Ghost Guard 2: Agents of Injustice

GHOST GUARD

II

AGENTS OF INJUSTICE

J. Joseph Wright

Text copyright 2016 by J. Joseph Wright

Cover copyright 2016 by Krystle Wright

Author’s website:
jjosephwright.com

Artist’s website:
http://krystledesigns.wordpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

It’s my most fervent wish for the whole world to read
GHOST GUARD: AGENTS OF INJUSTICE
. If you’d like to share it with your friends, please feel free. Just don’t make a material gain off of it, because that would constitute copyright infringement, and it wouldn’t be very nice. Thank you, J.

Dedicated to my best friend, my love, my life…

Krystle

Yes, indeed, Polus, that is my doctrine; the men and women who are gentle and good are also happy, as I maintain, and the unjust and evil are miserable.

~ Socrates, Gorgias

Chapter 1

Sex with a dead man.

It doesn’t sound like the most gratifying experience in the world. After all, how could a dead man possibly know a woman’s desires? And even if he did know, how could he realistically do anything about it? Turns out sex with the dead, as Abby Rhodes discovered, could be one of the most sensuous, deeply gratifying acts ever experienced.

We’re not talking about necrophilia. She wasn’t screwing a corpse. She was making glorious and passionate love to a ghost. And what a ghost he was. The things he could do. The places he could reach. The intimate knowledge he had. She didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. All her innermost desires were fulfilled instantly. Not even one second after she’d think of it, he’d do it, taking his time. Slowly. Passionately. Skillfully.

She loved the way he loved her. She loved how he whispered her name,
Abby…Abby…Abby,
his voice gentler than a summer rain shower. She loved his smooth, tender touch by the warmth of the fireside.

A flash in the distance, in the stormy Portland Eastside past the churning whitecaps of the Willamette. Seconds later a clap of thunder brought with it a flicker in the lights. Then the power went out completely, leaving them in sublime and sexy darkness.

“Did you do that?” her tone gave away just enough playfulness while still exhibiting her sensual side. Rarely had she gotten to let that part of her show.

He gazed up as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “No,” and when he said that, the hearth roared with even greater ferocity, surging from a tiny flitting finger of fire to an inferno, blazing and licking the air outside the granite mantle. “But I
did
do that,” he snapped his fingers and the air filled with song. Their song. Frank Sinatra’s immeasurable vocal silkiness permeated the atmosphere:

I’ll be loving you, always

With a love that’s true…Always

“Rev!” she barraged him with kisses, beginning with his lips and gliding to his cleft chin, then down his sturdy neck to his broad chest. Despite his ghostly nature, he’d manifested to the point of such vivid reality, every part of him solid to the touch. To Abby he was real. He was alive. He was the man she loved.

She kissed across his chest, down to his flat abs and then upward again, returning to that sultry mouth that hung lustily open, awaiting her return with a greedy and playful nibble. His electrifying touch drove her wild with pleasure. She took it back. He wasn’t alive. He was more than alive. Living men couldn’t do this sort of thing, couldn’t provide such pleasure with a mere touch. Rev had something. Sexual magic. Sensual mojo. A preternatural knack for seduction the likes of which the living can only dream. Especially living women. She knew. She was a woman. She’d had her share of prurient liaisons, boyfriends, one night stands. Never in her wildest fantasies had she known such ecstasy, such animal magnetism, such intimacy.

Rev had the kind of green eyes that, if he wanted, could penetrate a woman’s soul. He could bring a woman to orgasm with a mere look. He’d done it before with Abby, though she would never admit it. It had happened the first time they met. This was way before she’d developed her technique for fending off his psychological advances with a mental musical wall. Just project a song, preferably hard rock, into the mind of the psychic intruder and let the games begin. But before then it took Rev seconds and Abby was wet between the legs, breathing heavily, wondering what the hell had happened. When she first saw the shit-eating grin on his face, she marched right across the room and slapped him so fast he didn’t have the chance to dematerialize. At the time she was furious with him for having the balls to even try such a thing. It was rape as far as she was concerned. Now, though, she surrendered to it, gave in to his undeniably virile magic.

Only one thing troubled her. The act of sex robbed a tremendous amount of energy from a ghost. And, deep down, Abby couldn’t ignore that nagging alarm bell ringing inside her head.

“Are you okay,” she stopped just long enough to ask the question, then resumed her passionate play. Rev didn’t answer. He had too much on his mind. He didn’t want anything to spoil the moment. No outside thoughts of missions or rivals like Abby’s old flame Tom Riley or perhaps someone from Rev’s sordid history. The question didn’t even register with him, really. Was he okay? Of course he was okay. He was better than okay. He was making love to the woman he loved. How could he be any better?

Abby didn’t appreciate being ignored, even in the midst of sexual ecstasy. But it wasn’t just that. The fact that Rev disregarded the question sparked a nagging flame of worry in her subconscious. She, above all people, knew the seriousness of a spirit on the verge of ending forever. Rev could simply fade away and never come back. Death for a spirit. They called it extinguishing, and sex made Rev come close on occasion.

“Rev, I asked if you were okay!”

He nuzzled her hair, just above the shoulder. With both hands he followed the curves of her hips to her rear, then up again to her breasts. He loved her body, and she loved how he loved it. But right now she wanted to know for sure this wasn’t too much for him.

“Rev!” she forced him to look at her, and when he did, his smooth, clean shaven visage lost a little of its luster. His radiance, something she’d grown to love about him, had dulled, only slightly, yet enough to alarm her. “Your stat-mag energy is low.”

He smiled comfortably. “You worry too much. Loosen up. Enjoy this,” he kissed her forehead softly. “
I
am.”

What he did next made her convulse with waves of lust. Again and again a rhythmic tide of pleasure washed over her, filling her sweetly with a pleasure unfathomed in the physical world of carnal delights. She was certain no other living woman—in the deepest tantric meditations, in the wildest hedonistic rituals, in the most sumptuous of lovemaking acts—had ever experienced sex this divine.

She didn’t want to stop, and that brought her back to her main concern. How could she allow Rev to continue? Using so much energy. Pushing himself to the edge. She knew Rev had supernatural stamina. He was a one in a billion ghost. But even
he
had limits. She saw it in his spectral appearance. Rev had a steamy, misty quality, as if he were on fire inside.

“Rev,” her voice failed her. Her knees failed her. He wanted her to shut up. She wanted to shut up. She couldn’t shut up. “Rev!” she pushed away from him, her dress torn, her mascara running. “Rev I think we should stop…your SME is too low.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come here,”

Without the use of hands, he pulled her closer. She felt her feet slide across the wood floor, legs rigid, stomach in knots. At that moment she sensed something she never in a million years wanted to see from Rev, steam originating from his core.

“Rev, you’re releasing residue like a goddam smokestack.”

He examined himself confusedly, checking his arms and shoulders, turning over his hands.

“I’m fine, Abby.”

“I don’t know—” he cut her off with a hungry kiss. A flood of pleasure infected her from head to toe, warming and tingling in all the right places.

“NO!” she shoved him off.
“No, Rev. We can’t. It’s too bad for you.”

“We can. It’s not bad. It’s good. It’s really, really good.”

He held her again, and again she pushed him.

“Is that all you want from me, Rev? Just sex? Is that all this relationship means to you?”

“Of course not, I—”

“That’s what it looks like from here!”

Abby turned a shade redder, and her tone went a few decibels higher, proving she was on the verge of one of her famous tirades. No one was more painfully aware of this ominous portent than Rev.

“Now, Abby, don’t get—”

“Don’t
‘Now, Abby’
me! You have a lot to learn about women. Maybe back in the nineteen-twenties you could treat them like objects, but not in the twenty-first century, jerk!”

Rev wanted to get a word in edgewise. Abby filibustered.

“I’m telling you right now, Rev. No more sex. Not until we make sure you’re not going to extinguish, you understand?”

Rev took in a giant breath and exhaled through his nose like a raging bull. One hundred percent pure theatrics. Rev was a ghost. Ghosts don’t need to breathe. Yet they do once in a while merely for effect. And this effect was powerful, because his icy snort blew the curtains asunder and even ruined Abby’s hair.

“Fine!” his voice echoed through the halls of Gasworks like falling timber. With a rush of air and light he faced the opposite direction and didn’t look back. In one split second his physical form disintegrated into a hailstorm of luminous orbs. Like cinders floating above a raging fire, they danced and burned brightly. Then the glowing points of light became a deafening torrent, roaring down the hall to Rev’s office door. In another split second the searing red embers swirled into a shape again, forming Rev’s gorgeously angry physical body. He glared icicles at Abby and, without a word, opened his office door, went in, and slammed it closed.

“FINE!” Abby returned the favor by mimicking Rev’s temper tantrum, marching to her door and forcing it shut with a tremendous heave that cracked its frame.

Morris, in the middle of the hallway, turned to Ruby and Brutus, both of whom were as quiet as mice.

“Get ready, guys,” he said. “Here we go again.”