A Wanted Woman Part 8

"All that aside, is this type of celebration too much for you?"

"It's perfect. I'd never be able to do anything like this with my husband."

"Let me show my stunning date off to a few people."

He introduced his Kiwi catch to a handful of politicians, men who were in a conversation with lawyers and men from South American drug cartels, men who'd done kidnappings and beheadings then gone to eat ice cream with their children, men who insisted on touching my body, regarded me as a comfort woman. One of the men thought that I was one of many women who had been trafficked from Europe, and offered to buy me. When King Killer told him I wasn't a slave, the man laughed and offered to buy me for the night, told me how stunning I was. With a grin, I told him I considered his offer a compliment, then turned down the payday. Other men told me that they wished they had met me first.

King Killer said, "This Circa.s.sian beauty, for now, is my personal lover. Respect her."

"She is beautiful, spirited, and elegant and desirable."

I led him away, led him to the edge of the building, gave him kiss after kiss, feigned like I was in awe of the view of Cascade, the Savannah, and the grounds of the prime minister's residence, did that so I could see if there was a way to do the hit, then escape from being thirteen levels above the ground. Twelve stories plus the entrance floor was too high to jump, but not high enough to use a parachute.

King Killer caressed me, ran his hand up and down my bare back and settled on two handfuls of b.u.t.tocks, pushed his erection into my thigh and tried to grind and wine on the Y.

He said, "Tonight, when we are done with this part of the night, I will take you to the WOW Suite, will f.u.c.k you where Queen Elizabeth II stayed, where Nicki Minaj stayed, will f.u.c.k you in the same bed."

"I can hardly wait for this part of the night to end so I can wallow where others have wallowed."

"I will show you sunrise from here. The most beautiful sunrise on the island is right here."

He did a line of premium cocaine, insisted that I do the same, frowned when I declined the nose candy. I told him that my job required random drug testing so I had to avoid the white horse. Then he was hyped, showed me off to everyone. Members from the Senate and the House of Representatives. Wanted me to be seen by men and women who laundered money and supplied arms, thugs who stood in a group showing one another their prized firearms. Men who were in a debate with the People's National Movement and the United National Congress. Politicians whose support fell across ethnic lines. People chatting in English, Trinidadian and Tobagonian Creole, Spanish, French, and Bhojpuri.

Many people looked me in my eyes. Too many glossed-over eyes saw this Kiwi face up close.

War Machine arrived, stepped off the elevator like he was the king of the king of kings.

Right away King Killer held my hand and took me to the LKs' CEO and leader.

War Machine shook his head, looked me up and down, jaw tight, and he greeted me with unkindness. His jacket was open, his holstered gun unhidden. He was a handsome man, a well-groomed and suited man whose face had beauty marks earned from living in the slums as a child.

War Machine said, "Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

SIX.

King Killer said, "Relax, cousin. This is Samantha Greymouth. She was a last-minute addition."

"She wasn't vetted."

Strong shoulders. Accent almost British. Very proper. Very educated. Very rude.

I said, "'Vetted'? I came to party, to lime as you say, not to apply for a job with your organization."

"We don't let strangers into our fold. Everyone has been vetted, a background check has been run on everyone who stepped onto that lift but you. My cousin seems to have forgotten protocol."

King Killer said, "I vouch for her. I vouch for this beautiful Kiwi one hundred percent."

"Should that be good enough?"

"If not for me, we would not be as powerful as we are. We would not be. Have you forgotten?"

"Cousin, please. I was there. I know the truth. Let's not let revised history derail us."

"Let's not argue. Don't embarra.s.s me. Mrs. Greymouth is already here."

"We have rules, cousin. We are as strong as we are because of our standards."

King Killer said, "Ask the others. That is how we resolve this matter quickly."

War Machine snapped, "I am the final word in all matters. I resolve all matters."

"Karleen is final word. Without my sister, the power that comes from the people vanishes."

"I am final word. I will always be final word. Never forget that."

"Cousin, let's not fight over this simple issue. We are and always have been more like brothers."

"We are brothers. In my heart we are brothers, but our cause is greater than blood."

"This one time, ask. If the other leaders feel the same, then I will remove her, as you see fit."

That was a threat on my life: As you see fit. I pretended to remain confused.

War Machine paused, nodded, then motioned like he was the Obama of Trinidad.

This was not the plan, but in the business of killing, nothing ever went as planned.

Other men came over and I was overwhelmed. War Machine called over the gunta they called Appaloosa, Appaloosa being a man who stood close to seven feet tall. He had fingers like erect p.e.n.i.ses. The print on his pants told me that his p.e.n.i.s was a concealed weapon. The ultimate Alpha male.

Another gunta named Guerrero was called over. His name meant warrior. He was tipsy, came over with two women, both topless, and they waited on him as he came to see what the issue was.

Then came the gunta who used the name Kandinsky. He looked like Wentworth Miller.

King Killer. War Machine. Appaloosa. Guerrero. Kandinsky.

The top five men of this group stood facing me, evaluating me with militaristic eyes.

Five men who carried at least ten guns on their person had me surrounded.

War Machine repeated, "Security violation. She wasn't vetted, but was allowed past security."

Again King Killer repeated, "I vouch for her. Mrs. Greymouth is from New Zealand. She wants to have a good time with us before she leaves. I brought her to give her an unforgettable night."

"This isn't a tourist destination. This is a private gathering. You should be more concerned with the guest of honor being late to arrive than sullying this occasion with some strange red legs."

Appaloosa looked me up and down, reached out, touched my chin with his p.e.n.i.s-like fingers.

He said, "Wait. Wait. Physically she is amazing, that is without a doubt. She has a body like the French dancer Aya. Hardly any fat, at least none that I can see. This one is exceptional."

Again War Machine reiterated, "But there is protocol, even for Mrs. Greymouth."

I said, "No need to be a b.l.o.o.d.y yahoo. No need to be rude and act like you're a flowerpot because you've got a hole in your b.u.m. I'm not from Eketahuna or Timbuktu or Waikikamukau and I'm not a f.u.c.kwit and I'll never be able to haunt a ten-room house. Let me translate: I'm a good-looking b.i.t.c.h. I have options. If I'm not wanted at this over-the-top s.h.i.+ndig and c.o.c.k-sucking c.o.ke festival, I care two-thirds of five-eighths of f.u.c.k-all. I will be more than happy to get my A into G and find another c.o.c.k for my laughing gear to please before it's time for my morning tea. Now, gentlemen, pardon my candor, but I'm not one to p.i.s.s around, and I don't appreciate being treated like I'm one sammy short of a picnic, so be kind enough to escort me back to the b.l.o.o.d.y lift, allow me to claim my family heirlooms from the rude wench who all but finger-f.u.c.ked me, and I can arrange a taxi from the lobby. Beautiful women up here, but I bet if their brains were barbed wire they couldn't fence a dunny. My work colleagues are at a lounge on Ariapita Avenue, so I can just buzz them and go there and lime and have my drinks, get well mounted, can still enjoy myself before I leave here and return home to the land of the long white cloud."

The men stared at me, savage expressions, tense necks, killer glares, and one by one the men who had been born the lowest of the low, men who had been murderers most of their lives, they grinned.

West Indian men being talked to that way by an irritated foreign woman, not a good thing.

I had interrupted them. I had gone hard, spoken up, and refused to be invisible.

War Machine and the rest of the intellectual savages watched me, death in their eyes.

A soca jam by Machel Montano played, the roof exploded, and the revelers jumped up like it was Carnival, fists pumping, red, white, and black flags waving, but the men facing me didn't jump, didn't pump fists, didn't wave the flag of Trinidad. They glowered at me; it felt like I was about to be beheaded.

Appaloosa's ma.s.sive hand squeezed my a.s.s over and over, like an anxious heartbeat, said, "He vouches for the s.e.xy Kiwi. She is his responsibility. Do we all stand in agreement?"

Tense seconds pa.s.sed before War Machine nodded. Then one by one, the rest nodded as well.

With a kind gesture, I removed Appaloosa's hand and p.e.n.i.s-like fingers from my a.s.s.

War Machine smiled and said, "By the end of the night, maybe she'll learn to be polite. One must have certain etiquette when they step into someone else's country, especially when done so uninvited."

I said, "It was not my intention to offend. There has been a misunderstanding. I could just leave."

"You're here now. My cousin has used his influence and brought you through many levels of security. Enjoy the night, Mrs. Greymouth. Enjoy the night."

King Killer led me to a tented section reserved for the top members. We stepped inside, then around a girl giving a tall and lean gunta head as a muscular gunta pounded her from the rear.

The rooftop lounge was filled with women, their high-priced designer clothing recklessly thrown across the colorful sofas. Girls sipped martinis, sucked golden c.o.c.ks, laughed like this was their normal way of living. I pulled off my little black dress, but kept on my luxury lingerie. King Killer smiled, led me to his area, to his sofa, sat me down, got on his knees in front of me, pulled my panties to the side, French kissed my s.e.x. His tongue shocked my system like I had been injected with c.o.ke, smack, meth, made me wonder if he had put c.o.ke on his tongue before he went to feast. I held his head, made soft moans, and spied the people on the rooftop, looked for the target to appear.

I had to make King Killer stop tongue-f.u.c.king me like a maniac.

He said, "What's wrong, Sam?"

"Let me make you come, Neziah. All day I've dreamed of making you come."

I unzipped his pants. Spat in my hands, then stroked what felt like concrete.

One of the guntas came over, brought him a Stag beer, brought me a martini.

I said, "I prefer a beer. Bring me one in a can. Unopened. Thanks."

King Killer shook his head, held the martini to my closed lips, encouraged me to open my mouth, smiled and held my face until half of the drink was gone. Then he sat back and sipped his beer.

He reached into his pocket, handed me a condom.

I said, "Not here, Neziah."

"You wanted excitement, Sam."

"I do."

"So here, Mrs. Greymouth. Here and now is where it starts."

The top guntas watched me, all but Appaloosa. He had moved away, distracted by someone who had just arrived. Second- and third-tier thugs did the same, studied me and their killer of kings.

Using my teeth, I tore open the condom, started rolling it over King Killer's crooked c.o.c.k, a long and narrow c.o.c.k that was shaped like a scythe. The rooftop s.h.i.+fted. I blinked a few times. Light-headed.

A second surge of light-headedness. Then a chill, the night air raising the hair on my neck.

I asked, "What was in that drink?"

He kissed me again, kissed me and put my hand on his stiff c.o.c.k, encouraged me to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e him, then pulled me to his lap, rubbed his length against me, tried to work his way inside of me.

He said, "When you have gone back to New Zealand, you will remember this night."

As I raised my hips and prepared to let him inside, everything bad went deeper into h.e.l.l.

SEVEN.

Minutes before, when I was being confronted by hard-faced War Machine, another politician had arrived, another minister of something considered important on the island of Trinidad, another politico on the LKs' payroll, still not the target.

The politico's tender mistress was on his right arm. She was the issue. She was a glamorous Punjabi in a s.e.xy sari. She was a teenager with a face made for Bollywood and a body made for p.o.r.n. Her untouchable beauty created the uproar.

The politician was more than twice the girl's age. Old sperm and young eggs. Young eggs deserved young sperm to make a strong baby. Inebriated Appaloosa found that an insult.

While I had been taken away by King Killer, when I had begun masturbating him, at that moment the hulking Appaloosa had gone to the politician, told him his mistress was too f.u.c.king beautiful for his old a.s.s, demanded that he hand over his Desi b.i.t.c.h to a younger man without hesitation.

Appaloosa was serious. His suit coat was open, his gun on display but holstered.

The argument had become heated, louder than the music, stole everyone's attention.

Now as I hovered over an erection, h.e.l.l arrived and broke loose of its chains. Before skin was broken, King Killer pushed me to the side. I fell to the floor and knocked over a table of drinks. Not concerned with me, he jumped up, then he grabbed his pants and headed toward Appaloosa.

The politician fumed, made fists, told Appaloosa, "Back the f.u.c.k off. f.u.c.king respect me."

The small man stood tall and told the oversize gunta who had fallen off of a beanstalk that the woman had chosen him. To respect that. The hulk-size gunta knocked the politician down, stomped him. As the man rolled in pain, Appaloosa faced the beautiful woman, grabbed her arm, pulled her to him, pulled away her clothing, and took her to the floor. She was horrified. When the dazed politician was able to sit up, he saw Appaloosa was between the open legs of his mistress, viciously f.u.c.king her as soca played, as everyone wined and watched. Her expression said she wanted him to f.u.c.k and get it over with and have the nightmare end. She cried and bit her bottom lip, trembled and looked at the older man she had been with, the weak man who had failed to protect her. The politician rose up and attacked the gunta. He kicked Appaloosa in the head, caused the gunta to stop and roll away from the mistress.