Storage Room Secrets (Part 3)
TITLE: Storage Room Secrets [3/?]
AUTHOR: *note, author uses alias, this is not her real name* Ambrose Chavez
EMAIL/FEEDBACK: agent47AChavez@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: feel free to archive this work as long as you notify me of its location so I can visit the site!
DISCLAIMER: ALIAS is the property of ABC, Touchtone Pictures, Bad Robot Productions, and is the creation of JJ Abrams. Sadly, I have no part in it.
SUMMARY: Sydney and Vaughn must learn that every decision has a price.
RATING: (this chapter) NC-17 (strong language, descriptive sex)
SONG: Linkin Park – “Pushing Me Away”
CLASSIFICATION: dramatic romance
AUTHOR’S SPECIAL NOTE: so some of you are appalled that I made poor, fun-loving Eric Weiss the “rat”. I just wanted to let you know I have *nothing* against Weiss at all – love his character – so don’t get all upset, thinking I’m against the poor boy… hehe. You’ll see some character development… and then some *wink* *Ambrose
{~PUSHING ME AWAY~}
Vaughn jerked himself upright, the sheet falling to his waist. He was sure he heard wrong, must have. Had to have been that Jack Daniels he downed before bed… drank a good portion, but not the whole bottle… right? He couldn’t remember.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s this place downtown,” she spoke in low whispers conspiratorially. “It’s off Sunset Boulevard, two blocks east of the Pantages Theatre, behind the old 24-hour Mexican food place. There’s a small parking lot directly behind it. In the far left corner, it opens into a tight alley. If you follow that alley to the end, you’ll find me. Forty-five minutes.”
There was a soft click as she disconnected.
He threw himself back upon his pillows, still clutching the receiver to his chest. Desperately, he tried to clear his head.
It was Sydney, he realized. She called me.
The shock of it slipped through his body like a slow drug, pleasing, sensual, and satisfying. Moments later, he became vaguely aware that he was wearing a silly, boyish grin. He rubbed one hand over his face before he flung aside the sheets, hung up the phone, and went on a hurried search for something to pull over his lean, muscular, and presently naked body.
He found a pair of clean, ocean blue silk boxers (his favorite) and yanked them on. He rummaged through his drawer, found a pair of stiff navy jeans, and pulled them up, buttoned.
In mid-zip, he froze.
Without warning, his mind was assaulted with voices of the past, calling to him, taunting him, warning him until he felt nauseated. Gripping the side of his rosewood dresser, he steadied himself and clearly heard them splinter his hope.
“You’re too emotionally attached to that woman!” Stephen Haladki.
“You and Sydney have a friendship?… So you feel that your relationship with Ms. Bristow is fully appropriate, that it falls within the guidelines of agent and handler?” Dr. Barnett
“You’re starting to get a little too emotional about this… you are obviously attached to this woman… he gets to see Sydney every week, and it’s making you crazy… I know you genuinely care for her. I do, too. But there is a line we’ve been sworn not to cross. We’re about a mile past that.” Eric Weiss.
“Taking SD-6 down is what gets her up in the morning. Or… did you think it was all those meetings she has with you?… Were you trying to impress my daughter?” Jack Bristow.
Vaughn huffed out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and shook his head once. How much did he drink last night? Then, he remembered another voice.
“My guardian angel.” Sydney.
Smiling faintly, he slipped a white tee shirt over his head, and headed to the bathroom to wash up. After brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were moss green pools swimming in the reddened whites of his eyes. Great, he thought. I look like hell.
Settling for some eye drops, and figuring he’d pick up some gas station coffee along the way, he pulled his leather jacket on, and settled in his car. Turning the ignition, he stilled his hand as the recollection of one more voice resonated in his mind.
“You stay the hell away from Sydney. If you so much as attempt to establish contact with her, are seen on the same street corner as her, are anywhere within a 10-mile radius of her, you will lose your position with the agency. I’ll personally see to it… If you ever place your hands on my daughter again, I’ll kill you.” Jack Bristow.
{~}
Eric stepped out of his car, and walked up the stairs to apartment 147. Unlocking the door, he found her leaning against the countertop, reading. She glanced up, and he noted there was no surprise in her eyes. The sparkle in the blue vastness of them seemed to shimmer, blink, and disappear, all in a matter of seconds. She smiled at him, coarse and artificial.
//I’ve lied to you ~ the same way that I always do ~ this is the last smile ~ that I’ll fake for the sake of being with you\\
Half-disgusted with himself, he tossed the photographs on the counter in front of her.
“Are you satisfied?” he growled, temperamental.
“Oh yes,” she purred. Her long, lacquered nails grazed the pictures affectionately, almost perversely. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive,” Eric scowled at her. “I’ve already betrayed him several times, and in some of the biggest ways.” He looked at her pointedly.
Her eyes were dark storms of midnight, and her faraway smile could only be described as bloodthirsty.
“He’s one of my best friends,” he walked around her, unable to bear that look on her face. Rummaging through the cabinets, he searched for a wine glass. “I got him off the Bristow case. He’s on probation, and once he finds out that I was the informant and photographer, he’ll kill me.”
“He won’t.” she cooed at him now. “Kill you, that is. He’ll find out who’s responsible for reporting him though.”
//Everything falls apart ~ even the people who never frown eventually break down ~ the sacrifice of hiding in a lie ~ everything has to end ~ you’ll soon find we’re out of time left to watch it all unwind ~ the sacrifice is never knowing ~ why I never walked away ~ why I played myself this way ~ now I see your testing me pushes me away\\
He clutched the wine glass stem between his fingers. Her voice was silky smooth and husky. Her breath was hot on his neck, her arms around his waist, and her palms flat, ascending up his chest. She started laying kisses across his shoulder, making her way up to his neck. He stood stiff.
Turning to face her, she pressed herself against him, placed her lips upon his and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She pulled back slightly, and released, growling low in her throat, making him forget about the drink he wanted.
“You’re such a good boy, Eric.” She whispered, the gleam in her eyes flashed wickedly. “Come play with me.”
He found it hard to deny her, so he crushed her mouth under his, giving her a cruel and brutal kiss they both knew would leave her lips swollen and possibly bruised. His hands held her wrists tightly, pressing against her racing pulse, leaving marks. He shoved her against the counter, heard her sharp cry of pain, her moan of pleasure.
He felt himself hard and heavy against her, and tore his mouth from hers. Freeing her hands, he reached up, grabbed a handful of the fitted bloody red muscle tank top she wore, and ripped it down the center. She nearly whimpered in excitement, eyes dazzling with growing lust.
She raised her hands, split his shirt open, popping several buttons in the process, and hungrily sunk her teeth into his shoulder. There was a sound acute to pain that escaped him when she raked her long, tapered fingernails down his back, drawing blood in several places.
Picking her up, he placed her on a nearby stool. Her drawstring shorts were skimpy and troublesome, and when she slipped a finger by his lips, he nipped it with his teeth and drew it in, sucking it firmly as he wrenched her shorts down and away. Her underwear was made up of flimsy material, and he snapped the thin band around her waist effortlessly.
He found her ready and wet. One hand covered her heat, rubbing ruthlessly against her clitoris, causing her to arch her back, thrusting her heavy breasts up toward him as she seized the counter behind her for balance. At once, he speared his index and middle finger into her mercilessly and captured her hardened nipple between his teeth, sucking fiercely.
In response, she bucked and an animal moan sliced through her. Kneeling down, he waited for her to meet his eyes before he pierced her center with his tongue. When she was writhing with need, he rose and inspected the bruises he left on her breasts, hips, and arms.
She screamed at him. Coming from her, his name sounded like a vile curse.
“Eric, dammit!” she rasped. “I can’t hold on for long. Fuck me now, now. Do it now!”
It was then he become conscious of what disturbed him most and he found he would never be able to tell her how he sick he felt.
The words whirled in his head, tumbling over the other until they were a mass jumble of thoughts.
I’ve betrayed him, I’ve been deceitful, and I’ve stolen what had been his. I’ve taken his steady source of comfort and joy, and stripped him of his rightful position. For what? For this? I’ve turned against my best friend because I can’t say no a woman who offers me a cheap sex thrills and uses me to bring him down?
//I’ve tried like you ~ to do everything you wanted to ~ this is the last time ~ I’ll take the blame for the sake of being with you\\
“Shit, Eric,” her sun-streaked blonde hair hung in tiny strings around her heart-shaped face, sweat was sheer on her skin. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
It amazed him that she was naked, and he was still half-dressed and no longer interested. His body still reacted to her, he was human after all, but the desire for her was gone.
“Something else, Alice.” He spoke quietly. “Someone better.”
Her eyes glazed over, and Eric saw hate in her. It brewed dark and heavy and so apparent. How could he have missed it? The despise, the superficiality, the terrible arctic soul that resided in her…
“You little bitch,” she stood on unsteady legs. She had been on the verge of an orgasm, and been denied. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Gently, he brushed her hand aside when she stabbed one finger into his major pectoral muscle.
“It was wrong for us go behind Mike’s back, even while you two dated.” He sighed, and blocked her hand when she lifted it to slap him. “It was wrong of me. I betrayed him, and now I’ve caused him so much hurt, so much pain – so much he doesn’t deserve. Because of you.”
“Me?!” Alice railed. In a failed attempt to head-butt him, she yelled at him shrilly. “I never cared for him. He cared about his damn job too much. It was always about work, work, work. I got sick of it. You weren’t like him, Eric. But what are you now? Nothing more than he was. And you’ll never be what he is.”
Crossly, he asked, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I could have helped you take down the world.” She whispered passionately, a thirst pouring into her eyes akin to madness. “I could have taken him down of that goddamn pedestal myself, knocked him on his ass, off his high rocker. He was a shit in bed too, always so fucking gentle and sweet. Not like you, Eric. Not anything like you. You’re different from him.”
He almost shuddered at the thought. The way she was talking was beginning to scare him, and though he would normally say so, this time – for once – he shut up.
Twisting her hands from his grasp, she stepped back. “Get out of my house,” she pointed to the door. “You’ve done all you can anyway.”
He raised a brow, but didn’t dare respond. Half of what she said was nonsensical and he didn’t care to try to comprehend it. All he wanted was to escape, and this was as good a route as any.
“Alice?” he asked when he was at the door. She looked up, her eyes sharp and empty. “Don’t bother trying to find an assassin for Mike. If I find out that you do, you’ll end up hunted and slaughtered… and you won’t be able to escape because I’ll come for you myself.”
{~}
“You’ll have to lay off,” she spoke evenly into the cell phone. “If you send someone now, he’ll come after me. He wasn’t lying.”
In Moscow, Mr. Sark swirled his favorite wine in the glass and contemplated his options. “Well, then, Alice. It looks like you fucked up.”
“How was I supposed to know he’d have a conscience fit?” she hissed.
“Mm.” He sipped his wine delicately. “You’ll have to fix it. The Man wants him and Ms. Bristow dead.”
Sarcastically, she replied. “No shit.”
He lifted the gleaming silver pistol and eyed it critically in the shadowy light of his apartment. He detested bright lights. “You’re running out of time.”
“I know.”
“Prove yourself worthy,” He used his high, clipped British accent now, just the way he did when he was irritated. “Get the job done, or Weiss won’t be the only one after you.”
“How flattering.”
“Isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He hung up, leaned back in his easy chair, shut his eyes and dreamed of death.
{~}
He was late. That had to be it. He was just late.
God, she nearly bit her nails worrying. He wouldn’t just leave her here, right? Not alone? That’s not like the Vaughn she knew.
She strained her ears to hear the sound of a car pulling up, the slightest footstep, the rustle of pant legs, anything! She almost leaped out of her skin when she heard the screaming wail of a cat and the clattering of a garbage can instead.
Sydney glanced at her watch again. Nearly an hour.
Her heart sank. What if he fell back asleep? What if something happened to him? What if he simply gave up on her? What if he wasn’t coming?
Her nerves were rattling in her ears, her head was beginning to pound. Her skin was sensitive to every change of the wind, and she drew her jacket around her tighter.
What was that? She whirled in the direction of the one and only opening to the alley. A dark figure loomed and stalked toward her, head down, hands in pockets. Vaughn!
She rushed forward, intending to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, the way he had held her only 24 hours before. But she came to a sudden halt a few feet ahead of him.
The upturned collar of the jacket, the straightforward and arrogant tilt of the head, the shape of his body wide, his shoulders hunched weren’t typical of him. The troubled eyes that met hers weren’t Vaughn’s.
They were her father’s.
{TBC}
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