Dar Awaening

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Chapter 3

Patrick Keller's iphone chirped. He felt the palm sized rectangle through his pants pocket and decided against answering the text. It was from Lana. She had mentioned coming over to deposit some cash into her special fund. She was probably pulling up to her crappy apartment, sparkles in her gorgeous mahogany colored eyes and skipping to the beat of a dance tune playing in her head. That damn girl was always happy. Too happy, he thought as he heard another chirp and shoved his right hand into his pocket and pulled out the mini computer that conveniently functioned as a phone.

I did it, the text read. Great. Fantastic. Lana had even put one of those winking smiley faces in the text, exemplifying her joy. Patrick locked the phone and put it back into his pocket. He didn't feel the need to reply. She'd be content with or without his approval.

"The quarterly reports are on your desk and a Mr. Ruke called earlier," the new intern's candy sweet voice startled him. It was fine since he didn't need to spend another second thinking about his not so simple relationship with Lana.

"Get my priorities straight," Patrick straightened and looked the poor twenty something in the eyes. She flinched. Interns were so fragile in the first couple of weeks that a fire alarm drill could start a seizure. Her name was something trendy like Madison or Kenzy, something to that effect.

"I'm s-sorry," she stuttered and he could have sworn she was pausing to curtsy and then a cold hard stare from him brought her ass back to the twenty-first century. She was run of the mill pretty, the kind of girl that came a dime a dozen with the flat ironed shoulder length blond hair, raccoon eye makeup, tight ass in her pencil skirt. Her blouse unbuttoned to the cusp of her perfect ten breasts. She was a walking talking sex drive and he wouldn't be surprised if one of his unmarried, or even married, bankers hadn't tapped her yet. Patrick had different tastes though. His taste craved freckles and chestnut auburn curls.

"Ruke is my number one concern. Always. So when he calls, you let me know," Patrick waved the intern off and went back to his phone. Let's meet later, he texted back and he even added one of those smiley faces.

*******

"A girl?" Did he stutter? Rowe recalled how many times Dem had, quote, unquote, "helped him out." He remembered that there was a soul behind those perfect teal eyes that didn't want to spend an entire life between a woman's legs. Rowe was just hard pressed to find it. It was almost twenty-four hours ago since he'd seen the broad. Dem had shoved him off after his nightly encounter with Cherry last night. Turns out Dem was closed for business after his nightcap.

"Yeah, a fucking kid. She was slipping out of Nicko's when I saw her. Just waltzing along like it was perfectly normal to be there. She knew my name." And whole lot else if she'd gotten that much out of his head.

"A kid, like-"

"Young, like eighteen, twenty, I'm not good with ages. They all look the same until they start to get fat and drive kids around for soccer games," Rowe explained, knowing that most of this was going through one ear and out the other.

"You've never seen her before? Was she hot?" Dem kept prodding but Rowe had given up all of his chips. There wasn't much else to be said. No, he'd never seen her before but it wasn't like he took inventory on all the human girls with dark hair and a smart mouth. He shook his head. Dem scratched his. Must be a nice break for his balls.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Maybe she'd heard about me through one of my friends," Rowe was trying to shrug this off in front of Dem. By friends he was of course referring to the staff that Nicko's employed. A staff that could cater to an appetite that Rowe had. It's just that, well, the girl didn't fit the bill. She was too pretty.

"When's the last time you saw one of your friends?" Dem asked. Wink, wink, nod, nod.

Rowe growled, "Recently."

"Fuck, Rowe. You might need another check up." Dem reached out to playfully punch his shoulder. Rowe frowned harder. If that was even possible.

"She's got an odor. She smells like. . .like a fresh breeze," Like the country just stuffed itself up his nose. Not a perfume, not a stench, she smelled wonderful.

"Not your type? Na, you like the ones who smell like liquor and nicotine," Dem was adding to his permanent record. Rowe was beginning to question why Dem had even ended up in his life. Oh yeah, he saved his ass. Thirty years ago to the month. Well wasn't that precious; it was their anniversary.

Dem wasn't your typical knight in shining armor. In fact, he'd been recruited just as Rowe had into his brother's army. The bastard had a manipulative quality justified with power. Rowe's brother wanted revenge for what had befallen him and Demetrio fell into the trap. What Rowe hadn't counted on was Dem's ability to function like the Hulk under pressure. Good thing too because his brother would have caught up with them if it wasn't for what Dem had under the hood. It was a wonder the walking hard-on his friend was had any calm to his storm, but when he harnessed his horse power, run.

*******

Sarah. Just Sarah. No last name. Well wasn't that trendy.

Just Sarah sipped her ruffie-tini like a champ. She had some experience in these things; obviously, it was on her business card. Ruke imagined running his fingers through her hair. He imagined tilting her head back slightly to expose that delicate flesh covering her carotid artery. If the vampires had anything in common with him; it was their choice of blood veins to puncture.

Sarah came from good Hungarian stock. Her build was dainty but those piercing diamond blue was what flicked his Bic. Blonde hair, this one. Thin, but silky smooth. She'd cropped it short, just above her chin like that Spice Girl everyone thought had talent. His muse wouldn't have short hair. No hers would longer, fuller, easier to tug on. She was like a poor man's Jenna Jamison, plastic fantastic and eye shadow mod.

Ruke let the perfume of the prostitute fill his lungs. It was flowery with a dash of skank. Sarah hadn't come cheap, but she wasn't exactly the Prada of street whores. What she was good for was information. Information and entertainment. Questions required warming up, and what better to do that then some drug reinforcement.

"Do you like classical music, Sarah?" Ruke asked passing behind her to take another whiff of what he already knew was lurking beneath her simple surface. She was wearing a Hepburn black dress, no panty hose, and strappy black stilettos. The pricier gals would jot down what they wore as if taking notes on what men enjoyed or disliked. If a dress got a repeat customer, then similar items would be worn to keep the re-runs going. Ruke, however, liked variety. He liked to see them preppy, goth, or better yet nude. Sarah wasn't missing the mark with her LBD, but she was taking up his time crossing and uncrossing her legs to try and get a reaction. Baby, you don't have to do that to get what's coming next.

Sarah smirked. She relaxed her shoulders and leaned forward, dropping his gaze to the perfect tens money could buy beneath the soft fabric of her low cut dress. Ruke imagined her to have merlot nipples, a pink rosé when not stimulated. Sarah's body was starting to bloom. Her legs uncrossed, her dress slid another two inches up her tanned and toned legs. Slowly but surely the drug was having its effect on her and Ruke would enjoy the next couple of hours; but before the fun got started he just wanted a few questions answered.

"I like a lot of things. What do you like?" Her voice was low and smooth. She wasn't the high pitched valley girl like last time. She knew how to play her cards. She was a girlfriend for hire. Sarah was trained to stroke your ego, listen to your mundane day, and even do your laundry in nothing but six inch heels. Her tits came pointed at the ceiling and her cunt came waxed, she was more than just a three-hundred dollar fuck, she'd iron your shirts after it was over.

"I like young girls, like you. I like to touch them, like to feel them. They're firm and supple at the same time. If I could, before we get started, Sarah, I need to ask you a few questions." Ruke let his fingers graze the tops of her shoulders. He let them dance along her clavicle, bringing her skin to shivers. The zipper to her dress was poking out from the fold of her dress seam. Ruke quietly without disturbing her, unzipped. The shoulder straps loosened, exposing more naked chest and goosebumps.

Sarah's shoulders began melting from his mini massage. Her dress had drooped to the tips of her elbows. Her breasts, in all their plump and plastic glory pressed out begging to be touched and fondled; definitely merlot nipples that could carve ice and a thumb print of an areola.

"Go ahead," she purred allowing him to dig deeper into her peaches and cream skin. Her hair swayed gently across his knuckles and Ruke felt a growling hunger in the pit of his gut.

"I have a friend who may have slipped into the wonderful world of escorting. Would you happen to know anything about how I could find her? Maybe you know someone who would deal with a lot of the girls. I would love to see her again." Ruke blew a warm breath down her neck. Sarah quivered in response tilting that sweet head to the side for more, please.

"She might use Patrick Keller. He's a great businessman and he keeps our funds out of feds hands."

Well, well, turns out Pat has his slimy fingers in a lot of cookie jars. What an excellent development. Sarah's head lopped directly between his bear claws. Her eyes had a nice sheen of frosting over them. Marvelous. For her help, she wouldn't feel a thing. Ruke stood her up, shucking off the rest of her dress watching it pool around her feet and feeling a surge of power. She was naked and helpless before him, exactly how he would have his muse. He was clothed, showing only his arms covered in indiscernible tattoos the humans wouldn't comprehend. His muscle shirt may as well have been black paint as it showed off every tight fraction of dominance he was going to give her. The sparkle had left his eyes as his natural cologne permeated through the room. Suddenly Sarah was more aware of her surroundings. Her lips started to tremble; feeling the rough hands shove her down to her knees.

Sarah landed with a thud, grasping onto his pant legs fearing she would tip over. An angelic face glanced up to his, soft blue eyes ruined with black eye liner and thick mascara. Her body in an all out fight mode, Sarah scrambled up to only get shoved back down. Her tits jiggled appropriately for being as silicone enhanced as they were. Ruke wanted to bite a nipple so hard it was beginning to show through his pants. He liked a little cat and mouse too, but Sarah wasn't on his diet. Shame too, Ruke hated wasting food.

*********

One thought milled around Patrick's head. Fuck Fuckity Fuck Fuck. His passive aggressive relationship with Lana was wearing him thin. She was going to be coming over tonight to celebrate her mind control or whatever the fuck it was that she did. And what would he be doing? Probably pining for her to shut up and suck his cock. That wouldn't happen. She was too timid to do something that risqué for him. She'd want the romance and the satisfaction that she had won his heart before any of the good stuff happened. Well if that didn't make him a son of a bitch. He wanted to handle more than just the questionable funding she brought to his bank. Her source of income came in the form of untraceable cash. Not unseen before for a teenager, they usually break bank in babysitting for the upper crust house wives on Long Island. But Lana never had a deposit less than two thousand.

His mind drifted back to the damn night that he'd run into her. She was a little minx three years ago, and most definitely statutory. At sixteen, Lana had charmed her tight ass into a night club and what do you know, she was the hottest piece of ass the boys had seen or would ever lay their eyes on, and she wasn't even a professional. For Patrick, the most appealing feature about her were her luscious rose red lips, he could imagine her full lips taking him to the moon and back if she would only drop the good girl attitude. Her freckles made it the worst. This was the issue though wasn't it? She was a wholesome, take home to your mother and feed her apple pie, and he was a fast and loose Joe. The last woman he'd had between his sheets had been . . . who? It took a minute to recover this information from his vault of insignificant information. Ah! It was four interns ago, Celeste Carter. God, they all came with stripper fucking names didn't they, Celeste, Veronica, and Sasha replaced the simple Mary, Ellen, and Josephine.

Patrick poured himself some Glenlevit and thought about the amount and the blue balls night he had ahead of him, so he poured himself some more. His liquor cabinet had a mirror behind the bottles of Glenlevit and Absolut. Staring back at him was the reflection the son of a bitch he'd become. With his mother's navy blue peepers and flawlessly smooth skin he'd always been the hunk at any stage in life. He never had an awkward phase and any woman between the ages of fifteen and fifty had the hots for him with just a wink. Even now in his mid thirties he was still the tall dark and handsome devil that yearned to scratch an itch deeper than his skin. He wanted her, and he knew she wasn't going to be giving in tonight or any night that he brought her up to his flat.

Speak of the devil, the shave and a hair cut knock that interrupted his thoughts could only be the one and only. Patrick straightened, checked his appearance again and decided that maybe a little less cologne should have been worn, oh well. He downed the rest of his scotch on the rocks and opened his front door to the menacing mother fucker, Ruke. The bastard looked like he was having a bad day, brilliant, and to think, Patrick was about to have a better one. Ruke stared Patrick down with those god awful black as coal eyes and it was all Patrick could do to not break. Ruke was a monster for his race, something to be feared as a human, let alone as a specimen of whatever the fuck planet he came from.

"Not the date you were expecting?" Ruke asked glancing a once over on Patrick's attire. If the Armani cologne he wore didn't give it away, the distressed jeans and button down were a dead give away. Christ, he probably looked like a sixteen year old and smelled like one too.

"I thought our business transactions were finished for the day. Did you need anything else?" Patrick asked adjusting his stature to a more rigid one. He spread his body wide in the door way, there was no way Ruke was coming in. Ruke probably had a good thirty or forty pounds on him, and another couple of inches to his height, the guy was built like John Cena, but that wasn't getting him any closer to Patrick's living room.

"Relax, Pat." Patrick winced, he hated his name shortened and the only person he allowed to do that was Lana. Ruke smiled as if knowing he'd hit a sore spot, and continued, "I'm here for something completely different. You can find somebody I'm looking for, and I need you to convince her to help me out." Ruke eyeballed Patrick's bar, then back to Patrick, then back to the bar. "Are you gonna invite me in or are you gonna keep me out here?"

"Her?" Patrick stepped aside. His walls broken, Ruke had total control. Mr. Social headed straight for the bar, poured himself a glass of Grey Goose and propped himself against the kitchen counter.

"A muse. You look like you're ready to entertain your own muse. Your body language is screaming it not to mention, I can fucking read your mind, see your past . . . . and your death," Ruke tapped his head as to emphasize the stretch of his ability, "So before you try to lie to me and claim you have no idea what I'm talking about, let's lay some things on the table," Patrick nodded. Any dignity or self restraint was thrown out his twentieth story window. "The one I'm looking for, she is not one of my kind. She is human, sort of, and she is the link between me and you, so if you are finished pissing your pants, I want you to find her and then I want you to keep her calm. When the time is right, I will ask you for her. You'll know her when you see her. She's is young, probably late teens early twenties. Redish brown hair upstairs and down. I doubt she's been around for this long without a criminal record. See what you can pull up."

A switch flicked on in his head. Was Ruke talking about Lana? He took another pull of vodka and set the glass to a slam on the table.

Patrick had to take a seat to settle his thoughts. Ruke wanted Lana. How the hell was he supposed to convince Lana that a sick son-of-a-bitch wanted to take her for experiments or some shit. That was gonna go real well.

"It will take me some time," Patrick figured aloud. Ruke was headed for the door. Patrick stayed put, assembling the remnants of ideas he had as to how this was going against his principles. What principles.

"She is not yours," Ruke said as he exited into the hall, "She represents more than that."

The door gently closed, and Patrick could hear the inside lock sliding into place on its own. It was beyond creepy how they could do that. Freaky. Lana was more than his. Patrick repeated this thought over and over in his head. No, she was more than anything he'd ever had.

The next sound he heard was the iphone chirping. Patrick checked the text. On my way now, be there in 10. Patrick smiled. His eyes closed, and his heart beat. His feelings for Lana were the only thing between him and a happy non thug life, and if Ruke wanted Lana, then he could have her. She was just a girl right? C u soon! He texted back. He needed more scotch.

He was a hair more than tipsy when Lana arrived. She was freshly dolled up with a bottle of Korbel in her hand and a shimmer in her eyes he wasn't going to ignore. If Ruke wanted her, Patrick was going to have her first.

"Hello friend," Lana chimed. At this point in his stupor, Patrick could practically see the bubbles floating out of her ears and stars floating around her head. Little baby cherubs were singing love songs and a rainbow may or may not have appeared behind her.

"I'm happy to see you," Patrick replied, making enough room for her to squeeze by him to get into the apartment. Lana took the hint and decided to give him the back end rather than the front as she passed by. No doubt, thought Patrick, she could tell he had a banana in his pocket.

"You are drunk." She said as she placed the bottle on the black granite counter top. Patrick had chosen the black because it went well against the glass cabinets and stainless steel appliances. Lana, he thought would also look good against the black granite counter top.

"Not quite."

*******

"So. . . . I think I have an idea what you want to do," Ava struggled to find a place to put her eyes. If she looked into his eyes she would start stuttering, if she looked at his mouth, she'd want to kiss it, if she looked at his hips, well, she wasn't going to do that. Pat's mind was going three thousand miles a minute. He was more than hot and bothered, she could plug him into a socket and he'd light up like a Christmas tree he was so turned on. This was a change in demeanor. Usually Pat was collected, uninterested, and there was something different about tonight. Someone had been here. Ava stretched out her limits and fumbled around in Pat's head. He didn't seem to mind either, as he kept creeping closer as if to give her better reception. Ava stared back at the man she'd come to have a school girl crush on. His body was in pristine shape due to his morning jogs and weight set, he'd grown out his five o'clock shadow to perfection, and his mouth was tight as if he was concentrating on the subject matter at hand.