I end up tossing the gun at a wall as I break back out into the late afternoon sun, disgusted with it for being anywhere near my skin and yet smiling at the fact that it was. I did this. Came here. Watched. Withstood fear and stared straight at death. Helped its deliverance even. Fucking man. Why are there so many Jon’s in this world? Maybe this is the way you sort out society rather than relying on a bent system that doesn’t work unless it’s moulded correctly. Something I’m damn good at, and something that, as I stand here, hands on hips and breathing in untainted air, makes me realise what I should be doing. Trial law. Using my brains for more than simple documentation analysis. I want the Jons of the world gone.
And while we’re at it, these boys better get their damn acts together about who’s fucking whom and when. There will be no more messing around with the whos, the whats and the wheres. It’s pathetic. Alexander White can kill a man but can’t sleep with the man he loves? Shame on him. Perhaps he needs a push or two. I’m happy to give them. Everyone will be a damn sight happier after it’s done. Maybe even at peace.
“Still interested?” the man himself says as a hand slaps my arse.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I spit out, glowering at the blood stain on my silk dress. He smirks and wanders over to a cow trough on the far side of the yard, presumably to wash the crimson off his body. I watch his movements, trying to ascertain if he’s horny, because frankly, now’s as good a time as any. Let’s all fucking get on with it, shall we? Not me, obviously, but them. I bet there’s a bed in there somewhere. Not that I think a bed will have much to do with anything where those two are concerned.
“Now is not the time, my love.” Oh, for God’s sake, why not? How does he damn well know what I’m thinking about anyway? That needs to stop. Yet another reason I need to see Sabella. If he can read me this well, it’s because of Alexander’s teaching. I don’t want him knowing me so well. I can’t push him if he does.
“I think it is.”
“He is not enraged enough, hmm?” he says, wrapping his arms around me and proving that he is definitely horny. “The kill was too pleasant.” I roll my eyes. The kill was too pleasant? Are we talking about hunting? Christ.
“He loves you. He should get on with it. He’s being a wuss,” I reply, threading my hands into the back of his hair and enjoying his weight on my back as we both stare at Alexander.
“Mmm. It will come with time. He will not be pressed into it.” He damn well will. I’ll make sure of it. It will be my purpose for a while. That and stopping him killing the ones he loves.
I smile at the thoughts and images beginning to circulate. I thought maybe jealousy might creep in at some point and make me question all this, or perhaps insanity might loom, but it doesn’t, not at all. In fact, given the occurrence that’s just happened with someone being slaughtered, mercilessly, I appear relatively level headed about it all. Talking about this so openly seems easy, sensible even. Practical. And I do like the outfit he gave me, which he needs me to put on. I could slip it on now if it were here, let all this death infuse me in some way, build the momentum to one of utter superiority.
Three men walk out past us and go over to him, guns holstered beneath their jackets and smiles on display. I assume they’re all talking about the job, or maybe they’re now discussing dinner. Who fucking knows? They all seem so blasé about what’s happened. Jovial even as I watch one of them pat Alexander on the back, probably congratulating him on ridding the world of more scum. Or maybe he’s just checking out his muscles.
“Did you ever question his motives?” I ask out of curiosity. “You know, why he does it?”
He snorts into my neck, lowering his hand to my crotch, quite unsuitably given the company we’re in, and then turning me around to face him. I smile into bright green eyes that twinkle at me and show me all of that mischief again. He seems lost to the concern that was etched into his skin, no longer worried about his daughter, I suppose. He’s carefree and ready to be himself once more. I draw my hand down his face, his jaw, watching the way his lips lazily smile at my touch and loving him for it.
“It has never been my intention to allow him backwards, my love, only to propel him forwards.” Mmm. Okay. “Dwelling over past indiscretions hinders opportunity, hmm?”
I couldn’t care less. I’m too busy feeling horny. It seems I only need a few touches of his hardening cock on my thigh and the rest of the world disappears, letting me fade back into just him again as we stand here. Love. That’s all there is to worry about now. That, and how exactly we achieve the serenity we’re all chasing.
Our lips meet, timeless once more. There’s nothing in our lips but love. It’s not leaving me anytime soon either. We will love eternally, through hell and back. I’ll still love him at the end of the journey he’ll take me on. I can feel the need to just climb on top of him now and let nature have its way so we can fuse this moment. So I can fix this memory into my head, listing it as one of acceptance and entrance into yet another private thing the world knows nothing of.
“No more games,” I mumble into his mouth, letting my teeth clash with his and barely restraining the need to rip his clothes off. He picks me up, princess style, and takes his mouth from mine, which instantly makes me groan in frustration and reach for him again.
“I have not played with you for some time, my love.” Quite right, too. Actually, the dungeon cage wasn’t that long ago. He should still pay for that. I go back to nibbling his neck anyway as he traverses the ground to get to the car. I don’t know why. Perhaps we’re leaving? Which is a bit disappointing in all honesty. I could do with the ache removing from my cunt first. “How would you like me?” he asks, depositing me into the back of the car and yanking at his tie. Oh.
“Broken,” I reply as I raise my brow at him, flicking a button on my dress and then lifting my leg onto the seat. “Angry, frantic.” He crawls in, slamming the door behind him and wrenching at his belt, all the time smirking at me. Anger isn’t coming anytime soon. He’s too fucking calm for anger, too happy because the threat’s been removed. Perhaps he needs pushing, too, another threat of some kind, or at least winding up into the storm I know he can be. But for now, as his tongue runs up the inside of my thigh, I don’t care. I’ll get frantic another time. I’ll press buttons and wage war with him in my own way. Now, I just want him inside me one way or another, and I don’t give a fuck about the fact that Alexander might get in soon. It’s just him and me, and nothing is getting in between that. Never again.
“Unless you want me to join in, I’d stop.” Alexander’s voice says, his hand reaching into the glove compartment and taking a package back out with him. Fuck. That was enough to stop the moment on my end, quite rapidly actually. Clearly not on Pascal’s, because his teeth continue their journey up towards my aching crotch, regardless of my now shoving hands. Watching is one thing; joining in is another matter entirely.
“Stop.” I don’t know why I bother with that word. He doesn’t understand it.
“Not,” is his muffled reply as he pushes my thighs wider and readies himself to dive in. Quite, but I’m not having Alexander joining in on anything. It’s a little repulsive to think about, let alone be part of, and my brain’s gone all fuzzy even contemplating it.
“No, I mean it. I want you to get off,” I say, kicking out at him in the hope that he understands the seriousness. Thankfully, he seems to acknowledge the issue and backs up a bit, not far enough for safety’s sake, but at least a bit. “I can’t do that with him,” I blurt out. He looks somewhat shocked, as if it’s an oddity that anyone would say such a thing. I sort of understand that, but this all needs setting out. It’s not going to happen. Whatever they do together, it’s not for me to be part of, unless I’m directing it. Maybe kissing I could do. Maybe, if I was horny enough. I don’t know. It’s not like the man’s unattractive after all, but it just feels wrong at the moment. Further down the line, who knows? But not now. No. Not. And so we just stare at each other for a while as
he sits back and leans against the door. Him with a perplexed expression, and me with my legs slowly closing back to being crossed and in control.
“It’s just you that I want. That’s all.” What was perplexed, slowly turns into the warmest of smiles as he pulls at his tie and then takes it off completely. “I’ll do this thing with him, but I’m doing it for you. Because I love you, and you need him.”
The smile broadens, warming me up and making me understand, with acute clarity, exactly why I’ll do this for him. It’s because I have to see him whole. I’ll break him, see him broken, if that’s what he wants, help him through that, but I need him whole at the end of it. It’s the way we’ll endure life together. We’ll pick each other up and catch each other, piecing back the fragments when we shatter. That’s what lies in the rainbow, waiting for us. The gold is at the end. And when we’re whole and not in need of breaking any longer, we’ll find it, together. Dig for it if we have to. Bury ourselves in the earth we remove and then forge our way back out of the soil, making new memories on the way and loving every one of them.
If there was ever a bad time for Alexander to break into our loving moment, this is it. The door slams and I see Pascal glance at him as he sits, his smile now replaced with an amused smirk.
“There will be no fucking of Lilah,” he says. The chuckle that emanates back towards me is a little concerning, not filling me with confidence that the statement has been taken seriously at all. “This is a prerequisite of our conditions.” Ours? I can’t stop the small smile breaking out across my face. Ours. Us. Two who are happy to become involved in a four, if our conditions are met.
Alexander switches on the engine, not answering and reversing the car as another pulls into the yard.
My hackles immediately rear up, wondering who could be arriving at such a moment and preparing for confrontation. No one seems fazed by the new arrival, though. Alexander even smiles and steadily inches the car towards it, rolling down his window. A thirty-something male smiles, apparently finding something hilarious.
“Is it a mess?” he asks, with a cockney accent so strong it instantly reminds me of home. “Normally is with you.”
“Brutal fucker,” a voice says from the other side of the car as I notice another man who looks exactly the same, but for slightly longer hair. “Still, good pay check, mate. Needed a holiday.”
Alexander nods at them, seemingly accepting their analysis of the situation we’ve left behind us.
“Clean it up. I’ll transfer the other half later. Dominic will let me know when you’ve finished,” he says emotionlessly, pointing at one of the other suit-clad men still standing by the entrance to the house. I’m not completely sure what that means, but I’m assuming these guys are what they call a ‘clean-up crew’. Twin cleaners. It amuses me enough for a laugh to burst out as I imagine them mopping floors and carrying buckets around.
“Something amusing, my love?”
“Twins…” It’s not even that funny and I’m certain I shouldn’t be laughing about anything, definitely not cleaning up blood, but how do they do that? Is it like in the movies when they use chemicals and bleach? Do they burn it all until bone crumbles and disintegrates? It’s interesting, in a sordid kind of way. I roll my window down to get a better look at twin one, wondering what makes him do a job like that. I’d like to ask him if we had time, find out more. He flicks his eyes at me, smiling and looking my face over.
“Pretty girl,” he says. Pascal snorts, Alexander growls, I laugh. Pretty? Girl? Fuck him and his pretty. If a sneer could descend quicker, I don’t know how. I don’t feel pretty. I feel floodlit in my own world of hedonistic scorn. Flowers and fields and girlish things have long since left, strengthening me as they went. My head tilts at him, analysing his need to clean up shit like this. Maybe he gets off on it? Maybe he feels cleansed somehow? Does it make him feel powerful in some way? Superior to all the other people in the world? Perhaps he has daddy issues, mummy ones even? The power shift is instant as I lick my lips and stare him down. His dull brown eyes turn away, flicking to the ground and then trying to bring themselves back to me. There’s only one pretty thing here, and that’s him.
“Leave him alone, Lilah,” Alexander barks from the front of the car. Pascal snorts again, causing me to look at him rather than twin one.
“You are becoming quite astute in your slaughter, hmm?”
“Just thinking,” I reply, closing the window and dismissing twinny as I turn my back into Pascal to lean on him. I’m quite tired all of a sudden, unsurprising given the killing that’s been happening. Sleep would be rather nice for a while. I’ll just lie here until we get home and rest in arms of safety. Nothing else needs saying anyway. We’ve said it all. Done it all. There’s nothing left here for me to see or comprehend. The only thing left is four of us in a room, maybe a dungeon. One where we’ll find our balance.
Hopefully.
Chapter 21
“You will bring her back here,” he shouted, glaring at Alexander as the lights of the Aston Martin screeched to a halt in front of them. “Tell Phillip to turn the plane around. This is most treacherous.” The man smirked at his outburst, raising a brow and then watching Elizabeth slide out of the vehicle with her long legs openly on display.
“Angel,” the sadistic fucker mused, rubbing his chin and then tapping his face in thought.
“Bring my daughter back here instantly,” Pascal snapped again, hoping for a better response than being ignored.
“You’re very welcome.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure you’ve even said thank you yet.”
“What?” Damn man. What was he talking about now? Claire was the only relevant thing requiring discussion. He snarled out his disgust and turned to the brute, barely restraining the need to slap him about the head for such duplicity. “I know not what you speak of.”
“Jon’s demise,” Alexander replied, leaning towards the window, hands in pockets and watching the effortless glide of Elizabeth’s legs as they meandered their way to the house.
“Hmm. Thank you.” He supposed it was prudent to be obliging in that respect.
“You’re very welcome.”
“That still does not deter me from your actions of insubordination.”
“Insubordination would require you being in control, Pascal, which you aren’t.”
“Do not be such a difficult bastard. I want her here. Now.” He damn near stamped his foot. What did he know of parental love? Nothing. He knew not the blinding need to have one’s child at one’s feet.
“They’re flying back to New York and you’ll see her again in one week. School, Pascal.”
School? What atrocious reasoning was this? One week? What damage would Lucinda do to her in that time? They were finally becoming a unit of three. Lilah, Claire, and he. Family. She had called him Papa. She knew. And this cruel bastard was taking that from him? He’d never been so incensed with the man, irrespective of the immaculate planning that had obviously been carried out with regard to Jon.
He waved his hands around, just managing to avoid contact with the bastard’s face, and stormed away from the fool before he caused lasting injury again. Fury wracked his every nerve at the thought of Claire not arriving back here with his Rose. Here. Home. There was not one part of him that wished to travel back to New York. Ever. He would stay here, as would Lilah and Claire, to build a life together without the throngs of imbeciles or horrific traffic weighing them down. They would live serenely, enjoying the summer sun and revelling in its warmth on their skin. He would teach Claire to ride, to swim in the lake, steer a boat. They would take trips to other countries that Lilah wanted to see, and…
“You know I’m right,” the bastard barked after him. Fucking man. Idiotic and ostensibly abnormal. Beautiful obviously, all the more so for his display of honesty involving Jon’s throat, but the man was a moron sometimes.
“He is right,” Lilah said as she wafted past him towards the lounge are
a, lighting candles as she went.
She was dressed in a black form fitting dress that clung to every curve precisely. Hmm. He should fuck her for her superiority, or cane her. He looked at his hand, suddenly feeling more bereft than ever without the damn thing there to comfort him.
“I told you, you should get a new one.” Arrogant bitch. True as the statement might be, she would be the death of him soon if she coaxed her way in any deeper. He was certain of it. “He needs time with you to finalise things. And lovely as this dream is, reality needs checking.” He did not know what that meant, other than this union of four that might happen at some juncture, so he snarled at his own ignorance and followed her into the attempt at a lounge. He needed decorators, soon.
“And she needs to go to school and be comfortable with who she is, and who you are, before you just take her away from her mother with no real plan.” Mother? Bitch. He should have killed her rather than accept Alexander’s plan. Which did not, at the time they had discussed it, involve Lucinda and Claire returning home to New York together. Besides, he had a plan. It did not include Lucinda being alive.
“Drink?”
“Not. I am perturbed by all of this.”
“And so you’re deciding to become sober? I thought we ought to celebrate,” she said, smiling at him and lightening more candles beside her on the armoire without a care in the world. Why was she not as perturbed as he? It was perplexing.
“My daughter has been taken from me again. How is this worthy of celebration?”
“Jon is dead. Your threat is gone. And Alexander wants to fuck you. I’d say you’re on a roll of good fortune, not the other way around, wouldn’t you?” His brow rose, intrigued by how she knew such things, and irritated that he himself had not noticed.
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