Blown Away

by L. J. Vickery

  Candy had stood up and leaned over impulsively to kiss his cheek. In her exuberance, surely she hadn’t even noticed how her chest pressed into his shoulder. Yup, he’d better take care or he’d be in the cardiac unit the first time she bent over to pick up a pencil.

  As Candy sauntered away from his table, he’d looked around at every other woman who would be tripping over herself to be available that night. But not one of them appealed to him after Candy. The sexy nymph had made sure to leave her vanilla-honey scent behind to haunt him. Damn. He’d had to take care of himself, alone in bed, as if he were a fucking monk.

  And so, it had begun. The cat and mouse game he’d played with the she-devil, Agent Candy Lane of the DEA. She’d toyed with him like a yo-yo, leading him on, then pushing him away…over and over. Never allowing things to culminate. Hell, he’d never even gotten a taste of her sinful lips, let alone her gorgeous pussy.

  Candy had worked hard to worm her way into his everyday life. She’d encouraged him to meet her in the gym, where he would breathe hard while watching her sweat in tiny spandex. She would join him for lunch and chide him for his choice of fried food, letting him know of her happiness when he picked at lettuce and avocados instead. To think, he’d actually believed her concern for his well-being and therefore took her healthful suggestions to heart.

  As time passed, and she proved that her secretarial skills were as competent as her moves on the pole, he’d opened up, allowing her to sit in on his meetings. She took dutiful notes and made sure never to comment on the nature of his business. He’d gotten so comfortable with her, that once, when a major drug deal had been discussed in her presence, he didn’t blink. It had gone seamlessly and Sal subsequently felt free to air every bit of his business with her in the room.

  She’d even agreed, after much coercion on his part, yeah right, coercion―as if she’d been reluctant―to do private dance performances for all his high up connections in the city. She’d gyrated for some of the most important kingpins from out of town.

  The embarrassing part for Sal to remember, the part that pissed him off more than anything else? Not once in those months, during the vast amounts of time they’d spent together―and with the patience he demonstrated―had he ever managed to get into her pants. He’d bided his time out of some misguided sense of chivalry, waiting for her to come around and see his appeal. What a frigging chump he’d been.

  Fuck that. In a very short time, every one of his past mistakes would be expunged. Sal rubbed his hands together as he anticipated his reunion with Candy. It would be ridiculously good. Almost worth the wait. He laughed to himself.

  The mental picture of her still made his cock stiff, which was fucking amazing, because the last time he’d seen her, she’d held a 9mm to his head while the entire balance of the DEA raided his ship after a particularly large drug pick-up the day before. Which Candy had known about from one of the fucking meetings he’d let her attend.

  She’d had the audacity, while holding him captive, to whisper in his ear. “Let me know when you get out, Sal. I think you’re a pretty nice guy despite your line of business.”

  He’d wanted to kill her at that moment, but now he had other ideas. He pictured her, chained and naked beneath him―possibly blindfolded―dark ripe nipples his for the taking, begging him not to hurt her as he drove himself into her hot pussy again and again. She’d become his sex slave. And then she’d find out what a nice guy he really was.

  Chapter Seven

  They were packed, ready to go. The agents’ two large SUV rentals hummed in the frigid driveway, warming up and spewing white vaporous condensation into the pre-dawn air. Candy got hugs all around from the ladies, as well as entreaties to stay longer to enjoy Christmas in the Blue Hills.

  “Sorry, guys, but mi Madre would never forgive me if I didn’t spend the holiday with her.” Candy had been remiss in calling her mother, but her only living relative was used to her being off on assignment and unavailable. Candy still felt guilty, as evidenced by her lapse into Spanish. The language of her household growing up was never far from her tongue when her mother came to mind. And her guilt was tantamount this time. She’d never been out of contact with her matriarch this close to Christmas before.

  “Speaking of which,” she patted Tess’s bulging belly, “you’ll be a mama before I see you again.” She gave the goddess a warm hug. “Good luck with that.”

  Tess leaned forward, which looked difficult in her condition. Apparently, she had something to say to Candy, and didn’t want to be overheard. Tess whispered in her ear. “Don’t judge Enlil too harshly for his behavior. He’s got some serious ghosts he never talks about, and I happen to know he really likes you…” Tess’ confession trailed off. Candy stiffened. She didn’t know if she was willing to cut the wind god some slack.

  “He’s just another one of the guys.” Candy distanced herself and shrugged. She purposely raised her voice. “We’ll try to send him back in one piece.” She eyeballed Dunsky, who stood on the compound’s doorstep. “Which is more than Kenny-boy deserves. Whip his ass into shape, will you?” She gave Dunce a grin. Just because she’d forgiven him for “outing” her to the bitch up in Maine, didn’t mean she couldn’t hope he’d enjoy some serious pound-downs while here.

  “Everyone in.” Jake, obviously over the goodbyes, called from the open doorway of the vehicle. He hefted his duffel and indicated his troops should do the same. “The plane’s not going to wait.”

  Enlil experienced a moment of melancholia while Marduk clasped his forearms, then shook himself out of it. He scoffed at his emotions. He’d lived in the frigging Blue Hills for more than four hundred years. It was time he moved on.

  The boss nodded to him―and to an invisible Ishkur―sending a warning to them on a private channel. Take care and tread lightly, both of you. And remember, call if you need any help.

  There were things Marduk didn’t say, but Enlil got the picture. Marduk was used to having his ear for every unchartered step they’d taken together over the centuries. Enlil’s gut tightened. Nice to know he’d be missed.

  Enlil could only hope it wouldn’t be long before more gods found their corporeality. Then there could be a rotation in and out of California. Hell, it only took a little more than a half an hour for them to get there, god-style. Less time than it took most humans to commute to Boston on any given day. Enlil would have to think on how that would work out, but right now, there was no doubt he needed the time with Candy.

  Let’s hit it, Ishkur. Enlil nodded to the mellow god who’d spent the most time corporeal around humans. There would be times when he’d need to share things, either work-related regarding his new team of agents, or perhaps about Candy. Ishkur always proved wise and nonjudgmental. It wouldn’t be difficult if Enlil had a need to confide.

  Ishkur was clearly pumped to be traveling. He’d already ascertained―with Huxley as a go-between in the garage―that the agents had dozens of semi-legal street bikes and antique muscle cars between them only viable in the warmer, West Coast climes. Ishkur really looked forward to checking out the new equipment first hand.

  The ride to the airport remained uneventful and quiet. It was still early, sunrise just peeking over the horizon. Most of the occupants in the vehicles were sleepy-eyed and hunkered down in their thick jackets. These California boys looked psyched to get back to warmer weather.

  They approached the airport rental car return, stopped, and stepped from the two vehicles. Hefting his bag, Enlil gazed around. It being his first trip to Logan, he felt like a little kid. As a god, traveling with the wind, he’d never seen an airport anywhere but television, and the bustling humanity, even at this time of the morning, hit him as unexpected and it felt a little overwhelming.

  He hitched the strap of his duffel up over his shoulder. The seven agents traversed the concrete like seasoned experts, and he followed their lead. Ishkur had his back.

  Jake led them to the check-in and presented the groups’ tickets. One b
y one, they presented their identification to the dazzling woman behind the counter, and at Enlil’s turn, he became instantly charmed by her Middle Eastern accent, and grinned. He couldn’t help but throw a greeting to her in Turkish. “Sabah iyi.”

  Her face lit up with a smile. “Good morning to you too, sir. You speak my language.” She looked down at his passport and must have read that his place of birth was listed as Massachusetts. Her face grew puzzled. “You speak like a native.”

  Enlil realized his error and quickly covered for himself. “I spent my childhood in Kiziltepe.” He purposefully picked an area in the far south eastern reaches of Turkey that might account for his slight ancient Mesopotamian accent. “My father was an archaeologist.”

  The woman’s smile brightened again, and she let her gaze wander from Enlil’s sculpted face to his broad shoulders. She lowered her lashes and licked her bottom lip while asking, “How long will you be in California?”

  Enlil, oblivious, thought nothing of the question, figuring it was another security query and opened his mouth to answer, but Candy, who had been watching the exchange, stepped over and intervened.

  “Come on, big boy.” She took his arm in a possessive grip, and sent what could only be construed as a hands-off look to the boarding agent. “He’s clear to go, right?” she added with a feral smile.

  “Yes. Of course.” The woman quickly recovered her professionalism, and handed Enlil back his ID. “Have a nice trip, sir.”

  “Teşekkür ederim,” Enlil responded, and when Candy gave him a firm tug, he leaned down to her ear. “I only said thank you.” He smirked.

  “Just keep your mouth shut or you’ll get yourself in trouble,” Candy groused. She shook her head, and shot him a disgruntled look. “Don’t they ever let you out?”

  She dropped his arm as soon as they were out of sight of the desk and walked on ahead. Enlil wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but he followed her, becoming more and more dazed with every step. The sights and smells, as well as the cacophony of voices speaking English and many other languages he didn’t recognize, overwhelmed him. It all swirled viciously fast. A little bewildering. He fought back a wave of dizziness.

  Not until they were in the small tunnel that led onto the plane did Enlil feel sweat dampen his pits. Gramps, who walked next to him, called the tube a jet-bridge, but it was unlike any bridge Enlil had ever been on. Bridges were open and airy. This so-called bridge surrounded him, cramped and enclosed. It gave him a very bad feeling, which he must have conveyed to Ishkur. The god gave him a thumbs-up and an incorporeal pat on the back. Nothing to worry about, his ghost pal assured. You’ll be seated before you know it.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t make Enlil feel any better. Once he emerged from the bridge, the airplane seemed even smaller than the egress. It was tight quarters for his six-foot-three frame, and he walked hesitantly forward, decidedly uncomfortable. The slight perspiration that had prickled his armpits before, turned into waves of cold sweat. The size of the seat he got herded into did nothing to alleviate his disquiet.

  The god of wind wedged, unhappily between Candy and Gramps, with his knees folded up in a distressingly tight manner. There was no place to put his arms. His torso spread so wide the armrests seriously dug into his hips, and he was too tall to make any use of the headrest on the back of the seat. When the plane taxied away from the terminal, his feeling of disorientation intensified.

  Enlil became concerned. Things were not right. Full control of his body leaked out his pores. Dammit. A god always stayed in control. Why had his breathing become erratic? He suspiciously pondered the vent blowing into his face. “Is there something wrong with the air?” he leaned down and asked Candy, having to force the words out from between clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, duh.” She fiddled with the headphones she withdrew from her pocket. “It’s cabin air,” Candy informed him blithely, working her phone with rapid fingers to find music. “We’ll probably come down with the flu.”

  Enlil didn’t know what any of that meant, but he breathed even more shallowly, amazed that everyone else on the plane looked unconcerned. He tried to get his sense of helplessness under control. He looked around. The humans seemed to be doing just fine. He couldn’t locate Ishkur. Where are you, brother?

  Up front with the pilots, Ishkur replied happily. This plane is the balls. I think by the time we land in LA, I’ll have it all figured out. Maybe Marduk will let us get one.

  Enlil groaned. Not a priority for him.

  The plane paused in its forward movement and a woman, whom he recognized as a flight attendant from what he’d seen on movies and television, started giving them the spiel. The one that sit-coms always goofed on about seatbelts and cushions that were flotation devices. He fumbled valiantly to get his restraint hooked in, but only managed to bump both his seatmates with flailing elbows.

  “Knock it off, Enlil.” Candy batted him and yanked the headphones from her ears, giving him a look that would kill. “What’s the problem?”

  “I can’t seem to work the seatbelt,” he admitted, and swallowed hard against the restricted feeling in his throat.

  Candy leaned forward and took a long look at him. “Have you ever flown before?” she finally asked. “Because you’re damned pale.”

  “No,” he ground out. “Only on my own, without an…aid.” He eyed the interior of the fuselage, certain it was a beast set to torment him, needing to be battled.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” she said, taking his seatbelt into her hands. “Flying is safer than driving in a car.” Candy dug under his buttock for the receiving end of the belt. “Got it.” She clicked it into place. “Just relax.” She actually patted his arm before sitting back in her seat.

  “Relax,” Enlil muttered. He didn’t know if that was possible. In a car, he could be in control. He could open a window to breathe and stop to get out if he wanted. He remembered that Marduk had trouble in cars, but those vehicles hadn’t bothered him. He tried hard to think of the plane as just a bigger automobile. One with lots of people, permanently closed windows, very bad air…oh gods. That didn’t help.

  He clutched his thighs as the plane gathered speed, hurtling down the runway. Ishkur from somewhere up front yelled, Yee-haw. Enlil was glad someone was enjoying this. Why couldn’t the thing just get them to California without moving like a goddamned toy? The gods did it in an elemental way. You’d think mortals would have improved their technology by now.

  Enlil felt additional distress along with the sweats. He had more difficulty breathing. There rose a disturbing sensation in his middle. It wasn’t quite pain, but it made him feel like his guts wanted to turn inside out. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d been poisoned. Enlil searched back in his long memories, and the best correlation he could make? He’d once been slipped an ill-fated potion.

  Enlil looked down at Candy. Surely she wouldn’t have…no. Not possible. Tess had given him his coffee and pancakes that morning. Ohh, pancakes. His esophagus lurched. He turned his speculation back to the poison, a far more pleasant subject than breakfast.

  When he’d been given the draft of conium maculatem by that treacherous hand back in his palace of old, he had experienced similar, sinister stirrings in his body. He’d called on the healer Ninurta to draw the debilitating substance from his body. It had been done with a mere hand wave and some chants. He wondered if his friend could help him now. He called back to the Blue Hills.

  Ninurta. His plea met with silence.

  Ninurta, I need you.

  Stirrings in his head sounded like muffled curses.

  Damn you, Enlil. The voice arrived, gruff. I was sound asleep.

  Wake up, then. I’m having a problem and you need to help me.

  Enlil, never one to ask for help, must have piqued Ninurta’s curiosity. What is it?

  Do you remember those many years ago when I was poisoned? He didn’t wait for a response. I’m having much the same symptoms again and wonder
ed whether it’s possible someone performed an act of treachery against me?

  Ninurta suddenly acted hyper alert and fired off questions to Enlil about his state, and the things leading up to it. When Enlil finished, Ninurta gave an audible sigh.

  It’s not poisoning, Enlil, the healer assured him. It’s a combination of what the humans call claustrophobia and air, or motion sickness.

  Are you sure? Enlil didn’t think it could be anything that ordinary, its grip on him remained so intense.

  I’m positive, Ninurta used a soothing tone. You need to take deep breaths and try to relax your body. The more distraught you become, the worse the symptoms will be.

  Enlil tried breathing, and let a few minutes go by. It’s not doing any good, Ninurta. It feels like my entrails want to come out.

  Ninurta gave a groan that didn’t bode well. There’s only one way to fix it, Enlil. You’re going to have to go into the bathroom and throw up.

  Ohh. Groaned Enlil. You can’t mean that horrible thing that boys do in college fraternity movies after they’ve had too much to drink? Enlil was horrified. Gods never caught diseases, germs, or viruses, and as far as he knew―or could remember―no god ever threw up. To have the contents of your stomach come up and out would be disgusting. And he’d have to empty himself…where?

  I can’t spout my digesting food onto the floor of the bathroom, Enlil told Ninurta, aghast at the proposition. If it had to happen, why couldn’t he be in the cool recesses of a forest where no one would witness his humiliation?

  You barf in the toilet, Enlil. Ninurta had seen his share of television too, and probably picked up a little more than Enlil. People say they feel better after they rid themselves of the bothersome fullness.

  If Ninurta said that to comfort him, it didn’t work. Enlil hesitated, shocked that he might have to resort to such barbaric behavior.

  He looked up at the seatbelt sign. It had been turned off. He fumbled around and rid himself of the confining device before scrambling to his feet with a very undignified wobble. He shakily demanded access to the aisle from Gramps, who had been drifting off to sleep.