Ability
Kat entered the dressing room.
She looked furious.
Angela knew why.
Kat snarled. "Out, girls. I need to talk with the princess here."
Cherry and Blaze dropped everything and slipped out without a word.
Kat sat down in the chair next to Angela -- not Kat's usual seat, but between Angela and the door, as if to block the younger woman's escape.
"So Starr tells me you're moving out on me."
"Kat, it's not what you think," Angela protested.
"It's not?"
Of course, it was.
As much as she'd chased her newly-corporeal conscience away, the seed of doubt had been planted. There were things about Kat that just didn't feel right. Sure, if Kat really wanted to hurt Angela all she had to do was turn her in to the police -- or worse, to Moroshkin -- but just because she hadn't done so didn't prove she had Angela's best interests in mind.
Angela's doubt wasn't helped by Melody's comments the other night. Most of the other girls made fun of Melody, but there was something about her -- she cared, but didn't; she knew the answer, but wouldn't force it -- that made Angela really look at things.
But she wasn't going to come right out and say she didn't trust Kat. Kat was her only friend, or at least she was the only person who *might* be her friend.
"I just thought we could both use the space. I mean, you've got people coming over all the time..."
"That's what this is about? What, my friends aren't good enough for you?"
"It's not your friends I'm talking about." Customers.
"Oh. I see. *I'm* not good enough for you. What, you think you're better than me because I sleep with them and you don't?"
"No, that's not-"
"Well, *fuck* you. That doesn't make you better than me. I'm doing what I want to do. You're the one who's only here because she *has* to be."
"I just... it's not that... I mean, I'm just uncomfortable having strange people around, because of my situation, and I thought-"
"You think I'm being careless? You think I don't care about you? You could have said something. If you cared."
"Kat... I don't want to... cramp your style."
"And I don't want to do anything to hurt you." Was that a threat? No, Kat's tone was softer, more vulnerable. "I would have stopped bringing people over, if I knew you were that worried about it."
Geez, Kat was really taking this hard. Gabrielle looked down, ashamed that she'd assumed such bad things about her friend. Kat was all she had left, and she'd almost let doubt and mistrust take her away.
"I'm sorry, Kat. We're still friends, right?"
Kat pouted. "I won't turn you in, if that's what you mean."
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean we're still friends, right?"
"That's up to you."
"Then we're still friends."
"Good." Kat leaned over for a hug; it took Gabrielle a little by surprise, but she went with it. For her part, Kat didn't seem to take advantage with any... inappropriate contact.
But there was still the issue of the photo session. "But I'm still a little pissed about that 'modeling gig.' You didn't tell me it was *that* kind of thing."
"What kind of thing? Nigel's an artist, and he's very serious about his work. He wouldn't... He didn't do anything, did he? Did he make a pass at you? I'll kick his-"
"No, no, but..."
"But what?"
"The shoot, the subject matter, it was..."
"What?" Then Kat seemed to understand. "You mean, you got a little carried away?"
"*I* got carried away? There were hands all over me. They took my clothes off."
"Well, yeah. Nigel does nudes. I thought I told you that."
"This was a lot more than that."
"Something about hands. It didn't sound like a big deal."
"Well..." Gabrielle had to stop and think. What *was* it exactly? It wasn't really porn, was it? It wasn't dirty... suggestive maybe, erotic, but... the problem was really her. Her hangups. As if she should have any hangups with everything she'd been through... It was just misplaced guilt. She couldn't blame anyone but herself. She certainly couldn't blame Kat.
"You're right," she finally said. "It wasn't that big a deal. It just took me a little by surprise. Warn me next time, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure, kiddo."
Whew. Crisis averted.
Kat got up to leave. "I'll give you a little privacy to get ready; I think you're on next."
"Yeah. Thanks." Kat wasn't so bad after all.
"Oh, hey, you want me to help you move the rest of your stuff?"
"No, that's okay; I know you're busy."
"I understand; you need your space."
Oops. "I didn't-"
"Shush. It's okay. It's not like I don't see enough of your bony ass around here." Kat winked and disappeared down the hallway.
Angela collapsed on the bed, freeing a gaggle of squeaks.
"If that was Kat's bed," a familiar male voice said, "the whole building would complain."
"Hi, Cole." Angela wasn't startled anymore when her conscience just showed up. She was actually getting used to Cole. In fact, she kind of preferred her conscience being another person -- easier to deal with it without freaking out. And easier to ignore when she'd had enough.
"Not the best neighborhood." She heard him play with the numerous locks on the door.
"Best I could afford."
"Maybe if you spent a little less up your nose-"
"If you're gonna talk like that, just leave."
"Sorry. You're away from Kat's bad influence, that's what matters."
"I guess." Angela sighed. Kat seemed okay with it, but it still made Angela feel crummy. On the other hand, she didn't have to worry about whether Kat was doing things while Angela was asleep or out of it... and that *was* a relief.
"I just hope you don't fall under some other bad influence."
"I'm sure you'll keep me out of trouble."
"You don't make it easy."
Angela sat up. Cole was standing at the high-set window, doing his best to look out through the grime. The shadows of people's feet criss-crossed the dull afternoon light.
This was the first time Angela could really see him. Her Glisten buzz still put weird halos and color spikes around everything, but they were pretty mild right now and she'd gotten used to seeing through them. He wasn't bad-looking. Actually, he was pretty cute. Mocha skin and African-American features, with tight curls of bleached-blonde hair that looked like scrambled eggs on his head. Slender frame mostly-hidden beneath a loose long surfer tank and baggy jeans, but the sharply-defined muscles of his shoulders and arms suggested he was in good shape. Maybe even *very* good shape. For a moment Angela wondered if it would be possible to seduce her own conscience, and whether her vivid hallucination could manifest itself through intimate activity...
"You're staring," he said.
"You're cute," she giggled.
He turned around, his expression curious.
"If you say so."
Indeed.
"So are you going to unpack?"
"I don't suppose I could get you to do it." She didn't really want to do anything right now, except enjoy the Glisten calm while it lasted.
"I don't suppose you want me passing judgement on the rest of your wardrobe."
Angela sighed. "You're such a killjoy."
"Never mind. We can talk instead."
*That* sounded like fun. Not. Angela just let herself fall back on the bed, legs still hanging over the side, idly kicking her feet back and forth. Her breasts jiggled beneath her oversized cutoff sweatshirt, skin brushing pleasingly against the balled-cotton fluff...
Cole went right for the jugular. "Who are you hiding from, exactly?"
"Please, not now."
"Then when?"
"I don't know. Later."
"You can't hide forever."
Erin, leaning up against the building, idly checking her makeup.
Black stockings rising out of sharp slingback pumps; the band at the top just visible below the hem of the very short red linen skirt; the side slit exposing a tantalizing peek of creamy bare flesh.
The red cropped suit-jacket top straining against its button; a see-through black top clinging to high-set globes and stretched taut across the space between.
A man, coming up the sidewalk. Nattily dressed in a suit too fashionable for a banker, too rich for an office worker, too bold for a sales executive. A rakish, dangerous grin.
Lips pressed together, hesitantly.
Hands wandering over fabric; buttons undone.
The kiss, hungrier. The hands, more daring, beneath jackets. A firm round youthful breast, veiled but visible beneath sheer black.
Her hand, slid higher, finding a holstered gun. A surprised look. A suspicious look. An intrigued look.
His body leaned into hers. His hand, cupping her breast. Her hand, slipped down, squeezing his growing package.
Pulling away, leaving her overwhelmed, taking her hand.
Her, smiling, agreeing.
Inside a bedroom. Feminine, pink; hunky teen idol posters covering the wall.
The man, jacket off, shoulder holster and massive pistol exposed, scanning the room, realizing her youth. Erin, suddenly shy, demure, vulnerable.
Standing behind her, kissing her neck, pulling her jacket off her shoulders, halfway down now, her arms trapped at her sides.
Her breasts, jutting, bulging through the short sheer black fabric, nipples erect. Her eyes closed, mouth open, brow furrowed.
Her jacket on the floor, his hands groping her breasts, her head turned, looking over her shoulder, shocked and frightened.
Nipples pinched, her back arched, her body conflicted.
His hand taking hers, pressing it into his bulge.
The embrace broken, her away from him, facing him, hips cocked, arms akimbo, her look stern.
His look predatory.
Gun and holster draped over the chair behind him. His shirt off. His pants open. His underwear tented obscenely. Her arms across her chest. His smile wicked.
Erin, backed against the wall, hands raised defensively, pressing against his chest. His right hand bracing against the wall above her shoulder, his left at the hem of her skirt, garter exposed.
His fist balling the fabric, pulling it, the skirt's side seam ripping to the waist, stockings and garters and soft pink flesh exposed; her head turning away, eyes closed, lips pursed.
His hand around her waist, hauling her off her feet.
Erin's arms and stockinged-and-heeled legs flailing uselessly, a scantily-clad rag doll against his hip.
He's standing next to the bed, his muscles flexing, his dick naked and erect and swinging, dangling her from one arm, a caveman claiming his mate.
Her body crashing to the bed.
Erin on all fours, scrambling across the bed away from him, looking over her shoulder, eyes wide and fearful, sheer panties drawn taut across flexing buttocks.
His iron grip on her ankle, yanking her back toward him.
His other hand reaching forward, grabbing her hair, pulling her upright.
Erin on her knees on the bed, him standing behind her, his thickly-muscled arm wrapped around her slender frame, his meaty paw groping her breast.
His hand shifted, fingers curling, pulling at the top of her flimsy blouse, stretching it.
Tearing it.
Erin pushed down on all fours, breasts hanging out of her ripped blouse, him leaned over her from behind, his fingers locked on a jutting nipple.
His fist clenching the back of her panties, holding them away from her jostling flesh.
Delicate fabric giving way, parting at the hip, falling away, the last defense overwhelmed.
His hands at her hips, gripping her, guiding her, entering her, possessing her.
"Erin, Buddy, Fantastic! Hold for just a sec, I gotta reload, and we're gonna tweak the lights a bit."
High-heeled clicks stopped for a moment. Erin tugged at her butt again; the teddy kept riding up.
It wasn't her choice to wear it, but in her excitement about the photo shoot she'd shown up in costume, and, well, there wasn't much left of *that*. The sheer white teddy was an unused alternate from a previous shoot that she'd forgotten to take home. The only other thing she wore was a windbreaker borrowed from Curly, Artie's new lighting tech. Curly was a big bear of a man, and the windbreaker looked like a deflated balloon on the small girl, but it did keep out the breeze and was long enough to mostly cover her crotch.
The streets were wet, but the sky was clear. The brief showers had washed away most of the smell of the city.
But that wasn't to say that nothing smelled fishy...
The guy up ahead of her on the opposite side of the street was acting strangely.
He was hustling down the sidewalk, completely ignoring her.
Which considering what she was wearing simply wasn't possible, unless he was gay. In which case he'd gotten the copy of Juggs magazine tucked under his arm for the articles, and Erin wasn't even sure Juggs *had* articles.
Erin found the pocket of the windbreaker/parachute and fished out her cellphone. Plenty of battery, plenty of signal. She should call the cops. But what would she tell them? There was a creepy-looking guy in a low-rent part of town late at night? Duh...
This guy looked like a putz, and either he'd run all the way from Twisted Oaks or he was in less than peak physical condition. She'd taken self-defense classes. She was in great shape. And she was supposedly out on her own to prove she could make a difference, right? This was her chance to get started.
Anyway, this guy was heading the same way she was, and Artie would be following along soon, just as soon as he figured out she wasn't waiting for him in the lobby like she said...
The creep looked at his watch; he must have been late, because he started walking more quickly. Erin's strides lengthened as she moved to keep pace.
Four blocks on, he took a left into an alley. Erin kept on going straight, looking slyly into the alley as she passed. It was dark, but she was pretty sure she spotted three glowing cigarettes. And despite the way her heels echoed through the street and the general silence of the rain-cleansed night, they never made a comment, never so much as nodded in her direction.
Erin smiled. Most girls would be freaking out right now.
Her hand went into her other pocket, fingers grasping the handle of the stun gun. Most girls wouldn't be so prepared.
She hustled on tip-toe toward the far side of the building, where a roof access ladder hung just above a low garbage dumpster. She didn't think she made *too* much noise getting to the roof...
...and once on the other side, she found to her delight that her delinquents hadn't moved.
One of them dropped the butt of his exhausted cigarette. "You sure he's comin'?" He pulled cheap headphones out of his ears and slung the metal hoop around his neck.
The one she'd been following answered. "He said he was."
"Well, we can't wait anymore," a third one said; he was broad-shouldered but was so fat a hula hoop would have been a tight fit. "They'll be gettin' out soon, and we don't want 'em to get too far uptown."
"Dude, you just don't want to have to run." The fourth one had bright green hair in a lazy mohawk. Apparently whatever they were going to do, they weren't worried about being identified.
"I don't know, man. Maybe we should do it another night," Headphones said.
"Look, I been casin' this bitch for a month," Hula Hoop spat. The way his leather jacket parted to expose his gut, from overhead he looked like a pie chart. "This guy comes every Thursday and drops three hundred on her. Tonight's the night."
"There's always next week," Headphones answered.
Mohawk snarled. "Fuck that, I need the money now. Come on, man."
"I don't like cuttin' him out," Juggs said.
"We're not cuttin' him out," Hula Hoop replied. "He knew what time we were meeting. If he got held up, that's his fuckin' problem."
Headphones looked out toward the street. "Shit, he's probably still bangin' that girl he met today."
"Whatever. It's better with five of us."
Hula Hoop wasn't having it. "To jump two scrawny strippers drunk off their ass at the end of their shift? Fuck, dude, don't be a pussy. Any one of us could do it, even without a knife."
"I'm just sayin'."
"Tell you what," Headphones said. "You guys go on ahead. I'll wait for him another five minutes, then I'll catch up with you."
"You sure, dude?"
"Yeah. Anyway, it's not like your fat ass can outrun me."
"Fuck you, dude."
"You'd suffocate me if you tried."
"Come on," Mohawk said, pulling Hula Hoop's arm. "You know where it's at?" Mohawk called back to Headphones.
"Six blocks up, right?"
"Behind where the Green Dragon used to be."
"Got it."
"Five minutes!" Mohawk yelled from halfway up the block.
Jeez, if these guys yell any louder, they'll pick it up on police band...
Erin pulled back from the edge of the building. She eyed her cell phone.
There's practical heroism, and then there's stupidity -- make the call.
"Nine-one-one emergency."
"Hi," Erin whispered. "I just overheard a bunch of guys planning to attack a couple of strippers in an alley on..." she struggled to remember what street she was on, "Bark Boulevard, behind the... Green Dragon."
"I'm sorry, I can barely hear you. Can you speak up?"
"One of them's still down there, I don't want him to hear me."
"Can you get to a safe place? Where are you calling from?"
"That doesn't matter; I'm fine. It's the two girls that are in trouble."
"I'm sorry, I need you to speak up."
Just then Erin heard a rusty squeak behind her. She turned around to see Headphones clinging to the roof ladder, giving her a harsh look. "What the fuck?"
No point in being stealthy now; Erin stood up. "That's Bark Boulevard, behind the Green Dragon."
"Who the fuck you talkin' to?" Headphones growled; he was over the ledge and making his way toward her now.
The 911 operator buzzed in her ear. "Is someone there with you? Are you in trouble? --I'm sending a car now; stay on the line."
"How long?" Erin asked, her tone unafraid.
"Fifteen minutes," the operator said; she didn't sound convincing. "Stay on the line."
"So much for the cavalry," Erin quipped. She made sure Headphones saw her hit the END button.
It took Headphones a few seconds to process the half-naked petite girl standing unafraid just twenty feet away. But afraid or not, the police were probably on their way to bust up his buddies' score. "Gimme that phone," he snarled.
"I'm over my minutes this month; use your own."
Apparently he didn't have his own phone, because he started toward her, hand outstretched. "Gimme the *fuckin'* phone."
She could use the stun gun, but Headphones looked harmless enough, and she'd need it later going against his friends. Erin took up a ready position, arms out in front of her, knees bent. "Come and get it, dickhead."
Sure enough, the insult made him charge. A quick forearm blocked his clumsy grab, and she juked to her left, shifting one foot slightly to trip him up. He stumbled for three full steps before finally face-planting on the tar-sealed roof, just shy of the concrete ledge.
Erin smiled when she saw his nose was already bloodied -- she hadn't even hit him yet.
"Cute," he spat, wiping the blood to his sleeve, "but now you're fucked." He approached more slowly this time, raising his hands when he got within a few feet. She shifted to her right to put the streetlight behind her; his eyes blazed in the harsh light.
He just stood there for a moment, gradually taking on what approximated a moron's interpretation of a proper boxing stance, or at least as much of one as could be gleaned from watching a "Rocky" movie marathon. His fists clenched, weight moved to the balls of his feet, hips turned to the left -- a southpaw -- right hand came up, as if he was using it for a gun sight; left hand moved back, winding up for a haymaker.
Dumbass. He should have just tried to tackle her again; at least then he'd have a chance to use his considerable weight advantage. Not really -- Erin had become quite good at escaping her pervy trainer's grasp in after-class workouts -- but at least then it would be interesting.
As it was, she could probably use the Crane Technique.
But there was a time for theatrics, and with this dumbass's three friends almost halfway to their destination by now, this wasn't it.
He'd started dancing side to side. Either he'd never hit a girl before, and was psyching himself up for it, or he'd never been in a fight before. Probably the latter. She could see his lips moving as he counted down with each landing on his left foot: three, two, one...
"Rrrrrgh!"
"Hyaaah!" Erin shouted sharply, leaping forward, past his telegraphed-from-London punch, driving her energy ramrod-straight through legs, back, shoulder, arm, fist, solar plexus. She bounced back off her lead foot to a ready position, guard up, but one punch was all it took -- Headphones stiffened and then flopped over to his left side, hovering in a crouch over his left foot for a moment before curling up and hitting the rooftop with a dull thud.
The sucking sound was more like a machine than a man for the first three breaths.
Erin waited until he got on his hands and knees to come around behind him and kick him in the groin.
"My mom fights better than you," she taunted just before disappearing over the ledge.
Starr took hold of Gabrielle's hand; it was a loose grasp, but the physical contact startled the smaller girl nonetheless. Gabrielle resisted the urge to pull away; the way Starr was smiling at her, she could tell nothing but friendship was intended.
"Thanks for walking with me. I normally don't mind going home alone, but on Thursdays..."
"Don't mention it," Gabrielle smiled back.
Starr let go of Gabrielle's hand to point out a building up ahead. "Kat lives there."
"Yeah, I know."
"Oh yeah; I forgot."
It must have rained earlier; the street was wet. But as Gabrielle looked up, she didn't see any clouds, just clear starry sky. Most nights the sky over downtown was a little muddy, the orange of sodium streetlamps reflecting off civilization's haze. But tonight was different.
"Hey," Starr said, pulling Gabrielle's attention back earthward, "where'd you get those shoes?"
Big bright blue sapphires sparkled over simple mesh toe straps as they walked.
Maybe Starr walked this way every night and nothing ever happened, but Gabrielle wasn't taking any chances.
"My mom gave 'em to me," Gabrielle lied. "They're just glass. Obviously." Real sapphires that big would cost a fortune. The particular gemstones on her feet were priceless.
"They're really pretty."
"Thanks."
"Whoop. This way." Starr ducked suddenly right, into an alley.
Gabrielle hesitated. Starr walked down dark alleys at night dressed like a... well, a stripper anyway, with a fat roll of cash in her purse?
"Come on; the other way you gotta go all the way around the theater; it's just one block. I do it all the time."
That didn't make it smart.
But Starr knew the neighborhood a lot better than Gabrielle did. Gabrielle tucked her purse more tightly under her arm -- squeezing tight enough to feel the reassuring curve of her tiara -- and set off after her friend, taking Starr's offered arm.
"We're off to see the Wizard..." Starr sang, breaking into giggles.
Gabrielle thought she heard a whisper. Her heart began to race. And in the semi-darkness of the alley, with her taller friend tugging her along at an uncomfortably brisk pace, her Glistened handicaps seemed to amplify. Soft-focus shimmers obscured details in the shadows; she felt suddenly very *warm*; and the ground seemed to gently sway back and forth with each too-long stride...
"Slow down a little," she breathed.
"I didn't make you wear those heels," Starr chided.
Then something moved ahead of them. Something wide -- even Gabrielle could make it out.
A man. A fat man.
"Where you headed, ladies?" he said, at once charming and threatening.
"Home," Starr said, mustering a convincing bravado as she stepped to her right, not slowing down...
...until the wall on the right started to move, and a man came out of it. This one seemed to have a husky but not obese build wrapped up in a ragged bomber jacket; there was something flat tucked under one arm.
"Where's that?" the second one said.
"None of your beeswax," Starr said with disdain. But she stopped walking, and Gabrielle stopped next to her, wishing the ground would level itself off for just a minute...
"Come on, Gabby, let's go." Starr started to tug Gabrielle back the way they'd come...
...but stopped cold before they'd taken a step.
A slender man in a too-tight T-shirt and too-loose jeans blocked their path; the light from the street beyond backlit his lapsed Mohawk, making it look like an unrepentant weed.
"What's the hurry, girls?"
"Fuck," Starr breathed.
"It's okay," Gabrielle assurred her friend.
Or at least it would be if she could get her tiara on before they got any closer.
"Hand 'em over," Fat Man said from behind. Mohawk began to approach...
Gabrielle's hands trembled as she flipped open her purse. The tiara thankfully came out without catching on anything. Mohawk's attention was on Starr in front of her...
"Look out, she's got something!" Bomber yelled from behind her. As she jammed the tiara in her hair, she realized they would assume she'd reached for a knife or a gun or something. It wouldn't be what they expected.
But Gabrielle didn't feel what she expected. The sapphire rush wasn't a burst of thrilling energy. It was a dizzying, nauseating tightness.
Gabrielle staggered to her right, to get clear of Starr. She gritted her teeth, trying to force her way through the ugly betrayal of her sapphires to something useful. Without her wristbands, she'd have to use a kick; but as she swung her foot around, her usual sapphire-supported balance wasn't there, and what should have been a powerful blow to knock Mohawk back on his butt was instead nothing more than the awkward missed step of a drug-impaired stiletto-heeled stripper.
The pavement felt cold and harsh against her bare skin; but the thugs' laughter felt even colder.
"Hahaha, motherfucker! She fuckin' passed out!"
Starr knelt to Gabrielle's side. "Just be still; it'll be over in a second." Starr tossed her purse a few feet ahead of them. "There," she said, her voice wavering, "take it. Just leave us alone."
Gabrielle saw through her Glistening haze the scraggly boots of Mohawk approach and stop with the purse between them.
And then she heard something flapping in the wind behind them. Only there was no wind...
"Auwgh!"
Thump!
Something was happening behind them. Something painful.
Bomber was screaming.
The magazine slid down the slick pavement, coming to a stop on top of the sewer grate. The man who'd been holding it was splayed out on his back; Erin found herself sitting on his gut.
Her heel was stuck in his shoulder.
She yanked her leg back; the shoe stayed on her foot, leaving the puncture wound with a sloshing sound. The man screamed even louder.
Erin reverse-somersaulted between his twitching legs and came to her feet with a half-cartwheel. The baseball she'd fortuitously found moments earlier on the roof was still clenched in her small right hand. She wound up and let fly at Mohawk, who was already making for her. A half-step later, there was a wicked cracking sound and Mohawk crumpled to the pavement.
"Rrrraaaahhhh!!"
Erin spun around, lowering instantly to a ready crouch; Hula Hoop was running headlong at her. Adrenaline kept her from getting clever; she simply waited until he was a step away and dove to one side; Hula Hoop stumbled and bounced off the alley wall before flopping onto the wet ground.
Gabrielle shook her head, trying to will it clear. Whoever had stumbled on the mugging was probably going to need help -- there was only so much that the element of surprise could buy.
But as she rolled over and looked back down the alley, all she saw was a lone figure standing. Fat Man? No, the top half seemed to be deflating around someone much smaller; and she didn't think Fat Man's legs were that slender...
Someone was still screaming. It was coming from over there... another figure was trying to get to his feet. The guy in the bomber jacket? He fell back to the ground, apparently holding his shoulder...
And over there, an immobile but moaning mound that could only be Fat Man.
Someone had come to their rescue. A girl, dressed in a baggy, flowing top, and high heels, and a daringly-cut bodysuit.
Someone that reminded her of herself.
And then the mystery girl stepped forward into the light, briefly. "Go on, get outta here, run! Call the cops! I'll be fine."
Gabrielle felt Starr tugging at her arm, hauling her to her feet. But she couldn't take her eyes off the girl's face.
She knew that face.
She ought to -- she'd stared at it enough. Pictures, some of them close-ups, stared at with a mixture of disbelief and guilt and resignation. Pictures of Ricky with someone dressed up as Sapphire -- not Angela, but another girl.
Becky Robinson.
And then the girl disappeared into the darkness of the alley.
Starr was running hard enough for the both of them now, propelling Gabrielle around the corner and down the street; somehow, her heels regained enough bearing to keep themselves beneath her as they ran and ran and ran.
Erin watched the two frightened girls take off running -- amazing how fast a woman in heels can move when she has to, she thought with a grin. She crouched next to Juggs, giving him a gentle nudge to provoke another pained groan. "My eye," he whimpered. These guys were done for the night. The girls would be safe. Erin had made a difference.
Sirens approached. Adrenaline surged her to her feet. But she couldn't help taking a parting shot.
"You know, your buddy took longer by himself than the three of you together. I hope you're better in bed than you are in a fight."
Starr squealed with excitement. The dressing room fell silent as she came in; Gabrielle followed.
"Holy shit," Starr gushed, "you should have seen her; she was amazing."
"Who?" Pandora asked.
"Sapphire. She came outta nowhere, and like started whoopin' ass on those clowns. I mean, it was like three to one against, and she made it look like the odds favored her. She was amazing."
"You don't know it was Sapphire," Gabrielle cautioned.
"Of course it was Sapphire! Like, who else could it be?"
"I don't know, I'm just-"
"Exactly. I'm tellin' you it was her."
"What happened?" Cherry hadn't heard yet.
"We got jumped last night."
"I told you not to-"
"Shush. Nothing happened. Well, nothing *bad* happened. She was amazing."
"You said that. So what happened?"
"She like flew down from this rooftop, and was all, 'Leave those girls alone, assholes, or like I'll mess you up like I already messed up your friend.'"
"She didn't say that," Gabrielle protested half-heartedly; she knew there was no stopping Starr once she was on a roll, facts be damned. Still, this wasn't a good thing to get carried away with -- Becky, or whoever it was, didn't have sapphires to protect her, and if the story spread, especially the way Starr was likely to tell it, there could be trouble.
"I'll tell it my way, you tell it your way. Jeez, Gabby, why you always gotta hog the spotlight?"
Well, that was the pot calling the kettle black. "I'm not, I just... you don't need to blow it out of proportion."
Kat glared. "Quiet, Gabrielle, let Starr tell her story."
"Thanks, Kat. --So anyway, after she said that, she like jumps down right on top of one of 'em, and he just starts *screaming*. I think she nailed him with her heels."
"Wait, this girl was prowling around on the roof in *heels*?"
"Maybe she's a working girl."
"Maybe she's fucking nuts."
"Shut up! So then the other two of them tried to jump her at once from opposite sides. She like threw her hand at one of 'em, like she was gonna slap him only he was still like twenty feet away, and Bam! he just went *down*. And then she spun around and ducked or something and the other guy, *huge* fat guy, he just totally misses her and lands flat on his face. I swear the ground like fuckin' *shook* when he hit. And so the first guy's still screaming and holding his shoulder, and you can already see the blood all over his shirt, and the guy with the green mohawk is just kinda staggering on his knees and holding his head, and the girl yells at us to run and call the cops. So I grabbed Gabby's hand and got the fuck outta there. We ran like three blocks until I broke a heel, and then I call 911 only I can't fuckin' breathe... I swear, it took like half an hour for the cops to show up. God, she was amazing!"
"It wasn't like that. I mean, she helped us out, but she was just some girl. She just surprised them."
Starr gave a cross look. "What's the matter, Gabby, you jealous?"
"*Don't* *call* *me* *Gabby*."
Kat jumped in again. "Okay, Gabrielle, tell us. Were there or were there not three guys who jumped you and Starr?"
"Yeah, but-" they were just punks, out of shape and probably high as a kite...
"And how many girls jumped down from the roof and kicked their ass?"
"One, but-" she was lucky to land on one of them, and she beaned another one with a baseball, and the third guy was so fat he probably tripped over his own shoelace...
"And what was she wearing?"
"I didn't really get a good look..." Not that there was much light in the alley.
"Like I said," Starr interjected, "these big puffy sleeves and a thong and high heels, and nothin' else. I thought maybe it was one of us for a sec."
Pandora piped in. "Did she have these big jewels on her wrists?"
"I don't know, maybe," Starr answered.
"No," Gabrielle said over her friend, but the other girls ignored her.
"That's Sapphire all right," Pandora proclaimed. "I oughta know, I was at the Alluring Enduring Party; I saw her fly up and stop this big tower thing from collapsing until she could get everybody out of the way."
"You were not. Everybody knows it was an explosion, and it was *outside* the building."
"That was after. I was there and you weren't, so shut up. Anyway, everybody said it was some kind of trick, but I saw her do it. It was no trick."
"You were probably so wasted-"
"Shut up, I was not. It wasn't even midnight when everything happened."
"She's right," Starr finished. "Sapphire's real. And last night, I saw her."
Gabrielle just sat in the corner and stewed. This wasn't good.
"What's with her?"
"Don't worry about it; she just gets moody sometimes."
"Probably her time of the month."
"Or she's pregnant."
"Shut up, that's not even funny."
This was bad. Gabrielle hoped it was just a fluke, just a one-time thing. But what would Becky -- and she *knew* it was Becky, after what she did with Ricky, those pictures... so what if it was dark, and she was Glistened, she'd never forget that face... Anyway, what would Becky be doing on the roof of an old abandoned building downtown, dressed like that, doing *that*? Some kind of misplaced jealousy, a Sapphire chip on her shoulder?
Whatever, it was too weird for words.
And it was going to attract attention.
Really bad attention, from really bad people.
Because between Detective Miguel Rubio and Konstantin Moroshkin's Russian Mafiya, Gabrielle knew which was more motivated to find Sapphire. She knew which one played for keeps.
And she knew which one wouldn't believe Becky Robinson when she said she wasn't Sapphire.
She just didn't know what she could do about it.
The night had faded into the usual Glistening blur; last night's incident and Starr's embellishment of it were just whispers in her subconscious, at least for now.
But around ten o'clock things came back into sharp focus -- as sharp as Gabrielle's meds would allow, anyway.
Everyone had assumed that Cherry was a no-show for the night. It would have been the second night in a row. Mitch acted like he was furious, but once Melody announced she'd be working a full shift he didn't have much to complain about.
Then Cherry walked into the dressing room, a little unsteady. Pandora was on stage, and the other girls were working the room, so Gabrielle was the only one to greet the tardy dancer.
"Cherry. Where've you been?"
"Sorry I'm late."
Cherry sat down at her usual place, three over from Gabrielle. But even from that distance, the bright makeup lights made Cherry's condition obvious.
She looked like she'd been in a bar fight -- and the bar had won.
"Oh my God, Cherry, what happened to you?"
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing." Gabrielle rushed to Cherry's side.
Kat must have come in right after Cherry; she was standing in the doorway. "Gabrielle's right; you can't go on stage looking like that."
"It'll cover. I've done it before."
"Here," Gabrielle said, grabbing the heaviest cover on the counter. "Let me help."
"Thanks."
The bruise on the side of her jaw took a couple of layers to coat. But it was just a prelude to the real ugliness.
Gabrielle leaned on Cherry's shoulder to get all the way back below her ear -- and Cherry suddenly dropped like a ton of bricks had landed on her. "Ow," she understated.
Gabrielle reached for Cherry's blouse. "Let me see."
Cherry knew in her line of work she could hardly keep it covered. "It's not as bad as it looks," she said before she stiffly began unbuttoning.
Kat, who'd supposedly seen everything, gasped in shock. "Holy fuck," she breathed.
Cherry's whole shoulder was discolored; several blue-black squarish marks were surrounded by blue-green and purple-yellow stains.
"It'll cover," Cherry said lamely.
But Gabrielle gave the lightest experimental touch, and Cherry flinched.
"Maybe with a tarp," Kat drolled. "You can't dance like that, honey. I'm surprised you could even move."
Gabrielle shook her head. "She's right, Cherry. You need to go to the hospital."
"Nothing's broken," Cherry insisted. "It's just bruises. It'll heal up fine. I won't even feel it in a half-hour," she said, hesitantly reaching past Gabrielle for a vial of powder on the counter.
"Until someone touches it," Gabrielle said, proving her point.
"Ow! Fuck, Gabrielle, why'd you do that?"
"I can't look at that," Kat said, sounding queasy. "Whoever it is, I hope you kicked the shit out of him." She disappeared down the hall.
"Help me," Cherry said.
"Cherry..."
"I mean help me cover it. I need the money."
"You won't make much anyway," Gabrielle dismissed, trying to be practical to get through to Cherry. "Let me take you to the hospital." Never mind that Gabrielle didn't have a car; she'd get someone to let her borrow one, or get someone to take them...
"I'm not going to the hospital."
"At least let me take you home."
"I can't go home. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"It takes him a while to drink himself to sleep."
"God, Cherry..." Gabrielle struggled to find words. "You can't go back. I'll take you to my place."
"Look, don't worry about it."
"I am worried about it."
"Well, don't. There's nothing you can do about it anyway."
Pandora had come in from the stage. "Let it go, Gabrielle. She won't leave him."
Which meant the stage was empty. Gabrielle -- "Sindee" -- was up next. But she didn't care.
"Leave who?" she asked.
"Neal."
"Cherry, you can't let somebody do this to you."
"Look, Gabrielle, I know you're just trying to help, but really, I don't need the After School Special lecture, okay? This situation is just a little more complicated than that."
"There's nothing complicated about these bruises. If he did this to you, you could go to the police."
"Have you ever gone to the police, Gabrielle? For anything? Let me tell you something about the police. They don't give a shit."
"Some of them do."
"Yeah, well, they can't be around all the time. Besides, Neal's not bad most of the time. I wouldn't even have these if I hadn't been holding out on him."
"Holding out?"
"Sometimes I keep some of the tips to myself. You know, to save for a rainy day. Neal's not big on saving money, so... well, anyway, I got lazy, and he caught on and... well, they're just bruises."
"*Just* bruises? Cherry..."
"Yeah, *just* bruises. After I went to the cops he hit me so hard he broke my fuckin' arm. I couldn't work for a month -- and we don't exactly have disability insurance, you know? I don't need that kinda shit."
The speaker overhead crackled. "Gabrielle, you're up. Mitch is giving me the evil eye."
Cherry waved Gabrielle toward the stage. "Go on. I'll be here when you get back."
Gabrielle stood up and grabbed a silk babydoll, throwing it over her head.
"Leave him, Cherry." Cherry rolled her eyes. "You can stay with me."
"Thanks, but trust me, you don't want Neal on your ass."
"I don't want him on yours, either."
"Yeah, well, unless he wins the lottery, I don't think he's gonna be movin' out anytime soon."
"Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky."
Gabrielle plopped down in her chair; rivulets of sweat adjusted trajectories and leaped for freedom.
She'd never danced so hard before. So... *angry*. She almost couldn't feel her Glisten fade, or her tremors begin.
Cherry was exactly where she'd been fifteen minutes earlier. The bruising looked worse.
"It's gonna get worse before it gets better," she cautioned. "But the pain's already disssapating." She motioned toward her own half-empty vial on the counter and smiled; Gabrielle retroactively noticed the slur in Cherry's speech and the liquidity of her movement.
But even through Glisten's opiate comfort, Gabrielle could see that Cherry was starting to cry.
Gabrielle moved to the seat next to Cherry, pulling it close to the counter and turning to face her.
"Shh. It's gonna be okay," she soothed, all the while struggling to maintain her own calm. She knew what she wanted to do. It would mean suiting up as Sapphire for the first time since... well, it didn't matter. She couldn't get involved. If Cherry wanted help, she'd ask for it. If only there was a way to tell her...
"I know. I was just getting so close, and now I have to start over again." Tears flowed more freely. "I *hate* him. He's an *asshole*." He was a lot worse than that and they both knew it. "But he said if I leave him, he'll tell my daddy where to find me."
Gabrielle guessed Cherry had run away from home. Maybe she was even younger than she said. But whatever the familial fallout might be, being a disappointment or going back home or having someone ashamed of you was no reason to keep subjecting yourself to abuse...
"Maybe that's not as bad as you've built it up to be. It can't be as bad as this."
"You don't understand, Gabrielle. You don't know why I left home. My daddy makes Neal look like a women's counselor."
Gabrielle's eyes narrowed; her own vision blurred with tears -- angry tears.
"I can help you," she said, a hard edge to her voice.
"No. I don't want you getting involved. I have to work through this on my own."
Kat came in; she was on next. "Hey Cherry, Clifford's here." She checked her makeup and picked a new outfit.
"Oh, that's just great. Now I can't dance at all."
"You couldn't anyway," Kat said, hiking up her thong.
"Who's Clifford?" Gabrielle asked.
Kat answered. "He's her knight in shining armor." Huh? "He's a regular who's sweet on Cherry here. He said if her boyfriend ever hit her again he'd take care of it."
Cherry clarified. "Cliff said he'd kill him. But I can't let Cliff ruin his life for me. He's a nice guy." Cherry sniffled, straightening up a bit. "So I have a plan to take care of it myself. There's this guy, he'll do it for five grand. And I almost had it too. You know how hard it is to save five grand?"
"Shit, I know how hard it is to save five *bucks*," Kat quipped before ducking out on stage.
Cherry touched her bruise gingerly; she grimaced. "I'm starting to think I should just do it myself."
"Cherry, you can't."
"Yeah I can. I just need a softball bat. I used to play, ya know." She smiled at that; but this was serious.
"No, I mean you can't *kill* him. You'll only make things worse for yourself."
"Worse than this? Worse than daddy? Besides, he's pissed off enough people, it's not like I'd be the only suspect."
"But Cherry, *killing* someone... can't you just get this guy to, I don't know, *scare* him off?"
"He doesn't do that."
"Someone else, maybe." Gabrielle's fist clenched in her lap; she had someone in mind...
"I'd still need money. Which I'm not gonna have for a while, now. Anyway, I don't know who -- I'd have to find someone."
I might know someone. Someone who'd do it for free.
Cherry sighed. "But right now I just wanna forget about it for a while." The Glisten was breaking down her frustration; her lids sagged; her whole body sagged. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"
"Yeah, okay. I gotta go anyway." I've got a date with a scumbag...
Technically, the run-down studio apartment was "furnished."
In reality, it meant there was a bed too squeaky to sleep in, a chair too rickety to sit in, and a vase too leaky to put flowers in atop an armoir too musty to put clothes in.
So Angela kept her clean clothes in one big plastic bag and her dirty clothes in another, and used the back-of-the-bathroom-door shower-steam method of "ironing" what she'd wear from day to day.
Which meant her Sapphire outfits took some digging to get to, and looked more than a little wrinkled.
Not that it really mattered that much how neat she looked, but the flyaway top and matching skirt were risque enough when they laid right; with hard creases pressed-in, parts of each folded back on themselves or stuck out sideways, making them half as long in places. She briefly considered using the girly babydoll Kat had dressed her up in, but it had shoulder straps and might fall down... She managed to find two pieces that were mostly-okay, but she still had to decide what extra skin she least minded exposing. Fortunately neither garment really had a front or back, being just two rings of gossamer fabric with elastic gathers sewn in around the top. So the blouse was easy -- put the one big crease in back -- but the skirt... She ended up with arranging it with the flipped-up portion along her left hip.
She looked a little bit like a six-year-old who'd slept in her ballerina costume. Only she wasn't wearing tights...
None of that mattered once she got out her sapphires and put the tiara on her head. The rush she'd missed before in the alley with Starr and those thugs hit her with full force.
She staggered back onto the bed, making the bed squeak like a nest of hungry chicks.
Wow!
With the physical rush came a healthy shot of confidence. She'd forgotten how *right* it felt -- not just the gemstones' energy wrapping around and flowing through her, but the surging conviction that she would use it to do good.
She was a heroine again.
She was Sapphire.
The excitement was too much for her; she had to pace the room for a few minutes, breathing deeply to try to calm down.
But it wasn't just excitement. The moment she stood still, she could feel the tremors.
Dammit!
She wanted to be off Glisten for this. She'd taken only half her usual dose before her last circuit, just two lines. She didn't want it taking the edge off. She wanted the edge, the anger. She even sort of wanted some of the pain of coming down from it, just a little bit as a kind of connection to Cherry, a reminder of what tonight was about.
But the edge was a little too jagged; she couldn't really hold still. If she got any worse... She didn't want Neal thinking she was just some strung-out hook-... well, she wanted Neal to know she was in control from the moment he saw her. And looking at herself in the mirror now, she had to admit the trembling wasn't very intimidating.
What she really needed was Glitter. Sure, Glisten was easier on her, better tuned for life as an exotic dancer, more go-with-the-flow, but now she missed the electric confidence boost she used to get, that kind of sapphires-turned-up feeling.
If she was going to do this again -- which she knew probably wasn't a good idea, at least not any time soon, but eventually, and anyway she should probably be prepared -- she should get some Glitter. Just a little bit, maybe. Something to pick her up and keep her there, if she ever needed it. Not from Kat -- Kat would probably give her shit over it, and there really wasn't any way to explain it -- but one of the other girls probably knew somebody.
She briefly considered trying to track some down now, but it was getting late, and Cherry would go home eventually, and this had to be over before then... No, she'd have to settle for Glisten. Not too much -- just enough to even out.
She'd just sniffed her line and was holding her head back for the drip when Cole showed up.
"Is this a private party?"
He was standing in the bathroom doorway this time. "You should knock or something," she said with a grumble. "Anyway, I was just leaving."
"Where are you going dressed like that?"
"I'd think by now you'd lay off about the kind of outfits the sapphires demand."
"You're taking the sapphires?"
"What do you think I can do without them?"
"Just what do you think you can do with them?"
"You know, you used to push me to go out and make a difference. You got me in so much trouble, but for a while it was almost worth it. Now I'm trying to do something to help somebody, and lately it seems all you want me to do is hide. I know I've got problems, I know things are kinda messed up right now, but... weren't you the one who said I can't hide forever?"
"I meant you can't hide from yourself forever."
"Exactly. Well now I'm trying to face what I am, an' make just a little something of myself, do just a little good, and you're trying to put my head back in the sand."
"I don't see what going out like that is going to accomplish."
"'Like that?' Okay, so maybe I'm not a hundred percent, but I'd appreciate a little support. I've dealt with a lot worse than this, you know."
"You can't go. I won't let you."
"Well, seeing as how you insist on being another person, how about you sit down and shut up--" she stepped to one side and gave him a quick palm-thrust toward the chest; her sapphire force closed the two feet of empty space between them and sent him staggering back against the armoire; a flick of her left toe knocked his feet out from under him and he slid down the armoire to plop his butt ungracefully on the floor... "--and I'll go do what needs to be done."
Sapphire struck a demure pose. She wanted to break the door down just to get things off on the right foot, but it was Cherry's place and she wanted to leave it the way she found it...
...minus one creep, who darkened the peephole for only a second before opening the door.
"You lost?"
Sapphire pushed her way past him without saying a word. Surprise more than sapphire force got him out of her way.
She strutted to the center of the room before turning to face him. He wasn't very tall, but he was thickly built. His arms still showed the effects of physical labor, somewhat oversized and leather-skinned. A hand moved slowly through a thick greasy brown mop of hair, pausing midway for a befuddled scratch.
But once inside, Sapphire'd dropped all pretense of harmlessness and stood erect and defiant, hand on cocked hip. "You're moving out," she decreed.
"Scuse me?" His grip on his beer can tightened; the aluminum popped.
With a flick of her other hand, she slammed the door closed. She felt an uncomfortable twinge in her arm at the exertion but this only fed her angry disgust. "Pack your shit."
It took Neal a moment to register the door slam; his head snapped around, as if he could have seen the wind that must have pulled it closed. It took less time to register that the scarcely-dressed woman standing in his (!) apartment wasn't joking.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm a friend of Cherry's."
"So?"
"She doesn't wanna see you anymore."
"First off, that's between her and me; second, it's none of your fuckin' business."
"That's not even two different things. And I saw what you did to her." Her fists clenched at the remembered image; a sympathetic pain flashed up her arms to collect in her head as a brief angry stab of pressure.
"What? I didn't do nothin'."
"Sure you did. I saw the bruises."
Neal moved laterally, toward the kitchen. He was trying to be nonchalant, but she could tell he was on edge. "What'd she tell you? That I hit her? She's lying. She's always lying. She just fell." He opened the refrigerator for another beer.
"Bullshit!" she snapped. Her fist flashed up and out before she could think, slamming the refrigerator door on Neal's arm; she checked her movement, but it was still hard enough to elicit a surprised grunt from the man. Sapphire had to remind herself not to sink to his level... unless he insisted on it. "That was no fall. You could see where the punches landed."
"Yeah, well, maybe next time she'll listen."
"There won't be a next time. Because when she gets home you're gonna be gone."
"Fuck you. I'm not going anywhere." He leaned back against the fridge, taking a long pull from the new can.
This time Sapphire didn't pull her punch -- an open-palm thrust, unfocused but forceful, a full-body check. Neal's head pinged off the fridge separate from his body; he stumbled forward as the dishes on the counter next to him scattered.
"What the fuck?"
Sapphire's eyes narrowed as she lowered her hand. "Maybe next time you'll listen."
"Oh, it's on now." Neal straightened up, throwing his beer to the floor.
"I don't want to have to hurt you."
"I have no such reservations, sweetie." He stumbled over the big word, but moved toward her with a predatory certainty.
Sapphire raised one hand in front of her, hand open in a broad "stop" gesture, and pushed slightly. But she was the one surprised -- his progress was unabated, and she felt a nauseating wet instant of Nothing. "Don't come any closer." The comment was made out of momentary panic, but she covered it, closing her hand and pointing over his shoulder. "The door's that way."
"Which means you ain't gettin' outta here without comin' through me." He stopped his approach, but squared up, crossing thick arms across broad chest.
He had to be thinking about the hits she'd already put on him, especially the last one. Would it be enough, or would she have to hurt him? Could she?
"I'm not the one leaving," she said sternly -- but couldn't help a slight tremor in her voice.
"Listen, girlie, you think you can come into *my* place and fuck up *my* shit and tell *me* what to do? Damn, you're even worse than Cherry. You're probably filling her head with all that bullshit. Somebody needs to put you in your place."
He was almost upon her now, his claw of a hand reaching for her arm. Sapphire panicked, jumping back instinctively, catching herself in a low hover. It was a purely defensive move, but it shocked her opponent immobile, and the bleed of her panic reaction pushed him back a half-step.
"Back off!" She took a moment to collect herself; her sapphire energy felt strong, but there was an edge to it, a flickering of jagged coldness, a leaning indecision. "I'm not going to warn you again."
And then she noticed she wasn't holding steady, but shifting and leaning and juking, small movements, but obvious. What was happening?
Her legs were shaking. So were her arms. The tremors grew with each passing second.
No. Not now.
Glisten was leaving her.
Why weren't the sapphires smoothing it out? If anything, they seemed to make it worse. Sapphire felt like a slowing top; she had to settle before she fell...
Her feet found the floor, but unsteadily; she stutter-stepped. She tried to relax, but anxiety amplified both twitching muscles and curling sapphire energy. The flashing hints of pain she'd felt before returned as searing stiffness. And the room was beginning to spin...
It was like she was back on that street surrounded by those bikers...
"Neat trick," Neal sneered. "Especially the landing."
Sapphire couldn't keep her feet. Staggering back, feeling behind her for something, anything to hold her up, Neal advancing with her retreat, until she stumbled and fell into a ratty love seat. She felt the world fading around her, Neal's ugly laugh growing tinny and distant...
...until she felt his hand between her legs. The confused gemstones unleashed a sexual short-circuit that snapped the poor girl from flagging consciousness to adrenalized hyper-sensitivity. She felt the sapphires' energy falling back upon her, and yet she couldn't reach them.
Sapphire heard Neal unsheath his belt from his pants, and felt the coarse fabric loop around and through her wrists. She tried to pull free, tried to hit him, but her limbs jerked and spasmed in almost random directions with little strength. Her mind raced, grasping to connect what she asked of her body to what it was doing, when another blinding burst of stiffening sexual signals sucked her senses inward. Neal's fingers rubbed roughly up and down, shoving her skirt out of the way and dragging her panties across her labia and grinding them against her blossoming clit.
"Stop that," she gritted.
"Why? Don't you like it?"
Her chest heaved with sudden reflexive breath. "No."
"Your titties seem to disagree." His other hand rammed up over her breasts, bunching the fabric above hardening nipples. "Let's ask your puss what she thinks." Threads popped as her panties were yanked to one side; two fingers squished inside her, wiggling against her g-spot. Her whole body twitched uncontrollably. "Oooh, it's three against one, sweetie."
Her breath came in staggered gasps as the sapphires poured themselves into the synaptic wasteland Glisten had left behind.
"Girls are always so confused -- talk one way, act another -- you can't be trusted, not even to know what you want. When we listen to you we get so twisted around we can't even see straight. You make us *weak*. We have to resist, only we can't." Her back arched as he pinched and pulled her nipple.
"Just... [gasp] stop."
"But you came to me. You came to me dressed like a whore." His stirring rough manipulations suddenly stopped; he looked down at her with a growing sneer as her trembling spasms ran on. "You came to me strung-out."
His eyes narrowed. "You're here to take my fuckin' stash."
"No..." Without his groping her body began to settle, sapphire-charged sexual jolts fading into an icy brooding ache, the gemstones' energy surging but reticently inaccessible through the immobilizing pain of Glisten withdrawal. Sapphire pushed through the pain -- if she could just squeeze out a little shove... But instead of sensing the strength of force projection, she felt the gems flood her with a sexual need that made her gasp.
He straightened up, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Cherry told you I was dealing. She put you up to this, didn't she?" He paused, calculating. "No, she wouldn't do that. This is *your* idea. And you thought you could just sashay in here and take it, didn't you? You thought you could *fuck* it out of me, didn't you? Only you're too fucked up. You've been doing the shit so much that you can't come off it anymore."
Sapphire had to get up. She had to *try*. Twitching legs planted her feet; she brought her arms down in front of her; she leaned forward, further, body twitching, trying to get her weight over her unsteady legs...
Slap!
The surprise backhand to the cheek twisted her torso back into the side of the loveseat; the brief blue spark of hard contact lingered in her vision.
"Where you going? We're not done yet. You haven't *learned* yet." She heard his belt buckle jingle; she felt him grab hold of one ankle and throw it up on the other side of the loveseat, then kick her other foot out to the front.
No...
...but her body could do little more than squirm. It felt so raw, and stiff, and jittery, and dried-up, and warm, and tingly, and needy, and helpless...
When he entered her, Sapphire's whole body spasmed and froze and melted. A weak whimper escaped her throat.
"I didn't want to have to do this," he breathed in her ear. "You left me no choice."
She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. With each deepening stroke her sapphires lined her with icy-sweet stings of pleasure.
Neal kept talking as he pumped away, as if he was explaining himself...
"I love you, Cherry."
He put his free hand on her chest, capturing a nipple between his fingers, flexing, pinching.
"I love her so much it hurts."
His hand crept up to her face, cupping over her eyes.
"Can't you see that?"
His head down, shifting, driving deeper; she felt a jolt from her clit to her toes.
"I love her, I don't want to hurt her, but I can't help it."
And Sapphire felt a quickening compulsion; her hips began to buck back.
"Why are you making me do this?"
She was close... so close... He was pistoning so fast now; he had to be close too...
"Stop. Make it stop. I don't wanna hurt her."
"Oh God it hurtss... fuck... fuck... fuck- fuck- fuck- fffFF!"
He was gasping, hammering away out of control, eyes bulging fear...
And then Sapphire felt his cock pulse, and his whole body stiffened...
...and her consciousness was overrun by crashing, sparking, spitting sapphire-spiked erotic energy.
Vadim came in, breathless but beaming.
Moroshkin sipped his cappucino. "You are late."
"I'm sorry," Vadim gasped.
"And you aren't dressed." Moroshkin didn't require a uniform per se but he did expect his driver to be smartly-dressed.
"I haven't gone home yet."
Meaning he'd been out all night; Moroshkin raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.
But Vadim knew he wasn't in trouble. On the contrary. "I did it."
"Did wh-" Moroshkin cut himself off when he saw what Vadim was holding. "You did it." As Vadim rushed closer, Moroshkin became curious. "There are two of them."
Vadim held his hand flat, spreading the two coins apart. Each more than three inches across, they were thick and very ornate, with high-relief patterns set around a small hole in the middle.
"Yeah. They're very similar, but the symbol around the middle is different, and the pattern around the outside goes clockwise on one and counter-clockwise on the other. I don't know if he always kept one with him and the other was always in the safe or if he traded off or what."
Moroshkin took them from Vadim, turning over one and then the other in his meaty palm. "I thought you said you would not be able to get it. Them."
"I didn't say that," Vadim said, taking a little offense. "I said it'd be *nearly* impossible to get. I was still working out the details when he stopped carrying it with him. Something happened to spook him, but nobody's saying what. I assumed he'd put it in his safe. At which point it became much less impossible."
"You have been thinking about breaking into Bates' safe for a long time."
"Ever since my father tried." It wasn't quite payback, but it was something.
"Here." Moroshkin held out his hand. "Take one of them."
"No, they are yours. I'm happy enough that you asked me to get them for you."
"I insist. If they are the symbol of his power and position in his organization, I think it fitting to split them up."
"...and have one of them held by a lowly chauffeur," Vadim added.
"An army is defined as much by the courage of each man as it is by the will of its general." Moroshkin smiled. "But if Bates should hear of it and feel all the more cuckolded, we should not deny him the humiliation."
Vadim nodded, his grin spreading. He reached for the one with the clockwise design. For some reason, it felt like the right one to have.
Erin, face contorted with her body's betrayal, elbows on the edge of the bed, back arched, flaring hips joined to her aggressor, thrusting obscenely.
Click.
His knees between hers, one hand gripping her hair, the other gripping her stockinged thigh, grinning with lust unbridled, conquest won.
Click.
Door burst open behind them. Men in trenchcoats, guns drawn.
Click.
Badge held high, glinting, an urban knight's shield.
Click.
The girl shoved aside, the criminal furious, threatening.
Click.
Arm twisting cruelly behind the back. Handcuffs snicking around the wrist.
Click.
The criminal, sullen, glowering, a towel wrapped around his waist, off-balance, shoved toward the door.
Click.
The other detective at Erin's side, removing his trenchcoat.
Click.
Erin, taking his hand, rising off the bed, head dipped in shame, breasts heaving, one stockinged-leg still on the bed.
Click.
Trenchcoat held open like a curtain between them, lowering to her shoulders...
Click.
...slipped off her shoulders, puddling on the floor. Her skin glistening. Erin looking up at him over her shoulder, pleading. Hungry.
Click.
Her right hand on his pants, her left hand between her legs, her head tilted back; his lips on her neck, his right hand around her waist, left hand cupping her breast.
Click.
His belt unbuckled, his fly open, his cock in her hand...
Moroshkin knew where the light switch was now; he flipped it on without warning.
Jacob scrambled forward, mouse clicks stabbing madly and missing the Close button, his other hand tugging desperately at fabric that would not stretch far enough to cover a shrinking-but-still-turgid penis.
"Dammit, uncle, I told you to knock first!"
"Dammit, Jacob, why must you always do that?"
Vadim chuckled. "He's just doing a little quality control on the product."
Moroshkin just stood there and glared at Jacob as he sheepishly stuffed himself back into his pants. "You knew I was coming," he said, totally without irony. "Sometimes I think you want me to see this."
"You were supposed to be here an hour ago," Jacob whined. "I thought you weren't coming. I was gonna call you."
"Just as soon as you finished 'checking the product quality.'"
"Yeah, well, look at her. She's fucking *hot*." Jacob clicked the mouse to pull up an index page, then clicked again to bring up another image in the series, sighing wistfully.
"I assume *that* is not what you wanted me to see."
Jacob straightened up. "No. We got an... interesting offer. From Doug."
"Yes, we know," Moroshkin said, frustrated. "He likes this girl."
"No. Another offer. A cover-your-losses offer." Jacob smiled as he thought of the most fitting description. "A two-birds-with-one-stone offer."
Moroshkin pulled up a chair next to Jacob, his eyes on the screen. "Show me."