How Beauty Loved the Beast - By Jax Garren Page 0,1
Reginald belonged to, had a two-fold mission. They served humanity by secretly bringing her industries and government under a central control. Most people were too lazy or too stupid to make democracy effective, so Ananke gave them a semblance of one and pulled the strings behind the scenes. Fossil fuels, pharmaceuticals, military might, the news, even the food chain had men from Ananke at the helm, working to serve a human race that was falling apart from failed experiments in public education, social equality and “free will”—whatever that meant.
Misplaced faith in free will, that was the crux of the world’s most pressing problems. Ananke was the Goddess of Destiny, Goddess of hard choices and Fate. Free will was an illusion men believed in to make them sleep better at night.
This was the second and most important mission of The Order, to recognize the true will of Her, of Ananke, and to bring it about. Life on earth would improve for everyone as more people accepted the will of Fate and followed Destiny without a fight. The Order of Ananke was here to show humanity the way of truth.
But Reginald Benoit wasn’t a real believer. He believed in the power The Order wielded but sought to use Her like a tool. Grant could picture in his memory Reginald and other men like him attending rituals with empty disdain for the meaning beneath them. They went through the motions out of habit or social pressure, all while thinking more of their cigars and the beds of their mistresses than cowering in awe and gratitude before their Goddess.
Reginald had the audacity to believe their success rested on the work of men and not the grace of Her. But didn’t this frail little girl cowering in Grant’s office just prove his faith was right? Fate had blessed him because of his devotion to Her.
As if on cue, the girl licked her glossed lips. “Surely...we can work something out.” She eyed him under thick lashes and leaned forward, further revealing the soft and plentiful beauty beneath her shirt.
Grant wasn’t in the habit of pressuring women into bed with him, but this one was a burlesque dancer. She stripped for men all the time. Why not for him? If she was a present from his Goddess, it couldn’t be wrong.
He stood straighter, enjoying the view of looking down at a beautiful, helpless, quivering woman. A woman who could have had power over him if she’d stayed with her father and followed the right path instead of philandering with anarchists. He smiled. “I think we can work something out.”
Slowly she stood. Her hands went to her hair and pulled out the combs securing it into a tight pile at the nape of her neck. She shook her head, and red curls tumbled around her shoulders, bringing with them the scent of citrus.
Reginald’s daughter was truly and exceptionally gorgeous.
She gulped, as if steadying herself, then reached for him, slipping a hand around his neck.
So easy, he didn’t even have to make a demand. As if it was Fated to be. His smile grew. Oh, it would be so nice to use Reginald Benoit’s lovely daughter however he liked.
A sting at his neck took him by surprise. “Wha...” His knees went weak, trembling and then unable to support him. They gave out. He reached for his desk. It was too far away, and he fell.
The girl caught him and lowered him to the floor.
“What did—what did—”
“It’s okay, Grant,” she said in a businesslike voice. Where was her fear? “It’s a sedative. I haven’t poisoned you, although I’m starting to think you deserve it.”
His vision blurred as her hands raced across his body, not to pleasure him, but to...rifle through his pockets?
She retrieved her lipstick. “Brayden? I’m in.”
She was talking to her lipstick? No, it had come apart. She’d hidden a communication device inside the tube.
“Yup, his office. He did exactly what I said he’d do.”
She snatched his badge and his keys, and the world faded to black.
* * *
Jolie shook her head as she retracted the needle hidden in her hair comb and plugged her iPhone into Grant’s computer. Because men were predictable idiots, the first mission she’d planned herself was going like a charm. She wasn’t sure if that made her more stoked by her success or depressed on principle. She executed a script on her phone that would crack any passcodes and download Grant’s emails and document folders. As the cracker script started, she dragged him behind