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The Velvet Storm

The Velvet Storm

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Published by Sandy Sessler

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Published by: Sandy Sessler on Jun 11, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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 THE VELVET STORMThe shrill of the alarm cut through the early morning silence like a stiletto. It wasenough to rouse the dead. And dead was how Vince Roberts felt. His head throbbed to theunremitting beat of a distant Bongo drum. He knew his morning was going to be crap andhe was going
like crap right along with it.Grudgingly, he shifted himself from under the heap of twisted covers that signaled arestless sleep and slid out of bed. He yelped as the icy tile floor sent an chill shootingthrough his body and he dashed for the bathroom and steamy wet heat of the shower.After lingering for what seemed hours trying to rouse his brain as well as his body, Vincedecided he could no longer put off the day. They were waiting. They were all waiting.“Well, Vince, what’s it going to be?”They certainly weren’t wasting any time. They sat in ambush, expecting his answer without delay. He had the weekend to think it all over and the answer didn’t seem anycloser now than it did on Friday when he packed his overnight and headed for the lake.Why couldn’t they understand that this wasn’t easy for him? Why did they have to pushso hard until he wanted to rip out somebody’s throat. Of course that was what they werehoping for That was the exact thing they wanted to provoke in him.
And Vince Roberts could certainly be provoked. It was one of the things he did best.He could let the smallest of nuisances get under his skin; someone who slammed on his brakes just as the light turned yellow in front of him; someone who cut in front of himmaking a left hand turn at the last minute; when they ran out of the right size cups atStarbucks for his morning latte; when the cable when out right in the middle of a movieten minutes before the end. No, it didn’t take much to arouse his ire, but he could channelthat fury and tuck it away in his secret place, to be brought out at a more appropriatetime.“Well, Vince?” the voice persisted.Yes, Vince, he thought to himself. What’s it going to be? A turning point? A sticking point? A point of no return? He closed his eyes and let himself retreat…remove himself from the moment…remember.He could feel the hot Bermuda sun beating down on his face.“Come on, you. Wake up and kiss me,” she giggled, as she ran a cool hand through hissandy hair.“”And who might that be?” he smiled with his eyes still shut, as he restrained fromgrabbing her right there on the beach and making love in the sand.“Just a gorgeous native girl, sir, who wants to seduce you away from your ugly, horridwife,” she said in a husky voice.“”Oh. Well, that’s different,” he said, his own voice filled with hunger. He reached upand ran his hand through the richness of her thick, ebony hair and pulled her to him. Hecould feel the warmth of her lithe, tanned body melting into his. An unspeakable pleasure
filled his body and his soul. She was his wife. All his. Not just for now. For always.His eyes popped open, unexpectedly moist. He turned away. They couldn’t see. Theycould not know his vulnerability. His life depended on it.“Okay,” was all he said. He stood up and took the file folder from the gleaming,mahogany table. They watched him leave and knew they made the right choice. The perfect choice. Who better to carry out their plans? They knew the raging fury that lived just below his eerie calm exterior would serve them well at just the right time. And thetime was coming near. Soon. Very soon.Vince sat at a corner table and sipped his latte. The folder sat, closed, in front of him.There was no great hurry in opening it. He knew what it contained and he dreaded perusing the contents. Before Isabella, it didn’t matter. It was just a job. Nothing personal. No guilt attached. No emotion involved.But then he met her and everything changed. Her soft, brown doe eyes pierced hisheart and softened the hard, crusty inner part of him. Her buttery warmth wrapped aroundhis heart and changed him…forever.Isabella. His beloved, Isabella. His entire being ached for her. The ache filled every part of him and threatened his sanity. He knew he was close to the edge, but there wasstill a little life left in him. Enough to do one more job. Enough to do this last job.He slid open the folder to view the contents. First, the vital statistics. The who, whatand why of it. He skimmed through it because the particulars didn’t really matter at this point. They would only become important as the time drew near. For now, it was justsuperfluous information. Then, he turned to the photos. There was an 8x10 glossy and

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