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The Princess and the Fool Ch. 01

By: FinalStand



(This story happens some weeks after Cheyenne's Revenge)

**No problem becomes impossible until you stop trying to solve it**

So I found myself lying down in a barn, back against a stall, being ridden like a stallion by a girl I barely knew and was coming not to like. I had to ask myself, how did this happen?

The job was not easy, or safe, but it was fairly direct. An heiress had been kidnapped and the kidnappers wanted two million dollars and no police or the girl would be killed. The father went to my employer, who brought me in. I reasoned that these guys were professionals that had done this type of thing before. If we met their demand, they would return the girl. Dead victims are bad for business. They make people do things like call in the FBI.

They gave me the two million in two large cases. I rigged them with dye packets keyed to a combination lock. I took a fixed up sedan, with bullet resistant glass and side panels. I didn't expect trouble, but I planned for it. As per my normal operating procedure, I didn't carry a gun. Having a gun wouldn't help in this situation and since I planned to do what they asked, I was hoping not to need one. I was contacted by the kidnappers, agreed to their meeting in the hills, and confirmed my plan with the boss. Everything went according to plan right up until the lead kidnapper stepped out of the van. 

"If it isn't the great Taylor Eden," the guy said. It was Ted McNair. We had a history, or more to the point, he tried to burn me on a contract we were both on (I never betray a client) and I left him in a Guatemalan prison. I was getting the vibe that he'd never forgiven or forgotten.

"Hey Ted. You look good. I'd like to talk about old times, but I think we have some business to conclude first. We can catch up once the contract is complete," I stated evenly.

"Of course, you were always totally reliable. Let's get down to business," Ted nodded. I went to the back seat of the car and pulled out the first large case. I heard sliding door on the van open and several people get out. I walked to the halfway point, knelt by the case and disarmed it. A deterrent doesn't deter if the other guy doesn't know about it. I tried to keep my cool. There were two guys with assault rifles and two other men with pistols. There was the sixth man behind the wheel of the van. I would have had to be an idiot to not felt that sinking feeling in the bottom of my heart. I tried to remember if I'd kissed Cheyenne good-bye before heading out that morning.

"What's with the case, Eden?" Ted inquired.

"Dye packs set to go off in one hour, or if the wrong combination is entered," I responded. "Now I want to see the girl before you get the other half of the money."

"Otto, check out the case," Ted directed one of the men with an assault rifle. "Eden's honest, but he's also stupid," he added with an evil grin. 

'Yeah,' I thought, 'I'm probably not walking out of here alive.' I had to keep going. Priority One was to save the girl. It is what I had been paid to do. The man walked up holding the assault rifle in on hand while he opened the case and looked inside. Otto grinned back at Ted.

"It's here."

"Bring out Ms. Todd," Ted directed. Ms. Melinda Todd, spoiled rich brat with a doting father. Twenty one and always privileged, I was wondering how she was holding up to the stress. She was blindfolded and her hands were tied in front of her.

"Take off the blindfold and cut her loose. I want to see what I'm buying," I directed. Ted nodded and my request was answered. She looked scared and a little dirty, but alert. At this point I was sure that I was gone to die. 

"Let her come to the halfway point and I'll get the rest of the money," I told Ted.

"Melinda, go to the nice man. He's here to rescue you," Ted said. Melinda started stumbling toward me. She was squinting in the morning light. She had just had a blindfold removed and she was adjusting as fast as she could. I didn't think it mattered. I was now sure they would kill me the moment they got the rest of the money. Ted wasn't going to be professional. This was personal. What really bit was that they were going to kill Melinda too.

I back toward the car. I opened the front door, cut the engine on. They didn't react. It was most likely that five men were going to blow the crap out of me way before I could get back here. I went to the back seat and got the other large case out. As my mentor once said 'no problem is impossible until you stop trying to solve it.' I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew if I stopped they would kill Melinda. I didn't know her, but she was the contract, and I was most likely going to die uselessly trying to save her.

I came up with the case while scoping the competition. Melinda stood beside Otto, with the first case of money between them. The second guy with an assault rifle was resting, but alert against the front of the van. Ted was between that man and me. The two men with pistols were still by the van's sliding door. I was outgunned, outnumbered and on ground of my enemy's choosing. Sun Tzu should have risen up from the grave and pummeled me.

My assets? Otto was standing too close to the money, thus me. Ted didn't want to just kill me; he wanted to make me suffer. My kneecaps didn't appreciate the sentiment since they were likely the first to go if things got nasty, which was what was going to happen. I had to figure how to use those two things. I came up to Otto and smiled.

"You are going to be a rich man," I told him. He nodded and smiled. He knew I was going to die – bastard. I put the case down and rolled the combination. As I hoped, this got Otto's attention.

"Go to the car, Melinda," I told her in the most casual voice I could manage. I really hoped my fear wasn't showing. I stood up. Ted was about to say something.

I drove my fist into Otto's solar plexus. On the counter move, I grabbed the assault rifle from him and put him between me and Ted. Otto was still struggling for breath when I jammed the rifle into his ribs.

"Melinda, in the car now!" I shouted. "Ted, I'm leaving here and you can have the money. This doesn't have to go down this way." Ted looked mildly surprised, looking down his drawn pistol at me. I heard Melinda's feet scrambling up the road. I had to admire her keen survival instincts. I hoped she would get to exercise those instincts into her nineties.

"Well damn, Taylor. You are not a total moron, but it is still five against one," Ted grinned. I didn't like the way Ted was counting. There was Ted plus five kidnappers, but sadly I had only one under my power. I knew what was about to happen next.

"Sorry Otto," Ted said right before firing two rounds into Otto's chest. I guess it is easier to split two million five ways than six. Good news: I now only had five guys left to go. Bad news: they were all pointing guns at me and I was standing in the middle of the road with my dick n my hand (figuratively speaking).

Rule Number One in a gun fight is to seek cover. Do not fire back - dive, roll, sprint – do whatever you have to do to put something between you and a bullet. Cemeteries are full of guys who thought they could shoot back first. I had no such luck. There was a ditch about seven feet away, and the car was over twenty.

Rule Number Two in a gunfight is if you can't seek cover, make yourself as small a target as possible. I knelt and began firing as Otto fell past me. Ted was tracking me, but I was a hair faster. I fired three bullets down range. Ted rolled aside. Had I taken this thing personally, I would have kept firing until I hit him. Thing was, I wasn't trying to hit him. I shot the guy with the other assault rifle in his stomach, slamming him against the grill of the van.

Shots were flying around me and I got slammed to the ground. Bullets will do that to you. I screamed like a bastard. Men who take a bullet and tough it out without a sound are a whole lot more of a man than I am. I hate pain. It is right up there on my List of Least Favorite thing right next to getting shot. My basic human chemistry took over: pain lessened and a certain bizarre clarity took hold. Oh, I kept screaming like a little girl, but my eyes were telling me I had been shot in the shoulder. Blood wasn't fountaining out, so my artery wasn't busted. My fingers flexed in my left hand. It hurt, but it was still semi-functional. Semi- being the operative word.

Lucky me, I had chosen an assault rifle, which requires two hands. Hollywood likes the whole Rambo-esque vision of guys firing a big gun in one hand while on the run. Sure, I can hit the broadside of a barn doing it that way. Barns are big and don't shoot back. My main advantage was rules number One and Two. The three guys with pistols were trying to make them as small as possible. I forced myself back into a kneeling position and went for the old 'pray and spray' maneuver. I simply spayed bullets all around and prayed that they would keep their heads down. I think they did manage to get some shots off, but the Patron Saint of Lost Causes was clearly looking out for me.

I staggered to my feet and kept shooting. No barns made themselves available to be killed. I certainly didn't hit any people. As I made it to my driver side door, I turned and steadied my rifle on the door and fired into the radiator of the van. I got off a few rounds then gun clicked empty. I hate guns. I've never had my fists run out of ammo when I really needed them.

Now that I didn't have the thunder of a gun going off in my head, I heard Melinda screaming at me.

"Get in the back you idiot!"

Running away from people seeking my imminent demise was a sensation from my past that I would have loved never to have experienced again. I dove into the back seat and Melinda floored it. The car lurched forward as I clawed my way into further into the car. I started choking back tears as Melinda zipped passed the van. Shots zinged around car and I thanked God for upgrading the windows. As we sped away I started to sob.

"Are you okay?" Melinda asked. She was looking at me.

"Eyes on the road," I begged her. We were doing forty-five down a dirt road. Running off would have really sucked considering that neither one of us was buckled in.

"You're crying," she observed. "What kind of bodyguard are you?" she added angrily.

"I'm not crying because I'm in pain," I ground out. "I'm crying because you are driving the wrong way down a dead end road."

She made a little "Oh" sound.

She sped down the road for about a minute before either one of us spoke.

"The road runs down around ten miles from where I picked you up. There is a house at the end of the road. If we are lucky they will have a phone," I told her.

"Don't you have a cell phone?" she growled. I tossed my phone onto the front seat with her. More accurately, I tossed the bullet-busted remains of my phone. I had a whole in my jacket I could put my thumb through. I wasn't sure how the bullet missed me.

"Are you good at this?" she asked.

"You aren't dead yet, are you? Trust me, right after they finished with me, they would have put you in the grave beside me. We weren't supposed to make it out of there alive."

"Why didn't you kill more of them?" she continued. She was really starting to get on my nerves. 

"My top priority was to get you out safely. That meant I had to put myself at risk," I pointed out.

"You haven't done a good job," she commented. "I'm still in danger."

"If it is any consolation, they will kill me first." If I had any luck left they would kill both of us soon so she would shut the fuck up, I thought.

"That doesn't make me feel better at all," she snapped.

"We need to get some things straight. I'm not your bodyguard. Your Dad hired someone to rescue you and that person hired me. I've done this before though this is the first time someone has tried to kill me. Maybe you really pissed them off," I lied.

"I don't see how," she told me. "I never did anything to them."

"Did you talk to them the way you talk to me?" I asked.

"What do you mean? I always talk to people this way," she answered. I'm stunned Ted didn't kill her, but then he needed her to lure me to the site.

"Okay. You are a total bitch over-whelmed with your own sense of self-importance. Now that we have that out of the way, I'm Taylor and if you listen to me I will get you out of here alive. Act the way you are used to doing and we are both dead."

"If I'm such a bitch, why are you helping me?" she sounded hurt.

"Melinda, all you need to know is that I will die to get you back to your Father. It is what I do and despite your critique, I did manage to winnow our opposition from six to four. I also disabled their van so they couldn't follow us right away. You are the one who jumped in the driver's seat and drove the wrong way," I replied. She paused for several seconds then turned around and yelled at me.

"I freaked out! I'm sorry. I'm not used to being kidnapped or being shot at," she sobbed. Oh God.

"Brake!" I said insistently. She kept looking at me.

"What?"

"BRAKE!" I screamed. My old buddy the barn was rushing up at us, and here I was without a gun to shoot it with. Melinda ducked down sideways. I ducked too. Here we were, minding our own business and that damn barn came up and hit us. Fucking Barn.

I thought of Cheyenne and how good her hair smelled. She was trying to do something to me, but I couldn't understand what she wanted. It didn't matter though, she knew what I wanted. It felt good, her going down on me like that. She looked up and said something else to me. I didn't know what it was, but I said "Yes" anyway. God, she felt so good.

"Cheyenne," I grinned.

"Who?" Cheyenne asked me. That was strange. Cheyenne rocked against me and pain shot through my left side. I snapped to wakefulness. 

This is how I ended up with a girl riding me like a stallion, and me not being very sure how it happened and dreading the fact that I never had mixed business with pleasure before now. Melinda pushed her bra-contained tits in my face. I was weak. I nibbled the nipple and she grabbed my head and pushed that nipple farther into my mouth. She also kept rocking back and forth on me. Damn her pussy was tight, warm and wet. I broke free of her grasp on my head.

"Melinda?"

"Who is Cheyenne?" she moaned.

"She's my girlfriend and the woman who is going to have my nuts after your father finishes castrating me."

"Don't talk about Daddy, or your girl, just fuck me," she commanded. Well, I was already inside of her. It wasn't like they could make me deader.

"How long was I out?" I mean, there were four guys out to kill us.

"Do you always talk so much during sex?" she countered. I moved my right hand around her thigh and to her ass. I began rubbing her ass cheek, moving my fingers closer to her asshole. That got her attention.

"Good boy," she purred. "Five minutes. You've been out for five."

That sounded like I had enough time for a quickie. I blamed my lack of judgment on blood loss, my dream of Death by Hot Chick, and a strong desire to shut her up.

I deftly bit the top of her left bra cup and pulled it down with my teeth. When I had it snuggled beneath her breast, I went back to work on her nipple.

"Clever," she moaned as she ran her hands through my hair. She rocked harder and pushed up slightly. My forefinger touched her puckered hole. She wiggled her hips around, teasing my fingertip against her. I pressed my finger gently against her then she surprised me by slowly lowering herself and driving my finger into me.

"Play with it," she whispered down at me. I didn't know if she meant her ass or breast so I went after them both. She was grinding into me with her hips and I was getting into it, her breath becoming more rapid. I was working to match her rhythm with my hips and was trying to reach our climax together.

"Excuse me?" a female voice said. Since none of our hunters were women, I had to assume this was the owner of the barn. "Are you two having fun?" she grumbled. I couldn't blame her. We'd blown a hole in her barn. I released my mouth from Melinda's breast and looked around her in the direction of the voice.

"Melinda. There is a woman with a shotgun staring at us," I informed my current partner.

"Almost there," Melinda panted. I looked over the woman who had come in, who turned out to be a lady in her early fifties, with blonde hair mostly gone to gray. She had on a baggy denim shirt, jeans and work boots. She also had a Remington pump-action shotgun. It wasn't pointed at us – quite.

"Don't let me stop you two," the woman commented sarcastically. Melinda responded by insistently pushing my head back to her breast. I licked, nibbled then bit. That got her. Melinda wasn't a shaker. She was one of those women who went quiet and tensed up when she had an orgasm.

"Thanks," Melinda smiled down at me. "I always find a good fuck calms me down."

"Pleasure to be of service," I responded with fatigue creeping into my voice. She ignored my tone. Instead Melinda looked over her shoulder at the woman.

"Sorry for the barn. He distracted me," she told her. I lowered my head and sighed.

Melinda stood up and picked her underwear off the straw covered floor. I was totally unsatisfied, but it really was one of those days, wasn't it? I caught the woman giving me an appreciative once-over. I struggled to get my penis back in my pants with one arm. About the same time Melinda moved away from me enough to give the woman a clear picture of my condition.

"You've been shot," the woman noted. "How the hell did that happen?" I couldn't resist.

"Someone pointed a gun at me and pulled the trigger."

"Why would they do something like that?" she asked.

"They wanted the girl – Melinda, and I decided they couldn't keep her."

"I should call the Sheriff," was her response.

"I would like it if you didn't. I can pay for the barn. All I want to do is get back home and get the girl back to her Father. We don't need the law involved," I requested.

"This had better be one hell of a story young man," she smirked.

"I was kidnapped and Taylor here killed two of them and we made our escape," was Melinda's nonchalant encapsulation. I lowered my chin to my chest and moaned. 

"Well, let's get you into the house then," the woman told us. "I'm Abigail Miller, but everyone calls me Abby. Melinda, Mr. Taylor please come with me. Mr. Taylor, do you need help?" 

"That would be appreciated," I responded. She came over and helped me up with one arm while cradling the shotgun in the other. I felt a little light-headed when I stood up, and to my amazement, Melinda rushed to my side and steadied me. With the two women's help we made rapid progress to the house a few hundred feet up the road. I could have gone under my own power once we left the barn, but I opted to take it easy.

Inside the house, Abby sat me down in the parlor and went to get some bandages and alcohol.

"I need a drink," Melinda griped as she paced about. She made disagreeable faces as she touched things in the room. Abby returned quickly and began looking at my wound.

"Abby, there are four men coming to kill the two of us. We left them ten miles down the road, on foot, around twelve minutes ago. You may need to find some place to hide out until we're gone."

"Humph," scoffed Abby, "that's why God gave girls guns young man."

"Where is the bathroom?" demanded Melinda.

"Down the hallway to the right," Abby answered. If she was perturbed, she hid it well. Melinda left the room.

"That girl's a pistol," Abby grinned. "Have you known her long?"

"About fifteen minutes," I chuckled.

"She's a quick mover," Abby commented. She then placed a hand on my knee. "I see she left you wanting; how unfortunate."


The Princess and the Fool Ch. 01



"I'd really rather forget the entire incident," I suggested. "She's the client's daughter and that definitely wasn't a service he requested." Abby laughed at that. "Is there a Mr. Miller?"

"He's been dead seven years now – drunk driver." This is not a complication I need right now. She's a nice looking lady, but Cheyenne is already going to bust my balls for Melinda raping me, unless she dies laughing first.

"I'm sorry," I replied. I wince when she works my shirt off to get at my wound.

"It is a through and through," she assess. "You aren't bleeding like as stuck pig, so you are one lucky bastard." She pushed some antiseptic on the wound – I'm a big boy so I don't bawl my eyes out.

"I don't really consider being shot to be lucky," I tell her.

"Stop being a baby. You'll have a nice new scar to tell all your girlfriends about," she teases me. She could tell I was already crisscrossed with other, older scars.

"It's the girlfriends I'm worried about," I sigh.

"Girl –friends?"

"Long story – not relevant to my current dilemma," I reply. "I need to use the phone please."

"Okay, but then I'm calling the Sheriff next," she insisted. I was getting too tired to argue. I go to the phone and make the call to the only person who might help me. I can't call my boss. In situations like this, he calls me. I am reduced to calling an old friend.

"Joe," I said, "Taylor here. I need a favor."

"Long time, no hear, you Ass. What have you done wrong?" Joe replied.

"I'm in a fucked up situation. Ted got out and I got tangled up. If I give you an address can you get to me?"

"Where are you?" I told her. She whistled. "How soon are you screwed?"

"An hour on the outside; do you have something 'heavy'? Ted brought three friends."

"I said you should have killed him," Joe reminded me.

"Who is Joe?" Melinda demanded as she came back into the room. I see she's wiped some of the dirt off her face.

"An old friend," I frowned. What's up with this bitch? I thought. She improves my mood by stealing the phone from my hands. I began thinking about what happens to me if I bring this bitch in unconscious.

"Who is this?" Melinda demanded. Abby looked totally bemused. I reached for the phone, but Melinda stabbed a finger into my wound and I gasped.

"Joe," my friend told her.

"You're a girl," Melinda accused Joe. She glared at me and then I knew this bitch was psycho. One fuck did not make me her property. No wonder she disappeared for a whole day before anyone missed her.

"Joe = Josephine, and I'm a woman, not a girl. You are?"

"Melinda," she snapped as if by some psychic link Joe should know who she was. "Have you fucked him?" I heard Joe's laughter coming loud over the connection. Melinda scowled.

"That would be like fucking my brother. Besides, I'm chubby chaser. My husband is a Samoan, and not a little one. Frankly, Taylor doesn't do anything for me – he's too short and skinny. Now put him back on the phone or when I come down there I'll spank your boney ass." Melinda handed me the phone.

"Hurry up Joe. I've never lost somebody and I don't want to start now," I asked her.

"You are one sentimental fuck. I'm on my way," Joe said before the connection went dead. I handed Abby the phone. She dialed a number (I guess she didn't believe in 911).

"Hey Charles ..." Abby looked confused. "The line went dead," she told me. It took me about a seventh of a seconds to go,

"Oh crap. I suggest you get on your cell," I told Abby.

"I don't have one," she responded. Both Melinda and I look at her with the same astonished expression. How does someone survive without a mobile phone?

"I used my husbands, and when he died I never got a new one," she confessed. I completely understood why this had happened. God hated me. If I was Buddhist, I would have begun to suspect I was Joe Stalin in a previous incarnation.

"Do you have any more guns?" I ask her.

"Yes, I have two other shotguns."

"No pistols?" I inquire.

"If I had a pistol I would have told you," Abby quipped.

"Can I have a knife?"

"Sure," she nods. "I'll get you one."

"Do I get a shotgun?" Melinda asked.

"No," Abby and I said simultaneously.

"Why?" Melinda pouted. Abby rolled her eyes and left the room.

"Melinda, have you ever used any kind of firearm, much less a shotgun before?" I questioned. Melinda looked contrite.

"I want to be able to defend myself?"

"Melinda, you are as likely to kill me, or Abby, as you are to kill one of them. You don't know what you are doing, and trust me, firing a gun isn't as easy as movies make it out to be," I inform her.

"What do I do if you are killed?"

"You run and don't stop running. You stay alive," I said as I stroked her cheek. "In the end, that is all that matters to me; you making it home."

"I don't get you," she told me. "How much is Dad paying you?"

"Not all that much. Melinda, this is my job – my livelihood. I solve difficult problems. Today it meant getting you back. Tomorrow I may be kidnapping someone."

"You could have taken the two million and run away. When you saw all those men, you could have run," she wondered. "Why didn't you?"

"They would have surely killed you," I answered as if my response was the only one possible.

"You don't know me."

"It isn't necessary that I know you. You are a job, nothing more," I reply. She studied me.

"I don't get you at all," she shrugged. She turned and made to leave.

"Does she love you?" she asked. I assumed she meant Cheyenne.

"I'd like to think so."

"She's a fool if she doesn't," she told me. I laughed.

"It's complicated," was the only defense I could muster.

Abby got back to me with two knives; one she hooked to my belt and one she handed me. 

"You paid two million dollars for her?" she snickered, "You should get your money back."

"Is it so hard to believe that I only want to do my job and go back home to my girl and a nice night eating and watching TV?" I asked sounding exasperated. 

"Boy, when I have a bad day, the tractor doesn't start. My tractor doesn't try to get me killed," she grinned.

"I know it may not look like it right now," I responded, "but I'm actually quite good at my job. I don't even carry a gun."

"That is kind of stupid," she mocked me.

"No," I countered. "You beat someone up, who cares? You plug somebody, and it's a police matter. I'm in a business that prizes discretion. Now, do you have an outbuilding we can hide out in?"

"What's wrong with my house?" she inquired.

"It is too big to defend and I don't think you want your home to be the scene of a gunfight. It is hell on windows, and furniture, and just about everything else." That got a laugh out of her.

"Sure," she chuckled. "We can go to my art house. It is back up the hill a bit, right inside the wood line.

"That sounds good to me. Let's go." I stepped into the hallway and found Melinda looking at the family pictures on the wall. At a quick glance the family farm went back four generations. I hoped it didn't make this the last one. "Melinda, we are going to find a place to hide until our ride arrives."

"In the movies they make a heroic last stand, coming through in the end," she said, looking to me for reassurance.

"You're the princess, Melinda. I'm guard number three. Last stands don't always work out for guard number three. Anyway, I prefer to be an old coward over being a dead hero. Now, let's go."

"I do not get you," she repeated. She followed me when Abby and I went out the backdoor and up the hill. When I got to the top of the path there was a large shed, maybe twenty-five by twelve. It was made of large slats of wood. It looked pretty thick. Inside I was immediately drawn to the large gas containers and their hazardous material labels.

"Abby, what is your art?"

"I weld sculpture," she answered. 

"Are those tanks full?"

"Pretty much, yes," she informed me.

'Thank you God' I thought sarcastically, 'my hideout was filled with high explosives.'

Abby rapidly followed my reasoning.

"Oh damn," she muttered. "Maybe I should have mentioned this before we came up here."

"I think I see someone in the house," Melinda whispered. They must have run. I looked down, and sure enough, there was someone at one of the windows. I thought he saw us too. Well, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you explosive gas canisters, you make a bomb.

"Abby, go in your shed, knock off the safeties and open all those tanks. I'm sorry about your shed," I added.

"Eh," she shrugged, "I was getting tired of this place anyway." That was her polite way of saying she would rather blow up her shed than die.

"Why don't we run?" Melinda asked.

"I'll never make it, Melinda. I'm bleeding. I'll slow you down. If they catch the two of you, you'll both die. We may die anyway, but this may be our best chance."

"What do you want me to do?" Melinda said.

"Find a good place upslope and hide. Don't come out unless you hear my voice. Do you understand?" 

"Let me fight," Melinda argued. "It's my life too. Let me do something."

"Melinda, if you die all of this means nothing. You have to live," I reassured her.

"What about Abby?" she asked me. She looked to Abby, "Why?"

"Child, I'm fifty-four, my husband is dead, I have no children of my own, and if I have to go out, I'll never get another chance like this, will I? Now don't worry. We are going to kill those bastards and get you home." Melinda began crying. I pushed her uphill.

"What's the plan, Taylor? I get the gas tanks, but how do you plan to set it off?" Abby asked.

"Simple. I get one of them to shoot at me," I beamed. We walked into the shed, Abby shaking her head.

"You know, it's good you have a big dick because you are an idiot," she laughed. "How do you plan to make them shoot at you?"

"I was planning to jump up and down, screaming my head off. Then I duck down as he fires, ride out the blast wave and then we run downslope and kill them all before they recover."

"You are an idiot," she observed. "I don't see another option though. I wish you luck. Remind me if we survive, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Lady, if we both survive, you'll have saved both our lives; just name it," I promised. She gave me an odd look that I filed away for analysis later. We were hearing voices from the back of the house. "Let's go upslope and find something sturdy for us to hide behind."

"I'll pick that large oak over there," she pointed. She swung her gaze farther up the hill, "that fallen tree should do you. It has a clear shot into that rear window."

"Yeah, they can't miss seeing me," I grinned ironically. Abby stepped up and kissed me on the cheek.

"Remember Honey, duck down or you'll go flying," she said as she trotted over to her large tree. The dam thing was huge. I couldn't wrap two sets of my arms around it. I hoped it had deep roots. If it fell on Abby, it would be her grave. I looked around and spotted Melinda peeking around another tree another ten meters farther up. I waved at her to return to cover. I wished I had the time to get her about twenty more meters away. Things became quiet, with only the normal forest noises to cut the sound of four pairs of legs coming up the trail.

"Gus, you circle around that way," Ted said quietly. I barely heard him. These guys with him were definitely kidnappers, not mercenaries. People don't tend to shoot back at kidnappers so they never learn good fire discipline. Besides mercs understood hand signals. "Aaron, go that way." 

"James, get to the door, I'll cover you." Good old Ted, exposing his buddies to fire. It was highly likely that the two million was going to be split in less than four ways. I snuck a look toward Abby, but I couldn't see her. I couldn't see Melinda either. I was crouching down behind that dead tree. It was maybe two feet in diameter. It would be a snug fit once I got behind it, or so I hoped.

"This place stinks," James called out when he kicked the door. "Something died in here."

"Check it out. That cocksucker could be hiding anywhere," Ted said.

"He could have a knife," James sounded shaky.

"You have a gun, asshole. Check it out," Ted ordered sternly. I think I heard James go in. "Aaron, circle around and find out if anyone is hiding behind this shack." I heard more movement. I couldn't worry about him. He might shoot me, but I had to hope that James fired first. There was James in the window, but he was looking around inside.

"Okay God," I prayed, "I know I don't pray enough, but you've given me a real shithole of a day, so please, please help me help that man kill himself." James turned around and looked right at me. I raised a branch that looked like a rifle as if to shoot. James brought his gun up and I dove into the ground with all my might.

I didn't really hear what happened next because my eardrums popped and my ears were bleeding. I felt it though. It was like a giant glove surrounded my body and first slammed me into the ground and then tried to rip me up in the air and toss me into the trees behind me. Somehow the tree saved my life. I couldn't tell you how long I lay there fighting to breathe again, but I began hearing things burning. I looked up. There was a metal shard of something unrecognizable embedded in the log right where my head would have been. I immediately took back every bad thing I'd said about God.

I got up and began running back toward the shed. I was angling toward the side Gus was on, knife in my hand. There was something remaining of the shed, which was a minor miracle. I guess most of the blast must have been focused up. The roof was nowhere in evidence. I saw Gus struggling to stand. He even had his pistol, but he was looking down and his free hand was trying to get something out of his eyes. 

I think at the last second he heard the leaves crunching underneath my feet because he looked up. I stabbed him beneath his ribs, pushing up into the chest cavity. I missed his heart, but hit a major blood vessel and penetrated his lung. I twisted then left the knife in him. He was still falling down as I ran past him. I had to find Ted. Gus could bleed out without me.

I heard a shotgun go off. Abby was still alive and kicking. Seconds later, I heard a shotgun and a pistol go off at the same time. 

"Mother-fucker!" Ted screamed. I heard the 'cha-chunck' of a pump action shotgun chambering a round. Abby was okay. I hadn't gotten her killed. I came around the shattered shell of a shed and saw Ted turning to run in my direction. He had to get away from Abby's arc of fire and the shed was the closest cover. I saw that his right hand and forearm was a mess. It had taken that second shotgun blast which explained no pistol. My knife came out and I closed.

Ted rocked back and set himself. We were both down to one arm, but my wound was to my off-hand. I also had a knife. Ted was stronger and taller. I was quicker. He wanted to kill me. I wanted to save Melinda. I lunged and slashed. He took a half-step back and chopped down with his left. I got my arm out of the way. A quick series of blows, blocks and counterblows came and went. 

I finally got my knife slashing deep across his leg, but he put an elbow into my right shoulder and the knife slipped out of my grip. I kicked his wounded leg and Ted tumbled. He tried to catch himself and roll, but I grabbed his wounded right arm, turned it sharply and twisted it down into an arm bar. I had him pinned to the ground. Any second now, he would lash out with his good leg and sweep me, but right now the pain was too much.

"Ted, I could have accepted you trying to kill me. That is personal stuff, but you tried to kill the girl for no good reason. Sorry." I twisted his arm and smashed my boot onto his neck. It snapped like a dry branch. I held my foot down until he suffocated. I looked up and Abby was staring at me.

"Abby, is this going to be a problem?" I sighed.

"Nah, he tried to kill all of us. He had it coming. Let's go get the girl. I can make us a fresh pot of coffee while you wait for your friend to come get you." Man that lady was tough.

"Thank you," I smiled.

"I'll ride out and get the Sheriff about an hour after you are gone," she added.

"Works for me."

"Taylor?" Abby said quietly.

"Yes?"

"I was wrong about you. You really are good at your job."

"We aren't home yet," I cautioned her. "Is Aaron dead?"

"As a doornail; I put one into his center mass at less than ten yards. He was dead before he hit the ground," Abby answered.

I retrieved my knife near Ted and trotted back to see if Gus was indeed dead. He wasn't, but he was unconscious and bleeding out. I cleaned my current knife on his pants leg, put it in its sheath, and retrieved the knife from his chest. I cleaned that on him too. No sense in giving Abby a dirty knife. 

I kicked his gun away to be on the safe side. "Melinda! Come on down." I turned and began stumbling back down to Abby. As my adrenalin rush subsided, the effect of my blood loss began to be felt. Right as I got to Abby, Melinda crashed into me. She wrapped me in and embraced from behind. That really didn't do my left shoulder any good.

"You did it!" she declared jubilantly. "You killed them. I saw it all. It was magnificent." I turned to say something but she buried my mouth in lips and tongue. She broke free and gave me a salacious smile. "God, I'm so horny. Let's fuck." I felt like punching her out.

"Let's get back to the house first, young' ens," Abby intervened. I nodded. I handed Abby the kitchen knife and then the sheath knife. I was done with them. She took the knives without comment. On the way back to the house, Melinda wouldn't let go of me. I've had this happen before, but never with someone this bitchy. My only consolation is that she'll forget about me in a month. I really can't handle the ones who want to be my friend, or feel they owe. Seriously, how many times do I have to say it – it's my job.

When we get inside, Abby runs Melinda into the shower, because she was going to be seeing Daddy soon. I could smell the coffee percolating. When Abby walked back in, I got up from the sofa and offered her my hand. She looked at it and smiled. Absently I noted she'd taken off her boots.

"Anytime you need anything Abby; give me a call. I always pay my debts."

"Actually there is something you can do for me right now," she continued to smile.

"Sure; name it," I responded.

"Come with me," she told me and turned and walked down the hall to the very end. She opened the door and inside was a big bed, a chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. I kept looking back at the bed. I didn't like were this was going. "Take off your clothes, and lie down on the bed, Taylor. I'll take care of everything." She began unbuttoning her shirt. I felt like a whore. This definitely wasn't going into my report.

Abby was pretty damn attractive. Her breasts sagged, but fifty plus years will do that. The rest of her body was well muscled with just enough softness to be sensual. She took her pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. Nice damn thighs. As she turned to put her pants on the bed, I realized she had a nice rounded butt too, with only a little sag. 

This woman worked hard. By the time she had her sox off I was down to my shirt, and I was working that free even then. I was already semi-rigid when she stepped over to me and took my balls into one callused hand, and rolled them about playfully. Explaining this to Cheyenne ... I got nothing. 

I was in the doghouse, maybe for a week. Her other hand took my penis and pumped it slowly. It was rapidly reaching its full potential. I was beginning to feel woozy. 

"You do realize I may pass out – blood loss and all," I warned her.

"That's okay Honey. I've seen you perform passed out and that's good enough for my needs. I've never been one for much conversation anyway," she purred. I was such a whore.




The Princess and the Fool Ch. 01



"How long were you watching us?"

"Sonny, when someone crashes into my barn, I come running. I was about to bless you both out when I saw her pull that monster out of your pants. I thought that deserved special consideration. Taylor, it's been seven years, and even before then, my husband had lost much of his lust for me," she confessed. "Now lie down and get comfortable. I'll do all the work.

What could I say? The woman had saved Melinda, thus my contract. She'd also saved my life, which I have become attached to. I climbed up, moved the pillows so that I was semi-sitting up and got comfortable. She sat on the bed and crawled to my side, breasts swinging and making a nice vision – milky white breast with a rich red-brown areola and darker nipple, contrasted against the farmer's tan on her arms and neck. 

If I wasn't shot and seeing somebody, I would have been totally happy right then. Her hands went back to their work, stroking my member and tickling my balls. When her lips wrapped around my head while her tongue licked my slit, I let out a guttural moan. She played with me that way for almost a minute before she started slowly gobbling up more and more of my length.

I put a gentle hand on the back of her head, but did nothing with it. She bobbed a few more times, going farther and farther, but I could sense her reaching her limit. I wasn't displeased. It felt great. She pulled all the way out, looked me in the eyes and said,

"Push my head all the way down. Don't be a gentleman. I want to swallow this cock." 

I could count on one hand how many women have told me to do that, and Cheyenne was one of them. She got back down on me and I slowly started to push. I sensed some resistance as she started to gag, but I pressed down harder. She was clearly having a hard time, but I got her nose all the way down to my stomach. Abby moaned and slowly started bobbing again. The feeling of her throat against my cockhead was divine.

"Really?" Melinda commented evilly from the door. "Are you two having fun?" Abby pulled off my penis slow. It slaps against my belly as she lets it go.

"Honey, you can join us. I want this big dick. You can have his tongue," Abby offered. I would have liked to think that I had a say in that, but I didn't. The woman said I had a bid dick. I was such a whore. Melinda came over and grabbed me by the hair on the top of my head.

"You had better not pass out on me, Taylor," she threatened, "or I'll tell Daddy everything." Didn't I save her life about ten minutes ago? I should have tied her up and left her in the shed. I could have explained it as an unfortunate accident. Melinda straddled my head, hands against the wall, and lowered her cunt into my face. 

I had to go at it from a rather uncomfortable neck angle. I would have bitched about it, but I didn't need their ridicule at that stage at the game. I went into survival mode. Being a whore wasn't so bad I told myself. I'd been worse. I didn't freak out and go at her like a rabid weasel. I went for the tongue tickle and tease option. 

My tongue felt fine, but the rest of my body hurt. Why should the tongue get off easy, I reasoned? My biggest problem was one of hygiene; Melinda hadn't really been practicing proper cleanliness for the past few days. I'd worked in worst regions, but this wasn't going to be one of my all-time highs. In my favor was the fact that I really liked cunnilingus. It really turns me on to have that much synergy with a woman.

In the haze that had become my life in the past few minutes, I could be forgiven for not realize the game beyond my sight had altered direction. I knew the force surrounding my cock wasn't a mouth. It was warm and silky smooth, more like the sensation honey makes on your tongue than a confining glove. In a word, it felt really good. So she wasn't super-tight; big deal. What I needed now was comfort and goodness and Abby had that in spades.

I found it beyond reckoning that this woman hadn't had sex in seven years. The only reason I could imagine why her husband had started ignoring her was his sudden acceptance of a gay lifestyle. 

I pushed into her as my best hope of showing my appreciation for how good she felt. She pressed both palms against my chest. She leaned forward driving her pelvic bone against mine and her fingernails began digging into my chest. Thankfully as a woman who worked with her hands, her nails weren't too sharp. I didn't think I could take any more bleeding.

With Melinda I had finally managed to find her clit with my upper lip and nose. I had to move my mouth up and down, because breathing was important to me, but I kept track of its location and feel. I kept coming back to it and Melinda proved she was a very clever girl by matching my rhythm. That didn't stop her from reaching down and grabbing my hair and keeping where she wanted me for a few extra seconds.

I clearly was in an endurance race with one hand/arm tied behind my back, plus I had a one hundred fifty pound woman leaning on my diaphragm and another with a cunt in my mouth. I did the only thing I could do. I thought of Cheyenne and Sierra and pretended they were here instead of these two women. It isn't the fairest thing to do to any woman, but I was fighting for my consciousness.

My own sensations snuck up on me. Instead of taking a full breath on my head's way down, I called out to Abigail.

"Abby, I'm coming ..." I gasped.

"That's okay, Honey. Give me all you've got," she answered. Suddenly I'm horrified by my lack of a condom (I've never have claimed to be the smartest guy). I hate condoms but I don't know either of these women. No sex for me at home until the blood test comes back.

All I knew at the moment was that I was shooting sperm up into Abby. Her fingers touched my nipples and she began to twist them painfully. Her knees come up against my chest and compress inward. First I think she's sadistic but then her vaginal muscles clamp down around me still firing penis. She's having an orgasm which I'm willing to take partial credit for.

"Don't stop," Melinda commanded me. "I'm not ready yet."

"Okay little girl, I have something for you," Abby growled. I've struggled to figure out what that means when I felt Abby's weight shift up my body. My penis slipped out of her and her juices soaked my crotch and stomach.

Abby pressed Melinda into the headboard. Melinda showed her appreciation of the move by lowering herself into my mouth and highly restricting my mouth's moving ... and breathing. I was now on a countdown clock to suffocation. I felt a soaked finger run along my chin and lips thin stab upward. Melinda screamed,

"Bitch! That fucking hurts ... oh fuck!"

Melinda had taken Abby's finger hard up her ass. In one shove, the pain pushed Melinda over the edge. If I hadn't started to drown I would have been happy for the rescue. Melinda kept gyrating against my face and I was feeling my brain starting to shut down. I'd shut my eyes seconds ago.

I had the sensation of Melinda falling backwards onto Abby and I could breathe again. I opened my eyes to look up at Melinda's sexy little body falling away from me.

"Try not to kill him," Abby chuckled as Melinda squawked. "He's trying awful hard from a man with one too many holes in him."

"It still fucking hurt," Melinda groused rubbing her offended backside.

"Would you have gotten off of him had I asked you to?" Abby countered. Melinda didn't have an immediate answer.

"It still hurts, damn it," she finally managed to say.

"I think we've gotten the point, girl. Now let's get cleaned up and get a nice hot wash cloth for Taylor," Abby said soothingly. Melinda swung off, as did Abby and I stopped worrying about chest compression. I tried to sit up but Abby put a restraining hand on me.

"Steady Tiger. You look like death warmed-over. Take it easy and I'll come back and help you in a moment," she smiled.

"I want to get dressed," I groaned.

"Don't make me hurt you," Abby threatened. Melinda's lascivious grin accentuated that threat so I wisely gave up and did my level best not to fall asleep before Abby came back.

Abby shook me awake. I already cleaned up plus I had my pants, underwear, sox and shoes on. How that happened I hadn't a clue.

"I need to get a shirt back on you Honey," she was telling me. I groggily obeyed. I swung my way down and looked at the two briefcases full of cash.

"Oh, your buddy Ted brought these up to the house for us. Melinda said they were yours."

"Oh," I muttered. I'd almost forgotten the ransom money. I guess all that blood I'd lost belonged to my brain. I probably should have kept my mouth shut. I could barely fight off an irate fifth grader right now.

"How much do I owe you for the barn?" I asked Abby.

"Twenty-five thousand for that and the shed; I already took it out," Abby said casually. This lady was a class act. "Thanks for being a gentleman and being honest with me."

"If I wasn't seeing anyone ..." I began. Abby put a finger to my lips to stop me.

"But you are and your twenty years younger than me, but is still good to know I can still make a man happy enough to come around a second time," Abby smiled like the cunning fox she was. I got my shirt on and Abby led me to the front room. Melinda was on the porch looking down the road.

"Someone is coming," Melinda said excitedly. Abby took up the shotgun she'd hidden by the door. I stepped outside with Melinda, putting my good hand on her arm. I'd throw her inside at the first hint of trouble. The car became clearer. It was big, yellow, and (barely) not military issue. It was Joe and I could finally start breathing easier.

"Melinda, that's our ride. Go get the cash," I ordered. She headed back without comment.

"Abby." I didn't know what words to us. She didn't need words either. She came up and gave me a kiss I'd remember for a long, long time. Melinda was back with the cash by the time Joe swung around and was pointing the way home. I took one of the cases and herded Melinda to the car. I didn't look back. What would be the point? We'd already said all that we needed to say.



The Princess and the Fool Ch. 02



**Fear moves nations, but kindness moves hearts**

(This is pretty much character conversation with some 'comforting' near the end; just warning you.) 

*

Joe had picked us up and we were driving home. For the longest time no one spoke. Joe was never one to be gregarious with strangers, I was fucking tired and bleeding, and ... I don't know why Melinda held her tongue; maybe Joe scared her. Joe does look like one tough dyke. She's not a dyke, but she is tough.

"So, how long have you known Taylor?" said Melinda, breaking the ice.

"Wow ... it's going on fourteen years now," Joe answered.

"Has he always been such a badass?" Melinda asked. Joe laughs uproariously.

"Taylor? A badass? What gave you that delusion?" Joe chuckled. "I've heard the words 'bad' and 'ass' used to describe him, but never together."

"He killed six men today," Melinda protested.

"Taylor killed six guys ... by himself? I don't believe it. Tell me what happened," Joe said.

"Well, there were these six guys -- they kidnapped me and Taylor killed them."

"No, tell me exactly what happened," Joe repeated.

"Okay," Melinda grumbled. "At the meeting he killed this one guy ... but the kidnappers shot that other guy ... and Taylor got shot."

"And?"

"Well," Melinda bit her lower lip, "the third guy blew himself up. Abby shot that other guy and wounded their leader, but Taylor killed that fourth man then killed the leader in the end."

"So basically, Taylor killed one and a half men plus another man in another encounter, and got shot once in the process," Joe pointed out.

"Oh," Melinda said in a small voice. "Why didn't Daddy send someone better to get me?"

"Don't you say that," Joe said heatedly. "Don't confuse body count with competence, Melinda. If Taylor Eden says he is going to get you out alive, he is going to get you out alive. Case in point: you are sitting talking to me right now instead of lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

"But," Melinda stuttered.

"If Taylor could have gotten you out without a shot being fired, he would have. He wasn't paid to kill those guys. He doesn't do run around killing people for fun. He was paid to bring you out in one piece and when bullets start flying around that reduces your chances of staying alive."

"But he killed those people."

"He doesn't like to kill people. That doesn't mean he can't," Joe explained. "Listen, Taylor is claim to fame is that he's a cockroach. I've seen him shot, stabbed, beaten to unconsciousness, run over, and once, a bomb was dropped on him. The bastard won't die and he won't quit. If he says he'll do something, he does it. It may take forever and day and be messy about it, but he does what he says he'll do. That is why we're friends."

"So is he good or isn't he?" inquired Melinda.

"It depends what you want to do; if you want to snipe someone at 500 meters, he sucks. I've seen him empty a clip at eight guys, all fewer than ten meters away and only hit one -- and he only wounded that guy," Joe snickered.

"We were in the jungle," Taylor said weakly. Joe laughed.

"How come I dropped two guys with six shots? Melinda, Taylor isn't Special Forces, or a SEAL, or even a paratrooper. Hell, he failed to qualify for Ranger School. He didn't know crap when I first met him, but he learned. He's good at that too. He'll never be the best at anything, but he does know a bit of everything."

"He's certainly good with his tongue," Melinda stated. My friend sighed.

"That's not for me to talk about," Joe commented. 

"I was asleep for most of it," Taylor coughed.

"Taylor, have you been fucking women in your sleep again?" Joe teased him out of my funk. Joe was one of his best friends, but she could be a real ass at times. She was also now a housewife in the suburbs, with two kids and a successful husband who was an executive at some insurance company.

"I was drugged," Taylor bitched, "not asleep. Won't you ever let me live that down?" Taylor said concerning an earlier episode in me and Joe's lives.

"No, it is too fun watching you squirm. So, do you have a woman in your life?" she asked.

"Her name is Cheyenne. He says her name in his sleep," Melinda volunteered.

"Really?" Joe arched an eyebrow and peeked in my direction. "How long have you to been together?"

"Six weeks. We live together with another woman," Taylor replied.

"A three-way or a pyramid?" Joe inquired.

"A pyramid."

"What's a pyramid?" Melinda asked.

"He loves Cheyenne, Girl two loves Cheyenne and they all agree to get along," Joe explained.

"Her name is Sierra," Taylor grumbled.

"You must be sleeping with her too," Joe teased.

"Do you really think I'm that shallow?" Taylor said.

"Yes. You don't open up to anyone, Taylor. If you know a girl's name it is because you've screwed her." Taylor didn't have a good answer to that so Taylor kept his mouth shut.

"You seem like such a tight-ass, Taylor. It seems you have a wild side," Melinda teased. "Say my name." Taylor glared back at her.

"Melinda -- happy now?" Taylor seethed.

"So, this is the longest relationship you've had, isn't it?" Joe means since Rosalita. Joe has always acted like his nosy older sister. Of course, when Taylor was lying in some homestead with a bullet wound, there are very few other people Taylor would consider calling.

"Looks that way," Taylor confessed.

"He likes to be ridden," Melinda jokes carefully. Taylor sighed. Taylor might as well play along.

"I insist that was rape," Taylor griped. "Hell woman, I was unconscious the first time and pinned under another woman the second time."

"Good for you," Joe congratulated him. "If you let yourself get raped by beautiful women more often I wouldn't worry about you ending up cold and lonely. Worse, you might end up living in my basement like some forty year old failure."

"I'm saving money," Taylor countered. "Moe taught me well. I'm going to retire somewhere in the Developing World and live a life of leisure."

"Who is Moe?" Melinda asked.

"He's the reason you are alive, Melinda. Moe trained Eden to do something more than being a thug. He was Taylor's mentor," Joe told her.

"Where is he? Why wasn't he hired instead?" Melinda asked.

"Girl, give it a rest. Taylor did his job. You are alive and going home to Daddy, so cut him some slack. That bullet that passed through him could have been in you instead," Joe growled.

"Sorry," Melinda sighed sarcastically.

"Moe is retired," Taylor told her. "He trained me as his replacement, but there is no real replacing of Moe. He was one of a kind. He was one tough son of a bitch; probably still is. I get a card on my birthday and at Christmas. It is hard for me to imagine him actually dying."

"Everyone dies," Melinda pronounced. Joe laughed. 

"There are some bastards that I wouldn't believe were dead if I cut out their hearts and scattered their ashes," Joe responded. "You don't hang around with the right crowd."

"Melinda, try to believe that not all people are created equal. You are too rich and Moe is too mean to die," Taylor tried to explain. "Moe would have killed them and have had you home by now. I'm not him. Comparing me to him doesn't piss me off. I know I'm not him. I've never thought otherwise."

"You are taking being average awful well," Melinda taunted.

"Bitch, don't make me smack you," Joe warned.

"It's okay Joe. Melinda, there are only two things I care about. Doing my job and going home: in that order. If you are trying to piss me off, you will have to do better than that," Taylor sighed.

"I'm not trying to piss you off," Melinda said petulantly.

"Fair enough," Taylor responded. They rode in silence for more than ten minutes before Melinda cracked.

"Do you resent fucking me too," she sounded hurt.

"No. I enjoyed it. You're quite good, and I had a good time. I also know that we are from different worlds, and we will probably never meet again," Taylor explained. That robbed Melinda of both her speech and her anger.

"I don't get you. Do you like me, or don't you?" Melinda snapped. Joe chuckled.

"To be honest, it doesn't matter what I feel, Melinda," Taylor told her. "We are not likely to see each other again."

"That's a dumb way of looking at things," Melinda grumbled.

"That's our Taylor," Joe interjected, "dumb as a stump, and half as personable." For some reason Melinda found that hilarious and she couldn't stop giggling.

"Joe, some time we need to discuss exactly why I saved you in Mozambique," Taylor griped.

"I'm still six life-savings ahead of you, you bastard," Joe grinned back at me through in the rear view mirror.

"You save each other's lives?" Melinda asked. 

"With me it was a moment of weakness; with him it was a rare moment of good sense," Joe teased Melinda and Taylor. Taylor didn't say anything right away. The trip was over.

"Joe, I'll be right back. Melinda, it is time to meet your father. He'll be happy to see you," Taylor told her. Taylor handed Melinda one of the cases full of money, while he took the other one.

"I ... okay," Melinda was tense. They both got out of the car and headed into my boss's office. Taylor took her through reception.

"Katie, here is the money back. Count it. It is twenty-five thousand dollars short. I ran into a barn and felt obliged to pay for it." The boss's reception took the nearly two million without comment. Stuff like this was part of working with the Man. 

As Taylor walked through the firm, people recognized me, but they didn't say anything. They almost never did. Taylor wasn't part of normal business life. They knew of him but this was the first time they'd seen him with a bullet wound. They got to his door, Taylor stopped and that brought Melinda up short.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This is where I leave you," Taylor responded. "Have a good time, and try to be safer when you go out. Good-bye." Melinda gawked at him. Taylor turned to go and she reached out and took his arm on the wounded side. Taylor winced.

"I ... thank you," she mumbled. I believed she meant it.

"You are welcome Melinda," Taylor nodded before finishing his turn and leaving. Taylor didn't look back, but several seconds passed before he heard her open the door. Taylor figured for the next few days he would be party-talk, but he would be forgotten in a week. Taylor wasn't the kind of guy the princess wants to see later, and he was okay with that.

(Later in the day)

Joe helped Taylor up to his apartment. Taylor was woozy from the morphine the 'underground' doctor had given him. She'd also given him enough blood to replace much of what he'd bled out. Taylor had called ahead to give a vague warning that he'd been okay, but in an accident. Joe knocked on the door (door bells bothered her). There was a short wait then the door swung open and a small, busty woman stood in the doorway.

"Taylor!" shouted the woman, "What ... Oh hell, you've been shot." She stepped back.

"Taylor," gasped another woman, this one taller, better looking and a lot more frightened. She bounded off the sofa and ran closer to Taylor.

"Here, help me get this guy to bed," Joe told them, "you must be Sierra," Joe said to Sierra, "and that makes you Cheyenne." Sierra nodded. Cheyenne moved to Taylor's hurt side and was about to grab him.

"Careful Dynamite, he's going to be sore there for a few days, so be careful. Lead me to the bedroom."

"Hey Cheyenne," Taylor told her. "I'm okay; just a bit woozy. I'll be right as rain in a few hours. Sierra, you are looking nice tonight." He was unsure what to say next. Normally Taylor would tease Sierra first thing when she got in. He looked high. She stood around uselessly as Cheyenne and Joe moved Taylor into the main bedroom and laid him out. Joe propped his upper body up and tucked him in.

"What can I do to help?" Cheyenne asked. Joe looked over from where she was sitting on the bed beside Taylor.

"Is this the first time you've seen him bloody?" Joe asked. Taylor had already fallen off to sleep.

"Yes. He's normally so careful. Taylor said he didn't like guns," Cheyenne nearly sobbed. Joe rose and took Cheyenne by the shoulders and led her out of the room. "Let him get some rest."

Cheyenne didn't reply, but she looked over her shoulder at the closed door to her and Taylor's room. 

"Taylor's pretty tough Cheyenne, I've seen him come through with much worse. Let's sit down. I'll stay here until I know he's okay. That should take an hours or so."

"Oh," Cheyenne said. She left Joe and sat down. Sierra went to Cheyenne's side. Joe went straight to the kitchen, opened a few of the lower drawers. 

"Here we go," Joe declared, "He always hides his scotch under the sink, right next to the drain cleaner." She went to the glass shelf unerringly and took out three glasses. She then ambled over to the chair closest to the sofa sat and poured out three third-full glasses. She slid one each to Sierra and Cheyenne.

"I need a shot and I hate to drink alone," Joe announced. Sierra took her glass. Cheyenne glanced at her glass then back to the Joe.

"Who are you lady?" Sierra inquired. 

"I'm Joe Mamacoua, short for Josephine, but no one calls me Josephine anymore."

"How do you know Taylor?" Cheyenne asked. Sierra was paying attention.

"Taylor and I go back fourteen years, from the time he was a wet-behind-the-ears beginner."

"Beginner?" said Cheyenne.

"Did you sleep with him?" Sierra asked.

"Hell no," chuckled Joe to Sierra, "Why do bitches keep asking me that? Taylor is like my annoying little brother. Besides, I like my men big. My husband is a Samoan, three hundred lovely pounds: every hard muscled bit of him. Taylor's a stick. He doesn't do anything for me."

"As for what he was; hasn't he told you anything about his past?" The women shook their heads. "Close-mouth bastard," Joe muttered. "Joe and I were mercenaries -- soldiers of fortune."

"You two were mercenaries? That's so weird; Taylor doesn't look the type," Sierra pointed. "Okay, he's built solid, but he's short and wiry. Don't mercenaries have a height requirement?"

Joe laughed at that.

"Being a soldier of fortune requires a passing familiarity with a firearm, a willingness to risk your life for a pathetic amount of money, and luck."

"Was he any good? He keeps talking about the cache of money he's put aside. Did he make it that way?" Cheyenne asked.

"Taylor was a lousy mercenary," Joe chuckled. "The only person I know who was a worse shot than him was me, and I at least had epic vehicle skills."

"How long was he in that business?" Sierra asked.

"Nine years. We had a lot of fun, which means we got shot at, run out of countries, and partied like animals. Taylor really used to go all out. He was generous to a fault. That's why it's so funny to hear you ladies talk about him stashing away money. Taylor wasn't much for making plans over even a week ahead."

"Are we talking about the same man?" Cheyenne wondered. "Taylor is so ..."

"Closed off," Joe completed for her. "Yeah, he got that way right there at the end."

"Why did he quit?" Sierra pressed.

"A woman," Joe said rather tight lipped.

"Who?" Cheyenne asked with ill-disguised interest.

"He's not told either of you about this? I'm not sure I should. It's his business."

"Please," Cheyenne begged. Joe seemed to think it over.

"Okay, but if either one of you skanks hurt him, you are going to wish someone ran you over with a dump truck, because he's my Brother. He's watched my kids for me, and I wouldn't have trusted must of my buddies with that responsibility. Taylor is a good guy, despite the number of people he's killed. He would never hurt either of you, but trust me, I would do it with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart," Joe threatened. Sierra reddened. Cheyenne paled.

"You think you're that tough, old lady?" Sierra challenged. The thing was Joe was clearly of mixed race heritage, but mainly Amerindian and African American. She had short cropped hair and was built solidly. Her t-shirt highlighted her strong chest and biceps. She was well-endowed, but not overly so. Her stomach was flat and her thighs thick, as were her calves. In essence, Joe looked like she could lift Sierra over her head and break the younger woman like a twig. Joe didn't rise to the challenge. She shook her head and chuckled.

"You're a funny girl, and as for old, I'm forty-five, I have two wonderful kids, five and two, and a wonderful husband who keeps me in a lifestyle that means I never have to work a day again in my life. I still take one or two contracts a year."

"Why?" Cheyenne said.

"Keeps me in shape and on the ball; not doing the job would be like asking a doctor to stop being a doctor. If it swims, crawls, or flies, I've either driven it, or read a manual on how to drive it. People like me are in demand."

"So, has Taylor really quit, or does he go out and do whatever it is he does out there?" Sierra questioned.

"No, Taylor is out of the biz. I know several people who have asked him to work again, but he's turned them down," Joe answered.

"I thought you said he sucked," Sierra pointed out.

"He does. As I said earlier today, Taylor's claim to fame is that he's a cockroach. He's been shot, stabbed, beaten unconscious, garroted, blown up, and even once had a bomb dropped on him," Joe informed them. Cheyenne put her hands to her mouth as she gasped. "People want Taylor because he is reliable as the day is long. Tell him to do something, and he'll do it. It may take him a while, and it may get messy, but he'll do it or die trying. I've known him to fail twice and both times it involved me dragging him away.

"If all of those bad things happened to him, why did he stay?" Cheyenne said quietly.

"We all stayed for different reasons. I don't know why he started. He had this idea that he would be good at the trade, I guess. He wasn't. After his first mission, he was one of only three survivors out of the twelve newbies we took in. He expected to be dropped from the team. You should have seen his face when I told him to come along. I've never regretted that. I trust Taylor with me life. More important, I trust him with the lives of the people I love."

"As for why he kept at it all those years; it was a woman," Joe finished off her scotch and poured another glass. Sierra was struggling to keep up, so Joe filled her glass too. Cheyenne was only drinking in sips.

"What woman?" Cheyenne asked.

"Are you sure he's never talked about a woman before?" Joe wondered. "Damn that man is so closed off. Cheyenne, when he was hurt and delirious today, he called out for you. I haven't seen him do that in five years, since she died. Her name was Rosalita."

"What happened to her?" Sierra inquired.

"Some no-name group of rebels raped her then they mutilated her body while she was still alive. We burned her corpse up before Taylor could see it."

"Did he try to save her?" Cheyenne whispered.

"He had a gaping bullet wound to the chest when we found him. We all thought that he was dead. Apparently the rebels thought so; otherwise they would have mutilated him too. He was only ten feet from her body. We aren't sure how much of her dying he was conscious for."

"What happened?"

"The only living person who knows that is Taylor, and as far as I know he's never talked about it to anyone. He did one mission after he healed up, but it was clear to him his heart wasn't in it so he came back to the states and got some crummy job as a leg-breaker."

"What was Rosalita like," Cheyenne timidly asked.

"Not a lot like you, if that's what you're looking for. Rosalita was tall; maybe five ten, stacked, and had a real hard body. She worked out a lot to stay in shape. She had long thick wavy raven-black hair that went down to the small of her back. She always had this tilted half-smile on her face unless Taylor was around her. When they were together, she really glowed. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. Everyone could tell that. She also was a certifiable psychopath. In essence, you are not her replacement. Taylor isn't like that. He likes you for you, and for Taylor that's saying a lot. Taylor doesn't let anyone get close anymore."




The Princess and the Fool Ch. 02



"If she was so good looking, why was she with him? I'm just saying." Sierra put out there. Cheyenne stole a look to the hallway leading to the bedroom. Joe chuckled yet again.

"Oh, she was gorgeous. Guys would stab their mates just to get close to her -- that was until she told them her name. See, Rosalita was a Black Widow. Every man she became attached to died horribly and usually within a few weeks. You combine her being the best person with a knife I've ever seen, her raving insanity, and her curse; no one wanted anything to do with her. Then Taylor came along."

"She's cleared out a table in a cantina and Taylor walks over to her and sits down. He doesn't say anything he just sits down with a bowl of pretzels and two beers. When some of his buddies and I saw this insanity, we began plotting ways to get him out without pissing off the nutjob. Rosalita pulls out one of her large carving knives and slams it blade first into the table. Things got very quiet because everyone wanted to see if someone could finally kill Taylor."

"Do you know who I am? Rosalita growled."

"Sure, you are Rosalita. Do you want a beer? he stated as he passed her one of his beers. She took it and drained it in two tosses."

"Why the fuck are you here? Rosalita snapped," Joe snorts, remembering that day.

"Do you know what Taylor, that dumb bastard says? 'If I go, I don't want it to happen without me having got to know you first.' That was the nicest thing anyone had ever told her, I imagine. She grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs. She had him up half the night. She was a real screamer."

"What about the curse?" Sierra sounded truly curious.

"I'm getting there," Joe grinned. "Three days later, we are out in the bush for some God knows reason I can't remember when Taylor steps on a landmine. 'BOOM!' and Taylor goes flying out into this pond. Rosalita and I go out to get his body. Neither one of us think he's alive. Suddenly he starts swimming towards us. Rosalita pulls him onto the muddy beach and pats down his body, looking for the fatal wound. Luck bastard didn't have a mark on him. Strangest damn thing I've ever seen -- a defective mine. The only thing wrong was his knees were a bit sore."

"Rosalita jumped all over him, bawling like a baby, hugging Taylor and dancing around. She told him she loved him and would love him forever. He tells her he's loved her since he first laid eyes on her. They were never more than fifty meters apart from one another for five years; until she died. Even then, he was right at her side. As I said, that is why a troll like Taylor was with a goddess like Rosalita. He made her happy, he kept her saner, and he'd follow her into any fucked up situation she ran into, even that last time."

Cheyenne looked nervous and her hands were shaking slightly. Joe reached out and put a hand on her knee.

"Don't worry girl. When he is with you, he's with you. That should be all that matters," Joe assured Cheyenne.

"Why didn't he ever tell us this?" Sierra asked.

"What was he going to say? Hey lovers, I've killed people on four continents for money. I've seen friend tortured, buddies blown into so many bits we could never find all the pieces, or I've loved someone so much I had to quite the only job that made me feel alive to become a thug, a petty thief, a criminal. Listen, when I say he sucked as a mercenary, I don't think you understand Taylor." 

"The vast majority of people in the world don't know how to fight -- if they are alone, Taylor can kill them with his hands. When I say he sucked at firearms, I mean that it took him time to aim and shoot at someone, and kill them. Taylor is never going to get over being able do that; for having done that. How is he going to explain it to two girls who've most likely never heard a gun fired in anger, much less fired at them? What can he say?" Joe asked.

"No," Joe added, "he comes home to you two and he's happy. He's deserved to feel that way for five years."

"I'm not so sure he likes me," Sierra said cautiously. Joe laughed again.

"Kid, if he didn't like you, you would know it. I believe he thinks you are hell on wheels. So, you like his girlfriend? All Taylor cares is about is that Cheyenne likes him. He's not territorial. If you make Cheyenne happy, you are fine in his book."

"You don't see a lot of men like that," Sierra admitted.

"He's not most guys," Joe answered.

"He's weird. I don't understand him," Sierra added.

"He gets that a lot. Taylor doesn't try to explain himself," Joe responded.

"Will he ever get over Rosalita?" Cheyenne asked. Joe sighed.

"Short answer: No. Long answer: Do you know why he is called Taylor Eden? It is because that is the name Rosalita gave him. Before that he was Taylor this, or Taylor that. Always Taylor, but always a new last name; it was his thing. When Rosalita took him to bed for the second time, I think he confided in her the reason he changed names like he did. I think she asked him to keep one name -- forever. She chose Eden, because when she was with him, she felt like she was in paradise. So, he is never going to forget her."

"He's also never been in a relationship that has lasted more than a week -- until you two came along. For ten years the only woman in his dreams has been Rosalita, until today. Today, Cheyenne, it was you. So, if you break his heart, I'll put you in intensive care," Joe concluded in a calm voice that was surprisingly full of menace.

"That is the same voice that Taylor talks in when he is about to do something," Cheyenne noted. Joe nodded her understanding.

"He's usually more polite," Sierra said.

"Taylor was always a charmer. Not with the ladies, but when we were talking to the cops, or getting some piece of equipment we had to have, there was Taylor being so civil and polite. It always made me wonder what growing up in his home had been like. The thing was he always tried to avoid killing if possible. He always tried to be reasonable, as long as he could fulfill the contract."

"Why was he shot today then?" Cheyenne asked.

"There was this guy we worked with in Guatemala named Ted. We were supposed to rescue some aid workers being held by some narco-terrorist. We got them out, but on the return trip, Ted decided that one of the female workers should be more 'appreciative'. When Taylor found out, he flipped."

"Did he kick the guy's ass?" Cheyenne interrupted. He had saved her ass after all.

"No, Ted was wiping the floor with him, but he forgot one cardinal rule: where there is Taylor, there is Rosalita. She cut him good, but Taylor stopped her from killing him. We turned him over to the police and he was sent to jail. Taylor was civilized that way. You didn't kill your buddies, but you didn't trample the law either. He has always been weird."

"Anyway, Ted gets out of jail, learns that Rosalita is gone, and apparently goes into the kidnapping business. It took him a while to figure out where Taylor was, most of his old friends wouldn't deal with him anymore -- not that they hate rape, but they hated him for raping a client; that is bad for business. Anyway, Ted figured out where Taylor was and kidnapped a high profile person, knowing who they would most likely turn to his boss for the rescue."

"Taylor shows up and he knows the situation is fucked, but he makes the exchange anyway. Taylor said he'd bring the girl home, so he's got to draw the situation out for the girl to get to cover. There were five of them, plus Ted. Taylor gets a drop on one of the kidnappers, holding him hostage, and tries to get out. Ted kills his own man to get at Taylor. Taylor kills one guy, shoots their ride, and Taylor gets shot in the process."

"Girl's in the driver's seat so Taylor jumps in the back. The stupid bitch doesn't slam the car in reverse and head for the freeway; no, she races up a dead end road. Bad guys pursue on foot. Stupid bitch slams car into the side of a barn and Taylor gets knocked out. Your boy wakes up, saying your name, and looking at the bitch riding him. Apparently danger gets her horny."

"He slept with her?" Cheyenne said in an angry tone.

"No, he woke up and she was having sex with him; not the same thing. Anyway, Farmer Lady showed up, takes them back to the house, he calls me for a rescue, bad guys cut the line, and they flee up to a shack on a hill. It seems the shack had gas tanks in it, so Taylor sets a trap. He lures a guy in and gets the kidnapper to shoot at him, exploding the shack."

"How did he get the guy to shoot at him?" Sierra asked.

"He jumped around until the guy saw him out the window. Taylor ain't too bright. Anyhow, shack goes boom and knocks down the other kidnappers. Farmer Lady, with shotgun runs down and kills one SOB and does a number on Ted's right hand with her second shot. Taylor runs down and stabs another guy with a kitchen knife, ending his career. Taylor and Ted meet. Taylor kills Ted."

"I thought you said Ted wiped the floor with Taylor?" Sierra pointed out.

"Good question Sweet-cheeks. Ted lost the use of his right arm -- his primary. Taylor lost the use of his left hand, so his primary hand was still good. Taylor also had a knife, and Taylor has also gotten better over the years. He's slow, but he learns."

"Do you want me to include how he was taken back down to the Farmer Lady's house and raped again?"

"He had sex twice?" Sierra and Cheyenne squawk simultaneously. 

"Both women at the same so technically three times," Joe informed them, "but in his defense, he had been running around with a bullet wound in his shoulder for an hour. He'd lost a lot of blood, so I'm not sure how coherent he was. He almost forgot to bring along the money."

"What money?" Sierra asked.

"The two million dollar ransom, Brainiac; he was there to pay the ransom for the bitch, remember?"

"He had two million dollars?" Cheyenne stuttered.

"Cheyenne, what is it you think he does?" Joe questioned.

"He works as a security consultant," she said lamely. Joe nodded her head.

"Okay then. Let me say that while he is a security consultant, and he might have a pretty little card that says that, Taylor is someone who rich people pay to have problems go away. If it is borderline legal or flat out illegal, they hire his boss, who uses Taylor as his instrument."

"So people trust him with two million dollars?" Sierra asked.

"Sierra, they trust him with their lives," Joe explained. "After that, two million isn't so much."

"Could Taylor go to jail?" Cheyenne said in a small voice.

"Yes, he could. It is a risk that is part of the profession. Remember what I said though; he is good at what he does. That also requires him to keep secrets, because discretion is what he's hired for. When he comes home and says he can't talk about it, that's because he's told someone he would never talk about it. He's not trying to upset you; he's trying to protect you."

"He's awfully fucked up in the head, isn't he?" Sierra concluded.

"Basically, I have to agree with that assessment. He likes to think he's simple. He's not. He's pretty fucked up, but in a way that's manageable. But then, aren't we all a little fucked?" Joe pondered.

"I should go back and wake him now," Cheyenne told them as she stood. She waited for Joe to challenge her. Joe looked at her watch.

"He'd like that," Joe said instead. "He'd like to wake up and see you. It would mean a lot to him, but promise me -- no sex for twenty-four hours. The boy's half dead but he'll die fucking you if you ask him to."

"I think we can manage one whole day keeping our hands off of him," Sierra smiled. Cheyenne snorted and headed back.

"When do we take him back to the hospital?" Sierra asked. Joe chuckled and shook her head.

"Sierra, he didn't go to a hospital. They tend to ask questions about gunshot wounds. We know a doctor-friend who helps people like us out from time to time. She patched him up. Taylor can talk you two through changing his bandages; he's done it enough times -- Taylor's a cockroach, but he's not bulletproof. Also, no unprotected sex until the doctor says he's okay. Those women didn't appear to be whores, but herpes is forever, so take care."

"I think we can handle that," Sierra admitted. "This explains all his scars. He always said it was because he was clumsy."

"Technically that's the truth." Joe worked something out of her pocket and threw it to Sierra. "These are his antibiotic. Make sure he gets one twice a day," Joe informed her. 

"You sound like you've done this a lot too," Sierra observed.

"What gave it away?" Joe joked. Sierra grinned. 

Joes' other phone rang. Joe held up a hand for silence. "Yes, I'm listening. Oh, that is most unfortunate that Sumo is not an acceptable activity for a five years old; nor is asking a girl to shake her moneymaker on the playground for a piece of the action." Sierra looked at Joe with great curiosity.

"Okay, I'll have to take care of this as soon as I can break free. My husband will pick up the children today and I will deal with this when I get home," Joe said into the phone before hanging up and explained to Sierra, "Day Care: My boy; sometimes I think he wants me to kill him. He is already a business man like his Father."

Joe looks down into her hands and groans, "and they tell me these are the easy years."

"Wait, you have really kids? You weren't shitting us?" Sierra gawked. Joe shook her head.

"Lady, Taylor and I are people. We fuck and that means sometimes we have kids," Joe rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Sierra concluded. "Until you mentioned it I never thought ... about Cheyenne and Taylor having kids. Now ... I don't know."

"What about you and Taylor?"

"What? I'm not sure from day to day if I like the guy," Sierra explained.

"If you think you can do better, go for it. You won't find a man who will treat you better or work harder to make you happy," Joe offered.

"What makes you think he would be interested in me? He has Cheyenne. Even I know that."

"He knows your name. More importantly, he speaks your name without prompting. That's a big step for Taylor. It means he cares," Joe informed her. Sierra had to think that over. She noticed that people were 'he' or 'she'. If she told Taylor someone's name then would remember it for a day or two, but then forget it. She had previously thought it was because he was simple.

"A lot of people's names he knew are dead now, aren't they?" Sierra realized.

"Yep."

"Has forgotten their names?" Sierra asked.

"I doubt it. When you are screaming for someone to duck before they get killed, you can't be caught trying to remember what they go by," Joe pointed out. "Not being the smartest guy in the world, he forced himself to remember their names so he wouldn't let them down. The price of that for a guy like Taylor is that you don't forget."

"I never thought of him that way," Sierra admitted. "He was a little off, a little dangerous, but mostly he tries to be a nice guy. I never thought about him actually killing someone, much less getting hurt. When I first met him he seemed to be in such total control."

"Was he on a job?" Joe inquired. Sierra blushed, remembering the day.

"Yes, yes he was," Sierra admitted. "The job was against me and my boyfriend back then."

"Then you were never in any real danger. Taylor doesn't do wet work and only fucks-up people who won't be reasonable. I imagine that he was quite polite and you were quite reasonable since we are sitting here today. Likewise this must have to do with Cheyenne, because if it wasn't he wouldn't have let you within five miles of her, and by that I mean the cops would be wondering who the corpse in the morgue was," Joe clarified. Sierra lowered her gaze.

"He really loves her then," she sighed, "and she loves him. I think that is my cue to leave."

"Why?" Joe scoffed. "You are his friend and in this city that is a circle of three. There aren't ten people on the planet he'd kill for, but he'd kill for you. Don't throw that away. If you think you can be happy here, give it a shot." Joe stood up.

"I have to go now. Dinner is going to be take-out as it is. If I don't feed the kids by eight, I'll never get them to bed in time," Joe grinned before heading to the door. "Give him those pills, change his dressings each day, and cut yourself some slack. I don't know what you are feeling guilty about, but get over it. You have real friends. That is more than most people have."

Sierra went back to the bedroom and saw Cheyenne sitting on the edge of the bed looking down on Taylor. She walked over and put her hand on Cheyenne's shoulder.

"He normally never lets one of us get this close to him," Cheyenne whispered.

"Huh?"

"He always wakes up when someone comes into the room," Cheyenne explained.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Sierra shrugged. "He hides it well. He must really be tired; all that sex."

Cheyenne looked up to see that Sierra was joking with her. Until that moment she had never considered what that man meant to her, and Cheyenne. Taylor had just been ... Taylor.

He'd nearly ruined her life. He'd scared the crap out of her. Hell, he'd raped her with Cheyenne's help. In a way she'd always held that against him. But he'd also opened his home up to her and allowed her to be close to Cheyenne when Sierra needed some sort of closure in their relationship. In a way he'd shown Sierra what kind of man he could be when he handled her boyfriend. It hadn't occurred to her that she might well have been on the receiving end of one of those beatings.

That had been Taylor's gift to her -- to never let her know how much trouble she was in. She dealt with her demons in her own way and he let her. Taylor could have put her in a hospital, or on a bus out of town, and that would have been that. He'd liked her enough to give her a second chance with Cheyenne and she'd not fucked it up. He was a strange guy.

"Let's get a bite to eat and we can settle into bed with him," Sierra suggested. She took Cheyenne by the hand and led her back to the kitchen. They ate for several minutes in silence.

"I always thought he was trying to be boring," Cheyenne surprising confessed. "I was thinking of leaving him." Sierra looked at her cautiously. "It was that he'd never talk about stuff and I thought he was just uninterested in everything. I never knew that there was another woman and she died, and that something had changed inside him to make him act this way."

"He is kind of boring," Sierra grinned weakly. "He'd have told us but he didn't want our sympathy. He needed time and we -- I -- almost didn't give it to him. Now we know that we can talk to him about the places he's been and the things he's seen. I don't think that will be boring."

"I want to know about her," Cheyenne responded. "Rosalita; it explains so much about him. I always felt like he wanted to hold me close at the same time he didn't want to let me in. I figured he was a guy with commitment issues. I didn't know I was competing with a ghost."

"I don't think that is it," Sierra groped for answers. "How many people love someone so much they want to spend their entire lives with them, only to have that person die feet from you and you can't do anything about it? That kind of pain isn't something you want to go through twice. As his friend said, he was having a dream and he called for you, not of Rosalita. The guy was fucking dying and his mind was clinging to you. How many girls can claim that?"

Cheyenne sighed and nodded. There was another minute of silence. A smile crossed her face as a certain level of understanding and commitment came to her.

"He has to pay for sleeping with those two women," Cheyenne announced.

"Oh, definitely; our boy went way out of bounds," Sierra agreed.

"Tanning beds and our sheerest whites?" Cheyenne suggested for preparing and wearing around the house while he was bedridden.




The Princess and the Fool Ch. 02



"How about those short silky Japanese robes he got for us. We could do a lot of bending over," Sierra added.

"Good idea," Cheyenne said appreciatively. "That should torture him ... say for a week?"

"No sex for a week will be good for him," Sierra smiled wickedly, "but keeping him hard all the time is going to be so much fun!"

(Elsewhere a week later)

Melinda Todd looked at the Lawyer. She was rich enough to get an appointment, but no so rich she didn't have to wait. Waiting on someone else was new to her.

"Mr. Richmond will see you now," the personal assistant said in a very neutral tone. Melinda got up and went in. She'd been in this office a week ago, but now her father wasn't here, just his 'friend', Mr. Richmond.

"Ms. Todd," the man said in a guarded manner.

"Mr. Richmond, I want you to do me a favor," Melinda began. "I want to talk to Taylor."

"I think that would be a mistake," Mr. Richmond told her. "I think your business is concluded."

"You do keep secrets, don't you Mr. Richmond," Melinda stated. He nodded. "We had sex."

To his credit, Mr. Richmond showed no outward reaction.

"And how is that relevant now?" Richmond said carefully.

"I ... it was special. No one has treated me the way he did," she confessed.

"I see ... the matter of him having sex with you will be handled by me. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

It took Melinda a second to register her miscommunication.

"I took him by force, Mr. Richmond. It wasn't his fault," Melinda blurted out.

"Exactly how did this happen?" Mr. Richmond countered with deep suspicion.

"I wrecked the car we were driving after he got shot. I dragged him out and I was ... kind of freaked out about the whole 'shooting' thing. I tried to have sex with him because sex calms me down. He was so banged up he thought I was his girlfriend. By the time he came to, it was too late."

"You raped my employee; is that what you are saying?" Mr. Richmond asked. Melina lowered her gaze and nodded. "I have two questions: consider your answers. What should I do about someone who abuses my employees? What is it you expect Mr. Eden to do about you?"

"I'm not sure," Melinda sighed. "I was hoping that if I could talk to him things would make sense somehow. He's the most honest man I've ever met." That made Richmond snort in amusement. "He is," Melinda insisted.

"Mr. Eden is paid to do many things, but he isn't paid for his honesty. He's civil. Don't confuse the two," Richmond clarified.

"I want to talk with him," Melinda repeated. "Oh, okay. I can do whatever you feel is fair, but I will get to see him, right?"

"We'll see," Richmond said. "Now what about the primary matter; what am I to do with you for harming one of my employees?"

"I ... I don't know. I can pay you," Melinda offered.

"Seriously Ms. Todd, I don't deal in money, I deal in secrets. I have more money than I need. See, you have threatened my livelihood. What would happen if it was learned that one of my employees had sex with a client, or a client's daughter? I'd be looking for a new line of work."

"I didn't think of it that way?"

"But it was okay to have unprotected sex with him, is that it?" Mr. Richmond sighed. "Ms. Todd, I can easily stand by and let you screw up the lives of your so-called friends because they really mean nothing in the larger scheme of things. Mr. Eden is different." 

"Mr. Eden is a valuable tool because he does what he's told and he keeps his mouth shut. Like I will train my son the family business, I can count on Mr. Eden to train his replacement when the time comes. You don't buy men like Mr. Eden at the corner bodega. You raise and train them like you would an award winning thoroughbred," Richmond continued.

"You almost made me forcibly retire Mr. Eden, which would have meant exile, or a grave, depending on how culpable he was in what happened. It would have been five or six years replacing him, which would have cost me important business opportunities. Tell me, what is the dollar amount you would place on the damage you almost caused me?" Melinda had no good answer for that.

"Very well, I consider you a worthy the investment, so if you accept that I will come to you some time in the future and you will do what I or one of my agents require, I am willing to put our differences aside," Mr. Richmond told her. "I have a secondary condition as well. If Mr. Eden will not see you, this is the end of the matter. Do we understand each other?"

"Do you think he will see me?"

"Yes. Mr. Eden is an idiot, especially where women are concerned. I am not sure what you are looking for him to do."

"Mr. Richmond, he saved my life," Melinda explained. Richmond sighed.

"Mr. Todd, it is in his job description. He was told to save your life so he did."

"He took a bullet for me," she tried to make him understand. "No one has ever risked so much for me for so little reason."

"His reason was that he is a professional, Ms. Todd." He looked at her for several moments. "I'm not sure what you are expecting from him. He's a strange man. Please try to return him to me in working order and remember our agreement." Richmond stood up and ushered Melinda to the door.

"As soon as I feel Mr. Eden is better, I let him know of this conversation. I'm sure Mr. Eden will be in touch shortly after that," he said.

That hadn't gone quite the way Melinda had hoped, but she might actually see him anyway. She never felt more alive watching him fighting for her life. He'd killed three men for her, risking his life repeatedly. Melinda couldn't trust any of her other friends to stay sober enough to be the Designated Driver. Only when she got into her car did it dawn on her that Taylor might feel differently about her.