Captured Lies

by Maggie Thom

"What happened to you, Geoffrey? You're late for our Board meeting. You're never late. You look like you've been dragged around by your coat tails. Couldn't you have changed before you showed up? Who is she this time?"

  Geoffrey pulled himself to his full six-foot two inch height, loving how he towered almost a foot over his sister. He ignored the twinges of pain that radiated from several bruises and aches. He'd never suspected that the girl would know how to take care of herself. Not a mistake he'd make again, once he found her. That shouldn't be hard. He knew who she was hanging out with.

  "For the record, Dorothy." He liked that not calling her by her formal name made her stiffen. "I helped out with an accident on my way here. That's why I'm late. Why I'm a bit dirty. So excuse me for stopping to help my fellow man."

  Her eyes opened wide with remorse for her quick words. Her look of dismay was enough to put him on Mount Olympus.

  "I'm sorry, Geoffrey. There's just a few things happening here that need straightening out.

  There's some questions about that California winery that you've been negotiating with. And our Treasurer, says some things with the European winery you negotiated the purchase of last year has run into some major problems." She reached out and put her hand on his forearm. He barely restrained himself from jerking away. He needed to play it cool and move up his plans for a permanent vacation. There were many problems but they were all virtual. Hard to have problems with places that didn't exist.

  "Fine, I'll be right there." He pulled away.

  "I'll hold the meeting for fifteen minutes for you. Come when you're ready."

  He knew that meant clean up and change into the spare suit he always kept in his office. Giving her that one small concession, he walked away a smirk curving his lips.

  Yes, many things are happening. Most of which you know nothing about.

  He entered his plush, dark mahogany office that was bigger than most houses. Walking past the leather sofa he opened the cabinet at the end of the room and pulled out a bottle of Ladybank Single Malt Whiskey, poured two fingers and downed it. He set down his glass on the table before he turned and stepped into his fully equipped bathroom. He stripped down, glaring at the dust that marred his suit and the rip that scarred the right pant leg.

  It's all her fault.

  All his clothes went into the garbage before he climbed in the shower and allowed himself a full twenty minutes, to revel in the heat. His plans had changed. He should have known not to call John. He'd bungled the kidnapping thirty years before. What had made him think the man would clear it up now? That was his second and last mistake.

  Anger infused his body immediately. His hands clenched. His face distorted, full of hate and violence. Rarely did he lash out unless it was to do severe damage to someone. Wasting his energy on punching something had not been his style. If he was going to feel any pain it was going to be accompanied by elation at what he had done. It was such a high to feel another's soft tissue compress until he hit something hard. The cracking of bone had a distinguishable sound - like the snapping of a twig in a still forest - it echoed for a long time, with the screaming of the victim. He allowed himself to remember the last man he'd beaten - some homeless bum he'd found on skid row. The feel of the man's body fracturing, breaking under the power that he'd inflicted, sent shivers of excitement coursing through Geoffrey's body. He groaned in ecstasy, as that distinct crunch-break sound, that he never knew how to describe played out in his mind, sounding like music to his ears. Lust grabbed hold of him, making him hard. He reached for himself, then stopped.

  No I'll save this for Lula.

  Thinking about one of the latest whores he frequented and the wild and raunchy things she always did to him, with him, almost made him come. For a brief moment, he immersed himself in that physical pain and discomfort, the thoughts of what she could and would do to him and for him. It would help keep him centered and focused, allowing him to control his anger throughout the meeting that he was late for. The one where there'd be questions as to what was going on. Rumors were flying about new business deals, new partners, old business deals maybe not being on the up and up and why no one had been apprised of them - the Board, especially his dear sister, Dorothea. He was ready though. He had the carefully crafted, detailed set of books that showed that the winery was doing exceptionally well, all set up in a fancy presentation for those who thought they were in charge. The real books were nicely tucked away in his suitcase and the real money already in an offshore account. He'd show them the possibilities of taking on some partners, give them the grounds of why that would be a great idea and not share that he'd already taken them on, taken their money.

  The thought of how much they'd have to clean up when he was gone made him instantly hard again, to the brink of ejaculating. He couldn't help but smile, everything was working to his advantage.

  Except the damn girl.

  He instantly went soft. His anger boiled over and he punched the shower wall. He ignored the hole he'd put through it. It wasn't his to worry about anymore. Taking several deep breaths, he allowed the water to cascade down him, washing the blood from his scraped knuckles. This wasn't the time to lose it. He had a show to put on and no one could guess what he was up to, not yet, not until he was gone. Not until they found his badly broken and burnt but unrecognizable body was identified only by his expensive garnet ring and his gold lighter with the eagle in flight. The things people knew never left his person.

  They'd have a beautiful funeral for him. They'd go all out. He'd made sure in his will that every detail was spelled out, how the ceremony was to honor him and his wonderful contributions. And of course the beautiful letter he'd left his sister would ensure her guilt, meaning she'd pay handsomely for his eternal rest.

  While they mourned he'd be somewhere hot, sipping exotic whiskey, with as many naked women as he could find. He laughed a dark laugh that, if anyone heard, they'd have questioned his sanity. The guilty pleasure he felt was so divine he couldn't ignore it and realized he didn't have to.

  Eyes closed.

  Deep breathe in. Slowly breathe out. Deep breathe in. Slowly breathe out.

  Because it was such a ritual, his mind immediately went quiet, loving the darkness and the stillness. He waited, readying himself liked a caged tiger who knew the doors were going to open. Concentrating on the darkness, the stillness, he held himself there.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Now!

  Images flooded his mind, some real, some not. Bodies twisting together and apart, writhing in ecstasy, moaning, rubbing against each other, finding pleasure. Their skin humming with that sexual tension, that sexual awareness of what was to come, like an electric shock arcing through the air but not quite making the connection. Throwing his arms wide, he turned his chest so the water could beat down on it, to drum against his front.

  "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh," he moaned. In his mind, the crystal clear droplets turned to a crimson red that poured down over him, wrapping itself around him like a cloak? accepting him... inviting him? begging him for more. The writhing bodies, still meshed together, now screaming in terror, crying out his name, begging to be released. The crescendo was building, was reaching higher. The feeling coursed through his body with the force of a locomotive, firing all his nerve cells. Humming like the perfect note plucked with precision from a harp, he lifted the knife skyward and plunged with all his might. Screams echoed. Fresh blood washed over him. Filled him.

  "Yeesssssssssssssssssssss," screaming, for he knew no one could hear through his sound proof room, he allowed himself the finale. Power surged through his body, filling it, stretching it.

  He grabbed himself, pumped a few times and saw not the white milky substance that slid from his body but a white power so pure he vibrated with the release.

  Finished, he leaned limply against the shower wall, allowing the water to cleanse him, to rejuvenate him for he felt reborn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT