Keirah furrowed her brow and then brought her hands up. Even though he was handcuffed to his bedpost, it didn’t necessarily mean she was safe. She had known this man for a good four months quite intimately, and knew he was capable of more than anyone could possibly expect.
“I can’t let you out,” she said, appalled that he would even ask her such a thing. But now that she thought about it, she realized it wasn’t too surprising.
Instead of being upset, Noir threw his head back and laughed, causing goose bumps to scatter across her body without warning. Just to be safe, Keirah took another step back. She knew she should look away, but he was kind of like a car wreck; Keirah wanted to divert her eyes, but he was so striking that she just couldn’t. He was too fascinating not to look at.
“I have missed you, my love,” he said when he had finished. “You always seem to, well, you always do ah-muse me. You think you’re, uh, better? That you are, uh, re-hah-bih-li-tated?” He threw his head to the side so it was cocked as his eyes studied her face intently. “I’m the one who knows you better than anyone else. I’m the one who knows who you, well, who you really are.” He paused for a moment so he could rub his lips together. “People, they underestimate you when they, uh, see you. You have dark hair and nice gams. They think you’re quiet, uh, stuck up, even, well, even weird because you don’t speak. But I know better.” His eyes seemed to sparkle at this, and his lips twitched up as though he was letting her in on a secret that nobody else knew. “This-ah is how I, well, how I know you are going to, hum … help me out-ah, because that’s who you are.” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as though he was searching for something that only he could see. “Yanno, you and me, we’re kindred spirits. You complete me just like I, well, I complete you. We’re meant to be!” His eyes looked back down at Keirah, sparkling as they did so. “Did you, hum … forget that?” He let his words sink in for a long moment before smacking his lips together. “Now … release me.”
Keirah pressed her brow together, throwing her eyes on the floor beneath her, unable to look at the man in front of her. Her breathing was shallow once again, completely unsure of what she should do now. The romantic in her wanted nothing more than to release him; how she had missed his arms around her, and he had saved her from Chad. But her logical side knew that if she did such a thing, Noir would waste no time terrorizing Onyx once again, and everything that Commissioner Jarrett did for her would have been completely in vain. Plus, her rehabilitation would be shot. She wanted to help him escape, but she knew she shouldn’t.
As Noir watched Keirah debate internally, a growl lodged itself in his throat. He was getting impatient with how unresponsive she was, knowing someone would be in here soon to check on why it was taking so long for Keirah to move out from his cell and into another one. But what frustrated him even more was he was taking her contemplation personally. He shouldn’t care that she didn’t want to help him out, but he did and he hated himself for it, just like he hated her. Without warning, he reached out with those long legs of his and managed to knock Keirah down before coiling them around her neck, just as he had done to Chad. The only difference was he wouldn’t snap her neck, but he wanted her to think that he would. He stared into her eyes, reveling in the fear that encompassed those brown orbs.
“Don’t you still love me?” he asked, perking his brow as he stared down at her, inquisitive. “Because I-ah still love you. And I’d hate to snap-ah your neck because you, well, because you suddenly became noble.” He sucked in his cheeks, making a squeaking noise before regarding the woman between his legs once again. “The, uh, system has failed you, my love. Because if you were rehabilitated, you wouldn’t even be thinking about releasing me. Why are you, hum … protecting something that has clearly failed you?”
“Maybe it’s because you’re so persuasive,” Keirah snapped without realizing it, causing Noir to burst out into laughter.
But he was right, wasn’t he? If she really was fixed, she would die rather than let the sociopath back onto the streets, where he no doubt would harm innocent citizens.
But that wasn’t why she was going to let him out. After he released her neck and she grabbed the keys from Chad’s body, she realized that somewhere inside of her being, she still loved the man. And she wanted to be with him, no matter what. She knew it was wrong, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. He had saved her; now it was her turn to return the favor.
Noir was utterly delighted when he could drop his arms back to his sides, when he was finally free. Before Keirah realized it, darkness touched his features and he kicked Chad’s lifeless body with his right foot. “Nobody,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low, “gets to mark her except, uh, me.” With that, he turned back to Keirah, smiling at her before leaning in closely so the very tip of his nose barely grazed her cheeks. When he spoke, his hot breath invaded her senses, and Keirah highly doubted they would ever be fully released from each other, no matter how long he was locked up, no matter how much rehabilitation they forced her into, no matter what. “Just like, hum … old times.”
She should have been scared.
Nervous, even.
But Keirah was none of those.
At least, not yet.
In fact, if she was anything, the young woman was …—dare she think it?—elated. With Noir’s arm coiled around her neck and Chad’s gun pressed up against the column of her throat, she should be anxious, fearful, something. But all she really was, honestly, was elated. Because his arm was around her neck. Because he was touching her.
Keirah hated it.
But she loved it.
She hated that she loved it. Much like chocolate.
But chocolate didn’t cause the hairs on her body to stand up the way they did when Noir touched her. She wasn’t exactly sure as to why, but Keirah had always been drawn to the man currently holding her hostage. Even before she actually met him, she was fascinated by his over-reported exploits on Onyx. She couldn’t exactly avoid the coverage if she had tried. And since getting to know as much of him as he would allow, getting to know him emotionally, intellectually, and physically, she found that she wasn’t quite satisfied. She wanted to know more.
She craved him, even though she knew he wasn’t good for her. This knowledge only made her want him more.
She was an animal, really, reverting back to carnal needs rather than rational stimulation, though he did stimulate her in more ways than one.
God, and she was supposed to be fixed?
Not even five minutes with him, and she already desperately needed a hit.
He was a specific drug no one could wean her off of.
He was addicting and intoxicating. But that didn’t mean she liked it.
She hated herself for it.
When the two exited out of Noir’s former cell, the couple found the hallway on the fourth floor of Underwood Mental Institution to be completely empty. There was no immediate threat, and as a result of this finding, Noir relaxed his hold on the woman currently in his arms causing Keirah to releas the muscles that made up the majority of her body. However, Noir kept his arm around her shoulder, gripping it with his long, ungloved fingers. One might comment on the act of familiarity, but it wasn’t a gesture of love; it was almost a territorial hold that dared anyone they might run into to fuck with her, because fucking with her meant fucking with him, and it had been so long since Noir had played any of his usual games.
Surprisingly, Noir led her to the stairwell. The last time the man had planned any sort of escape, he managed to take the elevator and walk out the front doors with Keirah in his grasp, completely unnoticed. So this particular escape wasn’t planned beforehand.
How surprising. One could never tell what was going on in Noir’s mind, but when it came to escaping, Noir always knew how to slip out of the clutches of those who held him captive. But Keirah could tell he hadn’t planned for this. Well, neither had she.
Once the two began to walk down the stairs, Noir dropped his hold o
n her and pulled the gun from her neck. This was to make sure Keirah didn’t fall behind, or worse, decide she didn’t want to accompany him on one of his many adventures. He had just received her back into his life again, and he was damned if anyone was going to take her away from him, especially if it was her own decision. But luckily for Noir, Keirah made no such movements or sounds of disapproval, and instead, focused on heading down the stairs without tripping over herself. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not, but then again, Keirah had always been quiet. She never really said anything unless she felt as though she had to say it.
It was the eyes that gave her away.
He could read them like a book, and it was always a fascinating read.
When they reached the first floor, the alarm began to sound, alerting everyone in the vicinity that an escape was being attempted.
It didn’t matter though. With one push, Noir and Keirah were outside.
Keirah looked out at the open space the parking lot offered and realized she could probably get away from him right now if she wanted to. In fact, her legs tightened, ready to spring forward, but something inside of her stopped such a plan from taking form.
She was still worried about him.
And she hated herself for it.
Before the two were arrested, Keirah got quite used to her feelings for the man. It wasn’t until they were separated for weeks that she began to believe that they were completely irrational. Now being back with him, old feelings started to resurface, and so did the logic. Circles never end, indeed.
“Here,” she said, after shoving her hand into her pocket and pulling out the keys to her car.
Maybe giving him her car would be some sort of compromise in hopes to alleviate the impending battle taking place between her heart and her mind.
But, as usual, Noir had different plans.
“You don’t think I’d leave you after I, uh, just found you, do you?” he asked her, his tone revealing just how amused he was at the gesture. He also sounded somewhat condescending, as though she should have realized she’d be tagging along with him wherever he planned to go. He threw his head back and laughed again, causing Keirah to get nervous.
Freedom was literally in the palm of their hands. They couldn’t just stand there like sitting ducks, especially not with that cackle of his.
Without a word, Keirah started to head to her car, Noir following her. Actually, following probably wasn’t the correct word. Skipping was more like it.
Yes. He was skipping.
Though, Keirah supposed she couldn’t blame him. He had just escaped from some sort of confinement that had kept him locked up for weeks and been treated like shit. Hell, she might have been skipping too.
“Where to?” Keirah asked in a flat tone, regarding Noir from the safe vicinity of the corner of her eye. She was already buckled in, waiting for Noir to give her some sort of direction of where she should be taking him.
“Your apartment,” Noir said from the passenger seat.
Keirah noticed that as she started the car, he still hadn’t buckled his seatbelt. What a rebel.
Some things never changed.
Her cynical thoughts took her by surprise, and she shook her head, hoping to rid her mind of them. It was almost like she was becoming somebody else at times.
The drive was silent, but oddly enough, the atmosphere wasn’t tense. Keirah drove as fast as she could, trying to ignore the way Noir was staring at her so blatantly with those bronzed irises. She hoped to God her mother hadn’t returned from her party. She hoped her mother wouldn’t return from her party for a very, very long time. His sharp eyes took in every detail of her face, every freckle, every contour, the slope of her small nose, the swell of her bottom lip, the point of her chin, and the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Tendrils of errant dark chestnut hair slipped passed the confines of her ponytail and littered her face, framing it. She was still something to look at, still something new he could find about her despite the fact that he had stared so long at her before.
He couldn’t get enough of her.
Keirah and Noir reached her apartment in a short amount of time. The neighbors had never been nosy, so nobody was out spying on her.
When the two walked inside, Noir said nothing but immediately headed into the guest bathroom. When running water broke through the silence, Keirah knew he was taking a shower. Despite popular belief, he was very particular about his hygiene. Keirah took this opportunity to change out of her uniform and into her pajamas; they were more comfortable and less… Gross was the only word that came to mind when she thought about it. After letting her hair loose, she walked into the kitchen and began to make tea.
He liked tea.
She couldn’t explain why, but it never really mattered. In fact, it was one of his quirks she had always appreciated; it showed that he was human.
So she made him tea.
Chamomile. Because he hated caffeine.
She took a seat at the small dining table, pouring herself a glass and then drowning the liquid with milk.
“I see some things haven’t changed,” a voice said, startling her. Noir smiled at her when he realized she had jumped, and he took a seat down next to her.
Keirah wasn’t exactly expecting the man to be completely naked save for the white towel wrapped around the lower half of his body. He drank a long gulp of hot liquid, and Keirah could see his broad shoulders relax, as though the tea allowed him to shift the burden that had been occupying him for quite a while off of his shoulders.
God, he was a beautiful specimen. Sure, he was a mass murderer and a clinical sociopath, but that didn’t stop him from being beautiful.
He was quite fit, toned in all the necessary places. He had light brown hair sprinkled throughout his body save for the happy trail that disappeared beneath his towel. Scars decorated different areas of his body, and Keirah frowned at this, though she knew every story behind every one.
Noir could tell from the corner of her eyes that she was still sexually attracted to him, and he smirked at this. There was a reason he came back into her living room with nothing but a towel on, and she was playing right into his hands as he expected she would.
He missed this.
He missed her.
When she realized she had been caught, she cleared her throat. “You look tired,” she commented, her eyes staring intently down at her amber-colored liquid. “What happened?”
Noir looked up at her sharply, the tips of his shoulders housing drops of sprinkled water from his damp hair. “You. Weren’t. There-ah,” was all he would say on the matter.
Before Keirah could muster up a reply, there was a loud banging on her front door.
“Keirah?” a voice on the other end of the doorway shouted. “Keirah Shepherd, are you in there? It’s Commissioner Jarrett.”
5
Reese was on her second apple cider flute when the lights dimmed and the telltale clinging of the glass could be heard even above the loud bass of the music. She had been standing against the wall of the ballroom, staring off into the crowd of gyrating dancers without really seeing them at all. She was still focused on her previous encounter with Daphne, unsure of how to feel about it. It was one of her fatal flaws, her over analytical nature, but this was the time her mind was subconsciously processing everything while keeping her body numb. She was taking her time deciding what her feelings were in terms of Daphne and what she had to say about Ollo. If anything, it caused her to start doubting him, which she didn't like, because he had yet to give her a reason not to trust him. And yet, she had only known him for a couple of months—though apparently they've known each other for lifetimes upon lifetimes, dating all the way back to the ancient Greeks—and there were so many things she knew he hadn't told her yet.
Hopefully he would tell her. Eventually.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a distinctly feminine voice announced once the room quieted. "May I present the man responsible for this fabulous event, the man who h
as allowed us access to his home for charitable purposes, the youngest CEO in Onyx history, Mr. Jack Phillip!"
The room predictably burst into applause and as Jack made his way to the podium—probably rented and placed at the head of the room for this specific purpose—camera flashes went off, handheld recorders shot into the air, and the young female population of the audience turned on their smolders.
And still no Ollo.
Where was he, anyway? She knew he had a problem with punctuality, but this was just tacky. It was nearly midnight and she had yet to see his predominantly unkempt, yet charming, face.
"Reese!" Miranda whispered. Though her voice was low for Miranda standards, the three people standing next to them shushed her to which she rolled her eyes and made an annoyed face. "There you are. We've been looking all over for you. Where have you been?"
As Miranda glided into view, Reese noticed her pulling Andie behind her. Andie. She had totally forgotten about Andie, and with Jack standing up there, looking extremely handsome in a full-fledged black and white tuxedo, she knew Andie's heart must seriously be stretching to the point of it being so close to snapping that Reese had no clue how Andie was still able to stand up right. However, as Andie came into view, she had a determined glint in her sad eyes, but her face was taut and she had more life back in her general aura than when they left for the party. Reese knew she was faking it, but for a moment there, she almost looked like the old Andie. Reese had no idea how she did it.
Jack saved Reese from coming up with an explanation to Miranda's question when he began speaking.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, his eyes looking just above the occupants in the room. “I guess I should start off by wishing everyone a happy New Year’s.” He slid his hands in his pockets and easily plastered on his charming smile, tossing it around the room. At his opening statement, many people clapped and cheered, and a few women in the back reciprocated the sentiment. “New Year’s …” He let his voice trail off as he looked at the faces—blurs to him. “New Year’s never really had much significance for me when I was a child,” he confessed in a sure voice. “After my parents died, so did my childlike naivety concerning New Year’s magic. I used to dread waking up in the morning and knowing that they wouldn’t be waiting for me downstairs. I have my Aunt Beverly to thank for forcing me out of bed every January first. When I was in college, I chose to remain in my dorms rather than head back to an empty house, but even so, she didn’t forget me. After I graduated and took over the company, I chose to hold a New Year’s party every year in hopes to raise money that would provide children’s hospitals with the kind of magical New Year’s I lacked as a child, and while I am told over and over again by you people how admirable it is, it was a selfish act. See, the thing is,” and here he paused, chuckling, although without the usual amusement that went along with the gesture, “I thought if I did things for other people, the media and the upper class would stop feeling sorry for poor Jack Phillip who had to grow up without parents and spend New Year’s with his aunt.
Catalyst: Book 2 of The Dark Paradise Trilogy Page 4