RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “No, Mr. Franklin? She’ll be terribly disappointed.”

  “That’s her problem. When you got it, you got it.”

  “I know what you mean,” says George.

  The two men share knowing glances. If Hiram was not preoccupied about gloating in his manliness, he would have noticed a glaze in George’s eyes. His bloom is not a sexual afterglow but an impairment of the senses. During their passionate embrace, Prez pushed a capsule into George’s mouth. She kissed and bit him so hard that there was there was bleeding in his mouth. What George thought was passion for him was really a way to break the capsule open and release its toxic contents directly to his bloodstream.

  Was Prez worried about being poisoned? Not a chance. The powder was derived from the venom of her beloved Komodos, to which she had long developed immunity.

  “Let’s go straight to the Rotary Club.”

  “Yes, Mr. Franklin.”

  ***

  The Caddie pulls out of the driveway and turns down the winding Oregon byway. Hiram doesn’t spend too much time in this place. It’s a damned pain in the ass to get to, and there’s not much to do. However, there is a reason bigger than economics as to why Hiram keeps this place—it allows him to “entertain” anyone he wants to. Underage boys, girls and lobbyists have all spent time partying on his king-sized bed, smoking his homegrown marijuana. No one ever bothers Hiram here.

  “How’d the meeting with Prez go, Senator?”

  “I put her in her place, George. There is no way I am ever going to allow a foreigner access to gambling in our state… unless the price is right.”

  George laughs. “Hers or yours?”

  “I’m not worried. She’ll give in to what I want. Otherwise, she’s just thrown ten years of working me down the drain… So, how was she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you go into the garage with her. I’m not stupid, George. What did she want?”

  “Um, uh… ” George stammers, but before he can stammer out the answer, he slams on the brakes.

  Hiram, who’s sitting in the back, pitches forward and bangs his head hard against the driver’s headrest. “What the hell are you doing, George?”

  “Look.” George points thirty yards ahead.

  Three five-foot Komodo dragons are in the middle of the road, blocking any way to get around them. The lizards are in a feeding frenzy, tearing the flesh off the carcass of a deer with their sharp-as-knives teeth.

  The sound of the car’s engine draws the attention of the Komodos.

  George looks in the rearview mirror. “What the—?”

  Hiram snaps his head around. He sees Prez emerging from behind a tree and stepping out to the middle of road. Carrying a bow and arrow, she positions her feet so that she is directly behind the Cadillac.

  She places the arrow’s end into the nock. She raises the bow, draws the bow, takes aim and releases the arrow.

  In moments, the arrow hits the Cadillac’s windshield.

  However, this window does not shatter. Instead, blood, which was contained inside the arrowhead, splatters all over the windshield upon impact.

  Now, that gets the Komodos’ attention.

  “Back up. Run her down,” yells Hiram, but the glassy-eyed George hits the accelerator by mistake.

  Meanwhile, Prez nocks another arrow and releases it. With the Cadillac swerving, this arrow hits the passenger side window.

  Unable to react quickly enough, the Cadillac hurtles straight into one of the Komodo dragons, killing it instantly.

  The impact of vehicle colliding with the dragon’s body fractures the windshield. Even worse, the car stalls.

  “Do something!” screams Hiram.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying.” George tries to start the car. It cranks, but the engine won’t turn over.

  “There’s a revolver in the glove department.”

  “Not anymore, Hiram. You made me take it out and hide it when that anti-NRA group gave you a thousand bucks, remember?”

  One scaly-skinned lizard leaps onto the front hood while the other claws at the passenger window beside Hiram.

  Hiram and George freak at the sight of forked tongues flickering rapidly. They cower in fear as the dragons’ heads bang hard on the car windshield.

  CRACK! One of the Komodos breaks in through the rear passenger window and is trying to force its way inside.

  Hiram steadies himself and kicks at the animal’s head, trying to evade its snapping jaws.

  “Do something, George!” screams Hiram. The out-of-shape senator is gasping for air, and he ain’t gonna last long.

  “What?” George contemplates a run for it. He opens the driver’s door, but the other dragon quickly whips around to the other side and lunges at him. George manages to slam the door on the Komodo’s head, just before its jaws clamp down on his arm.

  George tries to start the car again.

  Same result. No go.

  The Komodo’s large curved and serrated teeth have shredded his pant legs, but somehow, Hiram, though bleeding, still has his limbs intact. He grabs his briefcase and shoves it hard into the dragon’s mouth.

  And then, a miracle. The Caddie’s engine turns over.

  George floors it, but just as suddenly as there was a miracle, disaster strikes.

  George drives the left wheel directly over the head of the dead Komodo. The animal’s teeth puncture the car’s left tire.

  By now, Prez’s toxins have kicked in big time, and the befuddled chauffeur drives off the road into the dirt embankment.

  It takes no time for the Komodos to arrive. They ram their heads, and whack with their fat, powerful short bowed legs at the windshields.

  Prez walks deliberately toward the car, watching the work of her pets.

  “Please, Prez. Call them off,” begs Hiram. “I’ll do anything for you. You told me I made you happy. I’ll service you every day. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

  He actually believed it. Omigod, he is such a loser.

  “You will. Oh, thank you, Hiram.”

  Prez puts her hands on one dragon and coos, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll get you something else.”

  Both dragons obediently stop and stand at ease.

  Hiram and George cannot believe what they have just witnessed as Prez opens the car doors for them.

  The two step out.

  “You know, Prez. I think I am going to go to bat for you. I’ll get the subcommittee to okay you as managing the Coyote River. And I’ll drop my commission.”

  “Really, Hiram?” says Prez. She drapes her arms around him and smiles into his eyes. “I suggest you run.”

  Prez pulls out a dragon’s tooth and uses it to cut Hiram on the forehead. Blood starts to pour out. In half a second, she has made a similar cut on George.

  “Byee.”

  As the two men start down the winding highway, the Dragon woman is smiling. She’s getting her revenge. After all, from the brief time that her flesh touched either of them, she feels filthy.

  The road is silent. There’s nobody around for miles to answer. Chances are, even if there were, they’re not likely going to want to take on the huge behemoths.

  Despite their awkward appearance and short legs, Komodos can run up to twelve miles an hour. In their present condition, there’s no way that George and Hiram can come close to that pace.

  Then, Prez breaks into a run—she’s faster than either the dragons or men.

  It’s almost comical watching the rotund Hiram huff and puff trying to distance himself from the huge fearsome reptiles and Prez.

  “Hey, lover boy,” teases Prez.

  Attention distracted, Hiram steps into a pothole and trips.

  Drawn to the scent of his blood, the Komodo leaps on top of the senator and bites deep into his neck. A second bite rips out the flesh from a cheek. Another rips his scalp off. Prez kneels beside the feeding dragon. She uses her nails and gouges them into the Senator’s chest. More blood spurts as she pic
ks herself off the corpulent man.

  She kicks him in the balls, driving the corrupt politician backward. Buckling over and screaming in agony, Hiram can’t stop the two Komodos from jumping on top of him to feast on live, fatty meat. The lizards devour the politician, eating quickly, efficiently and completely, tearing and chewing off flesh and bone.

  But it’s not over.

  Prez pulls Hiram’s pants down and cuts the surface of his testicles.

  More blood and a new delicacy for the lizards. Prairie oysters.

  There is nothing like someone you despise being eaten alive to bring a smile to one’s face, and Prez is grinning from ear to ear.

  Prez lifts one of the Komodos off Hiram and points it to George. By now, the driver’s thought processes are so befuddled, he’s stumbling aimlessly down the road.

  He wanders off the road into the bush.

  “Find him, baby.”

  Prez pushes the lizard off, and it ambles down the road.

  George can hardly keep his balance. The root of a tree trips him up, and his face collides with another extended root, breaking his nose. Blood streams from his face.

  Smelling his blood, the reptile easily finds George and makes no mistake. The strong, curved, saw-like claws rip Hiram’s flesh out with impunity.

  In a brief moment of clarity, George realizes his death is imminent. Two other striking observations. One is the incredibly bad breath from the teeming bacteria that live in the giant lizard’s mouth. The other is the unbearable, brutal pain.

  Thankfully, darkness descends on him.

  ***

  A panel truck drives into sight and parks by the side of the road in front of Prez who stands with the two Komodos beside her. A muscular man in his thirties, wearing thick leather gloves that reach up to his elbows, exits. He carries face muzzles for animals.

  “I brought three dragons out here,” says the young man.

  “An unfortunate victim of war,” says Prez.

  “That’s too bad. Rosa had character.”

  Prez smiles as the young man timidly tries to put a muzzle on the smaller Komodo.

  “You’re a careful one, aren’t you?” says Prez.

  “I’m not half the man you are, woman,” says the young man, pulling his hand back as a dragon tries to nip at him.

  Prez takes the muzzle and slips it over the lizard. She coos, “You were very good, Skipper.”

  She hands the leash to the young man and kneels down to the other Komodo. “Gilly, Gilly, Gilligan. Did you enjoy your nice fat piece of meat?”

  She puts a leash on the Komodo, and the two walk to the panel truck and load the dragons into cages.

  “Did you get what I asked for?” asks Prez.

  “Of course.” The man pulls out a small suitcase and hands it to her.

  The two walk back into the bush. Prez strategically puts bits of reddish-brown cougar hair onto George’s clothes and a cougar’s tooth in his nose area and neck.

  She goes to Hiram and puts cougar’s hair on his clothes, too. As a bit of amusement, she plants the cougar’s tooth in what’s left of the senator’s penis and has it stick in the air.

  “Tonight?”

  “Get your riding boots on, and strap your spurs on right. We’ll do it now.”

  The two enter the panel truck and close the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, Prez emerges and gets into her sports car.

  The Corvette goes one way; the truck goes another. Pretty slim chance that anyone would ever connect the two together.

  In fact, when someone wanders down this lonely road in an hour or two and finds Hiram’s body, he’ll call law enforcement. A further search will result in the discovery of George’s body just inside the woods.

  The officers will take a look at the fur, find the tooth and then conclude that there are wild cougars that residents need to watch out for. They’ll put a chopper in the air, send out trackers and of course, they’ll find a lot of them—after all, that’s the most common wild cat in Oregon.

  But they’ll not be able to figure out which animal, or animals, did the deed.

  They will probably conclude, too, that the scratches on the car are due to the cats.

  After all, that’s the easiest and most likely solution.

  Being seduced by the Dragon Priestess and having lizard venom put in your mouth with a deep kiss that alters your reality and reaction time seems a most unlikely reality. Even more so is having Komodo dragons jumping on your car. Being chased and eaten by them moves from unreal to surreal.

  But then again, didn’t someone once say, “Truth is stranger than fiction?”

  Chapter 7

  Olivia absolutely detests the Hong Kong Aviation Centre. Which is where she is now, waiting with Noah for a private plane to take them to Shanghai.

  When she was eleven, she and Abby had been in this same airport, waiting expectantly for their mothers to arrive home from Thailand, where they had volunteered to help in a tsunami relief effort. To their absolute horror, the two girls had seen the plane carrying their mothers blow up shortly after touching down. A celebration had turned into a wake.

  The young girls had been unaware that Chin, whom both their fathers worked for, had been sending them a message. They had told Chin that they no longer wanted to work for him, and they no longer wanted to be part of his burgeoning criminal empire.

  Blowing up the plane with their mothers in it was Chin’s response. No mention of it was ever made—none was needed. Garret and Tommy kept working for Chin but never forgot and always hoped and schemed for revenge.

  Tommy never lived to see the fulfillment of their dream, but Garret, in his dying moments, had a glimpse of the future. Both fathers would have been astounded at what happened to the three billion dollars they had stolen from Chin.

  They would have been even more surprised that their children had kept none of it for themselves, choosing instead to found the Chad Huang Foundation, an organization that helped fund youth centers throughout Asia and North America.

  Noah sees the tears in Olivia’s eyes as she looks at the empty tarmac.

  He takes her around the waist and pulls her in close to himself.

  “It’s almost done, Olivia.”

  “It’ll never end, Noah.”

  “Yes, it will,” says Noah.

  But the tone in his voice tells you: he’s not convinced that it’s true.

  ***

  Prez has just taken a shower for half an hour. If there were time, she’d be there for another hour. Not because she’s trying to clean herself because she feels somehow immorally dirty—she hates that psychobabble. No, she wants to rid herself of every physical vestige of what happened this afternoon.

  She’s finished toweling off the final beads of water from her body and then picks up her cell to make a call.

  “Hello, Roger. The meeting with the Indians went well, but I might just need an extra favor.”

  She can visualize the banker shaking his head through the phone. “No can do. The muckety-mucks are getting concerned about the Indian business.”

  “What’s new about that? They’re always concerned about everything. Besides, aren’t they the ones that keep on saying you’ve got to increase profitability?”

  “Yeah, yeah, but nobody wants to get on an Indian tribe’s bad books.”

  “You’re not. You’re going to be a hero when this deal comes through.”

  “That’s why you have got to make it happen fast. If my higher-ups knew what I’ve done, they’d rescind the foreclosure notice and give them yet another extension. No extra time, Prez.”

  Prez nods knowingly. Rare is the politician or businessperson who would want to have the reputation as the person who pulled the plug on a Native American enterprise, no matter how badly it was doing. Cries of racism would be shouted across the country, and every progressive-leaning enterprise would pull their support or funds from them.

  “You know I’ve got the Indian side covered.”


  “Turk’s a hothead. I’m never exactly sure where he’s coming from.”

  Prez shakes her head.

  “Don’t worry. He wants to be chairman of the tribal council next election. And he’s trying to figure out a way to get rid of Chief altogether. What better way for him to do that than to be the one that leads the charge to make Coyote River profitable again?”

  “I can’t argue with that, but I’m not sure he’s ready.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he’s ready. All that’s important is that I’m ready… How about my loan, Roger?”

  “It’s impossible, Prez. You have no known assets on the books, no visible means of income.”

  Prez’s voice drops to a soft, breathy whisper. She speaks slowly, milking every syllable. “I’m naked right now, Roger. I’ve just had a shower, and little beads of water are sprinkled on my … well they are sprinkled everywhere. In a moment, I’m going to put on some Chanel … I’ll let you imagine where I’ll put it… Actually, I don’t want to have you imagine… I want … personal attention.”

  “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Can you try very hard, please?”

  “Of course.”

  CLICK.

  Prez smiles. She knows she’s got him hooked. She always does.

  ***

  Monday Evening—Oregon

  Normally, Alexandra “Sandy” Patterson doesn’t have dinner with anyone who is not a constituent in her district. She had the thinnest margin of victory of any of the thirty state senators so there’s little point in wasting time and/no money on someone who can’t vote for her.

  However, Prez is an exception. She hasn’t met her personally but has seen her discreetly pop into Hiram’s Cadillac or walking with him through one of the several parks close to the Legislature. Every time, Prez has been wearing sunglasses and a kerchief to disguise herself, but this doesn’t fool Sandy. Sandy recognizes the body as one belonging to the exotic Asian who frequents The Grill, an LGBT hangout, in the capital. Sandy has never tried to approach her. After all, her forty-six-year-old body can hardly compete with the swimsuit stunners, male and female, that always seem to be surrounding Prez.