Bdsm Sex Stories

by Olga Menson

  The staccato of gunfire came next. I recognized it by now, although it reverberated strangely off of the buildings. I realized as I turned the corner that I didn't have a gun. Rachel didn't even look but waved me back with her off-hand before taking a stance and opening fire with her sidearm. I couldn't see who she was firing at as I ducked back around the corner, but then I saw where the smoke, and now a few flames, were coming from.

  Half in and half out of the gate, an armored SUV was turned over. There was no way to close it. More importantly, I knew that it was carrying Isa. Everything narrowed down at that moment. One of the front doors popped open, and a driver tried to crawl out, clearly injured. His face was covered in blood, so when he was hit in his temple, it didn't seem to change his appearance.

  I'd like to say that what I did was brave. It was certainly foolish, but I don't regret it. Rachel had reloaded and opened fire again. She'd taken position behind some sandbags that had been placed there for this very purpose. And I thought she was paranoid.

  Dimly aware that more of our family's security personnel were showing up and joining Rachel in repelling the intruders, I sprinted forward. I was glad that I was dressed in simple clothes, just jeans and a dress shirt that was tailored to be a little loose for comfort. They didn't get in the way as I shot like a bolt launched at the car. I didn't slow down in time and slammed into the side, which was currently facing the inside of the vehicle. I have no idea why I wasn't shot on the way in, but presumably, Rachel had them keeping their heads down, or they were just too shocked by my idiocy.

  I saw that the back door was slightly ajar and realized that someone was trying to open it. Miraculously, or perhaps because of the robust construction, it swung open smoothly as I pulled it. Isa was there, hanging upside down, bleeding from a cut in her forehead that came from god knows where. I could tell that she was stunned, her eyes unfocused. I didn't know if that was a result of injury or shock, but it didn't matter. I ignored the patter of gunfire pinging off the outside of the SUV while I gently held her torso and unlocked her safety belt.

  I took my sister gently into my arms. Isa wasn't limp, but she made no attempt to stand apart from me, or look around. I decided that I would have to carry her out. I had already moved an injured person, which even I knew was a bad idea, but I couldn't leave her out here in the middle of all that flying lead. I pulled her closer, holding her like I would a bride, which is tough to do when you're crouching. I turned to look back to where my own security was. That was when I became certain that I was about to die.

  A man peered around the corner of the flipped SUV. He was dressed in all black, a simple balaclava covering his features. He held a gun with both hands, and it seemed to me like he knew how to use it. I'm still not sure what it was, although I suspect now it was some kind of shotgun. From where I was crouching, it looked impossibly huge. He started to draw a bead on me.

  He wouldn't have to move the tip of the barrel more than a few inches to kill me, or Isa, or maybe both of us. What could a gun like that do at a range of six feet? Nothing pretty, I was sure. All I could do was hunch protectively over Isa's helpless form and hope that she might survive.

  I heard a shot, from close by, complete with the snap that I had heard before as something passed over my head, but it came from behind me. For a moment, I was sure that I was dead. Then the man in front of me slouched to the ground, maybe dead, maybe not. I didn't care which. I pulled Isa close and ran back towards the house, not thinking of what might happen, only thinking of the possibility of safety. I'd never run so fast in my life. Isa felt light as a feather in my arms, and when I finally reached the garage that I had initially taken cover behind, I had the absurd thought that I might have dropped her. I looked down, and she was still there. I could see that she was at least somewhat responsive. Her eyes, however, saw only me, and her expression was that of a terrified child.

  "It's all right, Isa. I've got you."

  I tried to be confident and brave, and all the things that I didn't feel right then. She nodded, but her expression didn't change. I held her and talked to her for a while in a hushed tone, meaningless encouragements. I was so focused on my task that I didn't even notice that the gunfire had stopped until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I probably jumped a foot off of the ground before turning and realizing that it was Rachel.

  "Sorry," she said, a gentle smile on her face. Somehow she was calm, relaxed even. I just nodded. "You should probably take Isa down to the medical center, Reuben. She probably isn't hurt, but she needs to be looked at. I've already had one of my teams find Sarah ...she's all right. If you want, I'll have them take her downstairs too." I nodded again and turned to walk to the mansion, scarcely noticing the team following me now. I stopped after a few steps and turned around.

  "You shot that guy, didn't you? You saved us?"

  "Yeah, Reuben, I shot him, but we all worked together to..."

  "No, Rachel. I mean, yeah, everyone did their jobs and its going to be raises and bonuses all around, but you saved me. You saved Isa. If you wanted to know how you were going to repay your debt, I'd say you just did. You saved your family."

  Rachel nodded, and as she turned away, I could swear that I saw the faintest trace of a tear on her cheek.

  * *

  Isa was all right, physically at least. Sarah helped calm her and bring her out of her shock. My sister somehow avoided serious effects, having only a few cuts and some temporary hearing loss. I had never been more grateful.

  Sarah helped me, as well. She insisted that I submit to inspection by the medics we always had on staff now. I was all right, physically at least, aside from a few scrapes and bruises that I had no memory of receiving. I knew that I'd have nightmares about this day for many years to come.

  I felt a cold rage build up. I was afraid for myself, it was true. I wanted to live, and I was upset that someone had tried to kill us. Once both Sarah and I were safe and then we had figured out who had attempted the hit and why I felt a bit better of it. I didn't really like these people, but I could have seen a peaceful resolution. That was before this brazen attack. Isa had been a target, but she hadn't been in the car when Sarah had been attacked. Now, they had tried to kill her directly, and it was like a switch had been flipped in my brain.

  Now, I was enraged. I didn't show it, though. Father had taught me to feel rage but to not let it possess me. To use it as motivation but not an excuse. It was cold, like ice burning in my veins. I had to act on it, or I would go mad, but I didn't have to do so hastily. I looked over the table at Isa. She was worried, afraid, and her reserve had cracked. She showed all of her emotions. Tear streaks ran through the soot on her face. Our medic had checked her over. Rachel had directed our security to hold the mansion and the grounds at all costs. The local police had shown up, and it was likely that the FBI would be on the scene soon. Sarah led us upstairs, Isa and I followed obediently.

  "How are you doing?" I asked Isa.

  "Scared. Tired. Useless. But I'm okay, thanks to you and Rachel."

  "Good. Are you all right with me taking the lead on this with law enforcement?"

  "Yes. What do we tell them?"

  "Nothing but what happened, exactly and precisely. Leave nothing out of the day's events. Don't mention that we know who did it. Don't even hint it. Let yourself show all the shock of the event."

  "All right. What are we going to do?"

  I smiled at her and kissed her temple, just happy that she was relatively unharmed.

  "I'm going to do anything necessary to protect our family. If it means wiping out the Trevante family, then so be it. I'm going to let these fucks know what happens when they attempt to hurt Isa De Heer or anyone I love."

  Isa's eyes grew large, hearing my big words, but she also smiled. It was reassuring, this threat, as I hoped it would be. I'd involve her in the planning if she wanted, but even if she didn't, I was going to protect her. Whatever it took.

  * * *

  Vengeance


  * * *

  We put up with the weeks of investigation, the endless crime scene investigation, questioning, and offers of protection. We cooperated but politely declined the latter. I'd put Rachel on the task of tracking down each individual member of the Trevante Syndicate. No action would be taken yet.

  Sarah continued to work at the house, and both she and Isa were attending post-traumatic therapy. I did not. I wasn't avoiding it out of any misguided sense of inner strength, but rather that I thought it might help with my rage. I didn't want any help with that. I tried to keep it there, where I needed it.

  Isa and Sarah ran the business, as they had before I had arrived. I spent time with Rachel, drawing up lists, determining which assets to place where. What we lacked in-house we could hire for reasonable rates. So I paid far more than reasonable and got exactly what I needed. By the time two months had passed, the bomb attack had been mainly written off by the media as "radical terrorists" which was as far from the truth as you could get and still be on the same planet, but it served our purposes.

  Finally, when everything was ready, I made a phone call. It was a front, of course, but by now I knew that was where he had been working from, waiting for our countermove. I wanted him to know that I knew.

  "Hello, how may I direct your call?"

  "Vincent Trevante, please."

  A long pause.

  "He's not currently available. May I take a message."

  "Yes. Please tell him that Reuben De Heer called and would like to meet with him. This Saturday at the Brigantine, at 9 pm sharp. I want a settlement. For my family's sake."

  "I'll deliver the message. Can I help you in any other way?"

  "Yes. Tell him that if he isn't there, I'll be forced to seek alternative solutions."

  I hung up. The hook was baited.

  * *

  The Brigantine was different now. Their security force had been purged of anyone remotely unreliable. The other three founding families had a hand in that. It was useless to them if attendees would be too concerned with assassination attempts to attend. Gascard Villiers and Lady Merovengi both were attending as "neutral parties."

  The fact that Lady Merovengi was my paternal aunt wasn't lost on anyone, but her husband understood that it was vital that she ensure that her remaining family was safe. We passed the time pleasantly. She was strange but not as needlessly cruel as her brother Rudi had been, and had a sharp wit. She also was remarkably beautiful, appearing much as I imagined Isa would in twenty years: weathered but not defeated.

  Gascard Villiers was a man in his sixties wearing a faded tweed suit. He was balding, plump, and looked bored as he sat at a blackjack table, idly playing some form of solitaire. As a friend of my father's, I knew that he was anything but the absent-minded academic image that he projected to the world. He was cunning and dangerous. He was here to guarantee that there would be no violence during the meeting. Occasionally he met my eyes. I smiled back blandly, as my father would have. He, of all the people there, knew that I was up to something, but if he thought I would try something at the club, he was mistaken.

  Vincent arrived in a helicopter with his security entourage. Unsurprisingly, they were not allowed within one-hundred meters of the building. He walked into the building as I had: alone.

  We were ushered to a room upstairs. Typically this would be filled with VIPs engaging in some kind of group debauchery, but the club was closed tonight. The Brigantine management knew that they had to settle this issue or risk closure. No one wanted that.

  "De Heer," Vincent said by way of greeting as he sat. He still said it with the same disdain that he had used when we had first met. I met him with a polite, if chilly, smile as I sat down.

  "Vincent Trevante. What am I going to do with you?"

  His eyes narrowed, and he looked at the men in the room. They held submachine guns, just as they had the night of my attempted assassination. They stood firm, however. The management had made better choices this time. Evidently, Vincent had expected me to make the same moves that he did, which was silly. It wasn't likely to work again, and I had no urge to violate the sanctity (or whatever passed for it) of the Brigantine.

  "Let's set some house rules, gentlemen," the Lady Villiers began, "we're here for discussions, not insults, so respectful conversation only."

  She seated her self across from Gascard, who nodded in agreement.

  "Well, Reuben," Vincent said with slightly less disdain, "what are your intentions? Can we settle this peacefully? Or do you need more demonstrations of our reach?"

  He was bold, I'd give him that. I think he expected me to rise to his provocations the same way I had that first night we'd met. Tonight was different, however. I felt like I was in my element again. Father had prepared me well for this.

  "I think we can make suitable arrangements in that regard."

  "Good," he said, a smug smile appearing on his face as if by magic. I cut him off.

  "I have a requirement. Just one. And then we can end all hostilities."

  "What is it, De Heer?"

  He raised his eyebrow, and I smiled blandly in return. Father would have been proud.

  "You have to commit suicide. Preferably now, but you can have twenty-four hours if you need to prepare yourself or settle your affairs.

  "You're joking," he said, looking around him and finding only serious faces. "You can't seriously think that I would do that."

  "Truthfully," I responded, "I don't think that you will. You're too selfish to think of your wife and child. That was your wife that first night, wasn't it? She'd become accustomed to being shared, but didn't understand what I represented to you. How powerless I made you feel. How worried you were that I'd simply turn the video over to the authorities."

  "Shut up," Vincent said, but, as before, I could see behind his mask. He was crumbling already.

  "The irony is that I had no idea about the blackmail, or that your tastes tended toward underage girls..."

  "Shut up!"

  Vincent stood up and slammed his hands on the table. In a moment, a half dozen submachine guns were leveled at his chest. Red dots danced on his chest. I waited, patiently, for the inevitable reaction, but said nothing.

  "This...this is worthless! I'm leaving. I swear to you, De Heer, you'll regret not coming here in good faith."

  I kept my voice level with some difficulty, but I did it. I had a little speech prepared. It wasn't precisely memorized, but I had the high points clearly set aside in my brain.

  "I assure you, Vincent, that I would much rather that you be the only casualty of your bad decisions. But, should you refuse, well, I won't have much choice, will I? A man has to protect his family, and if that means killing you, your uncle, both of your younger sisters, their families and children, and of course your wife and child, well, that's the price of doing business. If you go on your own, then there won't be any more need for revenge on my part, and we won't have any more blackmail on your family, so they'll be free as well. If we have to kill you, well, we can't stop there, can we? We have to do what you so inadequately attempted: we have to wipe all of the Trevantes out, so there is no more threat to mine."

  "You talk a big game, De Heer."

  "I know it sounds absurd," I said, reaching into my pocket. The security agents tensed ever so slightly. Gascard raised his eyebrow, which is probably the closest he would come to showing fear. I calmly removed my phone. "It turns out that when you have enough money and time, you can find out nearly anyone's schedule," I said, as I perused the list, "Beth Trevante, aged thirty-two, currently at the hairdresser, heading out shortly to be driven to the high-end day-care center where she will pick up Rebecca Trevante, your daughter, aged 3. Beth, who loves you, but who is unaware of your interest in children, and who has very little idea of the reckless actions you have taken. They can both be dead within seconds of each other, neither even having enough time to be afraid. It isn't something I want to do. It's likely its the sort of thing that I would have nightma
res about for the rest of my life. But you tried to kill my sister, and it turns out that I would murder a vast number of people to keep her safe."

  Trevante looked around, and for what was probably the first time in his life, was confronted with his own mortality. There was no pity in the faces that watched him. It was likely that Gascard at least had plans to deal with him quietly for breaching the peace of the Brigantine. I couldn't allow that, as much as I might like to. The world in which my family moved, the shadowy world that existed even beneath what people quaintly called "organized crime," had to know that the De Heer family would not tolerate enemies.

  "Unbelievable. The intelligence we gathered all indicated that you were some kind of do-gooder. I was certain that you were going to turn...turn over what your father had on me to the police. Instead...you ended up being just like him. Twenty...twenty-four hours. You said you'd give me a day. Is that right?"

  "Yes, Vincent. We'll need your body, of course, and for it to be relatively complete for verification. We'll return it for burial."

  He laughed, but it turned into a dry cough. A man waiting just beyond the table brought him a glass of water, and he gulped all of it down.

  "All right. I'm going to go home and tell my wife what needs to happen. Then I'll take care of it. Someone...someone will contact you. Is that acceptable?"

  "It is," I said. I didn't show it, but I felt a great sense of relief. I had shown up to this meeting ready to harm innocents to protect my loved ones. It was the closest that I'd ever come to being my father, and despite not having ordered the actions, I still felt profound guilt. I suppose that guilt was a good sign, in a way. It meant that I wasn't inured to such things and that I still knew right from wrong.

  We stood and shook hands, and I respected that despite sweating quite a bit, he trembled only slightly. To my surprise, the Lady Merovengi brought over a notebook bound in rich red leather. She set it on the table, already opened, and handed me a pen. I guessed she had been writing in it while we had been talking. There was a brief description of our agreement. I felt somewhat stupid in only then understanding that we weren't just having a meeting on neutral ground, but the other three families would be guaranteeing this deal between us. If Vincent killed himself, then his loved ones would be protected from further De Heer vengeance, and if he didn't, then someone else might get to him before I did. As I didn't intend to renege on my word, I signed it. After reading it over, Vincent did the same.