by Cameron Hale
“So tell me about yourself,” Rico said. “You caused quite a stir with the guests, and I’ve entertained some of the most beautiful men and women in the world. Someone like you could become a regular and make a very good income indeed.”
“There’s nothing much to tell,” she said. “Certainly nothing that would compare to your background.”
The evasive words held a faint challenge. Rico said nothing, preferring to bide his time. “So what do you suppose you know about me?”
“From reputation,” she asked, “or from fact?”
“From any source,” he said. “People know me, but most don’t know the real Rico Castanza. Media images are the least reliable. They present a one-dimensional view of the world in general.”
Miranda finished her champagne and slowly approached. Rico marveled at her detached coolness, her demeanor apparently unaffected by drink. Her perfume extended like a spectral hand, enclosing itself around his throat. Rico felt a moment’s drowsiness. The thought momentarily disturbed him before being banished by her presence.
“What I see,” she said, “is a man who understands the nature of power. You’re not like many of these puppets you call guests. They simper for your patronage like dogs. Your notoriety stems from the mastery of your own destiny. Not many have achieved that. Not many have the courage.”
“You could say that such notoriety is achieved at a price,” Rico said. “Some would say that I’ve exchanged my freedom for a life of privileged incarceration.”
“And how would you define freedom, Senor Castanza? A peasant toiling the land has none of your responsibilities. But is he free? The very notion is an illusion. No one can be truly free as long as they’re part of society, towing the lines of obligation and expectation. Only those like you can at least maintain a certain degree of control.”
“Are you in control, Miranda?” Rico asked.
“It’s getting chilly,” she said, slowly running the tip of a glazed ruby fingernail along his lips. “Why don’t we go inside?”
Rico initiated privacy mode from the doorway panel as soon as they stepped inside the suite, the blocking code ensuring they would not be disturbed unless in extreme emergency. He approached the bar and watched Miranda’s reflection as he opened another chilled bottle of champagne, her figure distorted in the smoked mirrored walls. His hand slipped inside his jacket pocket and discreetly removed a tiny chrome phial.
Miranda moved silently around the luxurious suite, her eyes absorbing each detail of a decor integrating themes from every continent. Displays of Pre-Columbian art vied with impressionist paintings and vivid abstracts. Oriental hangings and jade carvings commingled with Egyptian relics and Wedgwood ceramics. Colors emerged and softened with artful lighting, rendering each room an intimate ambience.
Occasionally, she handled an object and weighed it in her hand as though assessing a rare antique, her expression inscrutable in the glow of a crackling fire. Fragrant candles wafted sandalwood and myrrh, the murmur of classical music a background whisper. At times she seemed to glide rather than walk, the fabric of her dress rippling like water.
She glanced at the surveillance monitors flanking the suite. “Is there no respite from your inquisitive eyes?”
Rico said nothing. A brief wave of vertigo distracted him, its occurrence too frequent to be coincidence. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he poured the champagne. Breathing deeply, he checked Miranda’s location in the mirror before quickly adding the colorless liquid into her glass. He glanced toward a control panel set beside the sink and reached to initiate the internal security eyes. His fingers almost reached it when he noticed Miranda leaning against the polished ebony counter, her stare intent.
“I’m getting thirsty, Rico,” she said.
He smiled, momentarily disconcerted by her sudden appearance. He placed the glasses on a tray and moved toward the fireplace. “Shall we toast the future?” he said, carefully handing her the drugged champagne.
Miranda raised her glass and extended it toward him. The fizzy champagne created a fragile halo. “To the future,” she said, the signet ring flashing from her finger. “And all the possibilities that await.”
Rico stared at the griffin’s ruby eyes. The crystal goblets briefly chimed as they made contact, the dancing firelight tinting the sparkling liquid with molten gold. Rico watched Miranda sip with satisfaction. He had almost drained his glass when the room began to sickeningly spin. An intense feeling of disorientation and disconnection spread through him, as though he were watching himself from a great distance. His eyes bulged with surprise. The glass fell from his hand and shattered against the marble inlay fronting the fireplace.
Miranda remained motionless as Rico’s eyes desperately searched for one of the panic buttons strategically located throughout the suite. He struggled to rise, but could not coordinate his movements. He instantly regretted not activating the security eyes the moment they entered the suite. His mind frantically raced, yet he could not fathom how Miranda could have drugged his drink and remained immune from the effect of hers. He suddenly understood why Armand had looked so puzzled after she had abandoned her entourage by the pool. His brother had literally awakened from a trance, his earlier bravado undoubtedly unrealized.
The background music seemed to surge and recede. Smiling faintly, Miranda set down her glass. She casually strolled toward Rico, noting the unaccustomed glimmer of fear in his eyes. “Then again, Rico, even the loftiest power can be transient.”
Flickering candlelight cast a rosy glow on her body as she slowly stepped out of her gown. The perfection of her full, firm breasts offset the narrow slope of her waist and gentle swell of her hips. Lithe, slender limbs boasted no imperfection, her hair a golden drape over her shoulders. Her down-kissed cunt pouted invitingly, her slightly parted legs revealing her rigid clit. She turned gracefully and bent over, exposing the cleft of her deliciously tight ass. Peering at Rico through her legs, she clutched her cheeks and spread them wide, offering him a view of her visibly moist lips and roseate anus.
Even in his drugged stupor, Rico could not help but feel aroused. He lay back on the floor to ease the pounding in his head.
“Show’s not over yet,” she whispered. She straddled his face and lowered her cunt to his mouth. “Eat me,” she commanded.
Rico struggled briefly against the suffocating embrace of her ass but complied, his tongue probing and licking the hot salty flesh spread above his mouth. He struggled to raise his hands, his fingers clumsy in their attempts to probe her gushing hole. She shuddered as he entered her, her slick wetness engulfing him. Snaking a pair of fingers into her anus, she uttered a garbled cry and began to thrust against him. Only after she shouted out a series of expletives did Rico realize she was speaking Italian.
The vaguely familiar dialect filled him with a sense of terror. He had heard it before, long ago…
She reached for his trousers and roughly pulled them down, exposing his painfully hard erection. Eight solid inches rose like a fleshy club. He felt a surge of panic—he could feel the throbbing of his cock, yet his woozy body would not obey his attempts to move. Miranda slipped off of his face and deftly impaled herself on him. She cried out and threw her head back, her hair whipping furiously.
“Fuck me,” she panted, rocking hard, her heels beating a furious staccato on the floor.
Rico groaned as she slipped off his cock and pushed it toward her anus. Entranced, he watched her tease herself with his slickened glans. Her anus engulfed him, the tight passage hugging tightly as his swollen length vanished inside her. Rico felt the pressure in his cock build until he felt he would explode. He battled for control, but his body seemed to respond only to Miranda’s will. Despite himself, he came in time with her frantic thrusting, the weight of her body expelling the air from his lungs. A sense of lightheadedness overcame him until the room spun and darkness edged his vision…
He awakened with a start, aware immediately that he was bound by the wri
sts and ankles to the posts of his massive canopied bed. Gingerly, he tested his bonds, the velveteen cords formerly securing the drapes effectively immobilizing him. Candlelight alone lit the bedroom, his vision limited by the tenuous light. He smelled Miranda rather than saw her, her presence tangible. Somewhere in the shadows she watched, her strangely musky perfume cloying. Hearing only his drumming heart above the sinister silence, he realized that some time had passed by the fact that his body no longer felt enslaved to whatever drug she had slipped him.
His naked body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, his tanned skin now a sickly muddy color. Thirst racked him, his voice a mere croak as he attempted to call out. Ironically, the monitors continued to transmit, the domain he had proudly surveyed a short time ago beyond his reach. His staff, used to his lengthy private interludes, would not dare to think of interrupting him.
Low, throaty laughter preceded Miranda’s appearance. She sidled from the direction of the balcony, a glass of champagne in hand. Her eyes raked his body, the disdain in them unmistakable.
“Not a position you’re used to, I suppose,” she said. Idly, she fondled the silken royal blue folds of the canopy. “Here we stand in a modern empire, a twenty-first century Rome built by one man. She peered closely at him. “But at what cost?”
Uttering a sigh, she mounted the bed, the mattress gently bowing under her weight. She slithered across Rico’s muscular body, her serpentine limbs undulating. Her questing tongue left a damp trail on his skin, her teeth coyly nipping. The smell of her sex filled the air. Rico gritted his teeth as her high stiletto heels nicked his sensitized flesh. He struggled uselessly against his bonds, his painfully dry throat hindering speech.
“Fuck—you,” he managed to rasp.
“Shut up!” she cried, raking his chest with her nails.
Rivulets of blood oozed from the hairline scratches. Rico lay motionless, the hatred in her eyes shocking in their depth. She lowered her mouth over the wounds and sucked the blood clean. Golden strands of hair trailed across his body as she moved, her tongue licking the beads of sweat from Rico’s forehead. She worked her way down his face, her lips hungrily brushing his.
He clamped his lips tightly, but could not resist the strength of her probing tongue. Rico tasted his the coppery tang of his own blood. She gently squeezed the tip of her tongue with her teeth, releasing the superficially implanted venom sac. A droplet of milky liquid slipped down Rico’s throat. He gagged and struggled, a low gurgle emanating from his throat. Miranda rose and kissed him, then gently stroked his tangled hair. She glanced at the Art Deco bedside clock and counted the seconds it would take for the newly developed drug to impair Rico’s motor ability but leave him fully conscious.
Rico moaned as a series of spasms wracked his body. His limbs flopped uselessly, his speech nothing more than a mumble. Miranda nodded and stepped back, her gaze fixed on his dilated, terror-filled eyes. She reached up to her left earring and plucked it off. Rubbing her fingers across the glittering diamonds, she pointed the trident shaped setting at her eyes. A fine blue beam penetrated them, their ebony color transforming to the deepest shade of amethyst. Rico’s eyes widened as she turned the earring toward her hair. Once again, the blue beam penetrated a lock and initiated a stunning metamorphosis of blonde hair into raven. She replaced the earring. With a taunting smile, she caressed her downy golden mound of pubic hair.
“We can worry about the finer details later,” she said. “Isn’t technology amazing? I bet you’re still wondering why I’m even conscious, considering your feeble attempt to drug my champagne. ” She laughed at the astonished expression on Rico’s face. “Immunoboosters of course. Just like the old fashioned inoculations of the last century. The broad spectrum infusion provides protection against a variety of, shall we say, unsanctioned toxins, designer bugs, you name it.” She shook her head. “Typical of your arrogance, Senor Castanza. You assumed only you had the handle on the contraband market.”
She proceeded to meticulously peel off her fingernails, leaving a solitary red talon on her left forefinger. The others disintegrated as she crushed them with her spiked heel. She raised the remaining nail to the light.
“You know, that’s the problem with men like you. You always have to stay a step ahead or else someone will eventually come along and kick down your sandcastles.”
She approached Rico and gently ran the fingernail along his lips. He trembled, his voice a distant croak. She noted the clamminess of his flesh and the blue color of his extremities.
“Think about it, Rico. Who would have dreamt that the microfine dust of potent drug could be contained on the tip of something as innocuous as a fingernail?”
She nodded knowingly, relishing the naked fear in his eyes. She paraded around the bed and fluffed out her shoulder length ebony hair. The recognition hit Rico, the sickening simplicity writhing like a snake in his gut. Miranda had not been in the profile, but he had seen her pass through the security scanners. He had followed her around the reception area, where she openly flirted and chatted with the other guests. The deception had been so blatant in its simplicity that it had fooled everyone.
As if reading his thoughts, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You figure it out yet, Senor Castanza?”
She squeezed the backing of the other diamond earring. A familiar, heady fragrance permeated the room. “You won’t find this customized pheromonal scent at even the most exclusive perfumers. It’s so simple when you put your mind to it. I had years to track you, years to plan.”
Miranda retrieved her glass of champagne and thirstily downed it. She glared at Rico and glimpsed the myriad of emotions shifting across his face. “You remember the deregulation of technological industries back in ‘21? Well, I certainly do, especially the repeal of governing bylaws regarding experimentation. It opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, especially for someone with an advanced degree in microtechnology and pharmaceuticals. You’ve been witness to some of my most ingenious creations. My tongue grafted venom sac, in particular, has been quite popular among women.”
She grinned with genuine amusement. “You thought you were impervious, as do most powerful people. The egos of men in particular are most predictable. I like to call it the pharaoh complex. You did present a challenge, but I eventually broke through your deity syndrome. Implanted chameleon cells derived from a close friend and fellow agency escort who has entertained your guests many times easily fooled your DNA scanners into accepting me as her. The pheromonal scent and the cosmetic alteration did the rest. Poor Alphonse was so smitten I doubt he would have noticed if the scanners had begun to recite Shakespeare.
Casting him a cold smile, she strolled to a nearby window. The shimmering ocean merged with the infinite dome of night, the stars a dazzling spray of fairy lights. A brine-kissed breeze caressed her face. Her gaze grew distant as she watched the patrolling guards, the grounds occupied only by a crew of cleaners.
“I suppose you thought no one was beyond your control, didn’t you? Well, you weren’t the only one with influence, Senor Castanza. My patents brought me a great deal of wealth and power of my own. In fact, you’ve probably dealt with my company on a number of occasions, or perhaps I should say Xavier did. Twenty million dollars can test even the most resolute loyalties.” She paused and idly fingered an earring. “My father taught me well, young as I was when you murdered him so you could steal a stinking little piece of territory.”
She chuckled and shook her head, savoring Rico’s feeble whimpering. “Revenge is like a drug, Senor Castanza, but you must handle it carefully if you are to avoid becoming addicted. It was sometimes difficult to be patient, but in the end, your own arrogance provided me with a means to literally stroll into your backyard undetected.”
Her breath momentarily caught, her eyes mirroring the image of a distant pain. Without a word, she approached the bed and removed her shoes. Manipulating one of the spiked heels, a fine scalpel protruded from the slender base, its
polished surface gleaming brightly. Rico jerked uselessly, his glazed eyes fixed on the weapon. She laughed huskily. Leaning over the bed, she began to inscribe her name on Rico’s thigh.
The scalpel sliced through his flesh like butter. Blood oozed in claret droplets. Rico mouthed a silent scream, his senses painfully acute in a useless body. He felt each searing curve and flourish as Miranda repeatedly carved the letters into his flesh. The blade melted deeper, ushering a fountain of blood. She ignored Rico’s spasming body, stopping only she noticed him slip toward unconsciousness. Her face loomed over his like a malignant moon, her lips stretching into cold smile.
“You disappointment me, Senor Castanza,” she said, roughly yanking the blade from his ravaged thigh. “I thought you would have been much stronger than this.” She toyed with the bloody scalpel. “It would be so easy to finish it now, but I still need to make some observations on the drug’s effect.”
She looked into Rico’s distended eyes. They rolled until only the whites showed, the sound of his labored breathing rising to an asthmatic gasping. By now, the blue color of his extremities reached into his limbs, the flesh of his body unpleasantly cold.
Something flashed by the window. Miranda glanced toward its fleeting shape and heard only a bird’s mournful cry as it merged with the darkness. The hypnotic fragrance of jasmine wafted from the balcony. She half closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Tears trickled down her cheek. Wetness glistened on the signet ring as she quickly wiped them away.
Muttering a few words in Italian, she crossed herself and gored one of Rico’s testicles with the scalpel. His body heaved from the agony, his swollen tongue bulging from his mouth. Methodically, she sliced off all his sexual organs and arranged them on his heaving chest. Repeating the lines of a favorite nursery rhyme, she watched until his body collapsed into stillness.
