by LS Silverii
Sunni and the ancient one stormed off. The third hung around—his head constantly swiveling atop hunched shoulders. Ben’s heart picked up a beat. He yipped because he knew what that meant. He had an unnatural ability to read human behavior. His ability to observe even the most minute micro-expressions and forecast what others were about to do had saved his life more than once. It also helped him end many others before any damage could be done.
This man was about to rat out Osama bin Laden. Ben straightened his back and began gathering his few precious supplies. He anticipated the third Popi tribesman would head into the rugged hill region. The ancient one couldn’t physically follow him, and Sunni still looked scared shitless. The third man would be free to seek out.
Ben’s stomach growled—he also knew the third man would be his sustenance. He steadied his scope on the man’s every move—he was swift and looked determined. Ben knew his information would be accurate. Why would he risk his own life to tell a lie? Sunni had obviously shared what he’d personally witnessed.
Ben suddenly felt weak. He reached out with his right hand to balance himself against a stone overhang. Rocks began to tumble down toward the tribe. He huffed at the clumsy mistake—he’d pay for that one later. He stood erect and noticed why he’d become so dizzy. He’d not had an orgasm in days. This boner had drawn the blood to his crotch and made him woozy.
The hunt excited Ben. Manipulations and mind games were part of it—and his commitment to continue his mission while others ordered him home or tracked him to kill him. Sometimes his talents were just too overwhelming and the sexual arousal would intensify.
Stalking the third man as he unknowingly made a beeline toward a sparse collection of shrubs and vines made Ben’s mouth dry. Not from exhaustion, but from desire. Ben stopped about twenty yards away and watched. He’d learned to marinate his prey. Allowing them to stew in anticipation created a better environment for information output. It also allowed Ben to see whether the snitch was alone or being tailed.
As a new CIA operative, he’d once made the mistake of rushing into a contact. Year’s back, while in Tel Aviv to track a broken arrow for the CIA, he made an error that nearly cost him his life. The agent had gone crooked and wasn’t trustworthy. Ben’s assignment was simple—kill him.
New to the job, Ben had found himself among the Israeli city’s bustling nightlife along the strip on Lilienblum Street in possession of information about where to intercept the agent. Once Ben arrived at the Port’s waterfront, he hurried beyond the safe area of boutiques and restaurants. He’d fucked up. The rogue agent he’d been sent to erase had orchestrated the entire faux pas.
Ben was beaten and raped by the corrupt agent and his band of high-tech criminals over the course of three days. Left for dead with his intestines hanging out of his rectum, he knew no one to turn to for help. A single call to his handler back in Washington, D.C. and Ben learned how on his own he actually was. Never again would he so foolishly rush in—or trust his CIA handler.
Ahead, the third Popi tribesman looked anxious—it was natural. He was about to betray everything and everyone he’d believed in or who had believed in him. It was a hell of a decision to turn against someone once trusted, much less an ideology.
Ben crouched even lower. His hard-on stiffened, so erect that his flowing Pashtun dress tented in front of him. He tried to massage the erection down, but the need to consume this male traitor was consuming him with a renewed sexual energy that teetered close to too dangerous for the mission.
He let out a chirp. The man’s body jerked, stiff legged. Ben watched the man’s eyes grow big and round. His face was dark and stained by the weather, but there were no hard, deep etchings of time. The man’s face was round—almost plump. He was a man of leisure, not labor. He looked to eat well and rest often.
The round-faced man looked frightened, and Ben detected hesitation in his posture. Patience was the most difficult tactic to practice in these scenarios. Everyone wanted to dive right in and get the conversation moving. Ben leaned forward on one knee—his gut twisted in anguish. He pressed his hand against his stomach for comfort. Within the balance of moving in and waiting too long, the memories of his sexual assault played within his head.
He closed his eyes, but achieved no relief from that first experience. Sure, he’d hid out in Israel for a month, recovering before tracking and killing his rapists. Ben was so ashamed of the sex and the manipulation that once he located the rogue agent, he bit him in a fit of rage. He bit the agent so hard that skin and meat ripped from his neck.
That experience had flipped a primal switch. He then understood what his CIA handlers had conditioned him to do. It was his first consumption.
The third Popi council member would soon be his next. He would also become Ben’s sexual release. The man’s pleasantly soft appearance incensed Ben and turned him on. Not in a romantic way, but in a hate-filled way to teach the man a lesson for being a cowardly traitor to his people for the sake of saving his own chubby ass.
Ben looked up, but the man was gone. He pounded his fist into the dirt. The thud caught the man’s attention. Ben saw him hesitate just before the snitch crested the ridge to head back to the village.
“Hello?”
Ben whispered in Dari, the man’s native tongue, “I’m here.”
The man stumbled backward, his eyes stretching under thick fat lids. He cupped his right hand next to his mouth and craned forward.
“Are you shaytan?”
Ben continued in the Afghan Persian language, “Why do you ask if I’m the devil?”
The man stepped closer. “You American, no? But speak Dari. Shaytan speaks in many languages to deceive people.” He dropped his hand from his lips. “Are you shaytan?”
Ben slowly stood straight from behind his cover to increase the effect of intimidation. The man’s knees buckled.
“I can be.”
He waved his ringed-fingered hands. “No, please. I come in peace. I only want to help your America, so we may have our freedom from the invaders. I do not mean America is invader, but we want to be let alone.”
“Come. Sit and we shall discuss your help.”
The man took one—two shuffling steps and stopped. His extra weight filled out his garment, his belly rounding the middle of his Perahan tunban. Ben had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips—the man looked delicious.
“I am afraid of you.”
“Do not be. My name is Ben. What is your name?”
His eyes darted between the hard earth and the path that led back to his tribe. “Aabdar.” He looked ashamed to say it.
“Good to meet you Aabdar. Your name means juicy, doesn’t it?” Ben struggled to maintain a serious but friendly expression. Giddy laughter hitched in his throat.
“Yes, it was the name I was given. Now, how may I help you?”
“Where is Usamah?”
“Ahh, the Lion?” Aabdar’s eyes lost all shine. His expression waxed cold. “I do not know.”
“I will ask you a second time only.” Ben’s tone tightened until all pleasantries were lost. He leaned forward and rested his slender body on his right hand just inches away from his prey.
“Shaytan, I mean Ben, I misunderstood what Sunni said. He talks gibberish. He is so young—he often lies.”
Aabdar rocked forward to stand up, but Ben placed his hand over the man’s thigh to press him back. The physical contact with Aabdar sent a shiver through Ben’s groin into his skull. He sucked hot air through his teeth and shook his shoulders to release sexual tension. He leaned forward to conceal his re-hardened dick that jabbed against his clothing.
“This is your last chance to tell me the truth. You want to help Ben. You do not want to face shaytan. Trust me.” Ben’s heartbeat increased as his left hand weaved its way to the KA-BAR knife.
“I beg a thousand pardons, but I do not know this Lion Sheik.” Aabdar flipped his right hand into the scarce space between them. The four rings that adorned
his fingers flashed the sun’s rays. “I must be going now.”
“How do you know the name Lion Sheik?” Ben growled. The reply didn’t matter, Ben was only biding his time while he decided how he was going to enjoy “juicy”.
“You said it.”
“I only said Usamah.” His teeth clenched hard against each other—hand secured across the knife’s grip.
“Oh, well, my mistake. Please forgive me, but I have taken up too much of your time.”
“Yes, thank you, Aabdar.”
Ben allowed the man to stand, and turn back to his village. He smiled at how naive the man was to actually turn his back and think he would stroll home. Or maybe Aabdar knew what was coming and just chose not to witness it.
Ben stood. His rock-hard cock extended the cotton material, but it no longer mattered. He’d soon use Aabdar as a fuck hole and relieve himself of stored up semen. He also sensed Justice Boudreaux was in the area, so he knew there’d be no way of allowing Aabdar to remain alive and take the chance of him screaming for help or causing a scuffle.
Two quick, silent steps and Ben was directly behind Aabdar. His left hand wrapped around the man’s head and slapped across the soft jewels and thick lips. Simultaneously, his right hand shoved the razor sharp knife tip up and under the base of Aabdar’s skull. He wiggled the blade around until he felt the man’s weight surrender into his arms.
“Ragdoll.” Ben chuckled.
He dragged the corpse away from the opening where their conversation had just taken place. Ben knew his time was limited, so he got to work raping Aabdar.
“You know old boy, your ass is juicy after all.” Ben chortled at his sense of humor.
He orgasmed quickly after a furious pounding, and soon regained his composure. He decided against consumption because he preferred to peel and eat while his victims were still alive. Aabdar’s hasty departure attempt had ruined his plans. Someone else would have to pay.
Ben pressed his flush cheeks into both palms as he pondered. He knew what he wanted to do next—he just wasn’t sure he had the energy to get it done. There was an entire village below. Everyone now knew what he’d done the day before and they’d know what he just did. They also knew why he did it—hunt for Osama bin Laden. It was clear what his next step had to be.
Ben sawed off eight of Aabdar’s fingers. They plopped against the bottom of the leather pouch. He sauntered into the Popi Tribe’s camp. He’d seen Sunni cross the hard dirt yard to enter a tent to the east. He followed.
“Hello Sunni.” Ben flashed his teeth, not exactly a smile. “Who’s your friend?”
Sunni crumpled onto the woven rug and began to plead for mercy. The old man with him pointed a condemning finger and demanded the Western infidel exit at once.
Ben reached into his garment and opened the pouch. He grabbed four of Aabdar’s meaty fingers and tossed them into the old man’s lap. The elder’s mouth gaped as wide as his eyes. He tried to escape the fingers, but the coagulating blood stuck to his waistcoat. Sunni never looked up.
Ben zipped his knife from its sheath and easily made another ragdoll out of Sunni, then killed the elder. He sat on the rug for a bit to plan. He was unsure of how many people remained in the village. There looked to be about twenty or so tents, so he assumed there was that many adult males.
Throughout the remainder of that afternoon, Ben methodically eliminated every adult male in the village. He never hurt a child or a woman. They were allowed to leave once he completed his task. They were no threat against him—but though he never touched their bodies, he permanently destroyed their minds.
Just as dusk turned to night, Ben returned to the first tent where it all began. He was exhausted, and contemplated spending the night. There had been many more victims than he anticipated, but he wasn’t feeling well.
Maybe mommy was right about eating flesh making me sick.
Ben threw up twice just outside the tent before he returned to claim the rings off Aabdar’s departed fingers. He looked at Sunni’s corpse and thought it was a shame the man had escaped death the day before only to face it today.
The process of skinning, consuming and posing all of the adult males was intoxicating. He felt another arousal coming on, but there were no more victims to target. It was his biggest feasting yet.
“I’m feeling rather frisky if I must confess,” Ben said.
He pulled the elder’s corpse next to Sunni’s and ripped at their clothes until they were bare.
“Lets have a ménage a trois, shall we?”
Chapter 6
The ancient military Jeep rambled across rocky terrain until it lurched to a halt above a jagged cliff near a ravaged body. Soon, Justice and Batya had identified Aabdar’s corpse as a Popi tribesman. They were just outside of the actual village but feared what lay on the other side.
Batya slapped her palms together. “This animal sickens me. You know what he did to my countrymen, do you?”
“Well, to be fair, it was your countrymen who raped him within an inch of his life. Seemed like turnabout was fair play in Tel Aviv.”
Justice tried to reassemble Aabdar’s clothing to cover his exposed rectum. It wouldn’t take long before the US Embassy caught wind of the murders. That meant it wouldn’t be long until CIA HQ would jaw Justice’s ear off about his kill mission taking so long.
He’d begun to have his fill with government service. He was the best they had—he knew it and they knew it. Still, that didn’t stop his handlers from treating him like a second-class citizen. He’d already erased twenty-four experimental prototypes over the last two years. But Ben was different. He hadn’t become a victim of the CIA’s experiment—he’d embraced it.
“I assume that after I save your life, you not have nerve to defend that serial killer,” she spoke in a very formal but broken English. Despite the deplorable conditions, it drove Justice wild.
Her language training hadn’t focused on American English dialect because she was never destined for US infiltration. She was pure European and Asian assassin assignment material. As most agents of the Mossad, her knowledge of trivial American facts were amazing. They studied their ally as well as their enemy. And sometimes it was difficult to tell which side of the coin the US was on depending on the administration’s policy.
“I’m not defending anyone. Just stating the facts that Ben didn’t bomb a café full of civilians or drive a truck through a police academy graduation. He erased bad ass criminals who’d victimized your very own people.”
Her eyes rolled. The light grey glinted in the sun’s glare. She’d never fully revealed herself to Justice and he was dying to see what she looked like. Even her hair remained bound for safety reasons. This was still a very entrenched religious sect of the Middle East.
Expected to wear the headscarf and burka, women were not allowed to move freely within the country. Even American female soldiers were pressured to cover up at certain times on duty. Batya cared nothing for their religious demands, but she did understand the sexual mores of operating in country.
“I saw that. You can roll those beautiful eyes all you want, but the truth is the truth, little sister.” Justice said as he finished photographing the scene.
Her nose crinkled, showing rare signs of lines across an otherwise unblemished brow. “Sister? Why do you call me sister?”
“It’s an expression.”
“So do I call you, aleph chet?” Her eyes smiled.
Justice paused and let the words rattle around his head. It was an ongoing game of cat and mouse played by operatives—everyone had a weakness—who’d find it first. Her slight manipulation of the term brother wasn’t by accident—he let her know he knew the game.
“Baby, you can call me anything you’d like. Just make sure you call me.” Justice dropped his face into his hand. He tried to hide his laugh at the miserable attempt to flirt while poor Aabdar lay stiff and violated just ten feet away.
At least someone got laid.
“What did y
ou just think?” Her expression, solidly serious with slits that emitted a piercing stare told him he was busted. She stood frozen and waited for his reply.
Justice felt heat flush his cheeks. She’d damn well read his mind—she was that good. Justice turned toward the Jeep to hide his awe and feigned fiddling around with the gears.
“You are a typical man. No, let correct me. A typical American man. I know exactly what you just thought. Shame on you Justice Boudo.”
He pointed his finger toward her and wagged it like a tail. “It’s Boudreaux.”
“Oh, so you can speak. You just decided to ignore my question.” She tsk-tsked at him and climbed into the passenger’s side of the Jeep. “We got work to do, Mr. Boudreaux.”
“Yes, sir.” He saluted.
She leaned back toward the outside of the vehicle and sneered at him. “I know you are trying to cover your embarrassment for getting, how you say, busted, but no need to insult me by calling me a man.”
“It was a joke.”
“I can assure you I’m very much a woman.” Finally, a real smile as she unfeathered the garment from around her head.
A low guttural moan rose from within Justice’s gut. He lost it; she was gorgeous. The childish manner in which he’d behaved caused him to wince with a twinge of shame. This wouldn’t change a thing though—they had a mission and she was capable of handling her own business.
“Umm, yes. Yes, you are very much a woman.” Justice couldn’t seem to stop sounding stupid so he shoved the buggy into first gear and hutched it around the area until he found a path.
Batya grabbed his bicep and tugged on his shirtsleeve. He struggled to keep his shit together as the Jeep rolled to a halt, idling quietly. The village was vacant of movement. The only sound that accompanied the wretched stench was the drone of swarms of mosquitoes and the flap of bird’s wings as they bounced away with full beaks of human flesh.
