The sun hung high over the SouthBank Tennis Club, casting golden rays onto the pristine courts. Rita Faros and Ronda Riy were locked in an intense match, their bodies glistening with sweat as they dashed across the court.
Rita, dressed in a tight white tank top and a short white skirt, moved with the agility of a jungle predator, her years as Shecon giving her an athletic edge. Ronda, in her signature pink mini skirt and pink tank top, was equally determined, her big round glasses sliding down her nose with each powerful stroke.
“You’re good, Ronda,” Rita panted after a wicked rally. “But I don’t lose easily.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see about that, Aunty Shecon!” Ronda smirked, wiping her brow before serving again.
After a long, grueling set, Rita emerged victorious, though both women were drenched in sweat, their clothes clinging to their bodies. They laughed as they made their way to the club’s shower room, their rivalry turning into camaraderie.
Steam and Glances
The shower room was empty, filled only with the sound of running water and the echoes of their voices. Rita peeled off her damp tank top and mini skirt, her curvy, busty frame glistening under the shower’s warm spray. Ronda, slightly more hesitant, did the same, stealing glances at Rita’s toned figure.
As the hot water cascaded down their bodies, Ronda couldn’t help but admire Rita. The way the droplets ran down her curves, the smoothness of her skin—it was impossible not to notice.
“You’re really something, you know?” Ronda said, lathering soap on her arms.
“Oh?” Rita raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Admiring the view?”
Ronda laughed nervously, brushing off her wandering eyes. “Just saying… you look damn good for a warrior in the forest.”
Rita chuckled, stepping closer, her green eyes gleaming. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.”
The tension in the air was thick, but Rita simply flicked water at Ronda playfully before turning back to rinse off, leaving Ronda to steal one last look before they finished their shower.
Laundry and… Secrets
Back at Ronda’s apartment, the two women dropped their gym bags by the door. Rita stretched, yawning. “I need a nap. That match wore me out.”
“Want me to do our laundry?” Ronda offered casually.
“Knock yourself out,” Rita said, heading to her guest bedroom.
Alone, Ronda’s curiosity got the better of her. She picked up Rita’s sweaty clothes, bringing them to her nose. The scent of competition, musk, and something uniquely Rita filled her senses. Her heart pounded as she inhaled deeply, letting herself indulge for just a moment—
“What the hell?”
Ronda froze.
Standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, was Faro Faros.
Her boyfriend.
Ronda’s face turned bright red, still clutching Rita’s sweaty outfit in her hands.
Faro crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “I walk in, and this is what I see? You sniffing Aunt’s dirty clothes?”
Ronda opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Faro shook his head, smirking. “Damn, Ronda. Didn’t know you also had a thing for the Shecon.”
Ronda, still gripping Rita’s sweaty outfit, felt her heart race as Faro stepped closer, his smirk widening. She opened her mouth to protest, to explain, but he cut her off.
“Look, Ronda, I’m not judging,” he said, lowering his voice. “In fact… I get it.”
Ronda’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
Faro glanced at the bundle of Rita’s clothes in her hands, then back at her. “I know you have caught me smelling Aunty Rita too.” His tone was casual, but there was something mischievous beneath it. “So how about this—we make a deal?”
Ronda gulped. “What kind of deal?”
Faro leaned against the doorway. “We stop seeing that psychiatrist doctor we have been visiting. No more therapy, no more trying to ‘fix’ whatever it is we are working through.” He shrugged. “And in return, we both get to enjoy Aunty Rita’s… laundry from time to time. No guilt, no accountability.”
Ronda hesitated, feeling a mix of shock, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite name. Slowly, a smirk crept onto her lips. “You’re serious?”
Faro nodded. “Dead serious. So, what do you say? Partners in crime?”
Ronda looked down at Rita’s outfit, then back at Faro. After a long pause, she grinned. “Deal.”
Ronda’s face was still flushed as she clutched Rita’s sweaty clothes, but now the tables had turned. She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Faro.
“Wait a minute,” she said, stepping toward him. “You’re trying to strike a deal with me? Faro, you’re the one who needed Dr. Kelnor. I was taking you there to treat your—” she hesitated, lowering her voice, “your addiction to your own Aunty Rita’s scent.”
Faro scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on, Ronda. Do we really need to drag Kelnor into this? I mean, look at you.” He gestured at the way she was still holding Rita’s outfit. “We’re the same. Why fight it?”
Ronda’s grip on the clothes tightened. “No, we are not the same,” she protested, but even as she said it, doubt flickered across her face.
Faro took another step closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Think about it, Ronda. No more awkward therapy sessions, no more guilt. Just you and me… and Rita’s laundry. Whenever we want.”
Ronda bit her lip, glancing at the guest bedroom door where Rita was resting. Then she looked back at Faro. Slowly, a smirk formed on her lips.
“You’re a bad influence, Faro.”
Faro grinned. “And you love it.”
After a long pause, Ronda sighed and held out her hand. “Fine. Deal.”
They shook on it. Partners in crime.
Ronda hesitated for a moment, still gripping Rita’s sweaty clothes, before finally exhaling and shaking Faro’s hand. “Fine. Deal.”
Faro smirked, glancing down at the bundle in her hands. “Now let me have a go at those.”
Ronda blinked. “Excuse me?”
Faro reached out, fingers grazing the fabric. “Come on, Ronda. You had your turn. It’s only fair.”
Ronda pulled the clothes back slightly, biting her lip. “You really are hopeless.”
Faro grinned. “And you just made a deal with me, so that makes two of us.”
After a long pause, Ronda sighed and handed them over. As Faro brought the fabric close, inhaling deeply, Ronda couldn’t help but shake her head—part amused, part guilty, and part… intrigued.
This was their little secret now.
As Faro took his turn, bringing Rita’s sweaty clothes close to his face and inhaling deeply, Ronda crossed her arms and watched. At first, she smirked, amused by his eagerness. But then, she noticed something—Faro was getting hard.
Her smirk disappeared.
“Oh, come on,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Seriously?”
Faro, eyes half-lidded in bliss, barely registered her irritation. “What?” he muttered, lost in the scent.
Ronda snatched the clothes from his hands. “This is exactly why you need Dr. Kelnor!” she snapped. “I was just checking her smell to figure out why she’s so attractive! It’s a scientific curiosity! You, on the other hand—look at yourself!”
Faro groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh, come on, Ronda. You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?!” she huffed. “You were standing there with a—” she gestured angrily at his lower half, “—like a perv!”
Faro sighed, adjusting himself awkwardly. “Fine, maybe it’s a little… intense. But that’s exactly why I was trying to avoid going back to Dr. Kelnor!”
Ronda shook her head, determination flaring in her eyes. “Nope. I’m reinstating your sessions. And you know what? I’m signing myself up too. If we’re really gonna figure this out, we both need to be in that treatment plan.”
Faro groaned. “Ronda, come on—”
“No arguments,” she cut him off. “We’re going. Together. End of discussion.”
Faro sighed in defeat, rubbing his temples. “Fine!”
Ronda crossed her arms. “And I’ll make sure he knows just how hopeless you actually are.”
Faro muttered under his breath as Ronda tossed Rita’s clothes into the laundry bin—this time, for their actual intended purpose.
The sudden sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment, followed by a voice outside:
“Pizza is here!”
Faro and Ronda froze, exchanging confused glances.
Faro raised an eyebrow. “Did you order any?”
Ronda shook her head. “Nope. Did Aunty?”
Faro frowned. “She’s napping… doesn’t seem like her style.”
His instincts kicked in. He dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out the Falcon Ring. With a quick motion, he slid it onto his finger, feeling the familiar surge of power. Without hesitation, he flung open the door, pointing at the so-called Pizza Guy.
“SURPRISE!” Faro bellowed.
But instead of an intruder, Flint Faros grinned back at him, holding a steaming pizza box in one hand.
“Damn, bro, chill. It’s just me,” Flint chuckled, pushing past Faro and strolling into the apartment like he owned the place. He flopped onto the couch, stretching his arms lazily. “Let’s have some pizza, shall we?”
Ronda and Faro were still standing near the door, too stunned to react.
Then, without missing a beat, Flint smirked and added,
“Or you guys busy sniffing Aunty’s panty?”
Ronda choked on air. Faro’s face went red.
Ignoring them both, Flint casually flipped open the box, grabbed a slice of pepper jack chili pizza on tomato sauce, and took a massive bite. “Mmm. Spicy. Just how I like it.”
Ronda, still recovering from the shock, turned to Faro with wide eyes. “How the hell does he know?!”
Faro groaned, rubbing his temples. “I don’t even wanna ask.”
Faro clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Something was off. Flint showing up unannounced was one thing, but the way he knew—about their little “laundry” moment—felt almost supernatural.
His Falcon instincts kicked in, analyzing every detail. The Ring of Falcon hadn’t reacted. No warning, no danger signals. That only meant one thing: Flint wasn’t a threat. The ring didn’t detect family members as enemies.
But that didn’t mean Flint wasn’t watching.
Faro shut the door and turned toward his older brother, who was now lounging comfortably, enjoying his pizza like he belonged here.
“Alright, Flint,” Faro said, stepping forward. “How the hell did you know?”
Flint took another bite, chewing slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Know what?” he said through a mouthful of pizza.
Ronda crossed her arms. “Don’t play dumb. You walked in here knowing exactly what we were doing.”
Flint swallowed, licking some chili sauce off his fingers. “Maybe I’m just that good at guessing.”
Faro wasn’t buying it. He narrowed his eyes. “No. You’ve been watching us. But how?”
Flint simply smirked, grabbing another slice. “Let’s just say…” he paused, waving the pizza slice in the air like a magician about to reveal a trick, “I have my ways.”
Faro’s gut twisted. If Flint had a way to spy on them, that was a serious problem.
Ronda looked between the brothers, suspicion growing on her face. “Wait a minute… Does this have something to do with that real estate creep, Mr. Clown?”
Faro’s eyes widened slightly. “Ronda, you might be onto something…”
Flint just laughed, kicking his feet up. “Now, now, little bro. No need to dig too deep. Let’s just enjoy the pizza, shall we?”
Faro wasn’t letting this go. Flint had a secret—and he was going to find out what it was.
As the tension hung thick in the air, the sound of soft footsteps came from the hallway.
“Mmm, I smell pizza,” Rita murmured sleepily, stepping into the living room, her voice thick with drowsiness. She rubbed one eye, then blinked at the sight of the three of them. “What’s up, boys? Flint, what brings you here?”
She yawned again, this time stretching her arms high above her head. The loose silk of her bottle green sleeping gown slid apart for just a second too long—revealing her completely naked body beneath.
“Oops!” Rita gasped, snapping her arms down and quickly pulling the gown shut, her cheeks flushing pink.
For a moment, silence.
Then, Flint turned his head ever so slowly toward Faro, lifted his brows twice, and smirked.
Faro clenched his fists.
Ronda buried her face in her hands.
Rita, now fully awake, pulled her gown tight and huffed. “Ugh, I need to stop sleeping like this when guests are around.”
Flint, still chewing his pizza, simply leaned back with a knowing grin. “Don’t let me stop you, Aunty.”
Faro shot him a glare. “Flint. Shut up.”
Flint just laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, little bro. I’m just here for the pizza… and the unexpected entertainment.”
Rita sighed, sitting beside Ronda on the couch, acting as if nothing had happened—though the faint blush on her cheeks said otherwise. “Well, whatever. Hand me a slice.”
Faro, still glaring at his brother, knew one thing for sure—he was definitely going to dig into Flint’s secret later. But for now… he handed Rita a slice of pizza and tried to ignore Flint’s smug expression.
As Rita took a bite of her pizza, stretching her legs on the couch, Faro and Ronda exchanged a silent, panicked glance.
Flint was one thing—but if Aunty Rita found out about their little “habit,” it would be over.
Faro, sensing Ronda’s anxiety, smirked and slowly raised his eyebrows twice, just like Flint had done moments ago.
Ronda’s face twisted in frustration. “You wouldn’t.”
Faro’s smirk deepened. “Oh, but I would.”
Ronda clenched her fists under the table, her jaw tightening. “Bastard.”
Faro leaned back, enjoying his leverage. “Relax. Just stick to the deal, and Aunty doesn’t have to know about your little ‘scientific curiosity.'”
Ronda gritted her teeth. “You’re the worst.”
Meanwhile, Rita, oblivious to the silent war happening beside her, sighed. “Ugh, I was having the best nap. You guys weren’t being weird while I was sleeping, were you?”
“NO!” Faro and Ronda blurted out in unison.
Rita blinked at them, raising an eyebrow. “Oookay. That was suspicious.”
Flint, grinning like a devil, simply took another bite of his pizza. “Yeah, real suspicious.”
Ronda shot Faro a deadly glare, knowing she was trapped under his blackmail. Faro just kept his smug expression, knowing he had full control.
For now.
Faro was enjoying his upper hand over Ronda, but just as he settled into his smug satisfaction, Flint suddenly smirked and raised his eyebrows—twice.
Faro’s stomach dropped.
Ronda noticed it too and froze, her eyes darting between the brothers. “Wait… what was that?”
Faro clenched his jaw. “Flint. Don’t.”
Flint leaned back on the couch, stretching out like he was king of the room. “Relax, little bro. I just think it’s funny how you’re so focused on blackmailing Ronda… but you never stopped to think about who’s been watching you.”
Faro’s blood ran cold.
Flint took another bite of pizza, chewing lazily before continuing. “You were about to go digging into my ‘secret,’ huh? The one about how I knew what you two were up to? But what if I told you… you really, really don’t wanna go poking around those apartment cameras?”
Ronda gasped. “Wait—cameras? You mean this place is bugged?!”
Flint just grinned. “Oh, come on. Did you really think Mr. Clown just rents out apartments for fun? The guy’s a creep. He watches everything.“
Faro’s fists tightened. He had suspected something was off, but if Flint was warning him to back off, that meant—
“You already know,” Faro muttered, realization dawning. “You’ve seen the footage.”
Flint licked some tomato sauce off his thumb. “Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. But one thing’s for sure—if you start sniffing around those cameras, you’re not gonna like what you find.”
Ronda turned pale. “You mean… there’s footage of us…?”
Flint didn’t answer. He just smirked and tapped the side of his head. “Like I said—stick to our little arrangement, and we can all pretend this is just a normal pizza night.”
Faro gritted his teeth. He hated being played, but Flint had him cornered. If he investigated the cameras, he risked exposing something far worse.
For now, he had no choice. He had to let this go.
But deep down, he knew—Flint wouldn’t be in control forever.
Flint wouldn’t just give away that the apartment was bugged—unless he had a reason.
Faro narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell are you telling us this? If you’ve got dirt on me, why warn me about the cameras?”
Flint chuckled, setting his pizza down. “Because, little bro, I know you. If I didn’t tell you, you’d go sniffing around—literally—and eventually, you’d find out anyway. This way, I control the situation. You stay out of it, and I don’t have to deal with the mess.”
Ronda swallowed hard, glancing at Faro. “So what now? We just… pretend we don’t know?”
Flint shrugged. “It’s either that, or you give Mr. Clown a free show every time you two start messing with Aunty’s laundry.”
Faro clenched his jaw. He hated being trapped. But Flint was right—if Clown Inc. had footage, there was no telling what else they had on him.
Then, he noticed something.
Rita was dead silent.
She was just sitting there, staring at her pizza. Not eating. Not reacting. Just… listening.
Faro’s instincts kicked in. “Aunty.”
Rita slowly looked up. Her green eyes were sharp, calculating. “So… there are cameras in this apartment?”
Flint sighed, rolling his neck. “That’s what I just said, Aunty.”
Rita’s fingers tightened around the crust of her untouched pizza. “And you knew?”
Flint hesitated for the first time. “…Yeah.”
Faro suddenly understood. Rita wasn’t quiet because she was clueless—she was quiet because she was processing.
And now, she was pissed.
With unnerving calm, she set her plate down, stood up, and adjusted her gown. “I’m taking a shower.”
She turned and walked toward the bathroom, but just before disappearing down the hall, she called back—“Oh, and Flint?”
Flint looked up.
“If there are cameras, that means they’ve seen you too.”
Flint blinked. His smirk faded.
Then came the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.
Faro and Ronda exchanged glances.
Flint ran a hand down his face. “Shit.”
A sudden crash echoed through the apartment, followed by the sharp sound of shattering glass. Then another. And another.
“What the hell?!” Faro jumped up, Ronda right behind him. Flint cursed under his breath as the three of them rushed toward the bathroom.
Faro shoved the door open, and they froze.
Rita stood there in her open sleeping gown, barely covering herself, swinging a wash stick with a metal head like a warrior.
The bathroom mirror was shattered, its broken pieces scattered across the sink and floor. The ceiling light bulbs had been smashed, sparks flickering from the exposed wires.
But what made them gasp—was what Rita had uncovered.
Tiny hidden cameras.
Behind the broken mirror. Inside the now-exposed light fixture. Watching them.
With fire in her eyes, Rita stepped toward the bedroom. “I’m not done.”
Flint raised his hands, still leaning in the doorway. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You’re gonna have to pay for all that damage, Aunty Rita!”
Rita didn’t even look at him. “Bill me.”
She stormed out, the loose gown fluttering behind her, revealing way too much, but no one was in the mood to gawk.
Ronda clutched her head. “Oh my god. They’ve been watching us. This whole time.”
Faro’s fists tightened. “We need to find every single one of those cameras.”
Flint exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “See? This is why I told you not to go looking.”
But Faro wasn’t listening anymore.
Because if there were this many cameras in Ronda’s apartment…
How many were watching everywhere else?
CRASH! Another mirror shattered in the master bedroom.
Then another violent swing—a lamp exploded, revealing yet another hidden camera.
Rita wasn’t stopping.
Faro and Ronda stood frozen as they heard the relentless destruction coming from the bedroom. Flint, meanwhile, was still lounging on the couch, pizza slice in hand, looking way too casual about the absolute mayhem happening in front of him.
Then, Rita stormed out of the bedroom, her sleeping gown barely clinging to her, the wash stick gripped like a battle weapon. Her chest was heaving, eyes burning with rage, and her sights locked onto Flint.
“YOU!”
Flint barely had time to react. The pizza slipped from his fingers as he yelped and launched himself off the sofa just in time to dodge Rita’s incoming swing.
“OH SHIT—”
Rita lunged after him, swinging wildly, barely missing his head.
Flint bolted toward the door, leaping over the coffee table like his life depended on it.
“I WAS JUST THE MESSENGER, DAMN IT!” he yelled as he yanked the door open and sprinted out into the apartment lobby.
But Rita was right behind him, her gown fluttering open with zero concern for modesty, her wash stick raised like a vengeful warrior goddess.
Faro and Ronda rushed to the door just in time to see Flint make a break for the elevator at the end of the hall.
The elevator doors slid open.
Flint jumped inside, slamming the button frantically.
Rita let out a fierce battle cry, swinging her wash stick one last time—
BAM!
The metal head slammed against the elevator doors just as they snapped shut, sending a deafening clang echoing through the hall.
Inside the elevator, Flint panted, pressing himself against the back wall, wide-eyed.
Outside, Rita stood tall, breathing heavily, pointing her wash stick at the door as if she could still strike him down through the metal.
“AND DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK!” she roared.
A few apartment doors creaked open down the hall, curious neighbors peeking out.
Faro and Ronda just stared, mouths slightly open.
After a long, tense pause, Rita exhaled, straightened her gown (finally), and turned back toward them with a calm, satisfied look.
“Well. That takes care of that.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, she casually walked back inside and shut the door behind her.
Faro and Ronda just stood there, staring at the closed door.
A long silence followed.
Then, Rita casually walked back into the living room, grabbed a slice of pizza from the box Flint had dropped, and took a bite.
She chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos she had just unleashed.
Faro finally blinked. “You… just chased my brother out of the building. Nearly killed him. And now you’re eating his pizza?”
Rita shrugged, licking a bit of tomato sauce off her finger. “What? He wasn’t gonna eat it.”
Ronda sat down, still shell-shocked, and slowly grabbed a slice for herself. “You know what? Fair point.”
Faro sighed, shaking his head, then grabbed a slice too.
Because, honestly?
What else was there to do?
