“It smells good,” he said, nodding his head at the stove as he slid his hands in his pockets. His lips quirked up, a sparkle in his jade green eyes. “I’m surprised.”
Andie smiled, despite herself. “I know, right?” she asked, unable to mask the excitement in her face. “It was supposed to be a surprise. A thank you to you and your aunt for letting me stay here.”
He wrinkled his nose. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said. “If you wanted a Thanksgiving meal, I could have hired the chef of your choice to prepare whatever you want in person.”
Andie chuckled. “That’s not the point of Thanksgiving, Jack,” she chided. “The chef probably has a family he or she wants to spend Thanksgiving with anyway.”
“I don’t have a family to spend it with,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I know this is hard for you to believe, but not everything is about you.” She smiled. “And anyway, that’s not true at all. You have Beverly. And you have me.”
“Really?” She could have sworn his question was meant to be teasing but she heard the subtle concern in his voice.
Andie nodded once. “Really.”
He stared at her for a long moment, so long that Andie shifted her weight, trying to remember whether or not she had anything on her face. She was certain her skin was turning red and started to think about something they could discuss that might soften his stare.
“Let’s go for a walk on the grounds.”
Andie tilted her head to the side, taken aback by his request. “The food,” she said dumbly.
“You have time, don’t you?” The question seemed to be rhetorical because he freed one hand from his pocket in order to gently grasp her fingers and pull her to the back door. She knew she should stay in the kitchen and observe the food, make sure it didn’t burn, especially since it was the first time she cooked successfully. But what she wanted was something completely different than what she should do, and what she wanted was to follow Jack wherever it was he led her. She pushed the food to the back of her mind and allowed herself to be whisked out the back door and into the backyard. When she reached the center of his vast lawn, he released her and took a seat on the grass. Andie’s eyes widened when he lay down on his back, interlocking his fingers behind the back of his head, looking at her expectantly.
“Well?” he asked in a low voice. “Are you going to lie down?”
“What are you doing?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re going to stain your slacks.”
“I can always—”
“Buy new ones, I know,” she finished with a roll of her eyes.
He grinned. “Come lie with me, Andie,” he said. “Take a break for five minutes of your life.”
She let out a dismissive grunt, but found her body responding without forethought. She slid down until she mirrored him, save for her legs, which were crossed at the ankles and her hands were placed on her hips just in case a light breeze teased up her skirt. At first, her body was tense. She didn’t remember the last time she had been on the grass just to take a break from life. Her eyes slipped shut and she inhaled the rich scent of freshly cut grass, the clear sky, the coolness which eased the tension out of her muscles.
When she opened her eyes, she found Jack on his side, his elbow propped on the grass with his palm cupping his cheek and his eyes focused on her. There was a soft smile on his face, one she had never seen before. It was familiar and tender, and there was an emotion Andie couldn’t pinpoint in his eyes. She had to look away, up to his hair, in order to avoid them because a weird feeling was flowing through her that she wasn’t sure she was ready to feel. She swallowed and forced a shaky smile onto her face.
“Your hair always looks so perfect.” Even the laughter sounded fake and she hoped Jack wouldn’t call her on it. The goose bumps littering her body weren’t just from the cool blades of grass pressing into her bare skin. It was just after noon and lunch would be ready soon. Now. Whenever. Though there were no trees surrounding them, the sun wasn’t doing anything to keep her warm. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the weather at all. “Sometimes I really want to mess it up.”
Her mouth nearly dropped open. Why had she said that? She looked up at him through hooded eyes, daring to sneak a peek, and found him staring down at her in a way that made the insides of her torso turn to goo and slide down the walls of her stomach. There was something in his eyes, something warm and amused, and there was a familiar glint there, like she had seen his eyes somewhere but didn’t remember where. Which was just silly because of course she had seen them before. This was Jack after all; she saw him every day, and before they met, he was constantly in the tabloids. But the delicate prickle in the back of her mind insisted there was more to it than just that.
Before she could figure out just what it was, Jack reached out and curled a stray bang that must have slipped from the bobby pin’s grasp behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger on the side of her face. She felt them as though each individual finger was searing their mark into her skin. She shuddered and hoped he didn’t notice.
“You should,” he said in a low voice.
She blinked. “I should what?” she asked, snapping her eyes back into his.
His smirk deepened a fraction. “Mess up my hair,” he replied.
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
She wasn’t sure why, but his response made her laugh. Using her right arm, she reached out, prepared to do just as he said when she hesitated. Andie was suddenly shy and this awareness of the fact made her pause. It took Jack gently wrapping his fingers around her hand and easing them to his hair when she finally touched the strands. He let his hand hold her longer than he needed to, and once her fingers had a good grip on him, he released her. She started her exploration slow, wanting to memorize the texture of his hair in case she never had the chance to do this again. The locks were soft and smooth and slid between her fingers as though that was its sole purpose in life. As crazy as it sounded, her fingers felt welcome in his hair, and as she pushed back his tresses, she smiled. She couldn’t feel any gel or product in his hair which meant he must use water or something to get them to stay. Her eyes widened when she noticed him lean into the touch and she swallowed again, unsure of how that made her feel. For a moment, she thought about pulling her hand back but her fingers buried themselves even deeper in protest. Instead, she decided to focus on her task at hand rather than the fact that his eyes had gotten darker and the urge to kiss him was practically overwhelming.
That lasted only until he kissed her.
It was sudden and surprising and she still felt the press of his lips on the curve of her neck. Her fingers had stopped their ministrations, but it didn’t matter because his hair was thoroughly messed up. Another swallow as her eyes stared at his face, unsure of what to do. Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe he hadn’t really kissed her at all and it was just a bug or something. He couldn’t possibly have kissed her. He was dating some ballet dancer named Jean. Not that she kept tabs on his love life or anything. She just happened to pick up some tabloids when she had been bored this past week that had all mentioned the two of them … and how they met at the ballet he attended a few days ago … and could she finally be the one to make an honest man out of him? The answer was no, obviously, but that was beside the point. There was no way he had kissed her since he was already with someone.
Her rationalization was interrupted by his eyes as they watched her throat bob because she was swallowing, and his lips curled up again. “I like that,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I like that I make you nervous.”
Under normal circumstances, Andie would have assured him that he did not make her nervous, that she just happened to be really thirsty, and no, that had nothing to do with his close proximity to her either. Except she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t open her mouth and formulate words because she knew without a doubt that her voice wouldn’t work. He had broken
it and it had everything to do with his close proximity and his scent of his trademark cologne. And something subtle, like the night sky, and the way his head tilted to the side because he was going to kiss her. The way his eyes looked at her, looked so familiar, jade green, and as she looked into them she could make out gold surrounding his black pupils and his brow was low and thick, but kempt and masculine and—
There it was, as abrupt and shocking as a slap in the face. She knew where she had seen those eyes before.
His lips on hers cut off her thoughts and her eyes closed instantly on their own accord. She sighed through her nose which might have sounded like a whimper, she couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter because Jack was kissing her so softly and so tenderly, and his lips fit hers the way lips were supposed to that it was so easy to stop holding back and just kiss him, just allow herself to fall irrevocably in love with him.
She pulled back instantly at two things. For one, Jack was dating someone. Even if he wasn’t serious about Jean, he was still seeing a woman who probably liked him a lot. Andie couldn’t kiss a guy who wasn’t emotionally available, even if he was the only person she wanted to kiss. Secondly, the prospect of being in love with Jack terrified her. He might like her enough to kiss her, but she was positive Jack wasn’t in love with her. He had never spoken about the topic one way or another, but given the fact that his longest relationship—if one could even call it that—was a week and a half, Andie didn’t think he was interested in it. And if she loved him and he wasn’t ready or willing to love her, she was the only one who was going to get hurt.
“Jack!” a voice called from the doorway. Andie turned her head to see Beverly still clad in a robe, waving a dish towel. “Andie! The food appears to be burning.”
Andie jumped up and dashed inside. A part of her was disappointed her meal was ruined because she had worked hard on it and wanted to prove to herself that if she put her mind to it, she could cook. But another part of her was glad. As cowardly as it sounded, she needed an excuse to physically distance herself from Jack because she was positive she wanted him to kiss her over and over again, whether he could love her or not. Sweet misery was nothing she wanted and everything she craved.
Distance also gave her time to clear her head and attempt to wrap her head around the fact that Jack Phillip was the Black Wing.
35
It had been a week. One week since she had been taken. She only knew that because Kane would come in and tell her so. He got particular joy in reminding her that Noir hadn’t come. Every inch of her body was in pain, so much so that she had become comfortably numb. She could feel everything and nothing. Kane followed through with his promise of torture. There were many times when an excuse, any random place, formulated on the tip of her tongue. Then she would think of Noir’s face and the excuse vanished. She continued to refuse to say anything, but as each day passed, the thought that he might not rescue her grew more and more prevalent.
Keirah was a logical person. Before she met him, she knew the reason Noir was such a successful criminal was because nothing could be held against him. There was no leverage because he didn’t care about anything. She thought he might have cared about her, but now she knew he didn’t. He couldn’t, and that was why he wasn’t here. But she still wouldn’t betray him. He might not love her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. If she was going to die, she would die remaining true to her feelings and to herself. She just wished she could have seen her family one last time.
Keirah knew she was bleeding in various places on her body. She could feel lumps growing and bruises start to swell. Her hair was matted with sweat, blood, and tears. If she looked in the mirror, she probably wouldn’t recognize herself. She didn’t think anything was broken, but a couple of ribs were cracked at least.
“I admire your resilience,” came a voice, and Keirah muffled a whimper, knowing what was to come. Her body turned and attempted to curl into a ball, and she made sure to keep her eyes open. “But I know that you know you’re being a fool.” He gave her a bored look. “Humans.” He rolled his eyes. She narrowed hers. Did he have his mask on? “You know he doesn’t care about you. You know he’s not going to come rescue you. He’s not the Black Wing. The only person Noir looks after is himself.” Though the words hurt, Keirah resolved to keep quiet and focus on his face. “The only reason we took you in the first place was to piss him off. To remind him why he was here in the first place. To break his new toy. If you’re not going to tell me where he is, you had better pray to God you survive this.”
Scars. He had scars. Like Noir.
It was the last thought she had before Kane closed the gap between them and she passed out.
Noir had to wait for the perfect moment to retrieve her, but when that moment came, he couldn’t reach Kane’s warehouse fast enough. Everything was in place. His calculations were perfect. Kane might even be pleased by his methods.
It was easy for him to break into the Hall of Records and steal the floor plan of the warehouse Kane currently occupied. He studied it with a thoroughness he didn’t know he possessed and designed seven different plans for the seven different rooms Keirah could possibly be kept in. Then he used a majority of the money he saved from their multiple bank robberies and bought information from some of Kane’s mimes—since everyone could be bought—to pinpoint Keirah’s exact place before he killed them and reclaimed the money for himself. After that, he had to make explosives from scratch and calculate where to set them off so every room—and everything in said rooms—was destroyed, save for Keirah’s. Once that was taken care of, he bribed more mimes on patrol to look the other way while he set everything up as quietly and as carefully as possible. Kane couldn’t know anything or else it would all be ruined. That was the only reason he couldn’t kill the mimes. Kane would be suspicious if all his men started dropping like flies. He promised them more money once he had Keirah to ensure they wouldn’t say anything. Of course, they’d be killed in the blast, so the promise was one of the easiest he had made.
He drove erratically, running red lights, swerving to miss cars. If pedestrians crossed in front of him, he wouldn’t have stopped. It took longer than he wanted, but he was certain Kane wouldn’t have killed her. Not yet. Not until he was there to witness it.
“Where is she?” he bellowed as he entered the warehouse. As if he didn’t already know. None of Kane’s mimes stopped him; they were probably ordered not to.
“I’ll show you,” Kane said, appearing out of nowhere with a pleased smile on his face. He wasn’t wearing his mask, a rarity, and Noir watched as Kane’s scars twitched. He began to lead Noir down a looming hallway. “You know, you should be proud of her. No matter what I put her through, she wouldn’t give up your location.” He stopped talking and opened the door. Through the darkness, Noir could see Keirah’s crumpled form lying motionless on the floor, and for a moment, his entire world stopped. “Now that I have you here, I can show you what it means to truly corrupt.” He laughed and patted Noir wholeheartedly on the back. “As you know, I have always been quite fond of explosions. I like them big and quick, with no warning. And since I was sent here, I have been waiting to see the town go up in flames.”
“It’s not … fun if the people … don’t know.” Noir couldn’t take his eyes off of Keirah’s motionless body so his response was slow and articulate. He clenched his jaw when he finished and walked over to her. When he reached her, he knelt down to get a better view. She looked terrible. In fact, she looked … Swallowing, Noir slipped off one of his gloves and placed his index and middle fingers against the column of her throat hoping that her pulse would give him some indication of life. It took him a heart-stopping moment until he actually found it; it was slow, but it was there. He glanced at his wristwatch.
“Which is why,” Noir said, glancing over his shoulder and tilting his head at an odd angle as he looked at Kane, “I should probably warn you …”
Before Noir could finish his sentence, he threw hi
s body over Keirah’s, being extra-wary of her injuries. A large explosion shook the warehouse. Sulfur tainted the air and ash littered the room. A fatal stillness surrounded the former building. Noir began to cough, and he opened his eyes, trying to see through the smoky haze. His ears were ringing but he didn’t notice.
“You’re right,” he drawled at Kane’s unmoving body. “That was, uh, fun.”
He turned to Keirah, and after another quick check, deemed her still alive, but barely. Noir slowly stood up and coughed some more before bending down and picking her up. He walked through the rubble, glad that his math had been correct and this particular room had not been as impacted by the blast as others. He paused before he left and turned to look at his former partner once more. Noir knew the bastard couldn’t die but hoped he was in Purgatory.
“I was always the, ah, smart one,” he said, looking down at Kane. “I know you too well. And your, uh, henchmen, they can be rather talkative if they’re, hum … dangling in the air before being thrown off a, uh, bridge.”
Noir walked out of the warehouse with only a few scratches and bleeding ears, his sole focus on what to do with the woman in his arms. Police sirens pierced the night sky as they drew closer, but he took his time placing Keirah in the backseat of his car. She looked awful. Afternoon light seeped in through his tinted windows and he could make out her features better. Her delicate face was now riddled with various cuts, each with different depths. Some were still bleeding, some clotted with ease, and some dried. Bruises and swelling caused her once-hallow cheeks to puff out unattractively and she couldn’t shut one eye all the way. Her lips were cracked in three different places. He thanked God she was out cold so she wouldn’t have to feel the pain she must be in, and then ignored the fact that he thanked God for anything.
The Dark Paradise Trilogy Box Set Page 28