Chapter 4 - a leech’s ambition (2/2)

Chapman had been wary of Scarlett’s ambition at first; it had given her far more mileage than he would expect from any of his spurned offspring. There was an easy fix, fortunately. Him deigning to send Scarlett money could have proved risky, if Chapman had not also bombarded her with an onslaught of distractions. Between a torrent of brand deals and rapacious packs of agents, Scarlett had been swept away by innumerable, frivolous opportunities.

Hoping that the jingling keys of bit part millionaire fame would keep her occupied for at least a few decades, Chapman had assumed his tactics successful on account of the radio silence between them. Now laser focused on expanding his regime overseas, he considered the “Scarlett Issue” as good as settled.

If only he were so lucky!

Murmurings of Bacchanalia were scarce outside of the island, and Chapman would bury (or pay people to bury) as many bodies as it would take to keep any outsiders from sniffing around. Even the least rumor of Chapman’s imperial exploits was shrouded in hush money, but hearsay has its way of slipping from lips, especially when such stories seemed unbelievable anyway.

What’s the harm?

Why not extol the mythical tales of sailing away to Edens unknown, where none can challenge your Chapman-ordained sovereignty? Why not boast of your seat at the master’s table? Sure, money alone is plenty for Chapman’s most miserable colleagues to lock down a bedmate, but money does not make the man.

Pride. A man is his pride, in circles like these. And who among the vultures could know a greater pride than conquest?

Bacchanalia’s thrall supplanted the allure of the nightlife, though any given barfly would do little more than nod towards its potential existence, in either mockery or awe. Both were equally dangerous, and the nonbelievers, too, felt the urgent need to keep these exchanges quiet.

Scarlett, true to her nature, was a different story.

Hooking up with Chapman’s crew was no thrill to her anymore, but it was an avenue she’d often use to milk his bosom buddies for information. She needn’t exert herself this time, however, as the rumors had long since metastasized and spread like an informational STD. Scarlett only had to entertain a few drunken yuppies until she found her ticket in. Loose lips could sink ships, but Lowry (the desperate ratfuck squirming beneath her) had spilled just enough concrete details to get her a one way trip to Bacchanalia.

He came. She left.

Shortly thereafter, she phoned up her father for the first time in years.

“You’re getting sloppy, Chapman. You’re going to want to nip this Bacchanalia business in the bud. But don’t sweat it, because I have a proposition for you.”

Trading Lowry’s life for a glimpse into Chapman’s inner circle was the bargain of the century. In fact, she’d given Chapman six other names, just for fun. They’d all be dead by the time her helicopter landed on the island, by her estimation.

Smug as she was in her victory, she was still ill-prepared for paradise.

Scarlett knew, the second she stepped foot on Bacchanalia, that she would have sent at least a dozen more men to their deaths without losing sleep; Chapman’s secret “pet project” was a stone’s throw from Heaven itself.

The contractors, under Chapman’s critical gaze, had worked religiously to manifest the billionaire’s mad fantasy. A quarter of the island, if that, remained completely forested to help sell postcards. That was the lie they would sell to the uninitiated, at least. The singular swathe of greenery had a greater purpose, as it was preserved to conceal Chapman’s criminal endeavors. Beyond that untamed expanse, there was another fraction of land dedicated to the labor camps that lent their efforts to the ceaseless production of Dapsaelia and its multitude of derivatives. The contractors could certainly get away with leveling acres more as production expanded; there were miles upon miles of brush and bramble to obscure their evil for the foreseeable future.

Chapman’s palace (mansions were for poorer, lesser men) was carved out of Bacchanalia’s most massive mountain. Towers of pearly stone burst into divine light as they caught the sun, sprouting from the summit’s darker rock like mushrooms from a carcass. Its facade was an impressive imitation of the gates to God’s domain, although the only god Chapman recognized lay dormant in his bank vaults. The rest of the mountain had been reformed into descending terraces, not for agricultural purposes, but to create a stable foundation for resort suites, parks, restaurants, and gift shops.

The back of the Chapman estate was far less resplendent, serving as the second shield of concealment, the cliffside shorn into a sheer wall of rock to lock in the indigenous population.

No risk of discovery. No chance of escape.

Chapman’s personal militia kept watch from the palace’s parapets, and their stockpile of military grade weaponry was nestled deep in the bowels of the castle, just in case.

Even if Scarlett had somehow stumbled upon the sins of her father, the two parasites were of one mind; she would have thought it worth every drop of blood

Lowry’s ramblings had not done it justice.

Oh, to gaze upon the plains of green, dancing in the wind and carrying its song!

Oh, to behold the crystalline waters blue and the soft and sparkling sandy dunes!

Oh, to breathe as free under heaven’s azure dome!

So what if the “plains of green” would be flattened and paved and largely replaced with sidewalks, streets, and parking lots?

And sure, the waters and dunes were soon to be overrun by yachts and boats and invading tourists.

And “heaven’s dome” would be abuzz with aircrafts of every kind and choked with smog until the sun turned blind.

That, too, would be beautiful to one such as Scarlett. Presently, though, she had more pressing matters to consider than terrorizing nature’s majesty. Chapman had surrendered one of his premium suites to her, allowing her to acclimate well before Bacchanalia was open to the public. She was told it’d be the full package, and she was fiending for a taste.

All without charge, of course!

She would bear witness to Chapman’s new world, and wallow in the lap of luxury without spending so much as a penny of her own wealth! This was what she had been owed for so long. No longer would she suffer the unbearable mediocrity of being a semi-famous millionaire!

This was her birthright!

Having granted ample time for Scarlett to drink in the wonders of Bacchanalia, the pilot ushered her back onto the helicopter, informing her of the landing pads scattered on and around Chapman’s castle. She needn’t make the trek on foot, she’d been assured. Scarlett had run herself ragged simply securing her invitation, so this convenience was entirely deserved.

The island itself was spectacle enough, surely, but the premium suites clustered closest to Chapman’s castle spared no expense in elevating the concept of paradise.

The lobby’s vaulted ceilings were bathed in sunlight as skylights and great glass walls alike welcomed in the island’s natural radiance. Every tile, pillar, and surface imaginable were spotlessly (almost sickeningly) white. The gaping cavity of the lobby both dazzled and reduced Scarlett, who felt infinitely small in its sterile halls.

“Hello, stranger.”

Scarlett was snapped out of her reverie in an instant as a woman’s sultry voice echoed through the lobby. The acoustics here were off the wall!

From behind the broad partition of the front desk, a figure unfolded itself (seemingly from nowhere) and stretched its impressive height almost half a foot above Scarlett’s 5’6” build.

“Welcome to my island,” the greeting was bitter on the clerk’s pillowy lips, “We are short staffed at the moment, but the rest of the girls will be joining us once we are open to the public. I was the first to finish my, ah, education… and you will be in my hands, for a time.”

The rest of the girls? Typical. Chapman knew his audience, certainly. Fuck-you wealthy fossils craved the servitude of fertile, young women. Whether or not they could slip their gnarled hands under the skin was secondary; the creeps enjoyed the control.

So her father had created Hooters Island to help him and his deviant colleagues get off together. Whatever. There was obvious potential here, and pandering to the demented lust of decrepit capitalists couldn’t change that. Besides, money was the lifeblood of developing nations, and she’d be shocked if the vision before her couldn’t hustle the guests for exorbitant tips.

The clerk’s eyes were golden, piercing. Too intense for customer service, Scarlett thought, but more than sensual enough to compensate. They burned behind her mane of ebony curls, the thick locks streaked with shimmering streams of caramel that matched her silken skin. The cocoa black coils fell around her cherubic face, hints of jawline and high cheekbones peeking out beneath the plumpness.

In fact, the entirety of her athletic frame was filled out by the same subtle plumpness in her face. It was difficult not to look, despite her disdain for such cheap tricks, as the clerk’s uniform was but the thin white fabric of a two piece bikini, the name “Mia” embroidered in gold on her left tit.

Muscular thighs blossomed with plushness until their upper length molded together for several inches. The slightest cellulite peppered the backs of her legs, in defiance of their musculature. Prominent collar bones melted into rounded shoulders and soft arms as Scarlett’s eyes followed their contours. Tiny rolls adorned each side of the woman’s hourglass waist, and the bud of a would-be belly spread enticingly across her midriff and hid her ribs, welcoming a furtive pinch from any so bold.

The only area untouched by Mia’s baby fat were her perky breasts, each equally squeezable but just shy of filling a cupped palm. Instead, the extra fat had made its way south and nestled in her pert and perfectly round backside. Where Scarlett had tight curves and restrained softness, Mia had volume in abundance. While anyone lucky enough to grab a handful would feel their fingers sink into the welcoming flesh, the strength beneath was no myth. Mia’s athleticism lifted each cheek well off her thighs, unbothered by gravity’s universal might, and the crest of her ass created a small shelf where it met her back.

Scarlett felt suddenly overly hot beneath Mia’s gaze, the loose fabric of her sundress doing little to alleviate the irritation.

“Miss Chapman?”

Scarlett turned scarlet, aware again of her insignificance in this strange land, the fires of the sun and Mia’s golden glare turning her to dust. She blinked hard, hoping to banish her discomfort.

“Yeah, hi. Do you plan on pulling stunts like that once we’re up and running? My father doesn’t need you scaring his guests away.”

“Of course,” Mia murmured, sliding Scarlett’s keycard toward her, “Apologies, Miss Chapman. I was told in advance to expect you, I should have been better prepared. I hope your room is to your liking. We have gone to great lengths to make you comfortable, and I pray I have not spoiled that for you. Your quarters are fully stocked, but we will have a personal dinner prepared by the evening. Here,” Mia hefted a wine bottle the length of her arm behind the desk, its weight augmented by the thick, silver vines encasing the unlabeled glass.

“From our personal collection. Made right here on the island. For your troubles.”

“Yeah, that’s great, Mia. Bring it to my room, okay?”

Scarlett sensed some kind of venom bubbling beneath Mia’s civility, and she spat it right back, drawing out the clerk’s name condescendingly. Maybe she felt threatened by Mia’s unexpected beauty, poise that should be well beyond the means of some nobody hotel staffer. She had been caught off guard and made impotent, but she’d have her control. This was her island as much as it was her father’s. Snatching the keycard, Scarlett strode off to her suite, leaving her wine and luggage behind. Yes, that was the order of things. Here, she was unburdened. Let the clerk-slut earn her keep.

“Enjoy your stay, Chapman’s kin,” Mia hissed as she bared her teeth at Scarlett’s back in a mirthless grin.

She could have sworn she saw Scarlett shiver in the sunlight.

Good.