The Pleasure of Panic

by JA Huss

  “The game!” I yell. “The fucking game! The one I asked to play—well, I didn’t ask to play. Chella made the arrangements. Jordan’s Game.”

  “Jordan, your lawyer?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why are you playing a game with your lawyer?”

  “I’m not! He’s…” But I realize I signed a confidentiality agreement. With a lawyer. Who probably takes shit like that very seriously.

  “He’s what?” Finn asks. And he sounds kinda pissed.

  “I can’t say any more.”

  “Why not?” he bellows.

  “Because I told you, I signed an NDA earlier tonight so we could talk about it.”

  “Who could talk about what?” His tone is angry now, like I’m really starting to piss him off.

  “Is this part of the game or not?” I say, suddenly feeling lied to.

  “I don’t know what fucking game you’re talking about, Issy. None of what you’re saying right now makes a bit of sense. Are you trying to tell me you just fucked me based on… a misunderstanding?”

  “Is that what you’re telling me?” I yell.

  He inhales. Deeply. Exhales. Loudly. “OK, we’re talking in circles.”

  “All I need to know is if you’re playing or not. And I get it, you have to like… maintain the illusion, right? To make it feel real, or whatever. But seriously, dude. I need to know what the fuck is happening. Because I just let you fuck me!”

  “Let me?” He laughs. “You practically begged me!”

  I get up out of his lap, walk over to my front closet, pull out a trench coat, slip it on, and tie the belt securely around my waist. “Get out.” I point to the door when I say it.

  He sits on my couch—zipper open, half-hard cock still spilling out of it—looks me in the eye and says, “No fuckin’ way. I’m not leaving until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  “I just did. And if you want to play, fine. But I’m quitting this game right now unless you let me know why you’re here. All I need is a wink, OK? You can keep in character or whatever, just give me a signal. And if you can’t do that, then you need to get the fuck out of my house or I’ll throw you out myself.”

  He opens his mouth to respond and I can just tell whatever it is he’s going to respond with won’t be something I want to hear. So I cut him off and say, “And if you have any doubts that I’m capable of throwing you out, Special Agent Finn Murphy—if that’s even your real name—then consider this a warning. I’m ranked as a seventh-degree black belt in jujitsu. I can take down men twice your size in four moves.”

  He huffs some air. Like… as if. But I don’t mind. I like being underestimated.

  So I finish with, “Just try me, asshole.”

  CHAPTER SIX - FINN

  OK. This is weird. And all the ways it’s weird are ticking off in my head one by one.

  She thinks we’re playing a game? And from what I can tell, it has something to do with her lawyer?

  “Get out,” she repeats.

  “Just…” I hold up one finger. “Give me a second, OK? I need to think things through.”

  “What’s to think through? I asked a very simple question that can be answered with one word. Yes. Or. No.”

  Right… but she said something about me staying in character. She thinks this was set up? Does she think the entire night was a setup? Like the search warrant, and the FBI interrogation, and the demand to take her to a safe house? And if so… do I play along to get her in my protective custody? Or do I give it to her straight and risk the whole terrorist thing crashing down on top of her?

  Well, that’s a no-brainer.

  So I wink at her.

  She recoils a little, tilting her head.

  I take it one step further. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wink.

  She opens her mouth to say something, then decides not to.

  “But I do have a place in mind for us tonight.” Wink.

  She squints her eyes at me, like maybe she didn’t catch the wink. I decide it might be too dark in here to actually see it properly, so I get up, tuck my dick away, zip my pants but leave them unbuttoned, and walk over to her, hands in the air like I surrender.

  “I need to take care of you tonight, Issy. It’s my job.” Wink. “So just grab a few things, stuff them into a bag, and let’s go.” Wink.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret,” I say, smiling. “You’ll know when you get there.”

  “Is it… safe?”

  “Safe?” I almost laugh. Because it’s a safe house, right? But whatever it is she thinks we’re doing tonight, it’s got nothing to do with a safe house. What does she think we’re doing tonight? “Of course it’s safe. I just told you, I’m here to take care of you. It was practically an order. So come on, it’s getting late. We need to get a move on.”

  “I need to be back by five AM. I have a seminar tomorrow at noon and I want to get there early.”

  She’s not going anywhere in the morning. But I just nod and say, “Then let’s get this show on the road,” echoing her words earlier.

  She stares at me for a few more seconds. And if I’m reading her correctly, I think it’s because she’s scared. Not about the terrorist cell who decided to use her company as a front, like she should be, but… of me.

  And I don’t like that. I mean, I can be a scary guy, but not to innocent women. And after all that just happened since we got to her house, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Issy Grey has nothing to do with whatever threat Declan was talking about earlier. She’s just collateral damage.

  So I say, “Issy,” and offer her my outstretched hand. “Trust me. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Which makes her snort. And then laugh. “You can’t hurt me.”

  I can think up a million ways to hurt a woman, even a capable woman like Issy, and none of it involves violence. You can’t jujitsu your way out of emotional damage. “It doesn’t even matter if I can or can’t, Issy. I’m not going to. So go pack a bag and let’s go.”

  She holds her position for five more seconds. I know, I count them. And then she gives me a slight nod and walks upstairs to what is most likely her bedroom.

  “Quickly,” I call after her. “We’re wasting time.”

  I put myself back together while I wait. Tuck in my shirt, button my pants, and then I walk around her house and look at stuff in the moonlight. I don’t want to turn on a light just in case anyone is outside watching. I didn’t see a tail when we drove over here—and I was checking—but you can’t be too careful.

  I find three things of note.

  One—an award. It’s a little gold-colored statue of a microphone. The plaque on the base says Empowerment Speakers Award and has her name in fancy calligraphy underneath.

  Two—an old family photo. A very small Issy with an older man who might be her grandfather. They’re holding hands, eating ice cream cones, sitting on a front stoop, looking pretty happy.

  Three—a framed front cover from the Pan-American Jujitsu Magazine with Issy Grey’s face front and center. The headline across the picture is blacked out with marker.

  Which makes me wish this wasn’t just the cover, but the entire article so I could read more about her.

  I take that off the wall and study it. She looks young. Like… young. I don’t know a lot about martial arts, it was never my thing. But I do know that there are age requirements for black belts. She’s holding a gold medal, smiling since she obviously won some very important competition.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turn to find Issy standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a fresh blouse, holding a bag. “This was a big deal, huh?” I hold the frame out in her direction.

  “Yes,” she says, slowly descending the stairs, eyes trained on mine. “And that’s very meaningful to me, so please put it back where you found it.”

  “Sure,” I say, feeling chastised. I hang the frame back on the wall
and turn to face her.

  Neither of us speak.

  “I’m ready,” she finally says, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Right,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  I wave her forward towards the door but she shakes her head and juts her chin out. “You first,” she says.

  Which is weird. But then again, this whole fucking night has been weird. “Sure,” I say, walking to the door and opening it up. But when I look over my shoulder, she still hasn’t moved. “Issy? You coming?”

  She stares at me again. The seconds tick off. I start to feel uncomfortable, like she’s onto me. She knows I’m not a player in whatever game this is she’s playing. But just when I’m about to open my mouth and try to explain, she steps forward, and I relax.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Silver Springs,” I say.

  “What? That’s like two hours away!”

  Shit. Is it? I have no idea where Silver Springs is. Fuckin’ Declan was supposed to text me the address, so I check my phone, find the missed message, then press the maps app to get directions.

  “How will I ever be back in time for masterclass prep tomorrow?”

  What does she think is happening tonight? It’s fuckin’ killing me. But I can’t ask so I lie. “What we’re doing in Silver Springs won’t take long, don’t worry. You can sleep on the way there and the way back. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “You keep saying that,” Issy says. “But I don’t need your protection, Finn. I need—”

  But she stops. She was just about to tell me what she needs and… goddammit. I really hate this game we’re playing. “You need what?” I prompt her, hopeful.

  “I need what was promised,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask, because asking what was promised feels like the wrong move.

  “You don’t need to know why,” she says, walking over to the framed magazine cover to straighten it out on the wall. She turns to me. “You just need to deliver.”

  Deliver. O-kaaay. “Shall we?” I ask, standing just outside the door.

  “Sure,” she says, and joins me on the front stoop, stopping to lock her door from the outside.

  I take her bag—which is pretty light, and that impresses me. I appreciate a light packer—and stick it in the trunk, then open the passenger side door and wave her in.

  “Rules say no civilians in the front,” she says.

  “I’m gonna bend the rules tonight for you, Issy. I don’t like the idea of you riding in the back.”

  “Why?”

  “Why are you so suspicious of me all of a sudden? I mean, we just had a good time. What’s up?”

  “You’re just acting weird.” But she gets in the front seat. So I close her door, walk around the car, and get in my side.

  “It is kinda weird, right?” I start the car, check the directions on my phone, and then pull away from the curb as she thinks about that. “I mean… don’t you think this is weird?”

  “Which part?” she says. “What I asked for? Or that I let you fuck me?”

  “Let me?” I laugh, again. “Begged me, Issy.”

  “Whatever,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “I never beg. I just take what I want.” But I catch a small smile out of the corner of my eye.

  “So no, not too weird,” I lie.

  “Just a little weird?” she asks, still smiling. “It’s not a strange request. I looked it up.”

  “You did?” I ask. Fuck, I’m dying to know what she thinks we’re doing tonight.

  “Yes. I found a study online that cited almost eight percent of the female population fantasizes about it.”

  I almost stop the car. Like my foot taps the brake, and we both jerk forward before I realize what I’m doing and correct.

  “What the fuck was that?” Issy asks.

  “I… uh… there was a cat running across the road. I didn’t want to hit it.”

  Did she imply what I think she implied? Are we playing a sex game?

  “Is this a big place?” she asks in my ensuing silence.

  “Nope,” I lie again. Well, is it really a lie if there’s no place? I mean, we are going somewhere, but the safe house in Silver Springs is obviously not what she’s fantasizing about.

  “How many people?” she asks. And when I look over at her, she’s biting her lip like she’s nervous.

  Fuck. I have nothing for that. “You’ll see,” I say, getting onto the I-70 freeway that will take us up into the mountains.

  “Are you curious?” she asks.

  “Very.” I laugh.

  “About which part?”

  “Uh…”

  “I mean, I know we’re not supposed to talk about this or it’ll ruin the illusion, but I’m sorta nervous and I can’t help it.”

  Jesus Christ. Pull yourself together, Finn Murphy! You’re a goddamned FBI agent. You’re a motherfucking force to be reckoned with. This woman has you totally off your game! Step the fuck up and play!

  I heed the internal monologue and collect myself. “I’m curious about the whole thing, honestly.”

  “Because it’s weird?”

  “I thought we already decided it was normal?”

  “It is normal. Well, it’s normal to fantasize about it. I’m not sure how many women actually go through with it, so that’s… a little bit unusual. But you know what they say?”

  “What do they say?” I’m dying. Fucking dying to know what they say!

  “‘You must make a choice to take a chance or your life will never change.’”

  “Who said that?” I ask.

  “Zig Ziglar,” she replies. “One of my motivational heroes.”

  “Ah.” OK, I like this topic far better than the fantasy sex game we’re not playing. So I take the opportunity to switch the subject. “Is he the guy who got you interested in motivational speaking?”

  “Yup. His book saved my life.”

  “You mean like… literally? You were what, on the edge of suicide and then you stumbled onto his words and you decided to give it all another go?”

  “No, dumbass. I mean I was at rock bottom, not ready to off myself. That’s all.”

  “Define rock bottom.”

  “No, again,” she growls. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Do you tell your students about your rock bottom?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just curious. I find you kinda fascinating.”

  “Because I’m in this game and I don’t look like the kind of woman who’d want to play?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I tell some stuff,” she admits. “Not all of it, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course?’ I mean, ‘of course’ implies that missing stuff is too private to talk about, or too weird to talk about, or too painful to talk about. So which one is it?”

  “You have to pay to hear that answer. That’s my livelihood.”

  I smile, picturing myself at one of her women’s empowerment seminars. “Can I come tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Because I’m a man?”

  “That’s not why. It’s just full. I have a waiting list six months long.”

  “You’re pretty popular,” I say.

  “Very popular. How much research did you do on me before today?”

  “None,” I admit. Because it would be stupid to lie about that. I really don’t know anything about her.

  “He had to have been planning this for a while. Couple weeks at least to come up with such an elaborate setup. Fuckin’ Chella. She must’ve given him a heads up a while back and they put this all together.” But then she laughs. “I do admit, it was a pretty good scam.”

  “Which part?”

  “The whole FBI thing. The raid or whatever. Like… he must have a lot of connections to pull something like this off, right? Do you know him well?”

  “Who?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, turns towards the window to hide her smile. “Fine. I get it. Gotta keep
up the illusion. I mean, obviously Chella is paying for this, so I’d feel bad if she didn’t get her money’s worth.”

  Holy. Fucking. Shit. This is a business! I have a pretty good idea who she’s talking about. I don’t know who this Chella person is, but the who in all this—the mastermind, if you will—must be her lawyer, Jordan Wells.

  I make a mental note to look that asshole up as soon as we’re at the safe house. Could be the break I’ve been looking for. I mean, Issy just said it herself. He must have some kind of power to set all this up.

  Except… it wasn’t a setup. The raid was real. The handcuffs were real. The interrogation, the safe house—all real. I wonder if Declan knows anything about this Wells guy? I make another mental note to ask him.

  “Hello? Finn?”

  “What?” I say, snapping back to the present.

  “I said, do you mind if I just close my eyes and sleep a little? I want to be rested for what’s coming.”

  What’s coming?

  “No, go ahead,” I say. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we get there. I want you rested too.” And then I wink. One more time to cement her illusion. To keep her in the fantasy. I need this time to come up with a plan because Issy Grey is gonna be one sexually frustrated deviant when we get to the Silver Springs safe house.

  And there’s no telling how she might react to the truth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN - ISSY

  “Issy.” I wake up to a man’s attractive hazel eyes staring down at me, and for a second I can’t figure out who he is, where I’m at, or what the fuck is going on. “We’re here.”

  But the panic fades as his face comes into focus. Special Agent Finn Murphy. Jordan Wells. The game. My night.

  I rub the sleep out of my eyes before I remember I’m wearing makeup and stop. “Where?” I mumble out, still waking up.

  “Silver Springs, remember?”

  I squint my eyes and stare out the window, but it’s total darkness. I can’t see shit. “Is this the club?” I ask.

  “Uh… yup. Come on, we should get inside.”

  He opens his door, gets out, and walks around the front of the car to open mine. Suddenly my heart is beating faster, my body is flushed with heat, and I’m nervous.