The phantom figure, smoky and translucent, mounted Jenna from behind. Her anus stretched wide and gaping as the entity worked himself inside her. From the mirror view the act lent the oriface a chimney quality, a seemingly exhausting of smoke.
Katie, who had been focused on ecstasy, noticed her father leaning in the doorway. Tongue licked lips seductively as she gave a come hither look.
The sight troubled Brant, made him wonder what had prompted them to engage here, instead of Jenna's room. Immediately he realized that Jenna must have begged Katie for coke and followed her in to retrieve it and thus indulged. Shadow Man had followed them here. It made sense.
But Brant did not like the idea of Shadow Man having run of the house. Of course the entity regularly did, though not nearly as often as in the past. However, now with Kasas set on making an example of Brant, he did not like it at all.
Jenna's gaped asshole winked closed then gaped open again as Shadow Man's member vacated then penetrated the opening time and again. He then vacated the orifice completely, turned, and mounted Katie in the same fashion.
His eyes flared red, something Brant had not noticed before, as he buried himself into a screaming Katie.
“Get out,” Brant commanded the entity.
Katie's head snapped back by the hair, back arched.
You do not command me.
“This is my home. You will do as I say.”
Laughter thundered in Brant's head.
I answer only to Kasas. Your weak confinement spells have little control over me. They merely attempt to confuse.
“I don't give a good goddamn what you say.”
Alas, you do... Katie's head pulled back at an uncomfortable angle and a wispy hand closed around her neck. I could snuff out her life like one of a hundred candles burning in your library and never give it a second thought.
“You wouldn't dare. You are here to observe, not participate any more than you already do. Hell, I gave Jenna to you – this is the thanks I get?”
Again Shadow Man roared laughter in Brant's mind, nearly ripping it asunder. Katie's face turned red, then pale … suffocating.
“Don't kill her,” Brant said.
“It's called Breath Control,” Jenna explained. “It's fucking sexy as hell.”
Shadow Man eased his grip, allowing Katie to gasp for breath.
Join us. Join us and I shall not kill her.
Brant did not enjoy being toyed with and he doubted the entity's conviction to the threat. Yet he dare not call its bluff. Not now. Not with so much hanging in the balance. If Shadow Man reported back to Kasas, and if the report prompted immediate action. And, heaven (or hell) forbid, Katie died or lost their child (which may or may not have been conceived by him in the first place) ...
Brant could not allow that series of events to unfold.
So instead he lowered the fly of his khaki shorts and offered his double-fucked impregnated daughter his growing erection to suck.
Not to be outdone by the savage penetration perpetrated by the pair behind her, Brant took hold of Katie's head and began to rape her face.
Walls shook with the energy coursing through the room. Laughter of Shadow Man adopted a migraine effect within Brant's skull. And finally, when he thought Katie might choke on his erection, he unloaded seed down her throat.
“Don't I get a turn, old man,” Jenna ribbed as Brant zipped up and started out the room.
“Kill that one,” Brant told Shadow Man. “Please.”
Laughter nearly shook loose ceiling-mounted mirrors as Brant vacated the room.
His world, a bizarre tapestry of career opportunities, sex, murder, and the occult, seemed to be unraveling all around him. For a brief moment, on the other side of his bedroom door, memories flashed through his mind:
Evelyn and he taking ballroom dancing lessons
The first time they made love here, in their new home
Several preceding times when they christened various rooms
When they had visited the BMW dealer to buy the car she now owned
The time he caught her in bed with Greg Abrams and broke his nose
He checked his cell phone messages as he wandered downstairs. A few from colleagues suggesting he check his email or asking guidance on various work-related topics had recently been received. Ignoring them he navigated to the recent message from Evelyn about the trouble she'd had with the BMW she'd wanted so badly. Apparently, according to her, it wasn't any better than the damned Nissan it had replaced.
Brant replied that, if she'd come over and fuck him tonight, he'd buy her a brand-new Altima. Or Maxima. He really wanted to fuck her again – right now but if she didn't reply quickly he was apt to change his mind. But another romp with her, he admitted to himself, didn't warrant a fucking BMW. Hell, top-tier whores (and he should know) didn't earn enough for a Japanese import with one night's work.
The phone dinged and he checked it, downstairs on the sofa, expecting a reply from Evelyn. Instead it was Joshua Elliot suggesting he give him a call. This couldn't be good, Brant reasoned. After all, Elliot operated as Kasas's legal representative. He'd also attempted to tip off Brant about the police investigation into multiple Austin missing persons cases associated with him. If not for that fact, Brant knew he would have ignored the message. He simply could not afford to make that mistake again, so he made the call. His call was put right through to Elliot's extension.
“I thought you might ring back this time,” Elliot jibed.
“What's shakin'?” Brant replied in a nonchalant manner.
“You're awfully chipper,” Elliot said, “for a man with bloodhounds on his trail.”
“Is that so? Tell me what you know.”
“A little bird told me—”
“A little bird with demon wings?”
“Just a bird, Wilson. What gives? You act as if you haven't a care in the world.”
“Once you tell me why you wanted me to call, perhaps my attitude will change.”
“I doubt that very much. But, because you, much like I, represent Kasas—”
“Speaking of Kasas, how is the old fella?”
“Would you stop acting glib for one damn minute? Time is valuable, I could be billing a client instead of having this conversation.”
“Fifty-four seconds... Fifty-three.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch. Detective Brown wants your ass. He has a hunch that the rave where all the people went missing took place in your building.”
“Kasas' building. Your building. That's why we're having this conversation.”
“Goddamn it, the judge Brown went to did not see enough probable cause to issue a search warrant.”
“Probably 'cause there isn't enough evidence.”
“Not now, but that little bird also told—”
“You and your birds. Time is nearly up.”
“I'm giving you the bird right now, you arrogant bastard. Listen, Brown is questioning each and every witness, anyone at all involved, associated, or related to the rave. All it will take is one witness, someone looking to get out of a possession charge or, hell, a parking ticket, and they'll have their probable cause, a judge's signature, and their goddamned warrant. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, good buddy. That's a big 10-4. Now, about Kasas...”
“Not too thrilled with you either.”
“Yeah, a little bird told me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not really a bird. More like Kasas himself. Though not really. More like a hologram of him in a glass of piss, but I'm sure you're already aware.”
“Piss? Seriously? No wonder he wants to make an example of you. You create this amazing computer network, grander than anything Kasas would have thought of himself, and he still wants to make an example of you.”
“Doesn't make much sense, does it? I mean, he likes perverted shit. You should see the things I do with my own daughter. That alone should earn me a high-five. As for her friend Jenna... Well, I'll email
you the webcam link. Or didn’t I already?”
“Save yourself the trouble. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“You wanted me to go over the facility again with a fine-tooth comb to erase any remaining trace that could put your ass in a sling. But enough of that – your time is up on the topic. Now for my minute. What kind of time frame can I expect from Kasas?”
“I truly don't know. He's waited centuries, or so I've heard. But we both know you can't expect that luxury.”
“I see.”
“Kasas really likes the work you've done for him. He also is aware of Detectives Brown and Lee.”
“So? It's not like they can lock him away in prison.”
“No, but if something were to happen to you – and by something I mean if the right thing were to happen to you – that might prevent further investigation.”
A light went on in Brant's mind as he replied, “For instance if the prime suspect were to skip town, go missing, die in a spectacular car crash, or—”
“Precisely.”
45
“Daddy, Sir, guests are arriving, but everything is in order.”
“Good,” Brant said.
“I did my best, Daddy,” Katie said, standing before his desk in the library, in a glorious pregnant glow. “But I needed help.”
Yes, a few of the other administrative assistants had flown in yesterday. Blonde bimbos. Three of them, at least one from Santa Fe – Brant didn't know and couldn't care where they were from, only that he'd succeeded easily in bringing two of them to bed last night. A shame, really, since the third had passed out from too much wine. A pair of nasty bitches, eating each other's ass, fucking wine bottles, fucking him with their round robin of gaping orifices. Of course he'd offered them cocaine and of course they had accepted. They'd arrived early, presumably to assist Katie with preparations. However, it had been Katie (and Jenna to a lesser degree, as far as he could tell) who had performed a bulk of the tasks. The bimbos had assisted today, once they finally woke from near drug-and-alcohol-induced comas.
“Remind me to give you a gold star later,” Brant said.
“Really?” Katie beamed.
Before Brant could reply, door chimes sounded, alerting them to the arrival of another guest. Derek Smith and Joey Kincaid had arrived earlier. Last Brant noticed the software developer and Bastard Operator From Hell were swilling beer and gaming on the big-screen television in the great room. A few of their staff (and perhaps one if not all three bimbos) had joined them.
Brant and Katie welcomed Tara Jones and her team of Business Analysts into the foyer. While Brant had met each of the staff on occasion their names had sailed through his mind long ago. And so, like he so often did, he referred to each by nickname.
“So good to see you again, Tara.” He greeted her with a hug and kiss on the cheek. He squeezed her ass before looking her, then her team of three, over from head to toe. “I'll personally give Marsha, Jan, and Cindy the grand tour, beginning with the guest room, which I reserved for you, based on your email.”
“Thank you,” Tara said. “You're a doll.”
They are all dolls, especially the progressively younger trio. Damn, if Cindy wouldn't look good in pigtails, he thought. Straight out of college, no doubt. She looked younger than Katie. Perhaps Tara had found her working in front of a web cam somewhere, it wouldn't be surprising. He longed to nail all three. Hell, Tara included. Something he'd yet to do.
“Will any of the sales force be joining us?” Brant asked.
Tara Jones explained that the team leader, whose name bypassed Brant, would be showing later, perhaps with a date. Great, Brant thought, I should probably meet the guy, date included.
“The son of a bitch does a bang-up job wrangling clients,” Brant said.
“That he does,” Tara agreed.
First things first, time for the tour. Brant led the women to the guest room where they stowed luggage in the closet. A lesbian vibe surrounded the team and, while he knew Tara Jones swung both ways, he couldn't help but imagine a cougar/kitten scenario playing out on his king-sized bed. Damn, he wanted to be a part of that, pillow fight and all.
They made the rounds and stopped at the wet bar for drinks and h'ordeuvres. Fat Witch and Jenna tended bar. The rest of the coven, at least for the moment, poured over books in the library, along with Denny Watkins, DBA from Memphis who had stumbled upon a small section of titles on voodoo, courtesy of Suvos.
The next guest announced himself not with a press of the doorbell but instead with a text message to Katie.
“Sir,” she said, tugging Brant's arm. “Mister Lancaster and his men are here.”
Brant had asked to be informed upon their arrival.
“Have them pull into the garage. We'll meet there.”
Katie smiled fondly, like a coke whore hoping to be fucked within an inch of her life, as she tapped out a text rely on her phone. They met Lancaster and a pair of his cronies (two Brant hadn't seen before) in the garage, where a three-quarter ton pickup truck pulled a horse trailer into the RV side of the massive four-vehicle space.
“You're one sick fuck,” Lancaster said as he greeted Brant with a fist-bump and clap on the shoulder. “Where do you want it?”
“Right through there, down to the basement.”
Lancaster leered at Katie, who stood sucking a lollipop from a bowl of candy she'd arranged for the party, and said, “For her?”
“For anyone who wants it. For you.” Brant smirked.
“For me to watch, definitely. Boys, get that donkey out of the trailer and follow me.”
Brant held his pregnant daughter close and watched as the men handled the livestock.
“For me?” Katie said.
“Fuck anyone or anything you wish tonight, you nasty bitch. You've earned it.”
“Thank you, Daddy. I will. But I always love your cock best.”
“Of course you do, sweetie.”
The beast gave them one hell of a time getting it down the stairs. The shortest of the men, a black guy with a shaved head, shoved on the donkey's ass as his partner, a prison tat-covered older fellow dressed in denim and sleeveless plaid led forcefully on the rope knotted around the animal's neck.
“Now what?” the older man asked Lancaster.
“Tie him to a support post, I suppose.” He looked to Brant to protest the suggestion.
“Works for me,” Brant said.
“Expect the thing to shit and piss on the floor,” Lancaster pointed out.
Brant shrugged, changed the subject by asking, “Tell me you've got a guy stationed at the facility.”
Lancaster raised a palm. “No problem, boss. Anyone, especially the cops, decides they have authorization to enter, I'll know then you'll know.”
“Great.”
“I've instructed my man to delay as long as possible without getting himself in trouble.”
“That's all I can ask.”
“I can move the truck, if you like.”
“Not necessary. You're staying, aren't you? You and your men are welcome to. There are drinks and refreshments to be had by all. If your guys are sandwich or pizza types, just tell Katie what you like and she'll get it for you.”
“Either/or sounds great to me,” the short guy said.
“I could eat,” the older guy added.
“You heard the men,” Brant said. He swatted Katie's ass and told her to order whatever they wanted, then ensure they found something to drink.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Brant left the group behind in search of a drink. He bumped into Brainy and Skinny at the wet bar. They were pouring themselves glasses of wine.
“How's it going, Mr. B?” Brainy asked.
He answered her with a passionate kiss.
“That well, huh?”
“Even better,” he said, then kissed Skinny with an equal amount of tongue.
“Not bad for an older guy,” Skinny said.
“You're just saying that bec
ause I'm an older guy with money.”
“You know,” Skinny said, “outside of a ritual, we've never—”
“Hold that thought,” Brant said. “I'd love to – you know that – but, at least for me, tonight is all business. Be a dear and wrangle the rest of the coven in here for drinks and a speech. There's something I need to say. Later, maybe, we can revisit this thought.”
Skinny and Brainy went in search of the coven; Tara Jones and her team appeared, in search of drinks; Lancaster and his men, shortly followed by Katie, did the same. Door chimes alerted everyone to a new arrival. Head of sales met Brant at the front door. His name continued to elude, although the face and annoying exuberance (annoying at least to Brant, though he assumed himself in the minority) proved noteworthy. He immediately started chatting up the Business Analysts who had gathered around the wet bar.
After a little preliminary mingling of his own, Brant called for everyone's attention. The crowd gaming on the television paused the action; executive assistants looked up from their smart phones; someone lowered then completely shut off the music thumping from the sound system.
“Thank you,” Brant announced. “Thank you, everyone, for joining me here tonight in my home, the nerve center of our little – or should I say not so little – enterprise.”
Smiles lit on a faces and a few people chuckled.
“Most of all,” Brant continued, “thank you all for your hard work. It hasn't always been easy, doing what you do, building what we've built, and I'm not one to often give praise. So, how about a little praise from your peers – a round of applause for a job well done!”
The team responded accordingly. Once the ruckus had died down, Brant continued, “Derek Smith, stand up, please. A few of you, some of the ladies from Santa Fe, for instance, may not have met Derek face-to-face. He was the first guy I hired, the guy I needed to begin this project. He and his team wrote code unlike any other code ever written. Let's hear it for Joey!”
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