Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (2 page)

Tollin left his bedroom, leaving the door open.  The penthouse was a glow of low lighting. 

“Shutters--lower, thirty percent.”

The smart house obeyed the handsfree command, lowering the shutters.  When he moved into the penthouse, a team of tech’s had completely rewired the place, making this convenience worth every penny and he’d never regretted the expense.  The walls in the great room, were floor to ceiling glass.  He crossed the oakwood floor, until he was standing on a Persian Rug.  He stood in front of the partially unshielded window.  A full moon lit the sky, giving the city an etherial glow.  The view was impressive from this height.  He could see the park, Samaritan Conclave Square and the harbor.  He could even see the man made barge, the Samaritans called their floating colony.

"Fucking eyesore  " he swore. "Philanthropist.  Religious fanatics" 

Tollin spat the words as if each syllable held a foul taste.  He had an intense dislike for a group of people that called themselves Samaritans.  He didn’t know any Samaritan’s personally, he just didn't understand their Creed; a set of beliefs that form their religious doctrine.  In some respects, Samaritan’s are somewhat like the Amish, but many of their practices are extremely dissimilar.  Even though the Samaritan’s separated themselves, by living in communes, their doctrine required that they seek out and help those most in need.  Tollin always wondered, where was the profit in handouts.  He believed that people should be required to help themselves.  Give a man a pole--teach the man to fish--so on, and so forth.  However, making money--now, that’s something he did understand.  He stared at the barge, while considering the three story buildings.  Samaritan’s lived in closed communities, forbidding anyone outside of their Sect to set foot in their communes.  He wondered what did they have to hide--not that he would ever accept an invitation, if one was offered.  He just had a healthy curiosity, and from his penthouse he’d noticed that the buildings were all unimpressive well maintained structures.  Simply made--just like their owners.  Tollin tapped his chin, while considering another thought.  By rights the Samaritan colony should be on land like all the other colonies inhabited by members of their Sect, but in this part of the country land was in short supply and this explained the floating commune.  If he had his way, he would band them from his city altogether.  Tollin’s musing was cut short when he noticed a flash of movement to his right.  His eyes were drawn to the building on the opposite side of the street.  While people partied on the streets below, on the rooftop across the street, two men paced its length, holstering semiautomatic weapons.  Recently, the country had seen a spike in unexplained murders.  The end result had been a chorus  of knee jerk reactions.  People began beefing up their homes, or arming themselves with handguns that could easily be hidden.  For those who could afford it, they encircled themselves with bodyguards with military experience.  On a night like this, the city was teaming with armed protection for hire.  He may not have hired armed guards--to him, this type of protection was too extreme; but he had employed one of the countries most renown security experts to install a state of the art Panic Room.

“Close shutters.”  He said, bored by the view. 

Tollin's life was what it was.  Ambivalent at best.  As an industrialist of cutting edge technology, he lived to make money--at all cost.  He never aimed to hurt others--but in his line of work; venturing into
the unknown, and testing untested limits--this is where he’d been his most successful; and it made sense that politics would become his next aim.  Tollin had approached his political ambitions similarly to the way he’d earned his millions.  Head on--no distractions--ignoring all the naysayers.  That’s what Eliza had said on the eve of their last night together.  She had reminded him about her objections and the cost of his over zealous nature; then without uttering another word, she’d left him, when he’d needed her the most.  Without Eliza, Tollin had become a broken man.  During this past year, the chaos of his life had reached a deadly peak.  There had been an accident and the memory tormented him practically every waking hour.
  So much had gone wrong and when the dust had settled, and the shit ultimately hit the fan; as it often does in cases like this--Tollin had been jerked by a dull familiarity.  A jolt swept throughout him, like a bolt of lightning; leaving him confused and uncertain of the outcome.
At the time, he’d clearly heard Eliza’s words; “leave it alone Tollin, or else you’ll regret it and they’ll be no turning back”.  She’d begged him, saying that there would be consequences.  He couldn’t imagine his life being any worse than it had been and still, he didn’t fully understand what she’d meant.  Maybe she’d been talking about heaven and hell; because as he saw it, those had been his only choices.  Over the past six months his life had been hell on earth and he’d doubted if he’d ever experience a sense of peace, making him feel like he’d reached a heavenly plain.  Tollin never believed in much.  Not a god or the divine devotions that struck so many other people, causing them to fall on their knees, seeking enlightenment, and a higher sense of consciousness.  He didn’t see the wisdom in placing one’s hope outside of himself.  This explained his current predicament and his nightmares.  Self preservation explained the Panic Room--but the itch in his pants explained Holly.  At the last minute, he’d decided that he didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve alone.  He’d needed the company to ease unsettled nerves.  He’d needed a woman to help him forget Eliza.  What a fucking joke.  No woman could ever replace Eliza.

Tollin advanced into the outer room but he froze seconds after hearing a sound.  He needed a reason to escape from his dreams and when he saw her; for a moment he forgot about his worries.

“Tollin.”  Holly stood there in all her beautiful nakedness; backlit by the low lights running along the base of the wall.

“If you won’t come to me--”  she crossed the room, swaying her hips sultrily to tempt him.

“...then I’ll come to you.”  She finished her sentence.

Holly stopped by the bar, filled two flutes with champagne, then she came to join him in the middle of the room.

“Toast.”  she said.

“Holly--the holiday isn’t for another two hours.”

“I know but...”  she lifted up on tiptoes. “You haven’t asked me to stay for your New Year’s Day party.  And if I’m not being invited to your party--I’d like to be the first to wish you a happy New Year.”

Holly handed Tollin the glass.  He watched her sip the bubbly, while her eyes remained trained on him.  She’d been fishing when she’d mentioned his party.  And, yes, she was correct when she said that he’d not invited her.  Tollin never invited the help.  He suspected tomorrow he would be busy as most wealthy people like him would be.  New Year’s Day parties had become the in thing to do, and these events were as fashionable as couturier designer outfits are essential to the rich.  And by default, he refused to host the hordes who sought to regain level prestige. 
A rye grin twitched his lips because he
wondered if she’d ever crossed paths with any of the Samaritans.  In his mind, girls like her were down on their luck and could use some help.  He imagined the dreary faces belonging to the religious Samaritan’s--this group of people did not celebrate New Year’s Day by observing fixed practices and traditions.  Every year, at first daylight, the moral consciences of society would orderly file onto their ferry, arriving in the city like a bloody horde of do-gooders, determined to fix the ills of the world.

Long red colored nails snapped inches from his nose.  Tollin twitched.  His head jerked unsteadily, angling him off balanced.

He glared at her angrily saying...

“Fuck...don’t do that.” he spat.

He was a pint short three sheets to the wind, and he didn’t need her to remind him that he’d drank to much.   If it weren’t against her Madame’s rules, he had a good mind to toss Holly out onto the street.  But he couldn’t.  From the second he’d called her, he’d known exactly what he’d been in for.  Holly was his to deal with until daylight and not one second earlier.  If she left his home before sunrise, on a day like this; she could easily be killed by a rowdy partier, or some other foolish drunk shooting the New Year in.  He’d heard tell of things like that happening--people finding themselves out on the street, then unintentionally getting caught up in jubilant crossfire.  Then he considered that perhaps he was being overly paranoid.

Tollin forced the glass back, causing her to reflexively grasp hold.  Fluid splashed, wetting her hand and toes.

“What’s wrong with you?  I just thought...”

He abruptly cut her off.

“With all due respect honey--I didn’t pay you to think.”

“Well...”  she replied, “If you didn’t want the champagne, a simple no would have sufficed.  I know how to take a hint”

A push of changing pressure jostled his inner ear, resulting in an involuntary jerk.  He turned his head, as if he were expecting someone to join them.  Holly placed her finger on his chin, directing his attention back on her.  She whispered saying...

“Honey...it’s nothing.  This place is tighter than Fort Knox.”

He stared at her, refusing to shield his annoyance.  He’d grown tired her mock terms of endearment.  Honey this...love that.  He recoiled at her touch, so he slapped her hand away.  His reaction had been as autonomic as his breathing, and he supposed that her experience had been the same.  Rejection; that’s what she looked like and at an moment the tears would follow; there was no doubt in his mind.  Dear lord, he thought to himself.  What else would this woman demand of him.  Tollin raised a brow, then he eased one hand along the small of her back.  With a gentle tug, he pulled her close, until their bodies pressed firmly one on the other.  It didn’t take much to entice her.  Tollin lowered his head, beguiling her with his light brown eyes.    She returned the favor, arching her shoulders until her breast practically acknowledged him with a pointed salute.  Holly lifted up on the ball of her feet, then she teased his lips to part with one stroke of her wet tongue.  Tollin opened his mouth, then hungrily, he caressed the inner softness of her cheeks.  He kissed her passionately, coaxing an array of moans and whimpers from her.  He got a sadistic thrill, listening to the turnabout of play.  He could have kept this up longer--strung her along, until  they ended up back in bed; but that wasn’t what he wanted.  Actually--the lower half of his body didn’t stir one iota.  With his mind made up, he stopped kissing her; just as abruptly as their foreplay had begun.  When Tollin broke free, his sudden change startled Holly.  Her forehead creased in question, then she stared at him curiously, taking in every facet of his handsomeness.  When she’d agreed to spend the evening with Tollin, she would have done so, free of cost.  She didn’t want his money--she’d come because it was the man that had interested her.  She’d wanted to meet the infamous Tollin Pettier.  In spite of her fascination; if space was what he wanted--she would give it to him; after all, she was the guest and this was his home.  Without fanfare, she did an about-face, giving Tollin a full view of her backside.  She walked with a natural erotic sway and she knew that he would enjoy the view.  And she’d been right.  If sex had been something that he wanted, watching her might have aroused him.  As it was, he was doing his best to remain civil and he couldn’t wholly blame her for his foul mood.  Tollin stared at her until she was out of sight.  She’d gone in the direction of the kitchen.  Maybe to pour herself some of that cucumber water she’d mentioned earlier.  Good, he’d thought because he’d decided that he wanted to pass the remaining hours alone.  He’d had his full of sex--and Holly for that matter.

“Shutters down, fifty percent.” He spoke to the smart-house computer.

Tollin crossed the floor, taking up his old position.  He started by looking at the park.  His eyes scanned the area but immediately something appeared out of place.  He squinted, but straining his eyes didn’t change the view and he didn’t see any evident movement.  Everything looked all right but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  He couldn’t explain this nondescript sensation, but it was there all the same. Tollin started again, convinced that he could solve this conundrum.  He knew this view and all its details.  He pressed his hands against the glass, leaning into the window,  then without warning, a noise in his penthouse captured his attention.

Tollin turned abruptly, not fully understanding his skittishness.  His eyes scanned left, then right, then straight ahead.  His penthouse took up two levels and there were three entrances; all of which had been locked after Holly arrived. 
His forehead wrinkled--he was certain he’d heard the sound of a closing door. 

“Shutters close.”

Tollin moved away from the window, looking in the area where Holly had gone.  He wanted to believe that she’d made the noise; telling himself this would assuage his fear but he couldn’t kid himself.  The entry doors to his penthouse were all constructed of heavy impenetrable metal and when these doors were opened or closed they each made a distinct sound--and he was certain he’d heard that sound.  But had he?

Tollin slowed his pace and he was amazed how sobering fear could be.  He was thinking clearly and methodically.   He approached the long hallway that led to the rear of his home.  He edged to the turn, inching along while intently listening.  He took a step or two back, until he finally decided to step into the open area.  His eyes traced up then down both halls.  He didn’t see or hear anything and he wanted to persuade himself that he’d been wrong, but at that very instant, Tollin heard another sound.  He froze, listening, then he thought about his most recent investment.  The Panic Ro
om.  Tollin’s thought was interrupted when he heard a clack, however due to the high ceilings, he couldn’t rightly discern exactly where the sound had originated.  In spite of this he was certain that the noise was metal hitting metal and this caused him to worry.  Now he heard a repeating noise--and the pattern sounded like footsteps.  Tollin stood still, willing his body not to move.  He had to be sure that the noise wasn't coming from Holly in the kitchen.  On the inside, his eardrums boomed from the sound of his pounding heartbeat.  The room was silent, except for the padding of feet--and this time, he was certain that the noise had come from the rear entryway.  The sound moved across the marble floor.  The rear entry was the only foyer where the walls and floor were constructed with imported marble. Without thinking Tollin knew exactly what to do.  He
moved swiftly crossing the open hallway, and that's when he saw him.  A tall man dressed in head to toe black.  He was carrying heavy weapons strapped across his chest.  When their eyes momentarily met, the man aimed a weapon at Tollin.  Heavy pounding bounded down the hall, in pursuit of him.  On the other side of him Tollin heard a scream then a glass hit the floor shattering into hundreds of pieces.  He didn't waste time looking because he already knew who the screamer was.  Poor Holly.