Karma (30 page)

Trent
Berger was confused and disoriented. Partially he was confused because the
world had tilted off its usual axis. Partially he was disoriented because he
was intoxicated.

But
mainly he was off balance because he was going to spend the weekend in a police
cell.

He
had lost his wife, and his home. The outcome for his business was up in the air,
but he would lose that, too. His father-in-law, that scary bastard, was going
to be furious. And now he was sitting here in jail for some trumped up,
nonexistent crime.

Why
did this happen to him?

Everyone
was jealous, always trying to take him down to their level.

Trent
had his car keys, watch, phone, coins and wallet taken from him and put into a
clear zip-locked bag. In exchange he was given a signed receipt. Once he was
released from jail his possessions would be returned.

The
big cop Loughlan watched him through narrowed eyes while drinking black coffee.
Trent wasn't offered any. A uniformed woman put down the donut she had been
eating. She picked up a plastic number holder, and made Trent hold the numbers
while she prepared to take his picture.

Trent
was revolted by the police station. The induction area had a weird tang to it,
the smell of sweat, and fear. The linoleum floors, the cheap furniture and
complete lack of décor sickened him. And now this fat ugly cow wanted to take
his picture. The woman was so brown and wrinkled from the Nevada sun that she
looked to be about a hundred and ten years old.

"Face
front," she droned.
Click.

"Face
side. No, not like that," she said positioning him how she wanted. Trent
was disgusted.

"Don't
touch me," he snarled.

She
didn’t reply.
Click.

"You
watch your mouth in front of a lady, Mr. Berger," the cop warned.

The
lady in question laughed loudly and began to fingerprint him like a common
criminal. The effects of alcohol were beginning to wear off. Or else the
circumstances he was in had a sobering effect.

Trent
began to think in repeating waves, just like a crazy person. His head was
beginning to spin. How could he get out of this? Charming possible adversaries
was a standby action, but it was too late to use ingratiating charm. He had
already pissed that big cop off. Threats had proved useless.

Why
couldn't these idiots see how important he was?

He
was given one phone call but that had presented a problem. Who should he call?

His
wife was gone. His mother was in Florida and he hadn’t talked to her in months.
He didn't know his secretary's home phone number. The women he had sex with
wouldn't have been helpful. In fact they probably would have laughed at him. He
didn't know any lawyers.

Trent
had many sycophants and acquaintances. Too bad that he didn’t have any friends.

In
the end he had gotten the name of a law firm out of the yellow pages and called
them. No one was there so he had left a message.

"So
how do I get out of here?" Trent asked in a small perplexed voice. All his
belligerence was gone, dead and buried right next to his arrogance. When you
took away all the bluff and self-important bluster, there was only a frightened
little boy left. What was going to happen now?

"You
wait until Monday when the Judge comes to work," the cop said. "If
you're lucky he'll grant you bail."

As
he was marched down toward the cell block, Trent felt something he hadn’t
allowed himself to feel for years: dread.

"Why
don't I have any friends?" and "Why am I so isolated and alone?"
These questions penetrated his brain. For once the familiar mantra that people
were jealous of his superior IQ and good-looks didn’t seem to cut it. Not when
he was going to be locked up in jail.

The
Las Vegas prison cell was six by ten feet in size with concrete walls. It had a
toilet, washbasin, a bunk bed for two people, and an extra mattress thrown on
the floor. Legally they could have up to four people in the cell. Trent was
lucky. He was only the third man.

The
cop that was mad at him locked him in. "You kids play nice, now, ya
hear?" he said with a chuckle, and left.

Two
big men, both under twenty-five slid off the bunks. They were covered in gang
tattoos, dressed in oversized pants that were worn low, sagging and dragging on
the ground.

One
guy was huge. He had a shaved head and looked like someone had stuffed his body
with food. He was fat – but he wasn't. A lot of that size equated to muscle. The
other man was wiry, he was all muscle too.

"Well,
look what we got here?" the big man said.

"Yo,
white boy," said the other man, which was odd, because everyone in that
cell was Caucasian.

"Woo
hee, just look at these clothes, will ya? I think we got us a real special boy
right here."

Like
a deer being backed into a corner by two vicious wolves, Trent was trapped. Yelling
or telling these two just how important he was, wasn't going to work. Was now
the time to use charm?

"Hey,
fellas'," Trent said, showing a nervous smile. His brilliantly white teeth
didn’t seem to make any impression. When one boy took the yellow sweater from
his shoulders, Trent said, "Oh, sure, you can have that."

The
big man grabbed him by the neck and held him against the wall. His immense smile
had not an ounce of goodwill or humor in it. He smiled much like a shark might
just before tearing into the flesh of a seal.

"I
have money! I can pay you guys! What do you want? I can get you anything you
want!" Trent said in a high squeaky voice. He was barely able to speak.

"We
want you to tell us, you ever had a woman go down on your dick? You know,
sucked you off until you shot your load?"

"Of
course." They laughed and Trent's tension eased. Maybe these guys just
wanted to hear lewd stories? Well he could tell lots of those.

"Good.
Good. Now we're getting somewhere. What about butt fucking? Have you ever butt
fucked a nice piece of ass?"

Trent
couldn’t understand what they wanted, but he simply answered. "Sure. I've
butt fucked my share of women."

The
two young men laughed again. "That's good. It's always good to have a man
with experience, don't you think, Jax my man?"

"Oh
yeah," the smaller man said.

"On
your knees, bitch," the big man said to Trent.

When
Trent started to scream for help, he was hit and kicked so hard in the gut and
kidneys, that he couldn’t make a sound. The pain was intense and exhausting. As
effectively as air sucked into the vacuum of space, it sucked the will right
out of him.

In
the end Trent did whatever they told him to do.

He
waited two long days for his private hell to come to an end.

Marcy
was stressed out of her brain, and didn't know that it showed.

They
dropped Katie at Mike's sister's house for the day. Janice's daughter Madison
was having her nine year old birthday party. Ziggy - literally a party animal -
was overjoyed to be invited, too. Good fun would be had by all, Marcy was sure.
Katie was as happy and comfortable at Janice's home as she was here.

After
that Mike and Marcy had gone grocery shopping and had picked up a few stocking
stuffers for Christmas.

Their
wedding date was set for Saturday, January 15
^th
.

It
was too soon – they would never get everything done on time. True, the wedding consultant
was doing the work, but Marcy had to make all the choices. There were so many
possibilities! She still couldn't make up her mind over the wedding dress.

Marcy's
childhood friend, Sue, could come – that was the main thing. She was going to
be the Maid of Honor. She would fly into Vegas three days before to help with
any last minute issues and to be at the rehearsal. Meanwhile, Mike's sister,
Janice was a great help.

Katie,
as predicted, was overjoyed by the planned nuptials. She had already asked her mother
about changing her last name. She wanted to be Katie Thompson. Mike said he
would instruct his lawyer to contact Trent's lawyer to look into that
possibility.

Marcy
figured if Mike offered Trent money, and played it right, Katie's father would
happily sell the rights to his only child.

The
only problem would be if Trent figured he would have more of an advantage by having
a child named Katie Berger. Marcy couldn’t see it – but who knew what went on
in Trent's selfish, calculating mind?

It
turned out that Mike was well known and respected in Vegas. Between him and
André Chevalier they were inviting a number of celebrity guests to the wedding.
Talk about a society page event! Marcy was worried about how she and Mike
danced together, so she had arranged lessons.

Mike,
laid back as usual, wasn't bothered by any of it.

Stressed,
irritable and annoyed, and not even conscious of it, Marcy brought in a few bags
of shopping from the car in the garage. Mike, after a few trips, brought the
rest. All Marcy knew was that her boobs felt like overfilled balloons and Mike
was under her feet and bugging her.

"Just
stay out of my way!" she snapped when he came near. She had put the ice
cream in the freezer and the other cold items in the fridge. "I have
things to do and the last thing I need is a man around, tangling me up."

He
laughed, and in her current state it really upset her. Was he laughing at her?

"Marcy,
my love, right now you'd start a fight in an empty house," he said. Mike
wasn't stupid enough to argue with an irritable woman, it seemed. Well, that
was a point for him. She saw Mike checking something on his phone. His lips tugged
up in a thoughtful smile.

"What?"
she snapped.

"Nothing."

Marcy
glared at him.

"Okay,
yes," he said. "You forget. I've lived with a woman before. I keep a
calendar on my phone with due dates noted. That way I know when you get PMS,
and I take it into account. So, sue me."

"You
keep track of when my period is?" she said with incredulous disbelief.

"Every
man with the smallest of IQ's does, honey," he said calmly. "It's
only self-defense."

"I'm
not any different just because my period is due in a few days."

"Yes
you are," he said, "and its due in six days."

Marcy
snarled, wildly infuriated. Her fists clenched. She drew in a deep breath, almost
panting in her sudden rage. The growing irritability she had been feeling all
day long now had a valid target. Insufferable man! Mike came toward her and
wrapped his arms around her, her back to his front.

She
struggled, kicked and fought. "Let me go!"

Mike
just held on tighter. "No."

This
caused her to thrash further. He picked her up and took her over to the family
room couch, never once relaxing his hold. He was so much stronger. She was,
quite literally trapped in his arms and unable to move. They stayed there at an
impasse for a few minutes.

"If
I let you go will you promise to be good and let me explain?" he asked.

Marcy
bit her lips, completely furious. She struggled once more, finding that he held
her too snuggly to put up a fight. Reluctantly and with bad grace, she agreed.

Mike
threw a pillow at the end of the couch. "You are going to lay down right
here, okay?"

Marcy
scowled and frowned, but said she would lie down. Physically carrying her, he
lay her down, head on the pillow. "Stay," he said with one admonitory
finger in the air. He went to the kitchen cupboards, rummaged around and came
out with a bar of chocolate. He then sat down at the end of the couch, and put
her feet on his legs.

"Eat
some of this," he said, handing her a Nestlé dark chocolate bar. Now that
seemed like a great idea, Marcy thought. She peeled away the wrapping, broke
off a piece and started eating.

Mike
calmly took the sandal off her left foot, and pressed both thumbs into the
arch. He began kneading and massaging.

"What
are you doing?" she hissed from between clenched teeth.

He
gave her a look, but clearly trying to remain on her good side he said evenly,
"I'm giving you a foot massage."

Marcy
huffed, but didn’t take her foot away.

"Are
you ready to listen to me?"

With
a frown and a glare, she nodded.

"I
don't know how women do it," he began. "I have observed that during
the last week of a menstrual cycle, a woman - through no fault of her own - is
at a disadvantage. Uncomfortable feelings sneak up on her, causing physical aches,
like sore breasts, headaches, gut and period pain. Pre-menstruation causes
emotional disturbance and irritability. Feelings that a woman doesn't usually
suffer during other weeks of the month."

Marcy
sighed. That foot rub was really getting to her.

Tension
that she hadn't even been aware of drifted away. All that stress had just snuck
up on her. She shifted, lying back further on the couch. He pressed into the
ball of her foot, stimulating the tight nerves. It made her whole body tingle. Man,
it felt so good that she began to relax.

Mike
took off her other sandal, and began to rub her other foot. "As a man, my
hormones are completely stable all year long. Lucky me. A woman's hormones
alter throughout the month. How the hell do women do it?"

Mike
brought her ankle up to his mouth, and showered it and the rest of her foot
with kisses. She screeched in protest, mainly because it tickled. Laughing, he
did it to the other one too. Then he went back to work. He rubbed down her
calves, pressing his thumb deep, soothing her ankles and the top of her foot.

Marcy's
eyes drifted shut as her body melted. Mike's sensual touch was divine, and his carefree
laugh was so genuine, that it made her chest ache.

"I
figured out that part of my job as a husband is to be there and help the woman I
love through this inevitable shit as much as possible," he said. "I
honestly think that women get a raw deal. They have to bleed every twenty-eight
days. If that isn’t a crazy idea, I don’t know what is."

Marcy
giggled at the comment and the incredulous expression of disbelief and revulsion
on Mike's face. He wasn't squeamish about blood. As an engineering type, he was
just showing his distaste for what he considered to be a flaw in the design.

"To
add insult to injury, women have to go through childbirth." There was an
expression on his face she couldn’t quite read. Once it may have been disappointment.
Now, because they planned on having children as soon as possible, it seemed
more like longing.

"I
don’t mind having children," she breathed. His eyes darkened, and his
fingers tightened on her feet as he shot an affectionate smile her way.

Marcy's
heart tugged as she studied his well-loved face. Whatever emotions she normally
had – during the last few days of her cycle the intensity of them tripled. Just
now she was feeling loving, and pretty frisky. How lucky was she to have found
a man like him?

Her
bad mood vanished completely.

She
took her foot from his hand, and stroked it over Mike's jeans, along the zip
where his jeans were already showing an impressive bulge.

"Marcy,"
he said in a low voice. "Are you teasing me?"

She
laughed and sat up. Her hand went to his face, her fingers trailed fondly over
him. Was there any man more perfect for her than Mike?

"I
think you're going to get yourself in trouble, sweetheart."

"Kinky
trouble?" she asked.

"Humm.
Kink sounds good," he tilted his head with a considering look. "Want
to play Master/Slave? It's a sex game. I think you're gonna love it."

Marcy
cocked an interested brow at him. Since her very first orgasm with Mike, she
was greedy for more. She wanted him inside her, in a million different ways.
She loved everything he did, and had lost count of the number of climaxes she
had experienced.

Marcy
had once considered that this crazy sexual hunger may lessen, but it hadn’t so
far. In fact, it had only gotten worse. She thought of Mike all the time. Vivid
sexual memories and sensations came to her at awkward moments, making her wet
with desire.

Did
she want to play a sexy kink game?

Marcy
smiled. "Sure," she replied. "I'll play. Why not?"