The Jigsaw

Hello :)

As you can see, I did it! I updated quickly. Thank you for your reviews – they are really, really, really very important. If you don’t publish your stories, you’d never guess how much it means :)

Anonymous Sister of the Author - you made my day, Darling :) Just when I was soooo upset that nobody had left a review, you came to rescue! Thank you so very, very much. I was scared that all „old readers” abandoned me after such a long break...
But well, now I did my best and completed the next chapter quite fast :)
Huh, with Sam, you know how complicated the things are ;) Probably he’ll react in some strange way. Nothing normal, I guess :D

dbz-fan-jess - wow, I envy you! I was in Morocco for four days only :) It was definitely not enough. I have a plan togo back there. I only managed to visit Marrakesh and some wonderful places when traveling across Atlas mountains to the desert.

I’m glad you liked this chapter. I think the next one is.... um, hotter ;)
See you around, I hope!

Panda - I’m happy you found this story and I’m honored you liked it enough to get back to me with your reflections :) It’s very precious to know how you see the characters. Personally, my weakness is Sam. I can’t help it too :D

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Heaven and Hell

Sam sat on the floor, smoking with profound reverence, his back against the bathtub. Only inches separated his feet from Casey's and he fixed his eyes on this small distance, as if by the power of the look he could close it completely. He was experiencing a strange, somewhat childish temptation to shift his boots forward, as if some kind of magnetic field was sucking in the tips of his toes. He fought it back and instead dragged his gaze up along the other man's silhouette. The gaze crawled slowly, sticking like pitch to Casey's bared feet and ankles, his calfs covered by blue pajama pants, his slightly bent knees and thighs drawn aside, the folds of fabric filling his lap, the wounds just above the pants elastic, on his chest, showing the marks of surgeries, his sturdy neck wrapped in bright hair, messy and greasy now, the distinct chin, pale lips, straight nose and warm, tired eyes with no expression, set deep in a haggard face.

"You look like shit." It escaped Sam's lips before he even thought to stop it.

Casey gave as good as he got. "That makes two of us." He half-smiled ironically.

Sam let the faint shadow of a smile onto his lips. He finished his cigarette and threw the butt into the bathtub. Then, overcoming the slackness and sloppiness of his body, he forced it to break away from the bathtub and kneel in front of Casey. His knees, widely spread, slid in between Casey's legs, behind his heels.

"May I touch?" Sam asked, resting his forearms on Casey's thighs.

"Touch what?" The seated man tensed, raising one brow suspiciously.

"This." Sam indicated the injuries with a jerk of his head.

"You're insane. It hurts like hell, you know?" Casey shifted on his seat a little, subconsciously moving his lower body farther from Sam's hands.

Sam smirked jokingly. "Tell me 'bout it." He couldn't even count how many times in his life he’d been severely wounded, not to mention minor injuries. "I won't do any harm," he promised softly.

"It hurts without you touching it, so somehow I doubt you'd manage not to make it worse." In a safety reflex Casey closed his hands on the other man's forearms to keep them under control.

"Oh, have some faith, would you?" Sam was mocking, which pissed Casey off.

"Fuck off, Sam. Run out of toys, or what?" he bristled with a sour expression.

"God, you're stupid." The drunk man shook his head and rolled his one eye with pretended pitifulness. "Do you think this is something unusual for me? I'm a fuckin' Iron Man, fool. A Frankenstein. Or whatever you call it."

"What's the point, then?"

"Dunno. Just felt like it." Sam shrugged his shoulders dismissively, opening his hands which dangled between Casey's thighs in a gesture of helplessness, palms up. He wasn't going to attack, but he didn't intend to withdraw either.

"Okay," Casey said suddenly after a moment, and he let go of Sam. "Just be careful." He opened the sides of his robe wider in token of consent, not really sure why he was letting Sam do this.

That was extremely annoying; with Sam he was never sure of anything, and his own reactions surprised him often enough.

The tormenting awareness of his weakness was soon gently blown away by the thrilling sensation of touch on his patched-up skin. At first Casey's body reacted with painful tension, but Sam kept his promise; it didn't hurt.

He brushed Casey's belly as lightly as with a feather, drawing fantastic designs with his fingers and leaving trails of pleasant contractions. The muscles, or what was left of them, relaxed, and surrendered to his subtle caress as if it was a healing massage.
How was it possible that Sam had so much intuition and proficiency in his hands? Casey wondered. Oh, right...he was a hooker. He twisted his mouth subconsciously, irritated by the fact that those same hands that were touching him now had used to do shameless things to other people, who'd bought their touch for dirty money.

His expression didn't escape Sam's notice, for his fingers hesitated for a second before they moved again, following the thick, bloody track of stitches running across Casey's stomach up to his breastbone. Sam’s black eyes didn't abandon the convalescent's face even for a moment, vigilant, searching for the slightest sign of objection, as their owner's hand shifted to the side, clinging to the right breast of the wounded man. Emboldened by the lack of distinct reaction, Sam brushed the skin under his fingers with his thumb. A sudden, barely perceptible quiver ran across Casey's body, and the skin on his chest rippled enjoyably in goose pimples. He couldn't take his eyes off the focused, tattooed face before him, bound by the fatal charm of those black abysses yet again. He knew their power too well already.

He didn't protest when Sam's hand slid lower and, in a soft caress, made a semicircle over his breast, around the right nipple. The thumb brushed its aureole, stroked its edge, but didn't touch it directly. Nevertheless, or maybe exactly because of this unfulfilled promise, the nipple hardened instantly, shrinking to a small, brown, perky button. The other nipple, as if because of the close relationship that exists between twins, reacted on its own when goose bumps reached it.

Oh, God! Casey didn't think he could be so sensitive to touch. Not in such places. He never...no one had ever....

He let air out through his nose, louder than he'd intended, when two fingers, index and middle, crawled back up and took his nipple between them, teasing the sides of it again.

God, don't let it finish like usual, he begged voicelessly, unable to resist yet still scared that this vulnerability would be used against him, just as it had always been.

He wanted, just this one time, to give in; to let himself express his desire honestly, with no fear that he'd end up humiliated, with his heart trampled. Even if only for a while, he wanted so much to be immersed, to lose himself in passion and finally live his dream that had haunted him through countless nights. But still his weakening reason, supported by experience and the instinct of self-preservation, turned on an alarm bell in his head. The helpless "please", embracing all his wishes, danced on the tip of his tongue, and he barely managed to swallow it. Instead he just gritted his teeth and leaned his head back against the wall, still too tense to open up to what he was being offered.

Sam, more confident in his actions now and seeing no signs of protest, ran the tips of his fingers across Casey's chest, this time brushing the very centers of his nipples, one after the other. They shrank again and Casey’s brain sent a secret signal, yet as old as the human species, down to the command center of his virility.

His hand shot up to grab Sam's and pressed it against his warm skin. The men froze in the silent tension, eyeing each other attentively. Their thoughts were focused on their connected hands, one of which was waiting for permission to move forward, and the other hesitating as to whether it should grant this.

Finally Casey's lips stretched in a strange, insane-looking smile, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he made his crazy, completely uncharacteristic decision. What the hell!

He squeezed the fingers resting on his chest and pulled Sam's hand down, straight to his abdomen. He flattened it suggestively just below the line of elastic, arching his body back in an inviting pose with the strong hope that he didn't seem as silly and unsure as he felt. He slowly moved his hips forward and pushed Sam's hand a bit lower.

The hand picked up the hint and avariciously covered the growing bulge between Casey's legs, tangled up in the loose folds of pants, while Sam's lips twitched slightly in a flash of amused disbelief.

"You're lucky to have your dick working properly. It was a close shave, though," he chuckled, trailing with the thumb of his free hand the long stitch descending from the bandaged place where a belly button had used to be.

Casey swallowed loudly. "Yeah, I thought about that," he panted. "I'm the son of fortune, I guess." He smirked and shivered in pleasure as Sam embraced his stiffening member with his fingers, squeezing it lightly through the thin fabric. But at the same moment Casey's stomach tensed up without warning and a sharp pain pierced his body. An unintentional gasp on the verge of a grunt escaped his lips and he had to lean forward to alleviate the pain in his torn muscles, huffing abruptly.

"No, no, I can't," he whispered, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder and shoving nervously.

The kneeling man looked up, his face very close to Casey's, which was twisted in a grimace of pain and beaded with sweat. "Why?" he asked, quietly but almost aggressively. You don't throw a bone to a dog only to sneak it away a minute later.

"It hurts," Casey panted. "It fucking hurts." His fingers clenched on Sam's shoulder warningly, ready to stop the man if his request was not enough.

Sam pushed against the hand and touched Casey's forehead with his. Then he whispered, his tone provoking, " So what?"

Casey, surprised, stared at Sam for a moment before he repeated the question. "So what? Normal people don't find pleasure in feeling pain. Never heard about that?"

"But you do feel pleasure, don't you?" Having said that, Sam intensified the pressure on Casey's crotch. "Pleasure goes just fine with pain. Never tried it, huh? So just wait and feel. It's fucking unforgettable."

"I bet it is," Casey jibed weakly. "Man, you're sick." He twisted his mouth again but didn't push Sam away. After a moment's consideration he brought his mouth to Sam's ear and, almost touching it, he breathed, his words sinking in warm and damp, "I want proof. Suck it."

The man on his knees shuddered and something down in his pants definitely showed signs of life. He hadn't expected such a challenge. Not from Casey, at least. But, well, he was the last one to let an opportunity like this slip by. "Yes, sir!" He smiled salaciously with the well-trained smile of a hedonist as his hand started to fondle Casey's manhood with growing relish. The fingers on his shoulder clenched harder when the injured body started to respond to all kinds of stimuli, from nice and soothing, to disturbing, racking Casey’s guts.

"Oh, shit!" Casey rasped when his penis had been impatiently peeled out of his pajamas and a warm hand encircled it, rubbing lightly. Although he tried to keep his body under control and not behave too freely, the body decided otherwise. He arched back spontaneously and his hips bucked forward, pushing into Sam’s touch. At the same moment his intestines protested violently, and dozens of microscopic charges exploded between his crotch and breastbone, making his teeth clamp shut like the jaws of a vise. His eyes misted over with tears and a series of muffled sounds, something between grunts and growls, echoed in his throat.

And that was just the beginning.

Sam shifted closer on his knees, squatted comfortably on his heels, and slipped a second hand under Casey's balls. He took hold of them and, while his other hand slithered up and down the standing cock, he played with them boldly. Yes, he valued foreplay – sometimes. Yes, he liked driving his lovers crazy. Nonetheless, his actions were far from being shy, trial runs. He knew what he wanted, and he was going straight for it.

Constantly massaging the underside of Casey's balls, and delving with his index finger along the gland as far as the anus, then running it back to the base of the penis, Sam bowed his head and with the tip of his tongue he touched the pink head of Casey's cock. This triggered a flow of electrifying current through Casey’s wounded body, and teared another disturbing sound from his tightened throat.

It had been such a long time since anyone did that to him. Lost in his dreams and desires, with just his own hand, he’d almost forgotten how it felt like being aflame. And that other feeling? That something tearing him from inside, penetrating his organs, making him go crazy with rage...pain? Was it really pain? Oh, what a perversion. Sweet, tantalizing, fucking maddening; pain and pleasure, two sides of the same coin.

Sam teased the head of Casey's cock mercilessly, not giving the tired body that writhed in his hands even a small break. His fingers, wrapped around the shaft, stirred, glided, pumped, ground, conducted all those amazing, magic rituals, while his mouth...his divine mouth demonstrated the tangible evidence that heaven existed. His tongue was everywhere, softly licking the head, clinging to the length, vibrating wildly; his firm, wet lips sucked, kissed, nibbled, closing the ring of bliss on Casey's ripe erection that soon became the very core of the man's existence.

"Uaaaa...urgh!" Casey tautened his legs like two bowstrings, his feet touching the floor only with his toes. He threw his head back, hitting it against the wall with a dull thud, and both his hands clenched into fists, pounding the tiles on both sides of him like piledrivers. The pain was ripping him apart, releasing reserves of wild, destructive energy. He shouted and sobbed by turns, having no way out and maybe even not looking for one. He let himself feel everything, even if it meant suffering. Tens and hundreds of tongues and fingers caressed his skin, his insides, his mind, his heart, making him melt in sweet agony. But those same fingers rapaciously dug into his flesh and soul, hurting them, breaking the sensitive fibers of his body one by one.

"Aaaargh!" he cried piercingly, but neither Casey himself nor Sam could tell if it was a cry of ecstasy or pain.

A raging wave of fulfillment surged in the depths of Casey's abdomen, and after reaching a critical point, with all its force it hit the last barrier. Nothing could stand against it. Casey grabbed Sam's head powerfully, like his last resort, and jerking it uncontrollably he went violently into his climax, carried by that pulsating wave of spasms, bursting through his achingly swollen cock and his achingly strung-up stomach. Casey gave out a terrible shout that evolved into a plaintive whimper when he bent like a cut tree and hot tears rolled down his face.

God, it felt like heaven! And it hurt like hell....

"Oh, fuck!" Sam liberated his head from the weakening grip of Casey's hands and yanked back, choking and spitting the whitish gunk onto the floor. "What the fuck?" He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and spit one more time to get rid of the foreign substance in his mouth. "You always shoot without warning?" He sounded bitter.
Deep inside he was probably more angry at himself than at Casey. He should have known better; he should have felt it coming, like he always had. Just...
Well, the allure of being drunk, he thought with autoirony.

A long while passed before Casey, exhausted and still a little senseless, was able to utter a word. He was still overwhelmed by the power of the experience and what he couldn't wait to get out was more like "You were amazing", or " That was unbelievable", but with Sam's matter-of-fact attitude, to put it mildly, he forced himself to hide his effusiveness. "Why? I don't suppose it's anything new to you." He made a huge effort to smirk ironically but he failed.

"Fuck off. You didn't pay for it."

Casey, doubled up, as his stomach was giving him hell, hot and pulsating, chuckled through the tears. What he'd just heard was unexpected and, well, simply funny. "Right. I didn't. So how much is it?"

"You can't afford it, asshole."

"That might be true. I don't have a Porsche or anything. But, hey, look on the bright side: I also don't have a yapping dog!" Casey laughed weakly, holding both sides of his body with his hands as if he wanted to grip his pain and stifle it. The laughter soon turned into sobs, and a couple of unwanted tears flowed down.

"You're the yapping dog yourself!" Sam bristled, but half-heartedly, as the corners of his lips were already traveling up, ignoring his strenuous efforts to hold back a smile.

Casey lungs drew air with a wheeze, a bit hysterically, as he tried to relax his body and get a grip on himself. He looked down and what he saw was ridiculously pathetic. Wet-stained pants slid halfway down his ass, wrinkled below his slick cock that hung limp, and bandages... He drew his brows together, worried, as he discovered a growing bloodstain on the dressing. "Fuck," he cursed. "It's all messed up."

"Not more than it was once," commented Sam philosophically, bent over the bathtub and rinsing his mouth. "Wasn't it worth this, by the way?" he added teasingly.

"We'll see ‘bout that," Casey answered wistfully, pulling his pants up to cover his private parts.

The other man said nothing, just sat down on the floor, stuck a cigarette into the corner of his lips, and lit it.

"I...I think I need a doctor." Casey carefully pressed his right hand to his belly and supported himself with the left, trying to stand up. But he had barely lifted his body when a twinge below the line of his ribs paralyzed him, and with a moan he dropped back onto the stool. "Ooooh, fuck," he panted. "I...I could use some help. Will you?" He looked at Sam questioningly.

"Um, nope." Sam let the smoke out, his face expressionless.

"That’s a bad joke, Sam. I need to go back to the bed. And I need a doctor."

"That I believe. But it wasn't a joke, Casey. Move your sorry ass and do whatever you need by yourself."

"What?" Casey blinked, startled. "Why can't you help, you son of a bitch?"

"I'm not your nanny. You managed to handle a blow job, you'll manage to get to the bed. Ignore the pain, just like you did before. What are you waiting for?"

The convalescent stared at the other man in confusion, his eyes open as wide as his mouth. He didn't understand anything.

For a long while they sat in silence, angry at each other. Finally Casey broke it. "I know I'm repeating myself, but...screw you."

"Yeah, you are repeating yourself."

"Why the fuck would you do this?," Casey asked, actually thinking aloud rather than asking a serious question that needed an answer. I don't get it. I don't get you.

Sam shrugged. "I felt like it. It's that kind of mood, you know? And above everything else, I'm fucking drunk. So take my friendly advice and don't ask complicated questions of drunk people." He tapped the cigarette with his finger to shake off the ash.

Before, he'd felt quite aroused, and when Casey had been reacting so nicely to his actions he'd gotten ready to take care of his own needs. But since the whole thing had unexpectedly finished in his mouth, taking him, shamefully, by surprise, he lost his interest in continuing, and excitement turned to irritation. The right mood had evaporated, so now he just sat there, having bitter thoughts and smoking.

"Right." Casey nodded his head, kicking himself for asking Sam for help. "You satisfied now?"

"Me? Satisfied?" Sam snorted. "Not really, you jerk. Somehow I didn't luck out."

Casey felt himself blushing. However annoyed at Sam he actually was for his selfish attitude, he had to admit the other man had a point. Yet again Casey had behaved like a schoolboy. Why the hell hadn't he pulled back? Why hadn't he at least warned Sam? Shit, like a fucking child. A first-timer.

Well, that wasn't that far from the truth, though. After all, it had been the first time he’d had it done to him from the beginning till the very end by a man, and he could tell the difference. It was kind of crippling, to be served by strong, possessive hands, to be devoured by lips that hadn't asked for anything, just taken what they had wanted, demanding and ruthless. It had been a strange experience to give up control and let someone else have the power and take the lead. Strange, but not bad...judging by the uncontrollable, lame finish.

He understood the situation pretty well, and it was seriously getting on his nerves that it was always Sam who had to land on top; Casey’s own pride had been overtaxed by the bites he'd been getting from his tattooed "friend", and the fact that he owed Sam his life and a couple of mind-blowing erotic experiences didn't help at all. His lips twisted sourly and he hissed through his teeth, "Get the fuck out of here." He had to save the measly shreds of his remaining dignity, although he wasn't sure any more if there was anything left at all.

The smoking man gave him a thoughtful gaze, and after a moment he answered, shaping his lips into an ironic half-smile. "That fucking pride of yours...it makes everything so damned complicated," he sighed. He ground the butt on the bathtub's edge and, swearing under his breath, he rose. He stepped heavily out of the bathroom, but there he hesitated as if he’d remembered something. He turned back slowly and pushed his hand into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out a crumpled scrap of printed paper, a clipping from the Phoenix Daily News. He glanced at Casey's hard, evil expression, pondering something.

Finally he must have made some sort of decision as he bit his lower lip and put the paper back. "Never mind," he said with that inscrutable face of his that always made Casey feel uneasy. With that he left, staggering and sniffing loudly.

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Finding Mario Manzani wasn't very difficult. A socialite, the life and soul of the party, he was doing everything to stay in the spotlight. He used to compensate the insignificant position he held in his group with his lavish life-style and scandals, making him the favorite of tabloids.

Finding Mario Manzani was the first and the last step of Simon's assignment that could be called easy. LaVay was no child's play and looking for him, even dead, engaged immeasurably more time, skills, and effort. And, well, money.

Manzani stood out as a bad judge of character. His environment consisted of individuals craving luxury and entertainment, but not necessarily devoted or loyal to their provider. Thus finding a weak link was just a matter of time for Simon, and a reasonable price. The chain of people, one of whom knew someone who knew someone who had heard about LaVay, led Simon through an annoying number of mistakes, getting stuck in dead ends and starting over, to a man who was more or less willing to cooperate and seemed competent. He had his demands, of course, but this had been expected and Simon had no problem affording such services.

The strange thing was that no one had been talking about LaVay's death. No one knew where he was, either, which could lead one to the conclusion that revelations about LaVay's death would be harmful to somebody's business. Or....

Simon knitted his brows. The whole thing was unclear and suspicious. What if LaVay wasn't dead? There was no confirmation of such a fact, apart from Sarah's dispatch and some unidentified source of Ramson's who, let's be reasonable, had their own business and could just as well lie as tell the truth. The famous, or rather infamous Ramson's motto – to not tell the truth if a lie was enough – wasn't the colonel's monopoly, after all. All of them were cast from the same mold. And to make things absolutely clear, that included Simon as well, as he'd stopped having delusions of his own nobility quite some time ago. Probably when he'd seduced Mila, or whatever her name was, just to shoot her in the head a couple days later.

Whatever the reality was, Simon would find out about it soon. He had Sarah, after all. Finding her had been not a big deal for the agent; she couldn't simply disappear without a trace, having Mario Manzani's woman responsibilities. Not that she'd tried hard to vanish into thin air, anyway. She'd known someone would come after her sooner or later, and she'd been actually quite relieved to see Simon in the lounge of her hotel. It could have been much worse, she thought. Until that time she had a story ready, as well as a plan to win Simon over and pull him into LaVay's venture.

"Yo." The woman approached the agent where he sat on the sofa. She wasn't going to waste time on foreplay. "We had this coming, I guess."

Before she noticed him he’d had a few minutes for unhindered admiration of Sarah, who, he had to admit, looked splendid in her little black dress, gliding nimbly through the hall on unbelievably high stiletto heels. God, where had she learned that? He remembered her as a clumsy butch with hangups, and the aura of sex and femininity she was giving off now threw him off balance. He’d barely managed to put on a cold, indifferent face when her eyes rested on him, and after a moment of shock and hesitation that flickered across her face, a wide, sunny smile stretched her lips.

"Yo," he answered coolly, not standing up. "I guess we had."

"How much time did it take?" She smirked mockingly, sitting down near the agent and crossing her long legs.

This wasn't the Sarah Simon remembered. She had changed. A lot.

"Not much." He raised his brows in a condescending expression. Was she kidding? Until now his task had been almost like following road signs.

"I wondered who would come...and I must say I'm happy to see you, not your brother, for example. I wouldn't get away in one piece, I suppose, if it was him." She chuckled, throwing back a fickle lock of red hair.

As she waved her hand a delicate, sophisticated fragrance reached Simon's nostrils and the primal nature of man began to tell on itself, speeding the beating of his heart. But her words irritated him. "That insults me, I think," he said sourly.

Sarah gave him a playful look and answered slowly, "It does, indeed."

Now you’re acting all cool ‘cause he's not here, you smartass. Simon only smirked, not really insulted. She was his job, not his date. "Shall we get to the point, Sarah?" he asked seriously. "Let's have it done quickly."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple." She shook her head, wafting perfume again.

"Try to make it simple, then." The man lit a cigarette. "Did you kill LaVay?"

"Here we go." She rolled her eyes, pretending disappointment. "No small talk? No 'you look great' thing? C'mon, Simon."

"You look great. There. Enough?" He seemed bored. He had been through this so many times...countless actions, countless women...and many of them sure had looked great.

"Oooh, I know you can do better," she whispered, leaning toward him and resting her chin on her wrist.

He slowly let out a cloud of smoke. "Show me you deserve this 'better'. And stop fooling around. You want to provoke me? You don't have to. I'm a very simple man, actually. Just tell me 'Fuck me', and I will. But after you tell me what I want." He gave her an expressionless look.

"Whoa. I sense something familiar here. So you are your brother's brother, after all. I wonder if you are in every aspect...."

"Don't make me laugh. You know nothing about his – what did you call them – aspects." He smirked mockingly. "It's rare indeed that he didn't want to screw somebody but, well, you drew the lucky number, apparently."

Bingo! Simon laughed inwardly, seeing Sarah's mask of self-confidence cracking and revealing the same old bunch of complexes. His satisfaction wasn't complete, though. He thought how funny it was that the deeply hidden thorns in their hearts, if traded, would make them both feel much better. The only advantage he had over Sarah in this regard was that he knew her weak point and she didn't know his. The irony of life, and that's all there was to it.

"Did you kill LaVay?" the agent repeated, his mood suddenly spoiled by his own reflections.

"I have an offer." Sarah's voice was firm.

Simon raised his brows. "That's always worth a listen."

"Give me three hours and we'll meet here again. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Where's Manzani?" the man asked, as if out of the blue.

"Manzani?" The woman drew her brows together, confused. "Why?"

"Aren't you on his leash?" As soon as Simon said it, Sarah's hand swung through the air and slapped him in the face. She said nothing, just glared at him with fiery eyes full of rage. "Well, that answers my question, I suppose," Simon jibed maliciously, taking absolutely no notice of her anger. She wasn't the first – nor would she be the last, probably – to slap him. Not a big deal.

"It's none of your business, you bastard," she hissed, blushing with humiliation.

"Actually it is my business. However much I personally don't care, it's simply my job to gather information." Simon's voice was cold and unpleasant. "So instead of getting melodramatic, just tell me what your relation with Manzani is at the moment and what I can expect from him."

She answered reluctantly, after a long while. "Inside that group I also have my job. He doesn't interfere, if that’s what you're asking."

"Cool. So what’s your offer again?"

"Three hours and we meet back here," she repeated.

"Yeah, right," Simon snorted, his cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. "Three hours and I'm back at the starting point looking for you."

Sarah got impatient. "Don't be stupid. If I wanted to run, you wouldn't have seen me here. I was waiting for you, idiot."

He looked at her thoughtfully. She had a point. "So this is part of your plan," he stated rather than asked.

"It is. And those three hours are also part of my plan." She stood up, not waiting for Simon's approval, and with a graceful movement she pulled down her dress, which was riding up towards the top of her thighs. It didn't escape her notice that Simon followed her hands with his eyes, his jaw clenching visibly. She concealed a smirk of superiority, satisfied with the potential advantage she could achieve if she played the whole thing deftly enough.

"Three hours it is, then," Simon agreed, looking up at her. "If you fuck with me, you're dead."

"Wow, and I thought you'd go easy on me," she chuckled, shaking her head. "You're not what I expected, Simon," she added softly.

The same goes for you, he thought. "People tend to expect a lot, you know? It's a mistake that leads to grave disappointments."

Sarah didn't say anything, just turned back and, hips swaying, she marched off to disappear in the rotating mill of the revolving door, leaving behind the fleeting memory of her subtle, enigmatic smile.

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Well, things are getting tense and hot. I hope you like it.
Whatever the case is, though, just let me know your opinion, please :)