by Laura Bailey
Finally satisfied that he had covered every angle, he transcended into a state of mind close to meditativeness; no distractions, no thoughts, just a calmness. At times like this he could sleep easily; he had learned a long time ago that getting rest when he could was a vital skill to be developed in combat, for you never knew when you would get the next opportunity.
When Tara awoke, she checked her phone immediately, remembering her embarrassment from the night before and expecting a possibly curt reply about the time of her message, but there was no reply from him. Devastated, with tears running down her face, she rose quickly and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged that without Damien in her life, she had no reason to be here. On a more practical basis, she had no money. She couldn’t get a job here. She could barely afford to eat with the few dollars she had left, and she couldn’t pay her rent. She couldn’t stay here. She needed money badly, and admitting defeat, she sent an email to her old boss, Joseph, in London. She couldn’t work on the fiancé visa she had, and the reality was she would need to return to London to work there. She needed to know if he would take her back in his company. She had left on very good terms with Jacob, and despite being hugely embarrassed at the thought of having to explain why she was returning so soon to London, there was a good chance he would employ her again, having worked there for nearly eight years. Though she had never met Damien, she remembered now hearing his name and his company mentioned from time to time.
It was her best bet now, to try to return to the company. There was very little else she could do. She felt stupid for the gamble she had taken with Mike, for she had not really known him all that long, but as she had got to know him, she had felt comfortable with him; safe and looked after, because of his background. She would never have expected him to betray her in quite so cruel a manner. It took her back to the pain of her irresponsible artist parents, who at six years old had casually packed her off to live with her Grandmother, choosing to travel the world without her, obviously seeing her as a burden to their free spirited lifestyle. Her grandmother had reluctantly taken her in but she was elderly and didn’t have the energy or inclination to do very much with her. Her childhood had been quite a lonely one, seeing her parents only on their rare visits. She had learnt the art of self-sufficiency and self-reliance quickly, yet it had left her with an insecurity inside. Her grandmother was quite a cold woman, perhaps due to widowhood, and Tara felt she got in the way much of the time, feeling guilty for her presence there. An only child, she spent much of her time reading or playing alone in her room. She did well at school and was accepted for Oxford University. Academia felt a like a safe haven, and her degree in English was an escapism into the lives of the characters in the books. She had boyfriends during this time, although the life-changing, all consuming ‘love of her life,’ that she knew existed from the books she read, seemed to elude her. Her boyfriends were pleasant, well mannered, enjoyable company, but passion; unbridled, inescapable, compulsive, addictive emotions were not ones that she discovered with them. When Mike came along, seconded to provide security services for her London employers, she had been single for some time. He had offered companionship, security, warmth; or so she had thought. Because their relationship was long distance, it was easier for her to believe he was the one for her; time apart gave her the excitement of waiting to see him again, the anticipation building, making it more thrilling. When he proposed, she envisioned her future with him and found it was a pleasant prospect. He was mature, caring, and handsome. He seemed to offer her the stability she needed, because though his job often took him away from her, he promised he would always be there for her. She fell for it. It fitted with her past; long periods of absence and reunions. She believed he would always come back for her. How wrong she had been.
Chapter Ten
Damien knew his team well. They had previously worked together on many assignments. They made it to the base after the flight and waited out their down time until it was time to strike. It would be wrapped up in twenty four hours; of that he had no doubt. It felt good to be back in the game. Alert, ready, primed for action; his natural state.
They settled in for the wait.
Tara dressed in a beige lace dress, matching jacket, and nude heels to coordinate the outfit. Grabbing her bag, she checked her appearance in the mirror. She could clearly see the shadows under her eyes, made darker by the mane of hair surrounding her face, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Though she had not heard from him, as the time had got closer, the more she had convinced herself that he would be there, waiting for her. She refused to believe he would not go to the Club. She could not admit to herself that there was no hope.
As she left the apartment and walked to the metro, it was still light out, and she passed people returning from work or an early dinner. She went down the steps of the subway entrance at Union station, merging with the professionals and tourists, the air still quite humid in the early autumn evening. As she stood at the edge of the platform, she wondered what would happen to her tonight and the familiar butterflies started in her stomach as thought about it; what he would say to her when he came through the bedroom door, what he would do to her.
Disembarking from the Metro, she came up to street level and again nerves gripped her stomach as she walked to the Club. She was so close to him now; he could arrive at any moment.
She went up the steps of the Club, images already in her head of events that had occurred here with him; in the Bar, in the Library, and in the room that she thought of now as theirs.
It was the same well-groomed receptionist she had seen the first time she had come here. With a terrible shock she suddenly realised she had not reserved the room, that she wasn’t a member and therefore couldn’t reserve it now. She had not thought about the practicalities. Perhaps, given that Damien had always made the arrangements, she had simply assumed. She hadn’t thought beyond the act of them physically coming together. And now she stood in reception like a fool not knowing what to do. She didn’t have a key to the bedroom they used, and she didn’t know if Damien had reserved it; she couldn’t simply go up to it and she didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking the receptionist if he had. Uncertainty filled her. She couldn’t call him; she didn’t want him to think she was chasing him any more than she already had. She would have to wait for him in the Bar, just like the first time they had met, when he had kept her waiting.
She approached the Barman.
“Hi, I’m meeting Damien Lawson. Have you seen him?”
She hoped the barman would tell her where he was seated, saving her the embarrassment of having to look around for him.
“Not this evening Madam.”
“Oh ok, thank you, I will wait for him.”
“Would you like a drink Ma’am?”
“Oh, thank you, could I have bourbon please?”
“Of course, I will bring it over.”
“Thank you so much.”
She hoped the barman would put it on Damien’s tab; she could barely afford to pay for it herself.
There were perhaps twenty members, scattered throughout the plush bar on various tables, laughing together, or talking. She took in the lavishness of the decor again, the obvious expense it must have cost to furnish the Club.
She walked over to the newspapers and picked one up, before choosing to sit at ‘their table;’ the one they had met at the first time, before he had dragged her shockingly by the arms out of the bar in front of everyone, into the Library, and assailed her sexually in the most exquisite act of eroticism, slapping his cock across her lips as she he made her kneel before him.
She began to read the headlines, although she found she could not focus her attention on them; the words going in but her mind processing none of them, thinking of his cock, abusing her, provoking her, wielding its power over her.
Goddamn him, where was he? He seemed to like playing power games, liked her to be at his beck and call. He h
ad probably done this deliberately, his twisted idea of foreplay. Though she didn’t wear a watch, she checked her phone several times for messages. There were none.
Soon it was close to an hour and a half since she had come into the bar. She was growing increasingly concerned that he was not coming, and felt like an imposter in the Club, given the all-male members surrounding her.
Suddenly a man appeared in front of her as she was turning the pages of the newspaper in growing irritation. Looking up she saw black hair, with streaks of silver running through it, a man with an air of distinction in a dark tailored suit.
“Good evening. I notice your glass is empty. Let me get you another drink?”
She looked into the darkest eyes she had ever seen.
“Thank you,” she said falteringly, “but I’m fine, I’m just waiting for someone.”
“Really? It seems you have been waiting awhile. Who would keep such a beautiful woman waiting so long?”
She smiled in answer, but he made her feel very uncomfortable.
He signalled to the Barman before she could stop him.
“They’re just running late. I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”
“Well, let me keep you company until they arrive. We’re all friends in the Club, after all. Who are you waiting for?”
“You’ll see him when he arrives; I’m sure you will know him.”
She felt no reason why she should bring Damien’s name into the conversation. It did not feel right, as though speaking for him in his absence.
The man pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, presumptuously inviting himself.
She was in a difficult position. She was a guest in their exclusive Club and he was one of the members. She felt her options were limited, and perhaps ordinarily she would have been happy to talk with him, but something in his manner disturbed her, the look in his eyes holding the implication that there was more to this than a casual conversation.
“I’m Marc Chambers, of Beaumont Security.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. And you are?”
“Tara.”
She wished now that she had brought her laptop with her; she could at least have pretended to be doing some work.
The barman brought two glasses of champagne over to them. Tara didn’t have the ill–manner to refuse it, yet the situation felt inappropriate when she had already told him she was waiting for someone.
After taking a few sips, she said, “I appreciate the drink but I really should go.”
Her lack of foresight; her presumption that Damien would just show up after days of silence, led her only to the conclusion that she had put herself in this position. She felt angry that it seemed he probably wasn’t coming now, that he had stood her up without a thought; that he had discarded her after his callous game with her.
The man sitting opposite her had an imposing figure, as did most of the men in the Club; their backgrounds in the Military seemed to have honed their bodies into remarkably fit physiques. Regardless of the wide range of their ages, they all looked in good shape.
She picked up the glass and took another sip, her vengeful thoughts toward Damien perhaps fuelling her action. He was an extremely attractive man, why shouldn’t she drink with him? And yet, whilst she thought this, it was Damien she craved, not this man.
“Obviously you’re English. I love the accent. London has some great history. I’ve been over there many times. The architecture is exquisite. What brings you to D.C?”
“Just visiting a friend.”
She felt the need to be purposely vague.
“Have you been to The Smithsonian?”
“The museum? No, I haven’t.”
“You should go. It has some treasures you might like to see.”
“Ok.”
“I’d be happy to show you around and there’s a fine restaurant nearby; it’s very popular.”
She smiled at him. “That’s really very kind of you, but I won’t be in Washington very much longer; I am due to return to London in a couple of days.”
“Then we should make the most of it before your departure.”
The implication from the tone of his voice was obvious. Tara knew it was time to leave.
“I really should go now.”
She was already standing, pushing back her chair as he rose quickly to assist her.
Standing too close to her now, she moved aside. “Thank you for the drink, but there is something I need to see to. I’ve got to go I’m afraid.”
“I’ll drive you; we can’t have you walking around on your own at this time of night.”
There was a fixed determination in his eyes.
She hadn’t anticipated this. “No, it’s fine, thank you, really, it’s not far at all, and the Metro is so close.”
As she walked away from him, she typed a txt to Damien.
‘Call me.’
Perhaps he was just running late; he’d been late the first time they had met. If he did come, she wanted him to know she had left, that she could come back.
She passed through the entrance doors and went down the steps. It was dark outside now. She heard the footsteps behind her.
“Tara, my car is here, on the left.”
She heard the beep of an alarm and turned to see the car, a Ferrari. It was a nice car, but she had no intention of getting in.
“Get in Tara.”
What was it with the men in this place? Did none of them ever take no for an answer? She stood still, annoyed at the man’s persistence.
“I’m spoken for Marc. It’s really not appropriate.”
“I’m merely offering you a lift. You don’t seem to appreciate how dangerous this City can be, particularly at night. It’s pointless to put yourself at risk when I’m on my way out now anyway. It’s no trouble to drive you.”
He had a point. Yes, he had been chatting her up, but, unlike Damien, he hadn’t dragged her off and sexually assaulted her, so he was behaving far more gentlemanly, although he had now moved in front of her to block her path. Another arrogant rich alpha male. It seemed that was the speciality here at this Club.
She couldn’t see what else she could do short of kicking him. Damien wasn’t calling her back; he obviously didn’t care. Hell, why not enjoy the ride.
He steered her to the passenger side. “In you get.”
She got in and he started up the car; the hum of the engine so distinctive.
“I’m up by Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“Ok.”
He drove in silence, which surprised her but she didn’t try to encourage conversation with him.
It was not a long drive, only a few blocks away.
As they reached Pennsylvania Avenue, he turned off into a side street before she had the chance to tell him where to go. To her utter astonishment, he drove straight up to the three storey house her ground floor apartment was situated in.
“I didn’t tell you where I lived!”
“I know.”
Baffled, she sat as he came around to open her door for her. This was peculiar. He was standing too close to her, giving her little room to get out of the car without coming into contact with his chest.
“Enjoy your evening Tara. And be careful.”
The expression on his face was unreadable but she didn’t like it.
He moved aside to let her pass by him.
Fishing frantically in her handbag for her keys, she walked hurriedly up the short path to the front door of the house, quickly letting herself in. She didn’t turn back around. Stepping inside quickly, she leant against the door as her heartbeat thudded. There had been menace in his voice as he had spoken. She hadn’t imagined it. He had issued her with some kind of warning; a threat. How the hell had he known where she lived?
She took the steps down to her basement apartment. Going straight to the back door in the kitchen she checked that it was locked. It had never bothered her before, and yet now she realised how vulnerable the back
entrance was to intruders, just a single lock protecting it. Alone and unprotected with Mike gone, and Damien ignoring her, she felt completely defenceless. She didn’t fancy her chances against someone like Marc Chambers. In a country where it was legal to own a gun, she didn’t even know how to use one; neither did she want to have to know. It was so alien to her culture. It just wasn’t how things were done in London, and yet she almost wished she had one now.
She didn’t feel safe; she also didn’t understand the threat.
She paced the floor. She called Damien again but there was no reply.
If she had the money, she would have been tempted to get on a flight tonight out of here, back to London. But, until her old boss gave her the go ahead to return, and hopefully advanced her wages, she was stuck. She couldn’t even afford a hotel room.
She ached for Damien to come and help her, to reassure her. Her head began to pound, the beginnings of a migraine, fear causing the tension in her head to grow. Perhaps she was over-reacting, misinterpreting Marc, getting carried away and being melodramatic. The last couple of weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster and maybe she was loosing her perspective on reality.
She spent the rest of the night in a state of anxiety, confused and frightened, unable to go to bed and staying up in the lounge until it got light.
Chapter Eleven
Tara woke fully dressed on the couch. She must have fallen asleep at some point in the early morning. It was now gone ten am. As she remembered her encounter with Marc Chambers, she was relieved that she appeared to have made it through the night without an intruder.
Reaching for her laptop, she was anxious to try to find out more about him. She found his company, Beaumont Security, but that revealed very little to her other than professional information. She found pictures of him at various Washington functions, but little else that would help her. She disliked the feeling of being under threat, especially when she had no idea why. She wanted to know how he knew where she lived.