Blown Away

by L. J. Vickery

  “Candy-Land?” Enlil gave his first smile of the morning. “Is that her nickname?”

  Jake glanced over his shoulder, obviously checking that Candy didn’t lurk in the wings, ready to deck him. “Yeah, she puts up with that one.” The agent laughed. “But what she really hates is when we call her by the game’s character names.” He lowered his voice even more and ducked his head, not to be overheard. “If you totally want to piss her off, just call her Mamma Gingersnap or Princess Lolly,” he whispered the last. “And if you want to see her go nuclear, call her Plumpy.”

  Glory and Enten―the god of winter―iced into the kitchen and picked up on the theme. “That would make you Queen Frostine, my lovely.” Enten kissed his bride on the nose.

  “Yup. Keep those cold fronts coming, baby.” She sidled up to her ice-pop man. “I seem to recall the game, and that character’s outfit is fairly provocative.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Huh. Just my luck you ladies celebrate Christmas, but somehow managed to skip right over Halloween,” he nuzzled her neck. “A little dress-up…”

  “Oh, get a room, you two.” Enlil eyed the pair with barely disguised tolerance. Total mush. Completely unnecessary. “Newlyweds you know.” He filled Jake in.

  “Geeze, you guys get the hottest women.” Flick stood at the counter watching Tess make eggs, and ran a quick appreciative eye up Glory’s long, tall form. Enlil nearly swallowed his tongue. He knew what came next, even if the unsuspecting agent didn’t.

  “Eyes off my woman, human. Or I’ll give you a little fire with my ice,” Enten barked. The cold blast that filled the kitchen made everyone shiver.

  “Just a compliment, blue boy.” Flick’s look turned speculative. “Although what do you mean by fire?”

  Jake groaned. “Don’t get him started, Enten.” The agent shook his head. “Flick is a pyro extraordinaire. Mention anything to do with fire, heat, incendiary anything, and you’re looking for trouble.”

  A man after my own heart, Emesh, the summer god murmured, sidling up behind the oblivious agent. And ooh. Take a look at that fine ass.

  Enlil nearly shot coffee out of his nose, and Tess whacked the spatula down where Emesh’s hand would have felt it, had he been corporeal.

  “What did I miss?” Flick looked around, confused.

  “Not a thing,” coughed Enlil. “But you might want to…um…have a seat.”

  Spoilsport. Emesh outlined the contours of Flicks sexy butt cheeks with his invisible hands. A god can look, can’t he?

  Lenore and Anshar joined the party. Enlil cradled his head in his hands and held up a palm toward the goddess, knowing she wasn’t going to let the previous night’s faux pas lay dormant. “Don’t go there with me, Lenore.”

  “What? A girl can’t tell a roommate when he’s been a total dickhead?” She gazed around at Jake, Flick, and Cub, who took a seat. “Don’t you think shares-eez are in order with the humans so your new crew can protect their own?”

  Jake sat up straighter and looked questioningly at Enlil. Great. Apparently, Marduk had filled the agent in on the god/Chosen shit, but not on last night’s debacle.

  “Is something going down between you and Candy that I need to know about?” Jake skewered Enlil, and suddenly looked like an older brother, pissed off that someone picked on little sis.

  “If you count calling her a slut,” Lenore piped up. “Then, yeah.”

  “I did not call her a slut.” Enlil jumped to his feet.

  Marduk held up a hand, attempting to forestall anything more, but he had to know it was already too late. Lenore had leaked fighting words, and Enlil stood poised, ready to take her on. Anshar, sensing the direction in which the wind god leaned, hissed, and threatened. “Messs with my wife, and messs with me. Bring it on.” His serpent was showing.

  But Jake sprung from his chair and planted himself in Enlil’s face before Anshar had a chance to move, his visage cold and lethal. “You want to explain?” he growled.

  Huh. Enlil was impressed. The human had gone from friendly to deadly in seconds. He took a deep breath and allowed his aggression to deflate. “We had a…thing. Not a big deal. Just leave it alone. It’s over now.”

  “What kind of a thing?” Jake insisted, putting himself as close to Enlil as he could without actually touching him.

  “None of your frigging business.” Enlil lost it again, and gave the agent’s chest a short poke.

  Flick and Cub quickly backed up their boss. If Enlil figured correctly, nobody touched Jake and got away with it, and things looked like they could escalate pretty fast. Flick regarded him with excited eyes, but Jake took a moment―possibly weighing in on how much damage he and Enlil could do to the kitchen― to see where the pregnant ladies stood. He gave Enlil a nod, which meant he felt good on both fronts, before cocking his elbow back in preparation for the first punch.

  “Jake. Leave it.” Candy’s sharp command from the doorway sliced through the room.

  Jake hesitated, then rolled his eyes and lowered his elbow. “Candy, he―”

  “I said leave it,” she barked at her boss, then skewered Enlil with a face devoid of expression. “We patched our differences. It’s all good.”

  Jake shook his head in disgust, but moved away. Enlil silently cheered Candy for taking the high road as she set down her next edict. “Enlil’s part of the team now, and despite the fucked up Chosen thing, which at this point―as far as I’m concerned―is dead and cremated, you need to treat him as such.”

  But then she strode forward and glared up at Enlil, sparing him nothing. “In a pinch, I have your back and you have mine, just like it is with the rest of the guys, but that’s as far as our relationship goes. Do you feel me?”

  Enlil knew he would anger everyone in the room if he didn’t choose his next words wisely, but it went against the grain to give in to coercion.

  “We’ll see,” he forced out between gritted teeth.

  Her eyes flashed as if to say “wrong choice, asshole,” but she snorted and let it go.

  Jake had to be oozing red, but in deference to Candy, he gave Enlil space in accordance to her wishes.

  Jake put his hand on Candy’s shoulder, and Enlil stifled a possessive growl. “You tell me if he gets out of line with you, and deal or no deal with these immortals,” Jake looked at Marduk, “there’ll be enough ass kicking done on the West Coast to raise a typhoon.”

  The wind god allowed his lip to quirk up at the weather reference. Good one, Jake.

  Marduk, clearly still angry that Enlil had shown his new coworkers a very dark side, sent his own message.

  “If Enlil steps over that line,” he threatened, in solidarity with Jake, “I’ll come to LA and kick his ass for you.”

  Chapter Six

  Stave knocked on Sal’s door. Even though he’d been summoned, he knew better than to barge in on his boss. After thirty years, Stave still tread cautiously lest he wind up dead before he could enjoy retirement. It’s what kept him going; that his future self would give up this bullshit and spend the balance of his earthly time sipping piña coladas on an island beach somewhere in the Caribbean.

  “You called, Sal?”

  “How’s it’s going with Candy.” No preliminaries. Just that. Right down to business.

  Stave would have been in touch if there had been any progress, and Sal understood that. But the boss wouldn’t let up pressure. He never allowed anyone to become complacent.

  Stave had all the answers at his fingertips. “We’ve staked out her apartment, but there’s been no activity at that location for weeks. We discreetly broke in, but there’s hardly any shit there at all. It’s like the woman is a nun in a cloister.” Stave couldn’t understand how a young piece of ass as fine as Candy didn’t have an apartment full of do-dads, fancy clothes, and crap. Hell, it took his girlfriend six full suitcases to go away for a single weekend.

  “No personal items?” Sal questioned. “Journals, pictures?”

  “Nope. Work
clothes, a few books, some music…not even any weapons we could find, and we did a thorough search.”

  “Keep watching,” Sal ordered. “She’s probably off on assignment. She’ll be back.”

  Stave was dismissed, but didn’t leave. He shuffled from foot to foot. He itched to make a suggestion, but already knew the answer.

  “We know where her mother lives, over on West Vernon…” Stave paused, waiting for Sal to comment. When his boss remained quiet, Stave continued. “We could pick her up and use her to draw Candy in.”

  Sal raised his head and Stave got exactly the response he expected. “We don’t use innocents to pay for the fuck-ups of their loved ones. You know that’s not how I work. That could be your mother. Or mine, God rest her soul. You want the death of someone’s mother on your head?” Sal gave him a disgusted glare. “Just be patient and we’ll nab Miss Candy Lane.” Sal bent back to the papers spread across his desk. End of conversation. Stave quietly left the room.

  ****

  “Damn.” Sal was a patient man, but he wanted that little puta badly and he could almost feel her skin under his hands, could almost hear her begging for mercy. How could he have been that blind to her real identity? He was disgusted with himself. He wasn’t known for his gullibility, but Candy had drawn him in and grabbed him by the balls.

  It had been just a year ago, right before Christmas. He’d let a few of the guys talk him into attending a private party at one of the local strip clubs. That’s where he’d first encountered her.

  She worked the pole like no other stripper he’d ever seen. On a normal night, his attention would barely land on a dancer, but this particular evening, he couldn’t keep his eyes from the muscular little Latino wrapping her body seductively around the cold metal shaft.

  It seemed she had eyes for him too. She pointed that lush ass, covered only with the briefest of G-strings, in his direction, and licked those pink dusky lips while eying him up and down. His cock hardened. Something usually reserved for a dose of medication that would help him out. He had to know her name.

  He’d sent Stave backstage after her dance, with a couple of crisp C-notes, and a request for a private room. She’d walked back into the main area where he sat, her ass covered in the sheerest of robes, which only accentuated her plump tits. She turned a chair around backward and sat opposite him.

  “I don’t take private customers,” she said in a husky tone that had Sal trying to adjust discreetly in his chair. She slid the bills across the table at him. “That’s not the way I get my bread up.”

  He looked at her muscular legs draped on either side of the chair, and at the inviting triangle of dark hair just visible through its scant covering. “How do you…get your bread up?” He hadn’t heard the phrase before, but he got the picture.

  The woman shrugged carelessly, as if his money and his opinion didn’t matter. “I dance,” she said.

  “So dance for me.” Sal didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t let this one go. Her dark, spiky hair and those frigging violet eyes were a vicious combination, and the muscles framing her soft parts were a lethal combination.

  “I already told you. No private parties. I’m strictly a club dancer, and I already have employment.” She got up to go, but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip. She turned glitteringly cold eyes to her restrainer. “You see that hench over there.” She jerked her head to the muscular bouncer who’d been watching the exchange and risen to his feet from his barstool. “He won’t hesitate to bust your head for touching me. All I have to do is say the word.”

  Sal raised one corner of his mouth. “And I think it’s a shame such a good-looking young man would find himself dead for interfering.” Sal let her know he was not intimidated. That seemed finally to spark some curiosity from the woman. So, she liked a little show of power? He’d fill her in on just how much he had.

  Without letting her go, he dug into his pocket and withdrew a card. He parted her robe and tucked it slowly into her G-string, allowing his fingers to trail down over the silky material and across the front of her barely covered pussy. “I own a club that runs off a private ship anchored in waters outside of Long Beach. And I don’t mean a yacht, I mean a ship.” He paused to let that sink in. “I can always use another girl.”

  She stopped tugging her arm to get away. He let his hand drop. She listened.

  “I can say for a fact the pay is well over what you’re making here, and that each of my dancers has her own private room on board. With complete amenities.” His cock twitched, knowing which amenities he wanted to give her. Keeping his face devoid of excitement, he sat back, satisfied when she looked interested. He strove for a coolness he was far from feeling. “Call me tomorrow and we can talk about it.”

  She picked the card out of her thong with two long fingers and looked at it, then gave an assenting nod and turned away.

  “Hey.” Sal couldn’t help himself. He needed to know. “What’s your name?”

  “Candy Lane,” she said, in that same low voice. He had to bite back the compulsion to throw out a cheesy line or two she’d probably heard a thousand times before.

  “I look forward to talking with you, Candy.” He ogled her fine ass as she walked away.

  It had taken him a while before his prick allowed him to get up and leave the club.

  That had been the onset of an eight-month, tantalizing, yet frustrating affiliation. True to her nod, Candy had called him the next day, and he’d made arrangements for her to come aboard his ship. He’d given her the red-carpet treatment usually reserved for business partners and high stakes customers, but Sal allowed no possibility she would refuse employment.

  He did his best to stay out of the way; to let Stave and the guys show her around while still letting his crew know she would be his property. They were to be strictly hands off, or suffer the consequences. No one would defy him.

  Much to his satisfaction, Candy showed herself to be impressed with the setup on board. According to Stave―and without too many caveats―she eventually accepted a position.

  Sal couldn’t wait to see her dance, and sent word that she needed to start that night. He figured it wouldn’t take long before her fine ass lay in his bed.

  It didn’t cross his mind to worry about his girlfriend, Vicky. Not a fan of the ship, the broad got seasickness with the slightest breeze and maintained a private suite in the hotel and club he owned downtown. Sal always remained free to sample whomever he wanted while anchored off the coast, and the sample he wanted that night was sugar sweet.

  He had been correct. Watching the temptress dance, he once again sensed something very special about her. It hadn’t been an anomaly. Candy got him rock hard within minutes, and this time when he invited her to his table after the show, she willingly graced him with her presence.

  At times like these, Sal wished he kept track of his weight a little closer. He wasn’t an enormously tall man, and at five-foot-eleven, he didn’t carry the extra thirty pounds on his frame well. But he enjoyed his food and drink too much to change his habits. Women still found his dark looks attractive―despite the puckered scar on his jaw from a long-ago bullet wound, and his pockmarked cheeks. Indeed, Vicky assured him his complexion served to make him “ruggedly handsome,” which always made Sal laugh, imagining himself as a cowboy riding the range, whatever that shit meant, because nothing could be further from the truth. Sal had grown up tough in the city, and roundups meant cornering and killing the gang who fucked up your best friend, or your cousin, or your sister.

  “You have quite a way of moving your body.” Sal remembered lifting the bottle of champagne from the bucket to incline his head toward her glass.

  “No thanks,” Candy had demurred, putting her hand over the rim. “I don’t drink while I work.” She’d looked at the stage where one of the girls had a little difficulty with her balance. “I like to give people what they pay for, what I think they deserve.”

  Only months later, did Sal recognize the intentional
double entendre.

  “I keep my body in the best shape possible, and try not to fill it with things that are bad for my health,” she’d assured him.

  Sal pictured her taught physique, and his eyes had narrowed appreciably. He’d looked forward to filling her with the most natural thing on God’s green earth. In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had gotten him this pent up with lust. He almost hadn’t known how to move forward. He cleared his throat. “When you’re finished with the show tonight,” he’d suggested, “I wondered…”

  Candy had cut him off. “I’ll be heading to the steam room to unwind, and then I need a good nine hours of sleep to recharge,” she told him.

  Shit. She really did treat her body like a temple.

  “And what will you do upon awakening?” He couldn’t help but ask.

  “You have an exquisite weight room.” She’d given him a look of total wide eyed enthusiasm. “I’ll probably warm up with a five-mile run around the decks, then end up in your gym to do some lifting.”

  Did the woman ever stop, Sal wondered?

  “What do you do for recreation?” He’d continued, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

  Candy laughed. “I don’t really have time for recreation,” she’d retorted. “I’ve been busy getting my online associates degree in office management.” Her face had lit up. “When I’m too old for a dancing career, I’ll be someone’s executive secretary.”

  Sal had let out a quick thank you to the powers that be. There lay the opening that would allow him to get closer to his new employee. “Would you like to spend your afternoons honing your secretarial skills?” he’d asked. Sal pictured her in a hot little skirt, sitting spread-legged and panty-free on his desk while he gave dictation.

  “Really?” Candy squealed. “You’d let me do that?” She’d appeared breathless and flushed.

  Bingo. He’d finally found the right button to push. Sal wondered if his heart could take it. “See me tomorrow in my office at two. One of the crew will help you find me.”