by I. T. Lucas
No one went to so much effort to help another unless they were family, or they wanted something. But that didn’t make sense. Brundar could’ve snapped his fingers at Kati, and she would’ve gone home with him. Heck, if Callie weren't still married she would’ve gladly accepted an invitation too.
Brundar was sexy as sin. But she was done letting her hormones lead her astray. That was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place. She’d thought Shawn was sexy too, and that didn’t end well.
Not at all.
Once she got free, she should find herself a nice guy, an accountant or an engineer or a teacher. Someone mellow and agreeable with whom she could have a nice, peaceful life.
Contrary to what Brundar believed, sex wasn’t all that important.
“What are you thinking, Calypso? What’s going through your head?”
She looked up and gazed upon his perfect face. Sincere blue eyes the color of a clear sky were tracking her every movement, every expression. He probably knew what she was thinking just from observing her so intently.
“What do you want, Brundar? For real. Because for the life of me I can’t understand why you would go to all that trouble to help me?” She had the passing thought that he might be after her money, telling her to empty her bank account and take all the cash she could before meeting him. Without a phone or money, he could leave her somewhere stranded.
“I want to set you free.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s the only answer I have. If you’re asking whether I’m attracted to you, the answer is yes. You’re a beautiful, smart, and kind woman. Do I expect anything in return for my help? The answer is no. Even if offered freely, I would turn you down, or at least try to. Is that a full and satisfactory answer?”
“Yes.” Not really, but she wasn’t about to tell him she suspected him of staging a heist.
“When is your next shift?” Brundar asked.
She found herself answering him even though she was still suspicious. “Thursday. Same time. Five in the evening until eight, an hour break, and then until midnight when the kitchen closes.”
“I’ll be here for your break. Have an answer ready for me.”
“I can’t decide so quickly.”
“You can, and you will. It’s not complicated. If you want to leave him, that’s the only way to do it safely. Don’t procrastinate, Calypso. The first rule of survival is to strike fast and strike hard.” He punched his fist into his other palm. “No hesitation, and no mercy.”
“No mercy,” she repeated.
Chapter 11: Roni
Entwining the fingers of his hands behind his head, Roni leaned back in his throne-like chair.
The backdoor he’d programmed was working beautifully. He’d been testing it over the past week with no alarms going off.
As long as the current security protocol was used, he had nothing to worry about—at least for a couple of years. The guys upstairs hated making changes. A new system cost millions and wreaked havoc until every last issue got debugged.
The question was what he would do once it was eventually changed, because it would. The race between the hackers and the protectors made it an unavoidable necessity. Every time the hackers gained an upper hand, the protectors had to come up with new solutions, and the race began anew, keeping everyone in business.
Through the glass enclosure, Roni glanced at his handler. The guy wasn’t so bad. Most of the time he was just bored. Not that Roni could blame him. Babysitting him was a job an agent got as a punishment for a major screw-up, or in Barty’s case failing the physical exams.
On purpose.
Barty was tired and wanted more time at home while still earning an agent’s salary, not the reduced retirement pay.
As unbelievable as he found it, Roni realized that he was going to miss Barty. He’d gotten used to the sarcastic old goon.
But no more excuses.
It was time to leave this prison that had become his home and give Andrew the green light.
Roni was going to relinquish his seat of power for an unknown future.
He was scared shitless.
Scared of getting out into the real world he’d never been equipped to handle, scared of having to interact with people other than agents, most of whom were old enough to be his parents.
Would he have to shop for groceries? Take care of his own laundry? Roni had no idea how to do all those basic things that came naturally to other people. He understood code. Real life baffled him.
Most of all, though, he was terrified of Anandur. The guy was a giant, and not the gentle type. Sure, he was friendly, even funny sometimes, but he had muscles on top of muscles and knew how to use them. There would be pain even if the guy did his best to hold back and treat Roni like a fragile little girl.
Roni didn’t like pain.
So what if he was a wuss. He had no problem admitting it. Brains were worth more than brawn, especially one like his. There was plenty of goons on the planet, but only a handful of geniuses.
The only problem he had with that was Sylvia.
No woman wanted her guy to be a weakling. Even Einstein’s wife had divorced him. Not necessarily for that reason, but who knew. Maybe.
With a sigh, he pushed out of his chair and walked out of the glass enclosure that was his war room. It was dojo time.
“You’re ready, Barty?” Roni asked his handler.
“Yep.” Barty put his feet down. “Let’s go, boyo.”
“Where is your karate-gi, Barty? Didn’t we agree that you would join the class today? You can’t participate unless you wear the uniform.” Roni loved teasing the guy.
“Up yours,” Barty returned the favor. “While you are sweating, I’ll be watching the girls. It’s the highlight of my week. Just so we’re clear.” Barty pointed a finger at him. “I’m counting on you to stick with this class. If you dare quit on me, I’m going to pull you there by your overlarge ears.”
“My ears are not big.” They weren’t. He had normal ears. Didn’t he? Maybe they stuck out a little… Roni couldn’t help himself, touching them to make sure.
“Just kidding. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
“You’re not funny. What happened, did you run out of jokes?” He was counting on Barty’s lame jokes to distract him from thinking about what was waiting for him in the dojo.
Think about lots of sex with Sylvia.
That was his main impetus for going ahead with the crazy plan. Immortality was not Roni’s top priority. Sex with Sylvia was.
Especially since she claimed his stamina would quadruple. Roni smirked. They would be going at each other like rabbits.
“What kind of bagel can fly?” Barty started as soon as he eased the car into traffic.
Roni rolled his eyes. “A plane bagel. Ha, ha.”
“You heard that one before?”
“No. It’s so stupid a four-year-old can guess the answer.”
“Okay. How about this one. What does one plate say to the other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, boy genius. Dinner is on me.” Barty laughed at his own stupid joke. “Get it? Dinner is on me.” He demonstrated with a palm up as if Roni needed visuals to understand it.
“Not funny.”
“I have a smart one for you. What do you get if you divide the circumference of a pumpkin by its diameter?”
“Pi.”
“Yeah, but what kind?”
“There is only one kind of pi. It’s a number.”
“Wrong. You get pumpkin pie.” Barty’s huge belly heaved along with his snorts.
That was a little funny.
The best part about Barty’s jokes was that they filled the time until they arrived at the dojo, and for a few minutes Roni had forgotten about the giant redhead with huge muscles and scary fangs.
“Hey, guys,” Sylvia said. “How are you doing, Barty?”
She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, as always, her friends lined up to do the same.
Barty was in heaven. Roni felt a pang of guilt. The dude was going to miss all the attention he was getting from the young hotties—as he liked to call them.
If he only knew…
“Roni! Over here!” Anandur called.
Oh, boy. Were his knees shaking?
“Are you ready?” Andrew asked.
Reluctantly, Roni nodded.
“Okay!” Anandur clapped his hands. “Let’s do it. It’s actual sparring time.”
Barty tilted his head, looking at Anandur and Roni with interest. The jerk probably wanted to see Roni getting annihilated by the red giant.
Any traces of guilt for the agent went poof.
Roni imagined a boxing ring with the announcer going, "In this corner, we have the Red Giant, and over there is the Scrawny Chicken! Which one is going to win?"
“Barty, I have a funny story for you.” Sylvia plopped on a chair next to the handler. “So, yesterday…” In less than a minute, she got him enthralled in her story.
Anandur got in position and motioned for Roni to do the same. They circled each other for a few moments, with Roni bracing for the pain and Anandur waiting for God knew what.
Finally, Anandur stopped and put his hands on his hips. “I can’t do it.” He waved a hand at Roni. “How am I supposed to get aggressive with that?”
Andrew shook his head. “Wait until he opens his mouth. Show him what you got, Roni.”
Roni flipped him the bird. If Andrew thought he was going to goad Anandur he was dead wrong.
“You’ll have to do it, Andrew,” Anandur said.
“I’ve never done it before.”
Anandur chuckled. “Oh yeah? Should I give your wife a call?”
“You’re such an asshole. I mean with another guy.”
Anandur feigned shock, his fingers splayed over his gaping mouth. “You don’t say. You don’t know what you’re missing.” Anandur batted his eyelashes.
Roni chuckled, enjoying the show. Now, that was funny.
Andrew looked like he was about to punch Anandur, but then thought better of it. Smart man.
Waving a finger at the big guy, he said, “I’ve heard about you and your antics. I’m not going to get tricked into issuing a challenge to spar with you.”
Anandur pointed a finger back. “That’s a shame. Because you could’ve gotten me worked up, tough guy.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. You either man up and do it, or I’m calling Brundar.”
Andrew looked horrified. Who was this Brundar guy that his name made the formidable Andrew cringe?
“Not Brundar. Are you nuts? The kid will shit his pants.”
“He’s the only one on duty right now. It’s either you or him.”
With a deflated sigh, Andrew hung his head. “I’ll do it.” He then turned to Roni. “Make me mad, kid. You don’t want the alternative.”
They assumed positions and started circling each other. Andrew wasn’t as scary as Anandur, but he was a big guy too with at least eighty pounds over Roni’s one hundred and thirty.
The easiest way to annoy the guy was to say nasty things about his wife. “How is the old ball and chain, Andrew? Still finds you attractive? I bet she is sick of waking up to the sight of your ugly puss every morning…”
Andrew was on him in a blur of movement, and before he knew it, Roni found himself face down on the mat, one of Andrew’s hands pinning his arm painfully behind his back, the other on his neck, holding his head down.
If he could, Roni would have rolled over and offered his vulnerable belly, but in lieu of that he stopped struggling and closed his eyes.
Andrew hit fast like a cobra, which was a mercy because the anticipation was worse than the bite…
On second thoughts, no. The bite hurt and burned like a son-of-a-bitch, for about two seconds.
And then there was bliss.
Chapter 12: Brundar
Parked across the street from Calypso’s home, Brundar kept a solid shroud around his car. Not so much to camouflage the vehicle as the driver. She remembered him now, and seeing him there would understandably scare her.
As it was, she was rightfully suspicious of his motives. He was sincere and meant every word he’d told her, but she wasn’t a mind reader or an empath who could check the veracity of his words. Suspecting an ulterior motive was natural, and proceeding with caution was smart.
Offering her his help had seemed so natural, the right thing to do, but her questions made him realize that it had been nothing but. He wasn’t in the habit of helping random people.
What was in it for him?
Brundar wasn’t sure. Emotional entanglement wasn’t something he was familiar with. As was the case for all his clansmen, his interactions with women were purely sexual. Before he’d found a solution to his particular needs in the clubs, he’d never had the same one twice, and more often than not he’d paid for the services. For a price, most hookers agreed to get tied up and blindfolded, which wasn’t the case with the vast majority of nonprofessionals. Relinquishing control to a stranger was stupid, and most women had more sense than that.
The clubs, at least the good ones, provided a safe environment. What Brundar disliked about them were the labels attached to the different sexual roles people played. As an immortal male, dominance came naturally to him, but it didn’t define him. It wasn’t who he was.
It just happened that his specific needs fit the role.
He didn’t need his partner’s obedience, and he didn’t need her to be subservient to him. All he needed was to tie her up so she couldn’t touch him and blindfold her so she wouldn’t see his glowing eyes and protruding fangs.
But contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t all about his needs.
The women he partnered with in the club had needs of their own, and it was his responsibility to meet them. Brundar was fine with delivering pain when needed, but it didn’t turn him on. Or off.
What did it for him was the immense pleasure his partners derived from it, and the heights they reached with his help. According to some, subspace was better than any drug-induced trip, and a lot healthier.
That state was unattainable for the vanilla crowd or those holding the flogger or the paddle. The rewards were only for those on the receiving end. The exchange of power was well worth it.
For him, though, there was another fringe benefit that was even more important than the satisfaction he derived from pleasuring women into soaring up into sub space. When tied up and blindfolded, soaring on a cloud of post-orgasmic euphoria, his partner was oblivious to his bite, which he usually delivered to her inner thigh. Later, when she came down, there was no sign of it. She either didn’t remember it at all or thought that the small pain was part of the scene.
No thralling required.
A big advantage since most of the women he partnered with were regulars. Still, he tried to keep the frequency to a minimum. Brain damage from thralling wasn’t the only risk. Emotional entanglement was an even greater one. The intensity of the acts, the highs and the lows, played tricks on the participants' minds. As cold and as detached as he was, Brundar wasn’t made from stone.
The most he’d scened with the same partner was once a month. For their sake and his. In case his stoic attitude wasn’t enough of a deterrent, playing with a variety of partners sent a clear message that he wasn’t interested in a relationship.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care; on the contrary, he was doing his best to protect their feelings. His partners trusted him to see to their pleasure and their wellbeing, and he was very serious about ensuring both. But that was the extent of his obligations. Nothing more.
With Calypso, the emotional entanglement was already there, at least on his part. Not to mention that she was a green-as-grass newbie who needed a slow and gentle introduction that should be spread over several consecutive sessions with someone who knew what the fuck he w
as doing. She had no idea what she liked or didn’t like, what scared her and what excited her. The only way to find out was to experiment. But only with someone who was patient and completely focused on her and her experience.
It was an intimate and emotionally intense journey, necessitating a prolonged relationship. Trust, which was a crucial component, wasn’t built in a day, or a week. Under these circumstances, preventing a bond from forming was difficult for the initiator as well as the initiated.
He could do none of that. Even if a relationship between an immortal and a human was possible, Brundar didn’t have what it took.
The problem was, he couldn’t conceive of anyone else introducing Calypso to that unique brand of pleasure either.
It would drive him insane.
He had to distance himself from her. After her divorce was final and she was free, he would sever contact with her and let her make the journey of discovery on her own. Not in his club, though. He’d provide her with a list of others that were just as good—small, tame, and with long-term members who’d been properly vetted.
“What’s that?” Brundar heard Shawn asking.
Up until that moment, the only sounds coming from Calypso’s house belonged to the football game Shawn was watching, and the intermittent bursts of commercials.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m filling in applications for scholarships. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky and collect enough to cover the tuition? I heard that it’s good practice to apply to as many as I can. A few small scholarships can add up. I probably won’t get anything, but I thought it was worth a try.”
Brundar approved. She was pretending a dismissive attitude toward her wish to attend the university, which should make the scumbag happy.