Aphrodite's War (4 page)

“There’s nothing to say,” She started to back away. “It’s over.” She
couldn’t do this right now. Time to retreat to the pit until Kevin left or
someone called the cops, whichever came first. His dirty fingers fastened
on her wrist, preventing her escape. His touch was hot and clammy.
Feverish.

“C’mon baby,” Kevin said. “Don’t I get a second chance?” He
squeezed tighter and Poetry cringed in pain.
He wouldn’t do anything to her right here in front of the entire
restaurant? Would he?
“She told you to leave.”
# # #

I must be out of my mind, Adrian thought. Assholes like this were
processed through the courtroom, whack-a-mole style. This skinny loser
had nothing on him weight-wise, but Adrian never underestimated
anyone under the influence. The sour smell of rye alone gave him pause.
This creep had the strung-out demeanor of a hardcore drug user, like the
twitch in his hollowed cheeks. That upped the ante.

Lucky me.

Adrian arranged his legs in his Kendo stance, feet parallel and his
balance forward on the balls of his feet. What he wouldn’t give for his
shinai right now. This guy could use a bamboo sword cracked against his
skull. Still, his training might give him an edge in a scrap. Or maybe he
should just let the guy hit him and have his ass thrown in jail.

“What part of ‘leave’ didn’t you understand?” Adrian hoped he
sounded braver than he felt.
“What are you, her bodyguard?” the loser asked.

Welcome bulk arrived at Adrian’s shoulder. “No, I’m a lawyer.” He
jerked a thumb behind him where Gary waited for action. “He’s the
bodyguard.”

Ranjan sidled up on his left. “You need to get lost, buddy.”

This guy had no balls. “Buddy” let go of the girl’s arm and backed
off, mumbling something about not being afraid of them. Yeah, sure. The
cave dweller wasn’t so brave against his own gender. He hated guys like
that. He glanced over at Jenny’s friend as the Neanderthal made a loud
exit, trying in vain to slam a hydraulic door.

Adrian wouldn’t admit it, but it felt damn good to go up against one of
these guys instead of defending them.
Her face had paled and she shook visibly, obviously terrified. What
possessed women to date jackasses like that?
A green blur with blonde highlights flashed past Adrian, nearly
toppling him, and Jenny latched onto Gary.
“You’re so awesome, sweetie,” she said with a squeal. “That was so
cool of you to stand up for my roommate.”
“It was nothing,” Gary said. Adrian snorted and tossed a ten on the
counter.
Jenny’s friend inched to the register, rubbing her arms. She took his
money with twitching fingers.
“You alright?” he asked, taking his change from her unsteady grip.
“Sure,” she said. She sounded okay. She’d arranged her face into a
mask of indifference, but her color hadn’t returned.

“I told you he was an asshole, Poetry,” Jenny said. She didn’t sound
too sympathetic. “Now what if he’s waiting for you outside? How are
you going to get home?”

The girl, Poetry, placed a shivering hand over her mouth and turned
an unflattering shade of pale yellowish-green. Geez, she looked pathetic.
Like a Tim Burton movie extra.

“Did you walk here?” he asked. She nodded, swallowing hard.
“Jen’s right,” Ranjan said. “What if that creep is still out there?”

Adrian sighed. He had a bad feeling about this. In fact, he didn’t see
how this chick and her dumb choices were any of his business. But when
he peered into Poetry’s frightened brown eyes, it seemed like the right
thing to do.

He sighed heavily. “Where do you live? I’ll drive you home.”
CHAPTER SIX

Fifteen minutes later, Adrian trudged up the rubberized steps behind
Poetry. He hadn’t lived in an apartment like this since university. He’d
forgotten how the stairways smelled in these cheap buildings, like old
mud mixed with a variety of starchy and ethnic foods. He could detect
Ichiban on one landing and spicy paprika on the next. Poetry’s floor
reeked of macaroni and cheese.

If I never eat boxed noodles of any kind ever again I can die a happy
man.
When Poetry unlocked her door Adrian got such a lungful he could
almost taste it. Nice. Maybe I could die now.
Hot air blasted him like a furnace. No air conditioning either.
“You didn’t have to walk me all the way up. But I really appreciate
it.”
“No problem,” Adrian shrugged. “I feel better knowing you’re home
safe. That guy was an asshole.”
Poetry sighed as she kicked her flats across the tile. “So everyone
keeps telling me.”
A streak of black skittered across the living room and latched pointy
teeth into Adrian’s toes. “Ow! What the?”
“Amir,” Poetry lifted the tiny ball of fur to her chin. “Guests’ feet are
not for playing with.”
“Meow?” The kitten’s motor-like purr demonstrated no remorse.

“Bad kitty.” And her voice had all the rancor of rainbows and ice
cream. She retrieved a stuffed white mouse from the top of the
refrigerator. It jingled as she shook it, and the cat’s blue eyes riveted to
the toy held in her fingers.

Poetry carefully placed the cat back on the floor, tossing the mouse
into the living room. “Go play with your friend, Amir.”

“Strange name for a cat,” Adrian said.
Poetry’s eyes never left the tumbling chunk of lint, but she smirked.

“I named him after my favorite rock star, Amir Derakh, lead guitarist
of Julien K.” Poetry made eye contact with him. Her grin grew wider
still. “He’s Persian-American.”

Adrian snickered. Of course he is. “You’re funny.” His flat tone
denied his statement, and she laughed.
An awkward moment passed as she glanced around the small space.
“Listen, since you’re here do you mind, uh…”
“You want me to check the rooms?” he asked. “Does your ex have a
key?”
“No,” Poetry shook her bangs into her eyes, pushed them back. “I
never gave him one, it’s just…”
“Got it.” She thinks he’s dangerous enough to break in. Lucky me.

Adrian took off his sneakers just inside the kitchen area. He didn’t
want to lose them in the pile of women’s footwear strewn in the foyer.
Women and their frickin’ shoes.

“I wouldn’t put it past the guy to do something stupid.” He grabbed
the nearby broom and twisted the bristles off the bottom.
“Exactly,” Poetry stepped aside, letting him pass.

Adrian took a deep breath and went into kamae. He placed his right
foot parallel in front of his left, with his improvised weapon held an inch
from his belly button.

The stick wasn’t a shinai but it would suffice. A good ‘men’ strike on
the head would fix that shithead.

Bright sunlight from the west-facing windows caught floating dust
and cat hair as he slid across the dingy carpet. This is why kendokka
practiced barefoot on hardwood floors. Maintaining strict form here
could put holes in his socks and give him rug burn on the balls of his
feet.

He edged to the hall with three doors. Poetry kept her distance.

First stop, Jenny’s room, or so the Hello Kitty sign on the door
informed him. Adrian wanted to gag. How old was that girl? Twenty-one
going on twelve?

The door creaked open with a nudge, and Adrian’s eyes were
assaulted with unicorns on the walls and stuffed animals on the bed. He
didn’t quite stifle a groan.

“I know, right?” Poetry said. “If it’s sickeningly cute, she collects it.”
She punctuated the statement with a quirk of her lips that Adrian
returned before poking his head in. Not many places to hide.
“All clear,” he said. Poetry sighed, but retreated to the living room.
He prodded the next door open with the broomstick. Must be Poetry’s
room. No mythological creatures or fluffy bunnies.

A cluttered desk in the corner displayed mason jars of beads and
fasteners surrounding a laptop. Haphazard rolls of wires lay next to
boxes of Slow-Dry art clay.

Adrian stepped in for closer inspection. Only two things decorated the
walls.

One was a certificate from a school called Valentin Yotkov Studio in
New York for metal sculpting. Impressive. Adrian developed a bit more
respect for Poetry and her claims of artistry. No doubt she took her career
seriously. The other picture appeared to be a massive collage, under
construction and growing. He hadn’t seen one of these since grade five
art classes.

Photos of seascapes with quaint villages, Greek if he identified the
white buildings and blue domes correctly, mixed with brochures for other
art academies. She’d glued in magazine pictures of designs and
techniques. The whole vision came together with strategically placed
beads and chains to bring them together like a dream.

It hit him. Not a dream. A timeline. This paper tangle represented
Poetry’s life plan. And she aimed high. She wanted to study and learn her
craft before moving to Greece someday.

For a strange moment Adrian shared her hopes. He found himself glad
he hadn’t brushed her off. Maybe they did have some common ground.
The difference between himself and Poetry was she’d taken her hobby
and made it her life’s work and he’d gone to law school instead.

He hadn’t zoned out long, but he realized he stood alone in a
stranger’s bedroom. Thoughts of forgotten aspirations left him with a
gaping emptiness.

And the realization of his mistake. No jackass here either. Good thing
too, Adrian had let his guard down.
Bathroom next.

He crept past hair appliances and products on the sink and pulled the
shower drape back. The squeal of metal curtain hooks scraping across the
rod coaxed a yelp from Poetry somewhere behind him. Nothing and
nobody. Outside the bathroom pattering paws and claws made little tears
in the rug and the ringing of the mouse’s bell continued. Poetry shut both
bedroom doors.

“He’s not here,” Adrian said. He hoped Poetry didn’t notice the
embarrassing way he let his breath out. He left the cluttered space and
headed through the living room to the exit, peeking in the kitchen to be
sure. Poetry followed, still trying to act brave.

Adrian handed her the broomstick and retrieved his footwear.
“Thanks so much,” she said again. “For coming up here.” She
kneaded her multi-colored forearms.

He tied his shoes and straightened before meeting her gaze. “Not a big
deal. I’ve seen guys like him come through court all the time.” Usually
on assault charges.

She scrutinized the kitchen floor as she hugged herself. Her shiver
brought another of those annoying pangs of sympathy. She couldn’t be
cold in this brutal heat. He’d worked up a sweat in the five minutes he’d
been there.

You cannot leave her like this.
The thought came like a whispering voice inside his head. Take her
away from here. Perhaps for dinner.

Yeah, right. But his stomach rumbled on cue.
“Have you eaten yet?”

Why he was he doing this? He had no interest in this girl. But he
could tell by her anxious expression that she’s rather be anywhere but
here.

She glanced at him sideways, suspicion pinching her lips. “No, I
haven’t.”

“I know this great Cajun place not too far from here.”
“Louisiana Purchase?”

“That’s the one,” he said, and gave her what he hoped was an
encouraging grin. “You been?”
“They make a mean shrimp po’ boy.” Poetry’s lips twisted in a good
way.

“That’s my favorite. Get your shoes and let’s go. I could use a beer.”
A smile burst across her face. “Me too. Let me get changed.”

Adrian’s happy face tightened. Wonderful. Should be as much fun as
writing the bar exam. Whose dumb idea was this anyway?
# # #

Strife stared at Ares’ toes as her aching hips slipped up and down his
cock. Her mind focused on his stunning girth, an immense size that Earth
girls paid for in tawdry shops with frosted glass windows. It hurt at first,
such a long time since she’d had this enormous flesh, but an orgasm was
already building.

She could still taste his filth, smell his clammy sweat. It didn’t matter.
She’d almost unhinged her jaw sucking him stiff and now she would take
her pleasure. She rolled her head back while her steady rhythm propelled
her to gasping, ferocious joy.

She yielded to it, dimly aware of her squeals echoing off the high
ceiling of her loft, of the creaking of her mattress springs as she exploded
in ecstasy. She ground her pussy down, savoring the waves of
gratification and squeezing every sunburst of intensity from the moment.
The black and white prints on her walls dimmed and blurred when her
vagina clenched, and she cried herself hoarse.

A final sigh left her lips. Sore but sated, she crawled forward with
trembling arms.
She got what she wanted. Ares could jack himself off for all she
cared. He wasn’t her master. His pleasure wasn’t her concern.
She should have known he wouldn’t let her go that easily. Even as she
attempted to elevate herself off his dick he sat up.

“We are not finished, whore.” He shoved her forward, forcing her to
her hands and knees. His fingers dug into her hips as he jammed his
massive prick in once again.

She screamed. Too hard. Too deep. Too fast.
Ares ploughed her relentlessly, his thickness stretching her as he
spread her thighs wider.

“You are nothing but a common slut, Strife,” he said through his teeth.
“You think you can use men for your own, but you need to be fucked like
a rented cunt.” He delivered a stinging slap to her ass.

Strife moaned and shut her eyes as her traitorous body pushed against
him. Another shockwave of wet desire rippled through her with each
pounding stroke. Animal grunts that shouldn’t belong to her tore from
her throat. Another spanking smarted her skin. She wouldn’t let him
make her come. He had no power over her. But her body tightened in
anticipation.

“Yes, you like it rough, whore.” His panting grew louder. “You want it
to hurt.”

Strife grabbed handfuls of sheet, tried to crawl away. Ares threw his
body weight on top of her. Her nipples stung with abrasions from the
Egyptian cotton sheets. He pinned her wrists with both hands, ramming
her until her pelvis bounced off the bed with each plunge.