Page 5 of Tarek

“Don’t do this. Please,” I beg.

“Figure it out, Sticks. Either you wait for me, or it ends here,” he says somberly.

My mouth tightens as tears run down my cheeks, then my knees wobble. The knot that is forming in my throat tightens. All I could do was nod slowly.

“It ends here,” I whisper, raising my chin in defiance.

He looks at me, his chin churns, his stormy silver eyes sadden, “I guess it does.”

With that, he opens the door and runs out into the rain. I stand watching him leave me, praying that he would turn back. I walk to the door, holding on to the old black knob.

“Turn back. Dereck, turn back,” I whisper into the wind.

His foot slouches in the grey mud as he moves further and further away from me. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t look back. It must be the rain. It has to be the rain. That’s why he didn’t come back. That’s why he’s not looking back. Right? It’s this rain…this cold, grey rain. God…. I hate the rain.

ChapterOne

Tarek

They say a vice is a wicked or immoral behavior. The person who wrote that definition never had a-ten-toes-curling orgasm while high off a drug of choice. There is nothing wicked or immoral about hearing a woman moan from the pleasure she is receiving from her partner. However, your vices, do plateau. Which, unfortunately, is where I am in life. I have plateaued. As my head sinks deeper into the velvet covered armchair, I feel more interested in the curls of smoke drifting up to the ceiling than joining the three women on the rotating bed.

The door opens and the clicking heels alert me that a new person has entered the room. Lifting my head, I drag my body up, in time to see my personal waitress coming in with a gold platter carrying my bourbon and cigarettes. I observe the thin delicate hand of the waitress as she places my drink and box of cigarettes on the table near me. What catches my attention is a small silver box.

“What is that?” I ask as I take a sip of my bourbon. Before she could answer, a moan and a giggle flows through the room.

“This was sent courtesy of Mr. Brooks Reed,” she says as she places the box next to my cigarettes.

“Hmm, the brothers are here? How many pills?” I ask, opening the box, seeing the white pills.

“Only four pills, Mr. Fairisles. The oldest is not here,” she replies politely.

I throw the round pills into my hand, staring at the simple lines and white dust that cover it. It’s called BX3, developed and sold by the Reed brothers, among other things. Is it legal? Maybe? Maybe not. Has it been FDA approved? Why go through all that hassle? It has been clinically tested. Has it made me and the Reed boys lots of money? It sure has. Think of BX3 as if LSD and Viagra had a baby. It’s untraceable in your blood after hours. It gives you a high. That high manifests into mental, visual and auditory hallucinations. With the speed of the blood pumping through your body, you could fuck a damn horse if you want to.

“Also, we had a little problem with the Cloud servers, but it was fixed,” she states.

“Good. That is all, thank you.” I don’t bother to look at the server as she leaves. As I shift the pills in my palm, I don’t feel the need to take it. But what the fuck…why not?

I throw a pill onto my tongue and wait for the bitter taste to spread. I close my eyes, waiting for the drug to kick in. It feels like I am sitting there for an eternity. No tingles. The ground doesn’t shift beneath my feet as it normally does. Looking down at the remaining pills, I wonder if Brooks sent me a lower grade of BX3.

“Can we have it, Mr. Fairisles?”

The naked brunette breaks my train of thought. She kneels on the bed. On cue, the other two women kneel with their backs to each other. With their hands on their knees, heads thrown back, mouths wide open, their faces are illuminated by the single light that shines above their head.

On a different day, on a different night, this would have intrigued me. Tonight, it doesn’t, but who am I to deny someone else’s pleasure? My phone rings in the jacket thrown on the opposite side of the room. I wonder who is calling me? I left Glasshouse after closing and I came straight here to my club, Nowhere.

Finally, the phone stops ringing as I stand and walk slowly over to the bed.

Planting my foot on the dark carpeted stair, I stare at the women as the bed rotates slowly. If an ordinary man saw them, he would think God took his time with these three. They are all equally beautiful, all sculpted by the hands of a doctor somewhere in LA, not God. Perky full breasts, flat smooth stomach, and round cute asses. All three are a cookie-cutter-image of each other. All beautiful, all the fucking same.

“Stretch your tongues out,” I command. Their pink tongues strains longer as I place a pill on each of their tongues. They look like baby birds with mouths wide open.

“Swallow,” on command, they all swallow and collapse onto the bed, giggling.

Before I can step on the bed, my phone rings again.

Sighing, I move to the corner of the room, I snatch my jacket off the floor, search for my phone and answer it. The jacket makes a “plop” sound as it slips out of my grip.

“What?” I don’t bother to look to see who is calling. No one has the authority over me to make me quiver.

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