Chapter Three: Sweet Safety
Clara groaned as bright light streamed in the oval windows of the sleek plane as it touched down on the bumpy, rocky airstrip.
She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the landscape outside as the plane came to a stop. She didn't get out enough to recognize that the lush green plants that grew on either side of the runway were Coca plants, the country's greatest export, fun for one and all.
Clara was too frightened to protest much when Barsad appeared at her side, encouraging her to rise to her feet with an assertive grip on her elbow.
"This way Miss," Barsad grumbled as he steered Clara to the front of the plane and down a creaky set of stairs.
"Be careful Miss," Barsad murmured before Clara set her foot on the bottom step, it was notoriously loose and had been known to give way without any notice.
Clara tried to look everywhere at once as Barsad kept his grip strong, maneuvering to the edge of the airstrip that gave way to a paved path, speckled with glass beads, mimicking a walking path accented with jewels and priceless gems.
Talia led the way, loudly greeting a woman with legs that went to the heavens.
"Fabiana, it's simply been too long," Talia purred as she embraced with tall woman.
Clara was mesmerized at Fabiana's beauty, a former supermodel from Eastern Europe that had fallen in love with the international drug lord when he was passing through Milan nearly two decades before.
Clara remained rooted in place, she instantly recognized Fabiana Fyre from the covers of a million magazines and the honorary matriarch of a fashion reality show.
"Talia, welcome back," Fabiana purred as she returned Talia's hug, her voice was liquid diamonds sluicing wetly over hot, naked skin and undulating bodies.
"You brought a friend," Fabiana stated as she looked past Talia's shoulder to find Clara, pale and trembling.
"Darling, what's your name?" Fabiana called out to Clara.
"Um, uh, I'm," Clara started before Fabiana's beautiful face took on empathy, recognizing Clara's fear.
"This is my new assistant, Grace," Talia said in a sweetly toned interruption.
"Assistant? Hmmmm, Talia, no wonder you never visit anymore," Fabiana teased, her overly plump lips pulling into a sexy pout, her lip stain glossy, wet and raw.
Clara watched as Fabiana walked towards her, a hand extended. "Fabiana Fyre, please come in Grace, you look like you could use something to eat."
Clara looked down as Fabiana's cool hand closed around hers.
Fabiana's nails were freshly polished in an opal tone that made her fingertips appear as though they were dipped in glass.
Clara struggled to keep pace with Fabiana's longer stride, the former supermodel was a little under six-feet tall in her bare feet, today she had on five-inch spiked heels, walking with feline grace along the rocky path to an airy veranda with a set table, cut-crystal carafes of water and red wine were clustered in the center of the table, along with a floral centerpiece that boasted vivid blossoms with obscene, phallic stems.
Bane had stopped moving when the pathway spilled into the circular rock garden. Several young men and women dressed in pristine white linen held silver trays with cloches that reflected the clear sky above.
Clara's eyes felt too wide as she tried to look everywhere at once. The lids were lifted and soon a veritable buffet of imported cheeses, figs and aged cognac was in front of her.
Fabiana caught Clara's mystified expression as she picked up a plump apricot and bit into its orange flesh. "What did you expect darling, we do live in the jungle, but my husband gets measured for his suits on Savile Road," Fabiana chuckled.
Her voice was delicious, made only sweeter as she ran her tongue across her lower lip to catch the apricot's bleeding nectar.
Clara was mystified by the lush and lovely atmosphere of the estate nestled in the middle of the forest; she couldn't help but find her eyes drawn to the heavily armed men that roamed the property.
Fabiana caught Clara staring at a dangerous looking man with a jagged scar bisecting his left eyebrow and an automatic machine gun with a full clip, each round hot loaded for maximum bodily damage.
"Oh darling, pay him and the others no mind, you are quite safe here," Fabiana murmured, her voice musical as she poured a everyone at the table a small snifter of peach brandy.
"Safe?" Clara heard herself parrot.
Fabiana smiled sweetly with a gentle nod, Clara couldn't help but feel the warmth wrap around her, a modicum of comfort amidst the terror.
Throughout the entirety of the light meal, Bane remained rooted in place, watching the table, the men with guns and beyond what their eyes could see, and ears could hear.
Clara could feel the weight of Bane's eyes when he'd sweep over her, could feel his presence that went behind his sheer size and capacity for violence, taking lives, overthrowing kings, and parting the roiling seas.
She was used to being in the public eye, being surrounded by strangers that freely lobbed love, praise, or heckle and insult. Clara was used to walking a tightrope over hell while navigating a gauntlet of flapping vestigial gums, voices of every pitch and words that could make you cry, smile or blush with fury.
Bane found it a challenge that Clara avoided his gaze and could seemingly be looking anywhere but him. He clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as he narrowed his eyes, increasing the intensity of his gaze.
Clara could feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his attention. She merely doubled down on carefully slicing into a Tahitian vanilla tart, heaped high with glazed fruit, seeds spilled forth from the eviscerated fruit.
Clara jumped when a tall, cleanshaven man walked up to Fabiana at an urgent clip.
He waited until she granted him permission to approach before leaning down and whispering into her ear. Her ears boasted heavy diamond and emerald earrings, the gold formed into three perfect spheres to circle the gemstones.
Clara watched Fabiana's face, looking for a flicker in her neutral expression to discern what she was hearing.
Being born into a political dynasty, her mother even owned a pink pill box hat, Clara was used to seeing the careful faces of powerful men and women as they were relayed the news of wars, death, and famine on delicate whispers.
Fabiana let nothing show, merely dabbed at her lips with the silk napkin before rising.
"Excuse me, something has risen in which I must attend," she started before barking in a harsh local language to one of the wait staff in the crisp, white linen suit.
The biting sound of the dialogue still held music spilling from Fabiana's beautiful mouth as she turned towards Talia.
"Jade will show you to your rooms, I will seek you out later, we have much to catch up on," Fabiana purred to Talia before leaning down and lightly kissing Talia's cheek.
Clara watched the former supermodel walk away, the shafts of sunlight found her long legs, smooth neck, shadows only highlighted her form, ugliness fell away from the world as she walked by.
After Fabiana was out of sight, Jade approached the table with her eyes downcast.
Talia glanced over at the lead wait staff, nodding in satisfaction when Jade gestured towards a separate building on the vast property.
"Come along Grace," Talia said when Clara remained firmly planted in her wrought-iron chair.
Clara couldn't help but notice and visually acknowledge Bane when he took just one measured step towards her frozen form.
She leapt to her feet, dropping the silk napkin to land on the small, smooth pebbles.
Before she could even start to bend, one of the linen-attired staff rushed to retrieve the fallen linen square.
Jade nodded her approval at the quick-moving staff before leading Talia and Clara to their rooms.
Bane and Barsad followed, both men quiet, their eyes on Clara for wildly different reasons.
Jade led the spread-out quartet to first Talia's room, there was an office, sitting room, spacious bathroom with an antique claw foot tub and airy bedroom with a walk-in closet.
Clara would be in a room within Talia's suite, she had no desire to let the young political socialite out of her sight.
Jade quickly excused herself after handing Talia the keys to the suite.
Talia turned towards Barsad, "go check that our arriving tourist's itinerary is in order."
Barsad nodded stiffly, wanting to remain in the room but not worth showing that desire.
"Sit," Talia said to Clara as she walked over to the bar built into the corner of the living room. She nodded at an oval, glass-topped table and joined Clara there with two squat crystal glasses and matching decanter filled with a clear liquor.
Clara shifted on the plush padded chair as Talia filled the short glasses to the halfway mark.
As Clara sipped at the expensive alcohol, the refined spirits spread warmth throughout her chest and belly, back in Gotham City, the Kingston family were all under the penthouse roof.
The family was putting on a grand display of everything is just fine to the media, all the social platforms and anytime they could be in the crosshairs of a telephoto lens.
Governor Kingston, Clara's allegedly loving and protective father, should've been devastated that his daughter had been taken, could even be dead. Instead, there was some palpable relief inside, Clara was barely a spare as it was, with her gone, now the two growing babies in the belly of his opossum daughter-in-law would secure lifetimes of continued male lineage.
Clara's absence paved the way for a news story *leak about Clara being in drug rehab and established a future of masculine political reign.