Dusak smiled at the man who sat before him. Ramos the Spaniard who had once been beaten up in public by Lucien Delano, nervously kneaded his hands as he tried to look away from the photographs spread across the glass-topped table.
Dusak smiled again, an evil smile, like a lizard watching his prey, thought the ageing Spaniard with a sickening lurch of his stomach.
The photographs showed him in various poses with various women, each more sinister than the other. Ramos loved beating up women and the pictures were particularly graphic. He got off on inflicting pain. And he knew that if these snaps were revealed and the press got their dirty hands on them…Madre Dios!
Ramos was now into politics and he had climbed up the ladder, successfully growing into a figure to be noted. The next elections were around the corner and he wanted to be the face of the party, the man who was tipped to be a future Presidente del Gobierno, Prime Minister of Spain. He had thought that he was keeping his little dalliances with women discreet but somehow, Dusak had got his hands on the incriminating photographs. And it would destroy his career. No one would want to back a man who indulged in such severe violence against women in the name of pleasuring themselves.
Now he stared in deep horror as Dusak smiled at him again, a sinister lifting of his lips that only made him seem even more frightening.
“Well?’ cooed the muscular man, lifting his glass and gulping down his drink, his blind eye covered by the sinister eye patch.
Ramos whispered,’ You…cannot…’ And then, as he saw the dark flash of rage on the features of the young man before him, he stuttered piteously,
“I mean, please, I will pay you…’
Dusak threw his head back and roared with laughter. His men, used as they were, to his volatile mood swings, remained silent, gazing impassively into the distance. Suddenly, his laughter subsided and the One-Eyed rose to his feet, towering over the hapless, cowering Ramos
He smiled and beckoned to a man standing behind him but his eyes were grave and emotionless, Flintlike…
‘What happened to that girl from Uzbekistan?’ asked Dusak in a bored tone, like someone discussing the weather.
The giant behind him spoke in a toneless voice.
‘She died. Multiple fractures. Internal haemorrhaging.’
Dusak’s single eye moved to Ramos.
“And who was she servicing that night, eh?’ he went on, his cold eyes remaining on Ramos whose face was wet with sweat.
Dusak leaned forward again, his eyes black pinpoints of rage as he hissed,’ She was a Good worker. Accommodative.’
He refrained from mentioning that the girl was so deep into drugs, that she would have done anything to remain on them.
“But we had to replace her because you were too free with your whips and other implements.’
Ramos felt the sweat Rolling down his forehead.
What could he do now?
He had no alternative.
“What do you want from me?” he whispered hoarsely, fidgeting nervously, knowing that the price would be exorbitant.
And what Dusak the One-Eyed asked him for had him pale in fear. He was literally caught between the Devil and the Deep Sea, he thought as he tottered outside, his clothes soaked in sweat.
*
Ria
She was waiting for Philippe when he got home that night. He looked tired and exhausted.
The Don had sent him across the border to meet and talk with a possible ally and the meeting had gone well. Philippe was of course, given the option of staying back in the luxurious rooms which the host had arranged for him. But he had declined politely, although the older man had offered him women or men if he chose that, to please himself;
But Philippe was a one-woman man; his mind was on Ria. And he wanted to get back to her at the earliest.
He had not been able to spend much time with her after putting the ring on her finger; the Mafia Boss had called him up almost immediately and had sent him packing. Now as he strode into the cool, dimly lit halls of the Delano mansion, for it was past mid night, he felt the quickening of his breath. He could not wait to see Ria, to hold her in his arms.
A couple of the men on duty dipped their heads in respect to acknowledge him and he nodded quickly.
*
Ria had her room on the second floor, her door facing the room of her twin. Philippe could see the light coming from beneath the door where Piers lived and he felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. Piers had made a huge mistake and he would never forgive himself for that.
As he entered the door, he smiled. She was still up or had been waiting for him, his little blonde vixen. He felt his manhood tense.
He moved to her, bending over the sleeping figure, studying the way her arm was thrown over her books, as she slept obviously, having dozed off while studying. Her neck, that white column, was exposed and he moved to kiss her, stripping as he did so. Gently, he said, almost to himself,’ You are so beautiful, my love and I do not think I have earned you…’
Her eyelids fluttered, and sleep-heavy grey-blue eyes opened as a slow, sultry smile spread across her plump, inviting mouth.
*
Her small hand moves across his torso like coals and she runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, making him harden so painfully, he thinks he will come just looking at her.
“Maybe, Philippe, she says, her voice a purr, as she kneels on the bed, taking off the large T-shirt she had been wearing,’ Maybe, I shall allow you to earn me. Give you the chance if you ask me nicely.’
She is teasing him and he growls, a low sound in his throat as he begins to take off his jeans. Her eyes widen and she moves to him.
And suddenly, the need is too great and he is pushing her onto the bed, entering her before he can stop himself, as she makes a soft cry of longing and shifts to accommodate him fully…