Hypergeniture Bk. 03 Pt. 02

Suddenly, I knew a lot more about our visitor. She was a sadist, as evidenced by her work, targeting different celebrities without mercy. But she also craved punishment, seeking out consequences that never came as her victims were too weak or too scared to do anything about her bullying. She was a serial slanderer, secretly hoping she'd run out of luck.

Without prompting, the gossip girl tried to take my hand, but I quickly pulled it away. She tried a second time, and I slapped it down. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I want you," she said. "You can do whatever you like. You can hit me--"

"I don't want to hit you."

"It's okay," Sammie smiled, trying to take my hand a third time. "You can hurt me plenty; I don't mind. Take out all your rage on me... Break me. Show me how rich and powerful men deal with girls who piss them off."

I looked from left to right, hoping to catch the eye of someone who could save me from a conversation that had quickly turned undesirable. Spotting one of our Japanese security team, he saw I needed a hand and approached (gun slung over his shoulder).

The sight of an armed man heading in our direction only saw Sammie become clingier.

"Maybe I've been too harsh," I confessed, trying to break her fever. "I'm sure you've got a good heart, but I don't hate you--"

"You hate someone," she countered. "I can see the way you walk. You must have so many lovers, but none of them let you unleash all that energy. You're too scared to bring all that anger out -- all that hatred. Maybe you hate the world--"

"I want to save the world," I declared, high and mighty. "You're the only one here who can't live with herself."

Sammie shook her head. "Sure, Mr Orwell."

Taking a pause, my interlocutor turned to the security man who had joined us. Our conversation was over, so she decided to set aside her truth and become the imitation of a person that was the mask she wore in her daily life.

"Fifty-thousand," she said. "Give me fifty-thousand, and I won't say a word about your cousin's addiction. If anyone publishes a story alleging drug abuse, I'll counter it publicly. I'll discredit any negative stories about your family. Of course, your newspapers and magazines can do the same, but it's a digital age, Oliver. You need someone like me."

The amount requested was a pittance in comparison to what I could offer. Sammie knew this and didn't care about the money. For her, it was all part of some game that she'd started playing with herself years ago. It was a game that saw her become something so hollow that I felt sorry for her.

I knew she'd want a counteroffer; preferably an insulting one that comes with a threat.

"Five thousand or I have our people start writing stories about you," I said, adding the last bit to make her feel warm and fuzzy inside. "It may be a digital age, Sammie, but plenty of people still read my newspapers."

I was catering to this strange woman's dark desires. Her damaged soul intrigued me, but I didn't have time to explore the contours of her wounds. The old me would've fallen in love with her heartache and tried to make her whole. The new me...

The new me said the following words to Alicia as we drove away from our meeting with Yonaka in Tokyo:

...anything outside our control is dangerous.

Yes, the new me could deflect, exploit or destroy a person like Sammie Truth. Everything else -- anything that put us on equal footing -- was too prone to instability and, therefore, too risky. Wrestling with these truths, I was mournful. The decent parts of me were still alive with my family, but I had lost my innocence in all other things. Naïveté was off-limits, lest I put my guard down and people die as a result.

I muttered, "Fuck off," and Sammie went away with the security man.

My chest hurt like hell as I walked back to the palace, crestfallen.

I was no longer the man who tried to save injured doves or fell madly in love with dangerous contradictions. Even with all the money in the world, I couldn't afford to be soft on outsiders.

• • •

"Fuck't!"

Tecla slammed the side of the arcade machine angrily, impatiently and out of pure frustration.

After watching the rest of us fail repeatedly, my sister decided to take matters into her own hands. Eight attempts later, she finally accepted she wasn't going to be the one to beat the infernal game that Liz Wharry left behind.

As I looked around the room, I saw Skylar, Alicia, Isabelle, Elle, Trixie, Natasha and Krisha... All defeated. It now seemed impossible -- the challenge insurmountable.

One person was missing, and I set out to find her.

Heading out onto the sundeck, I found Anya staring at the night. My sisters' new bodyguard quickly won their affection, but she was disliked among the rest of the staff. Arrogance didn't come close to describing the way she carried herself. Then again, if the stories about her exploits were true, she had every right to keep a big ego.

"You're not going to play?" I asked.

Tecla called Anya 'Lara Croft,' after her favourite video game heroine. Her looks were enigmatic. She could control her eyes and change the way you saw her by changing the way she saw you. Her brunette hair was never styled extravagantly and she had no definitive features, yet nothing about her appearance was ordinary. Her soft lips and delicate nose were remarkably feminine for someone whose reputation was so spectacular.

She was a puzzle, and who doesn't like a good puzzle?

With no reply from my companion, I started talking to myself. "If we stop now, the Doomsday Archive might try to kill me once, twice... Maybe three times more. They'll fail. Somewhere in the world, there will be another Rosemary Mansfield -- another innocent who falls victim to one of their plots. It's a cycle that will repeat itself again and again until someone stops them. Maybe I should accept that someone isn't me."

Anya's head sagged slightly as she turned her head to me. She was a genius; a genuine once-in-a-generation anomaly. I knew that by how she looked into my soul.

I kept talking. "You don't believe in giving up, do you? If half the stories about your adventures are true, I can't imagine you've ever failed at anything. Yet, here we are -- you're working for a man who might be unable to stop the big bad because of an arcade game."

Changing her expression, the corner of Anya's lips lifted, and she spoke in her vaguely European accent that no one could tie to a specific country or place.

"If you didn't inherit the money but still found out about the Archive, would you be fighting them?"

Raising an eyebrow, I had to confess it was a good question. "I'm the kind of man who cannot abide evil," I said matter-of-factly. "Money or not, I was always going to stand up for what's right."

"Even if everyone you love is vulnerable as a result?"

"If the mission is important enough... Yeah."

"Good," Anya's eyes changed. "I'll try the game, but I doubt I'll beat it. Trying to crack the software is a bad idea. We need to win fair and square, so we're either going to spend weeks practising until we get better, or..."

"Or?"

Their 'Lara' looked over my shoulder at Tecla and Elle. The twins were sharing a glass of red wine, engrossed in conversation with the rest of our entourage. Turning with poise, their bodyguard approached them with a suggestion. When they saw her coming, they were already over the moon. You see, Anya was a committed mercenary, and her current contract meant she had to be their counsellor. She may not have gotten along with the rest of us, but she made a point of getting along with them.

"Girls, why don't you throw a little party?"

Tecla was curious. "A party?"

"A party!" Anya repeated, waving her hands around theatrically. "An excuse to get our gamer guest onto the ship so she can try her hand at the arcade machine."

Hearing the suggestion, there was mutual scoffing and disdain from the rest of the security team. Their colleague's general attitude had made her unpopular, but her idea was sound enough for Alicia to confess it might be a good one.

"My office will make the arrangements," she said, turning to my sisters. They gave her a thumbs up and retreated to a corner of the room, whispering plans and plots into each other's ears as they set the parameters of a carefully laid-out strategy.

16 • Future Plans

Once I was done with my third meeting of the day, I decided to cancel the fourth. After writing a quick memo to my secretary in London, I closed my laptop and started the trek back to my bedroom. The short walk was only delayed three times: Twice because I'd received calls from business associates and once because I wanted to check in on my mother.

Eve's bedroom was two doors down from mine, but I didn't find her there. Backtracking, I had a feeling she'd be in the fitness centre, and that's precisely where I found her. She was halfway through an automated programme on the treadmill, running at a sprint against an incline with a perfect stride while hardly breaking a sweat -- an exercise addict revelling the moment, the exertion, and the accomplishment that would follow. I didn't want to disturb her rhythm, so I watched and waited until she finished.

Five minutes later, my mom was all done, and she stepped off the treadmill to stumble to a water cooler in the corner of the room. By then, I'd thought she'd noticed me standing at the door, but she gulped down a gallon of water like nobody was watching before putting her back to the wall and sinking onto her bum.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days," I remarked, announcing my presence.

My mother was stumm, eyes closed and breasts heaving in her black sports bra as she licked her lips to capture any droplets of water that hadn't gone down her throat. Her body seemed alive with raw feminine power -- warrior-woman energy that flowed through her muscles as sweat clung to her perfect skin. After some time composing herself, she spoke with a cracked voice.

"I... I like the intensity."

Walking over to her, I felt strange looming over my parent, so I joined her on the floor. Her whole being radiated a heat I recognised as more than a beautiful athlete's glow after strenuous exercise. It was the warmth of a mother, not just a woman.

"Masochistic workouts can't be the only source of intensity in your life," I counselled. "Let's face it, mom, you're not working out to build a better physique. It's impossible to improve what you've already got! So, it's either boredom or punishment. Are you looking for something to do or something that hurts?"

"Both," Eve answered, flashing her eyes and smiling."Maybe... Maybe I need new hobbies...Things to do."

"What about a charitable foundation?" I suggested.

"Eh... I'd feel so out of place--"

"Knitting?" I teased, making my mom roll her eyes as she playfully stuck her tongue out at me. Getting to my feet, I offered her a hand and helped her onto her feet. As she found her balance, we ended up close to each other. It was almost an embrace, but almost wasn't everything, and we stopped short of holding each other.

I couldn't tell if she was blushing or if her blood was still rushing through her veins from the run, but my mother seemed girlish and tender. "I... I hope you have fun tonight... At the party."

"You should reconsider attending," I proposed, having tried to twist her arm earlier.

"I'm not young enough," she rebutted, making me step back in a huff.

I folded my arms and looked at my parent sternly. "Do a twirl," I instructed.

"A twirl?"

"Spin around."

Dropping her shoulders, my mother considered the request for a second before following my order.

"That was too fast," I complained. "Do a slow turn, like a model showing off a pretty dress."

Eve snorted. "Models walk runways; they don't spin around."

"Alright, then imagine you're... A girlfriend... Showing her boyfriend an outfit she thinks he'll like."

This time, it was clear the redness in my mother's cheeks was a sign of her blushing. "I'm not exactly wearing something nice--"

"Twirl, woman!" I commanded, smacking the back of my hand into my palm. My mother rolled her eyes and cast a smile that ran from one side of her face to the other.

Digging in with one foot, she slowly presented herself, moving at the exact pace I wanted. Each time she made a slight change to her pose, she would wait. Then, she would glance at me, measure my reaction, and base her next move on what she thought I'd want. Bit by bit, she showed me everything I needed to see -- the natural body that stayed true to her divine name, 'Eve,' and the sinful enhancements that had amplified it to heights that went beyond mere heaven.

As my mother came full circle, we locked eyes, and I made one thing very clear. "Don't go around talking yourself down or pretending you aren't fucking gorgeous. Don't pretend you're not better looking than any of the half-dozen model types we'll be entertaining at the party you feel you're 'too old' to attend. Still, I won't force you to go. Not tonight."

"But one day you will?" she asked.

"Force you?"

"Yes."

I shook my head. "Could I ever force my stubborn mother to do anything?"

"No," Eve replied. "But I don't necessarily want to be your stubborn mother forever..."

"What would you rather be?"

There was a long pause. My mom's lips parted slightly, gradually, until she had this vacant expression on her face -- this look that seemed to say she could be anything... Anyone... Whatever I wanted her to be. She was a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to walk by and make the first brush stroke.

We stared each other down for a minute before parting company. I wasn't quite ready with my easel.

• • •

After five more distractions, I finally returned to my bedroom door. Smelling three sets of perfume on the other side of the threshold, I felt packing my overnight bag would be further delayed...

Elle and Natasha were sitting on the rug in the sitting room. Arrayed in front of them, they had dossiers on all our guests. The files were thick on account of our guests being internet celebrities, putting most of their private lives a click away. Of course, our people dug deeper and broke some privacy laws, stretching the bounds of morality and the criminal code.

I trusted espionage to Elle. She had a talent and an appetite that I couldn't quite muster myself. Spying on our enemies was one thing, but we couldn't afford to stop there.

Moderation is a poor man's luxury. The rich have no choice but to eat until they die, whether the day's meal is information, money, sex, power... What you don't take goes to someone else; that's where the danger arises, and the need to be all-consuming, all-knowing and omnipotent comes into play.

As I watched my sister and cousin work, Elle explained, "Everything looks good on our guests. I had my people in Los Angeles do a little extra digging on them before we let them on the boat--"

"Ship," Tash corrected cheekily.

My sister flicked her long black hair and fluttered her lashes, passing me the skinniest of the dossiers. "Unfortunately, the gamer girl is the one we know the least about. We're not sure what'll appear on that screen if she beats the game, so you'd better be with her when it happens. If she seems something she's not supposed to see, grab your chequebook."

"Why is her file so slim?" I asked.

"I guess she comes from a different sub-culture," Elle shrugged. "Maybe the gaming people are just different."

"Maybe," I conceded, making a mental note to have our private eyes in Tokyo take a second look.

Leaving Tash and Elle to their studies, I made my way into the bedroom proper, where I found a half-dressed Tecla looking snug among the sheets. She was flicking through the textbook Skylar had confiscated from our Italian guest, wide-eyed and full of intrigue.

Tec was topless. Her breasts had that magnificent slope -- the deep plunge that peaked at her nipples. The little pink pebbles were so stiff you could spot them from a mile away, with the reading material seeming to have quite an effect on my baby sister.

"Is this your secret plan, dear brother?" she asked, waving the Bimbo's Guide to the Galaxy at me. "Are you going to pump up our lips, buy us new tits and turn us into walking sex dolls? Because, if you are, I'd like to have a say on the shape of my fake booty. I'm thinking... Oblong."

"Ha! Your booty is perfect as is," I assured. "Skylar found that book while searching Primavera's room and brought it around to have a laugh."

My sister returned her attention to the handbook, paging through chapters two and three that dealt with appearance. "Our mother is halfway there," she remarked. "Are you sure you don't want to turn me into a walking sex doll, Olly? I wouldn't mind getting fucked 24/7... Gosh, I wouldn't mind it at all."

"Gosh?" I smiled. The word was an innocent inclusion in an otherwise filthy turn of phrase about a sister wanting her brother to make love to her all day, every day, even if it were the only thing she ever did.

At that moment, Elle came walking into the room, so Tecla asked her, "What about you, sis?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to be a walking sex doll?"

Elle blushed, confused. "Can I use your bath, Olly?" she asked, brushing aside her sister's teasing. "The view from your room is amazing, and I don't trust the shower on the yacht."

I was more than happy to share. "Be my guest... Bath's big enough for three, or four..."

Smiling shyly, Elle recovered some of the timidity that had been shed throughout our adventures. "It might be big enough for ten, but why don't we stick to two?"

Looking from one sister to the other, I tried to read them. The code between the twins had always been clear: They shared everything and only split up in extreme cases. I sensed those rules had been amended as Elle reached out to take my hand and walk with me. Before I took it, Tecla asked for a kiss on the cheek that became a kiss on the lips, which eventually saw her tongue find its way into my mouth...

"Mmm," she moaned. "Enjoy bathtime with Elle."

As our kiss ended, I made my way to the en suite. Elle added half a bottle of bubble bath to the warm water as the tub slowly filled. Getting behind her, I placed my fingers under the hem of her top, and she lifted her arms so I could undress her, revealing she wasn't wearing a bra. Turning around, Ellee returned the favour and got me topless, and a little more cooperation soon saw us both naked.

We heard the sound of water cascading over the edge of the bath.

"Oops," my sister sighed, turning to close the taps. "We must've gotten carried away."

"What else is new?"

Taking my hand, Elle decided we'd plunge into the overflow together, and I was more than happy to follow, foam and water spilling over the top, with our bodies finding their place in the luxury bath. With my arms around her, my little sister made herself comfortable on top of me. Relaxing as her slick body rested on my hard cock. I felt compelled to kiss her neck, making her mewl as she relaxed even further, sinking into paradise. As I kissed the place behind her ear, she groaned deeply -- she moaned and got off me, going to the other side of the bath where she placed her knees either side of my legs and faced me.

"You know," I said, looking into her happy eyes, "when you told me what a brother and sister had could be enough, I always knew you were right."

"I was wrong," Elle replied sleepily. "It's not about a brother and sister -- it's about a whole family. A whole group, community, whatever you want to call it..."

"How the hell did my little sister become so wise?"

She looked at me seductively, reaching out to grip my cock, which quickly became hard in her hand. "I love everything about my big brother... I love him from head to toe, but I love his heart the most -- his cock a close second. For me, those two things are more than enough. But he deserves more than just me. He's earned the world, and I'm grateful that he wants to share."