SURPRISES & BARROOM BRAWLS

Donovan turned his 'mission' into a mini-vacation.  He was assured every day that the team had not been assigned to assist with bringing down Tore Raynor.  For now, the Norwegian double agent was being a good boy.  It hadn't taken much arguing to secure the time off.  Since the botched attempt on his life and the stress surrounding the VP's misdeeds, there wasn't much the upper brass wouldn't grant him.  He didn't use that to his advantage very often, but it had its perks.  He took the time to become reacquainted with his parents and enjoy his daughter.  He hadn't seen Jonella Paxton in three or four days, but she stayed on his mind.  He stubbornly held onto his refusal to see her.  He was tired of playing by her rules.  If she wanted his help, wanted him, she would find him.  She was relatively smart and it wouldn't take long.  Besides, his parents' phone number was listed in the gigantic phone directory.  All she had to do was make a couple of calls, and she could walk right up to his doorstep.  However, he knew she wouldn't do it.  She was too stubborn.  Ahhhhh, he growled to himself.  He had promised himself that he would not think of her, but each time he drove her out, she came right back in, no matter what the task he was trying to accomplish.  Today, he was just trying to read a fucking book.  How long had it been since he had had time to read?  Months?  She was fucking distracting him.  Shove her out.  Shove her away.  She isn't important to me any longer.  Fuck her.  He snapped his book closed and tossed it across the room.  God help him, but he missed the bitch, missed her so much he thought his head would explode.  How does she keep doing this to me?

Sighing, he sat up on the side of the bed.  Today, he was alone.  His parents had taken Stasia with them for the afternoon.  They had completely fallen in love with his daughter.  Of course, he hadn't expected anything less.  She was their first grandchild.  All the pilfering and breaking she could do in the world wouldn't anger his parents one iota.  He left the room and made his way down the hall toward the living room.  His father kept a moderately stocked liquor cabinet and he suddenly felt the desire for a drink.  He opened it up and peered inside.  The first thing his eyes saw was a bottle of vodka.  Fucking vodka.  What made it worse was the fact that it was her brand.  He couldn't get away from her regardless of where he went or turned.  It was crazy and he fucking hated it.  For the millionth time, he thought, why is it that when I think of her, I fucking cuss like a fucking sailorAhhhhh.  He shoved the vodka aside and picked around until he found a fifth of Jack Daniels.  Excellent.  He grabbed the bottle and carried it into the kitchen.  He took a tall glass out of the drainer and poured a dollop of the dark liquid into it.  He stared at the glass for a long time.  Sighing, he picked it up and drained it.  It burned his throat, nearly killing him.  It had been way too long since he had downed JD straight like that.  He contemplated pouring another, but changed his mind.  He remembered Pax's condition and didn't want to do that to himself.  Pax.  There she was again.  He had to get out of Miami before thoughts of her drove him insane.  Too late, Spankie.  Much too late for that now.  He rinsed out the glass and put it into the sink.  He decided to leave the JD out in case he changed his mind.  He went over to the overstuffed couch that his parents had had since he was a boy.  As he sunk into the cushions, he had no idea how they had maintained this particular piece of furniture for so long.  He had loved it as a child, and loved it even more as an adult.  He'd had about a thousand naps on this thing.  He stretched out on the couch and propped his arms behind his head. 

He mused that his parents had noticed the scratches on his cheek and the change in his demeanor.  When he had come home that early morning, they took immediate note of his angered exterior.  He hadn't said much about it.  Instead, he went into his room and sulked.  From that day, he had been moody and irritable, closing himself off.  His mother, bless her heart, had tried to bring him out of it by cooking every damn thing he liked.  If he had had an appetite, he probably would have gained twenty pounds.  Nothing pleased him.  He wanted to see her, needed to see her.  Thoughts of her consumed him, took over almost every waking moment.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't drive her out.  It was almost like the time right after she was released from the hospital.  Although she was vile at times, putrid even, he was drawn to her, seduced by her, and nothing he did could change that.  Perhaps this time, he would be free of her, because she wouldn't budge, and he refused to kiss her ass.  Yet, he did remember one thing.  The morning he left her, he hadn't given back her credit cards and plane ticket.  In fact, he still had them in his room.  She definitely couldn't go anywhere without those items, because he knew she didn't have enough cash to go any further than Tampa.  He chuckled deliciously at the thought.  Perhaps Pax was right about him.  Perhaps he was a prick. 

His evil little chuckle echoing in the room rocked him to a light doze.  In his dream, he thought he heard something pecking away, rapping almost.  It was hollow and annoying.  His brow furrowed at the intrusion.  What the hell?  Had Stasia gotten hold of a wooden spoon again?  He often wondered if his child wanted to become a percussionist when she grew up.  He settled back against the cushions.  Eventually, the game would bore her, and she'd move on to something else.  However, the noise didn't let up.  In fact it intensified and became louder, more annoying.  Rap.  Rap.  Peck.  Peck.  Bang.  Bang.  Bang!  The last 'bang' brought him completely out of his doze.  His daughter could hit pretty hard, but not that damn hard.  Someone had dared to knock on the door during his afternoon nap.  He sat up and scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes.  Afternoon naps always made him feel as if he had a hangover.  He stood up clumsily, nearly tripping over his shoes.  Whoever the guest was, he/she was extremely persistent.  His parents weren't back yet, so perhaps he could get rid of the visitor and continue on with his nap.  He swung the heavy oak door open and saw that the guest was his.  Standing behind the storm door was Jonella Paxton.  She had dressed conservatively in a light summer dress with a floral pattern.  She had somehow found a clip that would hold all her hair in a messy, but stylish French twist.  She actually looked respectable, normal almost.  After raking his eyes up and down her body several times, he slammed the door in her face and walked back toward the couch.

When the door came open, he groaned.  He had forgotten to engage the damn lock.  She had finally found him, after four fucking days, she had come to him.  He buried his face into his hands for a brief moment, running them over his face.  Five minutes ago, he wanted to see her so badly that he was tempted to chase after her like a lovesick fool.  Right now, he wanted to fucking kill her.  If she launched into him again, he would.  He'd end her life; end his torment once and for all.  It would be the only way to escape her clutches.  He thought of how she was dressed and he wanted to laugh.  She was putting on another mask, one for his family.  Regardless of what she said, she did care about people, cared what they thought and felt.  He looked up at her and saw that she was standing close to the door with her arms crossed over her chest.  She really did look nice, it wasn't her, but it was nice all the same.  Donovan didn't know what to say to her, he really didn't.

"What do you want," he asked calmly, keeping check on his rage.  If she uttered one foul word, he'd make his own launch at her.  "Four days ago, you were cursing me, telling me to get out, and now you're here at my parents' home.  What do you want," he repeated.  "I'll give you three minutes and then I'm kicking your ass right out."

She took her arms down and clasped her hands in front of her.  She had heard this kind of hurt in his voice, of course, but this time, it seemed different.  "I wanted to apologize," she began.  "I understand that you were only trying to help me, but this is something I need to deal with on my own terms, and I hope you can accept that."  She had gotten through that whole thing without one foul word.  It took extreme control and concentration.  "Maybe when I can deal with it, I'll be able to tell you, but I can't promise anything.  I don't know how long you're staying, but I want to be with you while you're here."

Donovan stared at her, burning a hole through her with his dark eyes.  She was wearing another mask, he could see that, and he was very close to turning her away.  This shit wasn't sincere, this wasn't her.  He wasn't falling for it.  Jonella Paxton had always had a bottom line, and this time was no exception.  There was more to her plea, more to her request, but she had simply hidden it with pretty words.  She had to know he wasn't going to take this bullshit and run with it.  However, he wanted her enough, loved her enough to allow her touch him, to let her get inside.  If she had come to him after their heated fight four days previously, she wanted to tell him, and eventually, she'd let him in.  He would not leave her until he knew and she had to know that.  With all her reverse psychology and mind games, she was completely transparent.  Sad thing was, she knew it, and didn't seem to care one damn bit.  Would their gut-wrenching tennis match ever end?  Absently, he nodded.  She had won this round, she certainly had.  Silently, he watched as she approached him.  He had yet to utter a single response, but she could read the answer in his eyes.  He leaned back as she approached.  In amazed incredulity, he watched as she hiked up her dress and straddled his lap.  She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.  When his hands reached out to grasp her waist, he noticed the smooth lines and he ran his hands along her back, then down to her buttocks.  Jesus.  Pax had played him well, predicting his reaction almost.  She had come well prepared.  She wore absolutely nothing under the dress.

*  *  *

Pax stretched a little bit and glanced at the ancient alarm clock.  She and Donovan were packed together on his tiny bed.  She rose up on one elbow and began searching for her dress and hair clip.  Jesus.  What had happened to them?  Where did they get thrown?  She climbed out of the bed, nearly falling on her skinny ass in the process, and she began looking around the room.  God if she didn't get out of her before his parents came back, she'd die.  Feeling almost adolescent, she cackled crazily as she snagged up her dress.  It was hanging on a doorknob in the hallway.  Who threw it there?  Her?  Frankie?  She tossed it over her head and pulled it down and back in place.  Her sandals were waiting for her on top of the coffee table.  The hair clip was the hardest item to find.  As she crawled around the bedroom on her hands and knees, Donovan rose up on his elbow and watched curiously.  Pax snagged it.  The fucker had somehow gotten under the bed.  She sat on the side of the bed and ignored Donovan's amused expression.  Her hair was tangled now, messy.  God.  She needed a fucking hairbrush.  As she gathered her hair in both hands and pulled it up, she heard Donovan utter something that sounded like 'perfect' before he shifted his weight on the bed.  A moment later, his lips were on her shoulders and the back of her neck.

"Do you want your parents to find us like this," she asked.

"They know I do this.  I have a daughter," he mumbled against her skin.  "You don't have to go."

"Uh, hell yes, I have to go.  I don't do parents, just their sons."

He drew her arms down and took her hands out of her mussed up hair.  He was trying to pull her back on the bed, and damn if she didn't feel her fucking body playing right along.  As soon as he succeeded, he kissed her and slid his hand down her body.  "Where do you have to go," he asked against her lips.  "Who do you have to see?  There's no one here for you, but me."

The fucker has not lost his touch.  Although seducing her, alighting fires all over her, he was also interrogating her.  He was trying his damn best to extract information from her.  He was a damn witless fucker, trying to get the ball back in his court.  He thought he could use his fucking techniques on her and she'd give right the fuck in.  "You're right," she said, playing along, "but how awkward is this?  Damn it, Frankie, meeting your parents?  I have to go."

Come on Jonella, I know what you're doing.  Give in.  Give in to me.  "They know I'm… involved," he said as his hand snaked under her dress, his fingers lightly caressing her thigh.  "You said you wanted to be with me while you're here, and this is a good way.  It has to be better than the safe house." 

Although he was driving her out of her mind, she kept her thighs closed.  She could sense he wanted to play dirty, but she damn well wouldn't let him.  "Mmm, lots better," she whispered as her tongue snaked out, darting across his lips.  She worked her hand underneath the bed sheet and it fell on him in a light caress.  It's my game now.

Damn it.  I put myself at a disadvantage.  Shit, she'll fucking win again.  "I'll bet," he said, his words ending in a tortured groan.

She leaned up a little and pushed the sheets away until he was exposed to her.  She continued to place feather light kisses on his lips as her hand worked its magic.  This round is mine.  Score one for Pax.  Her hand fell away abruptly and he let out an exasperated breath.  Her lips trailed down his chest and onto his lower abdomen.  Goddamn it.  She's quite the cheater, he thought as her lips fell upon him.  She rose up abruptly, after no more than thirty seconds, and he expected her to strip so he could come inside.  Instead, she climbed off the bed, adjusted her dress, and stared down at him.

"What the hell," he demanded, his voice not quite steady.

"I told you I had to go," she replied with an evil twinkle in her eyes.  "You'll be all right in a little bit.  If you want to see me tonight, I'll be at a club downtown called South Valley.  Until then, I'll leave you to your hand.  Goodbye, Frankie."

Groaning again [ahhhh], he buried his face into the pillow.  She had won yet another battle, but he was hell bent to be the eventual victor of the war.

*  *  *

Donovan grumbled when he saw the entrance to the club.  It was a loud techno type thing that was completely not his style.  Why the hell had she picked this place?  Because she's Jonella Paxton and she can.  He gave the marquee outside a cursory glance.  Some cracked out looking singer was performing there tonight.  He only noticed because her last name was "Frank."  He stepped inside and the noise swelled out and around him.  God.  This place was fucking awful.  His jaw dropped as soon as he saw Pax.  The only way he recognized her was the spiky heeled boots.  She didn't look like herself at all.  She was dressed in some type of skintight catsuit, likely vinyl.  She had somehow tamed her wild hair, straightening it, and wore it slicked back in a ponytail.  It appeared darker.  Her face was covered in thick makeup.  She approached her stuffy escort for the night and laughed.  Same old Frankie.  Even when he was ripping loose, he still had to wear decent shit like blue jeans and button downs.

She took his hand, noticing his gawped open mouth.  "Come on, Frankie.  I promise not to bite you…very hard." 

She dragged him over to a vacant table and sat him down.  She sat as close to him as the confines of the small table would allow.  As it was, she was thigh to thigh with him.  Her hand snaked out and settled on his thigh.  God help him, he liked it, liked her this way.  This was Pax.  It was a tacky look, but all hers.  Jesus.  He had begun to wonder how he could get her out of the outfit.  God.  She was fucking him up, and he didn't like to be fucked up.

"I'm sorry I left you like I did today," she said, nearly shouting over the throbbing music.

"What the hell made you pick a place like this," he shouted back.  "Let's get out of here."

"No," she yelled, "I want to see the show.  After the show, I'll finish what I started earlier.  Okay?" 

She ended the statement by drawing her hand closer to the bulge in his jeans.  He found himself responding, needing her touch, aching for it.  What the hell?

The noise quieted down a bit as the 'star' came out to the gigantic dance floor.  The marquee photo had made Iona Frank appear cracked out, but nothing compared to the actual person.  She was taller than average, probably well over six feet, and had very long black hair.  It was frizzed out and dry, as if she had dyed and redyed it.  She moved around the floor like a psychotic scarecrow.  The display she put on was fucking scary.  Her clothes were the worst.  She was dressed in a getup with a skimpy bra like top and a super short mini-skirt.  The garments were covered in what appeared to be…feathers.  Her eyes were covered in jet black eye liner and her lips were colored the same shade.  She was hideous.  Her voice was even more hideous.  No one could understand a word she was singing [or screaming], and she came out to the tables, flirting with the men.  Donovan glanced over at Pax, asking with his eyes:  what the hell were you thinking?

Pax shrugged, but she was getting pissed.  The creature was fucking staring at Donovan with hungry eyes.  Oh hell no.  Take one step, you bitch, and I'll kick your ass.  Iona must have noticed the look on Pax's face, because she didn't move toward their table.  When the horror known as her set was over, Pax excused herself for a drink.  She needed it after that horrible display. 

"I'm sitting with you," an annoying nasal voice said.

Donovan looked up.  It was the singer.  Before he could protest, she plopped herself in Pax's chair.  "I saw you looking at me.  You have the look of a man who knows everything about me without knowing me."

He sat back a little.  Good God.  She was even more hideous up close.  Trying his best to be polite, he said, "Miss, I'm far from psychic, I cannot read your mind.  I'm truly flattered, however, I'm with somebody else."

"Her?  Come on, handsome, I know you want me.  I saw it."

He was about to start yelling for Pax when she showed up.  "And who the fuck said you could sit in my chair, you anemic giraffe," she yelled.

She smirked up at Pax.  "We connected.  He knows me, man.  Knows everything about me, knows how I feel, what I think, understands me."

"For your fucking information, Morticia, he's my fucking man.  How the fuck would he know you?  If you don't remove your ass in five seconds, I'll fucking remove you myself."

She stood up slowly, facing Pax, challenging her.  "Is that so?  I'm talented.  I'm famous.  I'm the best."

"Baby, you are delusional," Pax said angrily.  "Remove your meth addict ass.  You're fucking psychotic."

"Can you sing, you hideous beast," she asked pointedly.

"No, and apparently you can't either," Donovan heard himself say before he could help it.

She turned her ire on him.  "You dirty bastard!"

"Okay," Pax shouted.  "That fucking does it.  No one calls him a bastard but me.  I'm going to kick your ass."

Donovan tried to keep her from throwing a punch, but it was too late.  Pax's fist connected with Iona's jaw.  She tried to rebound, but couldn't.  She kicked out and Pax grabbed her leg and tripped her.  When she fell to the floor, Pax was all over her.  By that time, the music had died down and everyone in the club began to watch the fight with great interest.  For a moment, Donovan watched [a little amused…he was certain to go to hell], but soon stepped in to end it before Pax killed her.  Donovan grabbed Pax's arm and pulled hard.  She turned on him, ready to punch him out.  However, something in the back of the crowd caught her attention.  A man.  A tall man.  Was it?  Could it be?  No.  Impossible.

When she heard his voice screaming for the women to stop, she knew it.  Keith.  He came running over to break up the fight.  As soon as he drew near, Pax had her answers.  It was he.  It was the man who murdered her son.  When he saw Pax, he smiled a little.  He shouted jomfru [virgin] toward her.  Donovan didn't understand what the man said, but he didn't like the look on Pax's face.  He turned to confront the fucker, and when he laid his eyes on Donovan, his smile fell away.

"Ahiga," Donovan shouted.

Without hesitation, the man turned and ran into the crowd.  Pax, with a loud shrieking primal cry, ran after him.  Donovan turned and ran after her, almost on her heels.  She ripped through the crowd, shoving and pushing.  By the time she made it out onto the busy street, she saw Ahiga climb into a waiting limousine.  She ran toward it madly.  Behind her, she could hear Donovan roaring her name, demanding that she stop.  She saw a semi-automatic weapon sticking out the limo's back window.  They could shoot her down, she didn't care.  Just as the sharp crack of gunfire issued forth, Donovan grabbed Pax around the waist and pulled her out of the line of fire.  She hit the pavement hard, kicking and screaming at Donovan.

"Stop it, Pax," he demanded.  "Stop it."

She fought at him, clawing and slapping.  "Let me go," she roared.  "Let me get him.  I have to get him."

She almost got away, but Donovan grabbed onto her again.  She fought at him some more, and he did the only thing he could.  He drew back and slapped her hard.  "Snap out of it, Jonella.  Snap out of it," he said gently.

Pax slumped over, almost kneeling.  "He got away," she cried weakly.  "I let him get away."

He went to her again.  "Come with me, Jonella.  We'll get him, I promise you.  Just come with me."  He wrapped his arms around her waist and allowed him to bring her to her feet.  "After what I saw tonight, you're going to tell me everything."

She looked up at him, saw the determined stubbornness in his eyes, and she secured her arm about his waist.  She thought she might have sprained something.  "Take me back.  Take me back and I'll talk.  I promise."