Chapter One
Patience reined up her horse, a great stallion of
midnight black that refused to behave under anyone's control but hers. With shrewd eyes, she scanned the scene in
front of her, the desert city of Tehran, where the Shah resided during Persia's
outrageously hot summers. A dust storm
was quickly gathering momentum, preparing for a strike against the restless
city. Through the haze, Patience
finally found the domed tower of the Shah's decrepit palace. She grinned, a building like that was
certainly guarded well... plenty of blood for her to spill in a short amount of
time. Just as she liked it.
"Well, this should be astoundingly easy." Mercy
commented dryly, pulling her horse up next to her cousin's. The black mare danced coquettishly next to
the stallion, the white star on her forehead sparkling briefly in the dying
sunlight. That star was the entire
reason Mercy had chosen her, for it resembled a spider in shape, complete with
a tiny hourglass of black right in the middle.
"There will be guards of course... pathetic
fools." Patience grinned, fingering her bowie knife anxiously, her
fingernails drifting over the carved scorpion's tail in almost a gentle caress.
"Naturally.
They should prove to be no real threat.
Persian guards are ruthless by reputation... but they've never
encountered us before." Mercy shrugged, looking over her shoulder to check
on the condition of the storm.
"Pity to be them." Patience grinned, pulling
her stallion into a rear-up.
"Calm, cousin.
You'll be able to vent your violent urges soon enough. If we want to escape unnoticed to our
hideout afterwards, we need to wait for the storm to catch up. Then we can relax for a few weeks with a
large fortune in jewels, weapons, and drugs.
And no hashish for you this time, cousin... I'd rather not have to clean
up any more brain matter from your walls." Mercy admonished, as was her
habit when dealing with Patience's flagrantly violent outbursts, which were few
and far between but frightening nonetheless.
"Picky, picky." Patience pouted in
semi-seriousness. "So are we going
in with guns blazing, or are we taking the more slinky approach."
"A little of both.
How do you feel about a harem girl disguise?" Mercy asked, patting
the pack on her horse's back.
"Depends... exactly how exposing is it?" she
asked with raised eyebrows.
"Extremely, any more and we might as well be
naked." Mercy replied easily with a smile and a head tilt meant to be
endearing, which on her always ended up being seductive.
"Perfect."
--------
"Let me be your sacrifice, O Shadow of God."
Nadir knelt quickly the second that the shah was in sight, bending so that his
forehead was a fraction of an inch away from the beautifully-tiled floor.
His black-clad companion looked at him with mild
amusement and overtones of disgust that anyone would be so obsequious and still
live with himself.
"Good evening, Daroga... Erik." the shah nodded
to each man briefly in acknowledgment, although his face bespoke little but
regal boredom. "What brings you to
my council so late in the day... and with a storm approaching at that?"
The cat that had been dozing by the shah's right hand, an
exotic Siamese with a collar of pure gold encrusted with diamonds, leapt from
her spot to rub against Erik's legs affectionately. She hissed and arched her back evilly when Nadir hazarded a
glance her little feline highness.
"I requested to be allowed back to Mazanderan
several months ago and I have yet to receive the permission I need. A new palace, especially one such as this,
does not build itself without the architect nearby." Erik stated before
Nadir could say anything else of a groveling nature. His deliberate editing of any titles were by now expected by the
shah, who sighed and shook his head, staring thoughtfully at the cat.
"I want you in Mazanderan as much as you want to be
there. But you have no idea the sort of
fuss my mother puts up when you're not here to entertain her." the shah
shook his head. "Perhaps if you
came up with some sort of entertainment that didn't require your
presence?"
"I could, I suppose." Erik sighed, twisting his
hands against his cloak in agitation.
"A maze of mirrors leading to a torture chamber was not enough for
her jaded tastes?"
Nadir coughed lightly at Erik's comment, a warning to be
careful of what he said.
"Apparently not." the shah replied, his tone
one of mild irritation.
A commotion in the outside drew their conversation to an
abrupt halt. A scream from one of the
guards erupted into the room, the doors of the council chamber flinging open as
though they were made of paper rather than heavy wood. A powdery cloud of bluish-white smoke
followed suit, quickly enveloping the entire room and obscuring everything from
sight.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Care to dance?" a honeyed voice asked from the pale doorway.
The smoke, laced with some sort of sedating drug was swift
and powerful, forcing all three men to their knees, coughing and sputtering
like fish on harsh land. Erik looked up
at the doorway, his hand stealing to the knife secreted within his boot. Two silhouettes stood n the doorway, hands
on hips. Both were assuredly feminine,
with long hair that flowed all around them thanks to the suddenly violent winds
from outside. They were the same in
height, but one was slim and slight, like one of the harem girls that the shah
preferred. As she approached on silent,
but quick feet, he could see that she was as tanned as a native Persian, with
almond-shaped eyes of ice-blue and long, straight hair of wheat gold. Her partner in crime, approaching
afterwards, more slowly and cautiously, was curvaceous and hourglass-shaped
with a riot of unruly curls of flame red reaching to her hips and calculating
eyes of violet. In direct contrast to
her friend, her skin was lily white against the dark green of her harem girl
outfit and she filled the top almost to straining.
"We're pleased to announce the arrival of your
assassins... please turn over all jewelry, money, and other valuables to the
nearest usher and maybe you'll live... but I wouldn't count on it." the
blonde smiled sweetly, tossing her cohort a bag deftly.
"Let's listen to the nice lady now... sir." the
red-head hissed, jabbing Erik sharply in the ribs. "Hand over your watch and your rings... especially that onyx
one there... I like black... think I'll keep that one for myself."
"Over my dead body." he seethed back, clutching
his dagger tightly.
"That can be arranged." she cocked her head at
him, drawing a bowie knife from the sheath at her waist, the handle cunningly
carved with the figure of a spider, two triangularly cut rubies forming an
hourglass on the spider's abdomen.
The Black Widow... he thought distantly, preparing
to strike at her and deal a deadly blow.
He pushed up with his legs, standing up so quickly that he knocked the
red-haired temptress off-balance. He
swung around, his knife brandished with the deadly blade aimed directly at his
enemy's heart. But she was quick, oh
quicker than he had ever expected. And
she ducked, the knife never meeting with anything firmer than air. He struck again, this time the resounding
sound of metal on metal ringing through the chamber as she deflected his blade
with her own.
"Anxious to die, magician?" she asked, her eyes
lighting up. "A welcome change...
very well then, let's play."
He struck at her again and again, each time slicing
through air or meeting only with her own deadly blade. She was fast and limber, able to flip away
from him or slide on the polished floor out of the way. Her cheeks soon flushed a dark pink with the
exertion of the fight, her eyes narrowing with concentration. Her acrobatic positions were not conducive
to her skimpy outfit, and every so often he would catch a glimpse of a round
buttock, a taut thigh, or a pert, straining nipple. His immediate reaction was one that had little to do with the
fight and everything to do with the stunning creature he fought. She exuded lust and desire, all of the
things that he had contrived to forget.
Despite the danger inherent, for she was just as skilled with her knife
as he was, he was soon panting with lust, his sex throbbing with it. He almost lost himself entirely when a
violent push sent her back to the floor, his vantage allowing him a deep look
down the tight bodice of her blouse.
She sprang to her feet, attacking him with a vengeance
that he'd only seen before in himself.
Her blade caught him only once, tearing through the sleeve of his white
shirt and slicing through the flesh of his forearm. It was not a deep wound and superficial at best, but the pain and
humiliation of being bested by a woman was enough. With a primal yell, he lunged at her. She matched all of his hits blow for blow as he advanced
inexorably, pushing her up against the nearest wall.
An impasse. She
was backed up flat against the wall her knife pricking into the tender flesh of
his throat, millimeters away from slicing clean through his jugular. But she stilled her hand, thanks mainly to
the fact that his knife mirrored her own against her ivory throat.
"Think carefully, sir." the blonde's low voice
echoed softly behind him, the familiar feel of a knife raking up his back and
over his shoulder, sliding up his neck to just under his chin. "It would be a shame to have to cut up
that pretty face of yours."
His eyes darted to the side, trying to see her. From the sound of her voice, she was to his
left, the side of his face that was free of the mask... apparently she had not
seen that he wore one at all yet.
"See if I care." he tossed back, not moving an
inch from his current position.
"Have it your way." the blonde replied easily.
The redhead, pulled her knees up to her chest and kicked
out, catching him in the chest and sending him sprawling to the floor, his
knife clattering uselessly against the shah's throne. The blonde restrained him immediately, pinning his arms behind
his back and hauling him to his feet with a strength seldom found in a
woman.
The redhead approached him slowly, her head tilted down
slightly, looking at him through her eyelashes, like a jungle cat stalking her
prey. She bent, fetching his golden
dagger from the floor, the position allowing him another enticing look at the
size and shape of her lovely breasts.
She certainly saw his reaction to such a vision, but she made no outward
sign, taking the knife delicately in her hand and continuing up to him until
she was pressed flush against him, her breasts plumped against his chest, her
face mere inches from him.
"A mask, eh?" she smiled, her eyes more
seductive than angry. "Let's see
what hides behind this paper face, shall we?"
He struggled, but to no avail. Her wicked little hand stripped the mask away with no warning, as
surely as if she'd ripped the clothes from his body. He met her stare head on, showing no sign of his surprise. She reacted to his hideously deformed face
with no screams or gasps or any other indication of disgust.
"So much for the threat of cutting your face. Looks like Mother Nature saved us the
trouble. Ah, but you have such handsome
eyes... and I always appreciate a trim, fit man who can fight me to some lazy,
lard bucket of a guard. I wonder if
other things are in keeping with that..." she drawled seductively, her
eyes half-closed. Slowly, she drew the
tip of his knife down his unscarred cheek, down his neck, over his chest and
stomach and down one thigh before heading back up and tracing the outline of
his erect sex through his trousers.
He couldn't help but draw a deep, startled breath, his
eyes involuntarily flickering with pleasured distraction. Her hand followed the knife's path, gripping
him gently and feeling his shaft up and down, ignoring the cloth barrier
between his flesh and hers. His knees
almost buckled with the dangerously sensuous flashes that shot through him in
response.
"Ah... good... I like them large and hard... and you
most certainly are." she smiled when he opened his eyes, drawing the knife
up to her lips. He watched in lewd
fascination as she let her tongue touch the tip of the knife, eventually
licking the entire blade up and down with wanton languor. His swollen sex surged forward in a visible
jerk, a soft almost inaudible moan escaping his lips.
She smiled, sheathing her own knife and laughing gently
as she walked away to inspect her companion's work on Nadir and the shah. Both men were tied up, back to back, trussed
up like poultry roast designs. The
redhead squatted in front of the shah, using the tip of Erik's knife to raise
his face to hers.
"Who are you?
I demand an answer!" he roared at her, drawing upon all of the
regal power he possessed to intimidate her.
"You demand many things, Your Majesty. But we're the ones making demands now. Don't tell me you've never heard of the
Dangerous Virtues? My cousin, The Black
Scorpion, and myself, The Black Widow.
You surprise me." she replied in a bored fashion.
Nadir gave a gasp of recognition.
"Heard of us, Daroga?" the blonde asked
sweetly, pushing Erik fowards and tying him up with them in perfect tandem.
"Yes." he answered shortly. "You're from Europe. Patience and Mercy Kyle... cousins and
professional assassins known to actually kill your victims if your money
doesn't arrive fast enough... and for torturing them if you do leave them
alive."
"Our reputation precedes us. Convenient, isn't it Patience?" the
redhead smiled.
"Tell us how to get to your treasury." Patience
ordered the shah succinctly. "I
want to spend some gold in the marketplace... an assassin needs her fine
things, you know."
Her bowie knife dug into the shah's neck, blood trickling
to the collar of his velvet robes and staining it crimson. The redhead, Mercy, Erik assumed, stilled
her hand in a strangely maternal manner.
"Don't kill him yet... calm, cousin… or do I have to
tie you to a chair again?" she asked, her tone gently teasing. "Besides, I have a new plan in
mind."
"What might that be, cousin?" Patience withdrew
her knife reluctantly, her expression that of a truculent child.
"We have in our hands, the King of all Persia... I'm
sure his mother and sister will want him back as soon as possible. But we also have his Chief of Police and his
mother's favorite boy-toy... both precious commodities as well. If we play our cards right, we could easily
get away with more treasure than we've ever seen before." Mercy breathed,
sliding two fingers down Nadir's tanned cheek in a caressing stroke.
"Ransom, then?" Patience asked brightly. "We get to smuggle them out in the
storm?"
"Exactly.
They'd be stupid to run away... sand storms are almost impossible to
navigate, even by a native. One can get
quite hopelessly lost in a very large desert." Mercy nodded, rising with
her hands on her hips. "We'll tie
them to the horses and drag them along if necessary. We've enough supplies to sustain everyone for a long time."
"All right, gentlemen. You heard the lady... let's go." Patience rose as well,
dragging the men by a length of rope.
As weak and disoriented as they were from the drugged
smoke and the shock at being attacked, the shah and Nadir were in no condition
to fight back. They followed the women
reluctantly while Erik assessed the tightness of the ropes binding his wrists
behind his back. Damn, the woman called
Patience had bound him with ruthless efficiency; even a skilled escapist and
contortionist couldn’t work out of them… not without voluntarily dislocating
his shoulder and elbow.
“Don’t even think about it, magician… you dislocate one
joint and I’ll rip your arm out of its socket.” The red-haired Mercy commented
from behind, startling him.
“You think a little thing like you could succeed at such
a feat?” he tossed back at her angrily.
“I don’t think… I know.” She smiled grimly, shoving him
ahead of her with a strength belied her soft appearance. A gruesome set met them in the outside
hallway; the half-dozen guards that regularly stood watch outside the shah’s
throne room had all been killed. Three
had grotesque slits in their throats, doled out with cold skill to slice
through windpipe and jugular vein, cutting off both their air and their
lifeblood. The other three looked as
though they’d been at the mercy of a wild animal; one with his belly sliced
from groin to sternum, spilling his intestines out onto the carefully tiled
floor, another had been mutilated, his eyes and tongue cut out, his face
stripped almost entirely of the skin, the final one looked better off… until
Erik passed behind him and saw that the back of his skull had been crushed in
by a blow from a heavy hammer.
“Admiring our masterpieces, magician?” Mercy smiled,
forcing Erik to walk faster with the tip of her knife pointing inexorably into
his back.
“Messy and intense only in its shock value… there are
better ways to kill people, mademoiselle.” He tried to sound nonplussed.
“Mademoiselle?” she repeated. “French, are you?”
“Quite.” He nodded, wondering why he was conversing with
this slut who seemed intent on killing him.
“Explains a lot… the French are known for their…” she had
come to walk up beside him and ran her hand over the still-pronounced bulge
beneath his stomach. “Je ne sais quoi?”
He wanted to groan, give some audible sign of the pain and
pleasure racing through his veins… but he refused to let the witch know how she
was torturing him.
She laughed low in her throat, a feline sound that again
made him aware of her beauty and seductiveness. “Good… very good.”
He couldn’t help but think that somehow he was playing
right into her lovely pale hands, despite his attempts not to.
On to Chapter Two (coming soon)