Enfold (Thornhill Trilogy Book 3)

by J. J. Sorel

“Evan was a really disturbed guy.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Another one?”

  He smiled grimly. “Yeah, I know. Everyone seems pretty fucked up. They were either before they entered the army, or after they left. Take your pick. In Evan’s case, his problem started before. His mother was a whore and his father a pimp.”

  I grimaced. “Ouch.”

  He sniffed. “Yeah, that’s how I reacted. He also admitted to me he got off on pushing women around.”

  “God, Aidan, why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Because I spoke to him when he hooked up with Tabitha and he assured me he was a new man. I’m sorry, Clarissa.”

  I took his hand and sat close. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You looked after him. I mean, you employed him even after he’d admitted that to you. You did the best you could have, Aidan.”

  That night, we held each other tight. Aidan slept restlessly. He cried out, writhing about. It frightened me. I had never seen him like that before. I didn’t want to wake him because I was scared of shocking him. I waited until his crying stopped, after which he fell into my arms. Pressed against his pounding heartbeat, I shivered back to sleep.

  The next morning, I woke and found Aidan on the pillow next to me, staring at me with a gentle smile.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, princess. You look so beautiful and peaceful when you sleep. You’re bewitching even when you’re out cold.”

  I brushed back my hair and lifted myself up.

  “Don’t get up. Stay here.” He opened his strong arms. I fitted in perfectly. It was as if his strong body were made for mine. His biceps were cushiony and firm, better than any pillow, while his masculine scent sent a rush of heat through me.

  “Aidan.”

  “Yes, angel.”

  “You had a bad nightmare last night.”

  He turned his head sharply to face me. “What did I do?”

  “You cried out and moved about.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  He cast an alarmingly intense look at me. I could see I’d touched a raw nerve. I shook my head. “No, Aidan. I was more frightened for you.”

  He removed his arm from under my shoulder and sat up, combing back his hair. His face was grim.

  “What’s wrong, Aidan? It didn’t worry me, really.”

  “I just don’t recall. Normally, I do…” He spoke almost to himself.

  “What do you mean by ‘normally’?” I asked.

  “I used to sleep roughly all the time before I met you. And even still, when I go away and sleep alone. The nightmares return.”

  “The shock of Evan, I’d imagine, Aidan.” I stroked his cheek and snuggled close. “It didn’t worry me. I was just upset for you. It seemed as if you were suffering.”

  “Nobody should have to experience that. I’m really sorry, princess.” He turned and brushed my face.

  I fell into his arms. “Aidan, you could be possessed by the devil, and I still wouldn’t leave you.”

  He laughed, releasing the tension that had blanketed our morning.

  I snuggled up to him again. “In any case, bed isn’t just for sleeping, you know.”

  Aidan’s eyes softened into a heart-melting turquoise shade. His lips curled up deliciously as he pulled back the covers. His eyes smoldering over my body left burning trails.

  His hands caressed my breasts, making my body go steamy and tingly. Aidan’s beautiful cock stood thick and hard. I licked my lips, but he got to them first, and our mouths met. Our frenzied tongues swirled together, tasting each other’s need.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AIDAN

  Tiny, colorful fish floated behind the large glass enclosure, home to a miniature marine ecosystem. As always, it was meditative, giving me a much-needed break from the chaos ringing in my head.

  Evan’s death had unhinged me. An army of ghosts from my past had been unleashed, polluting my whole being with some fucked-up B-grade movie with no beginning or end.

  For the first time in a week, my mind floated into the fish tank and my body loosened as I waited for my shrink. Even Clarissa’s gentle warmth, which normally calmed me, had done little to lift the dark curtain that had fallen over me. Behind it, shadowy actors performed fractured sequences like film noir on acid. The script was my life before Clarissa. The actors, masked, deformed, and noisy, caused me, the director, to cry out in angst while I slept.

  “Aidan.” I looked up, and Kieren’s placid smile put me at ease straight away.

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” I said as I followed him into his office.

  I sat on the comfy recliner he had in the corner, which was where I always sat. I refused to lie on the sofa. It was too clichéd and made me feel like a nut job.

  “Can I offer you anything?” asked Kieren, wiping his spectacles.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good.”

  “What’s been happening in your world?” he asked.

  “A close buddy shot himself at the Red House. That’s a music venue I own.”

  Concern reflected off his glasses. “I’m sorry to hear that. Suicide is frightful enough without having to witness it.”

  “You’re not wrong there.” I exhaled a long, painful breath.

  “I take it that this tragedy has opened a floodgate of emotion.”

  “You could say that. My nightmares are back with a vengeance.”

  “That’s no good. Tell me about them.”

  “Sometimes, I can’t remember, to be honest. But Clarissa, who’s with me every night, has told me I move about and cry out. One night, it was so bad she slept on the sofa.” My voice trembled with the same frustration that had made me want to punch a wall after I discovered Clarissa was not in my bed. “That’s why I’m here, Kieren. I don’t want this. I need her with me. Always. Close. Her presence is always comforting. I sleep well. Peacefully. That was, until Evan…”

  “This latest horror has opened up wounds, Aidan. It’s understandable. Tell me, do you blame yourself for what happened?”

  My jaw stiffened. “I do. It’s because of me that he’s dead.”

  “How could that be?”

  “He fell in love with Clarissa’s best friend, Tabitha. She then met my father and fell in love with him and left Evan. Evan was shattered. He’d called asking to see me that same day. I didn’t find the time to catch up, only a short conversation on the phone. Perhaps if I’d gone there and sat with him, he’d still be alive.”

  “That doesn’t justify your guilt, Aidan. You spoke on the phone. What did he say?”

  “He said that he was fucked up where women were involved and that he regretted treating Tabitha the way he did. He was into S and M. Mind you, we’d already had a similar conversation a week earlier, after I’d met him at a bar.”

  Kieren shifted in his seat. “I take it he was the aggressor?”

  “Yeah. I don’t get it, to be honest. I hate that sort of shit. Even though…” I rubbed my neck. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I reminded myself of my playful spanking sessions with Clarissa.

  He sat forward. “Even though?”

  “I sometimes play with Clarissa, you know? Roleplay. I don’t hurt her, and she seems to enjoy it. It definitely excites me.” I hated how inarticulate I sounded. “Am I fucked-up for doing that? Is that wrong?”

  Kieren shook his head. “No. Roleplay is a natural outlet. It connects lovers to their childish, playful selves. There’s no harm in it. The only harm is when it’s non-consensual or when the submissive is coerced into acts that are painful, thereby inducing fear and dread. It’s human nature to joke about. If anything, it’s healthy for a relationship to be open and expressive.”

  Phew. That was good to know, I thought. My body relaxed into the cushions. “I believe Evan got pretty rough with Tabitha. She came to the estate with bruised arms and her back was marked.”

  “I’m not surprised she ran. She was being abused. Tell me, how was she in the beginning?�
�

  “According to Clarissa, Tabitha described it as kinky and sexy. Clarissa was worried. I just kept out of it. You know, different strokes for different folks.” I sniffed.

  “Do you have any thoughts on why Evan shot himself publicly and not alone?”

  I puffed up my cheeks and blew out slowly. “At the time he wanted to shoot my father. I was able to grab his hand in time and redirect the shot. My two security guys tried to get him to drop the gun. But somewhere in the middle of our pleading, he turned the gun and shot himself. It was a matter of seconds. I should have taken the gun. But Evan was a strong guy. I couldn’t get it off him.”

  “You did the right thing, Aidan. Otherwise, your father could have died.”

  “I know.” I bit into the side of my cheek.

  “This incident has obviously set off a flood of memories banked up in your subconscious.”

  “It seems so.” I exhaled slowly. “It’s crippling me. I should be tougher than this.”

  “Aidan, no one has complete control of their buried thoughts. Put crudely, there are parts of our brain that house every fearful experience we carry. They are traumatic scars. By analyzing each fear and staring it in the eye, the intensity of the experience becomes less. Just like you’re doing now, talking it through. Tell me, apart from Evan, are there other things happening in your life at the moment that are stirring you up?”

  “Yeah, there are quite a few.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “There’s the Bryce Beaumont issue. You recall, he was blackmailing me about Ben?”

  “Yes. He was threatening to report you.”

  “He’s out on bail. He tried to kidnap Clarissa but failed when she fought him off.” I couldn’t help but smile, visualizing my angel kneeing Bryce in the balls.

  “And is he still threatening? I mean, he’s got the police watching him. That should be quietening him down, I imagine.”

  “To some extent. But he called me the other night, drunk and stoned. He told me he was writing a memoir that would implicate me.”

  “Can’t your attorney do something about that? Sue him for slander?”

  “I mentioned that. That doesn’t freak me out. It’s that he may harm Clarissa. But there’s one other issue that’s biting at me harder.”

  “Tell me.”

  “John Howard. He’s the one that really worries me. He’s out and free. I haven’t heard or seen anything of him. But my mother, on a couple of occasions, mentioned he’s out for blood. It’s the hidden ones that frighten the most.”

  “Of course. Have you arranged surveillance on him?”

  “Evan was doing that. He was the head of my security. It’s all on file. I’ve got James, my other trusty security guy, on it now. Howard’s being cased. But so far, nothing. He’s keeping his distance.”

  “That’s something, at least. Aidan, you must remember he’s been locked up for thirteen odd years. I’m sure he doesn’t really want to go back in. And were he to target you, it would lead the police straight back to him.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I held my head. I was tired. “Look, Kieren, you mentioned sleeping tablets. I don’t like popping pills. But I don’t want to chase Clarissa out of my bed, either. I need her there.”

  “I’ll write you a script. Evan sounds as if he had his own demons. I’m sorry you had to witness it, but I would say he would’ve done it anyway. Bryce is a weak man. Everyone knows that. By that, I mean your ex-commanding officers. I’m sure they’d find the words of a weak man hard to believe.”

  “I’ve already fessed up to my former senior officer, Kieren.”

  Kieren’s eyes widened. “You have?”

  I sighed. “I have. He just shrugged it off. As you know, there was no post-mortem on Ben. We couldn’t get back to him. The area was surrounded by insurgents.”

  Kieren sat up. “What did he say exactly?”

  “These were his words: ‘War turns things upside down. Shit happens. You did the right thing. I would’ve done the same, considering that the Taliban would have dragged Ben’s body through the streets like a trophy. If he had any breath left in him, that pain alone would’ve been unimaginable.’”

  “Then you’re exonerated, Aidan,” said Kieren.

  I nodded. “I have to admit, it was a relief. I also told him about the cash. He just shrugged it off and reminded me that I’d furnished the widows’ fund with twenty million dollars to date. He put his arm around me and told me that I was a model soldier who should have received a medal of valor, and that he was working on something to honor me for my philanthropic work. I told him that I didn’t require a plaque or a medal for that. It was the least I could do to help. And left it at that.”

  “That negates Bryce’s threats, then.”

  “It does. I’m just frightened he’ll do something to harm Clarissa. That’s my main fear. Not the Ben saga. Even if I had to do time for that, I would have gladly, you know. If I had to do it again, I’d do the same. I’ve made peace with Ben over that.”

  Kieren nodded pensively. “How so?”

  I should have known Kieren wouldn’t leave that comment alone. “One night recently, Ben visited me. He told me to stop carrying the weight of his death on my shoulders and to release the guilt. He was grateful and promised to protect me and Clarissa.”

  “Were you visited by nightmares again after that dream?”

  “No. I was good. Even on my trips away. For a whole week, I slept like a baby. Then this thing with Evan happened, and now the ghosts are back.”

  “I see.” He scribbled on a pad, then handed me the script.

  I stood up and stretched my body. I took the script and stuffed it into my pocket. “Thanks, Kieren. I feel better.”

  “Good. Call me anytime.” Kieren held out his hand and I took it.

  As I left, I noticed a beautiful rose in his garden. It was stubborn, so I bent down and tore off the stem with my teeth while doing my utmost to avoid the thorns. The fragrance flushed hope through me, reminding me of beauty and Clarissa.

  I called my favorite restaurant and booked a table, then called my beautiful girl.

  As I stepped over the cracks in the pavement, a silly habit I had adopted as a child, I felt light for the first time in weeks.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CLARISSA

  It never ceased to amaze me how certain scents conjured up so many memories. The instant I stepped into Chris’s studio, a nostalgic muscle twitched. Thick with linseed oil, paint fumes, and cigarette smoke, the heady mix took me back to my late mother’s makeshift studio at home when I was young. It was a smell that I’d encountered all my life, probably even while I gestated in her womb, because as I stood in Chris’s studio, I was swept back to a time when I was a happy little girl playing with her paints.

  Standing by my side, Aidan held my hand as Chris shuffled toward us, looking as unkempt as usual. His eyes had that faraway glaze one got when lost in their own imagination.

  As my eyes turned to his latest creation—a larger-than-life depiction of Jessica—my veins iced, while Aidan stiffened by my side.

  In the brilliantly crafted painting, she reclined in the nude with her legs slightly apart. Her partly shut, seductive eyes smoldered. I’d seen that same look directed at Aidan. She’d changed her hair shade to black—Hmm… funny about that. It sat provocatively over her voluptuous breasts, and her deep-red lips were slightly apart.

  Our wide-eyed, stunned expressions made Chris smirk. “I should’ve covered it. It’s a commission. Jessica wanted it. And what Jessica wants, Jessica gets.” He laughed, waiting for a response, but we remained mute. “I’ve gone all Egon Schiele but without the raw edges. To the line, I mean.” He looked at me.

  Aidan asked, “Egon Schiele?”

  “He was a late nineteenth-century Austrian painter,” said Chris, lighting a cigarette.

  “He was known for his scandalous nudes,” I added. “Only this is nothing like Schiele, in my opinion. His was a much cruder styl
e.”

  “I don’t know. It looks pretty damn crude to me,” said Aidan, looking away.

  The giggle that left my lips did little to release my tight chest. I didn’t like seeing Jessica so up close, pussy slit and all, in my face, confronting me, mainly because it reminded me that Aidan had been there. Creepy crawlies attacked me from within. I wanted to scratch that smug expression, which Chris had masterfully captured. An I’m-gonna-fuck-your-man grin was written all over her face.

  “Sorry, guys. I should’ve covered it. Jessica’s pretty wild. But she’s a big payer.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Come with me.”

  He led us to the other end of the studio and lifted the sheets off from six paintings. An “ah” escaped my lips when I saw myself in Aidan’s arms on the chaise longue. I noticed Aidan’s eyes glowing with appreciation. I could see he loved it as much as I did.

  Chris, the master craftsman, had outdone himself.

  “These are incredible,” I said at last. He’d painted six varying versions of the same pose. I was dressed in a green silk dress, one that Aidan chose for its plunging neckline. My hair was down, and my diamond earrings sparkled brilliantly off the canvas. Aidan had his big, muscular arm around my waist.

  But it was Aidan’s handsome face that really made my heart pump. There was desire etched into his intense gaze. His eyes were such a luminescent blue my breath hitched. Both of our expressions reflected the love we shared. Chris had managed to show a seductive glint in Aidan’s eyes—intense and playful at the same time. It was an expression only I thought I’d ever seen.

  Chris’s commanding skill stole my breath. Even little things, like Aidan’s enviable long lashes, were painted with such delicacy. I felt like touching them.

  “My God, Chris, you’ve well and truly surpassed yourself with these,” I said with breathy excitement.

  Aidan squeezed my hand before releasing it so he could reach for his checkbook. “I want them all.”

  Chris’s face lit up. Like most artists living on crumbs, he loved the smell of a sale.

  After Aidan scribbled a whopping one-hundred-thousand-dollar check that made Chris swoon, we left him alone, staring incredulously at the slip of paper.