a single lead to roll him into a ball. All of the Master’s submissives were in the house and lined up behind Brian to take their fill of him, a gift from their Master. Like liquid fire Brian drank them down.
Every aching organ wept with the pleasure of this gift. Every grateful submissive knelt before the Master and kissed the Master’s precious weapon inside the leather before departing.
The next sensation Brian felt was of being dragged. A meat hook had captured the rope and he was taken out of the Lair. The pressure on the rope cut off the circulation in his legs to leave them numb. The abrasion of the carpet was intense.
With the strength of a Titan, his Master threw him on the bed and untied him only to stake him face down. “I need you,” Brian cried out, his voice muffled in the sheets.
His Master’s weight crushed him into the bed. His Master’s voice was deep, decadent as it breathed into his ear, “What do you need?”
“I need you desperately, My Lord,” Brian begged. “I can’t live without you any longer.”
The Master’s hardened weapon stabbed at Brian’s balls. “You belong to me,” the Master roared in his ear. “Your heart, your soul, your body is mine alone. You’ll always be close to me because I love you more than anything in this world.”
But it wasn’t until the moment he felt his Master’s glans penetrate that he began to sob. That he felt his Master join to him. It felt as if he dissolved, melted around his Master even as his Master took his penis in hand and crushed it.
* * * *
Stunned, Morgan backed away from her lover’s heaving body with a handful of semen, yet she was certain he was still asleep. He was crying in his sleep, coming in his sleep! What in the hell could he possibly be dreaming about? Of course, it had to do with his family.
Unnerved, she went to the bathroom to wash her hand. Someone in his family has him coming and crying at the same time? She went back to the bedroom to find him rolled in a fetal position, clutched to a pillow, his blank stare trained at the wall.
Gently, she stroked through his hair. “Baby, what’s the matter?”
But he couldn’t answer. He could only sob.
Chapter Six
Every day Brian opened Morgan’s e-mail. Every day another from JBAAV arrived. He lingered over images of violet wands and deep cycle batteries. He ached to hear the Wheel of Misfortune spinning in his mind. When an e-mail mentioned fire, Brian knew his father meant the real kind, not some poetic concoction of it. He meant flames kindled by sulfur matches fueled by alcohol.
Oh God, Brian prayed. He had to put this out of his mind. His father needed to be treated in the same manner he treated others. His father needed to know what it felt like. Only Morgan could do that. But Morgan hadn’t answered any of the e-mails which grew increasingly more graphic and desperate.
Withou
t will, Brian dragged to the bathroom. A few weeks since he shaved. Without will, he dragged the razor over his throat and cheeks. And then he drove to town to pick up a ring.
* * * *
As spring began to blossom, it was the first night they could eat on the verandah. Morgan noted that he looked a little better today even though every effort she had made to delve into his problem was rejected. It seemed he was trapped between two things and it grew increasingly more evident that she was one of them.
“Talk to me, Baby,” she whispered. She pleaded.
“Your birthday is tomorrow,” he said happily.
“I don’t want to be forty, so therefore my birthday is not tomorrow,” she whispered playfully.
“Well, if you don’t turn forty tomorrow, this fabulous present I have for you will have to wait.”
“Tell me,” she said coyly.
He shook his head. “You gotta wait 'til you’re forty.”
“Is it a vacation?” she teased.
“Sort of,” he said, thinking of a honeymoon.
“Clothes?”
He huffed. “When have I ever done anything so boring?”
“Then it must be jewelry to wear on vacation.”
“You’re getting warmer. But you’ll have to wait until you’re forty.”
Her smile was broad feeling a little of his playfulness surface. Happily, she asked, “Are we going out tomorrow night, to celebrate not only my birthday but the anniversary of the day we met?”
He peered over the table to remember the best day of his life. He also remembered it as the worst. “No,” he said casually. “I wanna do it right here...just you and me.”
“I’d like that,” she whispered.
* * * *
Jerry Abernathy sat alone in his rooms, studying the pictures of his children. His daughter had been a horror while she was ‘defining’ herself, wearing blue hair and metal stabbed through her face. But Cherry had grown up so much since then. Cherry was working for him now, running a resort on St. Maarten. He removed the picture from the mantle of Cherry and her girlfriend. Maybe the time Cherry took to grow up was what she had needed. Not that he and Cherry were close again, but they were talking at least.
He put that picture up and held to one of Brian. A smile broke over his face. Maybe Brian was coming back, too. Why else would Brian shove a dominatrix in his face if he didn’t want to remember with fondness what had gone on between them?
Just then, the corridor door opened and Jerry cringed to remember he hadn’t locked it. His wife, healed, dressed properly for an evening at the seraglio, her hair and nails simply perfect, stared with a smirk.
Quietly, he returned the picture to the mantle. “Gotta work tonight, Baby?” he snarled.
She stood propped against the wall. “As a matter of fact, I have a date.”
“You doing the whorehouse thing or are you back to the streets?”
A growl twisted her features into indefinable lines. “I just want to leave you with something to think about tonight.”
He didn’t respond verbally, only threw himself to a chair. He was so weary of this he might soon have to shoot himself over it. “I know, Cheryl. He’s not my son. And every attempt you’ve made to make me believe that Cherry is mine, including giving her a name that is a combination of Jerry and Cheryl failed, too. Her biological father, Neil Cochran, still works for me.”
“Interesting,” she said cattily. “I never realized you knew that.”
“He’s in Japan, married, eight kids. He asks about her every time I talk to him. I’ve even sent him a few pictures.”
“Well, isn’t that just cozy? So what’s on tap for you, Darling? You got a company whore coming or are you gonna go play with your brothers?”
The mention of it made his lungs contract and he gasped for air. Yet he watched her stance, her attitude spewing trash.
“Ahhh...after all these years,” she said with a smirk. “Hurts that bad, does it?”
He only sat in the chair watching her play her cards. Whatever she had planned was big. What he had planned was bigger.
“Are you going to tell Brian he’s not mine?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Of course. You’re kicking me out of here, right? Brian’s been begging me to get the hell away from you and come live with him and his little girlfriend. He knows I’m his mother. He can sense it. I think he can also sense that you’re not his father. I’ll confirm it for him.”
“Then why don’t you go live with them?”
A sour smile stretched her lips. “’Cause I’m not done with you yet, Baby. But I will be soon.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me I have a phone call to make,” he said feeling the rage collect inside of him. More than anything he didn’t need to give her more ammunition right now. The powder keg was about to blow. That, he could sense. If they didn’t get the hell away from each other soon, one of them was going to die.
“Sure,” she whispered. “Have fun.” With a flirty little swivel to her hips, she turned and slammed the door behind her.
Boiling, he sat in the chair, his heart racing causing serious pain. It suddenly occurred to him she was trying to kill him. Cause him to suffer another heart attack, perhaps shoot himself like so many other top executives have, suicide being an industrial hazard.
Why the hell did he even continue to come back here? It wasn’t the only place he had to live. Considering the things he’d endured in this house since the day he was born, why the hell did he come here?
Without further thought, he went to the hall closet and gathered up the suitcases. Quickly, he packed a few everyday suits, socks. Carefully, he gathered the pictures of his children and laid them lovingly between the layers of underwear and more casual things.
Yeah, as he closed them and grasped them in his hands. First intelligent thing he’d done in years. He took the back staircase to the garage.
Even this car he hated. A stodgy Rolls Royce when he preferred that new Mazaradi he’d seen in Car and Driver. He hated his entire life, everything about it, other than his children. Yet he threw the suitcases in the Rolls and drove away. Without a backward glance he drove downtown, parked in his space and took his private elevator to the penthouse apartment that would now be home.
Chapter Seven
Morgan awoke to another day in Brian’s arms. It was another year and the thought that she was actually forty years old made her want to go back to sleep. Languidly, she turned in his arms.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispered.
“Gee, thanks.”
“So is it true?” he murmured. “Does life begin at forty?”
Playfully, she shook his jaw a little. “You’re not paying attention. Life is over at forty.”
“Bullshit,” he whispered and pulled her close. “I have something totally fabulous for you, you know.”
“Can’t you give me a hint?”
She was wearing it already but she wasn’t awake enough to know it. Just then, a knock on the door interrupted his plans.
“What?” Brian grumbled.
The door opened and Kitty stood with her hip cocked holding his phone. “Your damned phone has rung about thirteen times already this morning,” she hissed, rubbing her eyes. Before she snuggled next to Morgan, it rang again.
“Fuck,” Brian whispered to feel it tossed at his feet. Quickly, he sat up. His heart sank to see it was a call from the Mansion. A furtive glance in Morgan’s direction awakened her fully. “My mom… What the fuck could be so important...?”
Morgan tightened around Kitty knowing it was bad.
“Yeah...Mother,” he growled.
“Brian, your father is missing!”
He wasn’t sure he heard correctly. He launched out of bed. “What the hell do you mean, he’s missing?” Brian shouted.
“I went up to get him for our usual Saturday breakfast at the club and he’s gone, Honey. His bed hadn’t been slept in. He’s nowhere in the house.”
“Di
d you see him last night?”
“I said good-bye before I left to play bridge,” she choked.
He could feel her fear. Hear her tears and his body clenched with rage. “Mom,” he started stoically, “do you have a ransom note?” The one thing Jerry Abernathy had feared more than anything his entire life was that his children would be kidnapped. He instilled that fear in them.
Morgan recoiled to hear the very word.
His mother never answered. She hadn’t thought it would come up. She could have written one and didn’t think about it.
“Mom!” Brian screamed. “Either you’ve got a ransom note or you don’t!”
“No,” she cried. “That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been kidnapped.”
“Jesus, stay right there. I’m coming.” Filled with anxiety, he clicked off and grabbed his jeans, watching Morgan trembling in the bed. “I’m sorry, Baby.”
“Let me go with you,” she pleaded.
“No. I don’t want you involved in this shit.” Most of all, he would never want her to have go through something like this because of his family’s money. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.” He propped on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes and dialed the phone.
“It’s Brian,” he cried at his uncle.
“Precious,” his uncle Alex cooed. “But it’s so early, Darling.”
“Mom just called,” Brian rasped obviously panicked. “Dad’s missing.”
Morgan heard the shriek through the phone.
“I’m going up there now. I’ll swing by and pick you up. I’ll bring Morgan’s car. A yellow Porsche.”
“I’ll wait for you outside,” Alex cried, obviously panicked.
Brian clicked off and rummaged the drawer for a T-shirt. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
