This story is the first outing for a new theme and setting that I’ve kicking around for quite a few years. I decided it was time to let it see the light of day. The story is quite long and there’s a lot of buildup but since I hope this will become a series, I needed to do some scene setting. Indulge me
I believe I owe Michelle some royalties since NoCal is apparently her territory, and must also acknowledge Braveheart for his ‘town of catfighters’ concept though I think this is something rather different.
Scrib
*****
Leila Deppiesse tossed restlessly in bed. It was a warm night but there was a cool breeze off the ocean, and she had her bedroom window open, so she could hear the soft whisper of waves on the beach a block away. Normally that sound helped lull her to sleep, but not tonight.
Tomorrow was an important day. To be more precise, tomorrow night was an important night – maybe the most important she could remember in her twenty four years, and certainly the most bizarre. Not that almost anything that had happened here in Blue Water Harbor over the past three years had been normal.
For as long as she could remember, this had been a sleepy little seaside town where nothing exciting ever happened. People lived here for the peace and quiet, though most of them worked elsewhere. Though Leila herself had been three years old when her family moved here, it was the only the home she could remember.
Her father, Ibrahim, had left his native Algeria in the early 1960s, as a child along with his family. With the wave of fierce nationalism and religious fervor that followed the country’s independence, it was neither the time nor the place to be one of the Kabyles favored by the French colonialists and resented by the rest of the indigenous population. It was especially not the place to be a Catholic. The family emigrated to France where Ibrahim grew up and married Nadia – Leila’s mother – then to Canada where Leila was born, before finally moving here to northern California.
Ibrahim had gotten a job at the town’s general store while his wife cleaned houses for a number of wealthy families who lived in the mansions up on the above the inlet. Eventually Ibrahim had bought the store when its former owner retired, and it had been the family business ever since. Leila and her sister Jamila had grown up playing in the store’s aisles and in the yard out back.
Nothing ever seemed to change in Blue Water Harbor, until two summers ago. Even then, the first hints had been subtle and had generated little more than idle curiosity among the locals. The usual speculation had circulated when Lauren Reeves, who ran the only realty office in town, had announced that two of the long unoccupied mansions on the north side of the inlet had been bought by some wealthy people from Florida. There had been a little more excitement when the two decrepit buildings – one on the beach, the other on the cliff above – had been demolished and new, modern houses of white stucco and gleaming glass had risen in their place. There also the usual grumbling of course from the few old men who spent their days sitting on the store’s front porch, complaining that nothing was ever as good as it used to be.
The arrival of the new occupants had created more of a stir. The two men – Gary King was an engineer, David Masters a surgeon – were cut from similar cloth. Both were blonde haired, good looking, well dressed, intelligent and polite. The doctor was about forty and the engineer maybe ten years younger. Both were obviously long-time friends.
Their wives were something else entirely. The older woman, Jane Masters, was a surgeon herself. She was an olive skinned beauty of Italian descent with dark curly hair that fell almost to the small of her back. What caught the locals’ attention – particularly the men – was her ridiculously buxom figure, which she was certainly not afraid to show off in tight outfits with low necklines. Donna Bertino, the Post Mistress, had summoned up the courage to ask her outright if her breasts were real. Jane had laughed, leaned over the post office counter, taken Donna’s hands and brazenly placed them firmly on her own chest with a wink and an admonishment. “Don’t be shy…feel for yourself.” Donna’s considered opinion to Leila’s mother a week later – she was still blushing – was that they were most definitely real.
The other woman was at first something of a mystery, never showing her face in public for more than a month after moving in. Kathy Lange, who worked as a maid for the Masters couple, had been the first to meet her at their house, and the gossip had soon spread around town. Her name was Morgan Garrett – she used her maiden name – and she was a slender redhead in her late twenties who wore her hair short in a pageboy cut. She was almost as buxom as her friend Jane. Kathy’s report by way of the local hairdresser, Rohini Reeves, was that she was sweet but very shy, moved with difficulty and used crutches to get about. The speculation was that she had been in some kind of serious accident – perhaps a car crash. The reality of course, was worse than that but nobody had known the truth until much later, and most people still didn’t.
The new arrivals had kept to themselves for the first several months, but then had jumped right into the social life of the community, such as it was. Juan and Lisa Ramirez, the mayor and lady mayor who actually lived in the neighboring hamlet of Blue Water Village, had been the first to get a dinner invitation from the Masters. They had contributed little to the town gossip machine afterward, but people noticed that both Juan and Lisa had started to pay more attention to their appearance. Each had joined a gym, lost weight and dressed better. There had been rival rumors that Juan was having an affair with Jane Masters, or that his wife was having one with Jane’s husband. As the town learned later, both rumors were true. That was the start of the community’s journey down the ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ road.
Other couples and families had been invited in turn. Without exception, each of the husbands or boyfriends had intimated, with varying degrees of detail, how the evening had ended with him in bed with Jane Masters. Their wives and girlfriends had revealed that they too had had passionate encounters with both the Masters, often all together in the same room.
David and Jane did not seem at all perturbed by the stories buzzing about. When someone had made a chance remark at the gas station one morning, Jane had reportedly replied with a wink and a smile, “We love our friends, and they love us.”
It had been a month or two later when Leila’s family got their invitation. Leila remembered being in awe of the house with its enormous living room, panoramic views across the bay from the town to the Pacific Ocean, by Jane’s chef-quality cooking, and by the warmth of their hosts. The gathering also included Gary King and Morgan Garrett. Morgan had been getting about more easily by that time, had joined the local gym in Blue Water Village and could be seen running on the beach most mornings.
The Deppiesses had been reserved at first. Leila herself could not understand how the stodgy citizens of Blue Water Harbor had willingly involved themselves in was basically an unofficial swingers’ club. This was California, but the age of free love was long gone. Were there drugs in the food? What was going on here?
The food – drugged or not – was amazing, and wine flowed freely. The newcomers were irresistibly friendly, and their openness was contagious. By the main course, the eight of them were getting along like old friends. By dessert, there were laughs, smiles and lingering light touches of arm on arm.
Leila had never forgotten the moment when, after they retired to the living room for coffee and cognac – she had never drunk cognac in her life and nor, to the best of her knowledge, had anyone in her family – Jane Masters had appeared in front of her, took her gently by the shoulders and planted a firm kiss on her lips. Leila had wanted to be shocked – wasn’t that the proper reaction when another woman kissed you out of the blue? Instead though, she found her arms sliding around the shorter woman’s waist – Leila was five feet nine and, at that time, a curvy one hundred fifty pounds. Her mouth had opened to admit Jane’s tongue, and in her mind she could still hear the soft moan that had emanated into their kiss.
When she finally opened her eyes, her mother had been in David Masters’ arms, her father in Morgan Garrett’s and her sister writhing on the floor, already half naked on top of Gary King. Again, Leila somehow couldn’t find it in herself to be shocked. It all just seemed right. She had understood then, how the others had felt, and had felt a mild pang of jealousy that she hadn’t been invited here – hadn’t felt this feeling – sooner. It was as though she had been asleep all her life and had now awoken for the first time. She had loved Jane Masters with a passion ever since, and that passionate was returned in equal measure.
It had been long after sunrise when they had left the Masters house – the store opened late that day – and Leila had made love with all four of the newcomers during the night, as had her parents and her sister. Her Papa had drawn the line at coupling with his own daughters, but Leila had watched her mother triple penetrated by him, David and Gary, while loving every instant of it. It was not something Leila had ever expected to witness, but again she had been unable to find it disturbing.
Things had been wonderful for a year or more. She had spent at least one night a week, often more, with Jane and David. She had come to adore him almost as much as she did Jane. Morgan and Gary were frequent visitors, as were college professor Sean Sevrin and his wife Lynda Ward, friends of the Masters who had followed them west.
Others in town felt the same way towards all of the newcomers but as far as Leila could tell, there was no jealousy about that. Everyone was affected by the same hedonistic zeal – the whole town had gotten sex on the brain – but there was no shortage of willing partners to go around. The Labor Day party at Bill’s Bar on the beach that year, was still a legend around town. Everyone who had been there had sworn they got off with everybody else. Leila herself had been present and, from her recollection, they were all probably right.
Libidos were off the scale all over town. It became a common thing to walk into a room, a store, or even come around a street corner to find two – or often more – people locked in an amorous embrace. Orgies in Bill’s Bar became a regular occurrence. The Mayor had even had to issue a proclamation – the only one anyone could remember – banning people from fucking in the
actual street after a delivery truck had almost killed a couple in the middle of Pines Boulevard late one night.
During that time, Leila had learned something of the reasons behind the effect the new arrivals had had, and the change that had occurred throughout the community. At first she had not been able to believe it. “We’re indwelt,” Jane had told her as they curled up in the Masters’ enormous bed. “Possessed, if you will.” Leila had laughed, thinking Jane was kidding, but she went on, “That’s what gives us our talents…our powers if you like…and the effect we have on others.”
Jane explained to the reluctant Leila that they were part of a group known as The Pride, all of whom were indwelt with the spirits of long-dead big cats. They collectively owned an organization called the Felix Foundation, which was dedicated to finding and helping people like themselves. The group controlled a hedge fund worth billions, which they used to further their aims. “You find this hard to believe,” said Jane. “Imagine if it was happening
to you.” Her lovely face grew somber for a moment. “There are those who’ve got insane from it, without help.
Jane was right – Leila hadn’t believed it at first. It was simply too incredible, though at the same time she really
wanted to believe it – to believe that her new best friends were not delusional or lying to her. She had checked out the Felix Foundation and their assets, and everything they had told her was true. The evidence was here in town too – how else could anybody explain the change that had come over literally everyone? It took months for her to truly accept it, but Jane and David, Morgan and Gary had finally made a believer out of her. “Not many people know of us, and most people don’t care anyway,” Jane had told her. She laughed. “They’re just enjoying the best sex of their lives. Most people who do know, usually don’t believe…but you’re not most people.” She had kissed Leila. “You deserve to know what this is all about…and the dangers.”
Leila hadn’t known what Jane meant about dangers until the following spring, when Aisha Pashir moved into a newly constructed house overlooking Blue Water Village. She too was a member of the Pride, revealed Jane, but not a friend. Aisha had been banished some years ago, which led to a schism in the group when she had taken a number of others with her. “Aisha gets off on control,” explained Jane with uncharacteristic venom. “Power games are her thing.” Those power games had almost ruined the Pride financially and nearly led to the death of Lynda Ward, at that time the newest member of the group. Leila had never learned all the details, but apparently Lynda, Morgan and even Jane had fallen into Aisha’s clutches over the years. “Stay away from her,” advised Lynda. “She’ll try to control you, and what she can’t control, she destroys.”
Their enmity toward Aisha however, was nothing compared to their hatred for Monique Morgaine, who had arrived in Blue Water Harbor just a year ago. There had been a party at Waves, the best restaurant in town when the statuesque blonde, almost six feet tall, had swept into the room and marched up to their table uninvited. Jane had literally hissed with anger at the sight of her and Morgan, fair skinned under normal circumstances, had gone white as a ghost. Leila had not heard much of the short conversation between Jane and Monique, more intent on attending to the visibly shaking Morgan.
“Aisha enjoys power,” Jane had told her later, “but Monique gets the same kind of thrill from pain.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. “You
don’t want to fall into her hands.
Monique had also bought a house up in the valley behind the village, purchasing through a third party before anyone knew who the real buyer was. She had moved in with her lover Angelina Suarez, who was almost the antithesis of Monique – barely five feet tall, slender and dark haired.
Things had taken a radical turn from that time on. The townsfolk had begun to align themselves into three camps under Jane’s, Aisha’s and Monique’s leadership, and it was not long before people were talking of them as the Pleasure, Power and Pain Cults respectively. It soon became a kind of cold war between the factions.
There was power – and safety – in numbers, so each cult did its best to attract followers. There were some whose proclivities bent them easily toward one camp or another, and there were some who crossed boundaries according to whim. Others did so less willingly – the Power and Pain Cults particularly had no qualms about taking and using any who crossed their paths for their own dark games. Most such abductions were temporary, though some became semi-permanent by accident or design, as abductees discovered unknown perversions within themselves, or as their captors deliberately and methodically subjugated them.
Over time, rules had evolved within the game. Nobody could be taken without the right to defend himself or, more frequently, herself. Anyone who won a fight could walk free, and such fights were one-on-one. Of course, that didn’t stop the unscrupulous from teaming up to challenge a desired victim one after another, wearing her down until one finally defeated her. The defeated were at the mercy of their captors, but then local police chief Ray Centowski stepped in. Like most of the men in town, he wasn’t exclusively for one cult or the other though rumor had it he spent a lot of time up at Monique Morgaine’s house. He declared that abductions could last no more than twenty four hours unless the abductee gave his or her consent. There were a surprisingly large number of such consents.
Leila had been challenged to fight twice – both times by followers of the Pain Cult. Both were single combats and she had prevailed both times – her size worked in her favor. Nevertheless, she had learned to be prudent as to where and when she appeared in public, and to go in company whenever possible. It was usually easy to spot the Power Cult’s followers by their black collars, and those of the Pain Cult from their piercings, though that wasn’t always a reliable indicator since the Pain Cult sometimes pierced their captives during their rituals, and many of those captives continued to wear their adornments after their release, as trophies of their ability to endure.
Leila had remained loyal to the Masters and the Pleasure Cult, as had the rest of her family. It was that loyalty – and the decision she had made as a result – that disturbed her sleep now. She was about to declare herself, formally and publicly, as a follower of the Pleasure Cult. Everyone in town already knew her position, of course, but by taking this step she was not only elevating her commitment, but also drawing attention to it. As Jane had taken great pains to explain to her, that would also make her a target. Though her loyalty was unwavering, she knew the cost of the choice she had made.
*****
Her family drove with her to Blue Water Village the next evening, to the grey and white, marble and glass edifice on the peninsula that everyone had come to call the Cats’ Lair. This was where the Pride’s factions came together to conduct their business, and was regarded as neutral territory – perhaps the only such safe haven. Built on massive concrete pillars over a lake, its lowermost floor more than twelve feet above the water’s surface, it could only be accessed via an elevator to the third floor, then a bridge to the central building with its lobby bar. The auditorium, where business would be conducted, was on the floor below. Leila had been here on a number of occasions and it had always struck her that the building had been deliberately designed upside down. Tonight however, her mind was preoccupied with other things than architecture.
Jane was conspicuous in a yellow cocktail dress that hugged every curve of her body, scooped low in front to display a generous amount of cleavage. She spotted the Deppiesses as soon as they entered. Making her way to the door along with her husband, she greeted Leila with a kiss, followed by her father, mother and sister in turn. The room was packed. “You’ve drawn quite a crowd,” observed Jane, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.
Leila had dressed in a clinging orange sleeveless dress that set off her caramel skin, and matching four inch heels that had her towering over her friend and mentor. Jane’s left breast pressed firmly into her side beneath her ribs as she returned the hug. She felt the familiar stirring, deep in her belly – the feeling she always got around Jane. Her nerves abated a little.
Her father and David Masters who, like most of the men here, was attired in khakis and a sports jacket, went off to the bar to get them some drinks. Leila looked around the bar. “All these people came just to hear me?” she asked, somewhat incredulously.
Jane’s smile faded a little. “Some of them. Others are most likely here to see how the other cults react.”
Leila looked at her nervously. “What do you think will happen?”
The older woman looked at her sternly. “Like I told you before, prepare to be challenged. One group or the other is bound to do so…even if it’s only out of spite.” She had warned Leila days ago, that the Pain Cult or the Power Cult would likely challenge her declaration, and she would need to defend her decision with her fists and claws in the arena, in front of an audience. That would not happen here however, nor would it happen tonight.
She gazed around the room. It was not big enough for groups to really separate from one another, but the crowd had nonetheless divided into its three factions who practically rubbed shoulders with one another.
Aisha Pashir stood in the far corner, holding court dressed in her customary white with her close cropped, jet black hair gleaming in the light, though the thin shell she wore beneath her light jacket added a splash of vermillion. A slender, pale-skinned blonde stood at her elbow – her secretary and live-in lover, Jenni Haversham. They were surrounded by a knot of followers, both men and women. The women, with only one or two exceptions, wore patent leather collars. Aisha wasn’t prone to collaring her male minions.
Monique Morgaine stood with her back to the wall on the other side of the room, swathed in black from head to toe. Her white blonde hair, artfully arranged atop her head, accentuated her impressive height. She gazed haughtily at both Jane and Aisha, with equal disdain, over the heads of the small crowd of devotees who surrounded her. Her acolyte, Angelina, stood at her side, firing dagger-like glances in all directions. It was almost ludicrous to think of the petite Latina as a bodyguard, but Leila had seen her in action, and she fought like a woman possessed – which indeed she was. It was said that Angelina only smiled when she was hurting someone.
Morgan Garrett stood on Leila’s other side in a vivid green and black print sheath dress that set off her red hair strikingly. Taller than Jane, shorter than Leila, she was looking anywhere but at Angelina. Leila had learned the truth of the ‘accident’ that had preceded her arrival here in California. Monique and her followers had taken Morgan unawares at a club in Miami, and Angelina had tortured her mercilessly for almost a week before the Masters and the Sevrins had found and rescued her. It had taken multiple rounds of reconstructive surgery to put her body back together. Her mind, and most of all her courage, was still a work in progress. Leila gave her a reassuring hug and a peck on the cheek, then sent a venomous glare in Angelina’s direction. She would love to get her claws into that little bitch. Part of her hoped that the Pain Cult would indeed challenge her.
The Pleasure Cult was well represented of course. Besides the Masters, Morgan and Gary, the Sevrins and Leila’s own family, there was Donna Bertino who ran the Post Office, with her daughter Olivia who had just graduated high school and was now allowed to attend these kinds of gatherings. Chatting with them was Pete Otto, the local contractor who had built this complex. His wife Samantha was once again pregnant though the way things were, it was anyone’s guess who the biological father was. They were accompanied by their two grown-up daughters Sharla and Toni, along with Pete’s mother Dora, the town’s most notorious ‘cougar’ whose well publicized intention was to fuck everybody in town, man or woman. She was well on the way to achieving that goal.
“Who do you think will challenge me?” Leila asked Jane, accepting a glass of wine from David. She had wondered whether she should stick with water, but decided a drink would calm her nerves. Public speaking wasn’t something she was used to.
“I hope it’s neither of them, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“I give equal odds to either of them,” interjected David, “or even both.”
Leila’s eyes widened. “You really think so?”
“They hate each other as much as they hate us. If one of them challenges, the other might do so, just to be vindictive.”
Jane laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry honey…even if that happens, you won’t have to fight them both at the same time.” She gave her husband a reproving look. “David, stop frightening the girl.” She steered to conversation to more innocuous topics.
They chatted for a half hour or so before David glanced at his watch and leaned close to Jane. “We should head downstairs. Show time.”
Jane gave Leila another kiss and a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do great,” she smiled.
Lynda Ward kissed her as well. “We’d better go down too,” she said, flashing the smile that had graced a hundred magazine covers back in her days as one of New York’s top models. “I want to make sure we get good seats. Give us a minute or two, then come down.” She and Sean followed Jane and David to the nearer of the two staircases that led down to the auditorium.
Leila finished her drink and, flanked by her parents with her sister trailing behind, joined the tail end of the stream of people making their way downstairs. At the bottom, they followed a narrow corridor around a corner until it opened onto the rear of the expansive room that now reverberated with the same buzz of conversation that the bar upstairs had done, a few minutes before.
The auditorium was precisely square, with four double doors in each wall, including the door through which Leila had just entered. Three low podiums, no more than knee high, stood before the other three doors, and there was a fourth such platform in the very center of the room. Most of the seats in the room were already full. Leila had been told which one to take, on the aisle at the rear, and did so with the rest of her family beside her. It was several more minutes before people finished filing into the room. A few people remained standing around the walls, talking in muted voices.
Conversation ceased abruptly however, when Jane stepped up the center podium, across the room from Leila. Lynda Ward stood at the base of the platform behind her. Leila had expected Morgan to be Jane’s second but she sat off to the right, flanked by her husband and David Masters, holding hands with both of them. Almost at the same instant that Jane ascended the single step to the platform, Monique Morgaine did the same to the podium on the left, and Aisha Pashir to the one on the right. Angelina stood behind Monique, Jenni behind Aisha.
Leila had been briefed on what to expect next. In unison, the three women’s voices echoed throughout the room. “Who comes before us, to pledge allegiance?”
The silence in the room was eerie. Taking a deep breath, Leila stood. “I do.”
“Come forward,” the three intoned together, “and present yourself.”
She walked slowly down the aisle that led to the platform in the center of the room, her eyes fixed on a point a foot above Jane’s head, and mounted the steps. She looked from Jane to Monique, then to Aisha, then back to Jane.
“Speak.”
Leila kept her eyes focused on Jane. “I’ve been…your follower…since the day we met.” She spoke loudly and clearly, though the words brought forth the memories of the joyful, loving times she had spent in the company of this woman, her husband and the others of the Pleasure Cult. Those memories in turn summoned happy tears, but she maintained her composure.
“I’m Leila Deppiesse, and I declare myself,” she continued, “once and for all, to the service of the Pleasure Cult.” The butterflies in her stomach, the knowledge that every eye in the room was fixed upon her, made her mindful of her First Communion in the church up on the hill behind Blue Water Harbor. The church had closed years ago, and old habits remained. She had to resist an urge to cross herself, holding her arms rigid at her sides.
There were many more things she could have said – the kind of pledges she had heard others make over the past year – but she had already said those things to the people who mattered. Jane, for her part, had promised not to question her in front of the crowd. She simply asked, “Do you promise to honor and protect those to whom you have sworn your oath?”
Leila nodded and replied loudly, “I do.”
“Then we accept your pledge,” pronounced Jane. Leila saw the smile in her eyes, but her face remained stern as she continued. “Before we welcome you though, there are forms that must be observed. “Does anyone challenge Leila’s assertion that her heart lies with the Pleasure Cult?”
She looked to her left – Leila’s right – first, at Aisha, but Monique Morgaine cut in before Aisha had a chance to speak. “I challenge her,” she announced in her lilting French accent. She looked at Leila, her head tilted loftily. “I’ve had reports of her…the way she pushes herself in the gym, always forcing herself beyond her limits…the intensity with which she fights…and fucks. She is fooling herself. In her heart, she is a Pain Seeker. The Pain Cult desires this one.”
Leila felt her heart pounding in her chest. While she knew it was Jane’s place to speak for her in this, she could not help herself. “But I
don’t desire you!” she retorted.
Monique looked at her scornfully and let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh
Ma Cherie…after a short vacation with us, you’ll beg to lick my
chatte.”
“I claim the right of trial by combat,” Leila said. “If I lose the fight,
then we’ll see if you can break me.”
“Oh we will.” Monique’s smile did not waver. “
Certainement.”
Leila saw the corners of Angelina’s mouth flicker upwards in a brief smile.
Smug little xxxxxxxxxx.. “Who’s going to fight me?” she asked, her nerves forgotten for the moment as her anger bloomed. “Your
naine?” Leila’s father and mother had spoken French at home throughout her childhood, and she was completely fluent. She enjoyed the blaze of fury in Angelina’s eyes at the insulting pejorative
dwarf.
Monique was tight lipped. “One week from tonight....10pm,” she snapped, “at the basement in San Vicente.”
“She’ll be there,” interrupted Jane. “But tonight, we welcome her to the Pleasure Cult. This meeting is over.”
“Enjoy her while you can,” Monique shot back. “A week from now, I’ll make her my pet.” She looked at Leila with obvious relish.
Leila glanced the other way, at Aisha Pashir who stood regarding the venomous exchange with a faint smile. “I’ll be there, at my usual table,” she promised. “I hope you’ll at least make it entertaining.” To Leila’s relief, she did not make a challenge of her own, and stepped down from her podium.
Jane stepped forward, off the platform where she stood, then ascended to Leila. She hugged Leila tight, her bosom crushed hard against Leila’s ribs beneath her own breasts, then stretched up to kiss Leila lingeringly on the lips. “Come, darling,” she murmured, her eyes hooded. “We’ve got a very warm welcome planned for you.” She led Leila toward the doors behind her podium. David, Gary and Morgan already waited there, soon joined by Sean and Lynda, then the Ottos and the Bertinos. “This is Olivia’s first
soiree,” said Jane. “Let’s show her just why we’re called the Pleasure Cult.” Arm in arm, they passed through the doors and down the hallway to the private apartment beyond.
*****
Leila trained hard over the next week. She got up earlier than normal each morning, drove to the gym over in Blue Water Village and did two hours of weights and cardio before work. When she was finished in the store for the day, she changed into her workout gear again and ran the mile and a half around the bay to the Masters’ house where she sparred for an hour in their private gym.
Jane was on duty at the hospital where she and David worked for the first three days of the week so Morgan joined her as a sparring partner. At first Leila was surprised at the ferocity with which the redhead fought. “You think the Pain Seekers will pull their punches?” she asked acidly, then added in a friendlier tone, “Besides, there are advantages to being indwelt. We have a high tolerance for pain, and we recover fast from injuries. So don’t hold back, girl…gimme your best shot!”
Leila did as she was told, and they each pushed one another to their limits. By the time Jane joined them late in the week and also faced Leila, she was impressed. “You’re as ready as you can possibly be,” she pronounced as she climbed to her feet, rubbing her jaw after a punch from Leila that had knocked her flat on her back. “From here on, it’s all about heart.” She hugged Leila tight. “And that, my darling, you have in spades.”
CONTINUED BELOW...
