by C. L. Black
Her pupils darted, side to side. She pulled in some air and uttered, “You heard me?”
“Yah, Snow, I heard everything.” Pete placed his fingers against her bruised neck, rechecking her pulse. “You’ll live.” He sniffed the foul air. “Thank God for vinyl.”
Natasha’s lungs filled. She sat up and coughed. “I didn’t do it. I love her.”
“Save it for her, princess. Here; give her this and we’re even.” He left the small bottle containing more of Papa’s special blend on the nightstand.
Natasha nodded.
He recapped the spent syringe, policed up the used swab, found its wrapper, and started to withdraw. He turned back to snatch the iPhone off the nightstand. “Is this it?”
She nodded and said, “Will she be okay?”
“Yah, she’s a Kat. She’ll probably outlive us both. Hey, Snow, do me a big favor and clean her up, will ya? Dame Jane’s got it bad for you. And Snow, I told you two to stay out of that damn honey trap for a reason.”
“Nina?”
“You catch on quick. Don’t worry; she probably won’t remember anything. Let’s try to keep it that way. Whatever you do, don’t tell her anything about the kid.” He checked his KAT. She was still out. “Make her believe Boris, and her kid are dead. Understand?”
Again, she nodded, but she didn’t understand. “Why?”
“Just do it; if you want them both to live! And remember, Boris gave you the baby in Paris, not Katrina.” Pete left the same way he came, quick and clean. He had given Katrina-Jane Sterling new life, their sixth. They could all thank him later.
“Pete…” Jane's drugged mind began to drift aimlessly. For an instant, the thirty-year fog cleared. My dollies… Princess Natasha and Sir Katherine. She was ten and holding them both in her arms. My little princess, I’m sorry. Don’t make me play that game. Simon says… No! That knife, so sharp… No! The monster…You can’t take her. I’ll save you, “Sarah!” It was too late, the monster had her. The fog closed in. So cold… She continued to drift in the sea of Katrina’s bloody memories.
“KK!” The antidote was kicking in. Jane took a deep breath. Vinyl… She couldn’t remember where she was or who she was. She could feel, something, no, someone… The fog cleared. “Natasha!” Bloody hell…
Lucky for Jane, Katrina hadn’t eaten either. The massive overdose of Flunitrazepam proved too much for their empty stomach. It had caused her to vomit. Had she eaten, or drank Papa’s scotch slower, she’d probably be saying hello to Sir Katherine and all the other dead GoodKnights by now.
“Pete …” It was no use. Too sleepy. Her eyelids fell with a painful thud. Should have stayed out of that bloody honey trap. What was left of her Swiss cheese brain fought on. Pete was right. I was the bloody assignment. She felt something, warm and wet. Her heart surrendered.
Who’s Pete?
Room 869 Friday, 5 June, 02:16 local
For the first hour, Natasha lay holding her Jane, deciding if she should take her own little princess and run. They would have hunted her. The one-time TM was done running, done hiding. She knew they would find her. The evil bastards had to be stopped. She undressed, cleaned up the mess, took a long hot shower, found some ice for her neck, then phoned her daughter at boarding school to apologize. She had missed the swimming finals. She’d never missed any of her daughter’s events before. Natasha crawled into bed and hugged her resurrected lover tight. She held her beloved mistress with KK for the next two hours, as Boris, Bullwinkle, and Papa waged their war for Jane’s abused body, the KAT’s abused mind, and someone’s lost soul. Room service called. It was time to face the music.
“Who’s Pete?”
“He’s Long!” Jane’s head ached, bloody awful. A few seconds later, her eyes blinked on to find Natasha hovering over her in the softly lit room. “I must be dead in heaven, or is it a dream?” Her throat was full of, mothballs. She spotted the glass. Trust her.
“You talk in your sleep, a lot. Here…drink this. Who’s Pete?” Natasha held the glass to Jane’s lips.
She took a sip of, water… She waited for the dream to end. It didn’t. “Thanks.” The fog was clearing. “He’s a dead man. What happened to your neck?”
“You’re welcome.” Katrina’s doll stood by the bed, wrapped in a white hotel robe, holding a toothbrush. “Here, you stink: brush!”
With that done, Jane noticed the cart. Room service—at this hour? Right; Pete…“Plan to kill me with kindness this time?”
“Me? It wasn’t me.” The robe opened, revealing the sparkling lingerie. “Still want to kill me?” She was pouting, a most inviting pout. She let it drop.
“Maybe later.” Jane could see more clearly now. The bridal lingerie. The sizes were correct. “I need to know everything. What happened to your neck?”
“I thought that you were dead.” Natasha bent over to pick up the robe.
Jane growled, “Leave it!” She felt that old tingle.
“For whom?”
She checked the time. “Shit!” She tried to get up. “Fuck!” Her head felt ready to explode. The room started to twirl.
Natasha pushed her Jane back down onto the bed and straddled her. “Stay put. Lately, I’ve been working for a senator named Winter. She has me translating old birth records, East German.” She gave Jane another sip from the glass.
The room slowed to a crawl. “Thanks. Do you translate for anyone else?”
“No!”
“Not Bullwinkle?” She grabbed the doll’s arms.
“Yes, but—”
“He has you tutoring the pretender?” She pulled the doll down, holding her tight, their lips only inches apart.
“You know?” Natasha blushed. “But—” Interrupted by powerful lips, hers offered no defense. A moment passed to let the smoke clear.
“Yes, more than you think, my lost princess.” Jane’s grip released as she licked her lips.
The doll tasted just as sweet as—she remembered New York. Those diamonds were stimulating some memories too. She hadn’t been topped in a long time. Not since, “Boris.”
“I thought you were dead!” Natasha pulled back vertical. “Ja. Both of you, that day, with the others! It was so horrible. We came back here to start a new life. You—I mean, Boris, left me some money and the DC condo. She was good to me. She was always good to me. I loved her, once.” Natasha dismounted her former mistress and went to the table, picked up her purse, and pawed at her wallet. “We have a daughter. Boris gave her to me.”
Bloody hell. Miss Jane was ensnared by the image. Two girls in swimsuits; one, the spitting image of BP. “Who’s that?” She pointed, “The tall one with the long dark hair? Know her?”
“Her? Ja, another girl from the swim team. They’re friends.”
“Right! Amazing resemblance. Know her well, do we?”
“Yes. She stays over when her parents travel.”
“Does she?” Jane sat up. Shit. She felt like it too. “How much did I drink last night?” She couldn’t remember last night. The room began to gain speed. She latched on to, “DC Rubber-doll-six-niner-niner.”
“Yes. That’s how I received the instructions. Last October. I wanted not to believe it. But the code; it was the old code. Boris taught it to me. The message said that if I didn’t meet the senator, they would take my baby back. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. Don’t you see? I had to. She had your note. It said you, I mean, Katrina. You two were dead. She had the boots. You, um, Boris made me promise. I love you—her.” Natasha pleaded, “Please, Mistress.”
“Right! Did Papa tell you to seduce me? Again?”
“Papa? Who’s Papa? I was here the other night to meet the senator.”
“Threesome?” Jane had yet to be totally disarmed. Katrina’s fire still raged. She was starving.
“Ja; she’s into that. Likes to watch, mostly. Tie and tease. Nothing too bizarre, just the latex. What does it matter? You’re back.” Natasha reached around and unzipped Jane’s skirt. “Lift! I�
�ll have it cleaned.” The girl was efficient.
“Right. Well then, I see you’re all grown up.” She asked the final Jeopardy! question, “Wet. How’d you get hold of that bloody awful perfume?”
“Why? You don’t like it?”
Her voice stiffened, “Wet!” Her head was pounding. Voice lowered, she growled, “Who gave you the perfume?”
“It was Herr Krump’s, um, lady friend.”
“Jack.”
Natasha smiled. “Ja. Lady Jacqueline. The day before Christmas. She said it contained an ancient love potion.”
Jane laughed.
“Kristin said they were actually test samples of a new perfume Hush-Hush was working on. She’s very sweet. Do you love her?”
“What else did she say?” pressed Jane, who wasn’t in the mood for sharing.
“Just that it was a little holiday gift from her Papa. KK insisted we put some on, right then. It’s nice, no?”
Papa… “No, sweetie, it’s very bad. You met with Krump?”
Natasha appeared disappointed. “Yes. We met with him at a large estate in England. He said that he was thinking of buying it.”
“I thought you went to Berlin?”
“We did, after lunch. Don’t you remember? Kristin told us her papa was in the UK. You—Katrina flew over with us. How come she gets her own jet? It’s very nice.”
Us… “Anything queer happen, on that flight?”
“Queer? Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t remember it much. Champagne and pink lemonade. Kristin’s idea. Sorry, I got a little drunk and fell asleep. The flight attendant woke me up just before we landed.”
“Cute little blond? Tight little bottom? Elsa—”
“Yes!” Natasha perked up. “You know her too?”
“Never mind that. Got pissed, you say? Don’t remember anything?”
“I’m not much of a drinker. Remember?”
“Yes, sweetie. Was Krump on the plane?”
“No. Just his daughter, Kristin, the senator, and her security officer. Her name was Daniels, Agent Daniels, and, of course, the pilots and Elsa.”
“Right. Promise me, love.” Jane took her by the arm, sniffing her wrist and behind each ear.
“Anything,” professed Natasha.
“Don’t use any more of that bloody awful perfume.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t suit you, my sweet.” She kissed Natasha’s broken nails, gently sucking on each finger. “Have any with you?”
“Yes, right here.”
“It’s been drugged, sweetie. Give it to me. Makes good little girls do bad things.”
Natasha turned white. “You know?”
“Yes, my dear, I know. Have you noticed anything odd since you started using?” She sniffed the bottle, and snarled. “Wet!”
“Are you sure it’s drugged?” Miss White hadn’t told Jane everything.
“Very sure! Now promise Miss Jane. No more Wet. Not even a sniff.”
“I promise.”
“Good girl.” She kissed her beautiful princess. Jane wanted to take Katrina’s sparkling doll right then. “Now be a love. Let’s help Miss Jane out of her things.”
Natasha did as she was told, then offered Miss Jane the robe. It was refused.
Jane fell back in bed. This time she was the one propped up by the pillows.
“Now, you eat.” Natasha set the tray over Jane’s lap with a kiss, then attacked the good ear. “Who’s Pete? You kept saying his name and KK’s in your sleep.”
“Pete?” Jane kissed the seriously bruised neck. “Must be a guardian angel.”
Natasha lifted off then pulled the plate’s cover, “Hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet.”
Ja, she is.
Jane noticed the broken nails but didn’t ask. “Be a dear and cut for Miss Jane, my love?” She held out the knife.
Each pondered the blade. It was now or never.
Natasha climbed back aboard and made the first slice.
“I don’t wish you involved with that naughty senator or Bullwinkle any longer.”
“But she’s expecting me to join you two, tomorrow. She just likes to watch.”
“You shouldn’t be involved in such grown-up affairs.”
“I don’t understand.” Natasha forked the cut meat and brought it to her lost lover’s hungry lips.
“Nor do I, love—yet.”
Jane tasted the first bite of Katrina’s juicy thick New York strip. Their Natasha doll was alive, and all grown up. She continued to eat. The doll continued straddling her legs, naked, but for the tiny bits of diamond-studded white satin. Likes to watch? That wasn’t in Pete’s intel either. Or was it? I should have been on that flight. The rogue stayed silent as Natasha worked her magic charms. They devoured the steak one mouth-watering bite at a time.
“I’ll run you a warm shower.” Natasha, the beautiful princess pawn, was back in play.
“You must be an angel too, love.”
“Almost!”
Jane stood. The room swayed. A long, slow walk led to the too bright bath. She didn’t dare look in the mirror. She brushed her teeth again and kissed Natasha who helped her into the shower. Fuck, that’s bloody cold. She trimmed up the temperature. When the rogue emerged ten minutes later and ready to play—Natasha was gone. So was her iPhone. What’s this, a note?
Miss Jane, (ha ha)
You shouldn’t be drinking.
Remember: Don’t hurt her. She mostly likes to watch. Call her a slut.
Be careful. Boris isn’t dead. Ask Bullwinkle. He knows.
Always yours,
Natasha.
PS: Someone’s in love.
Lovely. She placed the note with the perfume in, Jane’s Smith’s bag, and fell into bed. She’ll be back. They always come back. Meow…
08:00 local
Ring… ring…
Awakened from a most pleasant dream, Jane had no recollection of last night. She took sight of the service cart and tray. Though well rested, she didn’t remember anything after arriving. Nina… The Tits and Clits… I must have stopped in for a drink. The residual amnesia would die off by breakfast; one of the downsides of Flunitrazepam. The other, a killer headache, would dog her all day.
Ring… ring…
Bloody hell… Her head was pounding when she answered the phone.
Sorry to wake you, Miss Smith. It’s Peter in Guest Services calling.
Bam! Bam!
“Bloody hell! I’m coming.”
Peter was at the door with the leather blazer and skirt. Jane couldn’t understand why she wasn’t hungry. Pete was no help. He waited, reading The Times, while Mistress Sterling showered and suited up for business. She hadn’t slept that soundly in months. His Kat would never remember exactly what transpired that night, or how that note and that awful perfume found its way into her bag. And that was exactly what Uncle Pete wanted. The note was on red stationary, from Natasha’s hand. The iPhone? It was gone. Katrina must have met Natasha… It was a dream. Wasn’t it?
Winter Came Late
The main dining room at the Mayflower, 09:13 local
Mistress Sterling’s back was against the wall. Like Pete, Jane waited, cooling her jets as she sat at the same table where they met a week and two days ago. Eight years… Her head was more than a little cobwebbed. Ten minutes later, she still waited, impatiently. Mistress Sterling didn’t like to be kept waiting; certainly not by a two-term politician. Don’t hurt her… No slut of hers would ever keep Mistress Sterling waiting. The pretender has a lot to learn. Pete’s naughty senator was thirteen minutes late. About bloody time. Jane stood and offered her hand.
“Miss Winter? What a pleasure to finally meet you.” Right… She withdrew her hand.
“Didn’t we meet—” The subject glanced at the iPhone resting on the table next to the plate—one sausage and no potatoes. Just the way she liked them.
“Please, do join us, Miss Winter. I do so love the Mayflower. It’s the one place in town
where one can enjoy a proper English breakfast.” Jane sat.
“It’s Senator Winter.” The subject acted put off. That was, until Slut Winter noticed the bit of rubber corset peeking from Jane’s blouse. Winter sat, immediately pulling out her Blackberry. “I was told you were a friend.” Her eyes were on the device, her best friend lately, her only friend. She fingered in her thoughts and sent her chief of staff the message, then stole another glance of Jane’s rubber.
“Yes, most friendly, when the mood strikes.” Jane spoke softly and very British, her stiff lips partially hidden behind the coffee cup she was holding. “What type of friendship do you require, Miss Winter?”
No response.
“Natasha informed Miss Jane that you’ve been a naughty girl. Haven’t you?”
“Do we have to play this little game, Miss Jane? Not that it’s your real name.” The subject still wasn’t making eye contact. “Where is she?”
“As real as any.” Jane lowered her coffee, returning it to its saucer. She undid a second button then studied her plate for a moment. “So thick.” She stabbed the lone plump sausage. “Don’t you think, slut?”
The slut had to look. “Yes.” Her attitude had been corrected.
Holding it near her mouth, Jane asked, “Wouldn’t you just love to taste my juice?” She bit the tip off, returning the remainder of the forked sausage on her plate. “Quite tasty, and wet too.” Jane knew what she was doing.
The subject was already aroused. “Yes, mouth-watering.” Lost somewhere in the rubbery cleavage, Slut Winter had been unable to keep her rubbery fantasies contained since receiving the invitation. A friend, the wealthy wife of the British ambassador to Germany, knew of her special needs and had told her to contact a Peter Long and request a Mistress Katrina GoodKnight. Winter had had a not-so-brief affair with the woman ten years earlier when they lived in Washington. Winter didn’t know that the woman was a confidential informant for the BND.
