The Beckoning of Broken Things (The Beckoning Series) (19 page)

Armando Navid stretches between the two Brazilian beauties he picked up today.
He’s staying at the Grand Hyatt in Sao Paolo. It’s a decent room with decent surroundings, but nothing like the luxury he’s used to. It’s got a huge king bed, a flat screened TV, and a view of the city. It’s convenient to where he needs to be and what he needs to do, nothing more.

One
of the beauties has affixed a cock ring circling his erection. It’s a vibrating ring with nubs all over it that he got the last time he was in the States. It helps to keep his cock stiff. The dark haired babe’s mouth provides additional stimulus. “Oh, yes, darling, move your mouth like that.” The other one, the one with the light brown hair, keeps dipping her head to his for kisses. “Mmm. So nice,” he tells her.
What are their names again? Maria? Julie? Lucinda?
He shakes his head.
Damn, aging brain.
Lately, it hasn’t been able to retain much of anything. His eyes glance over to the prescription bottle on the bed stand.
Since when do I have to resort to the little blue pills to get hard?
He sighs, rocks his hips into someone or other’s mouth and French kisses the mouth of what’s her name.
Hell, I’ll call them Boobs and Lips. That’s all they are to me.

After more than enough strokes to find release, he orders the one
he’s nicknamed Boobs, “I need more stimulation. Find a way to get me off.”

Boobs
gives him a sly look through jet black eyelashes, slides the ribbon from her lustrous tresses, and gently binds his scrotum. She says something in Portuguese to her girlfriend, and the woman now known as Lips glides out from Armando’s embrace and retrieves her sexy, pink and orange stiletto club pumps and three bottles of frosty beer from the hotel fridge. Boobs tugs on Armando’s legs, urging him down the bed so that his hips are perched at the end. She drags a chair across the carpet and places it so his feet can prop on the chair. She buckles the ankle straps of the shoes, slips a bottle in each and ties them to the end of the ribbons. She dangles the shoes in one hand and holds the third bottle with her other hand. Grinning at Armando, she says, “Ready?” Without waiting for an answer she lets them fall.

When the weight of the bottle
-weighted shoes yanks his balls, Armando groans.

Boobs
grins wickedly and twists the top off of the third bottle, spills some brew into her mouth and swallows.

“Damn, baby,” he says in his baritone voice. “Give me that mouth of yours.
Go back to what you were doing. And you,” he says to Lips. “Climb over my face.” He proceeds to rock and roll toward release.

This much stimulation is good. This much stimulation is hot. This much stimulation is
…the image of his beautiful wife Gabriela flits through his mind like a locust searching for a wheat field. She’s been doing that lately. Has someone just spoken of her? Is there an ether trail? He strains every sense to tune in, to sense her, to source her. The thought zips around his head and then disappears without a trace.
Where is that damn bitch anyway?

He
arches his hips, thrusting into Boob’s mouth. His tongue flicks Lips’ opening. And then he thinks of Marissa Engles.
She’s a beautiful mystery. She’s hot as hot can be.
When he met her in the village - what a surprise that was - he wanted to throw her down in the bed of the truck and fuck her good and hard. His son’s soul bound Light Rebel lover was like a firefly, beckoning him.
Did she really restore the faces of those men? She must have had help. I am a master sorcerer after all.
Lately, all his powers seem to be flagging, though. Spells aren’t working as intended. His command of voice and mind isn’t as potent. He’s got to find some power before someone finds out that he doesn’t have El Demonio’s power like he’s been boasting about.
Is Marissa right? Does she know who has it? Does she have it? Could it be that an untrained Light Rebel has all that power at her disposal?

Suddenly the taste of Lips
isn’t all that appealing. He gently urges her to get off his face and wipes her juices from his mouth with the back of his hand. Boobs is working his cock, sucking it, he’s got weight pulling at his scrotum. Nothing’s working.
Ah, hell, maybe if I fantasize about Marissa Engles? Picture my cock driving into her with fury. Oh, yeah. That’s hot. That’s going to make me…

With a great heaving groan
, he explodes into Boob’s mouth. She grips his erection with her hands and milks every last drop from his body. The weighted shoes swing and sway as his hips come to rest on the bed. His balls begin to ache. “Okay, enough! Take those off of me,” he tells Boobs.

She obliges like a well-heeled Collie
, removing the ring, and untying the weighted shoes. She hands a beer to her BFF.

Lips
takes it, and sits next to him pouting, probably because he didn’t give her an orgasm. She twists the top off the brown bottle and takes a swig. Next, she tips the bottle over his abdomen and pours some of the cold liquid on his belly. “Cool down, old man.”

He splutters, jerks
, and grabs the bedding to wipe himself off. “You bitch!”

The damn whore laughs at him. Both she and Boobs are laughing.
He grabs his pants from the floor, pulls out his money clip, and peels off a few hundred dollar bills. He tosses them at the girls. “Here. Go now.”
Damn whores.
“Toss me those cigarettes before you leave, will you?”

Boobs picks up the pack
from the small, circular table next to the window, retrieves one with long, manicured fingernails, picks up his lighter, and lights it. She takes a deep drag then hands it to her friend. She tosses the pack on the bed next to Armando, and asks, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know.”

“Let us know before noon. We’re busy.” She pronounces the word busy like “bee-zee,” and her mouth curls in disdain. She reaches for the smoke from her friend’s hand and brings it to her silicone enhanced lips. Her face is perma-frozen from Botox. Her boobs look like melons pasted to her chest. Her waist is tiny, and her hips are full and curvy. A diamond glints from her belly button. Everything about her looks like it’s been ordered up from a catalogue.

I prefer my women natural. I prefer my women like Gabriela.
He sighs, eyeing the fucking faces of the goddamned women who gave him attitude.
Bitches shouldn’t treat me that way,
Armando thinks.
Lately they’ve all been treating him like he’s a joke.
Fucking whores. Fucking cunts.
He waves his hand, mutters a few phrases, and the two women’s heads transform into horse heads. He laughs at their wild-eyed reaction. They’re clawing at their heads, their lips are pulled back to reveal huge teeth while he’s having a good laugh. “Give me my money back,” he commands.

The two
horsehead-women whinny and scramble to retrieve the hundred dollar bills. They toss them on the bed. He’s laughing so hard tears stream down his face. “Want your faces back?” he manages between gales of laughter. Their huge heads bob up and down, up and down. “You better not give my any more of that lip of yours - ever.”

Boob’s frightened eyes seem to indicate that she won’t.

Armando scoots back on the bed, pulls a cigarette from the pack, and lights it. He smokes, slowly blowing the light blue smoke from his mouth. He tips his head and considers his handiwork.
Just like a Dark Bay Quarter Horse. A nice little filly I could ride all night.
He pictures doing them from behind, and his cock twitches in excitement. “I need to finish my smoke,” he says to the women. “Hold your horses,” he jests and his hilarity resumes. He watches them, smoking, thinking of Marissa.
If she has all that power, I need to combine forces with her. She’s too pretty to turn into a horse-faced woman. I like to look at her as she is. I think I’d like to look at her like that for a long, long time. So my son is soul bound to her. That just means he has all the upkeep while I get all the spoils.

Armando finishes his cig, stubs the butt out in the ashtray
, and turns to the women who huddle and weep in the corner. “I didn’t know horses could cry,” he sneers at them. “This has been educational.” He flicks his right hand, and the women’s faces reappear. “Come here,” he commands them. “Do me without expecting payment.” His cock instantly stiffens. “You,” he says, pointing to Boobs. “You go down on me again. Do it slower.” He points to the other one. “You, get the vibrator out of the drawer and make yourself come while I watch.”

Boobs and Lips do as their told
, and Armando is so turned on, this time he orgasms instantly. “Come up here next to me,” he commands the two women.

They
stiffen in place, unmoving.

“I said, come up here.
Now.”

The two women crawl onto the bed
, their fake breasts swinging back and forth. They clutch one another’s hands and bunch together.

“Right there. Sit,” he orders them. He picks up his lighter and holds it up to the
elaborate gold ring on his left hand. He hisses as the heat sears his skin. When the metal starts to glow, he waves his right hand and the two women are pinned in place, held by unseen hands.

Their eyes widen so that the whites show all around. Tears spill from their eyes and track down their cheeks.

Armando curls the fingers of his left hand around the red hot metal, making a fist. He winces, rears back, and slams it into Boob’s face. He holds it against her skin, cramming his rage into his fingers, willing it to flow into her cheek. She can’t move, can’t speak, but she seems to be screaming with her eyes.
Good. She’s afraid. Now the bitch will heel when I tell her to heel.
When he’s done, he sits back to admire his artistry. A small AEN, for Armando Eduardo Navid, about a half of an inch tall, burns into her flesh. “Don’t you
ever
give me lip again, do you hear me? Each time you do, that scar is going to burn like a mother-fucker.” He turns to Lips. “You’re next.”

Her eyes grow wider than wide. The pupils look like tiny dots floating in milk.

Armando chuckles. He flicks the tiny wheel of the lighter, holds the flame against the brand until the metal glows and proceeds to mark Lips. He grips her jaw in his strong hand and twists her face left and right.
It’s a clean mark. It will blister and scar nicely.
Satisfied, he tells the two women. “Now get out of here. And come back tomorrow.” His fingers dance as he releases the spell. He regards his own burnt flesh, whispers a small spell, and the skin heals as fresh and unmarked as a baby’s.

“What time?” Boob’s asks
in a quavering voice. She’s still bawling like an infant.

“You’ll just have to wait for me to let you know. Don’t disappear.
I’ll find you. Your smell alone will lead me to you. You two reek of cheap perfume, skank, and a hooker’s desperation.” He smiles. “I liked this. It was fun. And we’re going to do it again. When
I
say so. Got it?” He reaches for another cigarette and places it in his mouth. “Light this,” he tells Lips.

She
clutches the lighter in shaking hands and brings the flame to the end of the smoke. He inhales deeply, satisfied.
I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy controlling women. I’m going to have so much fun with Marissa Engles.
Matter of fact, he’s getting hard again, just thinking about it. “Oh, yeah. I’m about to get my power back in spades,” he said. “And you’re going to help me do it,” he says, pointing to the two women. “Now go and leave me to my thoughts.”

The women scrambl
e off the bed, crying, grab their clothes from the floor, and hustle out of the room.

“Don’t forget - you’re going to wait for me to signal you,”
he calls after them.
This is the best afternoon I’ve had in a long, long time.

As I look around the white world of Brookstone Center for Healing, my heart sinks into my belly. “Oh, no,” I groan.

“What is it? What’s going on? Just tell me
, and I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Don’t you remember? I escaped. You even helped me.” I stare at the window, looking for signs of repair from Chiara shattering the window and frame with the beat of her giant wings. It looks untouched, just like it was when I first arrived.

All Smiles bites his lower lip. “Um, I’m afraid that’s a pretty fanciful tale, Miss Engles. I sure won’t tell Dr. B about that.”

“Dr. Bellows! Did he recover from his accident?”

“Sure did. Rafe sure clocked him a good one.”

“Rafe! Is he still here?”

“He’s somewhere. They kept him in isolation for a while, but he managed to get out. He’s a lucky guy.” All Smiles grins and shakes his head like Rafe’s a frisky boy.

Lucky - right. It’s called self-care
…or maybe it’s self-flagellation.
I shake
my
head, unwilling to believe I’m back in this place.

“So you’re telling me I never left? I didn’t escape?”

All Smiles’ face furrows. “Escape? How could you escape? This is a locked facility.”

I throw back my head and
groan again. “Oh, God! You
saw
me! You
saw
what I can do! Don’t you remember the burnt sheets?”

His face furrows as if he just might remember something. He stares at me, deep in thought. The grin returns. “You’re a creative one, I’ll give you that. Now get yourself out of bed. It’s time for dinner.”
He strolls from the room, whistling.

I push back these goddamned, scratchy white sheets and drop to the floor.
How am I going to get out of here - again? Why am I here again?
I’m wearing the exact same thing I had on when I left.
Did I ever leave? Am I crazier than I thought?

I head for
the room Rafe occupied when I was here last. I don’t care what All Smiles says - I did escape and I will again. I shuffle down the hall, past the nurses’ station, past the
drinking fountain, and notice that the janitor’s storage closet is ajar.
That’s odd. They were always so afraid that one of us was going to get in there and drink Drano or Plumbers Delight or something.
I step over to close it and am met with a thump, thump, thump from inside the dark room. I ease the door open. There’s Rafe with his pants down, standing behind Dr. Bellows. Dr. Bellows is steadying himself against the metal shelving, his pants bunched around his ankles. Rafe’s hips are working. A sense of complete illogical betrayal spews into me.
How could he do this to me?
It’s followed by a flash flood of reason.
He’s not mine to do anything with.
The flash flood is followed by a swamp of emotion of the most potent kind - jealousy, hurt, and rage.

Rafe’s head whips around. That same shame-face I saw in him when I first met him colors his handsome features. He shoves Dr. Bellows away from him and
pulls out. A rubber droops around his cock. He grabs his pants from around his ankles. “Marissa, it’s not what you think!”

Dr. Bellow’s voice booms. “It’s her! Get her!”

I’m already racing down the hall. There’s nowhere to go - this place is locked down tight - but still I’m running. Footsteps are falling after me as I zig and zag through the allowed corridors - the ones deemed safe for the inmates here. I whirl into a dark room - it seems to be a tiny chapel - and quickly close the door behind me. The footsteps pound past the door.

I steady myself against the back wall and take in my surroundings, trying to catch my breath. There are three rows of pews. Candles glow softly in the front of the room.
A carved Jesus hangs from a small cross on the wall. I remember reading somewhere that nails through the hands couldn’t have held him - they’d have to have been driven into his wrists. I rub my wrists in response. A nun prays in the front of the room. She doesn’t stir at my arrival.

I don’t remember this place. I don’t recall ever seeing a chapel here.
My heart is pummeling against my chest cavity and the bitter jealousy and betrayal is replaced by sorrow. A deluge of tears begins.
I’m so confused. What am I doing here? What’s Rafe doing here?

The nun prays, silently fingering her rosary. I’m not one who is stirred by religion - but her presence is very calming. I make my way up to the pew behind her and fall to my knees. I need some kind of guidance.

As I sit, suspended in the stillness, it’s clear to me now. I
am
falling in love with Rafe. I’m already in love with Daniel. It’s probably for the best that Rafe took off. It’s probably for the best that I found him here, fucking Dr. Bellows. That thought, however, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I hate Rafe. I wish I’d never met him.
Only thing, my heart disagrees. The blood pools in the center of my chest. There’s no reason for my heart to pump. Instead, it rests, listless underneath my skin and bones.

“Things are not always as they seem.”

The gentle voice stirs me from my sadness.

“Sometimes, enormous growth comes from a storm,” the voice continues.

The nun’s voice is soothing, calming. It’s as if she’s stroking my hair with her hand, gentling me like my mother used to do. She continues to finger the beads of the rosary, head bowed, as she speaks. Her head is swathed in a simple white fabric coif. A loose black veil drapes over the coif, flowing down her back. Her long black tunic pools around her frame in folds resting on the floor. A long black apron rests on top of the tunic. I know some nuns have taken to more modern dress, but this one is dressed in a manner that I remember from my childhood when Mom used to take me and my sisters to Catholic church. She only did that on holidays, like Christmas and Easter. After she died, I never went back.
And it’s sure not a holiday right now.

“Lend him your ear and your heart before you pass judgment,” the nun continues.

“Who?” I ask, confused.

“The one you are weeping over.”

“How do you know who I’m weeping over?” I blurt.

Her fingers work quickly
over the wooden beads. She doesn’t respond to my question.

I contemplate her words.

“You are a strong and beautiful young woman. My son chose wisely. But my son is a fool to bind you without your consent. You must not let him get away with it. He can’t hide from you - or himself - forever.”

My
jaw drops. “Gabriela?”

“Shhh! Do not speak my name!” Her head whips around to face me.

Her blue, blue eyes have the same piercing effect that Daniel’s have on me. There’s something compelling and commanding about that gaze.

“Undo what you have done - immediately!”

“Uh, uh, uh,” I stammer. “Let’s see. Aleirbag.” I mumble her name backwards, feeling like a complete idiot.
Is it really that simple to erase the spoken word?

Her shoulders fall away from her ears
, and she resumes her prayer, quietly speaking phrases I can’t understand.

I must have done the right thing.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“I come where I am called. I serve the Numina without their knowing.”

“Are you here for Rafe?’

She says nothing.

I regard her fingers. They’re slender, a warm brown. The nails are trimmed to the quick. Each time a bead passes before her fingers, a small jolt of electricity stirs my heart. “What are you praying for?” I whisper.

“You. The Stealth Numen. My son. Armando.”

Somehow, religious or not, it feels good to be prayed for by Gabriela. I don’t know her at all, but she seems genuinely powerful. She seems to be a true healer. Maybe that’s what her gift is.

“I have something for you. I want you to give it to him, the next time you meet.” Her hand pushes inside her long apron and retrieves a small, simple gold ring. She hands it to me without looking at me.

My hand flares with light when the ring touches my skin. “Who am I supposed to give this to? Daniel?”

“No. Give it to Armando.
”

“Armando?”

“Please. It will mean the world to me. Tell him this is the sacrifice I am making for my son.”

I turn the ring over and over and over in my hand. There’s an inscription etched into the inside of the gold. It’s so tiny I have to squint.
In love with you throughout time. Bonded to you without reservation.
AEN.
“This is your wedding ring! I’ll guard it with my life.”

As I
tuck the ring safely into my pocket, the door bursts open behind me, interrupting this sudden surprise. Rafe staggers into the room. He falls against the back wall, shivering and shaking, the same way I found him by the pool in Brazil.

I rush up to him as more footsteps pound down the hall.
“The withdrawal?” I ask, but I know the answer. He doesn’t need to say a thing.

“I should have known you’d be in here,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

“This room doesn’t exist to the others.”

“Really?”

He nods, or I think he nods. He’s shaking so hard it could have been the tremor of his head.
“It exists in…” He struggles to pull himself together. “It’s a place where…” His teeth grind together so hard I wonder if he’s going to break his own jaw. “It’s part of the shadow realm,” he manages between violent shudders. “It’s my…” Another shudder. “It’s a…” He trembles. “Sanctuary. Safe.”

I crouch before him and put my hand on his shoulder.

He instantly calms.

“There’s someone in here you should see,” I tell him.
I turn to look at the front of the small room and there’s no one there.

“Who?” Rafe asks.
Another aftershock of shakes courses through his body. He clutches his arms around his midsection, breathing in big gulps of air.

“Never mind. You Numina seem
to have different modes of travel than the rest of us.”

“What
…what…what are you talking about?” The words come out with extreme effort. His eyes are squeezed shut. Sweat drips from his face, his neck. His shirt is soaked with perspiration.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Only that I wish I could transport myself the same way that you and…
” I dare not speak her name, she who was in the room a second ago. I’ve already been schooled twice. “I wish I could move in the manner that you can.”

“You can. I can take you anywhere you want.”

“The way you took me somewhere back in Brazil?” I spit in accusation. “The way you disappeared on me in front of the hospital in Capão Bonito?” All my rage, hurt, and indignation snaps to the surface like a flag in a windstorm. I yank my hand away from him.

The shudders increase like a violent earthquake. “Please
…give me back…your hand…your finger, your toe…anything.”

“No!” I
cross my arms tightly over my chest.

“Please. I can explain.”

His body blurs and fades from view.

“Wait! Come back!”

A crackling noise fills the air, like he’s shorting out again. He reappears, hugging himself, lying prone on the floor quivering.

My heart surges with compassion. “Oh, Jesus, Rafe. You’re a disaster.” Without being asked again, I lie down beside him and
wrap my arms around him, pressing my entire body against the length of him. The room wavers. I get that same warped glass view as before. In addition, a generous dose of arousal instantly overtakes me. Before I know it, we’re whizzing through Rafe’s warped world of shadows. He’s turned to face me and we’re kissing and we’re kissing and we’re kissing, enveloped in a raging fire of passion. He’s got his hands on my face, on my back, they’re everywhere, roaming, stroking, kneading. My hands rip off clothes with desperation, his, mine, all I know is that I’m grabbing, tearing, fabric is splitting, shredding, and ripping. My arms, my fingers, even my toes, are pushing garments from Rafe’s delicious, solidly muscled body.

We slam into a tree somewhere.
Parrots burst into the air with angry protests. A monkey sails from branch to branch, disturbed from his snooze. The tree bends as if it’s made out of plastic, and we’re flung into my bedroom in the treetops of Brazil. We land on the floor, and Sober awakens with a yip. He looks up to see who disturbed his slumber and puts his head back down to resume snoring.

We’re naked now and Rafe’s got his tongue in my mouth and his hand between my legs, gripping his erection, working it to find my opening. He
discovers it and slides in, moaning into my mouth like an animal. I’m slick, wet with desire. My head arches back as he enters me. I spread my legs wide, welcoming this mystery inside. Our bodies grind against one another, without thought or consideration. There’s only need, a desperate need between us to find out what this is.