Red-Hot Vengeance

by Sandrine Spycher

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted. “How are you?”

  López was silent for a minute. He gave Farrell a disapproving look, but couldn’t help laughing at her childish smile. “Reese still comes to say hi now and then. In fact, he was here not so long ago.”

  “Really?” Farrell reacted cheerfully.

  “Uh-huh. And he asked about you.”

  “Really?” Her tone was now factual rather than cheerful.

  “Uh-huh,” López repeated. “Is there something between you?” he grinned.

  “No, nothing.” Farrell had replied just a little to fast for her answer to be completely honest.

  “That’s not what he said,” López sang, teasing her.

  “What did he say?”

  The bartender burst out laughing. Farrell realized she sounded like a teenager and laughed at herself too.

  “Do you know if he lives around?” she asked, regaining her seriousness.

  “He does.” López wrote the address on a napkin. “Don’t do anything dangerous, honey.”

  Farrell snatched the napkin from his hand. She paid for her drink and was soon out in the street.

  **

  Farrell found the address in no time. Thankfully a woman was coming out of the building so Farrell didn’t have to ring any bell. She climbed the stairs to the eighth floor. When she arrived at the right door, she knocked. No answer.

  She then made sure no one was watching, and picked the lock in about a minute. She entered on tiptoe. She soon found a light switch, and could move without the risk of bumping into anything. Carter’s new flat was way bigger than the first one she’d visited. Or perhaps it only looked larger because it was empty. No more than a few pieces of furniture dressed up the place.

  Farrell walked around. She took off her boots so that her steps wouldn’t resonate. There was not much to discover in the empty flat. Farrell opened a drawer from a chest near the door. She was disappointed to find only shirts and nothing more exciting. She tried the second drawer. Trousers. She sighed and walked to the kitchen. After opening a few doors, Farrell leaned on the table. “How can this guy live in such a boring place?” she thought.

  The bedroom door was calling to her, so Farrell risked an eye inside. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything more striking in there than in the living room. Just a bed and a shelf with four books. Farrell closed the door. She went to sit on the couch and waited.

  Carter got home about half an hour later. He pushed the door which Farrell had left slightly open on purpose.

  “Hello there, little girl,” Carter said, pointing his gun at her.

  “Put that away, will you?” Farrell replied. “You may hurt someone.”

  “Yeah, that’s the point,” he grumbled. Keeping an eye on her, he walked across the room and opened the door of his bedroom. He peered inside. Nothing seemed to have moved. But the door was closed; Carter usually left it ajar. “Did you go into my bedroom?” he asked.

  “No,” Farrell said casually, “but I had to use your bathroom.” She got up from the couch. As Carter was still holding her at gunpoint, she approached carefully, ready to retreat in case he got violent. “Why don’t you want me to go in your bedroom? What’s in there?” His suspicious look had aroused her curiosity.

  “My bed,” Carter simply answered. He eyed her, still wary of some unexpected danger. “How did you even find me?”

  “I believe we have a common friend.”

  “Rafa? He knows where I live?” Carter’s tone betrayed his otherwise concealed surprise.

  “Apparently,” Farrell said. She looked at Carter in the eyes and then at his gun. “Put that away. Please,” she insisted.

  Carter finally complied and lowered his gun. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  That was the unexpected Carter expected. He took a step closer to her. He put his gun on the table. “No tricks?” he asked, just to make sure.

  “No tricks,” Farrell said. She ran her fingers along Carter’s chest. She rose on her tiptoes and gave him a little kiss. “Just you…” She kissed him again. “Me…” Another kiss. “And the night ahead.”

  Carter stopped arguing. Farrell smiled. Carter’s eyes were traveling along her body from feet to breasts. She enjoyed his look for an instant, and then brought his lips to hers. Their kiss was long, wet, and hot. A year had passed, but their desire was unchanged.

  Carter’s arms were suddenly around Farrell’s waist. She closed her eyes and felt his tongue ride along her teeth. Carter slipped his hands under her shirt. He slowly undressed Farrell. She didn’t resist in any way. Feeling his fingers on her bare skin brought back memories of the year before, of the ruby, the fighting, the running. She also remembered how they’d been interrupted. But now, no police would show up to stop their good time.

  In minutes, they were both naked. Carter held Farrell close to him. He sucked on her nipples, licked her tasty skin, and enjoyed her caresses on his nape. Farrell moaned her pleasure into Carter’s ear. She slowly knelt in front of him and let her tongue travel along his cock. Carter soon joined her on the floor.

  Lying on her, Carter felt her body tremble. Farrell could hardly control herself. Feeling his hard cock inside her was more than delight. She intuitively moved her body to his rhythm. Her world was turning upside down. She closed her eyes, and let Carter possess her.

  Farrell felt electrified under the intensity of her orgasm. She couldn’t help screaming while hanging on to Carter. He groaned in her ear. He went as deep as he could, clasping Farrell’s wrists and enjoying her body undulate under him. Their embrace ended in a hot devouring of tongues.

  They lay exhausted in each other’s arms, in a kitchen exquisitely smelling of sweat and sex. Neither of them spoke. Carter was lying on his back on the cold floor. Farrell was glued to his side, with her hand on his chest. Without even noticing, they both dozed off.

  **

  Farrell was finishing getting dressed while Carter had gone out to get Chinese food. Farrell had promised to wait for him and not leave, but she was now reconsidering her choice. She had plans for the next days and, somehow, she suspected that staying with Carter would mess up her projects. She was pondering the matter when the door opened. Carter appeared with his half-smile slightly stretching his lips.

  “You actually didn’t leave,” he noticed with a satisfied note in his voice.

  “No, you came back before I could decide if I’d wait for you or not,” Farrell admitted.

  “Oh come on,” Carter said. “You weren’t actually considering leaving this behind,” he said, pointing at himself in a narcissistic way.

  “Well, truth be said,” Farrell started, approaching him slowly, “I was only waiting for the food.” She snatched the bags from his hands and peered inside. “Shrimps! Yummy.”

  “That was so childish,” Carter grumbled.

  “I know,” she answered with a wink.

  Carter waited for her to look away before he smiled an actual real smile. But Farrell lifted her eyes too early and caught it.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Was that a smile?”

  “No,” Carter lied. “I’m hungry.” He didn’t pay attention to Farrell’s laughter, but instead he sat at the table, and was instantly joined by her.

  “So tell me,” she said between two mouthfuls. “Did you stay in New York this whole time?”

  “Almost. I left for ten weeks or so, just to let Williams forget about me a little. You?”

  “I left for good.”

  “For good?” Carter echoed with surprise. “What are you doing here then?”

  “I only came back to sell my ruby,” Farrell replied, “but I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  Carter was silent for a moment. He felt something strange in his chest. Something like a soft sting that prevented him from breathing freely for a minute or two. He coughed, and noticed Farrell was staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Are you okay? You look… I d
unno… weird,” Farrell hesitated.

  “I’m fine. I was just thinking about the ruby,” Carter improvised. “How much did you get for it?”

  “A lot,” Farrell said, her eyes glimmering with vanity.

  “Should have been mine,” Carter mumbled.

  “Well, mister Carter, you weren’t good enough,” she teased him.

  “Just a friendly reminder: if it weren’t for me, you’d still be rotting in jail today.” Carter’s cold and bitter tone had finally come back to him.

  Farrell smiled widely. It was probably true. But she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of avowing it. So she just kept eating her shrimps.

  “What’s wrong, little girl? Cat’s got your tongue?” Carter said. “You can’t admit I’m right, can you?” he added when she didn’t replied. “You never even thanked me.”

  “I did thank you,” Farrell defended herself.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Just now, on your kitchen floor.”

  Carter shook his head. He’d almost forgotten how unpredictable she could sometimes be. “How did you do it?” he asked.

  Farrell frowned. “You already forgot? Well, first I sucked your—”

  “No,” Carter interrupted. “I meant how did you get the ruby back?”

  “Oh that,” she laughed. “Wasn’t easy.”

  “I know. Otherwise I’d have done it myself.”

  “Wow.” Farrell’s voice trembled with surprise. “Did you just acknowledge my superiority?”

  Carter sighed. “Just tell me how you did it,” he said exasperatedly.

  Farrell narrated her adventure of the year before. Instead of running away from New York like Carter, she had lingered a while in town. She had cut and dyed her hair, and dressed differently than in her usual blue jeans and high-heeled boots. It didn’t take long for her to discover where the police kept the ruby. Once she knew it, she’d sneaked into Williams’ apartment and stole the ruby, leaving only an empty box in its place.

  “You broke into a cop’s flat?” Carter asked, astonished.

  “Oh yeah,” Farrell said proudly.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No, I’m reckless, but I’m good.”

  “You are,” Carter admitted, feeling again the sting in his chest.

  “Are you gonna eat that?” Farrell asked pointing at the last of Carter’s shrimps.

  “No, you can have it.”

  Farrell picked up the shrimp, ate it slowly, savoring each mouthful, and licked her fingers when she was done. Carter looked at her. He was discovering another Farrell, one he didn’t know, one so different from the bitter thief he had met one year earlier.

  “Tell me about you,” he asked.

  “What d’you wanna know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Hm, that’s a lot. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Where do your black eyes come from?” Carter added to give her something to begin her tale with.

  “My mother’s a descendant of the Mohegan nation,” Farrell explained.

  “A true American, then,” he said with a thin smile.

  “Not really,” Farrell confessed. “My father was Irish.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes, he died years ago.”

  A slightly embarrassed silence fell between them. Carter kept gazing into Farrell’s black eyes. She was unable to interpret his look and was starting to feel uneasy.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she said. “It’s creepy.”

  Carter lowered his eyes. He cleared his throat while thinking of another question. “What was the first thing you ever stole?” he eventually articulated.

  “I think it was a golden pen.”

  “What do you mean, you think? You can’t remember your first time?”

  “It wasn’t my most memorable one,” Farrell offered as a justification.

  “And what was you most memorable one?”

  “A ruby. Two of them actually. The first one when I was in my early twenties. It was a necklace. A gold flower with a little ruby inserted in its center. And the second one I think you know.”

  “Another flower,” Carter noted.

  “What can I say? I like those.”

  Carter went silent.

  “You’re doing it again,” Farrell said when she noticed his intense look on her.

  “Sorry, can’t resist your beauty.”

  “Thanks,” she said, blushing. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Carter replied while moving closer to her. “Right now, there’s something else I want.” He bent over the table and kissed her.

  Then he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to his bedroom where he laid her on the bed. He kept kissing her hungrily while removing her clothes. She helped him take off his shirt, caressing his strong muscled arms at the same time. Farrell lay back on the sheets to enjoy the view of Carter’s body on hers. His hands were softly sliding along her skin.

  Carter kissed her lips, then moved down to her breasts, down again to her belly button, and even further down to her thighs. He playfully caressed her clit with his tongue, kissed and licked her until he heard her breathing accelerate. Farrell abandoned herself to his expert wet and warm tongue. She savored his slow circling caresses with eyes closed. He was good.

  After her third scream, Carter stopped and got back to her mouth. He sucked on her bottom lip, but she pushed him away. She needed to recover her senses. Carter didn’t give her much time, though. He wanted to feel her lose control again. He wanted to possess her. Once inside her, he wouldn’t stop until dawn.

  **

  Farrell stood in the doorway of Carter’s bedroom. She was watching him sleep. The sheets barely covered his beautiful naked body. Farrell was about to leave. She didn’t want to wake him; she didn’t want to say goodbye. After a while, she turned to walk out.

  “Leaving?” Carter asked.

  Farrell stopped. She smiled and turned back to him. She could hardly see his face in the dark.

  “Come here,” he invited.

  But Farrell didn’t move. “I have to go,” she said.

  “Come here,” Carter repeated.

  This time, Farrell couldn’t resist. She sat on the edge of the bed. Carter pulled her to him. He held her against his chest, kissing her neck. Farrell tried to extirpate herself from his strong embrace, but after a few seconds of vain struggle she gave up.

  “Why leaving already?” Carter whispered.

  “I have a plane to catch,” Farrell answered lazily.

  “So I don’t get to hold you one more day,” Carter guessed.

  “No.”

  “At what time is your plane?”

  “Ten.”

  Carter laughed. “At ten? So you’re leaving at four. Yeah, makes perfect sense.”

  “I don’t like goodbyes,” Farrell confessed. “It’s easier to sneak out.”

  Carter loosened his embrace and looked at her in the eye. He loved her eyes. Those brilliant black pearls hypnotized him. “Don’t leave,” he said.

  Farrell was so surprised that she was speechless for a while. “What did you say?” she finally managed to ask.

  Carter sighed. “You changed me, Juliana,” he murmured. “Changed me a lot, in a way that…” the words got lost under his breath. “Don’t leave,” he continued. “Not now. Not yet.”

  Farrell liked the way he pronounced her name. Julie-an-na, with an emphasis on each syllable, like a melodious adagio. She rested her head on Carter’s shoulder. After long minutes, when his breath had become regular with sleep, she slowly got up. She walked on tiptoe to the door, pulled her boots on, and left in the pink light of early morning.

  Her

  Miss Vaughn had always been granted what she wanted. And now, what she wanted most was that priceless ruby she’d heard about. From what she knew, the ruby was huge and had numerous imperfections. First she thought it would be worthless because of those, but the rumor was that the
cracks were part of the sculpture. Indeed, the guy who had carved it into the shape of a flower had made those crevices himself. So they weren’t seen as imperfections, but instead were part of the art and added value to the jewel.

  Vaughn had asked all her informants about the ruby to know more. They all told her the same story: the ruby was the work of a French artist, and it had been stolen four months before while in an exhibition at the now infamous Spears Art Gallery in Downtown Brooklyn. No one knew where exactly the ruby was, but everyone knew it was out there, probably in the States and probably even not far from New York.

  Knowing that, Vaughn set out on a ruby hunt. She was determined to get her hands on it no matter what. She eventually found a trace of it through a network of different thieves and art collectors. Vaughn couldn’t find the name of the owner of the ruby, but she had a physical description and an e-mail address to make contact. After a quick exchange, a meeting was arranged.

  “Is the ruby in that suitcase?” Vaughn asked, instantly noticing the emotionless blue eyes that made the man famous.

  “Depends,” he replied. “Is the money in that suitcase?”

  “All of it, to the last cent,” she said, opening the case so he could see the green.

  “Very well, then.”

  The ruby passed from his hands to hers, crossing the money on the way.

  “It was a pleasure, mister… hm… what did you say your name was?” Vaughn inquired.

  “Bond,” the man answered coldly. “James Bond.” Vaughn understood the message, and they both walked back to their cars.

  **

  Eight months later, Vaughn came across an advert for an art auction sale. She didn’t pay much attention to it until one of her subordinates noticed that a ruby, very similar to hers, was on the list among the most valuable items of the sale. Vaughn jumped up, snatched the paper from the man’s hand and read it herself.

  “The most beautiful and precious ruby you’ll ever find. Carved by French artist Adrien Duval and retrieved by skilled hands, the ruby is probably the most valuable jewel of this auction sale.” The ad was completed by a picture showing the glowing red rose.