V for Vengeance by cjsplace

V is for Vengeance ~ 8 [R]

We ascended the stairs to an upper level where people had gathered around the piano. They blocked our view, keeping us from seeing who played the lovely tunes. I skirted us around the crowd and came around from the far right side. Still, we could only see the pianist's tall straight back clothed in bright yellow silk. He had wide shoulders that tapered down to trim hips. His hands mesmerized the audience. They danced across the ivory and ebony keys like tiny prima ballerinas, jumping, sweeping and running from one end of the keyboard to the other. When we drew close enough to see his face, he was a study of sublime repose.

The sheer peace and happiness he felt through his music transcended to his audience. I saw it reflected in their faces as they listened in wonder. Stasha stood frozen beside me, lost completely within the melody. I left her where she stood as I approached the piano. The crowd parted for me, somehow recognizing the draw between the evening's entertainment and myself. He must have felt the pull and looked up to see what was happening. Our eyes met across the short distance that separated us, and our lips turned up into twin smiles.

Stasha stepped up beside me as I moved forward. My friend rose from his place behind the piano to meet us halfway. He towered over even our tall frames by at least another three inches. I found it refreshing to smile up at a man rather than look him in the eye or worst yet down at him. Playing Vinka allowed me to see the world from a different perspective. I still wouldn't trade my short stature for an upgrade though. Yes, it was fun playing "dress up" when necessary, but I still preferred my own skin.

"Hello, old friend," I whispered, knowing he could hear me.

"Stasha, meet the wonderfully talented, Lorne." My hand swept toward him, even as I inclined my head to her.

He presented her with his brilliant smile, as he bent forward at the waist, while capturing her hand between his much larger ones. It was charming to watch them take each other's measure, with an obvious flare of interest rising between them. Lorne was that rarest of creatures whose interest depended on the person, rather than their sex, attractiveness, race, color or creed. He had no inhibitions concerning sex, understanding the hidden boundaries and easily flowed with whatever rules he and his partner(s) agreed upon. I had no doubt Anya found him much to her liking, which explained the dire warning she gave me earlier. Women were strange creatures. Most thought it the male of the species who stood ready to draw blood to keep an intended mate from others ready to lay claim. They had no idea how dangerous the female became when someone came sniffing around her lair. It had been years since I had felt such emotions; still I can recall their bittersweet taste.

Lorne's features weren't classically handsome. His jaw was too long, as was his nose. But, there was just something about him when he played or sang or smiled, which had even my cold, dead heart trying to sputter back to life. He saw the world as it could be, literally. I'm sure our present reality often broke his tender heart. Lorne hailed from another dimension known as Pylea. He's an anagogic demon, which is a fancy name for reading futures when someone sang. Thanks to superb makeup and several high-powered charms, his lovely green skin, red eyes and the cutest little red horns appeared as captivating green eyes with tanned skinned framed by the most luxurious head of golden brown hair. It drew people to him much the way voice did. The closer you got to him the more your fingers itched to reach out and to touch it, to stroke it, to test if was as soft as it appeared from across the room. I knew from experience it was, and it wasn't due to any glamour or charm. I've always thought Mother Nature was a rather petty bitch, myself. How else could anyone explain why men had those incredibly feminine attributes that women would kill for? Come on have you seen the lashes most men had? I've heard some even had double lashes, which was totally unfair. She was definitely a bitch who wanted to remain top bitch. I admired that in my own twisted way.

Getting back to my friend Lorne, yes, I called him my friend. Don't go into shock or think I've gone soft. I've said it before and I'll say it again, there are few people in my life I trust, even among those few there's a smaller list I name friend. Lorne numbered among those select few.

Elevators chimed their arrival on the seventh floor of the Bellesario Villas. Carefully hidden cameras manned by elite security teams monitored each of the floors as they endeavored to keep the elite guests safe, while protecting the casino's interests. Level 7 Tower 2 team tensed when the doors opened and no one stepped out within the allotted time. Fingers flew across keyboards to rewind casino floor footage to determine who had entered the car, while systems checks and analysis ran on another computer to ensure proper keys and codes had entered the system. A hand stretched out to place the dreaded call when it stopped mid-dial. The five-man team took a collective sigh as they watched three figures stumble from the car into the hallway. Their normal blasé attitude toward their job changed to shocked awe, and eventually arousal, as they stared at the body puzzle of arms and legs moving in perfect harmony toward Villa 703. Each step they took left behind the reward of one article of clothing. It moved as one unit even as six hands continued to caress whatever body part came near while it played an adult version of 'Pass It On' with mouths, lips and tongues. One guard felt dizzy just trying to keep up with who was kissing who. Heads cocked to the side even going almost upside down as the security team attempted to determine where one body ended and another started. The human puzzle of body parts somehow managed to open the villa door, while never missing a single caress or kiss. With the amount of skin showing, their audience was wondering where they had hidden the door key. One guard joked that perhaps there was yet another person hidden in the middle.

Somehow, without breaking their puzzle-piece embrace, they had maneuvered toward the door, leaving behind a cookie crumb trail of clothing. A masculine hand reached out to turn the knob while two slender female hands came from opposite sides to slide the room key into the lock. The passionate trio fell through the doorway, into the room and tumbled to the floor unrestricted from the mundane bindings known as clothing. Their laughter mingled into musical notes that had the male closing his eyes in joy.

The door shut, closing out yet another interesting Vegas moment in the security team's life. "Only in Vegas," they muttered in unison as they turned back to their monitors.

Inside the night had only just begun. They scrambled up from the floor, whether by some common thought or previously agreed upon plan, and raced for the bedroom. The male lagged behind, simply to admire the view. He quickly caught up with his beautiful companions. They had stopped mere inches from the bed, where they stood exchanging conspiratorial smiles before leaping onto the king-sized bed like naughty children, fully-grown, nude, naughty children at that.

The statuesque brunette fell atop the long-limbed blonde. Sable strands intermixed with the stark white to create an inverted halo with the dark chasing the light. Stasha's head dipped forward to nibble the soft skin behind Vinka's ear. She hummed as she worked her way down the strong column toward the small dip between neck and clavicle.

Lorne spread himself on the bed next to them and propped his head on his hand, prepared to enjoy the show. Happy to oblige, they went about providing the first act in this evening's entertainment.

Lush, ebony hair trailed after the soft, nipping kisses placed on the sun-kissed skin. The mouth moved downward and the hair followed. Lips wrapped around a perky nipple while the lustrous locks hid its twin from sight. They slid downward tickling ribs and puckering up the otherwise ignored areole. The slender back arched up from the bed at the dueling sensation, while their audience watched mesmerized. Long fingers replaced lips to wrap around the lush fruits, weighing their fullness. The soft lips continued their journey swirling soft patterns over taut, toned skin, while those strong fingers twisted, tweaked and pinched one peak, pushing her partner to the edge of pain as her tongue on the other, pushed her toward the promised pleasure.

Lorne tried to remain the voyeur as long as possible. It heightened everyone's pleasures, but he seemed unable to stop himself from leaning over to press his lips to Vinka's, taking her mouth in a passionate kiss.

"Okay, Lorne, we're good to go," I said, lying flat on the bed.

Tara lay to my left with Lorne to my right. They held my hand as they leaned on their sides. It gave them the advantage of seeing the each other and me clearly.

"Are you sure about this, cupcake? I know you're good with the stealth, but when did you learn the magic mojo?" His eyes darted about the room as if he expected SS to burst in at any moment.

I rolled my eyes, surprising him with the uncharacteristic response, before turning to nod to Tara. Lorne looked between us in total confusion. Understanding dawned, when she swept her hands up and out dissolving not only our glamours, but his as well. His mouth gaped open then clicked closed several times in a comical pantomime caught somewhere between a fish and a baby bird. It snapped shut as he peered down at me, while I waited quietly for him to calm. He refused to meet Tara's curious eyes, no doubt wondering what he had gotten himself into this time.

He flushed an interesting darker shade of green. Yes, dark green. No, I don't want to hear any jokes about his name and ethnicity. His intense red eyes glared at me as his high forehead crinkled into the deepest scowl, like I had snuck Maggie Walsh into the bed with us, or something similarly dangerous and unwanted. Before you ask, no it wasn't the first time I had enjoyed some Lorne loving. He's an intense, passionate man. Lorne makes love the way he sings, with every fiber of his being. Why the frilly heck do you think Anya was marking her territory and trying to warn us off? It wasn't that she had problems with multi-partner couplings. She just wanted or expected to be included in the festivities.

Tonight's events were very much a private affair. Anya knew everything about Lorne's past and his current use of glamours to pass as human. She had no issues fooling the Powers when it came to personal or professional gain. Lorne brought her a steady draw as one of the casino's headliners. I knew she would throw Tara and me to the wolves without batting an eye. We threatened her professionally, and from her point-of-view, privately.

Lorne turned to me as the shock faded from his face, quickly replaced by understanding. Two intensely piercing red eyes swept over me before they returned to meet my eyes. He had many talents, of which I've only spoken of the obvious. Among his repertoire lay the talent to read people's souls when they sang. It gave him glimpses into their aura and quite frequently allowed him to their entire future. Few people knew the full extent of his gifts. I had the honor to be among that number. It was for that very reason, well partially, we found ourselves laid bare, if you will, here tonight.

"I promised you last time that I wouldn't put you in danger. My word is always good. You should know that by now, Lorne," I answered him with a purr, purposefully recalling the last time we had seen each other under similar circumstances.

He blushed the most becoming shade of pink, which should have clashed with his skin. Somehow, it only enhanced his high cheekbones, drawing the eye to his sharp chin, straight to that talented voluptuous mouth. Damn, I was getting sidetracked, so sue me. I mean who wouldn't with being surrounded on each side by naked yummy hard bodies, one of each flavor. Yum.

"I can't control this forever. We need to do this before anything happens," Tara said, interrupting our short walk down Sex Street, right past memory lane.

Lowering my lashes, I studied her for signs of strain. Her face had the same serene expression she wore when she felt safe. Sometimes I doubted Tara even knew the extent of her own magical abilities, or their boundaries. I was the first person on the bandwagon against magic abuse. But, knowledge regarding ones own capabilities and limits was another topic entirely. First, things first, Tara had to understand what she was up against. She needed to know her abilities were about to be tested to their limits.

I turned to Lorne and said, "She needs to understand why what's coming has to happen and the part I need her to play."

Worry filled his ruby-jeweled eyes even as he reached out to place his palm across Tara's forehead. A strange melody filled the room as he started to hum. It had no pattern, no rhythm, yet it wrapped around us, drawing us along with it.

Tara and I stood in the dark. Our only means of light came from two pulsing portals. I grabbed her hand to pull her toward the first one. We cautiously stepped inside the softly glowing light. It felt rather like surging through deep water and coming up dry on the other side. Still clutching hands as we stepped onto solid ground, the soft light illuminated our backs while we stood facing toward the darkness before us once more.

My voice sounded foreign to me as I spoke in the darkness. "You may know some of what you see. To understand our present and prevent the future destruction, you have to understand the past."

Great! I just became Bob Marley as I started walking her through the ghosts of Sunnydale's past. I showed her the power player's evolution from private entities to world leaders; the genocide of all supernatural beings, except for controllable magic users and the Slayers. She watched the horrendous experiments on my sister Slayers and the awaiting Potentials.

So distraught by what she'd seen, I practically had to carry her back through the portal. She fell to the ground, taking great heaping gulps of breath. I watched her fight to control her gag reflex. She won the battle and earned some respect from me in that moment. Stepping forward, I tapped her shoulder, causing her entire body to jerk back like a frightened kitten. She shook her head, no doubt trying to dislodge the images she had just witnessed.

"Come on, there's more," I said then proceeded toward the remaining portal. She scrambled to her feet and slipped her hand into mine as I started to take my first step into the light. "Here you'll see what's hidden, the worm within the apple, eating away while we sleep."

The flow of images started again. She saw the power structure fueled by Super Soldiers. Children stripped from their parents only to return as monsters. The country controlled by the select few in power, who had their fingers on the master switch. Maggie and Quentin as they played puppet masters behind the scenes, and the inevitable showdown when they decided to quit playing nice with the other countries. Their power hungry machinations and greed would lead to the final World War.

Super Soldiers had grown increasingly aggressive, which caused the resistance to grow exponentially. It wouldn't take long before Maggie decided she needed her own Slayer line. The experiments would start again or worse. The worse, Goddess help us, the horrendous breeding program would take on another aspect. The Council carefully screened the Potentials allowed into Maggie's tender care. They were never the girl's next in line. They sent girls who stood no chance, in their mind, of becoming the Slayer. The problem with the Council was that they assumed they controlled the outcome. I wouldn't put it pass Maggie to kill ninety girls to ensure that one among her 'guests' became the next Slayer. Worse yet, if she somehow learned the Potential's identity prior to them becoming her property… Maggie could systematically destroy the Slayer line, leaving only the poor lives caught between birth and pregnancy, who longed for death.

It was for them that I needed Tara's help. She stared in horror at the endless rows of pregnant women floating in water-filled tanks. Her horror grew to rage when she noticed the small pre-pubescent bodies whose arms and legs appeared tiny compared to their bloated bellies filled with life. Each mother had tubes and wires connected to her and her child on each side giving them the appearance of water bound puppets. One side pumped in nutrients, while the other removed blood from the mother and amniotic fluid from the child.

The image changed to show Maggie changing the supply for the Super Soldiers throughout the world. She kept the pure supply for her own, while increasing her ranks to overflowing. The progression forwarded to the ultimate showdown between the International Powers. It was Global War. Destruction of life in mass proportions with Super Soldiers from the US, showing no mercy as they plowed over whatever came across their path.

Within five years, the world became a barren wasteland. Super Soldiers had gone berserk killing their captives. Nuclear weapons long thought dismantled and destroyed launched in defense. The cataclysmic destruction seemed too horrific to imagine, even though we watched it unfold before our eyes.

We stepped back through the portal as our eyes fluttered open. Lorne removed his hand from Tara as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on my lips.

"It was all real wasn't it? Those poor babies. How could anyone do that?" Tara whispered as she turned her sad blue eyes to me. Without letting me answer, she continued, "What do you need me to do?" Her voice sounded steady and sure, with no hint of a stutter.

I smiled up at her. There maybe hope for her, yet. For now, we were here and naked, no sense wasting the opportunity, not to mention such prime real estate as this luxurious villa. I pulled on the two hands still twined with mine, and my reward came in the shape of two naked bodies pressing me flat into the mattress. What more could a girl want?

"There's some unfinished business here if I recall." My voice went low as my hand went lower. I found what I was looking for, something hard and something soft, soft and wet. "Time to play, dahlings."

A soft pop signaled the withdrawal of Tara's magic. It left Stasha, Vinka and Lorne center-stage once more, although to the discreetly observant cameras they had never left.

"Yes, sweet cheeks, I'm definitely ready to join the party," Lorne replied as he swept his hand down Stasha's back to cup her ass. She threw back her sable hair to give him a sloe-eyed smile.

I hooked my legs around their outermost legs effectively trapping them against me. My hands continued their tandem patterns one inward while the other worked in sure upward motions.

Stardom, even if it's fake can take on a life of its own. I had counted on this when I called Lorne. The next morning after properly saying good morning to each other Stasha and I woke to mounds to offers from directors, producers, agents and several invitations from high-ranking politicos to come see them when we arrived in Hollywood. One adventuresome billionaire, who loved anything and everything foreign, sent his private jet and booked us the penthouse floor of his hotel, the Four Seasons.

I had heard about David Nabbit, who hadn't? The reclusive billionaire's public sightings were as famous as Elvis. Lady Luck had shined on us big here in Sin City. Who was I to say no to such an incredible offer? It played nicely into my next step toward vengeance.

Tara had stepped aboard wholeheartedly. I'm not entirely sure whether she based her decision on what she saw during her Lorne-o-coaster ride, or the marathon of sex we engaged in afterward. Who am I to look a gifted witch in the spell?

Unfortunately, and much to the regret of all parties involved, the lovely sex games had to remain in Vegas. Sin City was good at keeping her secrets. I learned long ago not to bet against the house and to pick up my winnings when I was ahead. It kept me alive this long, and far from the Powers' reach. I wasn't about to start betting foolishly, even if it was tempting.

I already knew how my story ended. There was only one plausible scene for the play in which I starred. I had never fooled myself into believing in any other outcome and wasn't about to start. There were no soft lights, roses and words of undying love in my future, no happily-ever-after with a certain lovely blonde witch and/or devilishly handsome anagogic demon. No one would fill the cold, empty place that once housed the heart of Buffy Summers. All that remained inside me was the hollow shell of what was and what would never be again, what remained was V. I'm vapor; the shadowy image seen in the mirror that disappears when you turn around. I'm what had to destroy the monsters; including the one, I had become to perform that very job.

Tara wouldn't understand this until it bit, until I bit hard enough to leave marks. She had to learn how to survive the world as it was and was about to become. Certain lessons had to be learned from experienced, not taught in theory. It was rather like love. People talked about it ad nauseam, yearned for it, chased after it, and tried everything from perfume to painting to capture the feeling into solid form and failed. It had to be experienced to be understood.

This was the same situation. Even after seeing the pre-curser and follow-on, subconsciously Tara's fighting against the evidence. I needed to put her where she had no choice but to face it head on, or simply lay down and let it crush her under its huge wheels. Oh, I know she said she was ready to step up and play her part. I'm sure she even believes it's true. Life had taught me much harder lessons, and at a much younger age. There was too much at stake for me to allow her into a situation before I knew she could stay the course.

Our time in Vegas was over, and we were about to walk back into the lion's den, literally. Tara continued to remain in character as she sang off-key while dancing around the bedroom nude. She gathered the clothes that adorned the furniture, decoration and several light fixtures with a carefree attitude, as she packed our things away. Each new garment she found garnered an odd dance in which she held the empty garment aloft then waltzed it around the room. Though certainly odd to watch with dresses, pants or shirts, it was even more so when the aforementioned articles of clothing included bras, underwear and stockings. The room was once again thong free, but dear Stasha's one-woman show was not yet finished. I watched her prance around the bed, jumping onto the mattress to complete her circle. She bounced several times with the boundless joy of a six year old before climbing off the foot. Whiskey hued eyes filled with unbridled mischief glanced my way before she dove under the bed. Her perky butt never stopped swaying to the music in her head as she reached for some unseen treasure known only to her. A triumphant hoot followed by said rear wriggling skyward as its owner scooted backward then shot to her feet with my bra in her hand. The crazed treasure hunter look on her face had me bursting out in laughter. She certainly was enthusiastic, I'd give her that much.

Aboard the private jet, Stasha continued her show for the flight attendant as she went from bouncing on the rich leather couch to lounging like some legendary star from old time Hollywood. I was still smiling nearly an hour later as we touched down in LA.

Flashbulbs, screaming fans and even louder reporters welcomed us the moment we stepped off the plane. Burly bodyguards lined the short red carpet (I kid you not) rolled out for us. An antique Rolls Royce waited for us on the runway, complete with chauffeur. He stood with his hand ready to whisk the door open for us the moment we drew close. I worked hard to keep my Vinka smile firmly in place, while I waved at the frantic crowd. It took extra effort not to laugh at our driver's outfit. Our benefactor though brilliant financially took his eccentricities to the extreme, especially when it came to anything foreign. It looked like he had raided the British Museum to dress his driver. The poor man wore the full regalia of a proper upper crust English Chauffeur from the early 1900's. I'm talking about from the top of his shiny patent leather hat down two his high-buttoned two-toned shoes. The damned thing looked hot enough to cause him to drop dead from heatstroke. Perhaps Mr. Nabbit's hadn't just dressed him in the proper attire; he actually was one of those rare mythological creatures - the proper English Chauffeur-slash-Butler. They never sweat, handle every situation with discretion and somehow know the answer to your question before you can even formulate it. It must be true because this guy was cool as a cucumber as he swung the door open the precise moment we stepped next to the car.

We slid into the cool interior as the door sealed out the exterior noise. I heard Stasha's contented sigh beside me. Turning my head, I found her wiggling into the seat as if she had found the perfect lover. She had her head tilted back, eyes closed and soft little sounds were coming from the back of throat.

"Mmm, Vinka, is Mr. Nabbit married or involved with someone?" she asked, keeping her eyes closed with a willowy smile tilting the edges of her lips.

"Not that I know about. He barely leaves his home up in the Hollywood Hills, and very few people even know what he looks like.

She opened her eyes then sent the most sensual look imaginable toward the privacy glass. "If not, I want to tell him, how you say, that I take all positions and want him to fill me in."

"You mean, think about you for the position and consider the position filled?"

Stasha's throaty laugh filled the enclosed compartment. It wrapped around me and took me directly back to that suite in Vegas. Mr. Nabbit's was in trouble with a capitol T.

"No, dahling, I said it correctly."

Well, all right, let's send in the clowns. This may not turn out as hard as I had imagined. She had more and bigger balls than I gave her credit for; let's just hope she didn't have problems with premature ejaculation, or performance anxiety and "can't get it up." After all, the world was watching. It wanted new idols to adore and we intended to fit the bill. We were exotic and new, but one misstep and they would tear us apart. Should it come to that I would leave her as cannon fodder while I faded back into the shadows. Tara had much to learn. Primarily, was how to take the confidence she found in her glamours new body within her own skin. And like I said, some lessons you have to learn by experience.

The limousine pulled up outside the luxury hotel where the door opened the moment the tires came to a complete stop. I'm surprised we didn't have police officers on motorcycles escorting us through downtown LA. The largest Hummer I'd ever seen pulled up behind us. It contained our muscle-laden bodyguards who had followed closely behind us as if we were visiting dignitaries. The men existed with military precision and moved toward our car like a coming storm in their black on black clothing. They reminded me of a murder of crows. The macabre thought had me smiling. Our driver was admonishing the upstart door attendant for attempting to do his job, which had the smile on my face blossoming even brighter.

We squeezed into the elevator surrounded by muscles on every side and one very English chauffeur/butler. Stasha tried everything short of stripping them or herself to get them to loosen up. Either David Nabbit had sent gay bodyguards, which was rather smart on his part, or they had trained with those British guards at Buckingham Palace, but something was off about them. I'd lay money that whatever 'it' was, it was the same strangeness I felt about Geeves. They hadn't batted an eye, broken a sweat or even shifted in place, nadda.

They were like - robots. The moment the thought went through my head something clicked into place. My glance slid over their physiques taking in what I had missed in my previous perusals. Their faces had the proper skin tones, softness and hardness. I couldn't touch their hair without raising suspicion, but it looked real rather than synthetic. The dark suits they wore were form fitting, which left little to the imagination. I allowed my eyes to rake down their bodies and found what I was looking for (or rather what I wasn't looking for), though skillfully disguised. The elevator doors opened startling me from my thoughts. I glanced at Stasha, nodded and plastered a huge smile on my face as we exited into the penthouse suite.

The geekiest man I had ever seen stood waiting for us in the living area. He was practically bouncing in place with excitement. This had to be the elusive Mr. Nabbit. He didn't look like what one would think the third richest man in the world would look like. I wondered if he went out more often than people thought, since he looked more like the guy who worked at the local comic book store and lived with his mother. There were very few pictures of him, and they were all grainy and out of focus. I couldn't stop my eyes from glancing downward. He was the real deal, total nerd, but human. That wasn't to say he was harmless.

"Ladies, I'm so happy you're here. I hope your flight went well. Oh, how silly of me, I'm David Nabbit," he rambled, and started forward with his hand out for us to shake when he tripped over his own feet.

Geeves was by his side before I even saw him move. Okay, if I had any doubts about his humanity before, he had just confirmed them for me.

We rushed toward our host wide-eyed, concerned, hands going automatically to inappropriate places with soft cooing noises escaping from plump pink lips. Poor Geeves had no choices but to step back from his employer though he did so reluctantly. His stiff upper lip went straight with disapproval and if his back got any stiffer, it was going to snap. We guided him over to the couch, and positioned our bodies next to him, strictly for medicinal purposes you understand. The man was shaking and sweating, which probably had more to do with Stasha's wandering hands than his almost fall.

"You poor, dahling," Stasha cooed. "I'm soo sorry. I saw the nasty lump under the rug but your feets found it first. Say you forgive me." Her lashes started fluttering fast enough to cool the poor man's reddened cheeks.

"T-that's o-okay, I'm often cl-clumsy." I watched him visibly swallow when her smile went up several more watts. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry p-perhaps we should eat. I hope you don't mind, but I had my chef prepare dinner. I'm sure after tonight your schedules will become terribly hectic and thought you might like to relax," he explained then continued with his next breath. "Or perhaps you'd rather go out. Alfred, they'd rather go out, see where they'd prefer to go and reserve us the best table, err, oh uhm." He stopped mid-babble to stare wide-eyed at Stasha before turning to me. His head twisted back and forth like the spectators sitting on center court at Wimbledon. "I'd understand if you rather see LA on you own. Two beautiful ladies such as you would have a much better time out without someone like me." He tried to extract himself from the deep leather couch and our double body cushion.

I glanced over at Stasha and nodded behind his back. We pulled him back down between us, while throwing those long model legs over his thighs to lock him in place with moves worthy of any synchronized swimmer. I had allowed Stasha to drive or rather to lead but could stay in the passenger's seat for only so long. Placing my finger against his lips as they started to part again, no doubt in another bout of babbling, he quieted.

"My cousin and I would love to have dinner with you, here in the lovely rooms you provided. You can tell us all about the latest gossip happening in your wonderful city," I said, leaning close enough for him to count my teeth. It was tempting to let V out for just the tiniest moment, but we needed him, and I didn't want to scare him. I knew he was smart, and there was much more here than met than the eye, at least with regards to his choice of employees, still it wouldn't do to frightened him out of his gourd.

The smile that spread across his smile was reminiscent of a little boy on Christmas Day. It had me wondering exactly who David Nabbit was, and feeling that he may be even more dangerous than I had imagined.

We spent the evening listening to him babble for hours on end about his computers. He was rather endearing with earnest geeky ways, and endless questions about what it was like to overseas. I think he honestly thought we still lived in some modern day Dr. Zhivago romance novel type lifestyle. We stumbled to bed after seeing him out, too tired even to think about what we would face tomorrow.

Our days flew by between meetings, interviews, lunches with David, and partying at LA's hottest nightclubs. Somehow, I found time to sneak back to the hotel to check message, firm up plans, and set my next move into play. It turned out our trip to Vegas had worked more to my advantage than I could have ever imagined. Our popularity had garnered the interest of one of prime time's rising star who wanted to interview us live with no commercials. It was the perfect venue. They had sold it to the networks as a pseudo-documentary on the differences between U.S. and European celebrities.

I slipped into Stasha's room where she was still in the last stages of putting on her make-up. She smiled at me in the mirror. I leaned against the door careful not to wrinkle my outfit. She applied gloss to those lush lips then turned around to face me. I swirled my finger in the air for her to model the whole affect for me. Her eyes lit up with naughty glee as she sauntered further into the large bedroom, putting an extra sway into her supple hips. When she reached the center of the room, she stopped and slowly turned to display her beautiful assets in full panoramic view.

Stasha had artfully applied her makeup to highlight her whisky colored eyes. She left her dark hair angle freely against her face and neck, where the red dress she wore brought out its natural highlights. The dress was deceptively simple in nature with its modest neckline and a-line pleated skirt. It wasn't until she walked, moved or even I suspected sat that the true nature of the material came to life. The silky chiffon clung to Stasha like a second skin, only falling free when she stilled.

I clapped my hands in approval, which garnered her full mega-watt smile and me a pretty curtsey.

"Very pretty, cousin," I said. "Are you ready for today?"

Her eyes filled with excitement as she answered, "Oh, yes, it will be so much fun. We will knock their toes off."

"Socks," I said, automatically providing the proper metaphor.

She tilted her head in consternation at the correction. "Bah, socks! English, it still makes no sense. What if I am wearing no socks? See, I wear no silly socks." She extended her shapely leg to display high-heeled stilettos. Her red manicured toes wiggled for effect.

I released an exasperated sigh. "It's just their way, Stasha. I'm sure they don't understand why we drink vodka like its water, or eat Borscht."

We exited the hotel surrounded by David's contingent of bodyguards. He had loaned us his spare set, which followed us everywhere. They gave us that mysterious air, as well as reminding everyone about our association with the reclusive billionaire. It added to our allure and reputation more than any publicity stunt our agent could have dreamed up for us. The agent who seemed to appear from the ether was in fact Emma's nephew. My world included so many dissecting lines it was a wonder that I could keep them straight. Sadly, he never knew the truly amazing lady his aunt was.

We drew up to the studio where reporters and paparazzi waited to swarm us the minute we stepped from the car. I sent my cohort in crime a reassuring smile before I slid on my sunglasses and prepared to face the masses.

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V is for Vengeance ~ 8 [R]