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How is your breathing?" We mayneed to tighten you up one more time. That dress is supposed to hangfairly loose around the waist. Here, have a seat over by the magazinesand I'll get dressed in my outfit for the night.Ken picked up an Elle magazine, but his mind was too distracted to read.Just then Stacy yelled from her dressing room. "You should practicewalking in those heels. Try to take short slow steps, and walk like youare on a balance bar. If you do that and relax, your hips will swaynaturally." He tried this for a few minutes with limited success. Atleast he was able to keep from falling over!Stacy made her appearance. She was wearing a black dress that lookedpainted to what small parts of her body that it covered. Every inch ofher was screaming for attention. He wondered if he should tell her thathe was not gay or bisexual, but figured that would be pretty transparent."Hey, why do you get to wear four inch heels?" He pouted."Because I'm shorter than you and I've. “I’d be more than happy to let you call me that all night, but it’s Tim. And not nearly as sexy.”“Tim. Nice to finally know. So, you can pick me up, Tim. I live on Laurel Ave...”“I know,” he cut me off. “I, uh, did a little research before I called you.”There was silence for a moment.“You did a background check on me?” I asked, a little offended.“Yeah, I’m sorry if that’s creepy. But if it makes you feel better, you’re squeaky clean.”I had to laugh. What a geek!“Fine, then meet me at my place in half an hour.”“Got it,” he said. “And, for the record, I’m truly looking forward to this.”I smirked. “So am I, honey. So am I.”I hung up and made a mad dash to shower and shave and doll myself up - not too much, but just so it looked like I put in an effort to look nice even though I already knew he wanted me. And then, right on time, the doorbell rang. I finished slipping on the silver stiletto-heeled sandals that go perfectly with my little black curve-hugging dress and went to answer the.
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When his blindfold was removed he saw another white man strapped to a chair. Riahl approached him and held out a pistol. ‘Brother Darren this pistol holds one round. In that chair sits a British MI5 agent, he was caught snooping around my mosque. Your knowledge of your faith, and your innocence as a traitor has been proven, but your devotion has yet to be proven.’ With that Riahl stepped back from Darren. Darren walked confidently toward the man sitting in the chair. The man wore no blindfold and his eyes wore a determined look, but there was a hint of fear hiding behind the façade. Judging by the marks on the man’s body he had been tortured as well, but Darren didn’t know if he had broken and given them Intel. It wasn’t his job to know though it was only to do what was expected of him. He brought the gun up to the mans forehead. ‘Allah Akbar.’ Darren pulled the trigger and watched the mans head fly back than slump forward. His body slumped in the restraints. The slide from the gun.

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