(Thanks to Rey for his editing expertise)

*We bleed for Love and Hate; both celebrated with tears*

(9 days later)

"So, are you anxious about joining the mile-high club," Echo whispered. I had to wonder about her need for privacy – there were only five of us on-board 'my/our' private jet. Michael Harrow offered repeatedly to let me use one of his air fleet to come to Lanao del Sur in the Philippines. I not only refused, but I 'bribed' an officer at the Naval Air Station to sweep my plane before departing.

I videoed the devices our 'normal' service missed, sending a copy Brad Pierce, my boss, as well as Harrow before dropping the bitches in liquid nitrogen for trans-Pacific delivery to Harrows hot little hands. This allowed me and the currently four ladies to make our flight unhurried to our destination – a place where civil authority barely held sway.

My pilot was Special Agent Jensen Furst, aka FBI Girl – she could fly anything short of a passenger airliner and she'd been shot at in actual combat. Like any true idiot, she'd volunteered to fly into the Muslim controlled Southern part of the country. I really did feel safer knowing she was at the controls.

The other stranger on-board was someone I didn't know and therefore didn't trust was DSS Agent Winifred Portsmouth – who apparently was the daughter of a former ambassador to some non-First World country. The US State Department saddled us with a diplomatic security service agent and I was going to find out how they knew who to send.

Lydia Haversett, Detective Sgt. of the LAPD's Organized Task Force had remained upbeat until we lifted off then had crashed into her seat and was inconsolable by anyone but Echo. Her husband was crucifying her for returning to the life of an undercover officer – the fact that she had just now volunteered for another deep cover assignment only made things worse.

It took one long look at the deep rift in Echo's emotions to realize what had been thrown on the table. If Lydia put her career on hold for her daughter and husband's sake and left Echo to go it alone with me, she could retrieve her marriage. Lydia was choosing Echo's life and safety and, by default, mine as well.

Echo aka Aisha Bashir was my own Hell's Angel. Not the motorcycle club type but the graceful spirit that destroys you with the best of intentions. We met at a bar twice, played Bondage cop then I made the colossal mistake of inviting her out to a social function and all I could blame was my hormonal synergy and my keen intellect that was attracted to our differences. If Lydia said it was love at first sight one more time she was going to wake up wearing clown make-up.

"At least let's go to the bathroom," Echo whispered to me. Apparently it was bad form to have sex with Agent Portsmouth two seats in front of us. Lydia was two seats ahead of Winnie (Winifred Portsmouth).

"It is a coffin," I explained patiently for the third time. "By that I mean it is the size of a coffin for someone who is 6' 8"; 230 lbs. or less. I checked the specs."

"How about the beds?" Echo kept evading. "There are two of them."

"Do you really want to wedge you and me into a 28 inch high space?" I sighed. I wouldn't go into the fact that calling them single beds was being generous, she'd already seen them and balked and this chick had done a thirty hour stakeout in a Honda Civic.

"Why are we doing this at all?" she got pissy and conflicted at the same time.

"I could tell you some bullshit about Harrow getting in my face the moment we get to his hotel, if he doesn't smell sex on me that's going to plant a serious seed of doubt about my lack of character."

"But?" Echo traps me with her eyes.

"I just want you Echo. No reason beyond I'm horny for you and scared and terrified that I'm going to let you and Lydia down," I explained.

"What about Jen and Winnie?"

"I haven't let them inside," I responded.

"Yet," Echo insisted.

"Yet," I allowed the possibility that common sense would continue to be eroded from my life. That was all the answer Echo needed to forgive this open act of carnality.

Echo stepped into the isle, back to the cockpit and started stripping out of her boots, pants and socks. I got to push up in my seat and do the same, with less room to maneuver. I caught Echo stopping herself from looking back at the other two passengers. We all hoped Special Agent Jensen didn't take this moment to stroll out of the cockpit; it would embarrass Echo and put her out of the mood and right then I was ready to knock one out of the ballpark.

We pushed the armchairs into a recessed position (almost as if they were designed for what we were about to do – the manufacturer will make some shit up about being make-shift beds or some other nonsense) and Echo mounted me.

"Why do you always end up on top?" I teased her.

"That's not so," Echo groaned, "you take me every which way you want me."

"Yes – and?" I coaxed her along.

"And every way I like," she confessed before kissing me. I slipped my hands down her back and underneath her jeans waist-line.

"Yes?" she repeated with a wider smile that almost matched my own.

"Someone is wearing a thong," I perked up.

"Someone's gone commando," she upped the ante. I bucked instinctively against her crotch. "Ready to knock one out of the ballpark?"

"Are you inside my head?" I snickered.

"You and baseball – you would never know you hadn't played a game in your life – now fuck me while I'm still in the mood," she taunted me. That poetic verse sent us into a frenzy of ripping off our own clothes while biting exposed areas of flesh on our partners.

I stroked two fingers inside Echo's pussy; she was my liquid nectar of arousal.

"I love that look on your face when you touch me there," she whispered. "You always look like this is the first time for you."

"You are embarrassing me," I responded in a wistful manner.

"Good because I'm not totally comfortable having those three staring at me ass as you – fuck me," Echo started growling sensually. She was going to love this then. I took my left hand and pushed my dick into her cunt as she rocked up then back, using her force to drive my shaft all the way in as a continuous action. At the same time I penetrate my right forefinger into her anus.

"Damn Dominic," Echo shivered," that's not fair." Oh yeah? I drove my cock even deeper at the same time my finger drilled all the way to the second knuckle.

"Oh fuck you," she cried and I mean cried. Tears were trailing down her cheeks and her thighs and stomach vibrated. I wiggled her hips side to side and Echo lost it.

"You are staring Special Agent Furst," Winnie said. I imagined she was smirking.

"Ssshhh," Jen replied softly, "I'm taking notes."

"This is only the first inning," Lydia chuckled quietly. "They can go like that for an hour."

"In my briefing I was informed I might have to sleep with this guy," Winnie grinned (I think). "I'm now okay with that."

"You three keep it down," yelled Echo. "I'm getting my cunt massaged damn it!"

"Cunt massage," Jen mused. "I like the sound of that."

"I swear to God I'm – I'm shooting – oh yeah Dom – oh that feels – the next bitch who opens her mouth."

"Echo, please don't shoot the pilot," I pleaded while matching my upward thrusts to her downward plunges. This ground her clit into my pelvic bone and tickled it with my hairs. "We are over the Central Pacific and need to refuel somewhere soon."

"A few days in a life raft with you would be fun," Echo panted.

"As fun as," I start ejaculating into my lady, "sunburn and drinking saltwater. Oh God, your craziness just made me cum."

Gun to the head

As we were getting off the plane, two limos and a handful of pick-ups (Chinese knock-offs of Toyotas) rolled up and a few dozen mean and rather filthy looking indigenous tribesmen arrived as our welcome wagon. They piled out lickety-split and came at us with their guns raised. Oddly enough (I've worked really hard at being unpopular recently) they weren't aiming at me – they were aiming at my ladies.

Even Jensen, at the top of the stairs, didn't look too enthused at our prospects; Gulfstreams are well-built but not armored. Their AK's would make Swiss cheese of the airframe and the remaining air fuel would only highlight the afternoon sky. The lead Sergeant Major – the guy who's AKM (so Winnie identifies for me later) was joined by three different kinds of pistols and the local equivalent of the multi-tool called a Bolo – told the lot of us something in one of the thousands of languages I didn't know.

As I said, I didn't understand the language so it was rather miraculous that Winnie started politely interacting with him but he was still getting quite rude and agitated.

"They want all of us – and by us, he means the women – to give up all our weapons or he'll kill us," Winnie informed me. She was getting ready to lay her little ol' euro-built killing machine down too.

"Have him repeat the demand," I requested of my suddenly priceless State Department associate. No, I was not going to miraculously learn their language, but I needed time to figure out if I was facing your garden variety psychopaths, the Amish Mafia, or one of your common playground bullies. A little verbal tug of war developed between a linguistically agile Winifred and the Sarge. This ended up with every native pulling back the bolts on their weapons.

"Dominic," Echo whispered nervously.

"Dominic," Winnie added, "I've tap danced all I can. We need to give up our weapons; these guys work for the local Sultan who is pretty hardcore Islamic."

"Is their leader more afraid of our client or is our client more afraid their leader?" I requested of our translator/linguistic goddess.

Our boy, the Sarge, yelled at Winnie and we were all sweating from more than the heat.

"Our boy is top dog," Winnie bowed her head in my direction, as if she was subservient. It was to laugh.

"Winifred, tell our brilliant opponent that I'm requesting my personal weapon then give me a loaded pistol and make sure that security thingy is off," I joked. I tended to joke when I was terrified. I was terrified because I didn't want to die and I was not bluffing about what came next.

"It is called a safety you idiot," Lydia chuckled under her breath. I lauded Agent Winifred Portsmouth and to the State Department in general; she was one cold cucumber. She bowed to the Sergeant Major and stated something firmly but respectfully then rather foolishly several militiamen point their weapons at me. I was praying the damn thing didn't go off in my hand – really praying and normally I held atheists to be too religious.

I caught her drawing her shoulder holstered 9mm Beretta (I looked it up on a weapon's catalog on the ride to the palace), Sarge got feisty but that was okay. I had his little red wagon and if I was wrong I wouldn't have to suffer the ignominy of being outsmarted by a man who most-likely murdered his elementary school teacher last year in order to graduate the 1st grade.

I held the gun in a sweaty palm because it was one thing to say I live and die by my wits and another to really put that to the ultimate reality test.

"Winnie, please translate this over to the Sergeant Major – whoever this fucker who thinks he is in charge is called," I took a deep breath then put the gun to my temple. Several people looked like they wanted to kill me and some actually worked for the other side.

"Tell Bubba here that I'm going to blow my brains out in twenty seconds unless he boards me and my harem with our weapons on some sort of suitable ride. Ask him what Mr. Harrow is going to believe – he and his redneck posse went nuts and killed his money man or that I actually killed myself. Ask him and his buddies what the Sultan is going to do to them when he decides they murdered me...and to their families."

Winnie had been babbling on and on like crazy as I had been speaking; both Sarge and his buddies were showing a remarkable lack of discipline as the enormity of working for bloodthirsty dipshits with a low tolerance for failure dawned on them.

"Starting now," I gulped down my fear.

Action number one for bullies is to bluster and that's what they did. Winnie wasn't, I hoped, counting down the last seconds of all our lives as she spoke in short, clipped tones. Action two was for them to bust up the punk who was disrespecting them but all four of my ladies had grasped the concept that I was a total asshole but they were probably facing a gang-rape no matter what and they'd rather go down with the smell of cordite wafting around them than die the other way. They drew their guns and stared down the nearest cluster of bad guys.

One made a lunge at me but Echo put her body in the way, pistol held in the classic two-handed stance. His AK was most certainly pressed against her stomach and would do a good job at cutting her in half. Her .44 would perforate his sinus cavity right before it introduced the front of his brain to the back of his skull. Echo's a big girl, I may love her and I didn't want her to die.

Strangely, none of the bastards wanted to play hero or martyr but I was willing to bet that type of guy didn't tend to beat the crap out of kids half their size either. It was a really, really intense few seconds that Winnie kept counting down. Action three came about when the bullies can't beat you down; they backed away from the fight – they swallowed face instead of taking pain.

Sarge was yelling shrilly and pointed his weapon from me to Winnie.

"Jen – thirteen," Winnie shouted a bit shrilly herself. I couldn't blame her; she probably thought she had a promising career in US service 24 hours ago.

Jensen Furst starts at thirteen and counted down. Winnie was going rapid-fire with Sarge then,

"He says we can keep our weapons and stay together," she almost screamed with three seconds to spare. God (or Goddess, Allah, Yewoh, or Oppenheimer) Bless Lydia; she yanked my hand up and away right as I squeezed the trigger. Had I been bluffing, Sarge would have known it so I had to be ready to put my life on the line. I was so busy looking over all the angles I almost forgot to save myself.

Everyone jolted at the sound of the shot but thankfully a blood bath did not ensue. All the militiamen were looking at me like I was some sort of lunatic. None of the girls were taking their gaze off our welcoming committee so I couldn't tell what they were thinking. I was sure I'd get an earful soon enough. I clicked the safety back on, took the weapon by its warm barrel and handed it butt first to its owner.

"Thanks for the loan Winifred," I smiled and she matched my gaze perfectly. Aaahhh, she thought I was a lunatic too, but she was smiling like a maniac so it must have been a good thing in her book.

"Thank you sir, now do you require us for any immediate needs or do you want us to oversee the unloading of the aircraft?" Winnie inquired respectfully.

"I want these guys to do the heavy lifting for us, Winnie. I'm not comfortable with our side putting our weapons away," I said. Sarge interrupted by asking something; I thought he was asking.

"He wants to know why you don't carry a gun," Winnie translated.

"I kill people with my mind," I answered with my most convincing soulless smile.

Winnie said a few things and I saw the native crowd recoil and make some sort of gesture; I was guessing against evil. The second thing she said got Sarge all pissed off again but I owned his ass now.

"He says he won't ask his men to do menial labor while women are around," Winnie informed me. Yes, I had been transported to Mr. Harrow's paradise. I walked toward Sarge.

"He wants to know what you are doing, Sir," Winnie translated next.

"What is that sword-like thing at his belt?" I questioned the DSS agent.

"It is called a bolo, Sir." If she kept calling me 'sir' I was going to get used to it and that only ended with me in Manila re-enacting the Crying Game – on the losing end of that sexual encounter.

"He really wants to know what you are doing, Sir," Winnie repeated.

"Tell him I'm going to take his bolo and cut off his left ear if he doesn't get my luggage into those cars in the next five minutes," I detailed my current madness.

He snapped his head toward Winnie when she enlightened him and was a second too slow.

Sarge tried to bring his weapon back to my center but I grabbed and twisted his barrel away. He tried to maintain control but I was using his two handed pull against him and flipped him to the ground. The hand on the trigger let go to brace his fall while the other kept to the barrel of the gun. I stomped on his sternum and then drew his bolo.

In most irregular armed force, 50% of the men are there because they are forced to. 33% to 25% are believers of some kind. The last 17% to 25% are there are there for familial bonds, or insane criminals. Likewise, in this part of the world, Sarge had his position because of his loyalty and questionable blood ties to the upper leadership.

In my current situation, it meant 20 of the 40 guys wanted out of this fight and didn't trust Sarge to do it. Ten were interested in helping their kin out, so five of them wanted this fight not to happen. Of the fifteen left, 8 would support the Sultan and 7 were Islamic extremists. I could count on Jensen, Lydia and Echo to track those nutjobs.

Sarge suddenly changed his tune and the unenthused guys started being called over to get our stuff loaded. Jensen protected our surveillance equipment but the rest of our gear moved fast and safely enough. At this moment I retrieved my briefcase and started reintroducing Christmas to the heathen. I got out seven normal envelops with $(Phil) 2500 in each. I paid off the seven guys who 'got' to help us.

I understood that was ~ $200 US dollars. I helped up Sarge and gave him a nice fat envelope with twice as much though I could tell he and I were not buddies. Winnie had to tell them some made up stuff about Sharia law and only allowing money for Charity work. He wanted to stuff some guys in with us on the ride over but I looked from his bolo to his ear and he backed down again.

The money was Winnie's idea, the anti-bullying campaign was mine but I seemed to have her seal of approval. By the iciness I received on the road to the villa right outside of town, I could tell, she was the only one. Like any good democratically elected despot, the Sultan had his grounds patrolled by armed men with armored cars decorating various key positions around the perimeter. My financial disclosures had revealed the vehicles were Myanmar Army surplus – Harrow never let an antiquated engine of destruction go to waste.

A guy I liked to call the Major met us at the palace/villa/mac-mansion that housed the chief potentate and imagine that, he was seething at the Sergeant Major over my ladies still having guns. His bodyguards were a higher caliber of killer too. They took pride in their appearances and their status as elites. I didn't care that they didn't hold a candle to Delta Force. Delta Force wasn't with me.

I made my snatch unnoticed as I moved pass the guards but I thought that three of my four girls did notice by the way they groaned. I walked back and forth while poor old Sarge got his ass chewed but then it was my turn. The Major spoke to me in Spanish so no translator was needed. This man was clever enough to know that if I lived in Southern California I must speak some Spanish.

"Senor, your women must give up their weapons," he menaced me but was being polite about it. "That is Mr. Harrow's wishes." I was sure it was.

"Do I have the hospitality of the Sultan's house?" I inquired offhandedly.

"Of course you do, Mr. Umstead," the Major sensed a trap coming his way.

"Then it is appropriate that I give you a gift for your hospitality (thanks Winnie)," I smiled. I handed him a ring with the grenade pin attached.

"Why did you give me this?" the Major was now highly suspicious.

"Because it would be rude for me to give you the grenade it was attached to," I kept that smile frozen on my face.

My militia buddies were backing away rapidly; they knew I was nuts and they'd seen what happened when a Chinese-made Type 42 grenade goes off.

"What do you plan to do with that?" his tone was even and hostile.

"I'm going to throw it somewhere random," I gave a congenial nod. "I'll pay reparations on any men I kill and, of course, pay standard market price on any equipment damaged or destroyed."

"Unless," his eyes narrowed but burned with intensity. "There is always an 'unless'."

"Unless you stop treating this as a cultural lesson being handed down to someone who is pretending to care about you, your leader, your people or your culture," I related. "I know the fucking globe like the back of my hand but even I had to look up this place on a map to find it."

"I am not disrespecting you but I'm not going to kiss your ass either. I don't have a death wish; I am here to conduct business," I continued, "and my business doesn't include social niceties, or pretending to be culturally sensitive when we both know that I'm not. I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass; I want to conduct my business then depart to a place where I'm not in constant fear for my life."

"The grenade?" the Major directed his eyes to the instrument of pain and death.

"I had to get your attention and cut through this bullshit argument about taking my bodyguards' weapons away from them," I took a deep breath because the Major had ceased being the Enemy and has returned to being an enemy – he'd kill us if ordered to but not for shits and giggles.

"Where did you get the grenade from?" He inquired almost serene- like. I extend the grenade and he placed the pin back in carefully; we'd hate it if we suddenly ruined our burgeoning friendship over a little hand sweat.

"I am not going to help you nail the poor bastard I lifted this from," I shook my head.

"It was him," the Major pointed out the guy who has been doing such a fine imitation of a tree until now.

"I neither confirm nor deny," I stated.

"He is missing a grenade in his belt," the Major pointed out.

He handed the man back his grenade, calmly gave him an order in the native lingo and our boy departed. That he departed at a quick step and not as a condemned man spoke volumes for the Major over guys like Sarge – this fucker was dangerous.

"Your women will keep their side arms holster and latched down. All assault rifles and SMG's will be back slung and will not be touched unless your life – not theirs, only yours – is in danger," he ordered.

"Knives and bolos?" I clarified.

"If your women can take one of my men with a knife, so bit it. Same goes for the bolos," the Major conceded the issue in my favor. We proceeded up the steps and inside to a pedophiles playhouse – oh hell. Apparently the flavor of the week is 12 to 14 year old boys and girls.

"This disturbs you?" the Major tilted his head my way and questioned me.

"Yeah – yeah it does," I nodded. "Fuck explosive population growth, this is a huge waste of intellectual and economic potential. I assume you eventually off-load them to foreign markets because I don't think you could justify the waste of muscle power on killing them."

"Is that all, Mr. Umstead?" he persisted. He was not sounding me out for sympathy; he was profiling me as much as I was profiling him – as I said, a totally different kind of bad guy.

"Nope, I have a conscience and I find beating someone smaller and weaker than you to be a disease that should be eradicated from the human species," I responded.

"Failing that, if I had access to a small mercenary army, I'd come back here and round up every male over the age of 15 in this town and bring back impaling as a death sentence because I hear it is a long and horribly way to die, but still kinder than child slavers deserve," I detailed to him clinically. "As reality stands, Mr. Harrow holds the lives of those few people I care about over my head so I will behave – happy now?"

"You are lying, Mr. Umstead, but I can't tell about what?" The Major looked me over. "That tells me you are either very good at deception, or you, yourself, are conflicted about what you do?"

"What is your boss going to think about that?" I pushed things.

"Oh, there are things my Sultan does not need to be troubled with," the guy said, "The Sultan likes to be decisive but finds actually making a decision to be taxing, thus boring and unpleasant."

We entered the main open-air meeting area though I noted the Sultan had roll-out screens on the roof that will deflect most to the rain should it come while we are meeting. The place is a miss-mash of Mindanao, Spanish, and Arabic styles that works for his place. Michael Harrow and four ladies where off to the right.

To the top left was Aya Yen and three no-necks who looked happy enough to throw live baby chicks into a burning oven just to watch them pop. Three other independent groups of sleaze-bags are on the left beneath Aya. One group was made up of fanatics – over what, I did not know. The other two groups were soulless monsters who should be put down on general principle.

The Major bowed (guards don't bow, they guard) and thanks to the omniscient Winnie, we bowed too. I caught Harrow being mildly amused by the whole scene. Most likely he was the Sultan's special friend and didn't have to bow. A short argument went back and forth between the Major and the Sultan then the Sultan and Harrow shared a secret joke.

"Welcome to my country," the Sultan greeted us (me really), "Stand – stand," he allowed us. "How has your visit been so far?"

"I'm waiting for this place to grow on me," I conceded then I heard Winnie groan softly. I was not pretending to be the world's best diplomat. "I feel so under-dressed; all I brought with me was a nail clipper."

The Sultan regards me for an instant then fired off in his home lingo to the Major.

"I can sell you a gun if you like," the Sultan smiled once more.

"Thank you Sultan, but that won't be necessary. If the threat is at range, one of my ladies will kill it and if it is up-close, I'll break their necks myself," I grinned right back.

"Women are not allowed weapons in my land," the Sultan's smile grew brittle.

"Quaint custom but I didn't come here for your customs, I came to do business," I told him. "If you don't want to do business; my arrangement with Michael Harrow is voided, I will turn my ass around and leave, never looking back."

"I don't think I'm indispensable and there are a hundred money men who will stab their own mothers in the back to get into bed with you. I am the best man in the business for you, though, and I'm not going to go running to Interpol with some whiny little tale about how you threatened my sick little daughter, or my favorite Labrador named Fluffy," I kept at it.

"I don't want to be here but I am and deserting Mr. Harrow only makes the lives of my few friends worse – so I'm here. You are not going to yank my chain though because every damn person in this room, me included, deserves to die – painfully screaming out our last seconds. That said, do we start shooting, do my ladies get dispensation to carry their artillery, or do I get to go home?" I finished up.

"Even me Dominic?" Aya Yen purred but it is all velvet fur and nasty claws underneath.

"Especially you, Ms. Yen; you touched my friend so I'm only waiting for the change to choke you and watch the flickering flame that is your life go out," I promised – and lied.

She seems somewhat taken aback by my glacial anger.

"Are you sure your mind hasn't been poisoned by the FBI and the US State Department?" she taunted me. I could tell Jensen and Winnie were surprised that their 'covers' have been blown so fast. Since the conversation was in Spanish, I could tell only Harrow and the Sultan were also in on the gag.

"And?" I looked at Aya.

"And – and they are federal agent so you are either a total idiot – which you loudly claim not to be – or you are in with US law enforcement," she snarled triumphantly.

"Sure, you could see it that way, or you could see that Ms. Winifred Portsmouth, daughter of former ambassador to the Philippines and weapons expert was fired over sexual misconduct charges 8 months ago – the file was sealed for her father's sake," I snarled right back.

"She knows two dozen languages and dialects from South-East Asia alone and she was with DSS. If she wasn't a bi-sexual nymphomaniac, she'd still be with them today, but she's a sick little kitten that I like to pet, so she's with me now," I grinned toward Winnie who rubbed her panty line from hip to crotch. Now this was the cover story I planted – gritty and embarrassing.

"I figured that actually knowing what the fuck was being said around me was going to come in handy and it already has," I snorted. "Being smart isn't the issue – being smarter than you and your information source is. By the way, she has a brother named Peter who I went to a private academy with. Did your sources tell you I've known her for twelve years too?"

"Jensen Furst was an FBI agent and a good one. She made a bad call and three agents were wounded, two critically so she was marginalized, her career over and looking at early retirement. I recruited her because I need someone who knows criminals – like everyone in this room – but who wasn't a criminal themselves because I don't want someone on your side giving me advice," I stated.

"Do you want to ask her how happy she is working with me, doing this?" I offered the room.

"Well Ms. Furst, how do you feel about this? Won't you turn us in when given the chance?" Yen pressed.

"Lady, I couldn't get a trash bag changed in the FBI when I was shown the door," Jensen related with some real bitterness that was tough to fake.

"All my friends have retired or been rotated to desk jobs. The only people I can tell would use this to make their careers – the career that should have been mine," she growled. "If you start chopping up some baby in front of me I'll probably kill everyone I can; I'm not some animal damn it. Beyond that, some of the perks of this job are looking worthwhile."

"An FBI agent," the first of three fanatics glared our way.

"Yeah, and I was in air rescue Ali (random name), which means I took helicopters into rough places and rescued downed pilots. I also got to jump out of my Pave Hawk with my M-4 and pop some Jonny-jihad ragheads in Afghanistan," Jensen met his gaze. "Anyone you knew?"

"Your woman is insolent," 'Ali' snapped at me. Apparently being killed by Jen was not in his day planner because Vegas wouldn't take odds on him outdrawing Jensen, so he just stopped.

"Hmm...you are right Sir, - I'd ask your name but it doesn't really matter - Jensen, come here," I demand. Jensen took a deep breath and came from the back of the group to my side.

I turned and faced her, took the bottom of her tank top and roll it up to her neck. Her sweat-soaked white sports bra went up next. I could tell Jensen wanted to nut me so bad but she wanted to live more and being so close to Harrow had made her aroused enough for me to get the scent. I licked each nipple then squeezed her breasts together so I could lick them both at the same time.

"You are a pathetic deviant," Ali mocked me angrily. I raised a 'hold on' finger up for him.

"Okay Jensen, you have been suitably punished," I smiled at her. Her smile was a bit subdued; I'm guessing open displays of nudity weren't in her normal sexual handbook. "Now Jensen, if you think Ali here is going to – not says something, but is ABOUT to say something, I want you to blow his brains out, are we clear?"

"As crystal, Sir," she nodded. Here we went with the Sirs again. Lydia was never going to let me live this down. "Now Ali," I turned on the fanatic asshat, "do you want to press your belief in something you cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste against a very close proximity mixture of flesh and metal?"

"He is a guest in my house and under my protection," the Sultan intervened.

"Oh, sorry about that," I apologized. "Lydia? Do you know Jensen here all that well?" I questioned.

"Two days Boss," she grinned.

No Sir from her.

"If she kills Ali, I want you to shoot her; can you do that?" I inquired.

"Right as rain, Boss," Lydia chimed off.

"Jensen, are you still ready to shoot Ali if he speaks?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely Sir," Jensen sounded pretty pleased actually.

"Problem solved," I addressed the Sultan and it looked like I'd amused the psycho – yay me!

"Muhammad Omar, would you answer me a question," the Sultan taunted his guest – the one we knew as Ali. Muhammad Omar jumps up and stormed from the room. One buddy rushed after him while the third fanatic looked around confused before following along.

"That still doesn't resolve the matter of you having two former government servants in your employ," Michael Harrow brought up. I couldn't bring up his background – sort of.

"We have many corrupt politicians and policemen in our organizations," the Sultan ameliorated.

"These two are not corrupt, they are disenchanted which is much more useful for us all," I stated.

"Being in government service doesn't make you a good guy or a bad guy; being a criminal doesn't make you loyal or venial," I continue. "If I thought they were active agents, why would I be sending myself away to a prison forever – be it concrete and steel or Witness Protection? If you really are such a bunch of gutless babies, I'll just leave and all your worries are over."

"I haven't seen anything illegal, former work-product is still covered under contract, and I already don't trust any of you because you ARE criminals. Robbing, stealing and cheating is what you do to pay the bills – along with drug smuggling, arms dealing, human trafficking, murder, extortion and terrorism. You guys do not have a glowing resume and I can make less money elsewhere that would be a lot safer," I sigh.

"Fine," Harrow said, "kill one of the girls and the matter will be settled."

"Would that make you happy, Michael?"

"Yes it would, Dominic," he sneered. Oh, he's crossed the line.

"Echo, do you still have that stress ball?" I hoped. She nodded and tossed it to me and I immediately threw it at Michael's face. He caught it but the reactions around the room were telling. Many hands went to their guns.

"You don't get to call me Dominic yet, Mike," I snarled. "We aren't at that stage of our relationship. Now the Sultan can because he's an out-in-the-open bloody tyrant. You and I still have unresolved trust issues."

"Eloise," he gives me the bone I'm looking for, Eloise having her name acknowledged.

"Thank you Michael – back to where we were – does everyone know who Santa Claus is," I'm clearly wearing the patience of the room thin but most nod. "Do I fucking look like Santa Claus? I don't think so, which makes me wonder why anyone here thinks that their happiness means anything to me."

"All I care about is making you rich – rich enough that you will put up with my eccentricities and rich enough so that one day, when a bonded courier service shows up with all your records you won't come looking for me because I've vanished. I am not going to be the richest, certainly not the deadliest and hopefully not the most wanted. I am going to hit my happy point and then I'm out," I spoke plainly.

"Always that lack of ambition," Michael sneered (he'd earned that right now), "to see the next challenge and even that final struggle, Dominic."

"I have a family to lead," the Sultan regaled me. All I knew was the Filipino Government used a car bomb to kill the Sultan's father; the police chief he hired, the local magistrate he paid for, and the local judge he owned all said so.

The local Muslim population already distrusted the central government so they were convenient fall guys and a few months later the indigenous terrorist network moved in and Harrow started supplying both with weapons. Since the regions autonomous status means that federal and international police agencies can only investigate with the Sultan's approval, you can guess how lawless things had become.

Somewhere along the line the Sultan was going to remember he had his own father killed and his sons were going to look awful suspicious. Lucky for the World this guy's has over forty kids.

"Good for you," I told the Sultan. "I'm building a gilded tomb full of death traps and taking it all with me. No one gets anything from me when I'm gone." That earned me some laughter – we were all selfish bastards after all.

"When will you conclude our relationship, Dominic?" Aya Yen teased me in a way that was not teasing at all.

"You are mine when I want you, Aya. You weren't that difficult to figure out at all," I glared back at her. "From the moment you dragged Brad Pierce down to your level, I came gunning for you and you were too stupid to realize it."

"You are still a joker," Aya's eyes shuttered.

"If it is a joke, why don't you share it Dom; I'm sure Ms. Yen won't mind," Harrow got all predatory. I looked his way then move around the central fountain to the setae that Aya was reclining on. She's had a great poker face. Sadly she was great at reading people and she knew I'd gotten her more than dead to rights.

"Got a Yuan to spare?" I said softly. She couldn't press the Chinese bank note into my hand fast enough.

"Why?" she whispered, as in why was I not killing her right then.

"She (we both know I'm talking about Aya's lover) doesn't deserve to die because you are a contemptible piece of filth, Ms. Yen," I replied before walking back to my ladies.

I see that look of love and warmth that reminded me that I'd left the protective circle that they normally kept around me. The girls were going to take turns kicking my ass when we got to our rooms for that dumb stunt.

"What was all that about?" the Sultan was displease on not getting leverage on Yen.

"When Dominic takes your contract," Harrow related, "his work product, both before and during your contract, are your property and he can't share it with anyone, or so he claims."

"Odd," the Sultan sulked. "Mr. Umstead, can't I outbid you for Ms. Yen's secret?"

"Of course you can Sir," I turn and face him now that I'm back with my girls. "But it is one more Yuan than you've got."

"You don't know all the treasures at my disposal," the Sultan tempted me. He must have really wanted Yen on her knees.

"Sir, it will ALWAYS be one more Yuan than you have," I waved the single note Yen gave me. "Speaking of treasures, I do have a gift for you, as per your traditions of respect and hospitality," I motioned to Echo to get 'the box' plus if he took it, he was loosely bound to protect us; deviant mongoose that he was.

The box was polished oak, nothing special. I didn't take it all the way to the Sultan before I was relieved of the item but it didn't blow up in the henchman's face so he seemed happy. The henchman pulled out the five plastic casings, read the titles but didn't know what to make of them. I could assume there wasn't much of an intellect test for the position of bomb-sniffing human.

The Sultan ripped the box away and studied the contents.

"They are your five favorite movies on Blue-Ray all in your native tongue – none of that lousy dubbing in Spanish. I found fourteen voice actors to do the roles and the Blue-Rays are in pressed gold sheeting created from the original masters."

The Sultan looked floored, Harrow looked floored and even the Major looked impressed. Sure he was a multimillionaire with his own kingdom and a private army that enforced his will; he was a pariah outside of the Southern Philippines and wanted but not in the good way. I'd brought him a piece of civilized recognition for him, his culture and his people and that was worth more than dollars right then.

He waved me off and the five of us took our dismissal and made a break for the car. The Major traveled along but kept quiet, studying the group of us out of the corner of his eye. Only when our limo took off did the beating begin and due to the possibility of listening devices I had to take it.

The tourist hotel they brought us to was nice – really nice and that was because Harrow built it, staffed it, and guarded the borders from unwelcome eyes. The staff was Moluccans of the Christian variety which Winnie told us means Harrow has his own fanatically little army that the locals couldn't get to as the Moluccans were raised on sectarian warfare with their Muslim neighbors.

It also means if someone liquidated the current Sultan, the locals were coming straight here and murdering the lot of us; and you wonder why this was not a #1 tourist destination. Jensen and Winnie swept the room while Lydia and Echo searched for video surveillance. We had a camera in one of the three shower heads plus five others spread out around the place.

I was busy checking the dimensions of the rambling suite – not for secret doors but to figure out where the audio and visual dead zones were. I also spotted three locations where outsiders could make maximum use of enhanced audio devices. I used my infrared laser and nifty IR goggles (really just sunglasses) to spot the one guy using one expensive bell shaped device on us.

Jensen sneaked across the room to the window so she could see the bastard with her non-violent suppression device aka a sonic gun and fried his ass. I mean his damn thing exploded, he screamed in agony and fell off the shed he was using as his cover. I swear to God, he was fountaining blood out of his ears – it is a horrible sight to behold – non-violent my ass.

We sat around making duck calls for five minutes when poor SOB #2 showed up and this time Jensen let's Lydia work out some just-been-divorced aggression by dowsing the guy in sonic death. We had to stop Lydia from (hopefully) not giving him permanent brain damage because the guy was so wedged into his spot he couldn't fall down thus escaping the line of fire and Lydia was having an 'ex-husband in the sights' moment.

While waiting for round three, we order room service (the tray table wasn't bugged) and dug in because we starved. After a half hour we've determined that they are on to our game and were not willing to toss another staffer on the short term disability list.

The Hotel was a two story sprawling hacienda type place. We were on the second floor at the Northeastern corner, where the building was closest to the beach. We had two king-sized beds and two huge baths linked together with a massive open communal area – the only doors were the heavy wooden main door and the two glass doors in the two showers. Only thin white curtains separate any of the rooms and even the walk around balcony from the outside world and one another.

There was no defending this place so our thoughts went to an exit strategy. Running into the building for the stairwell was suicidal because while the walkway was broad, the railing was a frail wooden weave; hardly bulletproof. The women made the calculated decision that we needed to jump off the northern-most balcony into some thick, if prickly, bushes.

The first two of us were going to take light blankets to build a cushion for the rest of the team. The plan was for Lydia to go first, to see if the drop was doable. I'd go next, because I was the most important (in their opinion – also I'm a lousy shot) person, followed by Winnie (we needed her language skills), Echo, and Jensen (she was our pilot but she was also our greatest combat veteran). I impressed the FBI girl when I did argue, along with Echo, that Echo should have been last.

Our argument was cut off by our door being key-carded and Eloise stepping in. She was packing an AKM tonight with a fashionable addition of boots, jungle camouflage pants, shirt and cap, with a light ballistic vest providing a post-apocalyptic air. She packed a shoulder holstered weapon and a boot knife. Her eyes swept the room and I rushed her. I thought Echo barely missed cold-cocking me with her pistol as I moved past her.

It took some serious control for Eloise to a) not shoot me and b) not go hand to hand when I hugged her.

"Hey, it is good to see you," I greeted the stiff girl. I looked past her into the eyes of Michael Harrow.

"Hello Michael, thank you for the nice room," I smiled. "When does construction finish?"

"You are not getting any more doors, Dominic," he stated. I released Eloise who flowed around me and checked out the room. I back-pedaled toward Winnie (on the left) and Lydia (on the left). Michael was amused by my attempts at security.

"It is a bit late to be worried," he looked down at me. "Do you have a backup plan?"

"Nope," I shrugged as two ladies dressed identically to Eloise entered. The last one in shut the door without taking her eyes off us.

"Perhaps you believe your – seasoned – help will compensate for you miscalculation," he grinned.

"Wait, are you making aspersions to that fact that every lady with me is 28 or older while every one of yours has recent experience wearing Huggies?" I faked being confused.

"I thought we settled our differences concerning you and your irreverent attitude," Michael stepped up and got ready to...hug me; okay 'man-hug's me with a painful trio of slaps on the back.

"The Sultan loves you," he laughed because seven women were about to spew death around the room and he found the death of underlings to be completely amusing. "That gift was spot on and you beat all the odds when you arranged for your girls to get their guns into the audience hall. Did you really threaten to kill yourself?" He found that terribly amusing too.

"Missed ventilating my skull by .43 seconds; Lydia realized that I'd entered a fugue state – all I could hear was the countdown – and yanked my arm up right on time," I replied.

"Lucky me," Harrow was being down right jovial at my expense.

"That has yet to be determined; you told Brad you wanted to send some more business our way," I tried not to sound pissy but I was approaching both my terror and bullshit limit.

"We will talk in the morning," Michael snorted. "I wanted to make sure you had settled in okay and no one had misdirected you to someplace unsavory."

"Speaking of unsavory," Echo chimed in, "we found a truckload of your bugs on our plane," she told Mr. Harrow. The misogynist ass-fuck turned on my – well, not my lady, but still.

"I need him," Mike indicated me, "but what makes you think you can talk to me this way, or at all? Dom, you have a problem in your stable; correct it." Oh yeah, that was going to happen. At least in civilization, Harrow was somewhat constrained. Out here in the Wild, Wild East, he was totally off the reservation.

"Echo, who told you that these bugs were Mr. Harrow's?" I asked.

"You did Sir," Echo snapped off her reply.

"You aren't overly educated but you have good criminal instincts," I continued, "Was I simply wrong or was there a reason I would hold Mr. Harrow responsible?"

"One of his underlings used his equipment without his knowledge or consent," she grinned feral-like at Michael. "This has to be the case because you ARE the smartest man in the room."

"What makes you think one of my people had your plane bugged, Umstead," Harrow simmered.

"Umm...you've spent fifteen years dealing with the meanest, dirtiest, most paranoid motherfuckers on Earth, Michael. Someone close to you would gladly spend a few thousand euros to make sure for you that I'm not your run-of-the-mill scumbag – it is simply good business," I told him. "Someone took initiative.

"I don't tolerate those kind of activities against my associates – besides, if I want to know where you are all I need to do is ask," Michael tossed the ball back in my court.

"True enough," I agreed. "So it has to be someone who knew I was coming and since Eloise knows me better than that – right Snow White? – it has to be one of the two new girls."

Eloise gave a slip of smile before anyone on her side could catch the gesture.

"Echo – gun please," I requested of my closest 'bodyguard'. She hands me her .44 which I examine, weigh then hand back. "I'm not hunting a water buffalo; give me a weapon I can use." She handed me the 9mm at the small of her back. She made sure a round was chambered and the safety was off.

"Michael, that brunette with that ponytail has been eyeballing me since she came in," I pointed out. "Let me talk to her for a second, if you please."

"Knock yourself out," Michael's eyes flowed from me to his doomed hireling. Of course the girl had been eying me because Echo was at my side.

Lydia was behind me and to the right, partially shielded by us. The second brunette was eyeballing Winnie and Eloise was doing the same with Jensen. Michael knew this too but was unleashing me on his girl anyway. Proving she was a human being despite her icy exterior, her eyes grew wide when I walked within eight feet of her, raised the gun and aimed it at her head.

I'd never shot a gun at another person before and this was the second time I'd held one – not only today but ever. By the look on the girl's face she'd realized this too.

"Do you have a name?" I asked her.

"Dee Harrow," she answered in a clipped tone. My mind was racing; I thumbed the hammer back then I let every other distraction fade away and broke my world down to statistics, math and input. It suddenly seemed far too easy to simply snuff a life out – at eight feet. I aimed for a spot right below her left earlobe, I winked with my right eye, watched her eyes expand and I pulled the trigger firmly back.

I missed which meant I actually hit what I was aiming for.

"Fuck," I snapped. "I can't believe I missed her at this range," I flipped the safety on. "She flinched. She flinched to her right so she must not be the one. Maybe someone overheard the four of you; it doesn't matter." I walked back to Echo and handed the gun back to her, pistol grip first.

"With more data," I told Michael as I faced him once more, "I'll figure out who did this, I promise you. Winnie, can you give Mr. Harrow the liquid nitrogen container with the devices in it. He may be able to follow up on other leads." Winnie nodded and padded off quietly to get the cylinder we stashed all the bugs in.

She dropped it off in front of Eloise because that route kept her the farthest from Harrow. Harrow may not even have noticed her; his eyes were waiting for mine to blink.

"How's the tongue?" I inquired about the wound I gave him in our first/last fight.

"How are ribs?" he snorted at me instead of answering my question.

"They only hurt when I breath...or sleep...or have sex; I'm okay when I eat," I replied deadpan. I was not so much a macho-asshole that I couldn't admit I'd done a dumb thing and paid the price. Harrow slapped me in the upper arm.

"Watch over him ladies," Harrow joked while keeping the stare-down going, "I have plenty of uses for Mr. Umstead and I'm going to be truly pissed if he dies before his time. I hope we understand each other. Night Dom."

Over his shoulder he tossed Echo her stress ball which she caught with insane ease. Was I just clumsy or what? He turned and left, Dee going out first then Michael, the second brunette and finally Eloise lifting the LN container and backed out and shutting the door.

"Dominic, remind me to kill you after we have sex," Winnie took a deep sigh.

"Me, first," Jensen upped the ante.

"In case anyone missed it, he's my boyfriend," Echo became aggressive which I best associate with near death experiences and now gun play.

"We need to establish one thing right now," Winnie got her authoritative gears grinding as well. "Lydia, I am aware of your current situation, but after watch Harrow tonight, we all need to understand how he sees us."

"How is that?" Jensen sounded concerned. "I was only joking about the sex thing, by the way."

"I'm not and we need to examine that there are three games in town," Winnie continued. "We are Dominic's bitches, Harrows passing distractions, or playthings for the every cock-sucking piece of filth on this island. Free-wheeling women, in charge of our own destinies, aren't an option; we don't have enough bullets."

"Not that I'm dismissing your view but what makes you think it is this bad," Lydia closed up with the rest of us.

"The majority of the Islamic world is moderate to conservative where women are concerned; then you have your garden variety fundamentalist – they will cut a woman's head off or beat them on the souls of their feet with rods for things we consider trivial."

"Then you have these guys; women are property/slaves and rarely let out of their homes unsupervised. Worse, these men are societally allowed to molest rape and even murder unescorted women. If we can't convince these bastards that we are Dom's women they will expect us to lie down and get raped by them and their friends," she finished.

"If you want to rely on Dominic to look at you as if you he's had sex with you and loved it; go right ahead. I want to spend Christmas with my family on Cape Cod, so unless he fights me off, I'm making love to him," Winnie stated. There was a pregnant pause.

"Listen, I can become very adept at showing affection to all of you, so this won't be necessary," I pledged; the last thing I wanted was forced sex and the resentment that followed.

"Dominic, outside of Stephanie and Echo, how many women have you had sexual relations with," Lydia pressed me.

"You mean sex-sex?" I felt my throat tightening; "none."

"Oh God," Jensen groaned hopelessly.

"Dominic, I was the second woman you ever slept with...I mean," Echo was almost in shock, "you seem so skilled – confident."

"He reads," Lydia's voice regained some of its true playfulness, "a lot and that seems to include more porn than we had considered." I didn't deny it; three of those women could interrogate me into next week and the other one, Echo, had romantic issues to work through with me.

Jensen tilted her head and regarded me intently.

"What do I like sexually, you freakish savant?" she insisted I figure out. Later Winnie told me my lips moved as if I was whispering a hundred numbers and words at once. I thought of everything I'd seen; SA Furst's moves, speech, word choices, looks, how she sat, walked, glances at and what she looked at on me. I couldn't believe I'd never thought of that before; my mind was boggled.

"Double Penetration?" I guessed. I was not really sure where that came from but I thought she liked to wiggle her ass in a seat yet she liked presenting her standing body with hips spread and legs wide open suggesting vaginal sex. She didn't smack her lips much or swallow even when I was naked; so not an overwhelming preference for oral.

Jensen had clearly done undercover work before because I was not sure if this educated calculation of mine was on the money.

"You; Jensen," Lydia gasped. "I would have never guessed it." Jensen turned and stormed off to the far bedroom.

"What about me?" Winnie pinched my left triceps. Fuck it all; that hurts.

"I'm not a damn circus monkey!" I screamed at her. I'd found my emotional limit and it was in the look of betrayal in Jen's eyes when I opened my mouth. Jet lag certainly didn't help.

"Hey," Echo wrapped me in her arms from behind and spoke lovingly, "none of us feel you are a freak, or that you are not one of us Dominic. You aren't ready for this but here we are and we will help you as much as we can."

"We are going to go crash in the other bed tonight," Winnie took Lydia's hand, "you two de-stress and we'll crawl in before sunrise."

"Good night," Lydia kissed Echo then kissed me on the rebound. "We've all been in worse situations than this."

"You are lying to me," I sighed. "Statistically speaking, if all four of you had done this before, there is no way all four of you would volunteer to repeat the experience. Winnie, I need to know; did the leak that brought you here come from 'N' or 'C'?"

"Someone Noisy," Winnie answered. I looked at Lydia who was looking at Winnie; she nodded that she believed Winnie was telling the truth.

That meant that the NSA had illegal or semi-legal taps on Pierce and Pierce communications. I hated FISA. As far as I'd been able to discern, 'I think something might be going on' was reason enough for that secret court to have any federal agency violate my civil liberties. I was right back to the prep school honor code system I despised so much except this time the bully was the largest single employer in the United States.

"My family and Cindy got pissy about who could come along," she tried to impress me with the fact that the CIA (Cindy) and the State Department both wanted any part of this mess.

"Your lack of common sense is appalling Winifred," I muttered. Strangely, she leaned in until we were face to face.

"This is my profession Dominic," she whispered. "You are doing this out of love, which is a motivation I don't see enough of. Did you really go to school with my brother Peter?"

"Yes, I got regular swirlies from him and his buddies Sydney and Mark Burgess for over a year; if I was a petty man I'd take out that anger on your pretty body," I said.

"If it is any consolation, he's been kicked out of two colleges to date and is on his third," she smirked, "and both mom and dad aren't happy."

"He was bright enough but never wanted to exert his brain to accomplish things he could do by physical force or his social status," I recalled.

"I don't remember seeing you there," she confessed.

"I remember seeing you," I told her. "Why didn't you and Benjamin Corbin stay together?" The polite answer was to tell me that it was none of my business but she saw something in the reactions of Lydia and Echo that gave her pause.

"Ben and I had some good times, but we were both too serious about our careers," Winnie told me. "He received a posting to Sixth Fleet and I went into the DSS. We never reconnected though I was at his wedding. I didn't know you knew him." Which was to say my name never came up in casual conversation; I would have been stunned if it had.

"There is no tie between us, I just remember the name and an article I read a year back about him," I said.

"Work on your lying skills, Dom," Winnie scolded me. I shouldn't have bothered.

"Ben is the most important man in Dominic's life; only Ben doesn't know it so let it remain that way, understood?" Echo threatened. Winnie took a few seconds to nod her assent.

"Bedtime," Echo whispered to me and lead me zombie-like to my bed.

"I need to exercise," I mumbled.

"You will be exercising alright," Echo assured me as she started unbuttoning my shirt. I had a dress shirt, undershirt, dress pants, boxers, boots and socks – far too much clothing in that sweaty environment.

"Come on Dom," Echo started steering us to the closer bed with its flimsy white curtain suspended from the ceiling. "Let's get you to bed."

"Why aren't the rest of you starting to come unraveled?" I asked.

"Every one of us has discharged a firearm in anger, we have all been shot at, and we've been trained for this kind of stress. If we make a mistake, someone pays dearly and we've all had years do deal with this," she tried to comfort me.

"That's a crock Echo," I smiled quirkily. "Sure you make a miscalculation and someone dies. I make a miscalculation and the murder rate goes up a half of a percent – I've done the calculations. Worse for me now, those numbers have faces in the four of you."

"Then don't mess up," she started unbuckling my belt.

"Strip," I teased her about her unsubtle clue to me. I started the disrobing process. Echo got halfway there when she realized that all the girls put their luggage in the other bedroom. She scampered off and I watched her bare butt cheeks dance away – ah, going commando. She quickly came back carrying her gym bag by the strap.

"You could have moved at least," she teased me seductively. "Did you watch me run away too?"

"Hell yes," I mused. "I'm sure there is an inch of you I don't like but I have no idea where it is."

"You are such a screwball Dominic and I..." she hesitated.

"It is a loaded word, isn't it?" I filled in. Love, we weren't the types to toss that around. The sympathy of others had been a disappointment far too often.

We finish stripping down quickly but before we could spill onto the bed she crouched down in front of me. She kissed my cockhead, engulfed it for several seconds then licked from the start of the scrotum, along the bottom of the haft to the head once more. I was waiting for more of her cock-sucking when she handed me up some sleeping shorts.

Having people rush in and us be naked would have been – unpleasant. She had scooped up a fresh set of panties and a sports bra. We tried the covers – the other bed was in direct, if hazy, view. I struggled to order my chaotic thoughts as my mind did what it always did in a crisis – sorts through every ounce of data I'd encountered in the past 24 hours. If you thought a precise memory was a blessing, wake up and smell the overload.

Echo had only really known me for less than two weeks but she had developed keen instincts concerning me. She rolled onto her side, propped up on her elbow smiling at me.

"Oh," she whispered when she spotted my distracted facade. While staying in the same spot in bed she rolled over until her tush pressed against my hip. Her left hand coasted back until she was stroking my penis once more.

Yeah, I was hungry for her. My mind shifted its focus and drunk in every facet that was Echo Ashaz. I got onto my side, took it slowly so she could guide my cock into her.

"I'll take care of you, Dominic," she whispered. "I'll be here when you need me."

"I'll never be the same if I lose you," I breathed into her ear, "so don't you dare go away."

"Make me, Big Boy," she distracted me. I kept inside her while pushing Echo onto her stomach. She lets me settle in between her now wide-opened legs. When she propelled her ass slowly up, I started pumping her with equal care. After she had me positioned behind her in the doggy-style pose, she looked back at me through her flowing black hair.

"If you want to keep me, you had better keep up," she thrust back. Man, Lydia was right, when Echo finally got uncorked; she became as playful as any teenager girl ever written. I soon learned that tonight her left breast was more tender so I played with it, circling with two fingers the aureole but tweaking the nipple only every thirty seconds or so.

I placed nibbling kisses on her shoulders; let my right fingers linger over different parts of her body from the inside of her elbow to her shoulder, neck and down her ribcage. Her grunts became gasps then a desperate panting and finally her whole back seized up and she screamed into her pillow.

Her orgasm was so luxuriously violent she chewed through the light fabric of the pillow and had to cough up some goose down to escape being smothered. We collapsed to my side of the bed to catch our breaths. I was close and would have strove for my own climax but the whole pillow thing worried me.

"Hey," she gasped my way. "That was – was odd." She caught a few deep breaths. "You didn't cum."

"Girls can cum all the time while guys stay hard forever," I gave a dry laugh. "Every Viagra study says show...or maybe I have that backwards." Before we could go much further about my 'problem', I yawned. That cascaded over to Echo who lost her next idea to extreme fatigue.

I fished for my shorts, dressed and padded over to the second bed. I was not a trained detective but I could tell they were feigning sleep. I sat down closest to Winnie. She knew the gig was up and acknowledged me.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she whispered.

"I was hoping that Lydia could go spend the night with Echo," I suggested. What I was really saying was 'can Lydia go take comfort from her close friend because Lydia was suffering inside'.

"Are you sure?" Winnie replied. Lydia was already giving up her resistance. She gathered up her pillow – Echo murdered hers and was now using mine – and gave me a kiss on the cheek before stealthing over to her partner.

"Get in," Winnie commanded. She had caught me eying the sofa. "Jen already stole one its cushions to use as a pillow." I snuck over Winnie and settled between the two. I was not all that chivalrous to begin with and I was too tired to argue. As I settled down, Jen slide her pillow half over to me.

"Jen," I hissed, "is that a – umm – sub machine gun under here?" indicating the plastic and metallic under the cushion.

"Yes," she whispered, "would you rather I throw bullets at them?"

"I'm going to go to sleep now," was my response. Winnie spontaneously cuddled in behind me and draped an arm over my waist. Jen turned to face me from the front, looking for God knows what in my eyes.

"Go to sleep Dom," she finally confided to me, "We will keep you safe from everyone else. You concentrate on Harrow." I was out before I could find the words to reply with.