by Callie Hart
I open the garment bag, and the smell of freshly woven and cut fabric hits me. No hand-me-downs here; this is a brand new suit, and it’s fucking beautiful. It’s black as pitch, and the material is the finest money can buy. Shame it’s going to be covered in blood by the time the night is over.
******
Music floods the vast hallways and reception rooms of the Villalobos mansion, subtle notes resonating against delicate glass ornaments and cut crystal chandeliers, making them sing. There were so many “guests” at the house already, but as the night draws in the place grows busier and busier, people arriving by the carload. Ocho shuttles back and forth in the Patriot or the Humvee, driving down the mountain to collect more visitors, opening doors and escorting both men and women into the house. He’s still wearing his headphones, the sound of Jurassic 5 thumping out of the tinny speakers loud enough that it can be heard over the chatter and bubble of conversation that fills the front foyer. I’m surprised Fernando hasn’t told Ocho to make himself scarce. He cuts a fairly ragged figure in his sweat stained khaki shirt and faded gray combat pants, his boots battered and worn almost to the point of destruction, but Fernando has him running around all over the place in preparation for the party’s commencement, apparently unfazed by his man’s appearance.
I stand at the foot of the stairs, observing everyone, watching, committing the face of each new person to memory. I’m shocked by how normal everyone looks. How young and attractive. And the women are just point blank confusing to me. They seem kind-natured and soft spoken. In some cases, they’re downright sweet and retiring. It makes no sense that they would come here all the way from another country (most of them are American or even European), knowing what kind of party this is. It makes my skin crawl.
The earpiece Fernando gave me when I came downstairs an hour ago has made me invisible. People take one look at me, see the coiled wire running from my ear down the back of my shirt, along with the small radio attached to my hip, and it’s as though I suddenly don’t exist. I’m a piece of the furniture, off limits and therefore of no interest. Great news for me. Harrison’s fuming that I’m included as a part of his staff this evening. He made it clear I should stay the fuck away from him and just mind my own damned business when I asked him where he would like me, which is also good for me. If the guests aren’t paying attention to me, and Harrison wants me to steer clear of him and his men, then this should be a fucking cakewalk. My plans should go off without a hitch, and boy are they spectacular fucking plans.
First: I need to get my gun back from Harrison. I spent a long time stewing on this, and then I realized that I don’t really need to get my gun back from Harrison. I just need to procure a gun, it doesn’t matter who it belongs to, and I already have my sights set on a prize. Art, one of the guys who helped hold me down in my room the first night I arrived at the estate has been positioned by the kitchen door, making sure people don’t accidentally wander out of bounds into sections of the house they shouldn’t be in. I have a score to settle with the motherfucker. I aim on making him hurt for the part he played in attacking me in my fucking sleep like a coward.
Once I have his gun, I can then implement the second stage of my plan: creating a diversion. I’ve already figured out that part; it’s going to be too fucking easy, not to mention ironic, and I can’t wait to see the look on Fernando’s face when shit begins to go sideways. It’s going to be goddamn perfect.
I haven’t told Natalia what’s going to happen. She needs to be just as surprised, if not a little panicked, just like everyone else. She knows to be ready, though, and she’s carrying her serrated knife with her, just in case anyone gives her any trouble.
Waiters walk around with trays, overloaded with glasses of wine and tiny vol-au-vents, and everyone seems to be getting a little buzzed. It’s not until almost eight when Fernando signals to one of the waiters, who then proceeds to sound a small, polished copper gong that sits on a tiny table by the foot of the stairs. A silence falls over the crowd, and they all look up expectantly, awaiting what comes next.
Limping slightly from the hammer blow Fernando dealt him the other night, Plato leads the group of men and women down the stairs, and a small sigh of anticipation runs through the crowd. Fernando’s Servicio are all dressed in white, from head to toe. The men wear pristine white suits, complete with white shirts and white ties, their hair either shaved close to their heads or slicked back with styling products. The women are all in white dresses or short white skirts, with revealing, low cut tops, their cleavages spilling over the tops of the material. Their makeup is immaculate, not a hair out of place. Strangely, they all look very calm. Flat, even. Their eyes are a little glassy as they follow each other down the stairs toward the awaiting crowd, and I get the sneaking suspicion that they’re all dosed and high as fuck right now. Seems like something Fernando would do—have his workforce drugged to be compliant and docile.
I curl my hands into fists, growling under my breath. Next to me, a tall guy leans against the wall with a dark-haired woman on his arm, both of them scanning over the Servicio, whispering to each other when they see someone they like.
Him: “The woman with the wavy blonde hair. Her tits are amazing.”
Her: “Oh god, yes. Her lips are to die for. I can’t wait to see your cock in her mouth.”
Him: “Fuck. This is crazy. I’m already hard.”
Her: “What about her? The girl with the white ribbon around her neck? Her ass is incredible. Picture me between her legs, eating her pussy, baby. Would you like that?”
Him: (Groaning) “Shit. I want to see that right now. Give me your hand. You have to see what this is doing to me.”
The woman smiles seductively, holding out her hand. The guy takes it and casually places it over his cock, squeezing so she can feel how hard he is. I have to look away.
Her: Baby…What about the guy at the front? He’s very handsome, don’t you think? Would you like to watch him fuck me? Would you like to be in my ass while he is fucking my pussy?
Him: Is he the one you want, my love?
Of course, they’re talking about Plato. He’s almost a head taller than everyone else. And I’m a dude, but I’m not fucking blind. I can see that he’s a handsome guy. Why else would Fernando have gone to the trouble of snatching him otherwise?
Plato’s gaze slips over me like he doesn’t even see me when he walks by. He’s holding hands with a slim dark-haired woman I haven’t seen before, and the two of them together, so perfectly manicured and turned out, look like Ken and Barbie dolls come to life.
“Welcome everyone!” A cry goes up from the other side of the foyer, and then Fernando is standing on a chair, tapping a fork against the side of his champagne glass. “Welcome, welcome. I am so glad you all could make it to this celebration at such short notice.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. Fernando announced the party three days ago, and all of these people have somehow managed to get here in time. These are the top one percent, though, the richest of the rich. They don’t have jobs to attend, and it’s unlikely they have families to care for, either. They probably all have private jets they can fuel up and fly off in whenever the fuck they want.
“I am pleased to see some familiar faces here this evening. I’m equally as pleased to be meeting many of you for the very first time. For those of you who are new to my household, please note, you are welcome to participate in any kind of sexual activity with my friends in white. All that I ask is that you are respectful and make sure you are not jumping the line ahead of another of my guests. We are all gentlemen and gentlewomen here at the Villalobos estate, and my friends are happy to accommodate all of you. They will be taking regular showers as the night progresses in order to maintain the height of cleanliness. All of the women in white are on birth control, so please feel free to ejaculate where you wish. Similarly, all of the men in white have had surgical procedures to ensure they are not capable of fathering children. If you would like for them to
complete inside you, all you have to do is ask.”
I feel like I have razor blades underneath my fucking skin. He has to be fucking joking. He’s not only doping the Servicio, but he’s got the women on birth control? I suppose they’re no good to him if they get knocked up. And the guys have all had vasectomies? I’m itching to lose my shit. I’ve never been so furious in my entire life. This, from the man who happily discards dead bodies in open graves for the animals to pick over, though. Should I have expected anything more? Bile rises up the back of my throat, leaving a sour, acidic, bitter taste in my mouth.
This will all be over soon.
This will all be over soon.
This will all be over soon.
I have to repeat it over and over in my head, otherwise I’m not going to be able to keep a lid on my temper. I try to tune out, then. Try not to see anything, or hear anything, but it’s pretty impossible. The crowd is swarming around the bottom of the stairs now that the Servicio have arrived, and it’s like a fucking meat market, people dressed in black, arguing passive aggressively over the people dressed in white. Plato smiles blandly as three people try to talk to him at once, trying to get him to go with them. The girl he was holding hands with laughs strangely as a guy with full sleeve tattoos and a nose piercing picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, like she’s a sack of potatoes. Three other men join him as he carries her through one of the reception room doorways off of the foyer.
There’s no screaming. There are no objections. There is only mild indifference, and the empty, vacant eyes of the Servicio as they are led off one by one by excited, assertive guests.
The couple who were discussing who they would like to play with a moment ago has secured the woman they were admiring, and the guy is making out with her, jamming his tongue into her mouth, cupping the back of her head in his hand as his partner in crime helps herself to a ridiculous amount of cocaine from a shiny metal bowl being held by one of the regular servants. She must deal about ten thousand dollars’ worth of blow out onto a large, flat mirrored tray. The servant hands her two metallic looking straws, bows, and then he walks away, handing someone else a similar mirrored tray, and similar metal straws.
To my right, two men are caressing and stroking another of the women in white. One licks and bites at her neck, while the other undoes the ties at her shoulders that are keeping her dress up, folding down the material to expose her breasts. Both of her nipples are pierced, which seems to excite the guy undressing her. He undoes the top button of his shirt, and then ducks down, taking one of her pink, peaked nipples into his mouth, running his tongue around her areola while kneading and squeezing her other breast.
In front of me, through the ever-shifting sea of people milling around, simply talking, I can see a guy sitting on one of the plush white couches, with a woman on her knees, blowing him while another guy watches. He has his dick in his hand, and he’s slowly stroking it up and down. None of them are part of the Servicio this time. They are all willing participants in what they’re doing. The girl on her knees blowing the first guy pauses in her attentions, grinning up at the guy. She takes his hand, and slowly, cautiously moves it so that he’s touching the other guy’s cock. I can read this moment like a book. The guys know each other. Maybe they’re friends. This is the first time either one of them has had any interaction with another guy, and neither one of them knows how the fuck to react. The girl strokes one of the guy’s faces, and then the other, guiding them together so that their mouths meet in front of her.
They don’t kiss at first. They both freeze, chests rising and falling, but slowly they begin to come to life. The girl sits back on her heels as the two men begin to tentatively make out. It’s not long before the first guy is running his hand up and down the other guy’s hard cock, and his friend is rocking his hips upward, thrusting into his hand.
The scene is like something from Dante’s Inferno. People are exposed everywhere, men and women alike. As the minutes pass by, barely anyone is wearing any clothes and it’s not so easy to pick out the Servicio from the guests. Only when they open their eyes can I tell them apart.
I see Plato through an open doorway, leading through to what looks like a Bedouin tent—there are white silks hanging from the ceiling, and huge, white satin cushions scattered all over the floor—and a group of people are lounging around, watching him. His hands are all over a naked woman, who appears to be a guest. He touches her everywhere, his fingers teasing lightly over her breasts, her stomach, down her sides, between her legs. She’s gripped in ecstasy, though Plato doesn’t seem to be sharing her enjoyment. His dick is rigid, rubbing up against her pussy as he leans up, stroking the woman’s body. I doubt his cock is that way because he’s into what he’s doing. The cocktail in his system must be considerable—he’s definitely been dosed with Viagra, heroin, and god knows what else. Once again our eyes meet across the bustling space, and he doesn’t react. It’s as though he’s looking right through me.
“Dios mio,” someone mutters. “This girl, she is stunning. We should have her, my love.” I glance around, trying to see who spoke, but the crush of Fernando’s guests is pure chaos. I see who they’re talking about, though: Natalia is walking hesitantly down the staircase, her hands pressed flat against her sides, and she looks like she wants to about-face and run back to her room. She’s so incredibly beautiful. Instead of being dressed in white or black, she’s wearing a sheer green silk dress that hits the floor, cut low so that her breasts are almost on display. It’s backless, and hugs her slender figure, accentuating her curves. Her hair has been curled and shimmers as she moves, caramel shot through with spun gold. Her lips are a shock of crimson, complimenting the tan of her skin perfectly. She is the only splash of color in a monochrome world, and she is breathtaking. Men stop what they’re doing as she descends the stairs. Women, too. Her arrival is enough to bring the party to a screeching halt.
“My beautiful daughter, everybody,” Fernando says loudly, making sure everyone hears him. “Natalia, come and stand with me, child. I have someone I would like you to meet.”
Her eyes flicker to me as she passes me by, and I see how uncomfortable she is. I want to reach out and take her hand, to try and reassure her, but with so many people watching her it’s just not possible. She crosses the room, weaving her way through the mass of bodies, until she reaches her father. Fernando laces an arm around her waist, turning back to talk to the tall, slightly overweight man beside him.
I have had enough. Tolerating this bullshit before was difficult, but now that Natalia is here, it’s just unbearable. I have to act, and now. Scanning the room, I search for Harrison. He’s by the front door, talking to a beautiful red headed woman who just so happens to be naked. With his back turned, this is the perfect opportunity for me to slip away. Quickly, before anyone can notice, I head for the kitchen entrance, and toward my target. I place my hand to my ear, making a show of frowning as I pretend to listen to something in the earpiece. When I arrive in front of Art, Harrison’s guard, I tap the device, shrugging at him.
“Fuck. Harrison’s super pissed at you, man. Damn, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
His eyes grow wide. “Why? I’m doing what he asked me to do.”
“He’s been trying to get you on the radio for the last ten minutes. Someone’s snooping around near Fernando’s office. He wants you to go check it out, make sure it’s nothing we should be worried about. Says he’s going to report you to Fernando if you don’t get a handle on the situation right now.”
Art looks panicked. “Shit. I swear no one’s passed through this way. I’ve been here the whole time.”
“I’m only telling you what he said, man. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“My headset must be broken. Can I borrow yours for a second?”
This clown must have a really short fucking memory. He must have forgotten all about the night he busted down my bedroom door, and grabbed me when I was wearing nothing more than a t
owel. I give him a sickly-sweet smile, pushing the kitchen door open behind him.
“Yeah dude. In the kitchen, though. My radio’s on the fritz as well. Can hardly hear a thing.”
Art doesn’t even look worried. He goes ahead of me, disappearing into the hallway that leads to the kitchen, and I’m filled with a sense of euphoria. A little premature, I’ll admit, but it’s about fucking time I let loose on these assholes. Now the time has come and the moment is upon me, I almost don’t want it to end. The anticipation is addictive, but it’s nothing to what I’m about to feel.
The hallway is deserted. It won’t be for long, though. I grab the guy by the back of the collar, spinning him around, and I smash my fist into his face, sending him crashing to the ground. Blood splatters up the wall, and the guy yelps, surprise transforming his face. He scrambles, trying to get hold of his gun, but it’s too fucking late because I already have it in my hand, and I’m ripping it from his belt.
“What the hell?” he yells. “You’re insane!”
I can’t count how many times I’ve been told this recently. Natalia’s told me enough times to make me think it might actually be true. Whether I’m sane or not isn’t something I have time to ponder right now, though. I spin the gun around in my hand and bring the butt down on Art’s head, and his eyes roll back into their sockets. A weird, gurgling noise comes out of his mouth, and his body starts to shake. Ooops. Maybe I hit him too hard. Head wounds can easily kill, depending on where you land them. I didn’t necessarily want the guy dead, per se, but I’m hardly going to hang around and make sure he doesn’t swallow his own tongue or anything. He forfeited any right he might have to my sympathy the moment he decided a paycheck was more important to him than common human decency or morals.