Page 2 of He Is Jensen: Part Two

With a screech, I slam my Porsche 911 to a halt in the back parking lot of the 66 Briar Street warehouse location, one of three ICE storage facilities I run for Tad, the pathetic loser, and royal prick, who plays the role of “muscle” for the Zodius ruler, Julian. Tad seems to believe playing bully for another bully is the way to win favor and power. I’ve only met Julian once, but I already know that dude is fucked in the head with an added dose of volatility. In a blink of an irritated eye, Julian could squash Tad like the inconsequential fly he is and most likely one day he will. Tad’s a yes man and yes men are always disposable, and my father long ago taught me well why that’s dangerous. No matter how hard I worked to prove my worth in his fast-food empire, I was never good enough.

For chicken.

The old man sold chicken and it didn’t take me long to decide I didn’t need to be his second. I’d create my own throne, my own empire.

I exit the car, stretching to my full height of six-foot-three, my black dress shoes scraping on the gravel driveway as I slam the door shut, and saunter toward the rear entrance to the facility. This location is two miles off the “Strip Area”—as the Gaming Commission calls a certain radius—by design, to stay off their radar and blend in with the locals. Tad is satisfied doing the hard work while Julian gets paid, but if he ever figures out the secret ICE formula Julian guards like gold, I’m betting that will change. Julian wants to rule the world and submit humans to the GTECHs, specifically his Zodius monsters. I’ll play along until the time is right to turn the tables, but screw Julian and his GTECH kingdom. Humans outnumber GTECHs, and it would remain that way.

My gaze shifts to the remarkable sky—starless, moonless—yet not a rumble of thunder, near or far. It’s as if there’s been an eclipse—an ICE eclipse. Tonight is the night the evolution begins, the night I’ll be celebrating taking my own special formula of ICE from small-time distribution to mass market; ICE Eclipse. Satisfaction rolls through me as I close the space between me and Tad’s hideout, cameras tracking my every move. I’m downright elated at the thought of my empire.

End Julian’s money flow.

End Julian.

End the GTECHs.

The instant I reach the single heavy metal door, a buzzer sounds and the seal pops open. As it should be. The security guard has the good sense not to keep me waiting as he did the last time I was here. The fool found out how much I detest waiting. I don’t wait. The me of the past, the submissive boy who wanted to please his father, might have, but not the me of today. And I do not serve, not even Julian. Exactly why I don’t indulge in ICE myself. That would be a lethal mistake that handed my puppet strings to Julian. As for Julian’s promises to make his top performers GTECH, I’m unmoved or motivated.

I enter a rectangular office with a glass window overlooking the warehouse, where rows of neatly palleted vials of ICE are stored. Sabrina Drake, my version of Tad—a much easier-on-the-eyes version of Tad—leans a fine leather-clad ass on the worn, white wooden desk. The instant she spies me, she discards the clipboard in her hand on the desk. “Hi, sugar,” she greets, her long, red hair, a fiery mass that traces delicate white shoulders, exposed by her barely-there, leather vest. Appropriate considering no matter how delicate her skin, how sensual her body—she will always be more leather than lace. She can kick your ass, even in an ICE-induced high, in three seconds flat. Or just shoot you with one of the guns she straps under her pant leg above those spike heels. I get hot just thinking about watching her destroy my enemies.

She purses her full, red lips. “Thought you’d never get here. I need…” her words trail off.

I know what she needs and I advance on her, tugging her hard against my body, and shackling one of her wrists. “Open,” I order, of her fingers curled into her palm.

She presents me her palm and I press the deep circle tattoo in the center to my mouth, my tongue sliding over the surface, over my brand, the ink that allows rapid absorption of the Eclipse portion of my ICE formula. She moans softly with the rasp of my tongue and whispers, “I need a hit, baby. I’ve waited an hour too long.”

My lips curl. “If you need it so badly, get down on your knees and ask nicely.”

“There isn’t time,” she purrs. “The girls will begin arriving any minute.”

As if I care. Maybe they can join in. And I know just how to get her to agree. “Pity.” I reach inside my pocket and retrieve the tiny silver star that appears harmless enough, until you realize it’s the method of dispensing Eclipse. I motion to her desk where a rack of ICE vials awaits use. “Take your dose. You can thank me later.”

Junky that she’s become, she doesn’t even hesitate, grabbing a glass tube, and holding it out to me. “Join me?”

When hell freezes over, I think, but what I say is, “It’s all yours, my little ICE bitch.”

She smiles. Pleased. “I am a bitch, aren’t I?”

“A dominant, controlling bitch, who keeps the rest of the bitches in line.” I capture her hand again, my finger sliding over the tattoo on her palm. “A lovely bitch such as you, my dear, deserves her reward.” I urge her to drink, knowing her addiction offers me the same control over her that Julian intends over all of humanity. The control I will soon own with my Eclipsers.

She pops the top of the vial and brings it to her mouth. At the same time, I press the silver star over the mark on her hand, the etched skin allowing the unique formulation of ecstasy mixed with a few secret ingredients, to be absorbed into her bloodstream, all but instantly. The boost, when taken in conjunction with ICE, enhances the user’s senses—and suddenly everything tastes better, smells better, feels better.

Her lashes flutter, the vial all but falling from her hand. I kiss her wrist, and she shivers, pleasure rolling across her face. Most users would have orgasmed right here and now, but not Sabrina. She’s fire and heat, and ready for more.

“God, I love this stuff,” she murmurs, her voice raspy, deep in her throat. I reward her agreement, my lips moving up her arm until she shivers, fixing me in her bright green stare. “I really love it.”

I unzip her vest, fully intending to enjoy her ICE-induced arousal. Time for her to get on her knees and I urge her downward. Her lips curve into a teasing smile, as she sensually slides down my body but just as she is about to hit the pleasure zone, the buzzer on the door goes off.

“The girls are arriving,” she murmurs from her knees where I want her. “They’ll be bringing you all that money you’re making but they’ll wait until we’re done. They like their Eclipse as much as I do. Or we could make a party of it. Have them join the fun.”

I grab her hand and yank her up to her feet, kissing her hard, and then setting her away from me. She’s a toy, and nothing more. There’s always another toy. “Business before pleasure, baby. We expanded our distribution tonight. Monitor the results as I pay you to do.”

Only two weeks before, we’d had a dealer go MIA, and we’d been forced to regroup, rethink.

Sabrina stiffens, sliding into the comfortable shell of badass bitch. “The results…” she says, zipping those perky breasts inside her leather vest and heading toward her left, “will be as expected. My girls will deliver.”

“They better,” I snap tightly, offering her my back, dismissing her, and stepping to the window, where I stare out at the warehouse longer and wider than the eye can see, and that she’s expected to clear out twice a week.

Sabrina supervises dozens of women, on my dime, all trained to approach prescreened targets, frequenters of certain bars, clubs, casinos, and restaurants to convert them to users.