JACKAL
Animal sex: it involves competition, fighting. Macho males fanning out their pretty tail feathers to attract the females then putting on a show of violence amongst each other.
I can’t walk. Phoenix had her way with me and it wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined. No release, no blissful, toe-curling end, just muscles coiling tighter and tighter, working so hard I finally felt like a boneless sack of flesh. There was a dewy sheen on her skin when I left, but other than that, she was barely winded. I acted like it was nothing, waving goodbye to her, and then once I was out of sight, limping to the elevator. I collapse in the back seat of the car, Yvonne looking at me curiously from the rearview mirror.
“Home,” I say through gritted teeth.
My appointments start in two hours and I have no idea how I will summon the strength to fuck three women. Selfish is lounging outside in the sun when I get back, her feet propped on the table and her head tilted back. She’s wearing a pair of my sunglasses.
“How’d it go, twinkle toes?” She lifts the glasses to eye me, then settles them back on her nose before resuming her sunbathing.
I sit in the chair opposite her, eyeing the pool. I have time for a swim; maybe that will revive me enough to get through the rest of my day.
“A ballerina in the morning, whore in the afternoon. It’s all in a day's work.” I lean forward and pluck a grape from the bowl. Selfish eats them frozen. It’s endearing. I pull up my Silverbook, the day’s news flashing in front of me.
“What’s your angle with this ballerina anyway? If you need more women to fuck, we can add another body to your day.”
I don’t answer her. The news is reporting about the riots in the Red Region.
“It’s only getting worse since they locked Gwen Allison up,” Selfish says, looking away. “Gave her baby to someone else to raise…the rebels are incited. Say she didn’t do anything wrong…”
“She didn’t,” I shoot back.
Selfish abandons my sunglasses on the table and looks at me through narrowed eyes.
“You need to watch what you say, Jackal. Times are changing and the Society’s hackles are raised. Folsom did the wrong thing by running—”
“Don’t talk about Folsom,” I interrupt. “Don’t say his name.”
“Touchy.” She grins.
“He’s my family. He did what he needed to do. That makes his son my family too. And I’ll do whatever it takes to help both of them.”
I stand up to leave, the sight of her making me sick. At least I’ve shut her up. She stares at the pool and not me—tight-lipped, her forehead creased. I probably shouldn’t have said all of that; she’s bound to run back to the Society, a little narc. I head for the pool, and standing on the edge, I strip off the sweaty clothes I wore to the studio. Let her look. The one woman I would never fuck is Selfish. Naked, I dive in.
The cold water rolls over me as I go under, a thrust of corpse blue erupting around my head, making my skin ache. Despite my muscle fatigue, I manage to swim a dozen laps before dropping onto one of the lounge chairs to dry off. Selfish has retired inside, and I close my eyes against the sun and think about…Phoenix.
Rule number one of the End Men: don’t fall in love. The next rule is self-explanatory: no relationships. To the best of my knowledge, Folsom has broken both of those rules, and now all twelve Regions are looking for him.
I shake the water out of my hair, staring blindly at the pool. Phoenix doesn’t even like me; in fact, she appears to hate me, and for that reason, I like her more. My cock twitches and I look down at it in surprise. The Society took away man’s ability to hunt. Folsom and I have talked about it before. Part of our primal urge is to find a mate we are willing to preen for and then fight other males to prove our strength and virility. A different kind of hunting. With women thrown at me all day, spreading their legs without a hint of emotional resistance, I’ve grown bored. Sort of like putting a lion in a zoo. If I said that to Phoenix, she’d mock me. I smile at the thought of her, and then I stand up. Full day of fucking ahead.
The first two fucks are a blur. By the time I get to the penthouse of my last appointment, every muscle in my body feels like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer. My brilliant idea of ballet lessons with the almighty ballerina doesn’t seem like such a great idea anymore. Except the way she looked in her leotard. There was even a tiny hole on her ass. Definitely worth it.
Foregoing all formality, Eva answers the door completely naked. Blond…everywhere…her too big hair and too big tits and too big bush make me tired. But I grin and tweak her breast like it’s the most beautiful fucking breast I’ve ever seen. I can normally find something beautiful in every woman; it’s my gift.
Eva must have a lovely voice.
“Jackal,” she croaks.
Fuck me.
“Oh poor thing, you look exhausted.” Her voice sounds like the old recordings of that actress Rose-something. The comedian. “Come here, I know just the thing,” she says.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. Her view of the city is incredible, but I’m directed to the king-size bed. She sweeps the pillows off the bed with a dramatic swoosh.
“Face down,” she commands.
Her voice makes my dick want to shrivel up and crawl back inside my body.
I obey, lying face down, and she begins a slow massage, beginning with my head and moving to my shoulders. Her gift. I moan and carry on when she works the kinks out of my back, and I’m so grateful for her miraculous hands by the time she’s finished, that I turn over and let her ride me until she comes three times.
“You’re a god,” she whispers on my way out.
It’s true. Women spend their time in front of me on their knees.
That’s right, sweetie, you should stick with whispering. I pat her back fondly and thank her for the massage.
I’m in the car and dreaming of my bed when my message notification pops up in front of me. I turn it off of idle and the words materialize.
I’ve found her.
I want my bed, God, I want my bed, but I redirect Yvonne to the lower end instead.
She’s sitting in the same booth, causing the same air of tense excitement in the bar as the last time. Cigarette dangling from magenta lips, she shuffles a deck of cards and lays them out in front of her.
“Solitaire,” I say.
She nods. “Play games with yourself and you don’t get burned.”
I sit down across from her and order a cocktail.
“You drink like a girl,” she says.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. So, you found her.”
“I found her.”
“That didn’t take long,” I say. “Show me…”
She taps her Silverbook and a rotating image appears between us. I squint my eyes at it until a picture of Gwen comes into focus. She looks different—a little frayed around the eyes. She’s thinner, but it’s her.
I swallow and collapse the picture. The Society is punishing her, no doubt hoping to draw Folsom out of hiding. Does he know? How much? What would he do if he saw this photograph?
“Where?” I ask.
“Admax. In the Yellow Region.”
I throw my head back, glancing at the ceiling. “How recent is this picture?”
“It was taken earlier this afternoon.”
“I’ve heard Admax is impossible to get into…got any suggestions on how I can get her out?”
She shakes her head. “I’m the information person, not the solution person, pretty boy.”
I rub my hands over my eyes. “Well, that’s fucking great.”
“Hey, you wanted the information. I got you the information.”
“No, I know. I appreciate it.” I hand her an envelope of cash and stand up to leave. “Really, thanks.”
“You know where to find me,” she says.
“Who do I ask for when I come back?” I smirk, waiting to see if I’ll have any luck this time.
“See you around, End Man,” she says, smirking back.
I tip my head to her and walk out, wondering how in the hell I can get word to Folsom.