by Jesse Jordan
It's not deep, but I can tell that it's right on that part where everything stings, and tears come to her eyes as the salt from the water she's cooking the potatoes in starts to sting. She's brave and tries to hide it, but this isn't a training session, where the pain is supposed to have a purpose. This just fucking hurts.
“Let me see,” I say, my voice calm. I take her hand and hold it under the faucet, letting the water sluice away the salt. “Okay, that's gonna sting for a while, keep it there while I get you a band-aid.”
I find my first aid kit in the bathroom, and when I come out Jessica's still crying softly, but I can tell it's not from pain. “It's okay, Jessica. I'm sure you've cut or burned yourself worse than this before.”
She sniffs. “Yes Master.”
“Then why cry? Do you think I'm upset with you?” I ask, and she nods once, miserably. “Well I'm not. It's my fault that I distracted you, it's my fault you got hurt. So here's how we're going to make it up. For the rest of the evening, you tell me what to do to make dinner, and then a nice, quiet evening. No unexpected sex, no crazy demands. Just a nice evening together.”
Jessica perks up, sniffing and wiping her nose with her unbandaged hand. “I'd like that, Master.”
“Then what's next?” I ask, relaxing into the task of being the cook while Jessica bosses me around. She walks me through the recipe expertly, tasting from time to time and helping with one handed tasks while I finish everything else. When I scoop the meat sauce into the hollowed out mashed potato 'boats,' Jessica nods approvingly.
“Very good Master. You have a deft hand, but I already knew that.”
I chuckle, picking up the two plates. “Jessica, you don't have to praise me, you know. Not that I mind.”
“And you don't have to compliment me either, Master. But you do.”
Her comment makes me think, and I set our plates at the table, holding the chair out for Jessica. “You have a point. Let's eat.”
Dinner is delicious, in fact since giving Jessica more freedom as well as more duties, my diet's not only improved but gotten a lot tastier. “Are you sure you're not a trained chef?”
“No, I was honest when I told Larrisa that at Rutgers I barely cooked for myself at all,” Jessica says. “What about you? No amount of hard work in the warehouse is going to make up for eating crap, and you do not have a crappy body.”
I chuckle, warmed again. “I've learned more than just a few basics, but honestly, I spent a lot of my evenings outside the house, even when I didn't have work. Speaking of which, I'd like your opinion on something.”
“What is it, Master?” she asks, relishing her food. Watching Jessica eat is foreplay in itself, and I have to remind myself that I promised her no sex demands tonight.
“I might have a new position within The Network soon. A promotion to capo.”
Jessica raises an eyebrow. “That's a good thing, isn't it?”
I nod, then shake my head. “I'm pretty young for a potential capo position, but there's a special reason The Network wants me. They've decided that with the recent changes in Washington, they're seeing North America as a potential area for expansion.”
Jessica goes quiet, her face clouding, and I set my spoon down. “You don't approve.”
Jessica thinks, then shakes her head. “Master... I've come to accept, even if I don't quite like, what you do. I know there's a lot of places in the world where what you do would be considered normal, or just good business.”
“Sicily being one of them.”
She nods, her face still serious. “Yes, Sicily being one of them. But Master... North America? Would you really want to bring what The Network does to your home country? Would you really want to be part of the drug trade that floods the streets of Camden, or Philly? What about the girls, too?”
I laugh, and pick up my spoon again. “Jessica, every time I think that you're getting a clue, you somehow remind me that you're still pretty innocent in all of this. Not stupid, you're far too smart to ever call you stupid, just innocent. The Network is already in North America. It's a small potatoes operation currently, mostly on finding girls for certain clients. We've actually never had to have a situation like what happened to you, we get flooded with requests from girls in Asia, in South America, in Eastern Europe, all of them willing to take up a life ten times worse than what you have for a chance to live in America. Right now, there are four CEOs of NASDAQ listed companies who have girls who were delivered to them by The Network. So trust me, everything's already there.”
“So what do you want my opinion on?” Jessica asks.
I shake my head, unsure. “I don't know. I guess... well, how would you feel about moving back to the United States? It'd be under a false name of course, we'd have to get you some fake papers.”
Jessica thinks, then shrugs. “I don't know, Master. If I can be totally honest, there's a part of me that wants to, because I know the system. In the USA, I can get away, get my freedom.”
I nod, the same thought coming to my mind. “True. And no Jessica, I wouldn't leave you behind in Sicily while I went to America. But what about the other part of you?”
Jessica shrugs. “There's the side of me... there's the side of me that likes calling you Master for more than just the sex. The side of me that looks forward to going into the training room with you, the side of me that... the side of me that wants to serve you. That likes being yours. It's hard for me to understand it still, Master.”
“I'm not going to ask you to give me your opinion on which side is stronger right now, Jessica,” I reply, chilled deep inside. Is it all going too fast? I don't know. “Let me clear the table.”
“No Master, I can do it,” Jessica says, standing up. “I'll get dessert too. I can still handle a butter knife.”
I watch her as she walks away, feeling like I'm both the luckiest and the unluckiest man on Earth. The fact is, if I am made the capo of North America, I'd either have to be very strict with Jessica... or get rid of her. And I can't get rid of her.
Jessica takes a while to come back, and when she does, I can't help but smile. “You changed into your short blue dress. Why?”
Jessica blushes and sets the small bowl of pudding down in front of me. “Even though you said no demands Master... that doesn't mean I can't hope for a few requests, right?”
I chuckle, picking up my spoon. “Well, maybe I can find room for two delicious desserts tonight.”
The next morning, Jessica positively glows as we sit down to breakfast, but before I can pick up my fork, my cell phone rings that I have a message. Not my normal phone... my other phone. Jessica looks up, surprised. “Master?”
“Just a moment,” I say, going into the kitchen and pulling out the phone. Call ASAP. Hi pri.
Shit. I put my phone away, rubbing my temples. Not today, I don't need this shit today. Hurriedly I grab my keys, going back into the dining area. “I have to go out for a few hours. So I need you to go back to your room. You can take breakfast with you.”
Her face falls, but Jessica obeys, getting her plate and a spoon, going to her room. I watch her sit down at the small vanity table and I watch her for an instant. “Yes, Master?”
I shake my head, my mind going back to what we talked about last night. “Nothing, Jessica. I promise, just a few hours, then we'll talk. I thought about your idea for a garden, I think I'd like that. We can discuss details when I return.”
I close Jessica's door and reach for the lock, and then at the last instant... I let my hand drop away. Maybe it's a test, maybe I'm testing myself as much as her, but I turn and walk away, getting in my truck and driving two kilometers into the hills. The lake is a lot closer here, on good days you can even catch the scent of the fresh water, different from the northerly breezes that brings in the ocean most of the time. I get out of my truck and look around, making sure I'm alone before placing my call. It's picked up immediately.
“You're fast. Didn't think you'd be at home.”
“Yeah w
ell, I didn't have anything planned this morning past a workout. Nothing's going on until this afternoon. What do you want?”
“Omar Al Gazi's weapons shipment.”
“What about it?” I ask, watching as a hawk circles in the sky. “I already sent you the details. From what I'm hearing, you guys have been doing a good job of fucking with him, he's had to twice cancel the shipment because the buyers get nervous.”
“It has to be disrupted. He's shipping nerve agents.”
“No shit, I'm the one that told you guys. What the fuck you want me to do about it?”
My contact rumbles, his voice growing rough. “Watch you mouth, you're still on our payroll. Fact is, things on this end... we can't get the shipment broken up permanently. Boss man's pissed off the Israelis and the Turks. They aren't listening to us right now. They think that it's not their backyard anyway, so fuck it.”
“And I'm supposed to stick my neck out because you guys won't play kiss and make up with them? My advice is to tell the boss not to go over there and make an ass out of himself. Fuckstick.”
“My advice to you is to remember that even though you're Deep Cover, you're still an agent of the FBI, Special Agent Campo. You have orders. Disrupt the shipment. If you have the opportunity, arrest or take out The Sultan.”
“Take out? I thought you were supposed to be the good guys. Ordering hits is what The Network does.”
“You have your orders, Campo. We'll be in touch.”
The line goes dead, and I shake my head. Fuck.
Like I didn't have enough going on in my fucking life. Well, at least they want me to take out The Sultan, I already have beef with that guy. Manufactured beef, I've been trying to take him down for a while the slow way, but still beef.
Still, I think as I slide behind the wheel of my truck and watch the lake for a while, why does it feel like even though I'm supposed to be one of the good guys, I'm working for the side that's got no balls? At least in The Network, if you want to kill someone, you man the fuck up and kill them yourself.
I sigh, shaking my head. All this, for an extra sixty seven thousand dollars a year. Chump change compared to what I get to keep from The Network.
I'll give Jessica a little more time on her test, then head home. If she passes... I think I have something for her.
Jessica
When Rodrigo closes the door, it's funny how in my mind I think of him as Rodrigo when he has clothes on and Master otherwise, I wait for the second or two it normally takes for him to throw the exterior lock on my door. When there's no rattle, no little metal on wood sound that I've gotten used to, I pause, wondering if maybe he's forgotten something he wants to tell me, something he wants me to do while he's gone. Then I hear the engine on his truck start up, and I look out the narrow window that gives me a view of the outside, shocked when he pulls away.
“Rodrigo?” I ask wonderingly before I go over to my door and knock. I try the knob, and it turns easily before the door pops back, startling me. I can see my lock just sitting there, freshly screwed into the wood to keep me secure, but for some reason the bolt was never shot this time. I look out, worried. “Master? Rodrigo?”
Silence greets me, and I step out of my room, my heart in my throat. I can hear a bird singing outside, and the sound of the wind against the north side of the house, but nothing else. I feel strange creeping around, checking each room, wondering what the hell is going on.
Then it dawns on me. He didn't lock me in.
He forgot.
This is my chance to run!
I blink, shocked for a second before I hurry to Rodrigo's room. I grab the duffel bag that he uses when he brings me gifts and carry it back to my room, grabbing things quickly. I don't have any ID, but if I can get out of this town, I can easily get over to Palermo. There's a United States consulate office there. They'll hear my accent, maybe they'll let me make a call to the States, where even if Rodrigo's threat that The Network's eliminated my ID is true, they can't have eliminated Mom.
I throw what I can think of quickly in the bag, a pair of jeans, a change of underpants, a couple of t-shirts. As I do I run through what else I know. I know I'm near Caccamo, I've heard Larissa and Rodrigo use that word before, and once there was some mail left on the counter of the kitchen. If I remember Sicily right, it's not far to the northern coast, where there's a big highway that goes straight to Palermo. I've got to be able to find a bus or something that can get me there.
Still, I'm going to need supplies, and I go into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Two bottles of water, a box of crackers, a nice block of Parmesan cheese, just in case. When I open the cabinet where Rodrigo keeps the sharp knives, I stop, surprised at the plastic sandwich bag that I see inside. I take it out, my eyes widening as I see the three rolls of euro bills inside. I quickly take them out of the bag, seeing that one's a roll of twenty euro notes, another of one hundreds, and then a roll of five hundreds. I don't have time to figure out exactly how much it is, I just take the rolls and throw them into the duffel bag.
“Call it severance pay,” I whisper as I close the cabinet and head to the door. I put my outdoor shoes on and reach for the doorknob to the outside. I know that the villa's surrounded by a wall, but there has to be a way around or through the gate, it's not that high or there have to be some sort of manual controls.
Wait.
My hand freezes, so close to the doorknob that I can feel the coolness of the metal radiating the short distance to my skin. What?
What if this is a trick?
What if it's not? What if this is my chance to get away from here? What if this is my one and only chance to not be a slave?
What if you don't want to go?
I stop, pulling my hand away and thinking. My internal voice has to be crazy, or maybe it's just afraid. I mean, I've been a captive here for a long time, over two months by my count. Rodrigo's been my Master for two weeks, and before that... yeah, I've been here over two months. Of course it's afraid.
I'm not afraid. Well, not totally. I'm being serious. What if you want to stay?
Stay? Stay for what? Being locked up at night, a pet in a cage?
Stay because of him. Not in fear of him. Because of him.
You're out of your fucking mind.
It's your fucking mind, remember.
I groan, grinding the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, the pain... delicious. Like the pain of Master when he's got me in the training room, my body on fire with intense sensations, pain and pleasure and ecstasy all mixing together and overloading my brain and my body.
No other man's ever given you anything like that.
That doesn't mean it can't happen. Just because I know I like it doesn't mean Rodrigo's the only man in the world who can do it for me. Fuck, I lived an hour from New York City. You can find anything in New York. You can probably find two of everything even.
Yeah, you're right. You can find someone to tie you up, whip you, spank you or whatever. But... it won't be Master.
Yeah... well, I'm not doing this because I'm afraid of him. Got it?
Got it.
I back up from the door and take the duffel bag, putting it in the middle of the small table that we were going to eat breakfast at. I go back to my room and retrieve my now cold breakfast, eating it quickly before I take it and the other plates to the kitchen in order to start washing up.
Rodrigo said that he'll be back in a few hours. Maybe he'll like it if I have lunch ready for him. The question is, what can I make that can keep just in case he takes longer than he said? There's nothing worse than cold pasta, and I have no clue how to make pizza dough.
I think, then decide on a panzanella salad. We've got some stale bread, I can toast that up.... yeah, I think that'll work just fine. I hope Rodrigo won't mind if I use one of the sharp kitchen knives, there's no way I can cut up the bread without one.
Rodrigo
I hang out in the hills overlooking the lake for two hours, mourning my loss. There's no w
ay she won't take the opportunity and run. I've kept her as my hostage and slave for a long time now, and while I'm not worried about the police, things on Sicily run differently than the rest of Europe, I still feel sad.
The fact is, I couldn't force her to stay any longer. I reach into my pocket, taking out the satin ribbon that I've been carrying around. It's the one I dream about, the ultimate ribbon in my mind. Part of me has been wanting to ask her to put it around her graceful, elegant neck. But that's a level of submission that has meanings, has an intensity behind it that I can't force on her, not that I ever have really. It's what made Jessica unique.
“Fuck it, makes my job easier anyway,” I whisper to myself, wiping at my right eye as some dust gets inside it and makes it water. “Bitches be holding me down.”
I get back in my truck, closing the door and thinking. The FBI must really be freaking the fuck out about The Sultan's weapons shipment to be so direct in telling me to take him down. For three years now, almost as soon as I graduated the Deep Cover course at Quantico, I've been infiltrating The Network, using a combination of my real identity and made up information to work my way in with Scoglitti. I used my villa as a quiet place of solitude, a place that I had at least a chance of privacy to think, even if Larissa drops by unexpectedly.
Eighteen months I've been working to disrupt The Sultan. I kept hoping that by feeding enough information to the FBI, that they'd use their friends the CIA or Israeli Mossad to take Omar Al Gazi down. I've fed them times and shipment details, what I knew about his locations. I knew the Italians weren't going to do shit, but I kept hoping he'd get tagged on the far end of his deliveries. Barring that, I was hoping that by planting enough seeds of doubt with Scoglitti and Rachmaninoff that The Sultan would find himself on the outs, and maybe he'd be eliminated in a nice little 'internal' matter.
No dice. Now they want me to confront him directly, to bring the two of us to full on dealings. Doing so risks three years of work in addition to my life. Never mind that if I do it wrong, I blow the entire point of my operation, which was to work internally to allow The Network to be contained. I won't say eliminated, no fucking way would the power brokers who I already know are 'customers' of The Network would let all of the skeletons out of the closet.
