Saving Brigit (23 page)

Marel bowed his head. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

The Claw waved his hand. “Come in and tell me what is wrong.”

Marel closed the door and locked it. The Claw raised one brow. The news must be dire indeed. Marel was ensuring they would not be interrupted and thereby, perhaps overheard. The room itself was soundproof, but even a tiny crack of an unsecured door opened the way for eavesdroppers.

“There is trouble,” Marel said. “Not anything we can’t take care of, however.” He examined his boss. “Is it your head again?”

“Yes, but it is nothing. Tell me.”

Marel walked to the credenza near the bookshelves, opened a cabinet door, and removed a crystal wine glass and a bottle. He poured the drink and then moved to the chaise. “Here. This will help.”

The Claw sat up and snorted a laugh. “This helps our clients get in the mood for the brothel. You think I need that kind of stimulus?”

Marel stood behind the chair. He pressed his fingers into the Claw’s shoulders, then moved them closer to meet at his neck. The Claw groaned, but leaned into his guard’s touch. Marel kneaded his neck, and the Claw began to feel tension leach from his body. He sipped the drink.

“The liquid stimulates blood flow. It will help,” Marel said in a low, restive tone.

“Which of us will it help the most, I wonder.”

“Perhaps both.” Marel’s voice held a smile. His fingers worked magic. His thumb slipped under the turban to caress his master’s upper neck and the tender area behind the ears. “There are many ways to relieve tension.”

The Claw took a long draught from the glass. The drink started to work, sending heat down his throat and to his belly. He took a deep breath.

“That’s right,” Marel crooned. “Relax.” He stroked and pressed, kneaded and rubbed.

The Claw’s muscles turned to jelly under Marel’s fingers. Another drink and heat rushed through his body, including his head. Immediate relief came from the liquid concoction, as well as the neck rub.

“You always make me feel so much better.” He looked up at Marel. “I’ll be sure to call you the next time I have a headache,” he teased and finished off the wine. Marel took the empty glass and set it aside while his other hand continued its work.

“You can call me even when you do not have a headache.” Marel sent his hands over the Claw’s shoulders and down to his chest. Whether from the effects of the specially brewed drink or from internal need, the Claw dropped his head back to Marel’s stomach. The top of the big guard’s erection, rather than his hands, rubbed the Claw’s neck.

“I hate that you bind your beautiful breasts,” Marel murmured. “I can almost feel your nipples coming to attention for me.”

“You know you can’t, not through all the cloth. Shall I take it off for you?”

“No. I don’t want to wait for you to shed your disguise. I’ll make love to you as a man.” He turned the Claw on the chaise and laid him back.

“Oh yes.” The plea had a soft quality, almost feminine. He chuckled. “I think you like sex when I’m dressed as the famous Claw. You might have a touch of perversion in you, my dearest Marel.”

Marel’s smile was all wolf. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers to his knees. “Lift up,” he ordered.

Obediently, the Claw pushed off the chaise. Marel raised the robes to reveal silky thighs and a pussy glistening with dew. He dropped his head to her mound and growled. The sound set her pulse trip-hammering. She reached up and grabbed the back of the lounge chair.

He nuzzled her crotch. Her fragrance filled the air. He flicked her clit with his tongue, wetting her and then blowing on the moisture. She closed her eyes, already nearing the breaking point. That was the drink’s doing, a fast orgasm, but also the stamina and extra blood flow for more climaxes, strong ones. It was the way she kept her clients happy, that and a good supply of women on which to slake their thirsts. When arms dealers came to see the Claw, they were well-satisfied in every way, just as she was becoming now.

“Lick me. Eat me.”

He stroked her lips with his tongue, pushing her legs wider and raising her bottom. He did lick, but her anus rather than her pussy. He pressed a finger there, pushing in enough to bring a little pain before moving his head back to her pussy.

His tongue delved in, impossibly deep. He lapped at her cream, at the same time poking her ass a little deeper. She didn’t know whether to cringe or sigh.

She sighed. The poking began to feel right, to feel good and part of the sex, as he always made it seem.

“Why don’t you wear the ass plug I gave you?” he asked when he came up for air. His finger in her butthole probed farther. “You wouldn’t hurt when I do this then.”

“The pain is minor and balances the pleasure.”

“Pleasure needs no balance.” As if to prove his point, he dropped his head again, this time to suck her clit into his mouth. His tongue flicked it over and over until she just had to scream. She came in a ferocious orgasm. Marel dragged his finger out of her ass and braced her legs apart so he could fit his mouth snugly over her pussy. Before her last contractions, he rose up and positioned himself between her legs.

Marel was a dramatically large man, muscular and strong. His cock matched the rest of him, a foot in length and several inches in diameter. She’d never fucked anyone of his size before meeting him, and she’d quickly become addicted to his size and techniques.

He sank deep, using her own cream as lubrication and his need to justify his lack of finesse. That was how she liked it, hard and rough, a leftover from her days on the streets perhaps. The men had used her as they wished, and often it was just like this, fast and hard against an alley wall or a makeshift bed in the back bedroom of her mother’s house. Then she’d gone to Afghanistan to fight to rid the country of the infidels, and she’d discovered soldiers fucked the same way, as though in the face of possible death, they had to take what they could quickly and with vigor. That suited her fine.

The guard’s size added to the experience, however. He filled her and more. He pushed her to the point of pain to take all of him. The mixture of pain and pleasure had proven to be an aphrodisiac, and no man ever satisfied her quite the same after she’d met him, a fellow fighter. Their moments together had become fewer since she’d donned her manly disguise and become a successful arms dealer.

Even that added to her enjoyment. Only Marel and a select few others knew the Claw, feared and respected in their circle, was actually a woman. Her disguise was perfect, as long as she wore the contact lenses that colored her emerald eyes and her gloves that hid her soft, pale hands. The turban held her cascade of black hair under wraps. Not even the closest examination of her beard would show that it was held in place with spirit gum. She only let down her guard with her lover and trusted companion, Marel.

“Push harder. I can take you.”

Marel drove into her, crushing her clit and sending waves of sensation through her. He, too, grabbed the top of the chaise, both for leverage and to pinion her hands in place. He pulled himself against her, pressing her into the chair and pushing her pussy wide. He grunted and held still. His breath came in heavy pants.

“You’re so tight, it feels like a vise around my dick.”

“I’m tight because you’re so big. No other man makes me feel the way you do.” She’d said that often and to many men, but never meant it as she did with Marel. If ever there was a man she could love, it would be him. She believed he felt the same about her.

His fierce loyalty had protected her when she most needed it. He had helped her develop her reputation as the ruthless Claw in a business where men wanted to deal with men. And his shrewdness and willingness to do anything to help her had made him the closest person to her heart. The only person who even began to compare was Rashid, but he knew her only as a fighter and then as a woman. In lovemaking, he could be rough, but always with a hint of underlying tenderness for her feminine side.

In that, he showed a lack of the true killing instinct. If she betrayed him, Marel would not
want
to kill her, but he would. Rashid might want to, but never would be able to. She could have married Rashid, for she cared for him. But that touch of softness prevented her from truly loving him. She was more like Marel.

“Stroke me from the inside out,” she said. “I want to feel your whole length.”

He pulled out and then shoved in, impossibly long and hard, like a club wrapped in satin. Again, he lifted his hips and withdrew.

“Ahhh.” She couldn’t keep silent. It felt so good.

“Taste yourself, Elena,” he said, rubbing his face against her cheek, into her beard, and then over her lips.

The scent of her cream hit first, sending pulsing ripples of desire through her. He roughly took her mouth, sending his tongue past her lips and teeth and controlling her. At the same time, he thrust back inside her. She raised her hips to meet him. He ground against her swollen clit. She drew in a sharp breath at the shock of sensation and braced for another orgasm.

It struck like a mountain storm, with lightning flashes and rolls of thunder, blanketing all in its power. He took her scream for mercy in his mouth and never ceased his pounding. Spasms and contractions wracked her sex with unending strength. Seconds passed, then a minute. She couldn’t breathe or think or even respond to Marel’s unrelenting plundering of her mouth and body. He had command of her very being. She let herself sink into the fog of her orgasm.

She was barely aware of the world when Marel jerked his head off her mouth, reared back, and emptied himself into her. His cocked pulsed, each tiny tremor of his groin rubbing her clit where their bodies were tightly joined. His release added depth to hers. If there was such a thing as paradise, this would be it, a moment like this. Two people as one, his seed filling her, his cock stretching her to her limits, and electricity surging from him, making her feel alive.

Dead, but alive.
Such was the irony of sex with the right person. There was something so perfect about being with Marel, yet she couldn’t have found the energy to tell him so if she’d needed to.

He dropped onto her, breathing heavily, his forehead beaded in sweat. “I love having sex with you when you’re dressed as a man.”

He smiled against her cheek. “I always imagine what anyone would think if they walked in on us, the two of us rubbing cocks and sucking tongues.”

“Or when you take me from the rear. Someone would probably want you killed for sins against the Koran.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” With effort, he pushed to his feet. In seconds, his pants were back in place, and he looked as he did when he entered, while she stayed as she was, legs spread so he could see her pussy, wet with her juices and his. He stared and smiled.

“How is your headache?”

“Gone.” She dropped her eyes to his magnificent cock. “How is your ache?”

“Bound to return if you don’t cover yourself.”

She sighed and then remembered he’d come to tell her something. Slinging her legs to the side, she stood and straightened her robe. Out of habit when in disguise, she reached for the prayer beads she’d flung to the table when she’d come into her study, tense and in pain.

Once more in her male persona, she turned. “What did you come to tell me, my friend?”

Marel smiled again at the word
friend
. “I have seen Rashid.”

For a moment, she didn’t understand him. “Rashid was last in Islamabad. I saw him there myself a few weeks ago.”

Marel frowned, showing he knew how she had “seen” Rashid. Since their days in Afghanistan, when she had taken them both as lovers, Marel had disliked the other man.

“He didn’t mention any plans, but I’m sure he would have no reason to be here. Are you sure?”

“I know the bastard. I saw him in the meeting hall just this morning. I checked. He’s been here for several days.”

Elena walked across the room and then pivoted and returned. “Why is he here?”

“I don’t know. I had him followed. He went to the house where the American is staying. And I discovered he’s been to the American whore.”

She whirled to face Marel. “The old one?”

“No, the young one.” He stared into her eyes. “The beautiful, yellow-haired girl. And he used her many times before leaving.”

She felt a stab of jealousy, but it quickly dissipated. “I knew there was something wrong when the other, older American arrived. This is no coincidence.”

She pondered how best to handle this. “Have you spoken to the liar who stole the missiles? Did you find out why he tried to cheat me by not bringing the launchers, too?”

“Just before I came to you. He’s been put through a painful ordeal and swears he did not try to cheat you. He says these missiles do not need specialized equipment in order to use them.”

So, the American lied. No doubt he was an agent, not a dealer. “And Rashid is with him?”

“So it would appear.”

She made her decision. “Kill the thief.”

Marel nodded. “It will be done as soon as I take my leave.”

“Bring the two American whores to me. I will find out who they are and why they’re here. And then, we will handle the men together.”

Marel’s lips turned up. “That will be my pleasure.” He gave a little bow and started for the door.

“Marel, tell the Iranian buyer the missiles are his as soon as the payment is deposited.”

“And until we know exactly what is going on, increase the number of guards on the wall and around the perimeter.”

He nodded. “I will keep you safe, my love,” he said in a low voice. “It shall be done.”

“I know you never liked the idea of selling the missiles back to the American Satan, Marel, and you were right. Later, we will make the enemies in our midst pay for their impudence.”

He unlocked the door and left on a chuckle.

Elena fingered the beads, her mind awash with tactics and ricocheting thoughts. Only one formed clearly. She would kill Rashid today or tomorrow. He acted as a mercenary, but he chose his customers carefully, with a sense of morality she didn’t share or understand. In this world, you took what you wanted. If you didn’t, someone else would. Ethics and morals had nothing to do with real life.