by Sloan, C. T.
I look back into the envelope and find papers that describe everything about me. They have my address at Venice Beach. There are records of my previous jobs at the Coffee Bean and Burger King. It’s very disconcerting to find your entire life in one envelope.
“You are being tracked,” Mr. Peak says bluntly.
“By who, Sir?”
“I don’t know. This envelope came to me from a mercenary whom I’ve hired in the past. The packet was left at his home in Costa Rica,” my boss says as he walks up to me and takes the envelope. “You only contact a man like that if you want someone kidnapped or killed. Someone wanted him to kidnap you. Right now, I currently have people looking into the matter. For the moment, however, we don’t know who exactly is coming after you.”
My legs get weak. I have to grab onto the bar just to prevent myself from crumbling to the ground. “My guess is that someone wants to use you to get to me. I am bringing in hundreds of millions of dollar a month, in oil revenue, from Odostan. You would be the perfect target for a ransom,” my boss says as those words just hang there in the air.
“What should I do?” I ask.
Mr. Peak looks at me for a long moment. Then he lays down the options. “There is an easy solution and a not-so-easy solution. The easy solution is to withdraw you from public life - no more social parties, no more public events. You would be my secret plaything kept under lock and key, surrounded by a staff of ex-Special Forces soldiers who would ensure your protection. The not-so-easy solution is to, well, keep you out there and draw out the enemy. You would seduce the enemy and then turn the tables on them.”
My first thought is that I could never give up the fame that has come along with the fortune. My second thought is that I could be killed. It takes me a moment to weight both options. Then I look into my boss’s eyes. As long as I am in hiding, the threat will still be in the shadows. My boss has trained me to be the predator, not the prey. I am the femme fatale not the damsel in distress. Even though I am scared down to marrow of my bones, I know what I need to do.
“Sir, I am ready for this mission,” I tell my boss.
“Good girl.”
“What should I do?”
“You will go about your usual routine with a few modifications to your person,” Mr. Peak says as he walks up to me. My boss pulls a pen out of his pocket, he presses the button at the top of the pen. A five inch blade jets out of the tip. He holds the blade right up to my cheek. “If you feel threatened by anyone, tear a hole into their face. I don’t give a fuck who it is,” my boss says as he hands me the pen.
I nervously grab the clever weapon and stare at it. Mr. Peak reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small case.
“What is in there, Sir?” I ask.
Mr. Peak opens the case and shows me a set of fingernails. He picks up one of the nails and grabs my forearm. He begins to slowly scrape the nail against my flesh. “These nails are made from carbon fiber. It is super-lightweight, super-strong and super-sharp at the tip. You will have ten blades at your fingertips. My advice. Go for their eyes. Gouge them. Blind them. Then run away.”
Mr. Peak hands me the fingernails. My body begins to shake with anticipation. “Of course, it would be optimal if you don’t have to use any of these weapons,” Mr. Peak explains. “Find out who is targeting me. Once you find out that information, I’ll be able to sic the wolves on those motherfuckers.”
Dammit. I am so fucking attracted to my boss right now.
As I look at the weapons in my hands, I realize that now is a good time to tell my boss about the modeling career. Things have gotten so serious that there should be no secrets between us. “Mr. Peak, I need to let you know where I was this morning,” I say as I steady myself for any explosion of rage my from boss.
“And where exactly were you this morning?”
“I was invited to the Juliette Agency. They signed me on to be a model due to all of the publicity I’ve gotten this past week.”
“How much of a cut is she getting on your modeling fee?”
“A cut?” I ask.
“You signed a modeling contract without discussing your agent’s fee?!” My boss fumes.
He walks over to me and rips off all of my clothes. “Get on your knees!” Mr. Peak demands. I follow my boss’s order as my naked flesh shivers in the air conditioned suite. “Now put your head down and place your ass up in the air!” my boss demands. Well, well, well. I am not one to argue with my boss.
“When you sign a contract, without reading it, you end up getting fucked. And I’m the only one who is allowed to fuck you! Do you understand me?” Mr. Peak proclaims as I hear him get undressed.
“Yes, sir!” I exclaim as I await my punishment.
Mr. Peak gets behind me. He runs his strong hands over my naked flesh. I feel him play with my hard nipples. He runs his fingers across my face. I begin to suck on his index finger while he presses his hard cock against my ass.
My boss begins to rub his hard dick against me. I anticipate his next move as I feel his breath against my back. “Dammit. Your body is so fucking tight and nice,” Mr. Peak growls as he begins to enter me.
Mr. Peak grabs my hair and begins to slowly pump me from behind. He pulls on my hair and begins to fuck me faster and harder. My boss spanks me on the ass. He presses my head against the carpet and grabs my ass as he goes deep. Oh my God. I’m gonna cum!
My body shakes in a explosion of orgasm. Mr. Peak lies on top of me and grinds his thick manhood all the way inside my body. There is no better feeling in the world than having this hulking man against my body.
After a good ten minutes of spooning, we get up, walk into his personal office bathroom and relax in the jacuzzi. As we cuddle, Mr. Peak checks the messages on his phone. I walk out of the jacuzzi and decide to check my messages as well. I find an e-mail from Juliette, my new modeling agent.
“Big Shindig Tonight!” reads the e-mail’s headline. I click on the e-mail and find myself invited to this hot party over in Chelsea. “Lots of people are asking about you. This will be your first big night as a Juliette Model! Please confirm, with me, that you will be there so we can arrange the proper publicity for you,” the e-mail reads.
I jump up and down and run back into the jacuzzi. Mr. Peak is lying back like a true master of the universe, checking the financial news while his massive chest heaves. “Sir! I’ve been invited to a huge party in Chelsea,” I tell my boss.
“Is this your first time hearing about the party?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t you find it a bit weird that you are invited to such a big party at such a short moment’s notice?” my boss asks me.
All of a sudden, my youthful glee turns into some serious introspection. Yes, this does seem like short notice. After hearing about the kidnapping threat. The warning flags fire through my head. I re-read the e-mail:
“Lots of people are asking about you.”
I re-read the last line of the e-mail:
“Please confirm, with me, that you will be there so we can arrange the proper publicity for you.”
“Juliette wants me to confirm that I will be at the party,” I tell my boss.
“So the potential kidnappers will know exactly where you are,” Mr. Peak states as he finishes my thought.
I climb back into the jacuzzi and into the arms of my boss - my lover and my protector.
Mr. Peak grabs my phone and reads the e-mail. He gives me back the phone and orders, “Tell Juliette that you will be there tonight. I will have a security team shadow your movements. There is no way the kidnappers be able to leave the club with you in tow.”
Wow. My boss’s confident declaration makes me feel so much better.
“However, in order for you to draw out the enemy, the team will have to hang back just far enough to make you appear vulnerable,” Mr. Peak says. Great. Now, my body begins to tighten up again.
Mr. Peak grabs my phone again and looks at it. “You will stay in constant contact with
me via phone. I want you to send me a message every ten minutes. If you send no message, then I will know that you are in trouble. If you need the security team to sweep in, right away just type in, “XXX” on your instant message and send it.”
My boss wraps me in his muscular arms and holds me tight to his chest. “I would never allow you to do this if I did not think you were capable,” Mr. Peak whispers into my ears. He kisses me on the neck. I would do anything for this man. I would kill for him. I would die for him.
***
We get back to Mr. Peak’s townhouse in the early afternoon. Four very scary looking men are standing in the reception area of my boss’s residence. I am introduced to them by my boss as “the wolves.” They are ex-Special Forces soldiers under retainer by Mr. Peak. They will be my shadow at the party this evening.
The “wolves” take their leave. Mr. Peak escorts me up the elevator to his master suite. He holds me close. We don’t say much. We know that this night is unlike any other evening since my “employment” with my master. Our enemy is unseen. We are the ones on the defensive.
I strip off my clothes and walk naked into a closet filled with dresses that only existed in my dreams. “Find something that will allow you maximum movement,” my boss implores. I stare at a black Prada dress with a short flowing skirt. The spaghetti straps should keep my arms rather agile. I slip the dress on and begin to look for shoes.
I find a cute pair of Jimmy Choo black boots. I look at the spike like heel in the back. Those are two nice weapons at my disposal. Yeah, these will work. I walk over to the vanity desk to apply my make-up. I like to think I’m putting on my war paint.
Mr. Peak walks out into the master suite balcony. The sun begins to slip below Central Park. The natural light gives way to an ominous darkness in the townhome. I do my hair. I go for a simple hairstyle. Nice and straight.
Now comes the fingernails. I open up the black leather case and stare at the clever weapons. I apply the nails as my heart races. This is really happening. I am going to walk into certain danger with nothing more than the improvised weapons on my body.
When I apply the final fingernail, I tap my fingers against the vanity table. They feel strong. They feel lethal. I stand up and present myself to Mr. Peak. He looks me up and down for a good, long minute.
“Where are you going to conceal the pen?” my boss asks.
Oh yeah, the pen with the hidden steel blade. I forgot all about that.
Mr. Peak takes me to the bed and sits me down. He grabs my right leg and lifts it. Mr. Peak grabs the pen and places it inside the boot. Nice fit!
“Stand up,” Mr. Peak orders. I get on my feet and look at myself in the mirror. My boss stands behind me and rubs my shoulders. “This enemy can come at you in any form. This enemy can attack you at any time. Keep your focus. Trust no one. If attacked, fight to the death,” Mr. Peak says as he places a diamond studded necklace around me. Fear and adrenaline run through my body. There is nothing left to do but jump into the fire.
***
I am sitting in the back of Mr. Peak’s Rolls Royce Phantom. I am alone. The Club is straight ahead. I look at my fingernails. My claws. If the “wolves” can’t save me, I am my own final line of defense.
The Rolls pulls up at the Norwood Club on 14th Street. There is a crowd of cameras and paparazzi. Damn, this is as crazy as the Met Gala from a few weeks ago. The doors open. The lights are pointed in my direction. I flinch. I almost mistake it for gunfire.
Before I exit the Rolls-Royce, I check to make sure that my iPhone is in my little white purse. I quickly send a message to Mr. Peak - who is back at his New York office. I write, “Just arrived at Club” and send it off.
When I get out of the vehicle, I am hit with shouts from the press like, “Sarah! Sarah! This is Entertainment Tonight. Can we ask you some questions?”
I look at every face behind every camera. Any of them could be potential kidnappers. A man puts his hand on my shoulder. I immediately flinch. It turns out he is one of the Club’s bodyguards, angling his seven foot body between me and the photographers.
I get to the press line where the attractive Entertainment Tonight reporter is waiting for me with her microphone outstretched. “So we hear that you have just signed on to the Juliette Modeling Agency,” the reporter shouts out above the madness of the press.
“Yes, I’m kinda shocked and excited about it.”
“So where is your billionaire boyfriend?”
“He is still at work. You can’t be a billionaire if you work nine to five!” I tell her as I walk into the club.
The doors open and I am hit by a crowd of tall and beautiful women mixed in with equally gorgeous guys. There is also a mix of older rich men who are on the prowl. As far as I am concerned, any of them can be a potential threat.
I send a message to my boss, “Now inside club.” I put the phone back in my purse as I navigate my way through the crowd. The room is so tight that I feel various bodies pressed against me. This being a New York club, that kind of intimacy can be expected. I just wish I could get a better view of everyone inside the room.
Since I am only five feet, four inches tall, my view is obstructed by six foot models and guys ogling the six foot models. I make my way to the center of the club. Suddenly, I feel someone grab me by the wrist. I jolt. Then I look up and see a familiar face. Juliette!
“So glad you could make it, Sarah!” the modeling icon exclaims as she gives me a full body hug. My modeling agent grabs me and begins to escort me around the party. “I have so many people asking about you that I don’t know where to start,” she tells me as I am dragged to the VIP section.
Juliette takes me past the velvet rope which separates the famous and beautiful people from the merely beautiful. I see many of the faces from that agency meeting just a few hours ago. It looks like many of the girls already have more than a few drinks in them.
The model agency CEO takes me to a booth where I see a very eccentric looking guy. Damn, he looks famous but I can’t place a name to his face. The man in question is about 70 years old. He is dressed all in white with a platinum spiked hairdo and a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Now, this guy is a real New York weirdo. This guy must be really important to get into a club looking like that.
“Sarah, may I introduce you to Jacque Pierre,” Juliette says as the older gentleman extends his hand like royalty. Now, that name rings a bell! Jacque Pierre is one of the top fashion designers of the past forty years. This guy is New York royalty!
I shake Jacque Pierre’s hand and take a seat next to him. The man begins to run his hands up and down my arms. “Your skin is extraordinary,” the Frenchman says in a high-pitched voice that almost makes me chuckle.
“Thank you Monsieur Pierre,” I say as I tip a sip from a nearby champagne glass. I quickly grab my phone and send a message to Mr. Peak. “At VIP table. Everything OK.” When I lift my head up from my phone, I notice one of the models staring at me like a piece of meat.
She is stunning to say the least. Her stare makes me a bit nervous. This model looks like she wants to fuck around with me. While I am flattered, I like all of my lovers to be all man like my Mr. Peak!
Juliette notices that the tall model in question is staring at me. “Sarah, let me introduce you to, um, I forgot your name, darling,” the CEO says as she looks at the tall stunner.
The six foot model extends her hand and says, “I am Nikita.”
Nikita’s voice! It gives me chills. She speaks with an accent that sounds familiar and terrifying. Where have I heard that accent before?! That’s right. I was in Monaco. Mr. Peak ordered me to keep Sergy Molidak occupied while my boss helped engineer the overthrow of his father’s country. Nikita has the exact same accent as Sergy. She is from Odostan. The very country I helped Mr. Peak overthrow just a week ago.
I look at this tall model. She has a disposition about her that I just don’t like. My body gets tense. I have to use my powers of deception and not let on that I am s
cared. I fake a nice, wide smile and ask her. “Your accent is alluring. What country are you from, Nikita?”
“I am from the Ukraine,” she says.
Bullshit. Now I am sure she is lying.
I take my phone out of my pocket. I ever so covertly snap a photo of her and type a message to my boss, “Met woman at club. She speaks with Odostan accent.” I surreptitiously send the message to Mr. Peak and finish off that glass of wine.
I am almost certain that someone from Odostan is trying to kidnap me to get at my boss. But who? The old dictator is dead. Could it be Mr. Peak’s new ally General Zhukov? I keep a good eye on this woman. Perhaps she is acting as a lookout while the kidnappers plan their strike.
