A metal chain clunked against the side of the tub pulling my sub toward me. His mouth with an open mouth guard began to bathe me. It felt like an octopus tentacle slime sticking to my arm. Weight of the tongue and the bathwater swimming into his mouth. I saw his eyes look at the bruises healing on my chest as he sponged my naked skin. Foolishness brought us here. Our cursed bloodline of Greek and Finnish. A half breed.
The sub made grunting noises, a vermin's calling. I pulled the collar choking his airway to lift myself standing on the tub. Lukewarm water drizzled my skin, fog's mist. He bent down making choking noises as I pulled the chain three times. A nudge, he planted his lips between my legs.
A regular family man, we didn't kill him because he paid for our lifestyles. Twice a month, he would clean the bathwater from my flesh with his tongue and worship me. The youthful glow of my guise was paid with blood. Balding he lapped at my skin, while his wrinkles danced with the action. Many times he tried to change the location because the hotel creeped him out.
In a different circumstance, if he wasn't a dealer's buyer he may have become another trophy. I clicked my tongue and pulled the chain twice. At the sound, he contorted his head away from mine, never making eye contact. With ease, he laid his body carefully down to the ground. I watched his fat squish and spread against the floor and I added the weight of my legs. Bones crackled underneath my toes. My voice soft, pure of the proclivities for hard work. These things called to men with the same nature. The mixture of dominance and submission thrilled them. They were the products of their own demise.
Water pooled on his back and I walked to the ottoman at the edge of the bed. My legs spread and he makes those strange underwater noises. It makes me think that he’s unreal. Asphyxiation for his one true goddess.
Looking to the ceiling, I see the memories of Kyv’s face crushed from Xenia’s shank and I am flushed with anger. I no longer feel the sub near me as images of the past cling to me. Kyv’s eyeless corpse becomes putty. Scattered pieces of human debris, floated away. At my left lights flicker on the wall and pull me out of the memory. Ghosts visit us to say farewell.
After he finishes, he licks his lips. I feel him close my legs shyly as if he were playing coy. Afraid to match my eyes I pull on the robe. Regularly, after he pleasures me, we have English breakfast tea and biscuits.
We talked about our lives in the smallest of ways.
“She’s become part of the hotel now,” I speak after I swallowed the tea.
He theorized the death of Kyv was my deepest trauma. He orchestrated that this was the only reason I am the way I am. I told him there would be enough trophies to replace the pain. He asked me if it meant cock. I smiled as he left the cash. We don't even know his name.
Calypso walked into the room now empty other than myself and a cigarette. We call the sub,"Apvaki" Greek for lamb. He's the sacrifice that doesn't get to die.
The room smells of jasmine and sage smoke giving the air an alluring touch against the ripped up wallpaper. Calypso stood in a bodycon dress holding a bowl of feta with crispy bread she claims people gave willingly. Even I know she's lying through her teeth, but I'm grateful for the flavors of goat after a good harvest.
Her hand pulls my hair behind my ear, and touches my silk robe’s shoulder.
"I have news that'll interest you."
I am not interested in her planning because it involves navigating more than I want to do. My fingers squeeze the bread to dip the sloppy cheese and I ignore her.
She's still rubbing my shoulders trying to toy at my attention. Calypso had an interest to poisons, but unlike me she did it for the experiment. Her sadism was built for a house cat. She's now tracing the visage on my skin with her finger. In a way, she didn't age much but she proved to handle her role well. Calypso made the perfect tool.
"Give me a number that doesn't land us underground." I spoke between the cheese. Not as fresh as the Ikarian island, but it wants to be. Strange tangy citrus in the cheese felt like a crime. Looking closely you can see the lemon and orange zest peels. Athena curses us over our first kill.
"It doesn't involve killing anyone this time. That's tonight courtesy of Bosch. No, this matter is different."
"You have my attention, Calypso. Tell me this new idea."
Calypso is still tracing my back with her finger, "I saw her. I saw the real Medusa."
I chew vigorously and swallow. "Oh? Tell me about this creature."
"I was sitting at the bar with Bishop when this incredibly hot blonde came into the hotel drenched. Downside she had a Slavic tinge to her voice. The upside was that she dominated Pinch very quickly."
I am dipping the cheese and listening to this story. At first, I can't believe it but, the more I hear about it I can't turn away. My chest still aches from the bruises. Healing from physical error was my least favorite part of existence. Calypso is frantic explaining it as if she was injected with horsepower mania. Mainlined straight to the dome.
Sunrise candied orange begins to burn against the curtains. After enough word vomit fills my brain, I set down the bowl to stop her.
"Okay, okay. Calypso we will consider her upon meeting as long as she doesn't witness our trophy killings. It seems as though she could prove to be a good wall between us and the Russians."
"This game you play will prove to be fruitful for us, sister. I look forward to using her for our benefit."
"She's going to have to be mean enough to be Medusa. Now sister, please eat with me. We have to prepare for the night."
I hand the bowl to her and joy spreads into the air. She wasn't the sharpest of the three. Never could be. Her attributes were constrained by her liveliness which had it's own charm. I touch my sister's mandible, she’s this little girl trapped in a woman's body. Everything in me would be pulled out to protect her and keep her safe.
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
Pollution filled the air with torturous flurries of smoke. The grey lurched toward the high ceilings of red and cold. My eyes watched the smoke rise and fall, the way a steam engine train travels leaving behind its contamination. That unpleasant odor circling and resting. Walls surrounded the event with exposed rustic wood and wet musk. Long metal hangers held glass chandeliers from a different time. Old book smell collected dust for travelers to pass through for the night. This lounge hall for ten was connected to one of Bosch’s offices. It was always unclear where the real one was located.
Surrounding my sister and I, were arms dealers, antique appraisers, their lawyers, and whores laid down on French chaises. We collected ourselves along this bay window built for a tower where my legs rested on a cushion against it. Carefully, I listened to the howling wind scrape against the edges ignoring the sounds of voices near us. Following the wind, it moved towards that dingy small hallway that led to the office. It whistled like an empty basin, a place for the dead. No fool would follow it unless they wanted to meet their maker.
My head turned to the whores beneath us at our high tower. Lingering smells of a wet oil refinery stench bristled the air. Cigars, cigarettes, marijuana, heroin, anything you can smoke with a pipe filled the room. It was a chamber with little air to breathe.
Whores laid out their tits flopping to their ribcages, a la carte. Soft moist melons glistened with hungry vultures swirling. Whores fluttered their eyes and fanned themselves with luxurious fake feathers acquired from various burlesque street performers. In motion, the bright lights amongst us gleamed as if it were a cult. There were more whores than there were men. Paid a pretty penny to be here too. This part of the nine was more protected than the streets. After business gentlemen get fucked, that was one rule.
Calypso splayed out on a chaise beneath me fanning herself slowly with a bored look on her face. Without seeing her eyes, I could sense the irritation coming off of her skin. My hand placed a cigarette between my lips with my elbow resting on a metal table to my left. Brooding the way cats do staring at their prey. One of the workers from the office dropped a manilla folder and placed the martini glass next to it. He averted eye contact as if I could suck the soul out of his head. He quickly scuttled away, out of sight, out of mind.
Our status during the events changed after Kyv’s death by the Russians. We had it better than the bottom feeder whores collected off the streets. Bosch created a rule where our clients were chosen directly from him and no one could touch us. Men were mutilated and disappeared from the shell of existence if they defied his rules. Rumors spread amongst the events ripples and others labeled us as the Queens of Whores. Bosch reveled in the control of us and the ability to come and go as he pleased. He’s a dangerous tool to have in your pocket, but for now, it seems a fair trade.
Rules on the upper floor kept the allure of high priced chattel. Clients given to us ended up in body bags or cardboard boxes to be burned. The final word was through a series of faults, and if Bosch didn't see the challengers worth killing himself.
No one checked the bodies for chlorpyrifos. Bosch didn't consider poison and from Luxe's mouth, she told them, men died for their existence. I didn't believe in those lies because people like Bosch lived to breathe for nefarious reasons. Bosch had to have known it was abnormal the way the men died. There’s this part of me that believed he just didn’t give a shit because it was one less thing he had to control. A true narcissist in the flesh. Bosch was a hunter that needed a challenge and his killings were for the privileged match.
During the events, a worker would hand us a folder, or the Queens of Whores were given men to fuck and release. Tonight we’re to collect another trophy. After our defeat from shooting at Balthazar and Vlad, my sister had become increasingly weary of our trophies. Our killings made Calypso nervous because after getting shot she wondered when we would be mutilated in the crossfire. I consoled her to remind her that it would never be us because we were resourceful to the hotel. Bosch had other plans for us without alluding as to what they were because he paid us well for our silence. My sister had to know the other Russian would prove to be useful for our later plans, let it be her head and not ours for intel.
My fingers grazed the folder and lifted it toward my neck. The contents were two sheets and a picture of our trophy and his lawyer.
Profile: Michel Granger. French Arms dealer with three missed payments for cargo. Infraction: Attempted to sleep with Luxe on several occasions. Killed a whore last visit in the winter. Brought a lawyer Antoine. Demands Bosch for whores. Ship the whores overseas. Play the the game and pleasure Michel before travel. Lawyer Antoine will be taken care of. Get Michel alone. Leave a coin on my desk when finished.
Another worker approached me staring at the folder and bowed his head. I looked at his fine balding block and shut the folder abruptly. “Burn it and leave my sight.”
Michel Granger was a seedy thin smaller man with a sharp pointed nose. Dark black hair slicked back behind his ears with very thin facial hair. He wore a golden ring on each of his right fingers. All rings bore amethyst crystals. Noticeable features on his brown three piece suit had red silk lining. Three was my favorite number. He would be standing close to his lawyer, Antoine. As if a thin tall man could protect him from his fate. Antoine leaned slouched into the wall his eyes bored at the sight of whores. This was his first and last roadshow.
Michel stood near the makeshift bar smoking a cigar, his hands playing between another whore’s legs. My eyes zeroed in on the whore’s squeals and pinpointed their location. The whore rested her ass on the bar cart sliding with his fingers pretending to moan wildly with his strokes. Michel had slender effeminate hands.
Pressing my fingers aggressively into the martini glass stem, I pulled the vodka back into my throat. Sucking the olive between my teeth.
“Calypso, we got a live one. Sister, lay there for me looking exotic until I fetch us a room. ”
“Poisons in my bag, sister. Better not be long.”
Raising from my throne, I ventured into the room stumbling between the mixture of bodies on the floor. Skin snaked underneath my feet absorbing their sweat, their milk. My eyes locked with the other whore who noticed me standing in the center as her boldness went pale white. Yes, let it be known, you have something that is mine. When the Queens of Whores claimed the men, most of the others scattered.
Pushing my back leg upwards I collapsed violently into the whore’s chest pushing Michel away. As my hands glided along her neck, I choked her and whispered into her ear. "If you want to live go make yourself useful elsewhere."
Her mouth pouted and she whimpered. Instinctively, I released her neck from my grasp allowing her to slink away from my body. Prey animals never stand a chance.
Whipping my hair back, I tilt my feet twisting to face Michel. My voice changed to a soft velvet, “Oh, oh. I am so sorry, gentleman. I must’ve lost my balance." Orchestrated hands move away from my chest and onto Michel’s throat playfully. Michel grabs my wrists pulling me towards his body wet with a spicy scent. His tiny squinted eyes lit up with joy.
Antoine leaned into the wall beside Michel observing my actions unable to protest. My eyes turned from Michel mapping out Antoine’s expressions. Analysis unknown. He was searching for a reason to deny me this hunt, but stopped himself from Michel’s obvious enjoyment. He was also, paid with silence.
My hands slide down the back of Michel’s neck. "Thank you for holding me up sir...?"
"Mademoiselle, you may call me, Michel." He takes my arms and begins to steady my waist. His slobbery fat lips slab on my arm kissing them and stops at my fingers. Closing my eyes with a haut giggle I shove them into his mouth walking them on his tongue.
"What a lovely handsome gentleman."
Antoine reajusts his body alarmingly, and grabs my hand that's nestled into Michel’s jaw. “I remember who you are. As his lawyer, I have heard the rules concerning touching you. I will ask you to leave us.”
Ask? Oh, this poor fool has no idea. I let Antoine squeeze my fingers harder before I whistle at Calypso. My lips modify to a sly grin when facing Antoine’s face, “Oh, is that a rule?”
Antoine’s cheeks are flushed with rage by my nerve to gaslight him. He pulls my hand out of Michel’s mouth. Long stretches of spit remind me of a slimy frog. Michel humors me and matches Antoine’s attitude.
“We’re just playing. She chose me Antoine. I don’t think Bosch would behead us over her choice.” Michel pulled my wet hand back onto his bottom lip. “We’re in the age of equality. Free will. America.”
Calypso is staring at my eyes as I whistle again between my teeth, “Darling, Calypso! I think this tall man next to me wants him to touch you!”
Her body tilts upwards the way a robot gestures autonomously. Her eyes change from cool boredom to an intrigued air. She looks at Antoine and sprints over the bodies slamming her feet against passersby’s in her way. The way that big cats pounce on prey, she pushes him back into the wall, hard.
“I don’t want anything to do with you.” Antoine spits at Calypso’s contour. She grabs the back of his head and slams him into the wall breaking some of his skin.
“I don’t like the way you talk to women. Play nice and I won’t eat your entrails.” Calypso holds his head forcing her body onto him and I watch him go limp. Richly covered with sweat, I watched her reveal his skin. A true sub. The man hasn’t been touched in years by the way his body reacted to her. Flimsy soggy vegetables with little resistance. Submitting to her rage quickly was a sight to behold.
My mask turns back to Michel who is searching for my garden, my oyster, the pearl’s iridescent light. Underneath this presentation is the apex predator. His hands are moving up and down the backside grabbing at my hunter’s hide. Peach plump ass lifting up with his fingers.
"Now, I believe we should get to know each other before we travel, Michel." Searching behind his eyes there is nothing to be found. Beneath them is an emptied void and the burning fire of his cigar.
Michel sucked on his cigar and blew smoke in my face. "Travel?"
Unbuttoning his dress shirt my fingers curled with his chest carpet, nails tugging at his ribcage. My long blond hair rested on his neck away from the cigar’s earthy tones.
"Mmm yes. We were told we were gifts for you to France monsieur."
Michel's grubby hands began to stroke my backside. He grinned, "I wasn't expecting that Bosch would come to his senses."
Forcefully pushing my lips against his, I kiss him. "I would love to get to know you with my sister and have dinner." My voice is delicate and gentle. The way that women promise to offer the forbidden fruit. My garden, his oyster rotted.
"My lawyer will be present." Michel backtracked looking at Antoine who was being ravaged by Calypso. He was no longer making words from all his whimpering. Calypso had his rod so far down her throat, that Antoine’s legs were buckling.
Pressing my lips together, I clicked my teeth three times. The way you call horses or whores. Women came behind Michel touching him, hands with fingers splayed around his body, all while his eyes stayed focused on me. They had their fingers prying on his shoulders as though he could eject money from his body.
"Ladies, will you show these fine gentlemen to their rooms?"
Calypso pulled Antoine’s cock out of her throat and watched him slide to the floor with a minor concussion. She wiped the spit from her jaw with the backside of her hand. Standing up and facing me, she snapped at the whores in the center to carry Antoine out of sight.
"I will see you both shortly, Michel.” His eyes lit up with my confirmation as he was being pulled out of the room. The others lifted and dragged Antoine closely behind him. When the men disappeared out of the scenery, Calypso made a long sigh. Before she could speak Luxe turned the corner, arms crossed to sneer at us.
“Well, where’s the coin?”
“This is just the beginning, Miss Luxe. There’s an art to seduction. We don’t have the coin yet.” My words spoken with minor anxiety, but I knew even if Luxe didn’t like us she was on our side. Luxe seemed annoyed and then stared at Calypso.
“After your fuck up, I expected you to work faster.”
"Maybe you should keep the lawyer entertained Luxe." Calypso spit in her direction, the slobber from his rod she just sucked wholesale splattered on her shoes.
Luxe laughed, "Do you take me for a dirty whore like you?" She scoffed and looked at us with disgust. Her eyes sizing us up as she laughed again. "Get the job done. The next installment after that requires real logistics."
Ending the conversation with a nod, I turned to Calypso whose eyes were filled with blood venom. “Come sister, we have a coin to collect.