Dark Descent into Desire

by J. J. Sorel

  Penelope shook her head. “My God. It was a soap opera in there.”

  I sniffed. “That it was.”

  “So this Dylan couldn’t contest the will, and he’s now trying to get his money by other means, is that right?”

  I nodded. “I hadn’t seen him for years until that night at the Cherry Orchard.”

  “You told me you went there out of curiosity after James invited you.”

  A cold feeling gnawed my gut. I stared at Penelope. “That’s right.” I stopped pacing. “I need you to do something for me.”

  She looked up at me.

  “I need you to hang low. He’s affiliated with nasty people. If something happened to you, I’d fucking kill him.”

  Her face scrunched in fear. “Oh. Please don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.”

  I knelt down at her feet. “I’ve never used that love word before because…” I let out a slow breath. “I don’t know how to.” I paused. One minute felt like ten.

  There was no pity, only compassion that I detected in Penelope’s teary eyes. I kissed her hand and held onto it. “I need you in my life.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Blake. I’m not hiding. I want to be with you.”

  I lifted her in my arms and took her to bed. My dick was hard as steel. This time it wasn’t solely due to her heart-melting beauty, but also because of her belief in me and my shedding of a skin.

  34

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  LILLY LOOKED AT ME all wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “You wouldn’t believe what we got up to.”

  Going on Blake’s account of the Dark Room, I braced myself for some filth. “Tell me.”

  “I looked for you. You left early.”

  I sighed. It had been an intense night. We didn’t end up sleeping much. Blake made slow, achingly tender love to me, and then he stayed with me as I held him close. He tried to move into the other room, but I wouldn’t let him. It resulted in him feasting on me so slowly and completely that I left my body, as I moaned through one orgasm after another. His cock was red-raw and greedy.

  “We did. There was this guy there. Dylan Fox. He’s evil and connected to the Cherry Orchard.”

  “I met him.”

  “You did?” I asked.

  “He spoke to James at the ball.”

  “Oh.” For some reason that struck me as odd, given Blake’s closeness to James.

  “So tell me about the Dark Room.”

  “A woman went down on me, and James watched.”

  I studied her face for signs of regret or even shame, but she seemed rather relaxed. “Were you coerced into it?”

  “Did James force me, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “No. I was buzzing from a party drug.”

  I squirmed at that image. “You let others fuck you?”

  She shook her head.

  Although my mind filled with questions, I had to leave Lilly for a life-drawing class. It was my last week of college, and I’d fallen behind on two written assignments. I’d become too preoccupied with Blake and his life at Raven Abbey. Add to that what Milly had revealed, and I understood why he would often retreat into himself.

  I headed for the spare easel. The model was Rubenesque, which suited me. I loved working with curves and found women easier to draw. Luckily for me, I was to be marked on that session of drawings.

  “There you are,” said Sheldon.

  I clipped the paper to the board. “Hey, Shelly.”

  “I haven’t seen you for so long. I miss you.”

  “I know. You’ll have to come over to my new house,” I said.

  “You do realize that you’re living close to my parents?”

  I shook my head. “I know. It’s crazy. The neighbors look at me as though I’m a freak. Initially, they thought I was a squatter.”

  “I can imagine.” He sniffed. “Snobby assholes. I’ll have to come over just before drag night and rub myself up against the lamp post in front of their house.”

  I laughed. I’d seen Sheldon before a drag night—something he did for a little fun and to frock up. “I’m sure the rich and mighty have seen it all before. The masked ball had its fair share of deviants.”

  “I’m dying to hear about it.”

  “All in good time, my friend. I’d better get cracking.” I pointed to the model. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes, nice and curvy.” He smiled. “Let’s have a drink after class. Yes?”

  I nodded distractedly. There was something I needed to tell Blake.

  35

  * * *

  BLAKE

  SMALL PRINT SWAM AROUND as I peered down at the contract, and the muddle of heritage layers and council stipulations failed to sink in.

  I peered up at my screen. My chest tensed as I opened the photos sent to me anonymously. I didn’t need to be Einstein to guess the sender. There were images of me holding Tatiana at the ball, obscuring my face. The sapphire ring, which I never removed, gave me away. That ring had belonged to Sir William, who on his deathbed had slipped it off his finger and placed it in my hand, making me promise I’d wear it in his memory.

  Ironically, that ring was now evidence against me, as no doubt Fox was aware. The seedier images included half-naked shots of me. One of the women I’d bought for sex must have taken them.

  I’d been set up. Pure and fucking simple.

  They were masterfully devised shots of me lying on my side, revealing a scar from when I’d slipped on a rock as a child. Tatiana sat up, naked, and by my side. She looked so hair-raisingly young with that flat chest that my gut knotted.

  I looked up. Peter Barnes stood at my door.

  “Come in.” I pointed to the chair.

  When he was seated, I asked, “How did you hear about Tatiana?”

  “One of the guards who works for Fox. We were in the army together. He’s a little ruffled by what’s going on in there. He’s seen the young girls.” He paused. “He’s got a family to support and Fox pays his security well.”

  “So why’s he turning on his boss?”

  “Because Tatiana came to him with some sob story that she wanted out and needed protection. That’s how I met her. She seemed pretty fucking genuine. Crying and desperate to make a new life for herself, promising to testify against Fox.”

  “I’m being blackmailed.” I studied him for a moment. Barnes had come recommended by a fellow card player, who’d hired him to spy on his cheating wife.

  He held up his hands. “Hey. I’m not in on this. I’ve got a daughter. That scene makes me fucking sick.”

  He might have been in one bar brawl too many, but intuition told me I could trust him.

  “Do you mind if I look at the images?” he asked.

  I handed over the folder. “Here.”

  He studied the six shots.

  “They’re vague. There’s none with your face except for this one.” He pointed to a photo of me in the foyer of the Cherry Orchard.

  “The scar on my back and the ring,” I said.

  “The scar could have been photoshopped. The ring too.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “They photoshopped her in my fucking bed.” I headed to the bottle of whisky, poured two glasses and then passed one to Barnes.

  “If she testifies, you’re in trouble. Judges take the word of the supposed victim in this type of case.”

  A tight breath left my chest. “Which they’re threatening to do.”

  “What does he want?” he asked.

  Good fucking question. “My empire.”

  He whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”

  I peered down at the images that had turned my day upside down. It had already started uncomfortably enough. Penelope, after pleading with me to sleep in her bed, reported how I’d squeezed the life out of her during one of my nightmares. The fear in her eyes made me want to run, only I didn’t have damp caves in the middle of the blustery moors to hide in.

  “I’ve seen worse.
These could be contested.” He drained his glass in one well-practiced gulp. “This one, however”—he pointed to the shot of me at the Cherry Orchard— “demonstrates that you’re into buying young girls by the mere fact of your presence.”

  “But he’s incriminating himself, isn’t he? That suggests he’s dealing in underage girls.” I opened my hands.

  “He’s a silent partner,” he reminded me. “I’ve got an ex-Eastern European mafia contact. He might know something about that scene. His son goes to school with my daughter of all things.” He sniffed. “It’s kind of strange how one meets people these days. And with the lack of proper jobs, desperation leads people to take jobs they’d prefer not to, if you get my meaning.”

  I nodded slowly. “Discretion only. I don’t want my name mentioned.”

  “No. Of course.” He rose and then paused. “How did you hear about the Cherry Orchard in the first place? Given that it’s an invite-only, dark-alleyway joint.”

  “I’m about to call him right now,” I said, feeling the heat at the back of my neck. I smelled a rat.

  “I’ll have to grab the name of your contact at some point.” He lifted his hand and left.

  My phone buzzed. I peered down at an image of Penelope in that beautiful red gown that I’d snapped the night of the ball. I picked up. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Blake, I have to race to a lecture, but I thought you should know. I met Lilly for breakfast, and during a conversation about the ball, she told me that she’d met Dylan Fox through James. Apparently, they seemed rather friendly.”

  I squeezed the life out of my phone. “I have to go. Tonight?”

  “Sure. Are things okay?”

  “We’ll talk later.” I ended the call. Abrupt as it was, I had no control over my actions. The word betrayal hit my brain with such a heavy thud that my head ached.

  I pressed on James’s number. It went to voicemail. I kept it brief. “We need to talk.”

  36

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  BLAKE PACED ABOUT RUBBING his head, leaving it a sexy mess of hair. His mouth glistened from his brushing tongue, which for one twisted moment had my body reacting with greedy need. I was amazed that a man as dark and haunted as Blake could send my hormones into overdrive. And my desire only intensified as he paced about in my new living room, pausing every now and then to stare out the window, lost in thought.

  “He’s not returning your calls?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “I can call Lilly if you like.”

  Blake had only given me fragments—something about James having betrayed him and that Dylan Fox wished to destroy him. Just enough to worry me.

  He looked at me. “No. Don’t involve her.”

  “Something happened earlier,” I said in a thin voice. “When I visited my mother, Jimmy, one of the local guys…”

  “One of the dealers that loiters about, you mean?”

  I bristled at his biting tone. “He’s not a bad person. Desperation does that to people, you know?”

  He attempted a weak smile. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that today.” Blake took my hand. “I interrupted. You were saying?”

  “Jimmy told me that the Russian had come looking for Lilly. Brent confronted him and it broke out into a punch-up. The Russian came off second best.”

  “Who’s Brent?”

  “That’s Lilly’s brother. He’s very protective, especially since she’s been staying with James. Maybe now for a good reason.”

  “I hope you’re looking for a new place for your mother. I’ve got an open checkbook, Penelope. I don’t want you going back there.”

  “You’ve given me so much, and I’m really grateful. At times, I still find it difficult to process. But you can’t tell me what to do, and I’m about to fail my degree.” Tears blinded me. For the first time ever, I’d received a fail mark on one of my assignments due to missing extended deadlines.

  “Oh?” His brow crinkled. “But you’re a brilliant artist, Penelope. You’re unique. You stand out from the crowd.”

  My face was saturated as I sniffled and blew my nose in the most unladylike fashion. I’d reverted to Penny from the estate, and not that cool art student with the rich boyfriend.

  “I’ve scored high on my practical, but my written work sucks. It always has. But I managed to bumble through it with the help of Sheldon and, believe it or not, my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Blake’s frown was understandable. I’d also been shocked at my mother’s innate intelligence when she put her mind to helping me.

  “She’s really good at English. Even junked out, she would help me express my ideas on paper.”

  This retelling of one of our rare but finer moments together made me bawl like a baby.

  Blake took me into his arms, which was the first time we’d held each other since he’d arrived with a dark shadow in tow.

  My eyes seemed to have a burst a pipe as tears poured out. It had been an edgy day, starting in the morning, when Blake crushed me while we slept, and then ending with me learning that my degree hung on a thread. The thought of repeating another semester froze my veins.

  “Take me to her,” said Blake.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “I want to meet your mother.”

  “You do?” My tears dried, and my heart banged against my ribcage. Am I ready for that?

  “Please. It will help me.”

  “How?” I froze on the spot.

  “I just want to meet her.”

  “Look, Blake, don’t worry about it. I’ll spend the next few days focusing, and I’ll finish that essay.”

  “What’s the subject?” Although his change of subject was jarring, I welcomed it.

  “How the Pre-Raphaelites informed the neo-classical movement.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, brightening.

  “About the Pre-Raphaelites?”

  He laughed, which was rare for him but beautiful. “No, although I do love the collection at the Tate. You enjoyed our little trip to Bath.”

  “I did. I’ve even started sketching my new bridge series.” I smiled as he took my hand.

  “Why don’t we go there for a couple of days? While you’re working on your paper, I can arrange renovations for my new spa.”

  My spirit came alive. “I’d love that.”

  “I actually got a distinction for English, so if I can help in anyway…” Blake’s gentle smile gave him that rare boyish look that I loved.

  “Oh, that would be super.” I fell into his arms, and our lips met for a soft, tender kiss that quickly developed into one of need and hunger. I pulled away and smirked. “So, you’re not just a pretty face?”

  Blake wore a half grin that dimpled his cheek and made me want to eat him.

  He squeezed my ass and then fondled my breasts. A sliver of electricity gusted through me. The more intense Blake’s life was the harder his cock became.

  His fingers moved inside my panties and tickled my clit.

  “And you’re very creamy,” he rasped, waltzing me to the sofa. My body relaxed entirely, not only because his ravishing tongue promised to send me over the edge but also because my mother hadn’t been mentioned again.

  37

  * * *

  BLAKE

  I’D SUGGESTED INVITING HER mother out, but Penelope shook her head, telling me her mother never left her flat. She’d rung ahead, and when she closed the call, she looked at me and said, “I don’t really want to do this.”

  “What did your mother say?”

  “She asked if I had any cash.” Penelope looked up at me and bit a nail. “That’s normal for her. Let’s not go. It won’t be pretty.”

  “I want to meet her. I’m not going to judge her. But will she mind me seeing her? That’s more the point.”

  “My mother’s self-respect went out the window years ago. In fact, you know, I don’t think she’s got any. That sounds awful, I know. But…” She shrugged.<
br />
  I stroked her cheek. “Hey, it’s all good. I just want to meet her.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, then. But I warned you.”

  * * *

  THE CRUMBLING ESTATE WAS predictably squalid. Penelope greeted a skinny guy wearing loose, low-slung sweatpants. His fancy trainers seemed incongruous on that skinny drug-riddled frame. He scratched his arms and almost looked shy around Penelope, which was cute but still harrowing. I hated her being there, let alone sharing a laugh with a drug dealer.

  They’d grown up together, she assured me as we walked along the cracked pavement.

  Graffiti was splattered across the walls, not in any artful fashion but in that angry I hate the world way.

  Penelope insisted on going first. Seeing how shaky and affected she was, I held her hand.

  People yelling over blaring TVs and loud thumping rap music filtered through as we moved past the endless doors in that crowded estate.

  I examined large cracks around the entrance, and as we stood at the threshold of Penelope’s childhood home, I wondered if it was even structurally safe. The place needed to be condemned.

  “Have you got a key?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. The door’s always open.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled. “There’s nothing to steal. Only Oxfam hand-me-downs.”

  I frowned.

  “Hey. No pity or judgment, remember?”

  I took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  She opened the door and called out, “Mom.”

  Beneath the blaring TV, a voice said, “Hello, darling.”

  Penelope stepped into the haze, gesturing for me to enter a room that had smoked a million cigarettes.

  I stood before her mother, who slouched on the sofa, watching telly. “Hi, I’m Blake, Penelope’s boyfriend.”