Novel Treatments / The Demon Lover Chapter 25 Pt 1
Chapter 25 Pt 1
Kryptonite. Karim felt Angel’s sudden retreat against him when they entered the room where lunch with the Terror Lord had been set up. It already felt instinctive—like second-nature—to pull her protectively close.
“Shhh, Its okay, baby…” he whispered in her ear. She probably didn’t know it, but nobody was going to be stupid enough to fuck with him right now. That included what belonged to him.
The meal was a four-table buffet-style spread, complete with white table cloths (this time paper) and carnations in vases with complimenting sprigs of fern and baby’s breath. The napkins were paper too, but they and the plastic plates were red to match one another, and the carnations.
How very fucking precious…
Most of the men had already helped their plates and were eating, but looked up with whispers and nudges as he steered Angel toward the food. Nidal, Jamil, Hassan, a handful of the teenagers—and a still distraught-looking Mustafa—fell in behind them. Ordinarily Karim wouldn’t have noticed or given a shit that the whole room was staring. As a top-tier favorite, he was pretty much used to all the fanfare, adulation—as well as the hatred and envy—that always accompanied his entrances and exits among the inner circle crowd. At first, he kept the pasted-on arrogant smile he knew was the appropriate response to even the most menacing glares, but he was keenly aware that the focus had shifted rapidly to Angel. On the inside, he was feeling kind of murderous again. Base mutherfuckers staring at her tits, watching the roll of her hips when she walked, (which Karim was still trying to decide—was this something she put on for male admiration, or was this just the way Angel walked?). Yeah, a lot of the pervy mutherfuckers still getting off on her slightly dazed expression, the hint of fear in her eyes… Fuck you pigs… Unclean, ass-fucking swine. They liked it when they could terrorize the weak; pointing their weapons in the faces of helpless victims; eyes widened in fear made their pricks and their egos swell. It helped Karim to maintain some semblance of the smirk to picture them all as rotting in pools of their own slime, but his expression now held the glint of warning for those who wanted to push the code. It might be unwritten, but you didn’t touch another guy’s gun, invade his body space, or stare too long and hard at his piece of ass.
Of course, in reality, Angel wasn’t his—just on loan to him. The Colonel had made that abundantly clear every chance he got. Karim knew this was contingent upon a myriad of factors, but mostly, how well he could keep the Terror Lord amused by it all…
He glanced up toward the head table where the Lebanese Colonel—the butcher of Salheyin—sat with his Frenchie piece (of which he did not partake). Michelle Pillar was the only other woman in the room, and how special! The Colonel gave a little nod and pointed to indicate that they’d saved a place directly across from them for Karim and his pretty little Imperialist Whore—the one that for now had given them all the biggest fucking dick. But Ismaili hadn’t shot his wad yet. No, he wanted to savor it all a bit more. Maybe enjoy a little picking apart of Angel with his tabouli salad. It was his way of fucking her too…
Ian sat on the other side of Michelle looking irritable and out of sorts. The colonel and his mon chéri’ must have both dissed him for the day. Of course, his ass didn’t anywhere near as good in camouflage as Karim’s. Even from halfway across the room, Karim could see that the English’s eyes were all bloodshot, and it looked like he’d forgotten to shave… Can you say, Visine buddy? But have another blow…
Right next to Ian was Sayyid, then next to him, the ever-present-nowadays Ruskies, clowning around and trying to get a response other than grim contempt out of the dark and dour little Paki scientist sitting across from them. But the Paki was focused on other things, like undressing Angel with his self-righteous, small-eyed glint that also read that it was all her fault he wanted to fuck her. This was one Karim had been keeping an eye on. The Allah-Akbar types with their fanatical gleam and doomsday objectives made him particularly wary. From the look of this one right now, he was either enjoying the vision of slitting Angel’s throat for daring to have such a nice ass, or contemplating the destruction of entire city blocks of unsuspecting infidels who believed in his freedom of choice. Didn’t matter. Either way, his sudden prominence at Ismaili’s table—coupled with the incongruous Russian buddy-buddy factor—was something he needed to get with Holli on. Another mitigating factor…
Karim turned back to Angel. “What do you want to eat?” he asked a little too gruffly. He picked up some plates, silverware (real, because this was one area where Ismaili did not tolerate plastic). “Baby, answer me because we need to get sitting down…”
Nidal and the guys were shuffling impatiently behind them.
“Eat?” She stared at the excessive spread of mostly strange, foreign fare, then back at him like she couldn’t fully comprehend. She said finally. “I… I’m not sure if I can…”
Right now, Karim had no patience for her hesitancy. “Well, you are going to fucking eat. We’ve been over this. You haven’t had anything all day and I’m not going to let you starve yourself on my watch…” He was about to just start helping her plate—something with nutritional value and balanced of course—when he noted that Angel had turned back to stare in the direction of the Terrorist Leader, just exactly like he’d told her not to do…
“Angel, goddamn it! You look at me and me only. What did I tell you before?”
Karim seized her by the wrist, the same one he’d had to squeeze so hard to make her drop the gun earlier, then felt bad about it when he saw her wince. He looked down and saw that he’d left angry marks that were starting to form finger-shaped bruises. There were fingertip bruises on her upper arms too. Her eyes were red-rimmed and still a bit shimmery so it was easy to see she’d been crying.
With regret, he realized now how dazed and disheveled she actually looked. No wonder they were all leering, and Ismaili had such a pleasantly amused grin. It was just a continuation of the lurid show for them. His own little inner circle seemed to have a bit different take. He’d noticed when they were escorting Angel from down the hall, that Hassan had sent him more than one loaded, tight-lipped glare, and Jamil fairly bristled with hostility—over and above the usual. Mustafa’s tense silence Karim had put down to the stress of the morning, but he now realized that the young poet also seemed surly on top of distraught. Of course, the Somali guards had shown their usual poker-faced lack of concern, but they’d seen so much worse without losing the blank stare… Other than them, only Nidal seemed to be acting “normal” toward him, but the kid was just like him, good at ad-lib.
So okay… Now he got it. If the monkey could have seen his ass…
Thank God, he’d borrowed Nidal’s comb before they came in to tame her hair, but the safety pins were starting to go askew, and now that he was taking a closer look, he realized he’d left a trail of white stains on the front of her dress that were starting to dry and become glaring… Maybe they’d blend in with the sweet little floral pattern?
“Angel, come here baby.” He took her a little more gently this time by the waist, hoping to just turn her away from all the lustful eyes and toward the food. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet and swayed against him.
So who was the fucking animal here? No wonder he’d always fit right in… Scum always rose to the top…
She actually tried to pull away from him slightly—nothing too rebellious or alarming, just an instinctual withdrawal from something that repelled. He tried to meet her eyes but she wouldn’t look at him. He shoved the plates toward a surprised Nidal, who juggled them with his own and the Styrofoam cups he‘d gotten for all three of them. Karim had no choice but to take her by the arms again, and while he was trying to be delicate about it, he had to somehow manage to contain the situation without making a scene or projecting “weak.”
Angel finally focused on him, but suddenly went pale, like she was about to faint. He should have known that at some point, all the stress and craziness of the past week would have to catch up with her, just like Abed had warned. And of course he hadn’t listened. Kryptonite. But what choice did he have? It wasn’t like he made the fucking freak show schedule. She swayed again and he caught her up in his arms, hoping it would look like he was just giving her a little sexy squeeze. There was also part of him that wanted to take her and shake her. Ah, damn baby, not here, not fucking now. Couldn’t she just make it a few more hours? Even for Superman, weak was the kiss of death…
“Angel, damn it!” he ground out in a whisper. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
He felt her stiffen again and try to pull away. This time, he gave in to his first impulse. Fuck weak. Fuck all the unwritten rules. He lightly stroked her shoulders, her back, more like he‘d seen Abed do. He put his arms around her waist and this time she let him pull her close. Willing his voice to be calm and gentle, he brought his mouth to her ear and said, “Baby, are you okay? Do you need to go sit down?”
When she still didn’t answer, he held her out from him and searched her face, then realized she was staring around his shoulder toward the head table again. He turned so he could at least get a glimpse of what kept pulling her attention in that direction, and saw that Michelle Pillar had risen from her chair. Karim watched with narrowing eyes as the petite French woman—all decked out luncheon-smart in crisp white slacks and a shoulder-baring white blouse—tossed another glance Angel’s way, then picked up her little satin purse with a gold chain strap that matched her belt. She leaned down and gave the Terror Lord a peck on the undamaged cheek and a gentle pat on the shoulder, then started around the table with three of the big Somalis who stepped into her wake. Karim pulled Angel tighter against him when he saw that Michelle was heading directly for them. She smiled at him, but was mostly focusing on Angel with some kind of bizarre expression of almost motherly concern.
What was this? Did she want a fucking introduction? Karim wasn’t buying it…
At her approach, he glared warning. He asked in French, but with a cool clip, “What do you want, Michelle?”
She answered in English, “Chéri’, don’t look so alarmed.” She laughed, trailing a light hand along his arm. She gave a little squeeze to his shoulder, like she had Ismaili’s, then scolded in a saccharine voice, “Always such the reactionary, Karim…” Her umber-red lips pursed into a pouty moue. “Mon Dieu! I am weary of the male company! Its no place for the ladies, can you not agree?”
Her hand had gone from his arm to Angel’s, for whom she had a lulling smile. Karim was starting to realize the little Frenchie’s purpose. He anticipated Michelle’s light tug on Angel and tightened his grip.
“Look, I don’t know what this little game of yours is, but Angel’s not a player. She’s fine—”
“Yes, she’s fine, of course she is, darling.” Michelle continued to smile at Angel as if she were a co-conspirator. She kept her tone light, her voice pleasant and soothing, as she said, “But maybe she would enjoy a little lady-time, away from the all the blustering and testosterone?” She sighed and brought a hand up to her temple. “I confess, the saturation in this room is starting to give me a headache…”
Again, she gave a little tug on Angel’s arm, all the while meeting Karim’s eyes with an expression meant to be cajoling.
Karim glanced down at Angel. She stared back with big, round eyes. Why the slight tremble to the lower lip? Was it because she was fucking afraid of him? He could see it in her eyes so clearly now, like when he’d been holding her down on the table and he…
His eyes cut to the French woman. “Fuck you, Michelle! I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but she’s not going anywhere where I can’t keep an eye on her, no goddamn way!”
When Karim tossed Michelle’s hand from Angel’s arm, two of the three Somalis started forward.
“Non!” Michelle said to them, waving a hand with a little sparkling diamond and matching tennis bracelet—the perfect compliment for daytime attire. To Karim she said a little more softly, but with an edge, “I could insist—”
They both looked to the Terror Lord’s table. He was staring back with a brittle smile Karim couldn’t read from this distance. He had no choice but to assume the worst. His mind screamed warning. One hand left Angel’s waist and drifted toward the Glock. This had to be some kind of ploy… A ruse of some sort, and Michelle was in on it. No, Mutherfuckers. He wasn’t going to let them take Angel like this. He’d go down, but he’d take a few of them with him…
Strangely, it was Hassan he felt draw near to his side. He saw that the veteran fighter also had his hand straying close to his belt, near the Beretta holstered there. Karim knew the big Palestinian had just committed, just put himself firmly in their camp, or at least in Angel’s…
Michelle must have also noted the deadly flash in Karim’s eyes, but she chanced a step toward him anyway and wrapped her arms around Angel. “Really Karim!” She said, switching back to French, almost affectionately chiding. “Such a reactionary! But the little Mademoiselle, she doesn’t know, does she, the depth of your affections? She is tired, and needs refreshing! She needs… a woman’s touch right now, n’es-ce pas? I give you my word no harm will come to her.”
Karim continued the stare-down with Michelle and the Somali bots, but suddenly felt Angel’s hand on his, gently tugging it back to her waist. She brought the other hand to his chest, then his cheek, which instantly seized his attention. She was frowning, seemed so solemn...
It made him lose focus. Damn Angel. Didn‘t she know any better? “Baby, don’t… What the hell are you doing?”
“Karim, no… Please?” Her voice had that little quiver, but with an underlying firmness. “Please don’t make such a fuss. Let me go for a while. I’ll be okay. You… won’t miss me a bit—I’m so much trouble. You said so yourself… Really, and I…” She pulled his head down close to hers and whispered, “I need to go to the ladies’ room. You don’t want to go through that again do you?”
She gave him the sweetest little smile.
Fucking kryptonite…
His face softened when he looked down at Angel, but he didn’t smile back. He caressed her hand, which had gone back to his chest, but said gruffly over her shoulder to Michelle, “If anything happens to her, if anyone harms one fucking hair on her head, its you I’m going to come after, Michelle, and believe me, just because you’re a woman, I have no aversion whatsoever to—”
“Karim, stop now. Just stop! Please!” Angel now looked frantic. Her eyes pled with him. “Its alright. Really. I want to go…”
Wistful thinking, but could it be concern for his safety that he read in her fearful expression? Or—more likely—maybe she really did just wanted to get away the hell away from him and saw this as a way…
“Okay. Okay, Angel. You go, and I’ll… come for you in a little while baby,” he kissed her fingertips without lingering, then stepped reluctantly back from her. What choice did he have? If they killed him, he’d just be dead, but Angel would only be able to wish for it. She looked relieved, but she couldn’t possibly understand the danger. He was already planning various rescue scenarios in his mind… Meanwhile, Michelle had pulled Angel into her arms and now gave her a little comforting squeeze. Karim continued to glare at the French woman, who sighed softly—maybe in exasperation—but maybe also in relief.
“She hasn’t had anything to eat,” he muttered from behind them as they started for the door, the grim-faced Somalis on their heels like over-sized bull-mastiffs. And twice as vicious…
At least no outside danger was going to get through that, Karim decided, so that was one less thing. Even he didn’t dream of fucking with them. Otherwise, Ismaili would already be dead…
Michelle paused and gave a backward nod toward Karim. She’d put her arm around Angel’s waist as if she was afraid Angel wouldn’t be able to walk without her help. She perused Hassan, who still stood by looking as grave and tense as Karim. To Karim she called back, “You make a plate for her and send the big one there. I’ll let him in.” She sighed again. “He can stay, so you’ll have some assurance, as long as he causes me no trouble…”
“Jesus H. Christ… He’s going to be fucking unlivable now,” he heard Nidal behind him complain to Mustafa.
Karim brought a hand to his hair, shoved it back, thinking how strange it was that most of the others in the room had scarcely noticed the confrontation, and those that had seemed to shrug it off. Who the fuck cared if a couple of women came and went? They’d miss the eye-candy, but most were already discussing whether a delayed Ismaili send-off was going to cause them to miss the soccer match on TV this afternoon between Saudi Arabia and Bahrain. The winner would play India in the semi-finals—so a chance to show the fucking Kafir Hindis whose God had the biggest kick…
He turned and looked at Hassan, and said something really stupid, for him. “You know I wouldn’t hurt her…”
Hassan said nothing, but Nidal shoved Angel’s plate back in his hand, and said, “I’m going to tell you like you’re always telling me, you need to get your shit together.”
Outside the door, Angel felt faint again. They paused, and the French woman kept her arms around Angel until the moment passed.
“Oh my God, Oh my God…” Angel said finally. “I really shouldn’t have left him. Now he’s ready to shoot someone—or they’ll shoot him… I should go back…”
“Non, chéri! Karim needs to calm down, but he’ll be fine. The others will handle him.”
“But I can tell when he gets that look in his eyes, he wants to shoot somebody—”
“Ah non! My poor dear girl! Can’t you see he’s much more likely to shoot someone with you there?” The French woman actually laughed.
Angel‘s frown deepened. “I… hadn’t thought about it that way…”
“I’m Michelle,” the other woman said. “And you are—”
“Jennifer Wiley,” Angel said almost too quickly, thinking of all Karim’s warnings and the worry in his face when they’d started away.
“But they call you Angel?”
“Yes, Angel is… fine.”
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Coming into this story just now, it was a little confusing for me, but what I read has really made me want to read the rest! I think the characters are quite interesting and the setting was original and well-developed.
As far as the Angel/Karim interaction went, I think maybe you could have heightened Karim’s possessiveness and made his lust for her more obvious… although I understood the danger and seductiveness of him, it didn’t seem like he was involved enough in the relationship. However, Angel’s reaction to this was pretty spot-on.
Also, there seems to be just a little too much dialogue for my comfort. Maybe it’s just me, but too much dialogue and too many periphery characters distract from the story and setting. Maybe show, not tell, a little more.
I didn’t understand the “I need an agent” criteria. Sorry if I marked it wrong. I gave you a three because I assumed it was asking how much you need an agent, but you seem to be doing fine on your own. I may have completely misinterpreted that. Sorry if I did!
I thought the whole thing was overall very well-written and intriguing. I am sorry that the publishing was held up because of your illness, as I would really like to see this published one day. Good luck with that!
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