Moving on to the mascara, Fassell tilted her chin upwards to get the right angle. He paused, looking at her with a frown. "Where did that come from?" He prodded painfully at a tiny puncture wound on the underside of her chin, lightly ringed in black.
Feeling the pain sent her dream with the Dark Queen Morrighan rushing back to Maura, her lips moving soundlessly, "Do what must be done."
"What, baby doll?" Fassell's hard hand squeezed her cheeks, forcing her to look at his unhinged gray eyes. "Did you say something?"
Her eyes stared blankly back.
"Didn't think so," he patted her cheek hard, just short of slapping it. "Back to work." Fassell finished the mascara and started on her eyeliner, pulling the lid to keep it straight. "You may be thinking, how does a man like this know how to do something as ridiculous as women's makeup?" His tone was calm, even conversational as he continued. "Well, I finally tired of those stupid whores at the Corporation House not looking right- too much makeup, the wrong kind. So, I started fixing the girls to look right for me... and then I tore them apart." His manic grin was back, but Maura forced herself to stare back, expressionless.
"Sometimes... sometimes it was even more enjoyable to redo their makeup after they couldn't move anymore," he added, selecting some eyeshadow. "The perfect window of time is about sixty minutes or so after they're dead, you've got a good three, maybe four hours of dressing up and fucking before rigor mortis sets in. The bitches would finally hold still so I could get the makeup RIGHT!" he barked. "Stupid cunts, all the crying, and begging, 'I won't tell anyone, please Mr. Fassell!' They never shut up!”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,Maura thought, numb with horror.
"But YOU," he sighed happily, "you are PERFECT, my baby doll. You'll do everything I make you do and never cry or scream, will you?" Selecting a bright shade of red, Fassell began meticulously painting her full lips. "Would you like to see how pretty I've made you, slut?" he asked solicitously, "Here, you're perfect." Fassell's voice ended in a sigh of pleasure as Maura stared at the blank doll face he'd painted on her own. She could feel the rage and horror building in her, rising like a volcano through her core and trying to erupt.
"But you let your anger rule you." James had said.
"Do what must be done," hissed the Dark Queen.
Looking up, she saw that he was wiping the sweat off his forehead. "It's so fucking hot in here..." he mumbled, heading for the cabin's small balcony and opening the doors, letting in the cooling ocean breeze.
"That's better," Fassell crooned, "can't have that pretty face melt off, can we?" He stopped at Maura's suitcase, looking over her piles of lingerie with a judicious eye. "Now, I put you in that little black number you're wearing while you were sleeping." He looked up and grinned at Maura. "I was dying to fuck you, you looked so pretty and sweet. But I wanted our first time to be... special."
Fassell walked over to the bed, leaning over her and blotting out the light. "I want you to look into my eyes the entire time I'm inside you. I want you to feel every dirty, disgusting thing I do to you and know that you can't. Move. An. Inch."
Up close, the kaleidoscope crazy rotating through his grey eyes was obvious, inescapable. Maura wondered how long he'd hidden his madness, and worse, how long it had been set free. His hand reached down and took the end of the noose he'd put around her neck, pulling her up by it. "I'm going to put you in this pink satin set. Almost see-through, but so sweet. Dirty, but darling. Just like you, baby." Roughly pulling at her bra, he chuckled. "Let's get this off you. We're so close now, baby doll. Almost ready."
***
When James had strolled into the restaurant earlier that evening to meet Kingston, he felt certain about the soundness of his plan. The enraged face of the First in Command didn't surprise him, but the gun shoved in his ribs and the shooting of his men in the back of the restaurant did. Kingston was literally incoherent with rage at James's actions with General Nezzar and the new President Maaziz. He allowed himself to be taken without a fight, knowing that the next step of the plan would force her to calm down and listen- if she didn't want to lose the £1.5 billion pounds the Corporation brokered from the REE bidding war.
He was furious when they promptly killed four of his most trusted men in his security detail, and the moment they boarded the yacht, the beating was underway. Fassell was thrilled to participate, slamming his fist gleefully into James's face. "I've been waiting a long time for this, asshole."
James shook his head, trying to put everything back in place. Ignoring Fassell - the man was beneath him - he addressed his comment to Kingston, who was bitterly nursing a glass of vodka. "Morgan, you don't have time for this nonsense. The offshore accounts for the French and the Saudis will begin disappearing in-" he strained to see the face of his Rolex. "-in thirty-five minutes from now. Either make the deal with President Maaziz or explain to our clients that we don't know where their £2.6 billion pounds went."
He chuckled as Fassell hit him again. "Maura was right, you do hit like a girl."
Expecting a snarl of rage from the unstable third in command, he was disappointed.
"We'll see if she still thinks that when I'm pounding into that sweet little snatch." James felt the blood drain from his face as Fassell gleefully opened his phone to show a photo of his Maura, limp, unconscious, and dressed in nothing but scraps of black lace. He recognized them- he'd purchased them back in Manhattan.
Fassell leaned close to the man he'd been beating, knowing this blow would be worse than all the others combined. "I have you to thank, Jimmy. I'd wondered how you'd kept that little hellcat so passive and obedient here. When we took your sweet, fake wife from the hotel and I shot that big Irish asshole, I found your stash." He happily held up the slim case of syringes. "My sweet little flesh doll's having a nice nap. I'm just about to go wake her up. The hard way." His grin was unnaturally huge, like a shark's.
James's expression hadn't changed from politely bored, but he suddenly smiled. "If you harm her, I will rain the fires of hell on you, you demented fuck."
"Awww," Fassell soothed, "someone's cranky because he doesn't want to share. Don't worry, I'm saving enough of her to have you watch round two-" James slammed his head savagely into his gloating face. Fassell’s cheekbone shattered, and he noticed with satisfaction that blood was filling his left eye socket. Fassell yanked his gun out of his holster, screaming curses as he aimed it at his head. An irritable Kingston gestured, ordering two of her men to take the gun from him and hand it to her. She took the weapon and put it on the desk.
"You stupid bastard!" she scolded, "Pine's the only one who can retrieve the accounts!"
Her third in command was hunched over, wiping the blood from his eye. "Are you kidding, Morgan? Holbrook obviously handled it. Fortunately, I brought him with us from the hotel. He's loyal to us- he led me right to MacLaren. I'll send him up to retrieve the accounts while I go tear a strip off my sweet little flesh doll." He turned and punched James with all his strength, knocking him unconscious and sending the chair he was tied to crashing to the floor. "I'll be sure to record it for you, Pine." His chuckle turned into an excited giggle as he left the stateroom.
***
"Goddamnit Pine, what have you done!"
Kingston’s howl made James's head shoot up as he regained consciousness, trying to refocus. He was still on the floor. She stood in front of him, vibrating with rage. Two of her men pulled him upright, tightening his bonds again.
"You seem so unsettled, Morgan," he eyed her indifferently, "having trouble tracking the French and Saudi accounts?" Looking around the large stateroom, he could see Holbrook hovered over his keyboard, shoulders hunched like a terrified vulture.
