A CEO's Child

The Terms of Labor

Venyamin had been thankfully able to stop crying when they reached the basement, and ultimately the garage. Having a penthouse meant they had their own garage, separated completely with concrete walls, and having their own access doors.

Somehow, just barely, he'd managed to suck in the tears, in the elevator. Certainly not has his wife helped him ease into long black pants and a oversized hoodie. She'd done all the work and carried a small bag on her shoulders, not bothering to go ham on hopefully a shorter stay, though he had the feeling everyone was lying to him. There was going to be nothing short about the events before hand.

The Pitocin caused some pain. His back began hurt in ways it never had before and it wrapped around his middle. Walking was miserable beyond words, and he leaned on Anissa heavily.

" I thought the main floor was back a level...You know we can just take my..." Marty insisted, his mouth dropping open awe as the doors opened, exposing their garage. "Jesus, how many fucking cars do you two have?"

There were at least nine, ten now with the minivan, but plenty of empty spaces. His favorite was the black BMW sedan, closely matched with a Dodge Viper, but he didn't particularly care for the stripes. It made it hard to color code, the BMW was universal, not as flashy but flashy. He had a blue-gray one two but it just wasn't like his black one. They had a few Lexus's, sedans and SUVs, mostly collecting dust. The newer ones just weren't what they used to be, and always irritated the shit out of him when they needed maintenance.

Anissa had an old boxy farm truck, a Ford of some sort, backed into a corner, some day she hoped to work on it with her dad, as she always said, but was no mechanic, and nor was her old man. She also had her favorite cars a, Nissan Altima, for when she claimed she needed a car that just got shit done, inconspicuously and unsafely but there in once piece, and a black Ford King Ranch, suped up like a man with insecurities would have, decked out with way to much leather interior for a work truck.  The piece of shit could barely tow her tactical units trailer, being so stupendously tall. He fucking hated it, but it did blast a nice beat with its overdone stereo. Her team had loved it.  He was quite frankly convinced she hated it, even more now that her team was gone, but kept it to block in his BMW. Finally, next to the boxy truck were two bikes, neon green and neon pink, that he didn't count as vehicles, because they never were used, since before they got married anyway.

In the midst of it all, parking in his favorite spot, was a wild looking minivan with golden stripes. The engine had scoops on it. He blinked several times, so did Marty, until his back began to tighten again and he groaned softly, grabbing the elevator wall.

Anissa jingled the keys. "Whose driving? Ven?"

He wheezed at her, a sensation like he was going to puke and piss himself at the same time ripping its way through his core. "Pass."

"The fuck is that?"

"Our new car, wanna try it?"

Marty look mortified. "Sure. Least Ven can just step in, no climbing or squatting."

She tossed him the keys, a wicked smirk on her face. "Chop-chop, this is going to be wild."

"You do realize your husband is laboring?" Marty asked, walking away. "And you're excited about a...a...minivan?"

"Not just any minivan..." Anissa muttered, scooping her arms around him. His core loosened slightly, and the phantom hooks in his back reluctantly let go.  He straightened, breathing much easier. 

She helped ease him up the slight step and into van, the doors rolling open automatically, as Marty started it up. It was not a soft engine turnover but rather a devils boom that shook the garage. His brows raised at the vibration that coursed through the vehicle before it mellowed out. That was no ordinary engine under the hood.