The Ox Who Got the Cream

***

Layla threw up her hands. "I don't get what the fuss is about," she exclaimed. "What does it matter?"

The men at the table didn't immediately respond. Truce and Felix exchanged a look, while Ralphred continued to appear worried.

"It matters," Truce said heavily.

"It could be argued that he didn't walk her out, she was rescued," Felix reasoned.

"The agreement was not ratified by any subsequent action."

"They made an agreement, and one minute after, she walked free," Truce said.

"Layla consented to the terms beforehand. He'll feel justified in holding her to it."

"That's ridiculous!" Ralphred insisted. "Layla found her own way out. She can't possibly be expected to adhere to a bargain where she never received the benefit."

Truce laughed bitterly. "Zole goes out of his way to seem a man of his word, but his honour is limited to mere technicality. There's no way to prove he didn't honour his part." He turned to Ralphred. "He'll claim to have deliberately set Layla free."

Layla's jaw dropped. "But I saw him

trip

like a fucking idiot!"

"He'll say he did it on purpose," Truce rolled his eyes. "We can't prove otherwise."

"Bullshit," Layla said furiously. "Alarms went off when we escaped-"

"Maintenance... fire drill..." Felix rubbed his eyes. "The Poker could come up with anything."

Layla sat back in her seat. "Okay, so it's not like he wouldn't come after me anyway. I'll just avoid getting caught, like usual. And if I do get caught..." her eyes wandered. "I'll just...stab him."

Truce's jaw was working. "There's more on the line, Layla."

"This isn't about the sexual threat," Felix quickly intervened, his eyes going to Truce's stony face. "You...don't understand the implications of agreeing to do what the Poker wants. There are some things you cannot afford to concede."

"Then explain it to me!" she snapped, her temper flaring when the three men seemed to exchange several looks. "What is it?"

"I think it's time we left you two alone," Ralphred said, Felix was already on his feet.

Truce stared at his palms until the door closed behind them. Layla interrupted his deep thoughts, sliding her little hand into his.

"Truce, talk to me," she implored. "Why is this such a big deal?"

"Zole has a taste for theatrics, as you know," Truce began. "He likes to wreak havoc under the guise that his hand was forced."

Layla watched Truce's grim, attractive profile. He toyed with her hand but kept his dark eyes ahead. Finally, he looked at her.

"Layla, if he accuses you of a renege,...he'll use it to commit some devastating incident. Even though you're not to blame, he'll somehow make you feel like you are. Like you could have prevented it. The guilt can eat you alive."

"You're talking about yourself," she said. "He's done this to you, a lot. But that means you must have agreed on something."

"No." Truce's expression was closed, and he looked away again.

"Will you tell me what happened?" she finally prompted.

"Zole and I have history," Truce said the obvious.

"All of Gothic City knows there's something between you," Layla sighed. At his silence, she drew back with realisation. "You're not talking about the hero versus villain thing."

"No."

Layla swallowed. "What happens if Zole catches me, and I don't cooperate?"

Truce looked grave. "He'll rape and release you, then commit some atrocity in your name."

"And what if I... cooperated?"

"If it's what I suspect, even worse."

"Why?"

"He wants more than sex from you, Layla," Truce said irritably, as if she was being deliberately obtuse. "There are some things he can only complete with your consent."

Layla made a tired gesture. "Can you stop this foreshadowing and just be straight with me?"

Truce looked at her, his jaw tight. "Zole has a capsule of sorts, a tank. The mechanism can only function if the person inside it enters the correct codes." He paused. "Since the experimental phase was complete, he rarely bothers putting people in there. Too time-consuming for him. But since you've caught his interest..."

"What do the codes do?" Layla frowned. "How does it work?"

"No one really understands how it works, because the creators are dead," Truce said. "The scientists installed the code function as a safeguard, to ensure the recipient fully consented. It was initially designed for people with physical complications, phobias, addiction problems..." he trailed off. "But after it was created, Zole murdered the scientists involved. They were sacrificed to verify the tank's efficiency."

"How?" Layla asked in a hushed voice. "What does it do?"

"It's some sort of mind control system," Truce answered. "You'd be forced to obey Zole, whilst remaining fully conscious of the fact you don't want to. It was very cruel." He took a deep breath. "The scientists were forced to hurt each other, to torture themselves. To rape each other. All kinds of horrors until Zole was satisfied it genuinely worked."

"Jesus."

"Like most of his toys, he became bored with it," Truce said. "But I think he wants to put you in there."

His hands clenched into fists. "To imprison you with him, have you sometimes compliant, sometimes not. He would enjoy forcibly raping you but also enjoy you seducing him, with you aware of your actions but powerless to stop yourself. I couldn't do anything to fix it and he would relish in my suffering. He'd never bore of this kind of arrangement. Never."

Layla shivered. "Tell me about what happened with him." She gripped his bicep when he hesitated. "Truce, we're going to be married. No more secrets."

"I'd never been in love before you, but I once believed I was." His eyes fell. "Dana Lopez. You might remember her as Blue Siren."

"Blue Siren?" Layla gasped. "You, and

Blue Siren?

"

"It was early days. I was only getting into the swing of being Oxman. My engagement with the Poker was borderline playful. We had a vaguely mutual respect due to certain personality similarities, I guess. But I was a fool not to realise the monster he really was."

Truce took a deep breath. "Zole wanted Dana and made no secret of it. But he hardly knew her."

"But...wasn't Blue Siren a wild card?" Layla asked. "Like, she wasn't a hero or a villain?"

"Correct. That's what Zole enjoyed about her."

"And the fact she was with you," Layla added meaningfully. "Zole's obsession with me is because I'm with you."

"It's different," Truce said. "Dana's public image appealed to Zole, but she didn't personally arouse him the way you do. He knows I'm in love and..." he curtly shook his head. "And possibly some insane part of him thinks it might be the same for him."

"Did Blue Siren go into the tank?"

"She was forced in, given the codes and an ultimatum," Truce said lowly. "She couldn't ignore the gravity of Zole's threat, but she couldn't give him control over her. She killed herself inside the tank, after entering the codes."

Layla considered it. "She outsmarted him."

"In a tragic way, yes. Zole wasn't empowered to carry out the threat since she had technically done what he wanted."

"And you blame yourself."

"I underestimated him, and she paid the price."

"You didn't kill her, Truce. She killed herself."

"She faced an existence worse than death because of me. I don't want to go into it." He reached for her hands. "I should have told you this before, explained why I didn't want him to know you exist. There never seemed a right time and..." he raked a hand through his hair. "I didn't know how you'd react, whether it would drive you to target him just to aggravate me. I was tired of holding you against your will."

"I guess in future I'll just have to carry cyanide," Layla said slowly.

"That's not funny."

"Neither is a lifetime under a psychotic's control," Layla retorted. "As far as I'm concerned, we didn't shake on it, so it was never a done deal."

Truce relaxed a little, his arm sliding around her as he tipped her chin up. "You'll have to lay low a while," he said against her lips.

Layla kissed him softly. "You're just scared I'll tease him about tripping over."

Truce kissed her, guiding her mouth open, their tongues sliding together. He drew back. "That is the primary reason, yes."

"Well, I can still tease you, can't I?" she purred.

Truce's dark gaze turned lustful. "Lock the door."

Layla quickly checked the door was locked, then flicked a switch. The glass immediately changed colour, blocking anyone from seeing in.

Truce unbuttoned his pants as she went to her knees.

Layla looked up from between his legs, admiring his muscular build, his sexy face, the way he watched her. Clothed or unclothed, he was fucking hot.

Then his cock was out and she salivated at the sight of it.

"Take your hair out," he said, low.

Layla pulled her ponytail free, the long, blonde strands cascading down her shoulders.

Truce reached forward, his fingers sliding through her hair, slowly wrapping around his hand. He guided her mouth forward, watching the pink opening envelop his cock.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, his thighs tightening as his shaft slowly disappeared, then out again, shining with her saliva.

Layla's green eyes were heavy-lidded and sultry while she watched him.

Truce pulled her hair, bringing her in tight, then released.

Layla gasped in air, a string of saliva connecting her to him. Truce tugged her up into his lap and she jumped up easily to straddle him.

Not breaking eye contact, their lips close, Truce reached under and up her skirt, stroking her through the panties then pulling them aside.

Layla moaned as he sank into her, the sound cut off when he kissed her hard, his hips bucking.

Holding his shoulders for support, Layla thrust on top of him as the buttons on her shirt gave way.

Truce sucked her curved breasts, the soft, pink nipples perking up as his tongue went over them.

They went at it for a while, until the back of Truce's chair finally hit the wall at the same time they climaxed together.

***

Ralphred checked his timer then looked up regretfully. "Slower than your last time."

"Ughhh..." Layla exhaled angrily, pushing off the wall to float toward the ground.

"Too many attempts will inevitably slow you down," Ralphred said wisely, helping Layla unclip the ropes.

Layla's lip curled and she wiped sweat from her brow. "I want to beat Truce's time."

"That is not going to happen," he said firmly. "Truce has an ability to leap into a momentum."

"I can leap!" she said defensively, her attention back to the steep rock-climbing surface.

"You don't have the same...horsepower," Ralphred said delicately. "Enough for today?"

"I'm bored," Layla sighed.

"Better bored, than a captive," he reminded her.

"What if I'm captive to boredom?"

Ralphred gave her a stern look. "Better than being captive to the Poker."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she muttered. "We don't know Zole's position on my escape, yet."

"'Frustrated' would probably summarise it," he said. "Until we know, you'll have to stay here."

"Wouldn't it be like him to never respond, just so I'm imprisoned forever?"

"He wants you and he's not a fool," Ralphred concluded. "Now, what would you like to do? I could arrange one of those pamper sessions you like. Set up a spa in one of the guest rooms, massage and tea?"

"Truce is always fighting crime. I can't even go to one of his dumb business dinners," Layla moaned, pulling her ponytail free and slowing the movement when Ralphred hesitated. "What?"

"Nothing," Ralphred said too quickly, not meeting her eyes.

"Ralphred," Layla said, eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

***

Truce was all sophistication in an expensive grey suit, soft white shirt underneath.

The restaurant was at the top of a high-rise, very exclusive and always booked out...unless you were one of Gothic City's richest, most influential men.

The floor-to-ceiling windows captured unobstructed views of the beautiful, glittering night city.

"If I endorse this, I want something from your cellar," Hugo bantered.

"Red or white?" Truce flippantly answered.

"Can I choose it myself?"

"Jesus, you're going to go straight for the champagne," Truce said ruefully.

"What's thousands of dollars between friends, when you're making..." Hugo frowned at the contract on his phone. "Millions?"

"

We

are making millions," Truce said with emphasis. "And we don't need the money."

Hugo made a joke and Truce threw back his head with a laugh. Picking up his drink, he began to take a sip and choked when Layla strode through the entry.

At least she was dressed in elegant style; impossibly high black stilettos, a tight black pencil skirt and floral red blouse. Silky, blonde hair neatly gathered into a loose bun.

Given her mood, Truce would expect her to show up in a sheer, red dress that split down to her crotch.

"Hello, Hugo," she purred.

"Layla!" Hugo merrily greeted her. "You must be feeling better!"

"Oh, I am," she said with a vibrant smile, her bright green eyes taking on a dangerous glint that made Truce feel both uneasy and aroused. "I'll leave you two to finalise your little agreement."

She swanned off without acknowledging Truce at all.

"Hello, Romeo?"

"Sorry," Truce grinned, staring after her. "I'd better call Ralphred to make up the dog-house."

"You're definitely in trouble," Hugo concluded. "But with a woman like that, is it a good or bad thing?"

"Honestly, I can't decide," Truce said, still watching the door she'd walked through. He made a quick assessment; it was a quiet environment, difficult for anyone to get into, let alone a villain. Even so, he took out his phone to book some last-minute security.

***

Layla walked through to a bar area facing the city's waterside. Aside from the bar, there were small tables and little velvet booths. It was a cosy, dimly lit area.

She ordered a drink and when it arrived, she didn't immediately recognise the man taking the seat opposite.

His clothing was quality and inconspicuous; black pants, navy button-up shirt. Blonde hair, attractive features except for the manic look in his icy blue eyes.

"Fucking hell," Layla muttered, looking around.

No one recognised him, few would without a stupid patterned suit and weaponized cane. Two of his henchmen stood along the wall, watching them.

"Don't be so hasty to call out an old friend," Zole murmured, showing her the detonator.

"Go ahead," she challenged with a menacing smile.

"Oh, this won't blow us up," Zole smiled at her sass. "But it might disturb some in the dining room. Your witless fiancé, for one."

"What do you want?"

"What do I want?" he echoed with a chuckle. "Come on, Layla."

They stared at each other, the air around them buzzing until Zole broke gaze to accept a drink from one of his men.

"I'm not leaving here with you," Layla said acidly.

"I'm not asking you to," Zole said nonchalantly. "With your social celebrity status, you couldn't leave with another man without causing a media firestorm."

Layla raised her chin. "Why don't you just fuck off, then?"

"I'm here to talk a little business, like your fiancé is doing next door."

"There is no business between us."

"On the contrary, there has been a lot...between us," he said, his blue gaze insolently fixed on her full lips.

Layla scathingly opened her mouth and closed it. She wasn't going to bring up the deal for discussion.

"Come on, Layla," Zole goaded, sipping his drink. "I can see it bubbling up inside you."

Layla took a good swig of her wine, trying to dismiss the image of Zole lying unconscious in a blanket pile. The vision always brought on a bout of hysterical laughter.

The edges of Layla's lips trembled, her eyes alight with suppressed mirth. "I've no idea what you're talking about," she barely managed, quickly coughing to get herself in order.

She hated him, yes. But the memory of the dignified, deadly Zole, knocked out in the clumsiest way imaginable would always be fucking hilarious.

"We made an agreement, remember?"

Layla pursed her lips, her eyes thoughtfully going up. "I don't recall anything agreeable between us."

Zole's eyes narrowed with amusement. "I'm disappointed, Foxy. Such dishonourable behaviour for someone spending time with a hero." He tilted his head speculatively. "You'd be better-suited spending time with a villain, like me."

"Your dick is too small," she smirked.

The Poker laughed heartily.

"Where are your dumb buddies, Perv and Psycho?" Layla sneered, her fingers curled into claws under the table.

"Bork is running an errand and Reggie is at the mansion," Zole answered. "Reggie is quite a fan of yours. Which is fascinating because he hates everyone."

"Fanatic you mean. His cordiality makes my skin crawl," Layla said frankly.

Zole slowly exhaled, lazily watching her. "I quite like the demure look on you."

"Yawn," Layla said, finishing her wine. "If you're not going to blow up the building, can you get lost before my future husband turns up?"

Layla spoke casually, but she sharply observed Zole's expression.

He calmly returned her perusal, giving nothing away. "He doesn't deserve you."

"Who?" Layla said coyly, her eyes watchful and expectant.

"You know," he said gently, turning slightly as one of his men whispered in his ear.

"Well, I have my own business to attend. I look forward to bumping into you again, hopefully with less clothes." He stood; his eyes went to the front of her blouse. "Your breasts are second to none."

"Yours need more work," she responded.

"Really?" he grinned, amused again.

"Yeah, they're floppy," she shrugged. "Nothing to Oxman's."

"Oh, Layla. You think I'm the jealous kind?" he chided, going to her side of the table.

Layla stiffened angrily when he came near, not quite willing to make a scene and see it on the news.

The Poker kissed his palm and affectionately cupped her cheek. "Bye, pretty girl."

Layla sat there, tense and seething. The gesture was somehow far more romantic than if he'd kissed her. His deep tone was intimate and velvet, like they were old lovers. The bastard.

She snapped out of it when another drink was delivered to the table.

"Courtesy of your departing companion," the server said discreetly, placing a dainty coaster beneath the martini.

Layla glared around, jumping a little when she saw Truce leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, watching her. From the flat look on his handsome face, he'd seen.

When they locked eyes, Truce wandered over to take the seat recently vacated by Zole. "So, did you come here to ambush my business meeting or...?"

"Or?" Layla said innocently.

"Mm-hm," he concluded, a flicker of annoyance in his brown eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Truce. Of course, I didn't come here to be set upon."

Truce waited a moment, letting his fury settle a little. "He just happened to know you would be here, alone?"

"Truce, it's the Poker. That's his stupid style, isn't it?" Layla sighed, taking the martini glass.

Truce seized her wrist. "Don't drink that."

Layla quickly placed the glass down, forgetting the Poker's penchant for drugging. "Fuck, I forgot."

"He had quite a distracting effect on you."

"I recall you

wanting

me to be rattled by him," she said tartly.

"I meant to be wary of the danger, and you know it. What did you talk about?"

"He said he's not the jealous type," Layla said pointedly.

Truce laughed roughly. "Right."

Layla reached across the table, palms out. Truce stonily eyed her small hands before slowly capturing them in his own, letting their hands intertwine.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "I really didn't think he'd find me here. I was pissed off you lied about the business meeting. I understand I can't fight crime with you but staying indoors is just killing me."