The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1)

by Catherine Black

  “You're every man's wet dream come to life, you know that, right?”

  I'm not sure what he means by that, but I take it as a compliment as I brush a thumb over his tip, swirling in tight circles. He bites back a groan as I move faster, traveling down his length, and I feel an all-consuming power take over when I see his chest rise and fall in quick pants, but it doesn't last long.

  He grabs my face in both hands, bowing over to kiss me, and I crash into him even as he pushes me back until I'm wedged between his hard body and the cold wall. Clinging to his shoulders, I pull myself up so I can wind my legs around his waist, trapping his erection between us, all the while exploring his mouth, tasting him, sliding my tongue against his. I take what I want, what I need, and Kessler doesn't hold back like he did before.

  I've never wanted anything in life like I want him.

  Reaching down between us, I pull my panties to the side in a clear invitation, but Kessler shakes his head.

  “What?” I pant, confused as to why he's not taking everything I'm offering—everything I know he wants. “Why not?”

  He kisses the side of my mouth. “I'm not fucking you in a changing room with people right outside the door.”

  “Why not?” I'm well aware I sound like a petulant child, but I don't care.

  “Well, for starters, it's against the law. Multiple laws, actually.”

  “So? Who cares?”

  “You should.” He kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck, sending fizzles of pleasure skating out in all directions.

  “But I don't.”

  A frustrated sigh slips through Kessler's lips. My body is a live wire, so the sound only serves to piss me off. “They'll hear you.”

  He's being super pragmatic and logical about this, but I'm so beyond that it's not even funny. I just want him.

  “No, they won't.”

  He runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, staring at the trail he's making as if he can see what that touch does to me. “Trust me, Mercury, they will.”

  Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  I know I reacted poorly when I realized Jordan and his friend were right outside our door last night, but I feel like that was an entirely different person. That person cared about how others viewed her. The person I am today—Crazy Mercury—as I'm sure he'll come to call me, doesn't give a shit.

  “I won't make a noise. I promise. You can gag me with a pair of spandex shorts if you want.”

  Kessler rolls his eyes—honest to God rolls his eyes at me—but I can see his indecision when he glances over his shoulder. I just need to push...

  “Just do it.”

  “No.” He grinds himself against me, his body in clear conflict with his words. “Not happening.”

  I grab his jaw, completely fed up, and infuse my voice with every ounce of authority I possess. “Do it, Keeper.”

  Any other man in his position would bend to their Blacklighter's demands, I'm sure of it, I've seen it hundreds of times, but not Kessler. He just smirks. “Nope.”

  “Do it.”

  “It's a bad idea.”

  “Doesn't feel that way.”

  His forehead presses against mine. “You're impossible.”

  “I'm really not,” I fire back. “I want it. Right now. Don't you?” My voice cracks and I hate—repeat, hate—the need written so clearly between every word, but it's more than need coursing through me. It's want. I want to know what he feels like inside me. I want to feel his hands bruising me. I want him pressed against me as tightly as humanly possible, making every breath a chore.

  “You want it too, Kessler. Just—just take it.” I rake my fingernails over his scalp, through his hair, tugging at the ends as he looks me in the eye...and shakes his head.

  “I don't want it,” he says, “I want you.”

  “Then what's stopping you? I'm right here!”

  He tries to push away, to distance himself, but I don't let him. I lock my ankles behind his back as best I can and hold on for dear life.

  “Mercury...”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I don't know, a conscience?” he snaps.

  “You don't need one of those.” I shake my head, fully believing the insane words I'm spewing. “Not with me.”

  “A conscience isn't a bad thing, Mercury. Having morals and standards isn't bad.”

  “Neither is fucking a woman who wants to be fucked!” I somehow manage to whisper, even though it feels like I'm screaming.

  “You think that's what you want, but it isn't.”

  “It is.”

  “Oh yeah?” He grins. “You think you can be quiet?” His hips move, thrusting against me, and I moan. Large, warm hands cover my tits as he shushes me, laughing. “See?”

  “That's not funny,” I say, but I'm laughing too. I don't know why, but I don't want to stop. It feels too good.

  “Actually, the fact that you think you can be quiet is hilarious.”

  “But I can!”

  He continues grinding against me, and I keep tugging on his hair, hard, squeezing his waist with my legs, pulling him in as close as I can manage. “It's gonna hurt,” he says, breathless, and there's an edge to his voice, a warning, but I don't heed it.

  I shake my head. “I don't care if it hurts.”

  He freezes, then leans back so I'm forced to look into his eyes, where a storm is brewing. In fact, I can't discern pupil from iris. His eyes are flat black, and I realize I've made a mistake.

  “You may not care, Mercury, but guess what?”

  “What?”

  He advances slowly, meaningfully, not stopping until our noses are touching. “I care.”

  Suddenly, my feet are on the ground, and I'm spinning, almost toppling, before coming to an abrupt stop. Standing in front of my naked reflection, I watch my chest heave, my face flush, and this time, it's not desire painting my cheeks. It's anger. Right now, I'm pissed beyond all measure.

  Kessler's chin rests atop my left shoulder as he holds me to him, his grip tighter than it's ever been. “You'll thank me later.”

  “Or I'll smother you in your sleep.”

  His hand slides around my body, down my stomach, dipping beneath the band of my panties to brush through the dark curls at the apex of my thighs. A blink later and he's sinking a single finger inside me, stealing me of all rational thought. “I don't think you will.” He adds another finger to the mix and my legs begin to shake.

  I reach back, cradling his head in my hands, pushing my breasts forward into his free hand. He squeezes, flicking my nipple with his thumb, and I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of his touch, the mountain of sensation he's forcing me to climb, and the warmth of his breath on my neck as he nuzzles against my earlobe. It is both everything and not enough, simultaneously.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers.

  I nod. “Mmhmm.”

  “I'd love to pin you up against this mirror and fuck you 'til you scream, but I can't do that. Do you want to know why?”

  I nod again. I don't really want to know. I just don't want him to stop what he's doing.

  “Because even though all I've done for the past twelve hours is fantasize about what it would be like to take you, I respect you. I respect your body and what you can do with it. I respect your strong-will and your fire, and I respect the fact that no other man has ever tasted your cunt the way I have.”

  His words catapult me toward a ledge I didn't even know I was nearing. I'm a bundle of nerve endings, all electrified, all on fire, in a river of acid.

  “And so, Mercury, if I fuck you, it's going to be thorough, it's going to be worth it, and you're going to be loud. Really fucking loud.” He bites at my earlobe and I squeak out a noise I've never made before. “You're going to scream my name and claw at my back and sink your teeth into my shoulder because it's gonna be that damn good. You feel me?”

  He grinds the pad of his thumb against my clit, harder, faster. When one massive hand clasps over my mouth and n
ose, stealing my ability to both speak and breathe, I don't panic. And when he lowers his lips to my neck and sucks, hard...I fucking lose it. A full-body orgasm rocks through me, causing my limbs to seize. An explosion detonates inside me, and everything falls apart.

  When I open my eyes, I find Kessler wrapped around my body from behind, one hand caressing my stomach, stroking circles around my belly button, the other still over my mouth, as if he's worried I'll scream through every tiny aftershock. Lips press against the side of my head, but those chocolate brown eyes never break away from mine. “That was fucking beautiful.”

  I take in what little I can see and yeah...I'm pinned against his body, sweating, the dress is crumpled on the floor, and I'm just me again. Just Mercury. Plain ol' Mercury. The kicker, however, is now that I'm looking at my flushed cheeks and wild eyes...I see it too. I see beauty in what I'm feeling.

  “Get dressed.” Kessler tucks everything away as he backs into the corner, grinning like a loon, and I feel his loss immediately. With him watching me, hands crossed over his chest, playful smirk in place, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. The only thing I do know is that, for the first time in my life, I feel something. I feel alive, and even though it could be attributed to my new status as Blacklighter or my first fast food high or even the euphoria of an orgasm in a public dressing room, I know it's more than that.

  The change began when Kessler arrived in Farewell, and even though it's been mere hours, everything in my life has changed thanks to that man. From here on out, things will continue to change, and to my surprise, I don't fear it. I don't particularly love the prospect of the unknown, but I don't hate it like I once did.

  When we're finally able to control our dopey, mischievous expressions, we leave the changing room to find everyone exactly where we left them, looking bored out of their minds. If they heard us, they don't let on. Not that I'd care if they did. I have zero shame when it comes to the things I've done with my Keeper.

  Kessler and Jordan take my things to the front with Harper, and she pays with the card my mother supplied while Eric waits for everything to be folded and placed into bags. I'm ready to head to the next store to see what kind of trouble we can get into there, but Layla pulls me against her side, forcing us to linger back, just out of earshot.

  “Be careful,” she whispers, staring straight ahead into nothingness. “Please.”

  I don't follow. “Be careful of what?”

  “Men like Kessler...they're not like the others.” She swallows hard, fighting through some kind of emotion I can't name. Usually, she's the most collected person I know, but right now, she's conflicted. “He's been here a day, Mercury. He shouldn't be looking at you like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he'd take a bullet for you.”

  Ah, yes. That. So that's not normal.

  Duly noted.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It can be.” Layla glances at Eric, and my eyes follow. As if he can feel her seeking him out, Eric looks up and smiles. It's small, hidden, meant for only her, and I'd say his eyes are glazed over with lust, but I'd be wrong. There's a soft quality to the way he gazes at his Blacklighter that tells me it's not lust he's feeling, it's something more. Something deeply-rooted. Something capable of consuming both parties involved.

  “Kinda pales in comparison to how Eric looks at you,” I point out.

  She nods. “Eric wants more from me than I can give, and every single day, I have to live with the fact that I'm breaking his heart.”

  A dark heaviness settles in my gut as I watch Layla's face transform. She's trying to hide it—as my former mentor, she's trying to be magnanimous about this—but she's failing. I see the way she's breaking inside, like little pieces of her have chipped away over time, and she's just now looking down and finding herself lacking. But none of that makes sense, because as far as relationships go, she and Eric seem as solid as they come.

  “What does he want?” I ask.

  Layla shakes her head, bottom lip wobbling with the effort it's taking her to remain calm. “The usual. A house, a big back yard where he can host barbecues, children, a wedding ring on his finger. You know, everything a Blacklighter doesn't get to have.”

  For perhaps the very first time in my life, I reach out a hand and lay it on another person's shoulder. Not to harm them, not to move them...but to comfort them. I don't know what in the hell I'm doing, but instinct pulls my strings, and before I know it, I'm looping my arm through hers like she's done to me a hundred times over the years. “You won't be a Blacklighter forever,” I assure her.

  “Maybe not, but by the time I decide to leave, Eric will be ruined and it'll be all my fault.” She squeezes me back, gripping my hand so tightly in hers I feel bones rub against one another. “Just...tread lightly, okay? Don't lower your walls for Kessler just because he's your Keeper. Promise me you'll be smart about this, Mercury, because breaking bones is one thing, but breaking hearts? That's so much fucking harder to live with.”

  Me? Break Kessler's heart? The thought is inconceivable. I may be a force in the cage, but I don't wield that kind of power over any man, even one as tender and compassionate as Kessler.

  “No one's getting their heart broken. I promise.”

  The words, although sincere, taste like lies because if there's one thing I excel at...it's breaking beautiful things.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kessler

  First post-incarceration shopping trip?

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Mercury must have spent a small fortune on shit she didn't seem to care for—with the exception of the red and black dress I was incredibly fond of—but it was the experience that meant the most. I can tell by the way she stared out the window on the drive back, smiling to herself, amused by whatever thoughts were flitting through that complex brain of hers. She may be a mystery to almost everyone else, but I think I have a fairly good read on her. Once you squeeze past her abundantly clear mommy issues and army-crawl your way under her carefully-cemented wall of practiced superiority, she's really quite simple.

  Isolation can pack quite a punch. I've seen enough men return from long stints in solitary confinement to know that your mind is capable of warping and bending, emptying itself of things you don't need when you're all alone. If alienated long enough, pieces of you begin to fall away, leaving only the cold, primitive ways of your uncivilized ancestors behind. After a while, you're reduced to an animal—one who only cares about survival and base urges—and when you finally do stand before your fellow man, the thing you've become is so broken, so stripped bare, that you're unrecognizable.

  If my assumptions are correct—and judging by what I've seen so far, I'm willing to wager everything I own on it—Mercury wasn't just transformed into this type of animal through savage means...she was born and raised in darkness, kept locked away behind a glass partition like a priceless artifact, never to be held or touched or embraced in a way that softened her rough edges. For twenty-seven years, she's been Blair's pet project, and now that her mother has lengthened the leash, Mercury is going to be exposed to things she never even knew existed.

  I hope Blair's ready for the fallout because there will be one, I'm sure of it. Mercury's too smart, too strong-willed and curious to be caged any longer. She may have herself fooled when she says she's not a prisoner, but I know better. Blair's a warden if I've ever seen one.

  By the time we pull through the tall iron gates in front of Blacklighters, the sun is setting, there are clouds of mosquitoes swarming every outside light attached to the building, and the parking lot is already packed with old clunkers and sleek luxury cars alike. We park right in front of the doors to the main house, and Eric kills the engine.

  “You girls go on in and get ready,” he says, stretching out his legs. “We'll be up in a bit.”

  I'm gifted with one more coy smile from Mercury as she shuts the door behind her. That girl is oblivious to how just a flash of momentary h
appiness transforms her whole being. I catch myself smiling too, but it's wiped away in an instant when I see a dark figure hulking its way toward us. His face may be shadowed, but I know exactly who it is by the I'm-untouchable-and-I-know-it way he walks. The dude with the stupid name.

  Eric leans an arm out his open window. “Something wrong?”

  Ice nods to me in the back seat, smirking like a little bitch with a secret he can't wait to divulge. “Blair wants to have a word with your boy before the fights start.”

  I meet Eric's eyes in the rear view mirror, and even though that's the only part of his face I can clearly see, the look he shoots me spells trouble. Apparently, the big kahuna sending her lap dog to fetch me isn't a good sign. Nevertheless, I climb from the SUV and follow Ice inside, all the way up to the top floor where Blair's door stands open a crack. I don't bother with small talk. There's no point. I'm ninety-nine percent sure Ice doesn't have a soul, much less a personality.

  After ushering me inside Blair's pristine, blinding-white office, Ice surprises the shit out of me by shutting the door between us, and I turn to face the blonde rapping her fake-ass fingernails against her ridiculously fancy desk.

  “Your watchdog isn't staying?” I ask, jutting my thumb toward the door.

  “He has more important things to do.” She waves a hand toward the chair opposite her. “Have a seat, Mr. Lawson.”

  Nope.

  I don't like this. Not one damn bit. It feels like a trap. Smells like a trap. I don't like traps.

  “So,” she starts, leaning back in a chair I'm certain she borrowed from a Bond villain. “What do you think of my home?”

  Her tight smile confirms it: This is a trap of some kind, I just don't know how I'm supposed to trigger it.

  “It's impressive.”

  “Thank you.” She gives me a small bow of her head. “And the fight? I'd like to hear your thoughts on that.”

  Ah. She's referring to the five-against-one shit show she blindly threw me into last night.

  “Would you like the truth or a lie?”

  Her smile grows. “I consider myself a reasonable woman, Mr. Lawson. I can handle a harsh truth in place of a pretty lie. So please, by all means...”