inferno

this is julian sark beginning as a fifteen year old boy. he's growing up. unfortunately, i don't own any of the characters. i'm putting this as rated-r because there's death and some sex. i've been writing it for a while. got maybe four chapters done. let me know if you like it.


the temptress

“julian, be reasonable,” the voice on the other line said.
he threw the phone against the wall. he did not want to be reasonable. he did not want to be patient. he was almost fifteen years old god dammit. how much longer did he have to be patient before his father took interest in him? before his father stopped beating his mother? how could his mother stay married to a man who pummeled her face in a few times a week and call that being reasonable?
julian heard the phone ringing in a far off room. the receiver he had thrown against the wall had unhooked from the line and was not ringing. but he ignored the sound. he did not need his mother to tell him that everything was fine. that his father would always love him. he hated it when she said that.
eventually the phone stopped. but it still took sometime before his anger subsided. when it finally did, he looked around the room. everything was perfect, set in its place. the brown leather sofa faced a closed entertainment system that housed a 39” tv, a dvd/vcr and a stereo. in front of the sofa sat the mahogany coffee table with magazines stacked just so on it. two matching brown leather chairs were on either side of the sofa, tilted diagonally so the persons sitting in them could watch the television, or talk to someone on the couch by only having to turn their head. paintings lined the walls. candles adorned the coffee table and tables next to the two chairs. floor lamps spread their light on the room. it was the perfect pottery barn living room.
julian glanced to the entertainment system. he thought of the movies he had seen his father watching late one night. pornographic movies. types of movies any teenage boy would like to watch. first he went to his bedroom, pulled his down comforter and pillow off of his neatly made bed and went back to the living room. he dropped them on the couch and headed for the liquor cabinet. then he rifled through the dvds. finally he was content.
scotch and lesbian pornography. what more could a teenage boy want? how about his father not to beat his mother? julian thought. but he wiped the thought from his mind as the movie started.
soon everything bad seemed gone from his life. one hand pouring scotch down his throat, the other stroking his solid c***, eyes on the screen as one woman strapped on a dildo, he was happy.
yet a noise pierced through his joyful bubble. he heard his father stumbling and muttering as he walked down the hallway. soon he would be fumbling with the keys to open the door. and then he would discover his son with his scotch and his porn.
julian leapt from the couch. a thought crossed his mind. killing his father. then and there. he had thought about it before, but now he had the chance. he poured the scotch all over the living room. as his father tried to find the right key on his keychain, julian poured vodka in the kitchen, rum in his parents’ bedroom. then his father was inside, yelling at the fact that the porn was still on the television. but julian was in his own room. he packed a few new outfits, money from under floorboards and a picture of his mother. then he pulled out the matches. his father was so drunk, it was easy to sneak past him. when julian was on the other side of the living room, he struck a match and dropped it. the penthouse went up in flames, his father stumbling around inside.
by the time the fire alarms went off, julian was already heading out the front doors. he blended in with the rush of people, racing out of the building. then he slipped into the night.
***
gunshots rang out in the distance. first two. then another. two more. another. two more. another. who shot in such a tapped out beat? then one. then three. another. four. the slamming of a car door. two more shots. another shot, a different gun. the first gun, a beretta d cougar l, one shot. two more. how many people were dying? the second gun shot one. another. the first gun again, two shots. another. four shots. one shot. another. two quickly in a row. one. three, no four. a car screeched by. one last shot and it was over. forty-three shots, julian had counted. who wasted that many bullets? how many times would the f***er have to reload? and how many people did he kill in the process?

after school, walking home
fresh dirt under my fingernails
and i can smell hot asphalt
cars screech to a halt to let me pass


he was on his way home from jenny’s, or was it carrie’s? or tara’s? which ever one of “the girls” had served him that day, he was on his way home from their place of work. it was sweltering hot out, the tar of the road seemed to be melting under his feet. he wasn’t watching where he was going. he was trying to calculate in his mind how many times the beretta would have to have reloaded. a car slammed on its brakes, the bumper lightly tapping his knees. how classically cliched he thought to himself. he hadn’t so much as flinched when the car hit him, and the car hadn’t leaned on its horn.

the air was more than human
the heat was more than hungry
the cars were square and spitting diesel fumes


the black passenger’s door opened and a woman stepped out. she was tall and dark and beautiful. tall dark and handsome. classically cliched julian thought. she looked him right in the eye. even though he was only fifteen, few people were able to stare him down. his blue eyes seemed to pierce theirs and they always looked away, but not her. her brown eyes tore holes into his; it was he who had to look away.
“come,” she said.
“aren’t you at least going to offer me candy?” he smirked.
“now.”
he did as he was told without hesistation and hopped in the back seat of the car. the woman got back in the passenger’s seat, and the car took off. they sat in silence as the car drove down the residential streets. there was a driver in a chauffer’s uniform, eyes straight on the road. julian was alone in the back seat, the woman who had told him to get in was in the front seat, staring out the window, eyes wandering as though aimlessly.
“that was good reloading on the beretta. very fast,” julian said.
he liked making an impression, and since very few fifteen year olds could identify the beretta and know how many shots it had before it had to reload, he thought it would be a good way to impress the woman. but she was quiet, didn’t even move.
“i couldn’t identify the other gun though, what was it?” he continued his attempt at a conversation.
“it wasn’t my gun, i do not know,” the woman replied.
short and sweet. leaving him simply begging for more. he knew he shouldn’t, but he asked questions.
“who’s was it?”
the woman turned around and once more stared him down. she seemed so fierce, so in control. julian longed to know more.
“why did you get in the car with me?” the woman asked, turning around and looking out the window once more.
“you told me to.”
“you should learn not to do all the things people tell you,” she said.
there was silence. he desparately wanted her to keep talking.
“well why did you ask me to get in your car?” he asked.
“you need to answer my questions before i consider answering yours,” she replied. “why did you get in the car with me?”
“i already said, because you told me to. you are gorgeous and looked a lot better than where i was headed,” he explained.
“where were you headed?”
he didn’t answer. he hated this line of questions. anything but his personal life, where he lived, where he worked. he slept in an abandoned building. every once in a while he would find a job he could do for someone, make some money, but usually he had to steal. he took clothes off clotheslines and slipped food under his shirt while the market owner bartered with someone over prices.
“judson street,” he replied, intentionally not being specific.
“that isn’t a residential area,” the woman said.
she waited for him to respond. he knew he had to, it had been his choice to get into the car with her after all.
“yeah. i sleep in an abandoned building,” he said. he tried to say it with as much confidence as he had before, as though he couldn’t care less.
“where are your parents?” she asked.
“my mother lives in ireland,” he replied. “i killed my father.”
his voice didn’t waver. it was the one thing in his life that he was truly proud of. the son of a b**** deserved to die.
“how?”
he couldn’t detect the slightest variation in the way she talked. he couldn’t get anything from her.
“lit fire to the flat,” he said.
she sighed. “are you sure you killed him?”
he wondered. he hadn’t read it in the paper; he hadn’t bothered to look.
“look lady, why does this all matter to you?” he snapped.
she turned around once more. her eyes traced his face. he tried to stay stoic, but was pretty sure he looked like a lost child.
“you didn’t flinch,” she said quietly.
“what?”
“you didn’t flinch,” she repeated. “the car hit you, tapped your legs. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t care if you were going to die right there.”
“so you want to know everything about me?” he asked.
she sighed. “i need someone like you. to work for me.”
what?! the question formed in his mind but his mouth wouldn’t let it out. she just shot thirty-nine shots from a beretta into someone, and she wants me to work with her? but slowly, he calmed down, considered the possibility.
“what would i be doing?”

m-c
 
oooooo...that WAS GOOD. I'm so glad that you pm'd me!!!! it was awsome...but megan needs MORE!!!!!! (and i don't really much nc-17 in here :lol: ) jk
 
this is a short chapter so i thought i might as well post it. i'm glad you guys are liking this.

the room

she took him back to her house. he told her his whole story. she had people checking it as he spoke. he told the truth. she welcomed him to her operation. he was told nothing. told to get some sleep. take a shower. he did as he was told.
curled up in one of the four posters, julian’s mind raced. the woman had been so beautiful. irina. that was her name. she was russian. beautiful, foreign, fierce. he was in just as much awe of her in her home as he was when he had seen her step out of the car and stare him down.
but no matter how much she amazed him, no matter how intimidating she was, his devillish little mind couldn’t be put to rest. the house was huge; four stories with high ceilings and marble staircases. the only part he had seen was an office of hers, the hallways, and the bedroom and bathroom he was now occupying. there was so much more, he wanted to know how much, and what there was. but he was sure there were security cameras hidden everywhere. i’ll probably be thrown out. have to go back to judson street. still, he couldn’t stop imagining what everything was like. he threw the covers back and hopped out of bed. too bad my room is connected to a bathroom. it’s always the easiest way to get out of things. “but please, i was only looking for the bathroom.” he chuckled to himself. he was only wearing his blue plaid boxers and a stolen watch, but it didn’t matter. whether he was caught fully dressed or butt naked, he was sure the results would be the same. if she really needs someone like me, maybe i won’t be thrown out. hell, maybe curiosity will turn out to be a good thing he thought as he opened his bedroom door.
his room was on the third floor. the first floor was where the office was, and he had seen a long hallway of the second floor as they trudged up the staircase, but the fourth floor, he had seen nothing. if i’m gonna get thrown out i might as well be doing something fun when it happens. it’s either this or f*** something up that she wants me to do. he grinned as he took the stairs three at a time on his way to the fourth floor.
julian didn’t know where to go first. he chose left, he always had liked left better than right. the hallway was huge, like every other part of the house. abstract art lined the walls. there was a bathroom to the left, a guest room on the right. then a closed door. he tried to open it. it was locked. he crossed his arms and thought. ding. a light bulb went on. he raced back to the bathroom and rifled through the drawers. just as he had thought, he found bobby pins. he took them back to the door and grinned to himself as he jimmied the lock.
think about this, he stopped himself before he opened the now unlocked door. she had a chaffeur, this house tells you that she got a lot of money, you know that she was shooting at someone, she needs someone who isn’t afraid to die to work for her. do you really want to see what is behind the locked door? she’ll kill you. another voice came on in his head. yeah, but i’m the kid who isn’t afraid to die. he opened the door.
the room was…comfortable. there was a fireplace on one side, and two overstuffed armchairs and a couch sat facing it. there was a coffee table in front of the couch. a mirror sat over the fireplace. on the other side of the room was a window looking out at a forest. under the winow was a bureau. pictures were all over the room; on the bureau, on the coffee table, on the mantel. but they weren’t the dark abstract art of the hallways, they were real pictures. julian lifted one off the bureau. it was a picture of the woman, irina, and a man. he had short hair, sort of curly, it was graying at the temples. he picked up another picture. irina, the same man, and a baby girl. the man was pushing irina and the baby on a swing. julian could almost hear their laughter from the picture.
all of the pictures were like that. of the man, or the little girl, or irina, or any pair, or all three. as he moved from picture to picture, julian saw as the girl grew up, as the man and irina got older. the little girl got to look more and more like irina as she grew. more and more like her mother julian thought. once the girl reached about the age of six, the pictures ended. it was as though she grew no oler, looked no different than the cute little six year old who had brown pigtails and was smiling with a missing front tooth.
julian put the pictures down and headed back to his room. his curiosity had been quenched; instead, there was homesickness. once safely back in his room, he reached into the pocket of the jeans he had worn that day and pulled out the picture of his mother. it was faded and withering at the edges, but it was still his mother. still the only connection he had to his life before the fire.
he climbed into the bed and stared into his mother’s eyes that were identical to his. identical to the way his had been. they were laughing and happy, an emotion he hadn’t truly felt in years. his eyes were now cold. they were sometimes laughing, but only in sarcasm or bitter mocking. the only connection he had to his mother’s eyes were the color. the blue of the ocean.
the huge bed with the comforter and down pillows felt so abnormal. he climbed once more from the bed. there was a rug on the floor between the bed and the bathroom. he pulled the top sheet off the bed and laid it over himself as he lay on the rug, the picture of his mother next to his face.
***
irina watched this all from her bedroom. she had opened the walls to watch the security cameras, suspecting the young boy would not stay in his room for long. she watched as he bounded up the stairs, as he walked through the hallway. she waited for him to remember the bathroom and go back for bobby pins. and she watched as he picked up the pictures, studied them all. she knew what each one was, which picture was where. then she saw him race back to his room, and pull something out of his jeans. she zoomed in and saw a woman with the same blue eyes he had. she saw the sadness set into his face. she watched as he made himself a bed on the rug. she knew that it wasn’t that the fourposter in the room wasn’t comfortable, it was just that the floor was what he was used to, and he couldn’t stand for anything else to remind him of home.

m-c
 
that was sad. i would miss my family too. but not the father. but the mother yes. that was an awesome chapter and thankx for the update. i cant wait for the next one. :D
 
here's the next chapter. hope you like

a job well done

it was his first time allowed to do his job by himself. he had worked for irina for a year and a half and finally he was out on his on. there was no one else he could fall back on, it was only him. but he wasn’t nervous. his breath came steadily, he walked with poise. irina had taught him to hide everything, reveal nothing. no one thought he was anything but a teenage kid, walking down the street with his guitar.
he set up in an abandoned building. took his sniper rifle from the guitar case and set it up at the window. across the street was boyman’s market. his target should be arriving any time.
all he wanted to do was finish this job well. it was irina’s first step of trust, letting him do it by himself. he couldn’t let her down, he wouldn’t let her down. sixteen years old and ready to put a bullet in the back of a stranger’s head, all for one woman. one amazing awe-inspiring woman. he desparately longed for her trust, wished he was allowed to know what went on in her office when the door was locked. she was everything to him; mother, teacher, role model. he had a completely unrequited and probably unnoticed crush on her. he would do anything just to kiss her. to be the one who made her brown eyes light with passion and fire.
but now, all he had to do was the job. the mark arrived. julian watched through his scope, his finger on the trigger. the man picked up an orange to inspect it. breath in. a bullet pierced the back of his skull. breath out. he packed up his things and escaped through the chaos he had created. in no time he was back in irina’s car. she was looking at him.

“did you see that? i did it!” he exclaimed.
“i always knew you could,” she smiled.
“only for you,” he grinned.
she nodded. “i know.”
she leaned from her seat to his and kissed him lightly. she was amazing.

julian snapped back to reality. irina was just looking at him in the front seat.
“it is done,” he said.
she nodded. “good.”
she turned back to the front and the car drove on.
***
that night, julian once more was in the locked family room. he had gone there every night since he was first welcomed into irina’s mansion. when he would get especially homesick, he would curl up in one of the armchairs with the picture of his mother in front of him and just let his mind wander. it was a comforting place, showed that even irina was at least a little human. he had never been caught in the room; irina had never said anything to him. he assumed she either didn’t know or didn’t care.
that night he picked up his favorite picture. it was the little girl pushing her parents around and around on a merry-go-round. they were all smiling and laughing; he could see the empty space where the little girl had lost her tooth.
“that’s my husband and daughter,” a voice came from behind him.
julian turned around. irina was standing at the door. he didn’t know how long she had been there and was sure he’d be kicked out of her house.
“i’m sorry. i didn’t – ” he started.
“shut up,” she interrupted.
she walked over to him. he was shaking. he hated that he couldn’t hide his emotions around her. it didn’t help that just seeing her aroused him.
“that’s jack, and that’s sydney,” she motioned to the picture.
“she looks just like you,” julian said.
irina nodded. she took the picture from his hands and set it back down.
“come with me.”
she led him by the hand. he was nervous but excited, didn’t know what was coming next. he followed her down the hall to another locked door. she unlocked it and brought him inside.
it was her bedroom and it was amazing. there was an antique couch and coffee table in front of a fire place. the bed was a huge four poster. its bedspread was jet black, the red pillows drawing attention like splashes of blood.
julian was too busy wondering why he was allowed in her bedroom to notice when irina dropped his hand. but when she pulled her shirt over her head, he snapped to attention. yet, he just stared. inside he was embarassed out of his mind, wishing he could think of something to say. but with irina derevko standing in front of him in just her bra and pants, he was rendered speechless.
“don’t look so surprised. i had to reward you some way for the first job you did sucessfully by yourself,” she said.
“yes but…this?” he asked.
“i see the way you look at me. the way you can be completely stoic with everyone but me. it wasn’t very hard to figure out,” irina replied.
julian still just stood there, no words forming on his lips, his eyes wide with awe.
“i’m going to teach you how to do this right, and the first thing you have to do is not drop your jaw in awe,” she instructed.
she closed his mouth for him. he straightened his posture, tried to look like he deserved her. she put a hand on his face and kissed him. her lips were on his. at first he was just blown away. no thoughts even crossed is mind. everything was just perfect and blank. but then he reacted. his hands went to her hips, pulling her into him. she could feel his already hard c*** on her legs. she pulled him back toward the bed, still kissing him.
“why are you doing this?” he asked when their lips finally parted.
“for one, i already told you. and two, never ask questions. three, don’t even talk during this,” she said.
he nodded and began to kiss her again. her hands went to his belt buckle. he practically gasped as she pulled his pants off.
“we’re not even to the good stuff,” she chuckled.
she began to stroke his c***. he threw his head back and moan. her touch was tantalizing, all he wanted was more. he quickly unfastened her pants and pushed them around her ankles. she pulled his shirt over his head and ran her hands over his muscular body. god he had wanted this for so long.
he yanked off her panties as she pulled off his boxers. he didn’t mind that she still had her bra on, he was ready for this. he pushed himself inside and began to thrust. over and over. it felt so good. soon he was over the edge, crying out her name. he collapsed next to her.
it took him a while before he realized she hadn’t seemed satsified. she was just lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling.
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“that’s what you think sex is?” she kept looking at the ceiling.
“well yeah. that’s how we always did it,” he replied.
“we?”
“back when i lived on judson. there was this place, these girls,” he was embarassed. “this is always how we did it. they always loved it.”
“well of course they did,” she scoffed. “you paid them to love it.”
she turned and looked at him. he was nervous and embarassed. how stupid can you be? did you really believe you were just that good, right from the start? he berated himself in his mind.
“well i told you i was going to teach you how to do this right, so i’ll teach you how to do this right,” she sighed.
he just looked at her.
“you have to understand, it is not about you. no matter how long you have gone without sex, no matter how much the girl just wants to please you, it is never just about you,” she explained. “you have to make sure the woman is satsified. you will always be satsified. a man has never had to fake an orgasm. but you have to make sure that whoever you are with doesn’t have to fake it either.
“the first thing you do, is use your mouth,” irina traced his lips. “not just on her mouth.” she unclasped her bra. “on her breasts, to begin with.”
irina dropped her mouth to his nipple. she bit and suckled it, just the way a woman would want it done to her. julian moaned. she pulled away and pushed his head down to her nipple. he was like a mocking bird; he did just what she did. but that was what he was supposed to do. he did it right.
“switch breasts sometimes,” she instructed. “but never leave one alone. use your hands too.”
she took his and placed it on her other breast, showed him how to roll and pinch the nipple just right.
irina derevko is teaching you how to ravish her julian chuckled in his mind. you’re a stud.
“okay,” she pulled him away. “you catch on quickly.”
he grinned. god she was beautiful. he was amazed that she could be so emotionless. she was teaching him how to be good in bed, yet she was all businesslike and stoic. it blew him away.
“you also have to use your mouth down low,” irina said. “i’m sure whatever girls back home you were with gave you a blow job at some time. it is sort of the same, only you are using your mouth on the woman. you have to be a tease. always be a tease when it comes to eating her out. lick at her inner thighs, lightly touch her slit. then finally push inside. lick at her juices. then go for the clit. you might have to coax it out at first, but once you do, never leave it.”
julian slid down without even being told to. he looked at her smooth shaved ****y. it looked so sweetly innocent, so different from the woman of whom it was part. but that didn’t matter. he tried his best. he was a tease at first, doing just what she told him to do. then he went inside. did what she told him. coaxed out her clit. she moaned. he made her moan. he licked at her wet ****y. took a gamble and took her clit lightly between his teeth, sucking on it and flicking his tongue over it. she writhed under him; he thought it was bad at first, but when her hands ran through his blonde hair, he knew he was doing well. he kept it up. sucked and licked at her. he made her cum.
“oh god yes yes yes!” she screamed it out.
he was so proud of himself when she finally let go of his hair. he pulled away and squirmed back up to the top, staring her right in the eyes. no matter how good you were with your tongue, you had to squirm back up like that. but it didn’t matter. for once, he didn’t have to break the stare. she rolled him off of her.
“go to sleep. i’ll teach you the rest later,” she said.
she crawled under the covers and rolled to the other side of the bed, her back facing him. he pulled the blankets over himself as well, but couldn’t roll away. he just stared at her back. he had just had sex with irina derevko, just gave her an orgasm. his heart was beating like he had just finished a marathon. he took a breath and moved to his side, his back facing irina.
no matter what they had just shared, they slept on opposite sides of the beds, backs to each other, no where near touching. julian knew the experience had meant more to him than it had to her, but he didn’t care. he was too blown away by what had happened to care about much of anything.


irina/julian smut. is it okay? :smiley: hehe...please review

m-c
 
here's the next chappy. hope you like

stoic

he woke up with sun streaming onto his face. irina was gone from the posh comforters. the autumn sun made the black look gray. people can be anything. it all depends what light they’re in julian remembered one of the first things irina had taught him. but then he thought of another thing, always be up and ready on time. what was he doing? he glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
“jesus!” he exclaimed.
it was almost eleven o’clock. breakfast was usually served by seven, and the first meeting was at seven-thirty. he hit himself in the head.
“what the hell were you doing, julian?” he asked himself aloud.
he leapt from the bed and quickly began putting his clothes back on. not only had he slept too late, he was in irina’s bedroom, naked, his clothes strewn all over the floor. he pulled his jeans over his boxers. they were the same blue plaid boxers he had worn his first night there. but he didn’t have time to appreciate they were what he was wearing when he first came, and when he first became part of the team. he was too busy scrambling to put on his shirt without it being inside out.
“morning,” irina said as she walked in.
he stared at her, half-on shirt forgotten. she was eating a sandwich and reading some papers, acting as though nothing was strange.
“look i’m so sorry i slept so late. i – ” he started.
“shut up.” she didn’t look up from her reading. “never make a defense or apology before you are accused. but you should really learn not to be such a light sleeper. someone could slit your throat in your sleep and you wouldn’t bother to wake up.” she was still reading.
he pulled his shirt the rest of the way on and stood in front of her. finally she looked up.
“what?” she raised her eyebrows in question.
“what should i do?”
“i don’t care. eat something,” she shrugged. “i call you if i need you.”
julian nodded and left the room. he was half-ashamed, half-confused. what was so special about this day that nothing needed doing? something always needed doing. if there wasn’t something that needed doing, you just weren’t looking hard enough. he knew that. but still, as he wandered down to the first floor kitchen, the halls seemed eeriely quiet; there was no hustle or bustle going around the house. he went through the dining room and stepped into the kitchen. cook turned around to glare at him.
“and what do you think you are doing in my kitchen?!” she exclaimed. “out! raus!
julian quickly scampered from the kitchen. he heard cook banging pots and pans around. finally she came out, apron dirty, hanging pots could still be heard clanging together behind the swinging door.
“how may i be of service?” cook asked through gritted teeth.
julian grinned. “you know that i could easily make myself breakfast.”
“yes but the kitchen is mine, and you may not enter it. while you could easily make yourself breakfast, you would have to enter the kitchen and that is not allowed,” she replied.
he chuckled. “do you have any of your best-in-the-world, homemade apple sauce?” he asked.
“indeed i do. warm or cold?”
“cold.”
cook turned and shuffled back to the kitchen. julian smiled to himself and sat down at one of the dining room chairs. his mind wandered back to the previous night. he had been taught the rules of sex by irina derevko. he laughed aloud. but the laugh became bitter. there was no one to share it with; no one to whom he could say “irina derevko taught me the basics of sex.” no one would appreciate it. garder and urlich, the two highest on the security team who always seemed to be everywhere, not only didn’t show a single thread of emotion, they didn’t acknowledge julian’s existence unless to give him a bullet proof vest. there were no other young boys around, at least not that he knew of; irina probably could have taken hundreds of teenagers into that house and hid them from each other. it was just so big there was no way he knew all who occupied it. but of those he did know, none could understand him, could share a laugh with him. the security team was full of gargoyles; the maids were taught the only way to work involved never being seen; cook was a manic depressive pyscho who would kill you if you stayed too long in her kitchen; as for the rest of the team, julian wasn’t even allowed to know them, they were what was behind closed doors.
cook brought him his apple sauce and headed back to the kitchen, this time humming a happy tune. julian, suddenly bitter and angry, took his breakfast and went outside. his quick stride led him to the stables. lancelot, his sleek black horse, whinnied to him as he came in.
“hey boy,” julian smiled. the sight of lancelot soothed his anger. “sorry i didn’t come out earlier. you’ll never guess what happened last night.”
so, while eating his breakfast and grooming lancelot, julian told him the story of his first assignment he carried out on his own, and the reward that came after it. by the time the story was over, lancelot was groomed, ready to be ridden, and julian was ready to ride. he took off his shirt and left it hanging over the edge of the stall.
julian opened the stall and led his horse out to the open fields. then he climbed on, bareback. there was nothing he loved more to clear his mind and cleanse his spirit than gallopping bareback with no bridle or reins through the fields with lancelot, nothing to think about but the wind in his hair and the grip of his legs on his horse.
julian’s heels dug in and lancelot took off. julian’s hands gripped tightly to lancelot’s mane, his legs stayed clasped to the horse. the lack of a saddle and reins had taught julian control, power, relationship; in opposite order. if julian did not have the right relationship with his horse, he would have no power over lancelot, and would be out of control without any equipment to help him. but, because he and the horse knew each other so well, julian’s body and voice were the only things he needed.
he squeezed with his right leg, turning the horse tightly right at the far edge of the field. but instead of taking back off toward home, he stopped lancelot with a simple “whoa.”
two black cars were pulling up to the house. julian clicked his tongue and once more dug his heels into lancelot’s sides. they took off again, speeding back toward the stables.
so who was invited to lunch? julian wondered. he jumped off of lancelot at the edge of the field and let him out to roam his pasture. julian quickly grabbed his shirt from inside and ran to the house as he pulled the t-shirt over his sweaty body. the driver’s were still in the cars but there were no more passengers; whoever they were, they were already in the house.
julian jogged up the steps and opened the door. once more, he was greeted by eery silence. it was never that quiet in the house. his eyes darted around, taking in everything; it was just as it was supposed to be, just as it always was.
he assumed that if the visitors were at all important, they would be in irina’s office. he quickly walked there. but in front of the door he stopped; let himself catch his breath, ran his hand through his sweaty hair. he took a breath and opened the door.
irina was sitting behind her desk, two men were seated on the two antique couches that faced each other. the men turned and stared at julian as he entered, but irina kept on talking. julian tried to walk like he belonged, and stood just to the side of irina as she spoke.
“well you can tell mr. walker that i am not going to do any business with him if he sends his lackeys instead of showing up himself,” irina said.
“with all due respect ma’am,” one of the men began, “you sent a representative to our first meeting.”
julian recognized the man. julian had been the representative first sent to meet with him. it had just been a meeting to plan a meeting, nothing important; but he had felt so indispensible as irina’s asset since he was allowed to represent her. he had loved it.
“you and i both know that was just a preliminary meeting. not only that, but, seeing as my representative is also here now, i thought you would be smart enough to be able to deduct that he was more important than some idiot who doesn’t know my operation at all,” irina scoffed.
julian wanted to beam. he was so happy that irina considered him important that he could have jumped for joy; instead he stood there quietly, no emotions shown on his face. irina went on.
“but i do not make deals with representatives. i make deals with the people i have to make deals with. if it was your operation i would make a deal with you. but it’s not. it’s mr. walker’s. he could at least send someone with half a mind.”
“irina – ” the second man began.
“since when are we on a first name basis?” she cut in. “i do not know you, you are not my friend.”
“i’m sorry mrs. bristow,” the man replied.
irina’s eyes narrowed. julian swore he could see the anger shoot across the room. she set her hands palms down on her desk and stood.
“i am not mrs. bristow. laura bristow died fourteen years ago in a car accident,” she seethed. “now get out of my house and off of my property. tell mr. walker that the price for the weapons just went up.”
“ma’am – ”
“urlich!” irina exclaimed.
suddenly the security head was in the room, his huge muscles busting from his shirt, his head resting on his shoulders as though he had no neck.
“yes?” he asked gruffly.
“please escort mr. smith and mr. hoyte to their vehicles.”
the gargoyle nodded and led the two men out of the room.
julian stood silently next to irina, wondering apprehensively what she was going to say to him.
“good job acting like you belonged,” she said, sitting back down.
“one question,” he forced his voice not to waver. “did i?”
she looked at him. he met her deep brown stare with his cool blue eyes.
“it would have helped if you weren’t sweating like a wild animal,” irina replied. “go take a shower and i’ll think about it.”
***
julian smiled to himself as he showered. he might actually belong in the meetings, might be needed there. then he thought as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. if he was to be a main part of irina’s empire, he was going to do it right; no feelings, no guilt, nothing. respect for only irina, love for only himself. that was just the way it had to be. he had to shove everything else away, bury it inside himself.
as he stepped out of the shower, he thought about emotions he was allowed to keep. he was allowed to keep a love for himself, a love for red wine, a love for sex. he was allowed to keep a love for the kill. but there was not to be a team. if one man went down, julian would just keep running, keep shooting, whatever. the only exception was irina. he would always go back for her.
he picked up a towel and threw it over his wet hair, shaking it as hard as he could. his hair dried somewhat, a towel wrapped around his waist, he went into his room and sat on the bed.
as much as he hated urlich and garder, he knew he too had to be emotionless. i’m keeping my sense of humor. it was like a demand in his mind. he could still laugh, could still have fun. life without laughs was like oreos without milk. it just didn’t work.


please r/r

m-c
 
sorry i haven't been on in a while. my computer's being f***y and it won't let me on the internet. it might be a while before the next chapter. it's written but it's not on this computer and the other won't let me on. sorry.

m-c
 
purchased rebellion

a nineteen year old man. a cold hearted assassin. a brilliant strategist. someone so skilled at marksmanship that he could kill a running rabbit from 100 yards away. somone with no childhood, no innocence, no past. he had been called all of them. he was used to being called all of them. there were few things he hadn’t been called. but he did not care. he taught himself not to. he had killed his father to protect his family, then ran away. it had been less than three years since then, but that was all it took for him to teach himself not to care, not to sympathize, not to empathize.

consider the odds, consider the obvious
the martyr is meaningless, the campaign has died
in the planning stages and the fallen faces are the singular proof
that it was ever alive


inhale. blood sprung from his chest and his head hit the table. exhale. people started screaming, running from the restaurant. julian packed his gun into its case. he liked violin cases better than guitar cases for his guns. classically cliched. just as the 20’s mob boss. he left the building carrying the case. noticing the dead man and running for his life, no one would have guessed he was responsible.

this purchased rebellion has been outbiddened
denounced and rescinded and left to die
championless, championless, championless


to him, it didn’t matter what he was called. he was still nothing. he had no power, no influence. he worked for irina and that was all. there was nothing else for him to do. he wasn’t going to be promoted, move up in the crime hierarchy. he was no king, no emperor, no leader. but he was okay with that. irina was the only person to whom he had ever been loyal in his entire life. he would gladly die for her. he owed her everything, and was willing to pay it back. she would reward him with whatever he needed. she made him who he was.
***
“who are you?” irina asked, her brown eyes staring through her glasses.
“…julian?” he said hesitantly.
“that’s not what i mean.”
what did she mean?
“who are you?” she asked again. “you need to be somebody. somebody worthwhile. not someone who might have killed his father setting fire to his flat. you need to be someone powerful. you need a powerful name. a name that people learn to fear.”
earlier in his life, he would have laughed. a powerful name? one people feared? but now he understood. he sat in silence, his brain working out the kinks.
“something short and simple. one syllable but still strong,” he replied.
he thought more.
“no first name.” he grinned and repeated himself. “no first name.”
irina nodded and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “sark.”
“sark,” he said.
it was brillant. he didn’t even understand why but it was brillant. it was just perfect.
now he was sark.
***
sark did everything irina asked of him. it wasn’t a she said “jump” he said “how high?” sort of relationship; it was a she said “jump” and he would jump higher than he ever thought he could sort of relationship. he worked all of the energy out of his body for her. he did anything he could, killed anyone, stole anything. just for her. and she needed him. so she cared for him. until one day…
“it’s sydney’s twenty-seventh birthday today,” he said during breakfast.
irina did not look up at him. he went on.
“i’m thinking of sending her a gift.”
irina’s eyes shot at him, as though sending bullets his way. she placed her palms on the table and stood up, the way she always did when she was so angry she could barely breath.
“you will not.”
sark scoffed. “why not? a nice bottle of red wine? chateau petreus.”
“you…will…not.”
she spaced out the words as though each of them needed time to take effect. sark looked at her and smirked. he wanted to send sydney bristow a bottle of wine, and he would be damned if irina said he couldn’t. he listened to irina when she gave him orders, when they were dealing with business. but saying he couldn’t send her daughter a bottle of wine was absurd.
“why not?”
his british accent was taunting. he had never used it that way on her. he had been sarcastic and mocking, but taunting, never. first of all, he never found her likely to take the bait. but more than that, he respected her too much. for some reason, it was different that morning.
“i do not want you anywhere near my daughter,” irina replied.
“why? it’s not like you’ve taken the best care of her, protected her from everything. i mean, look where she is now. she’s working for sd-6,” sark chuckled.
“never say i did not take good care of my daughter. i – ”
“have you? seriously, you left her when she was six. she doesn’t even know who you are. doesn’t know you are alive. you left her with a broken jack bristow. with a father who couldn’t take care of her,” he cut in.
irina slammed her hands against the table. sark stopped speaking.
“it’s not like you are any better than i. you left your mother and your sister with a man they both despise. to add to that, they have to take care of him, because he was so tortured by the fire that he cannot move, his body is only scars. yet his mind still works. his mouth still works. he can still hurt them; shouting, yelling, just throwing jabs with his words. and they are alone, forced to be with him,” irina’s voice was low. “i would rather put my daughter through pain as a child and then let her live with a comforting lie than make her take care of a man she hates and go through the emotional ruin that it entails.”
sark swallowed. “he’s alive?”
“of course he’s alive. you were a boy when you did that. you could never get the job done,” the words spat out of irina’s mouth.
sark stood. “your daughter shall be receiving the wine approximately the same time i kill my father. so long.”
irina grabbed his arm as he tried to pass her and pulled him to her. he stared into her eyes, hatred burning in his. he didn’t hate her, but the thought of his father alive had begun to fill him already. the loathing was back. his jaw was clenched, his hands in fists.

close lipped another good night kiss
is robbed of all its passion
your grip, another time is slack
it leaves me feeling empty


“are you going to come back to me?” it was not a whisper, yet it was so quiet he could barely hear.
“you aren’t disowning me?” he couldn’t hide the bitterness and hatred pumping through him. “don’t i need to be punished for disobeying you?”
“i can think of much better ways to punish you than disowning you,” irina glared at him.
she pulled him into her and kissed him. but it wasn’t deep and fiery, it was tight-lipped and bitter, like an angel sent to hell.
he shook her grip off, finding it surprisingly easier than it should have been. but he didn’t bother wondering why. he had things he needed to do.
***
the only emotions he had left. anger. hatred. they were all that was still inside the shell of a man. he felt them both as he stared through the window to the room; his father with a nasty look on his face saying something terrible to his sister.
his sister, who was now a beautiful twenty-three years old. her red hair was pulled into a messy pony tail. her porcelain white skin was flushing red. he saw her blink her eyes to keep tears from coming. she couldn’t take it anymore and left the room, speeding past him without even giving him a glance.
now it was time. the man in that bed had ruined the life of the people he loved. oh so long ago, lazarey had ruined sark’s life. sark refused to be a part of him, wished he could change his dna sequence and never have been his son. but he was. and now he was going to do what needed to be done.
he entered the room. lazarey looked up from his bed. his eyes a gray green but still as bitter as always.
“julian?” he hissed. “my son?”
“my name is not julian and i have no father,” sark replied.
lazarey spat at him. “i never wanted you. i should have killed you when you were a child.”
sark pulled out his pistol. the silencer was already on it but he wished it wasn’t. he wished the entire world could know that he, sark, had rid the universe of the disgusting creature that lay before him. but he knew better.
“i was never a child. you wouldn’t let me be,” sark said. “but let’s not make a big thing out of this.”
he pointed the pistol and shot his father in the head.
***
sydney bristow opened the door but no one was there. she wondered who had knocked. as she began to close the door, she saw the bag. it was black, with “happy birthday” written on the side in messy handwriting with a white marker. the top of a bottle of wine portruded from the edge of the bag. she picked it up and giggled. who sent me a bottle of wine? she read the note on the card. in the same messy handwriting it said:
to wine, to opium even,
i prefer the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself.

<span style='font-size:21pt;line-height:100%'>s</span>

“baudlaire,” she said aloud.
“wha-wha-whaaaat?” francie lost the battle to a yawn as she entered the kitchen in her bathrobe.
“someone sent me a bottle of wine for my birthday and the card had baudlaire on it,” she explained.
“well who’s it from? it’s not me. i already gave you breakfast in bed.”
“i don’t know who it’s from…” sydney paused. “s…it is just signed s.”
“oooh how mysterious,” francie laughed. “maybe it’s scott. you know, from your american lit class? the kid with the glasses.”
“gross fran! we are in college and still i swear that kid is too busy picking his nose to pay attention,” sydney exclaimed.
francie was still giggling while refilling her coffee cup.
“you have another trip today right?” she asked.
“yeah. off to london,” syd replied as she put the wine – nice wine, chateau petreuse – in the wine rack.
it wasn’t a total lie. first she had to go to africa and steal a necklace, then she had to drop it in london for analyiss.
“my flight is leaving soon so i gotta run. i’ll be back tomorrow morning,” she said.
“and you remember me and will and danny are taking you out to dinner tomorrow for your birthday, right?” francie smiled. “that danny is crazy about you i swear.”
“fran!”
“well he is,” she laughed. “but we are taking you out to dinner, so you can’t be late or have another trip or anything. promise?”
“promise,” syd beamed. “love you.”
“love you. bye.”
sydney headed out the door. as happy as she was about the dinner, she couldn’t help but think of who this “s” was.
***
sark knew he shouldn’t have disrespected irina the way he did. he figured he had to do something to make it up to her, to get back on her good side.
he chose the amitié éternelle necklace. it meant eternal friendship, but caused very much the opposite. it was in a museum in burundi, where the hutus and the titsus were already fighting for it. now the cia, the alliance, k-directorate; everyone wanted it. it was said to have belonged to emma charlot, an illegitamite child of milo rambaldi. he had made it as a gift to her for her 16th birthday. none of the agencies knew what it did, but no one doubted that it did something extraordinary.
after killing his father and calmly walking away, sark did not go straight back to irina. instead, his jet headed to africa, where he was ready to steal the necklace.
***
he wanted to walk in, be all badass, steal it from right underneath their nose. but he knew he couldn’t take any chances that didn’t need to be taken. he wasn’t doing this for himself but for irina, and he needed it to get done. so he wore black. black pants, a black shirt. even a black beanie and black converse all-stars; but those were only for fun. he sneaked in, the way he was used to. but he stopped short when he was in the back room. there was agent marcus dixon and agent sydney bristow, hacking into the network. they wore work clothes, as though they had been sent in to fix a ventilation system. sark smiled to himself.
sydney bristow. the sydney bristow. out on a mission on her birthday. it was the first time he ever saw her in person. she was beautiful. concentrating on what she was doing. but he didn’t have time to stay and watch.
he sneaked past them. to the door. as soon as he heard dixon say the cameras and alarms were off, sark took off. he didn’t know how fast sydney bristow was nor how she worked. he had to move. and quickly.
he made it to the necklace easily. the museum was closed – it was some african holiday. the ventilation workers and the security guards were the only ones in the place. and sark. he easily cut open the glass. as he reached in to take the necklace, he heard her footsteps. they were coming fast. he secured the necklace around his ankle, under his pants. invisible.
“stop!”
it was her voice. commanding. shouting an order as he started to take off. but he did. he stopped. he didn’t know why but he stopped. he turned around to look at her.
there she was. gun raised, still in work clothes. her straight brown hair sat almost quietly on her shoulders. her brown eyes didn’t waver, her hands didn’t quiver, her voice stayed steady.
“where’s the necklace?” she asked.
“what necklace?”
she glanced to the opening in the glass. the necklace wasn’t in it’s place. she sighed.
“i don’t mind killing you.” it was just a statement. just a fact.
“you’ve got a problem. i don’t mind dying.” once more a fact. simple. stated.
she swallowed. she had her mother’s angry, nervous swallow. he smirked.
“shoot me if you must,” he turned to go but glanced back. “happy birthday.”
her eyes flared and the alarms began to sound. they had only had five minutes of cut surveillance. now they were on their own.
sark took off. he could feel sydney following him, but she was running for his life just as much as he.
“don’t move!” a group of guards stepped in front of sark.
he skidded to a stop, his converse shoes squeaking on the floor. sydney came to a stop right beside him. in front of them, four guards had their guns up, behind them, three guards. they were didn’t have much of a way to get out.

yes i’m stuck in the middle with you,
and i’m wondering what it is i should do.
it’s so hard to keep this smile from my face.
losing control yeah i’m all over the place.

clowns to the left of me!
jokers to the right
here i am stuck in the middle with you.


sark looked at sydney. to her, his face was tainted with a smirk.
“i’m sorry officers!” he exclaimed, putting his hands up. “but this woman was chasing me with a gun. one of the doors was unlocked to the museum so i came in. it’s just that i hate all the normal tourists. i didn’t mean to make such a fuss.”
he suddenly had an american south accent. sydney scoffed and rolled her eyes. did he really think that the guards, seeing him in all black in the museum when he wasn’t supposed to, was any more innocent than she was? at least she was in work clothes…then again, there was the gun.
“put it down.”
the guns moved from the both of them, to just sydney. she cursed in her mind but dropped the weapon.
sark shuffled over to the other side of the guards. he started talking to one of them, telling the guard his statement. seriously! sydney thought. who is that guy? why do they believe him? but sark finished giving the guard his statement and just stood there with an innocent look on his face.
“look, he’s lying,” sydney said. “i was walking through the museum to check one of the vents, and i saw him about to run away from an exhibit that was empty in front of him. it was some necklace or something. i know i am not supposed to have a weapon on the job, but i get nervous about working in this region. there’s a lot of fighting going on, so i always carry a gun. i told him to freeze, and he didn’t, so i chased him.”
the guards looked back to sark…or to where sark had been. he was gone. sydney grabbed her gun and took of after him. the guards came quickly after her, but she had sprinted through them before they even realized what was happening.
she lost them and burst out of one of the museum doors. a sleek black benz was in the distance. she knew he was in it, with the necklace. smirking. whoever he was.

hope you guys like it. sorry it took so long with my stupid computer...please review...

m-c
 
sorry it's taking so long. the internet is messed up again (i have a terrible computer). the next chap is done but i can't get it to post. i'll keep trying...
 
sorry it has taken so so so long. i'm really trying. it might still be a while until the next chapter(s) because i'm trying to write 50,000 words in november for national novel writers month. gah! lol. anyway here are two chapters. hope you like

home

sark took a breath before he opened the doors to the house. he didn’t know if irina would still be angry. he had sent sydney a bottle of wine against her wishes and had left sydney alone with seven guards to fen for herself. but he did have the necklace, and a job well done was a job well done. he stepped inside.
garder came out from lurking in the shadows of the main hall.
“ms. derevko wants to see you,” he growled.
of course she watched me come in on the cameras, sark thought. that or garder really is omniscient and omnipresent.
sark followed garder, but he did it with dignity. he wasn’t a puppy, running back to his master with his tail between his legs. he was still sure of himself, still believed what he did to be right. he kept his head high.
irina didn’t look up as he entered, of course not. when did she ever act like she cared enough to stop what she was doing? instead she worked until she came to a stopping point, then gave garder a glance and a nod. he left the room. sark stood silently in front of irina.
she looked at him. it wasn’t a glare, it was just a look. he couldn’t read her face. she was the only one who could ever hide her thoughts from him.
“i met your daughter,” he broke the silence.
irina’s jaw clenched slighty. “how is she?”
“i saw her as i was driving away. so i know she got away from the guards,” he replied.
“what guards? where did you see her?” she asked. it was calm, yet urgent and demanding at the same time.
sark pulled the necklace case from his bag. he set it in front of irina. it was closed, but he could tell she knew what he had done. she opened the case.
“good,” she said quietly. “sydney was also attempting to get this?”
“yes. the guards caught us and i convinced them that i was just a stupid tourist and she started chasing me. she changed their minds, but i was gone by then. she burst out of the door as i was driving away. i saw her, there were no guards around her, she was safe,” sark replied.
irina nodded. she sighed.
the room was silent. sark wondered why she hadn’t said anything about the bottle of wine. he wasn’t sorry for it; he wasn’t going to let her have complete control over him.
“i’m not going to apologize for leaving sydney, nor for sending her the bottle of wine,” he broke the silence again. “i’m not a child anymore. you can’t control me.”
“you are still a teenager.”
“don’t pull that s*** with me irina!” sark exclaimed, walking to irina’s side. “you know very well that i’m not a little boy. it’s not age but experience.”
irina stood and pulled him into her. she kissed him. it wasn’t the same as their last kiss. this was deep and passionate. it felt so good to both of them. neither of them wanted a loving relationship with the other, but the power and dominance relationship was amazing. kisses that could get points across words would never justify. sex that was so great, nothing compared. it wasn’t that they loved each other or were attracted to one another, it was just an easy way to communicate.
she pulled away. it had been an apology. an understanding that he was his own man.
“i looked at the necklace on the plane but got nothing from it. analysis should have a tough time,” he said.
“yeah,” irina agreed.
sark nodded and headed for the door. as he reached it, irina stopped him.
“how was she?” she asked quietly.
he turned around and pulled another thing out of his bag. it was a very small camera. he walked over and placed it on irina’s desk.
“i took a few pictures of her when she wasn’t paying attention to me,” he said. “she looked good. she’s beautiful and strong. she takes after you.”
he left irina alone in the room, staring at the camera in front of her, picturing her grown daughter in her mind.
***
sark sat on his bed, staring out the window at the cold springtime rain. he still had the same bedroom as the first time he came to irina’s house. it seemed so comforting to him now. he had learned to sleep in the four poster instead of on the rug. the picture of his mother was framed next to his bed instead of in his back pocket. he no longer fit in his blue plaid boxers he wore the first night he was there, and the first time he had sex with irina. lancelot was still out in the stables. cook still banged around pots and pans whenever sark entered the kitchen. garder and urlich still pretended he didn’t exist. but it was home.
sark thought of sydney as he lay back onto the bed listening to the rain.
she absolutely amazed him. she was so strong and beautiful. he chuckled remembering her face when he wished her a happy birthday. her gorgeous brown eyes grew wide in astonishment. but still, she had been so perfect. he could see her morals, her strength, her happiness, glowing from her. she was so determined to be a good person; he found it rather ironic that she worked for sd-6. that she wanted so badly to do the right thing, but she was actually helping evil on its way. he almost felt the need to tell her, explain to her that she wasn’t doing what she thought she was, help her out of it.
but then he remembered his place. he was dedicated to irina, and it wasn’t like she was doing the best things in the world. he never asked about anything though. he didn’t know why so-and-so needed to be killed or why irina truly wanted the necklace, he just did what he was told. it was as though irina didn’t want to rob him of every piece of innocence.
sark sighed. how he wished he could see sydney again, inhale her presence, take in everything about her; from her muscles, to her strength, from her sense of morality, to her beauty, from her raw sexuality, to her cute straight brown hair, from her deep brown eyes, to her flawless porcelain skin and the freckles that were dappled over her nose. as much as he adored and respected irina, there was something about sydney’s innocence that he needed. he was magnetized to how good she was, and he didn’t understand it.
sark sighed and listened to the rain as it tapped lightly at his window. he stood and went to the window. he didn’t know why, but he opened it, letting rain fall into him. it was a light rain, just a sprinkle really, and he only got damp. it felt so good though. everything was fresh and new. it was like a rebirth.
his mind lingered on sydney for only a moment longer. then he smiled to himself, rain splashing against his eyes. he actually began to laugh, looking out over the grounds. he pulled his pistol from a shelf and shot into the rain; a bird dropped from its nest to the ground.
he had always wanted to have a good shot. he had always wanted to be with an older woman. he had always wanted to be able to twist people into whatever he wished. he had always wanted to be respected. he had always wanted to have a real home. and now he had a good shot. now he was with an older woman. now he could twist people to whatever he wished. now he was respected. now he was home.
and now he was happy.

***************************************************************************
target practice

8 a.m. 2 may ireland, outside dublin
she was only a memory. a memory dressed in work clothes, holding a gun. but he never let her become a vague memory. she was always clear in his mind. he could see her deep brown eyes leveled at him over the gun. he could make out the freckles that painted the bridge of her nose. he could hear her voice shouting at him, a crisp “stop!”
but she fell to the back of his mind. irina had said nothing more of the pictures he took. they now focused on the necklace. analysis was barely gaining any ground. they were getting offers from people and agencies, practically begging for the necklace. but irina was smart enough not to get rid of it until she knew what it was; so they refused to sell.
sark hardly cared. he got back into the groove of doing what irina told him to. he hadn’t killed anyone lately, and he was afraid he wasn’t keeping up with his shot. he went to the far edge of the grounds and practiced in the woods.
inhale. his finger clenched and a bullet shattered the soda can 100 yards away. exhale. he smirked to himself. that was beautiful.
“nice shot.”
sark sighed. he had taught himself not to jump. usually, he knew where everyone was at all times, it was only irina who could ever sneak up on him.
“you know that no one but you could get this close to me without me noticing,” he chuckled as he turned around.
but it wasn’t irina. it was sydney, gun leveled.
***
12:30 p.m. 18 april los angeles
“unfortunately the mission in africa did not go as well as was planned,” sloane addressed the room.
sydney blushed. she was always so embarassed when she messed up. how was she going to be of service to her country if she couldn’t follow through with missions? dixon sighed. he knew how sydney felt, but he always told her what happened happened, she couldn’t change it now. she knew he was right.
“but not to worry. we have tracked the necklace. it is in the hands of this man,” sloane said.
a picture flashed on the screen. it wasn’t the man sydney had seen.
“this isn’t – ” she began.
“it is his employer,” sloane interrupted. “this is jan urlich. he runs an operation out of ireland. we aren’t quite sure where, but we are working on it. we are going to find out, get blueprints of the place. as soon as we discover urlich’s mansion, i want you and dixon to go in and get the necklace back. we don’t know what kind of power this necklace has, but rambaldi never made something without purpose. it could be dangerous and we don’t want it in the wrong hands.”
sydney nodded. “of course not…what about the man who first took the necklace? do we know anything about him except the fact that he works for urlich?”
“we don’t even have his name,” sloane seemed to be angry. “he’s very young. there has been word of a man, not even twenty, who is the best sniper in the world and has no emotions. it may be him…that’s all for now,” sloane dismissed them.
even though sydney knew she couldn’t change what had happened, she wished she hadn’t lost the necklace. if that cocky british son of a b**** hadn’t been there, she would have one less mission to worry about. she wouldn’t have to wonder who he was or wonder if they were going to get the necklace back. she could just focus on her real life and her friends.
she tried to push the thoughts from her head as she got into her car. she smiled driving out of the parking garage; her friends were treating her to a birthday dinner that night.
***
“hey fran!” syd exclaimed as she opened the door.
francie came racing out of the bedroom and slid across the floor in her socks. she caught sydney in a hug.
“you’re late, you know?” she accused. “it’s past one.”
“sorry i got a little caught up at work. but i fufilled my promise. i don’t have a trip, and i can’t wait to go out to dinner tonight,” sydney grinned.
“me neither!”
francie followed sydney to the bedroom where they both began to unpack sydney’s luggage.
“so how was the trip?” francie asked.
“it didn’t go very well. it was a prospective client, but she chose a different bank,” sydney shrugged.
“that sucks. i bet your bank’s better,” fran smiled.
“yeah, well the other bank sent a very good-looking british representative. he was suave and charming and handsome and cocky as all hell. as a single very rich woman who could have whatever she wanted, i can’t blame the client for choosing him.”
francie giggled. there was a mischievious glitter in her eyes. “maybe you should have chosen him. told him it was your birthday. those british always have the best manners. maybe he would have given you a present.”
“fran!” sydney threw a shirt at her.
“i would’ve!”
the two laughed as they finished unpacking. sydney thought about the man she had met. he had known it was her birthday. it was like he had known her. but she pushed the thought of him from her mind and looked forward to dinner.
***
7:30 a.m. 1 may ireland
“sark, you remember mr. walker? we did business with him about a year ago,” irina said at a meeting. sark nodded. “he died. his son has now taken over the business. simon walker. he wants to make an alliance with us.”
“we don’t make alliances,” sark replied.
“no, but we make friends. we collect favors,” irina explained. “maybe it’s not a true alliance but a watch each others’ back type thing. i think it could work to our advantage.”
sark thought for a moment.
“i say we hold out,” he said. “we wait until he offers us something we really need. if he really does want to work with us, he will help us.”
“i agree. and he has. i just sent him the necklace,” irirna replied.
“what?! do you even know him? how do you know he’s not just going to sell it to the highest bidder?” sark exclaimed.
“you never truly know anyone,” she was so nonchalant. “plus, i told him if he ever, ever double-crossed me. i’d cut off his balls.”
sark shuddered. every once in a while, irina still surprised him. it was like he forgot what business they were in. but he shrugged. he didn’t think anyone would ever betray irina to begin with, she was so intimidating; if she said she would cut of a man’s balls if he betrayed her, that man would be loyal to her for life.
***
7 p.m. 18 april l.a.
“i would like to propose a toast!” will exclaimed. “to my dear friend sydney.”
francie and danny nodded, raising their glasses. sydney giggled.
“you’re amazing. you are one of the greatest friends a guy could ask for,” will went on.
“you’re great syd. you know we will always love you and always be here for you. just like you’re always there for us, even if we don’t think we need you,” francie added.
“you are something to look forward to in the morning. you bring smiles wherever you go. our lives are better because you are in them,” danny finished.
“to sydney.”
everyone clinked their champagne classes together and drank.
“thanks you guys. it was really nice of you to take me out to dinner,” sydney smiled.
“wait til you get our presents,” will chuckled. “mine’s the best of all time.”
francie rolled her eyes. “puh-lease. mine’s better, honey.”
sydney laughed. a waiter approached their table.
“ms. bristow?” he asked.
“yes?”
“this was dropped off for you,” he handed her a black bag.
once more, there was handwriting in a white marker: happy birthday. she pulled out the card. “sydney” was written out; it looked like whoever sent it was trying to make it look good. it was swirled and curly like a girl’s handwriting, but was still a little messy and off kilter. she opened the envelop, pausing only to think that maybe she could swab it for d.n.a. inside wasn’t really a card, just a piece of paper reading:
“i hope dinner with your friends goes well. francie will always stand by you. danny has only good intentions. will’s a little hard to place; i think he may be more in love with you than danny. i hope you enjoy my gift. tell the gang i said hi. if things go my way, i’ll see you again soon.
S.”
sydney took a deep breath.
“what does it say?” francie asked.
sydney jumped. she had completely forgotten about her friends.
“it’s nothing,” she replied, crumpling it. “it’s from that s-guy again. it’s just baudlaire.”
“that s-guy? baudlaire?” danny asked.
“this guy sent sydney a bottle of wine for her birthday,” francie explained. “he quoted some poet; baudlaire. he just signs his cards s.”
“very mysterious,” will laughed.
sydney looked at her friends. was will in love with her? was danny in love with her? she shook the thoughts from her head and reached into the bag. there was a jewelry box.
“he sent you wine and jewelry?” francie giggled. “way to sophisticated too be that guy from american lit.”
sydney took a breath and opened the box.
“oh my god,” she breathed.
it was earrings. she had seen them in an antique store just outside of paris when she was on a mission about a year and a half ago and desparately wanted them. but she didn’t have the money with her and could never go back to get them.
“syd those are beautiful. they are so you,” francie smiled.
“i know,” syd replied quietly. “i saw them once. on a trip for the bank. i wanted them so badly but i didn’t have the money.”
“how did this guy know that?” danny asked.
“i don’t know.”
sydney looked around the table. her friends seemed almost as stunned as she was. she sighed.
“let’s just forget about it. i really want to have fun this evening,” she smiled.
everyone agreed.
but she didn’t forget about it. “s” sat in the back of her mind, tugging at her thoughts.
***
9 a.m. 1 may ireland
“irina,” sark said cautiously. “there’s something i have to tell you.”
“in my office,” she commanded, recognizing the hesitation to mean something important.
sark sat down. he looked irina directly in the face. once more, he wouldn’t take back what he had done; he could only hope she wasn’t angry.
“i sent your daughter another gift,” sark said. “it was a while ago. the day after her birthday. a note and earrings.”
irina slammed her hands onto her desk.
“are you in love with her?!”
“what?” sark asked.
“are you in love with my daughter?” she repeated.
“no. i don’t even know her. i was just – ” he started.
“the note; what did it say? and what earrings did you send her?”
“the note said i hoped she was having a good dinner with her friends. it said francie would always stay by her side and that will and danny were both in love with her. to tell her friends i said hi and i hoped she liked my gift. then that i wanted to see her soon,” sark replied. “the earrings were from a little shop outside of paris. i knew she wanted them.”
“why?” irina asked. “why did you do this? how do you know that about her friends and the earrings?”
“irina, i am not stupid. i am just as able to find things out about people as you are,” he said. he smirked. “and i did it because your daughter intrigues me. she’s the daughter of jack bristow and irina derevko. it’s amazing that she’s not committed.”
irina shot him an evil glare. “you don’t think she will know it’s you?”
“i certainly hope once she learns my name she is able to figure out it is me. i sign them ‘s.’ if she doesn’t figure it out, she’s not as smart as i believed.”
“get out. i need to think.”
sark shrugged and left the room.
when he reached his room, he immediately went to the window to open it. there was something about the sweet spring atmosphere he couldn’t get enough of. he breathed deeply. the cold briskness of the air washed over his body, awakening him.
he chuckled. irina thought i was in love with her daughter. i don’t even know what love is. but if sydney is half as good in bed as her mother, i bet i could love her pretty easily. he smirked to himself.
***
11:30 p.m. 18 april l.a.
sydney lay in bed that night, staring at the earrings and the wrinkled note. she wondered about her friends. francie was the best friend she had ever had and sydney didn’t doubt that she would ever leave her side. and fran always had said danny was in love with sydney. but will? will was her dorky guy friend. the one she could burp around and told everything to. she didn’t understand how he could be in love with her.
slowly, her mind wandered to the person sending the letters. they had obviously seen her before and knew her friends. but how did they know about the earrings? was it just another pair in a different store? no, that was an antique store. it wasn’t a chain. that was the only pair in the world. sydney thought to herself. it sort of freaked her out. maybe someone was stalking her. she didn’t know what to do. if he had seen her on missions, maybe he was part of the cia. or maybe he was a rival organization. what if k-directorate had someone following her? the thought made her shiver.
she chose to forget about it for the night, get a good rest, and figure it out in the morning.
***
9 p.m. 1 may ireland
“i don’t like you sending my daughter things. but it is your choice, and i cannot stop you,” irina told sark. “i can only remind you that she doesn’t know i’m alive. if she knows of this organization, she thinks urlich runs it. i cannot have this changed. if the cia knew i was alive, things would be much more difficult for us. so if you continue to send my daughter things. leave me out of it. i don’t even want to know.”
“ok.”
the two sat in silence. at the beginning, the whole crew ate together; urlich and garder and irina and sark and cook and anyone else who happened to be staying in the mansion that night. now, only irina and sark ate together. they sat at opposite ends of the table. usually eating quietly, with little talk. if they did, it was only about business. there was no true relationship between the two; no inside jokes, no “how was your day”, nothing. it was business and only business.
“i’m going to bed early tonight,” sark said. “i have to practice my shot tomorrow morning. i’m afraid it’s getting slack.”
“good idea.”
sark left his dishes on the table. while irina had taught him manners, cook was still awake and would rather have to clear the table herself than allow anyone in her kitchen. he shuffled up the stairs to his room. the window was still open and the room was bitterly cold. he grinned as goosebumps rose on his arms. he climbed under his covers without shutting the window.
tommorow, he would re-perfect his shot, just in case it had gone bad. he kept every soda can he drank to practice with. bullets would fly through them, leave them in tatters. he liked it.
sark yawned. he loved nothing more than shooting – except, perhaps, sex – and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on his gun.
***
9 a.m. 1 may l.a.
it had been two weeks since the last message from the mysterious ‘s.’ sydney decided to leave it be. she had more important things to do.
“we have found urlich’s operation,” sloane said.
yes. sydney grinned.
“it is in ireland. outside dublin,” sloane explained. “you and dixon are headed there on a red-eye tonight.”
sydney nodded eagerly. she would get that necklace back.
***
12 a.m. 2 may somewhere over the atlantic
“ready for this syd?” dixon asked.
“dixon, i am more than ready,” she replied. “i’m so pissed that cocky british son of a b**** got it in the first place. i’m getting it back.”
dixon laughed. “good plan.”
***
8 a.m. 2 may ireland, outside dublin
sydney and dixon landed in ireland at 4 a.m. and set out for urlich’s operation by 6:30. at a quarter to eight, they were ready to head in. sydney came through the woods from the back, with two others spread out in the trees. dixon and four others headed through the front.
sydney heard a shot. she headed in the direction of the sound.
“everyone okay?” she asked over the ear piece. “i’m going to the shooter.”
“no one’s hit,” dixon replied. “be careful.”
she saw him from behind. he was setting up, aiming for another shot. she could tell by his sun-blonde hair it was the man who had taken the necklace. she sneaked up behind him, not making a sound. she heard him take a breath, he pulled the trigger, released the breath.
“nice shot,” she said.
he sighed.
“you know that no one but you could get this close to me without me noticing,” he chuckled as he turned around.
she had her gun leveled at him.
“really?”
s***. sark thought. what was he going to do? tell her he thought she was her mother?
“fancy seeing you here,” he said.
“not expecting me?” she asked. she didn’t wait for a response. “what’s your name?”
“why do you care?”
“i think if you know my name, and my birthday for that matter, i should get to know yours,” she replied.
“sounds fair, sydney anne bristow,” he smirked. “how’s the fam? how are your friends?”
“i’m guessing you know already.”
“ah yes,” his smirk grew. “daddy’s doing just great, importing airplane parts. francie’s good, but really pressuring you to figure out who’s sending you gifts. you are still confused by will and danny. are they really in love with you? if so, which would you date? i’m thinking danny. you’re just too close with will. it’s not a dating relationship, it’s a friend relationship. but danny, that could work. he’s a lot like you too. smart, humourous, likes the same music, dave matthews and such. but i bet he can’t bluff at poker as good as you.”
“so what’s your name?” sydney repeated. “s-what?”
“very good, love,” he grinned.
“shut up.”
she pressed the nose of her gun to the middle of his forehead.
“what’s your name? and then you are going to lead me to the necklace without being detected,” she said.
“you’ve already been detected. urlich knows you’re hear. he’s hidden what needs to be hidden, taken the necessary measures. just hope everyone you came with is all right. plus, the necklace isn’t here. sorry.”
“you’re telling me your name, then you are coming with me,” she demanded, pressing the gun harder.
“my name is steve gordenstein,” he said, straight faced. “so let’s go.”
she glared at him, knowing he wasn’t telling the truth. but she pulled her gun away anyway. she glanced toward the house. bad choice.
her head was slammed into one of the tree trunks, and everything went black.
***

hope you like. puh-lease review.

m-c
 
acting_chica said:
hope you like.  puh-lease review.

m-c
[post="1054852"]<{POST_SNAPBACK}>[/post]​

Like? Try LOVE! I just found this story, and I'm absolutely intrigued by it! You're a fantastic writer. And I love that your story doesn't follow the cliche fanfic style...it's new and unique. Please add me to the pm list...I'm loving this story. :rockon:
 
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