Heroes In Uniform (88 page)

He’d had to endure the detailed descriptions of how hot she was, how she liked to scream and exactly what else she liked. Matheus must have known how it made his dick lurch when he told these stories. All he could do afterwards was either drink to oblivion, work on himself, or find someone to use immediately. Did he know what a fucking bitch it was to be the Latin Lover’s best friend, when he owned a piece of woman he was incapable of riding hard and long? Matheus was too gentle for the likes of her. She needed pain, and she needed to feel the full dominance Roberto was sure only he could provide.

He pushed aside two of the darkly made up dancers with the strange instruments, sending one to the floor of the crew deck at zero. He was glad he didn’t understand their Arabic, these Middle Eastern pricks.

“Yeah? Well your mother fucks pigs, you donkey dick,” Roberto spat in Portuguese at the little troupe.

The hatred in their faces mattered little. He used it as fuel to stoke the fires of his need to possess, to conquer and, if he was completely honest, destroy. He’d destroy his friendship, all right. But Matheus was from a rich family, and could pay for all the therapy.

All Roberto could do was get thoroughly lost and fucked, perhaps if he got angry enough, find solace between Matheus’s woman’s thighs, and then run like hell to avoid the police. Revulsion at the thought of living in a cage for the rest of his life kept him from going over the top. Didn’t mean he didn’t fantasize watching her beg for her life, or seeing Matheus watch as he demonstrated how to thoroughly pump a woman senseless. And about how after he’d seen her debased that way, no way would Matheus love her. That’s when Roberto could fuck her good and proper, and hope that it hurt.

The shouting behind him intensified and he turned just in time to see one of the sand people come at him with a sword. His fluid training in Capoeira, which he’d studied since early childhood in the dirty favelas and back streets of Rio, kicked in immediately, and he focused his need to punish on the little Arab, turning the sword back on the guy and slamming him down on the floor with the blade to his neck.

He pressed the silvery blade against the sweaty dark skin of the dancer until a line of red blood appeared.

“How hard do you want me to push?” he asked as he made sure to back up the question with a wild grin. “Yes, I’m crazy. Do you know how many people I have killed with my bare hands?”

The Arab was rolling his eyes, trying to find his buddies, who had taken off down the hall screaming, trying to get someone else to intervene.

Roberto spat to the side.

Cowards.

He enjoyed the tiny trickle of blood that found its way to the dirty gray metal floor. He halfway wanted to slice all the way through the guy’s windpipe, feel the crunch of the blade as it shattered his upper cervical vertebrae and severed the head. The expression on the man’s face would remain in death. He’d seen it before.

But not today, he decided. He threw the sword behind him and almost hit a cook carrying a tray of dishes, which came crashing to the ground. The little Italian’s eyes got wide as he bolted down the hallway as if chasing the bowls rolling and bumping along the floor.

Roberto picked up his attacker by gripping his shirt and righting his body. He’d peed and shit himself, and Roberto didn’t want anything more to do with his stinky, shivering body. The guy would be ruined, Roberto thought, almost as surely as if he’d been raped in the ass.

For a second the man didn’t know whether to run for cover, which way to run, or to wait for Roberto’s next move.

“Boo,” he barked to the Arab. That was all it took for the man to waddle at high speed down the hallway and disappear around a corner.

Crew had begun to gather. Whispers and pointing didn’t bother Roberto. He searched the faces and didn’t see an officer or the ship’s entertainment director, who was a spineless gay Frenchman who never liked to confront anyone. He already knew Jacques was afraid of him, and probably didn’t care for the Arab dancers he was forced to hire. It was the first time Roberto had ever seen Arab dancers, too, who had been brought on at the behest of one of the junior officers. The Arabs were worse than Chinese when it came to blending into the harmony of the staff.

“What? You have something to say?” he shouted to the crowd. “He insulted me, pulled that blade on me,” Roberto screamed. “And he was damned lucky I didn’t really hurt him. Movie’s over. Go back to your work.”

With that, Roberto went to his room, deciding it was best not to go after Sophia, slid the keycard down the door lock, and slammed his cabin door shut behind him.

Helena heard the
radio beep with a danger signal. Maksym’s lovely body was draped across her bed, naked, a dark trail of hair leading down below the top sheet he’d used to cover his giant cock and impossibly long legs. He jerked to life before she could turn the damned machine off.

“Thought you had a couple of hours, Max. You’d think one of the other officers could steer the ship, even if the captain is drunk again.” She held the small radio behind her head, her eyes hungry for the sight of his naked body again, especially if he wanted something from her. The tease was turning her on.

Again.

Maksym’s bright, white smile made her heart dance. He was the most exciting sexual partner she’d had in several years, harkening back to the days of her youth when the Russian soldiers liked to entertain pretty girls in Praque with orgies, liquor and porn. She’d received enough favors then to have her mother and their family relocated to a top floor apartment. Those were the happy days, when she thought every problem could be solved by a sexual favor. Before the Russians killed her sister and mother and took away the family store. It didn’t matter how many men she had to screw. Her family was never coming back.

“Helena, I need my radio.”

She placed it between her legs, hitching it up against her sex. “Come and get it.” She jumped to the side as he lunged for her.

The little squawk box buzzed again and Helena squealed as the vibration sent pulses in all the right places. Maksym’s wide smile was the only thing he wore. His huge frame was trim and lithe like a runner’s, his cock enormous, just like she liked them, and he was dark in a pirate kind of way. The cruise line allowed him to wear his hair long, and he frequently had to brush it out of his eyes, unless she did it for him, which she loved to do almost as much as she enjoyed fucking him and kissing his entire body.

“And now it’s going to smell like you all evening while I’m up at the bridge, when I need my concentration.”

“Steal me up there, Maksym. I’d like to fuck you on the map table.”

He laughed. “Helena, that’s not going to happen. Now give me that damned radio,” he said in Russian, which was their signal that he meant business.

She walked to him and put her forefinger in her mouth, twisting her body from side to side as he reached down and retrieved the radio.

He held down the button at the side and they heard the device crackle to life. Helena dropped to her knees and took his cock into her mouth. He groaned and pretended he’d just hit his head on something to the person on the other end of the radio.

“….need you down at the crew deck immediately…” The words, spoke in a clipped Indian dialect were scratchy and going in and out of range. She was vaguely aware something had happened down below, and Maksym was wanted as a police presence. He was being summoned by one of the security guards.

Helena’d managed to get him fully primed and erect again. She was beginning to straddle him, trying to push him back on the bed for round three or possibly four. She’d been dreaming about dressing herself up as one of the dancers or a maid so she could sneak into his cabin and have him all to herself all night long.

But Maksym held her wrists and stopped her forward advance. “Helena, not now. I have to go.” He didn’t smile so she slipped one hand free and ran her fingers up and down his shaft and gave his balls a healthy squeeze, pouting, which usually got him distracted enough to forget anything else he was doing.

But not today.

“I’ll come back when I can. I have to go there. Someone’s been hurt. Blood shed. Only an officer can make an arrest.”

“Blood?” She asked as she stood quickly.

He reached over and grabbed his white pants, putting them on commando style. “My jacket will cover my hard-on until you can take care of it, my kitten.” He wiggled his eyebrows and put his white ship-issue knit shorts on top of her head like a hat.

“Do I wear this around, now? Can I tell everyone that you have claimed me? That I belong to you?”

“No,” he said as he changed his mind and pulled the shorts off her head. “Where is my shirt?”

“This one?” she said as she turned around, giving him a good view of her ass as she bent down, grabbed his cotton V-necked T-shirt and rubbed it between her legs, peering over her shoulder at him. “You’ve got me hot and sticky with your come, Maksym.”

“That’s what towels are for, kitten,” he said as he pulled the shirt from her fingers and slipped it over his head, pulling it down. He sniffed the front of the stretchy cotton by holding it out with two of his fingers, and then smoothed the stained fabric over his breast, and shook his head. “You’ll be the death of me, Helena.”

“I like dangerous love,” she said. She’d said that once to one of the Russian officers who knew she was underage and would be relieved of his command if caught. That’s how a lot of the young girls were killed in those days. Raped and sexually assaulted and then robbed of their young lives so they wouldn’t become a liability to the men who abused them. She’d decided right then and there that she’d perform things for this man that would make it impossible for him to ever forget her.

And while it worked for her, her mother and sister had not been so lucky.

“Stop it. I must get back to work right away,” he curtly said in Russian.

“Don’t tell me what to do with that tongue. Don’t order me around while using that filthy language.”

Maksym had tied his shoes and, before putting on his white jacket, he stood for a moment tenderly holding her naked body. He touched her chin and tilted her face up to his.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He kissed her tenderly, leaving her desperately vacant inside, and left the cabin.

Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Fourteen

K
yle and Christy
were seated at the slot machines next to Fredo and Mia when Moshe ran past them, shouting something in his radio. Kyle noticed that two Indian security guards followed, having trouble keeping up with Moshe.

His Israeli friend didn’t see them sitting there. For a second Kyle considered running after him, so sure that it was something important, something he should know about. But Christy sensed it and laid her hand on his forearm.

“Not your fight, baby,” she whispered so as not to embarrass him.

“Right. But doesn’t satisfy my curiosity.” He glanced over at Fredo, and the look they shared said volumes.

Fredo stood up, gave Mia a kiss on the cheek and said to both the girls, “I think we gotta go.”

Christy frowned. “Kyle, we’re on vacation.”

“Not if something going down. I’ve seen that expression on Moshe’s face before. Something’s going on, and I need to know about it,” Kyle replied. He kissed her on the forehead. “You find the other ladies and have them go back to the cabins, okay?”

“Kyle, this is ridiculous,” she started to say, but the glare he gave her stopped anything further from coming out of her mouth. She sighed in resignation, nodding as she took Mia’s hand. “Come on.”

Kyle and Fredo raced to try to catch up with Moshe and the rest of his security detail.

“You have Teseo’s number, boss?” Fredo asked.

“Damned if I did. I left his card back at the room, so no fuckin’ way to get hold of him.”

“You want me to go up to the bridge?” Fredo offered.

Kyle considered it. “Let’s see what’s going on first, and then we’ll decide. Can you get hold of Mark and Nick? I’m going to try to get Coop.”

While running, they tried to text the other Team members. Mark didn’t answer, but Cooper said he’d check to make sure the girls got to their rooms, and Nick was with Armando playing poker at the other side of the casino. They abandoned Sanouk, who was on a winning streak, and soon caught up.

“What’s going on, Kyle?” Armando asked.

“Not sure, but something. I need to know,” Kyle answered.

“Moshe know we’re following him?” Nick asked.

“Don’t think he saw us.”

Just then he saw Moshe flanked by the other two guards block the entrance to the elevator, sending guests out onto the landing and commandeering it for their own use. As the doors began to close, Moshe noticed Kyle and the Team, shaking his head from side to side to tell him not to follow.

But of course Kyle wasn’t going to listen. They ran down five flights of stairs until they got to the zero deck, which was a beehive of activity. The shows had let out and dancers in full-feathered costumes pushed their way past, speaking Portuguese. A wait staff was kneeling on all fours picking up broken pieces of pottery from a food tray that had been dropped. Kyle attempted to follow Moshe’s path but was stopped by two very large Indian security agents wearing navy blue suits, walkie-talkies and earpieces.