Rafe’s brow furrowed and then his eyes got intense. “That’s not your mom, is it? It’s you.”
I blinked. Wait, he wasn’t allowed to turn this around on me.
“Why are you lost, Fallon?” He reached out and traced his large finger across my right brow. “Why are you sad?”
I yanked back. “I’m not sad.” How dare he say I was sad?
I reached down, grabbed the bright red paint tube, squirted a large glob in my hand, then turned to the canvas and smeared it in a diagonal over the painting.
The oil paint was still wet, so the red smeared into the features, and what started as a clear red streak became muddied by the woman’s dark sadness by the time I got to the bottom of the canvas.
Still, when I stepped back, I was satisfied. I turned back to Rafe, and I was fierce.
“I’m not sad, I’m enraged. I paint my rage because no one will let me fucking scream!” Though I did scream the last word.
Because out here at the end of this long oak-lined lane, who the fuck would hear other than Mama H, the help, and… oh yeah, the other belle and her Initiate?
It probably wouldn’t be good for her to hear another woman screaming and screeching. That would have freaked me out if I’d heard that my first week here, so I shut my mouth.
I shut my mouth and reached for another canvas, my red hand leaving prints as I went.
I didn’t bother with the brush this time. I squirted out large blobs of paint, of acrylic this time, and then I started painting with my fingers.
Bright yellows, oranges, and deep reds.
I wasn’t sure at first what it was, but soon I realized I was painting a phoenix. A beautiful phoenix goddess rising from the ashes.
Again and again, they tried to kill her, thought they did.
But she just kept rising.
They could never keep her down, no matter how hard they tried.
I’d all but forgotten Rafe was even there until he said, “God, I wish I could do what you do. I see it now. You’re screaming on canvas. It’s beautiful. You always were the brave one of us.”
Goddamn him.
Dagger to the heart.
I’d started painting today to forget him. To escape him. To tell myself that he was just like his parents, that any soft spot I might have witnessed last night was just an errant moment.
But when he said things like this… or did things like bringing me the paints in the first place…
Why did he keep confusing me like this?
I had everything figured out. I had my new life, a new man, a college degree…
And yet, something had drawn me back to this accursed place. Because the truth was, Rafe wasn’t the only one with ghosts of the past haunting him. His just had a face—his brother.
But me? Mine was a pain without form. Like a missing limb, I could almost feel the shape of it sometimes, a lingering loss, a lingering pain from what was once so important having been violently severed.
Because it was him.
Rafe was what I’d lost. Rafe was what I missed and ached for in the middle of the night. The part of my life that had been cut out so sharply and suddenly, and I still didn’t understand why, why he’d let me go, why he’d—
“You want to learn?” I asked, cutting off my troublesome thoughts. I gestured to the canvas. Just focus on the painting, Fallon. Dear God, could I just get the fuck out of my own head, for fucking once?
Rafe laughed in disbelief. “What? No, I can’t paint.” He took a few steps back as if to prove it.
Which made me twice as determined. “That’s bullshit. Everyone can paint.”
I put down the canvas I was working on and pulled up another one. Mama H kept me well stocked in canvases and paints now that Rafe had requested it. What an Initiate wanted, an Initiate got, after all.
“Here, we’ll start with something easy. A tree. Everyone can paint a tree.”
Rafe looked at me skeptically. I just rolled my eyes at him.
“Here, put your fingers in this dark paint, right here.” I mixed up some brown, black, and blue, a big glob of it.
“My fingers?” Rafe sounded confused and like I was crazy.
I smiled at him. “Yes, come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never finger painted before.”
This time he rolled his eyes at me. But like a good boy, he put his big finger into the glob of paint, though he made a face as he did it. Which was funny because the Rafe I’d known back in the day never hesitated to get dirty. As kids we’d made countless mud pies in the side garden, much to my mother’s consternation. She always had to clean Rafe up before Mrs. Jackson ever saw.
“Now put it on the canvas, for the base of the tree.”
He hesitated. “Where?”
I laughed. “Anywhere. It doesn’t have to be perfect. We’ll start building up the base. Here, we’ll do it together. We’re building up the shadows.” I dipped my first two fingers in the paint and then reached around him from behind, guiding his arm until we were both touching the canvas.
His broad back was warm against my chest, and only now did I realize just how intimate the position was. I didn’t let it deter me.
“So, do I outline the tree trunk?” Rafe asked, his hand starting to move up in a straight line.
I shook my head and grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No. Just sort of dab or make little strokes. Like this.” I demonstrated and he fumbled to imitate me.
“It doesn’t look like a tree,” he commented.
“Ye of little faith.” I said with a laugh.
I led him and we filled in more dark places as I mapped out the tree in my head. “Now we’ll go back in with some lighter browns and yellows. Help me mix it on the palette.”
I squirted some out of the acrylic tubes and that was when I felt his eyes on me. When I glanced up, I met the intensity of his gaze.
Close, he was so close. He dipped his fingers in and began to swirl the colors without me even instructing. My breath caught as he grabbed my wrist and said, “Show me again,” tugging me towards the canvas in a way that had my body wrapping around his from behind.
Suddenly I was very aware of every contour of his warm body in front of mine. Of the strength in his bicep as he extended his arm toward the painting.
Wait, what was happening? How had the power dynamic shifted so suddenly? I was supposed to be the one running this show. But now, now he was—
His firm, strong fingers interlocked with mine, smearing paint as our hands extended, the painting forgotten as my breath hitched and he spun.
He crushed his lips to mine and I wound my arms around his neck.
The tension that had built between us was suddenly released in a tsunami. We were getting paint all over each other but neither of us gave a fuck. I needed him. I needed him as desperately as he’d needed me last night.
I was so lost without him. I’d been so lost as soon as I’d left this place. I’d pretended, I’d been so good at pretending. I pretended I was a whole woman, normal. I grew out my natural brown hair and stopped with the goth make-up. I told myself I’d left Darlington in my rearview and that my past didn’t have to define my future.
But it was just an open wound that had never healed.
This boy, now a man, had dug himself inside me too deep.
Yes, deep. I needed him inside me deep.
I shoved my leggings down and Rafe was on the same page. He did the same with his pants and then he had me pressed up against the nearest wall.
His cock was already rock hard, and I was slick as honey. He speared me with his cock, and I groaned in satisfaction at being filled with him.
God, yes. This was what I’d needed, what I’d always needed. What I’d never known but always known.
I scrabbled to grab his shirt to bring him closer but then that wasn’t enough. No, I needed his skin. I shoved his shirt up and then bit at his skin. Hungry for him. For every part of him.
He shouted in surprise as I dug my teeth into hi
s chest. And then he dragged my head up and kissed me hard, devouring me back.
He fucked me long and hard, and then he stared into my eyes with an intensity that should have scared me but didn’t. He fucked me slow and deep then.
And then tears streamed down my face as the orgasm rocked me in a series of shudders and his face went taut as he emptied himself deep inside me, each of us clutching each other for dear life.
My missing piece was in place at last. With Rafe, at last, I was truly home.
13
Rafe
If I could make time stand still I would. Things had felt so normal… or as normal as you could get while locked in a room, surrounded by four walls that seemed to inch closer and closer together each day, each minute, each second. Our connection—though brief—had been real.
And as we both stared at the large box on our bed, we both knew that another Trial would occur tonight. Fallon had handled each Trial with a courage I didn’t know she possessed. Frankly, a courage that I needed to get through them myself. She never faltered. She never refused. She attacked each one with a vengeance. The girl even allowed the fuckers to tattoo her hip.
To tattoo her with their Order emblem!
But from what I had heard from Sully… we were lucky it was just a tattoo. The Elders actually insisted on the first two belles—and the countless belles before them—to be branded with a hot iron. Fallon lucked out by it not being done to her but rather a tattoo instead. Maybe Montgomery made changes within the Order already. Maybe...
I stared down at my fresh tattoo of the sabers crossed and realized that though I had a tattoo to forever remember this Initiation, Fallon would also forever have a reminder on her hip.
And yet… she didn’t complain once. She went through the steps of this grotesque dance like a well-trained dancer. If I didn’t already admire her, I would now. How could you not? I simply stood in awe of this woman and truly believed she was a belle who couldn’t be broken.
“The box is big,” she said as we both just stared at it. “Maybe that means there is actually something for me to wear in it.”
“Only one way to find out,” I said as I moved to lift the lid.
Fallon was the one to pull out the white dress with wide eyes as her mouth opened. “A wedding dress?”
There was no doubt it was a wedding dress with the layers and layers of delicate lace, and hand-stitched embroidery.
She looked at me with confusion in her eyes. “They wouldn’t expect us to get married tonight would they?”
I chuckled as I rolled my eyes. “No. No way. We aren’t supposed to marry the belles. They’re just meant for—”
Fuck me.
Sometimes I didn’t think before I spoke. A brief moment of pain flashed in her eyes and then she took a few steps away from me, still holding the dress to her chest.
“Yeah, us belles are just here to be fucked and hopefully broken. What an idiot I am to even think otherwise,” she snapped.
“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean—”
“I get it. Belles aren’t marriage material,” she said with venom lacing her words.
I took a step toward her and wished for a white flag to wave. I didn’t mean to upset her. “I’m sorry.”
She took another step away from me and shrugged. “I’m not delusional. I know that you precious Order boys are meant for some rich bitch socialite who has been groomed to be your wife.”
She looked up at me for the first time since I put my foot in my mouth. “I grew up in Darlington, remember? I know exactly how this works.”
Without saying another word, she marched to the bathroom with the dress in hand and slammed the door behind her.
Picking up the white tuxedo out of the box, I started getting dressed myself. I could go and try to knock on the door, maybe grovel some, but I knew Fallon. When she was pissed, she needed time to cool down. When the woman closed up, there was no opening her at all. And right now, we both needed to focus on the Trial coming up because something told me that this one was going to push us even further than all the other Trials combined.
* * *
“You look beautiful in that dress,” I complimented as we walked toward the ballroom.
“Good thing we aren’t really getting married since it’s bad luck to see the dress before the vows,” she said in a biting tone she hadn’t lost since I accidentally insulted her.
Regardless of how she felt toward me, or how we both felt as we walked toward an evening that no doubt would be awful, we did appear like bride and groom with her long flowing wedding dress that hugged every curve of her body, and my white tuxedo with a violet lily boutonnière breaking up the all-white.
“If I had to marry you tonight, I would,” I said softly.
“Yeah, well… annulments are easy to get. So, if we have to then we have to. Whatever it takes to pass the Trial tonight,” she said, staring straight ahead.
The sound of her heels clicking on the floor, and the swooshing of her dress helped distract me from her sharp response. But still… her words stung.
“I mean that I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else but you.”
“Yeah, okay,” she mumbled.
“Come on, Fallon. We need to go into this room as a team. A unit. I’m sorry I misspoke. I didn’t mean to piss you off, but can you please let it go? We need to be united before we face the Elders.”
Rather than answering me, she simply opened the door to the ballroom and entered. Ready or not, we were going into this Trial. I just hoped this wasn’t really going to be our wedding day with the bride pissed off at the groom. The thought of marrying Fallon though… fuck. I blinked a few times. I couldn’t say I minded that idea. The thought shocked me a little. I knew my mother expected me to marry a socialite from among her circle at some point, but I’d always imagined myself as a loner. The thought of Fallon at my side, as my partner in life, though...
I expected to see all the Elders as well as members of the Order in the ballroom when we entered. Hell… part of me expected to see a room full of wedding guests and a full-on wedding party. But instead, there was only one Elder in his silver cloak.
“Rafe Jackson, Fallon Perry, follow me,” the Elder announced as he led us out of the ballroom, down a hallway and to a small sitting room.
I had been in this room a couple times as a child, so I recognized the rich mahogany furniture, the gray velvet couches and chairs, and the faint smell of cigar smoke that lingered in the air. There were even fainting couches near the windows for all the women of the past who would faint due to a corset too tightly laced to allow an easy breath.
Though the room was smaller than most in the Oleander, it still held all the Elders and the members comfortably. Everyone either sat or stood with drink in hand as if tonight were any ordinary evening having cocktails with your buddies.
“Fallon Perry, follow me,” the same Elder who led us into the room said.
I considered taking Fallon by the hand and insisting I go wherever she did, but knowing her mood right now toward me, I didn’t think my action would be appreciated. I just had to remind myself that she was strong—much stronger than I gave her credit for—and she could handle herself.
The Elder brought her to a small coat room off to the right of the room. I only knew it was a coat room because as boys, we would use the room as a hiding spot during hide and go seek. Pushing her inside, the Elder then locked the door with padlock after padlock. There were so many padlocks, and though I didn’t like the idea of Fallon being locked away in another room, I also didn’t understand the purpose for all the locks.
“Care to have a drink?” my father asked as he approached me with a glass in offering.
I took it and nodded, surprised he talked to me. Odd that as a son, I always was taken aback every time the man spoke a word to me.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he complimented for the first time in my life. “I’ve watched you handle each Trial with a level of poise
and grace that makes me proud that you’re a Jackson.”
Swallowing against the lump that instantly formed in the back of my throat, I barely croaked, “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
“I know this isn’t easy. It wasn’t easy for me either. But I just wanted you to know that I’m impressed, as are the other Elders. You’re going to make a fine member of the Order of the Silver Ghost.”
I took a drink as we stood in awkward silence before he raised his glass to me and then turned to go join the Elders. I wasn’t used to such praise—any praise—and the feelings rushing through me were foreign.
Not sure what I was supposed to be doing, and not trusting that Fallon simply stood in the coat room and nothing else, I took a few steps toward the door so I could be closer. I wanted to be able to hear her if she needed me and called out.
“These are for you,” an Elder said with a large silver ring full of keys that no doubt belonged to all the padlocks on the door. There had to be over twenty of them, maybe thirty.
Before I could ask what was going on and figure out what I was supposed to do with the keys, I heard a blood-curdling scream from inside the coat room. The scream was so loud, and so ear-piercing that I almost couldn’t believe it came from Fallon.
“No! Get me out of here. No!” Fallon cried as she began to rattle the doorknob and then bang on the door. “Let me out! Let me out!”
My natural instinct was to charge toward the door, but I stopped mid stride when it dawned on me that I wouldn’t be able to just open the door. The padlocks would make it very difficult and time consuming.
“Fallon? What’s going on? Fallon?” I shouted back deciding to ask her rather than the room full of men who didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed by the howls of a woman desperate to flee the coat room.
“Rafe! Help me out of here. Get me out. Oh God. Get me out!” Her words were followed by squeals and high-pitched screams. “Oh my God they’re everywhere! Everywhere!”
An Elder’s voice broke through her screams and said, “There’s an old Southern belief that finding a spider on your wedding dress is good luck. It can chase the bad spirits away. And since we need all the luck we can, and help in chasing the spirit of Timothy Jackson away, we added a few more spiders to the mix.”
Opulent Obsession: A Dark Secret Society Romance Page 12