Decadence After Dark: The Complete Collection (Dark Romance box set) : Owned, Claimed, Ruined, Lie With Me, Elicit (Decadence After Dark )

by M Never

  Her head pops up, her face wearing a weary expression.

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Because.” I trace the troubled lines on her gorgeous face. “I want to find him and kill him.”

  “Jett, no,” she objects, tormented.

  “London, yes.” I push. “Tell me something, anything, about him.”

  London’s sparkly blue eyes grow wide. “I don’t want to think about him anymore. It’s all in my past, and I want to stop living there. I want to stay in the present with you.”

  “You can stay with me.” I swipe my thumb across her flushed cheeks. “But I want to find him. I want to avenge you. I want his blood on my hands.”

  “I don’t want you to have blood on your hands.” Her voice shrinks.

  “It will just be a little more than what’s already there,” I placate her. “Now tell me something.”

  Clearly hesitant, London closes her eyes and frowns, then breaks open more of her turbulent past. “I never saw his face. He always wore a mask, like the Phantom of the Opera. He would blindfold me. And he had an accent. Sometimes, he would give me commands in another language. It was Russian, I think.” London opens her eyes, and I find that vacant stare I detest. I suddenly question whether this interrogation was a good idea. I don’t want her slipping back into that dark place. Ever again.

  “Вставай на коліна. On your knees. Відкрий рот. Open your mouth. Cry, і я тебе вб’ю. Cry and I’ll kill you,” she horrifically recalls.

  I recognize the dialect immediately. “That’s not Russian. That’s Ukrainian.”

  It makes no difference to London. No matter the language, the words and memories are all still the same. It’s nauseating to me.

  “Anything else you can tell me? Any markings? Scars? Anything that stands out?”

  She shakes her head, lost. “He had long dark hair he would pull back into a bun and . . . liked leather.” She makes a disgusted face. Note to self. No leather pants with London. Ever. “Oh! He had a tattoo on his lower back. I saw it once. It was a yellow cat eye, I think. With flames or something around it.”

  I freeze. “A cat eye? How long ago was this?”

  “Um, I was sixteen when I was given to him. So ten years ago.”

  Ten years? Long dark hair, Ukrainian, a cat eye tattoo. An uneasy feeling flows through my veins. A familiarity I don’t like.

  “Could the tattoo have been a dragon eye?”

  London shrugs. “Maybe. Possibly. I only saw it once or twice. He didn’t like me to look directly at him. He punished me if I did.” She starts to shake in my arms.

  “Shhhh.” I pull her close and soothe her. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.” I kiss her head and hold her securely. “But I need to know, if you saw it again would you recognize it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Are you going to drag home every man you find with a dragon eye tattoo?”

  “Not every. Maybe just one.” My stomach flips at the mere thought. “Get up. Get dressed,” I urge her off me.

  “What? Why?” She pouts, confused.

  “Because we have to go see a man with a tattoo immediately.” I press my lips to hers assuringly. I want to scream from the rooftops how much I love her. If this conversation went in a different direction, I might be making love to her right now, professing my feelings like a damn fool. But those words won’t spill until I know she’s ready to hear them. Which she never will be if I’m right.

  Jesus, please don’t let me be right.

  You’re always right.

  I ignore my trifling subconscious as I hand London her clothes and climb back into mine.

  The whole way back to the house, my intuition sweats. It’s midday, so the sun is warm and directly overhead. Once back inside, and with a steel grip on London’s hand, I tear around the house.

  “Jett, you’re going to rip my arm out at this rate.” She tugs, dressed in one of my navy blue T-shirts and lounge shorts.

  “I’m sorry. But I need to know.”

  “Know what?” She’s flabbergasted.

  I finally track him down in the game room, playing pool with Amber. They look cozy, flirting and kissing like oblivious teenagers against the edge of the green felt table.

  As if compelled by black magic, I rush Alistair, grabbing the back of his linen shirt and lifting it up.

  “Is this the tattoo?” I snap at London.

  “What the fuck?” Alistair reacts, slapping my hand away and bounding across the room before London can answer.

  Her bewildered expression tells me everything I need to know.

  I knew it the moment she told me the time period and that he wore his dark hair in a bun. That was Alistair’s trademark hairstyle for years.

  “You knew,” I accuse lethally, stalking toward him. “You knew who she was the second you saw her.” I recall our fight in my dojo. I noticed the new addition. Redhead. Very nice.

  Alistair doesn’t confirm nor deny anything. His silence proves him guilty in my eyes. I don’t recognize the man standing in front of me. A man capable of such revolting things. He’s not the man who raised me. The man who taught me to respect humanity. To respect women. To appreciate everything about them.

  “Explain,” I demand, slamming my fist on the pool table. “Explain how you are capable—responsible—for such heinous things!”

  Alistair steps backward cautiously, his cloudy hazel eyes calculating my every move. He should be wary, because right now I want to kill him. If he were anyone else, he’d already be dead. “I’m fucking waiting!”

  “Don’t you dare yell at me. I’m still your elder. And I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

  “You are a fucking snake slithering on the ground right now! And yes, you do. This is my house, London is my girl, and I demand an explanation.”

  Alistair’s lips curl up cruelly.

  “What’s that fucking look about?”

  “You will never understand, so no matter what I say, no matter how I explain, my answers won’t make a difference.” His accent peeks through and London gasps. For years, he’s worked to get rid of it. Always claiming he didn’t want to be discriminated against for being foreign. He wanted to fit in. I never questioned it. Why would I? It was his prerogative, but now, today, I realize it had nothing to do with that. He wasn’t worried about being discriminated against; he was worried about being recognizable.

  I glance at London for a split second and see the grief pouring out of her eyes.

  “Try me,” I seethe.

  “I owed big favors to bad men after we arrived in America. And I gladly paid the price for our freedom and your safety. I did what I had to do to survive. To escape the shithole your mother and I grew up in. She wanted a different life for you, and so did I.”

  “You tortured an innocent young girl! I heard what she said to you last night. Heard what you did to her.” My sentences are laced with disgust. I’m ashamed we share the same DNA.

  “I did what I was ordered to do,” he defends his actions.

  “Break an innocent woman!” I bellow.

  “Yes!” he barks back. “She was my best work. The perfect pet.”

  I hear London’s distressed sobs in the corner of the room. This trip down memory lane is destroying her.

  Amber is standing right next to her, clearly torn, a myriad of emotions playing across her face.

  It all ends now.

  “Get the fuck out,” I growl at Alistair.

  “Jett!” Amber screams in protest.

  “Go! Before you can’t walk out of this house on your own.”

  “Jett, please!” Amber begs, but there’s no changing my mind.

  The room crackles with hostility before anyone moves. Alistair and I stare in contention, a battle of wills. I’m a mess of emotions, trying to understand the person standing before me. The man I considered a father.

  “I’ll go, Jetson.” I cringe hearing my real name leave his scorned lips. Alistair cr
eeps around the opposite side of the room, with me watching his every step. In the short seconds it takes to reach the door, I read an entire book of emotions in his eyes. Pride and regret the two main themes. Dueling affections.

  As he pauses in the doorway, his gaze lands on Amber before jumping to London. She won’t even steal a glance at him, but Amber can’t peel her eyes away. It’s clear she’s torn.

  “Jett, please,” she implores desperately one last time. It breaks my heart. I know how much she loves him. I know how she’s suffered every time he’s gone away. But nothing will change my mind. I not only want him out of my house, but I also want him out of my life.

  I shake my head at her authoritatively. “If you want to be with him, you can go, too.” That was harsh. But the truth. If she can still love him knowing the truth, she can’t do it in front of me. Or London, or any of the other women in this house. It sends a dangerous message. That violence is acceptable.

  Not under my roof. And not by my own blood.

  Not by the man who taught me contradicting values.

  Amber and Alistair exchange a silent look, the longing on his face is unrecognizable even to me. If she means anything to him, he’s professing it now.

  With an apologetic frown, Amber slides across the wall to the doorway until she slips into Alistair’s arms.

  Decision made.

  They disappear out of sight together.

  My feet are nailed to the floor as I process everything that just happened. Finding out who my uncle really is and what he did to the woman I’m in love with.

  A huge part of my foundation just cracked, but it’s nowhere near as devastating as the damage he did to London.

  “Jett!” London flies into my arms, nearly knocking me over. Crying against me, she claws at my shirt as if trying to find safety beneath my skin.

  “It’s okay.” I wrap her solidly in my arms. “Every monster in your life is finally gone,” I whisper distantly in her ear. Both of us still reeling from the discovery.

  I catch Javier slither across the doorway. “Never a dull moment in this house, is there?” he comments vilely.

  I sneer malevolently.

  All of London’s monsters may be gone, but unfortunately for me, I still have a few demons left to slay.

  ALISTAIR IS JETT’S UNCLE.

  Amber is in love with Alistair.

  Alistair is my former Master.

  I have been repeating those three sentences in my head since last night. I keep telling myself if I say them enough, I’ll actually get over the shock.

  It’s a very slow process. I couldn’t sleep again last night, but Jett wouldn’t let me out of his sight. We spent half the night talking and half the night fucking. My emotions are in turmoil. On one hand, the elation I feel from being free has my heart exploding. On the other, the uncertainty of the future and the trauma from the past makes moving forward difficult. Jett does nothing but reassure me and make promises. Promises of a brighter tomorrow, and I believe him. I trust him, which is a thousand-mile stretch for me.

  When he finally fell asleep early this morning, I snuck out of his room. I’ll probably get spanked for that later, but my mind was going, and I needed to do something with my hands. So breakfast it is.

  So far, I have made a stack of pancakes, French toast, bacon, and am now whisking eggs. I hope everyone is hungry. I’ve been snacking on a bowl of cherries the whole time. They’re my favorite fruit, and Jett has kept the refrigerator stocked since the moment he found out.

  Most of the girls sleep in, so I know my feast won’t get devoured until later. Which is fine with me. I like the quiet and love cooking in Mansion’s kitchen. It’s gargantuan, with state-of-the-art appliances, expansive granite countertops, custom cabinets that reach the ceiling, and light hardwood flooring. It’s a chef’s wet dream.

  “I thought I smelled something burning.” I peek over my shoulder to find Kayne pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Very funny,” I quip.

  He smirks behind his coffee cup. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s wearing the same shirt as yesterday. Looks like I’m not the only one who didn’t sleep.

  He comes to stand next to me as I prepare the eggs. “Where’s Jett?”

  “Still sleeping, I think.”

  He takes another sip of his coffee and then turns the television on. So much for peace and quiet. I can’t say a word—this is his house.

  A newscaster’s voice fills the room.

  Kayne then slides a little closer. It’s very odd. As many times as he’s fucked me, he’s never been overly social outside a bedroom.

  “Are you holding up okay?” he asks casually in a low voice.

  I stop whisking and look up at him with a sidelong gaze.

  “I’m okay,” I admit.

  “Jett had no idea about Alistair,” he states steadfastly.

  Does he think he needs to convince me?

  “I know he didn’t.”

  “Good.” Kayne nods, his strange, sharp eyes illuminating in the morning sun. “He’s the best man I know. Whatever he tells you, believe him.”

  I bat my eyelashes at him bemused. I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. And it’s a heavy one. “I will, I promise.”

  He nods again, satisfied before stealing a cherry.

  “Am I interrupting?” Jett’s voice cuts through the newscaster’s. I glance over my shoulder and smile flirtatiously. “Kayne was just telling me how much he likes my cherry.”

  “I bet.” Jett traps my waist tightly as I stand at the stovetop. “Good thing for him I like to share.” He kisses my neck and purrs, “Nice to see you have a sense of humor this morning.”

  “It’s a new morning and a new me.” I try to sound confident.

  “One day at a time,” he reminds me amorously, caressing my hips.

  Kayne groans. “Get. A. Room.”

  “Would you be joining us in that room?” Jett badgers him.

  Kayne just stares, unamused. For such a domineering man in bed, he’s very reserved when presented with the opportunity. Sometimes I can’t seem to make heads or tails of him.

  With no comment from Kayne, Jett swipes a cherry for himself, then adds, “You look like shit, by the way.”

  Kayne responds with a low growl in his throat. I swear, I wonder if he’s part wolf at times.

  “I’m going to shower.” Kayne downs his coffee, spectacularly ignoring Jett’s ridicule. “Check my office in a little bit,” he orders like a dictator.

  “Will do,” Jett agrees, taking Kayne’s spot next to me, leaving just the two of us in the kitchen and the local news. Jett picks another cherry from the bowl with a wicked glint in his eye. “You have no idea what I want to do with you and this cherry.” He runs the red, heart-shaped piece of fruit along his bottom lip. “Are you wearing underwear?”

  “Yes.” My cheeks flush the same dark shade of the cherry.

  “That’s too bad.” Jett captures it between his teeth and licks it indecently with his tongue. At this rate, these eggs are never getting into the pan.

  “I can always take my underwear off.” I play his little game. “Then sit on the counter and show you my little cherry.”

  Jett swallows the cherry in one gulp. “Jesus, woman.” He leans in and kisses me, plunging his tongue straight down my throat. “I don’t just want to see your cherry.” His voice is husky. “I want to lick it and bite it and suck it and then clamp it.” He nips the tip of my tongue. “And play with it until you come.”

  Holy fuck, this man and his words. You’d think after last night our bodies would need a rest, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We can barely get enough of each other.

  “I think the eggs can wait.” I place the glass bowl next to the stove so I can rip my underwear off.

  “In breaking news, famed real estate mogul Easton Erickson was found dead on his luxury fishing boat yesterday morning.”

  At the abrupt mention of my father’s name I jump, knocking t
he bowl of scrambled eggs to the ground. The glass shatters everywhere as the news story continues. “A fire claimed his life. Flames engulfed the forty-foot yacht while anchored ten miles off Great Kills Harbor in Staten Island. It has been reported Erickson and his assistant died of smoke inhalation while asleep. Dental records were needed to identify the bodies.”

  I stare blankly at Jett. He doesn’t seem to be surprised by the news. “I told you I’d take care of everything,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Your monsters are dead, burned, and will soon be buried.” He picks me up and sets me on the counter, speechless. “Don’t move until I can clean this up.”

  I sit there in a daze as Jett absorbs, sweeps, and mops up the runny eggs and all the shards of glass. Who is this man? Who is he really? How can he be capable of so many secretive and devious and underhanded things, and still come off professional and compassionate and sensual and caring?

  “Don’t look at me like that. My mother taught me to pull my weight.” He deposits the mop back in the broom closet.

  “I’m not staring at you because you can clean. I’m staring at you because I have no idea who you are.”

  “You do know who I am. I’m the man who’s vowed to look after you. To protect you. Care about you.” He anchors his hand behind my neck and touches his forehead tenderly to mine.

  “Why?” The question pops out before I can stop it.

  “You know why. I’ve never met a woman like you, and I doubt I ever will. We’re two black pearls born of the same oyster.”

  “A match?”

  “A perfect match.”

  “Oh god, you two are sickening.” Jenna drags herself into the kitchen. “I need coffee before I am subjected to cute.”

  Jett and I break apart as Jenna shuffles around the expansive kitchen in adorable little ruffle shorts and matching tank top.

  She’s one to talk about cute. Because she’s cute as a button.

  “Do you want breakfast?” I ask.

  “Yes, please.” She sits at the island across from us. Ever since I started tutoring her, I’ve developed an affection for her. Sort of like the sorority little I never had. I hop off the counter, turn off the TV, and make both Jenna and Jett a plate. I have my domestic moments. I place a pancake, a piece of French toast, and a few pieces of bacon on each dish, while Jett grabs the silverware. As I place a plate in front of Jenna, I gasp when I notice the angry red burns around her wrists. She immediately tucks her arms under the lip of the island.