05-05-2015, 10:23 AM
Dane's attention glazed as talk turned to business. He knew Ramirez thought he intended carnality for Martina, and he was more than capable of playing that angle. Manipulating the conceptions of others were the stroke of a master, and Dane was nothing if not a master at his craft. The girl behind the receiving desk at his residence in Mexico City, the girls on the tube in Moscow, the pianist in the bar at the Ritz. Before Aria, women were obstructions on equal standing as men. Gender made no difference to Dane. But after her, the potential of a woman was magnified. She opened his eyes. Someday he would return for her, but right now, a skeletal, filthy Mexican woman was talking to him. "Bring me a drink,"
he told her, only to dismiss, in disgust, the off-branded beer she offered.
The next few days and nights were spent passing time in Ramirez's company. Jorge and Damien both explained this man was the target of their operation, yet Dane rather approved of his hosting style. Ramirez had a car drive them to the building that he'd claimed for his own residence. Compared to the one-roomed rat trap where they'd met, the home was much more comfortable, stylish, even. Although he did not own a piano - a point in Damien's favor.
If Dane remembered correctly, Damien's plan was to surround the city in the interim time, and descend upon Ramirez's household once it was confirmed the cartel competition was vulnerable. Although to someone like Dane or Damien, fortifying himself behind a fortress wall would not save him. Not when they could collapse the walls on his head.
Martina came to visit him that last night. She'd taken a bath and doused herself in cheap perfume. Dane wrinkled his nose when she entered his room, but only to remind himself she smelled better than her usual body odor, sweat and vomit. Dane rose from his bed, stretched out as he had been on top of the covers. He propped the Wallet along the side table against a lamp, angled to best view the room. Martina snorted when she realized the significance, but didn't comment otherwise as she untied the halter holding up her tiny shirt. Dane glanced while he configured the recording to set, but his glance didn't linger. There was nothing about her body that stirred his lust. Not yet, anyway.
She turned to lock the door behind her, but Dane interrupted. "Don't bother. Come here."
She shrugged and stepped out of her linen skirt. He'd barely allowed her to touch him the previous few days. The first time she laid a hand on his neck, he almost severed it from her arm. A snap, quick as the strike of one of the snakes he found in his room on the first night here, quickly taught its lesson. She'd kept her distance since, until now. She came up to him, and he braced himself for her touch as she undid the buttons of his shirt. Soon he was as unclothed as she, but she feigned the intent to arouse him, but he pushed her away. "That won't work. Lay down,"
he told her. On the way to join, he checked the window for signs of light in the distance, but the evening was quiet. Until the chaos of Damien's men descended upon them, he laid on the bed next to her and watched the ceiling. In the quiet, he let power warm his body, but only so to catch the first sounds of gunfire soon to erupt.
They both heard the first, distant pops. Martina sat up, eyes flared wide like she might run away, but Dane shoved her down to her back with the push of his hand against her chest. Afterward, she struggled to move. Her shock reverted to Spanish, but Dane ignored the string of foreign words while he leaned over to set the video to record. The gunfire heightened its intensity and they both heard the pounding of boots running down the hallway outside his door. Men in the yard below his room gathered, yelling orders and organizing their defenses for the approaching battle.
The swiftness with which he straddled her finally shut her up. He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her head, tying them there with more invisible bonds. Dane slipped his hand behind her pillow and retrieved a paring knife of the kind he used the night he first met Aria in the alley. Her pallor whitened, realizing that some sort of magic was holding her in place, but she was too stupid or too high to understand the danger she was in.
The peaceful night quickly erupted around them. The upper floors of Ramirez's residence was clearing of guards whom filled the yard below. Dane didn't bother to gag Martina. He wanted to hear her scream. "Now you're doing a good job,"
he praised her as warmth stretched his body to the brink. He carved into her almost exactly as Aria had done, and as she lay dying, he finally had his minute with her. In the midst, he vaguely heard the door open, but bliss was his drug. He didn't look. A few seconds later, when he collapsed upon what was left of Martina, he recognized Jorge's raised voice, but he didn't care. He could barely move.
"What is it, Jorge?"
he asked, panting, smiling and oblivious to the gruesome scene.
Edited by Dane Gregory, May 5 2015, 10:29 AM.
he told her, only to dismiss, in disgust, the off-branded beer she offered.
The next few days and nights were spent passing time in Ramirez's company. Jorge and Damien both explained this man was the target of their operation, yet Dane rather approved of his hosting style. Ramirez had a car drive them to the building that he'd claimed for his own residence. Compared to the one-roomed rat trap where they'd met, the home was much more comfortable, stylish, even. Although he did not own a piano - a point in Damien's favor.
If Dane remembered correctly, Damien's plan was to surround the city in the interim time, and descend upon Ramirez's household once it was confirmed the cartel competition was vulnerable. Although to someone like Dane or Damien, fortifying himself behind a fortress wall would not save him. Not when they could collapse the walls on his head.
Martina came to visit him that last night. She'd taken a bath and doused herself in cheap perfume. Dane wrinkled his nose when she entered his room, but only to remind himself she smelled better than her usual body odor, sweat and vomit. Dane rose from his bed, stretched out as he had been on top of the covers. He propped the Wallet along the side table against a lamp, angled to best view the room. Martina snorted when she realized the significance, but didn't comment otherwise as she untied the halter holding up her tiny shirt. Dane glanced while he configured the recording to set, but his glance didn't linger. There was nothing about her body that stirred his lust. Not yet, anyway.
She turned to lock the door behind her, but Dane interrupted. "Don't bother. Come here."
She shrugged and stepped out of her linen skirt. He'd barely allowed her to touch him the previous few days. The first time she laid a hand on his neck, he almost severed it from her arm. A snap, quick as the strike of one of the snakes he found in his room on the first night here, quickly taught its lesson. She'd kept her distance since, until now. She came up to him, and he braced himself for her touch as she undid the buttons of his shirt. Soon he was as unclothed as she, but she feigned the intent to arouse him, but he pushed her away. "That won't work. Lay down,"
he told her. On the way to join, he checked the window for signs of light in the distance, but the evening was quiet. Until the chaos of Damien's men descended upon them, he laid on the bed next to her and watched the ceiling. In the quiet, he let power warm his body, but only so to catch the first sounds of gunfire soon to erupt.
They both heard the first, distant pops. Martina sat up, eyes flared wide like she might run away, but Dane shoved her down to her back with the push of his hand against her chest. Afterward, she struggled to move. Her shock reverted to Spanish, but Dane ignored the string of foreign words while he leaned over to set the video to record. The gunfire heightened its intensity and they both heard the pounding of boots running down the hallway outside his door. Men in the yard below his room gathered, yelling orders and organizing their defenses for the approaching battle.
The swiftness with which he straddled her finally shut her up. He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her head, tying them there with more invisible bonds. Dane slipped his hand behind her pillow and retrieved a paring knife of the kind he used the night he first met Aria in the alley. Her pallor whitened, realizing that some sort of magic was holding her in place, but she was too stupid or too high to understand the danger she was in.
The peaceful night quickly erupted around them. The upper floors of Ramirez's residence was clearing of guards whom filled the yard below. Dane didn't bother to gag Martina. He wanted to hear her scream. "Now you're doing a good job,"
he praised her as warmth stretched his body to the brink. He carved into her almost exactly as Aria had done, and as she lay dying, he finally had his minute with her. In the midst, he vaguely heard the door open, but bliss was his drug. He didn't look. A few seconds later, when he collapsed upon what was left of Martina, he recognized Jorge's raised voice, but he didn't care. He could barely move.
"What is it, Jorge?"
he asked, panting, smiling and oblivious to the gruesome scene.
Edited by Dane Gregory, May 5 2015, 10:29 AM.