Tempest (19 page)

“Good evening, Goddess, it is our pleasure to pamper You tonight.”

The surprised look on her face was a strong indication that the slaves did as they were

told, explaining to her that we were in distress and were in need of her presence immediately. Her expression turned to relief when she realized there was no distress and everything was as it should have been. I knew it was a risk in having them tell her a lie, but it was the only way to shock her out of her doldrums.

“What is this all about, shamise? sajira, I assume you and amani were in on this also?” Neferterri asked as she looked in their direction.

“No, Goddess, they were not involved in getting You here; that was my doing.” I took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. “But they will be helping me with getting You back to Yourself, and the best way to do that is to pamper and please You.”

“I won't be able to get back to Myself until I know for a fact that your Daddy is okay,” she insisted, offering slight resistance to me guiding her as her rebuttal.

“Daddy is okay, my Goddess,” I reassured. “In fact, amani said He is in the midst of resolving part of the problem as we speak.”

“Yes, my Goddess, shamise is correct,” amani offered as he drew the bath water. “Things will come back into balance quickly.”

“I still don't believe you three, but I do need to take My mind off things.” She relented, allowing me to take her into the bathroom. sajira came in soon after with the fragrances, the soaps, and the bag that housed her wipes and other essentials for changing out her tampons. “I've needed this, badly, but with everything that has been happening—”

I kissed her across her lips to quiet her before she got on a rant. “we are here to serve You and pamper You, Goddess. No more words are necessary for now, unless You are giving a directive.”

Neferterri smiled at my passive-aggressive nature in getting her to relax while giving her the option to command when the need arose. Years of training under keket was time well spent, and I planned on showcasing the full repertoire before tonight was over.

“amani, come,” she ordered as sajira and I helped her into the oversized tub.

He walked over to the side of the tub, kneeling once he stopped. “Yes, my Goddess, how may I serve You?”

“I want you to perform the menstrual service you performed the other day when I get out of the tub,” she stated. “I'll need to release. It has been a rough couple of days.”

A slick smile spread across amani's face, and I was curious as to why. “Yes, my Goddess, i will gather what i need and await Your arrival in the bedroom once my sisters are done.”

I focused on the task in front of us while he left to attend to whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. I was clueless to the menstrual service he and Goddess referred to, but I concluded that both sajira and I would find out after we were done.

Neferterri must have sensed a need for the three of us to be alone, because she silently beckoned us to the side of the tub. “I have a surprise for tomorrow night, and I'm going to need your help with that. We will revisit that once you're done pampering Me, so let's get to it. I have another pressing appointment that I'll need energy for.”

TWENTY-THREE
RAMESSES

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!”

Carl Jung once said, “The healthy man does not torture…generally it's the tortured who turn into the torturers.”

If I was a tortured soul, it was because the culmination of events turned me into one. By Jung's phrasing, I had become a torturer because of the circumstances that turned me into the tortured.

Death was too good for what he tried to do to my Beloved, but torturing him to within an inch of it would have to suffice.

I had Lyrical tied down to an inverted St. Andrews Cross, giving me the ability to lay him in a supine position and to give me full range of his body. I planned to abuse every inch until I got tired, and I was wide awake with plenty of energy.

I was beyond the point of sadism now. Some would argue that there is no difference between sadism and intolerable cruelty, but I was not in the mood to argue the point. The only thing that mattered to me was to quiet the storm, the unbridled tempest within me. He needed to suffer, and he needed to suffer by my hand, and no force on this planet was going to stop me.

Not even Amenhotep…

I would leave Korina to my Beloved to deal with as she wanted, but I had plans for Lyrical. Those plans included watching him bleed until I had no choice but to see him to a medical facility in Nassau.

I took a knife to the inside of his thigh, careful not to pierce the femoral artery. I didn't want him to bleed out, at least not yet, anyway. Hearing his screams meant nothing to my desires to watch him flirt with the edges of consciousness, fading in and out like the flicker of a flame.

“Mercy!” Lyrical screamed out, his voice doing nothing more than reverberating against the walls of one of the underground panic rooms, built in the event of a hurricane. I slid another knife through his hand, watching it protrude through the muscle and bone, inducing another blood-curdling scream.

“It's funny how the guilty scream out for mercy when they become the victim.” I leaned down over his face as I twisted the blade in his hand. “Did You hear my Beloved when She screamed out?!?!?! Did You hear Her when She screamed for You to let Her go?!?!!?”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Noooooooooooooooooo!!!!!” The bass in his voice was leaving him, sounding more like a child than a man. The volume increased as I took the knife out of his thigh and plunged it in his abdomen, just below his ribcage. He whimpered once I took my hand off the hilt. “Why are You doing this to Me?!?! You could've sent Me to the police?!?!”

“Oh, I'm sorry? You have Me confused with someone who actually believes You will get the proper justice.” I stared into his eyes, satisfied with the genuine fear I saw in them. “We're not in the States, partner, and we're not in anyone's criminal jurisdiction, which means, I
could
turn You over to the proper authorities in Nassau, but that means at least another six months until a trial comes around, and that also means I would have to endure You trying to come up with some bullshit defense strategy and watch My Beloved take the stand. That, Sir, I cannot allow.”

Through clenched teeth, Lyrical tried to sound like we were in
some sort of bad crime show. “You won't get away with this, Ramesses! I have friends who will ruin You if You kill Me!”

“I'd love to see them try it, especially since we've already had You checked out, Travis Prater.” I was crossing the line by using his legal name, but he had to know that I was serious about my threats. “Besides, You sound like death is the end of this journey. You'll die, but not anytime soon. There are fates worse than death.”

Lyrical's eyes focused on me, and as I returned his glare, he noticed the lack of fear in my eyes. I, however, recognized the terror in his. The unknown of what I was capable of doing to him became evident as his body language contradicted the bravado he tried to portray.

“Do I need to prove that Your threats mean nothing to Me? Or do I need to explain to You that the friends that You claim will ruin Me are in debt to a few friends of Master Osiris's in Moscow?” I asked. “I'm not bluffing, and You know I'm not, either, don't You?”

The recognition of the Moscow connection shook him to the core. He strained against his bonds with more fervor this time around, almost dislocating his shoulder in the process. “Please, I'll do whatever You want to make this right! Please, let Me make things right!”

“We're a little late in the game for that, Lyrical.” I turned around as I heard a voice from behind me. I wasn't sure to smile or not because I needed to keep my edge and advantage over him. Master Osiris entered the room, his face showing the disdain for both Lyrical and the circumstances under which we were here. “You've pushed a fellow brother into a position that He did not need to be in had You simply followed one simple rule: ‘Master Thyself.' Now, You have not only enraged Ramesses; You've enraged the Society. There are ways that we deal with Your transgressions.”

“What…what do You…mean?” Lyrical asked, coughing up blood
from his mouth, alerting me that he needed to be sent to the medical tent to be patched up. “You're doing all this for a woman? Are You serious?”

That statement brought a right fist clean across his jaw, hearing the bone-crushing sound of its breakage. “Then I guess You won't mind if we have done to You what You tried to do to a woman, since You seem to think it's not a big deal.”

Lyrical gurgled and moaned from the sharp pains rushing to the broken area. I reared back for another strike when Osiris held my arm, keeping it from a second arrival at the same destination. He kept me there until I relented, finally releasing his grip when I stepped away from the vicinity of the Cross.

“You seem to have a bit of a problem moving Your mouth now that it's been popped out of socket, so all You need to do is listen,” Osiris spoke, not caring one way or the other whether Lyrical answered or not. He cut Lyrical's wrists loose before he said another word. “In about ten minutes, Dominic and his sweeper team will come in, gather what's left of You, and take You to the yacht. Once there, the medical team that is in place will patch up Your wounds, make sure You're able to travel, and escort You to the private airport in Nassau. Once on the plane, You will be blindfolded, as to keep You from realizing where You're being flown to, and upon reaching Your destination, You will be sedated and placed in Your new locale, along with the corresponding information with regard to Your new home, occupation, and citizenship within Your new country. You will never set foot on U.S. soil again.”

Holding his jaw in place to try and talk, Lyrical's protests sounded more like desperation than demands. It was almost comical to hear him talk and not move his jaw at the same time. We could barely make out the words he said because he grimaced every time
he spoke. “You can't do this! You just said we weren't in the States! What You're doing is illegal!”

“No it isn't, and to be honest, we're doing You a favor,” I chimed in, trying to convey to Lyrical the gravity of the situation. “In fact, the Russians are interested in extracting You to help Your friends settle a debt. You know, the same ‘friends' that were supposed to ruin Me if I killed You?”

“What…what do they want?” Lyrical asked. The nervousness in his voice was palpable as he awaited my answer.

“Well, as I understand the situation, they've already ‘disappeared' because they were unable to pay off the debt, which I've found out is somewhere around seven figures. They gave You up the first chance they got to try and avoid disappearing. Needless to say, it didn't work.” I recounted from the conversations while digging into his past.

“So, it sounds to Me like You have an easy choice, Sir, and I'm only going to offer this once.” Osiris leaned in close so Lyrical could hear his words clearly. “You can either take our offer of mercy, or You can take Your chances when we turn You over to the Russians. The choice is Yours. You have three minutes to make a decision. When You do, knock three times on the Cross You're on to let us know You've decided to live. If You don't, we'll send Dominic and there won't be another word to be said.”

We left the room, heading outside to meet up with Dominic, who happened to be sitting outside with the sweeper team in question. “Do You think He's stupid enough to not take the deal?”

“We'll know in about ninety seconds.” I checked my watch, looking toward the room for a decision one way or the other. “Hopefully He isn't that stupid. He's playing a high-stakes game of roulette thinking He'll get out of this scot-free.”

A few seconds later, we heard three knocks against the wood of the Cross, followed by yelling to make sure we heard him.

“I guess He wants to live.” Osiris chuckled. “Too bad the alternative isn't as desirable.”

Dominic looked at Osiris, confused as to what he'd missed out on. “I don't get it, Sir.

What was his alternative?”

“Colombia, Sir,” Osiris replied. “He'll be living in the slums while working for the Marquez Cartel. He won't last a month before they kill Him.”

“Damn, remind Me never to piss off any member of the Society, okay?” Dominic shook his head. The Colombian drug cartels had a reputation for abusing outsiders if they didn't get with the program right out of the gate. “I knew You had a temper when we were younger, but damn, I thought old age would have mellowed You out. And what happened to ‘Master Thyself,' huh?”

“We're Masters, not Saints, Dom.” I laughed. He might not have found it so funny, but I thought it was hilarious. “It might sound cruel, but sometimes things have to be done in order to make an example of what not to do. Consider this merciful, for the most part.”