by KT Morrison
It was because Omar knew what he wanted and he was going to get it. She admired him out there. Running the team, making them all work together. All those men looked to him, waited for him to lead the way, show them what to do, when to do it. Maybe he just spotted the weak link. And like a pack leader he cut it from the group.
Omar was on cloud nine after the coffee; felt like they’d made more of an impression than he’d even hoped. Another meeting scheduled—dinner really—an invite to Valente’s house on Sunday. The fucking man's house, Kate, he said in the car on the way back to the resort. Valente had some Villa here in Tuscany and he’d invited Omar and Kate for a Sunday dinner with his family. She felt good for Omar. She felt that darkness between them lifted a bit. She felt like there was hope again.
Prospero had his helmet handed back to him, put it on, then seemed frustrated that something was broken on it. Herve was out from under the front of the car and Omar was going over it, running his hands over the metal. She could see the car rocking, rolling back then forward, Omar stood and got out of the way with his hands up and open.
That Spanish hothead took off out of the pit faster than he should, fishtailing his way out to the track. It got quiet with the racer gone, she could hear them talking. They were quiet. It was French but she could tell by their tone the men seemed unsure how to proceed. How would they deal with a problem that wasn't mechanical?
She watched the car out there. A blazing black speck cutting through the track like it was on rails. She heard its aggressive insect buzz, felt the dread as it was coming around, getting closer. She knew the crew blamed her. Thought it was her fault there was this friction between their Number One and their driver. Every so often she would catch one looking from the pit. They already didn't like her and she'd confirmed their suspicions hadn't she? Now she saw the blatant contempt in their faces. Even sitting a hundred feet away, virtually harmless.
The Spaniard raced around the track four more times. Kate hunched her shoulders up every time he got close, wincing as he screamed past. The deafening whine from the motor seemed to mimic his anger.
They were calling Prospero in on the radio, their time at the track getting close to an end. She heard him gearing down as he got into the pit lane. The motor’s whine got high as the revs went up, the engine working to slow the speed down. He started jerking erratically as he came to a stop making the crew dance a bit, worried about getting bumped. Then he was out, his helmet thrust into Mohamed’s chest, and the crew watched him walk off, his hair flowing behind him. He seemed to be a bit of a baby and she really was surprised. Didn't think he would be like that. Spoiled.
She watched Omar and his guys break the gear down. Herve got behind the wheel of the racer and he carefully drove it away.
Omar was watching her. Sun behind her shining in his face. He had his hand up to shield his eyes. He was smiling. He came to her, walking across the pit looking both ways carefully before crossing the track. He went up a short flight of stairs then climbed a barrier and walked through the stadium. He looked slim and fit in his jumpsuit with all the logos, his headset hanging around his neck.
He set himself next to her and they both looked out over the track at the long shadows thrown across as the sun started to get low. He rested his hand on her knee, his palm facing up, inviting her. She put her hand in his, watched her little digits get swallowed up as he weaved his fingers through hers. He squeezed her very gently. She looked at her hand being held, his knuckles big as walnuts, his skin rough and manly against her softness. He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her hand and kissed her very lightly.
The first tender moment they'd had since he'd held her roughly against the alley wall and fucked her. She looked in his quivering eyes, she felt that he was sorry. She figured that was as close as she would get to an apology from a man like Omar.
*
They had really made him search but Brody had found them. He was watching them now from the dark, the two little lovebirds moving around their hotel room like a married couple, playing house. Brody stood hidden in a boxwood shrub, under the canopy of some ornamental tree with wispy burgundy leaves.
The woman had come out of the shower moving into the bedroom from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. It was Kate. Her hair was wet, hanging around her neck and over her shoulders.
There was Omar. He came from a room that led off from the hallway. He was on the phone, walking slow, T-shirt, jeans, bare feet. He had his head down, talking calmly, looking at the floor. He paused at the entrance to the bedroom. Kate had a second towel and she was bent at the waist using it to dry her hair. Omar was watching her while he talked.
Brody heard laughing behind him, distant enough not to worry. Indoors, carrying across the garden, men, but he knew he wouldn't be in their line of sight. His hand went over the handle of the hammer just the same.
Omar was done on the phone, next to the bed now putting it on the nightstand. Kate on the bed, sitting at the foot, looking away from him, still drying her hair. Omar's hand went on her shoulder, he was saying something to her. She was looking up to him, submissive, happy. When Omar kissed her she closed her eyes. Then he was gone into the bathroom.
Kate stood, tossed one towel onto the chair in the corner. When she took the towel from her body, stood naked in front of the window, Brody's reflex was to look away. He forced himself to watch. She was combing her hair out in front of the mirror over the dresser. Head tilted to the side, watching herself running a big white plastic comb through it.
Her breasts swayed with her, she was shameless, standing by the window naked like this. When she'd finished he watched her turn, look at her ass over her shoulder, her hand move to cup her cheek and lift it. Admiring herself. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, her hands clasped between her legs. Then he watched her sit like that almost motionless for more than five minutes. Deep in thought. Sometimes her lips would move like she was talking to herself.
The door to the bathroom opened and light streamed into the hall. Kate came to life again, sitting up straight, waiting for her lover. And there he was, stalking into the room like a predator. Nude, showered, big thing bouncing from leg to leg as he strode in.
She was smiling now. Wanting him. He came to her and held her face between his hands. She was bashful, flirting, looking up. He kissed her, pulled her lips to him. Her eyes closed again and her hands came up to rest on his wrists as he locked his mouth to hers.
It was all very tender. Very passionate. It was heartbreaking. He watched this other man's wife run her hands over her lover’s body. She felt every bit of him, going over every surface, and then doing it over again. His arms, chest, over his shoulders, spreading her palms over his stomach, stroking him, pulling on his balls, scratching his thighs.
Omar laid her back, she was flat on the bed, her feet on the floor pushed back by his lips. Then they were talking, a breath away from each other. He caressed her face.
She put her hand on his face now and he lay next to her, both of them on their sides, laying on the bed. They talked for a while, smiling and touching, he would run stray, wet strands of her hair behind her ear. Kate put her head into his neck, was kissing him there and Omar tilted his head up to let her. If he opened his eyes he would be looking right at Brody.
Her kisses went over his chest and down his stomach. Omar's forearm went across his face, blocking him off from Brody. Kate was handling that freakish thing he had between his legs. Stroking him slowly with one hand up against his belly, one small thumb running up the under side. She was kissing the inside of his thighs and he opened them for her. Kate stood between his legs at the edge of the bed and she worked her lips over his sack, kissing his balls. She'd got him hard, that big, brown thing swollen, laying across his stomach.
She took it up in both her hands, stroked it, then she played with his dusky foreskin. She pulled it with her fingertips, watched it in her hand. Then something he said made her lau
gh out loud, and her eyes closed, her mouth went open, and she threw her head back. When she came back she’d locked him with a tiger’s stare. She stroked his cock with one hand, she was saying things to him, dirty things, even though Brody didn’t hear a single word. Her hand slowed, her stroking changed to a squeezing, watching his leathery foreskin swallow that huge glans, then peel back, over and over. She bit her lip, sucked it right into her mouth, then frowning, looking angry, her hand blazing on him for a moment. Then her face softened, her mouth spread to a warm smile, she was saying something.
Omar pushed his cock down with a thumb and Kate held her breasts around it, then bounced them softly up and down the sides of his shaft. Her arms scooped her breasts around it, hugging it inside her soft bosom. Her tongue dabbed at the tip of his cock sprouted up between them. Brody watched her suck on that for a long while.
She let it fall back on his belly, talking to him while she pinched his scrotum so his balls were tight in it, looking as big as tomato. She held them and licked them, then slapped them lightly with an open palm, then harder until he stopped her. She was laughing.
She sure did love that other man’s cock.
Her tongue went up it, licking him all the way to the tip. Then she was saying something again, standing there between his legs looking down over his body, her hands wringing together over her heart. He sat up and kissed between her breasts. His arms went around her waist and hers went around the back of his head. They embraced like that for a while, him holding her to him, she hugging his head to her. Her hands caressed him.
Omar took her, lay her down on the bed with her head on a white pillow. He was over top of her on his knees and he put his mouth over hers. Her hands came up, touched his shoulders delicately. She broke from him, looking up into his eyes she said something to him. His mouth went back over hers. Brody could see that dark tool of his hanging down between his legs, the head of it touching the back of his calf. Then he had it in his hand and he was putting it into Mitch’s wife. They stopped their kissing a minute, she watched his face as he worked it into her. She looked fearful, passionate. Then he slid in deeper, her head went back and she cried out, loud enough he heard it over the crickets chatter all around him in the bushes.
This woman belonged to another man. Was loved by another man. It must be awful to let someone you love hurt you like this; to still love them despite it. To know they are being fucked by another man's horse cock—that they are loving it, that your love would leave you because she was hungry for the touch of another man.
He wanted to look away but he wouldn’t. It was painful to watch Kate taking that enormous manhood, riding it and bucking against it, her eyes locked on Omar, her face an erotic snarl, challenging him, begging him to fuck her harder. They went on forever, went on until Brody’s feet were sore. She’d yelp out every once in a while, but it didn’t slow her down. Her hands were in claws, scratching at his chest, running lines over his shoulders and down his back. She never closed her eyes. Right until she came. Her ecstatic screams grew longer, drew out, suffocating behind the glass. Her head went back, and she let out a long, low sound and her hands clenched his arms, her nails dug deep into his flesh. Her head thrashed from side to side. Omar’s hips drove his cock inside her and held it there and Kate rocked her hips against him in circles getting every last drop out of her orgasm. They’d turned the white sheets red with blood.
*
The first people Kiley was going to surprise now that her feet were thankfully back on the soil of Mother England were Kate and Mitch.
Kiley stood at the door of their apartment. She couldn't wait to knock—she was practically bubbling over with excitement—couldn't wait to see their faces. She couldn't wait to have familiar arms put around her and hold her tight. She was tingling, felt like she had ants in her pants, she couldn’t stand still.
When Kate had come out of the hospital Kiley had stayed with them for a few weeks and she had a key card that would get her into the building. She had a key to this door as well but she’d thought better on just walking in on them. She knocked twice and waited. She heard sudden abrupt movement inside, behind the door, a table being bumped, wooden leg scraping on wooden floor. “Come on, come on,” she whispered, almost hopping up and down in place. She heard heavy footsteps making their way quickly and then the door was open.
She was shocked at what she saw. Mitch standing there in sweat pants and bare feet and a dirty t-shirt. He had bags under his eyes and a full beard. His hair was unkempt and his eyes were wild and frightful.
She was so glad to see him but she was horrified at his state. “Mitch, are you all right?”
“Kiley,” he said, his voice was hoarse, a croak.
He stepped into the hall and he put his arms around her and it was exactly what she wanted right now at this moment. She started to cry in his arms, she felt so good to be held but she was also so worried about her friend. “Mitch, what's wrong? What’s happened?”
“Oh, Kiley,” he said and he held her tighter.
He smelled badly and he also smelled nicely of whisky. “Mitch, come on, let's get you back inside,” she said and she escorted him back into the apartment and closed the door behind her. She’d left her bags down in the rental car and she’d come here straight from the airport. She was glad that she hadn't wasted any time.
Kate was on her mind on the plane. Things in her own life had crumbled since she talked to Mitch on Sunday and she hadn’t even thought to follow up with him. Was Kate still not home? She figured that by the time she got to London this would all have been sorted out, she couldn't believe this. How could Kate not be here?
“Mitch, mate, is she still not home?”
All he could do was shake his head No and then he dropped himself back onto the couch where he had obviously been sleeping for a while; crumpled blanket pushed down to one end, tissue box and tissues on the coffee table and two empty bottles of Famous Grouse.
She sat next to him on the couch and she put her arms around him, looking at his face intently, she felt for him. She knew what Kate meant to him and she couldn't believe that Kate had done this to him.
“Mitch, tell me what’s going on—when was the last you heard from her?”
“Nothing’s changed from when I talked to you. She’s just gone. No word from her at all. No call, nothing.”
Kate was a runner. Always was. When she didn’t like something the way it was she could just walk away from it, forget about it. She was never bothered by it either, out of sight out of mind; when she’d moved on, whatever it was she’d been running from almost ceased to exist. She had difficulties with Object Permanence. She’d run from home countless times, never went to class, run out on blokes who would have killed for her they loved her so much. Fuck, probably had killed for her. Kiley would pity anyone who loved her. This broke her heart because she loved Mitch, Mitch was her friend.
She put her arms around him again and she hugged him; then she squeezed him as tight as she could, heard him grunt with her effort, she breathed him in, bad as it was, she breathed him right in and held it.
“We’ll find her, I swear it. We’ll find her and bring her home.”
He sighed, he brushed his eyes, and when she looked she saw that he’d teared up.
“I know where she is.”
“You do?”
He nodded.
“Where is she?”
He shook his head, struggling not to lose a handle on his emotions.
“Oh,” Kiley said, she was with a man.
Mitch hooked a hand into the crook of her elbow under his neck. He said, “She’s with Omar.”
She dropped him. “What?”
He nodded again, looking across the darkened room.
“That stupid French piece of shit. That dumb motherfucker,” she said. She couldn’t believe it. She frowned, shook her head. “How did this happen? How do you know?”
“I did it. I made her.”
“How’d you mean? You
wanted her—”
“No! No, I mean...I just mean that it’s my fault.”
Kiley put her hand on his back, rubbed it for him. “It’s not your fault, Mitch.”
“She was done with him in Cayman. Done with him. I did this to her. I made her go to him.”
“Mitch, how?”
“Ahh,” he said, in pain, “I was playing with fucking fire, wasn’t I?”
“What did you do?”
He shook his head quite vigorously. He wouldn’t answer. He sat silent and she left her hand on his back, smoothing it over him, across his shoulders. She felt him tremble, felt him quivering. She could see his face straining. “Tell me when you can Mitch. I’ll be here,” she said. He hunched over, and she could feel him sobbing, but he hid himself from her, wouldn’t let her see him cry.
“Mitch, don’t love, you’ll make me cry too,” she said and she put her arms around him again. She hugged him tight, and when his warm hands caressed her forearms it made her feel so good.
After a while she said, “Let’s go to her.”
She could feel he was shaking his head. He didn’t answer.
“Mitch, let’s go. I’ll go with you. I’ve taken time off—”
“I can’t leave right now. I can’t travel at the moment.”
“Can’t travel?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ahh, yeah. Bit of trouble with my passport. Long story.” Whatever it was it made him chuckle. Not in a great way, more like there was more shit being piled on top of the heap that his life was right now.
“I’ll go,” she said. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. I’ll go and I’ll bring her back. By her fucking hair if I have to.”
4
Kate’s gaze came down from the Cinzano advertisement over the door of the bus and she stepped out into the sunlight in downtown Florence. She hated to ask Omar for money but she couldn't spend another day holed up in the room at the resort. She walked into Scarpieri e San Piero in the morning and took the 302 bus for an hour into the city. Now she was standing, squinting, on Via Roma in the tourist-thick heart of the city.