The Dark Paradise Trilogy Box Set

by Heather C. Myers

  If one looked at all the evidence, it would seem entirely plausible that Keirah Shepherd was Bombshell. And she was sure that anyone who had come in contact with her when she was with Noir could tell just how much she loved him. Noir was better at hiding his feelings, but not Keirah. She knew how vulnerable her eyes were. And even though people could figure out her feelings for the man, they would never understand, and that was okay with her.

  So was Jarrett really that unaware of just how much she loved Noir? He was a police officer, after all; shouldn’t he recognize such feelings when it was clearly written all over her face? Or was Keirah really that good of an actress? She highly doubted it. Noir could see right through her, even if she was fibbing about something silly. But then again, she had this feeling that Noir could see through anything.

  In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she could feel her anger start to boil. Why couldn’t she be Noir’s accomplice? Why couldn’t she love him? Did people think she was too ditzy to be a villain herself? Or was it her sweetness that became a factor in whether or not she could be with Noir? She was too sweet, such a good girl, there’s no way she would do something like that.

  Well, that was bullshit.

  Some people might have reveled in the fact that this view of them meant they could do whatever they wanted without claiming any responsibility. But Keirah craved that responsibility, only because everyone, throughout the majority of her life, underestimated her.

  She was Noir’s lover because she wanted to be. No one forced it on her. She chose to be his lover. And Keirah wanted to be an accomplice to bank robbery as well. No, she didn’t want to kill anybody, but if somebody threatened Noir, she wouldn’t hesitate to take care of the problem.

  Maybe she was thinking about this too much. Maybe she was getting worked up for no reason.

  Keirah glanced at the alarm clock resting on the surface of her nightstand, adjacent to the side of her bed. It was well past noon, just after one. Noir had left an hour ago, going to rob a bank just as soon as payroll delivered a bunch of money to the vaults. Though he had bought Keirah a new outfit to wear as Bombshell, he wanted to ensure that she was well-rested and healed before allowing her to accompany him again. As such, Keirah was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and debating whether she was hungry enough to get out of bed and go make herself a sandwich for lunch.

  Hmm … Decisions, decisions …

  She decided she would rather be sore and well-fed than relaxed and hungry. Throwing her legs over the bed, she stood up and changed into sweatpants and a black tank. She put her hair up in a messy ponytail, and after quickly brushing her teeth, headed down into the kitchen.

  Now, what to eat?

  When Keirah was a college student, she lived off of cereal, and even though she ate so much of it, she still craved the cool meal. She poured herself a bowl of Crispix and took a seat in the dining room. Her thoughts were mindless and few; instead, she focused on eating her meal. However, she managed to catch a glimpse of herself in the hanging mirror across from the table. The bruises were fading into a sickly yellow color, and the cuts and scrapes were merely thin red lines now. She was healing.

  The next morning, Keirah awoke before Noir did, and she watched him in silence. Her eyes shone of adoration, not one flicker of regret tainted those brown orbs for anything she had done when she was with him. Her eyes looked at every part of him, from the contours that made up his face to the softness of his lips. The makeup on his face had been washed off last night so there was no mask painted on his features. She liked him best when he looked like this—like a human.

  Her eyes reverted lower, to the masculine bob of his Adam’s apple then over to his broad shoulders. Finally, she looked down even further to his toned chest, to the scars that littered his torso, to the flatness of his stomach. He was probably the most beautiful person she had ever laid her eyes on, and surprisingly, he loved her the same way she loved him.

  After another moment, she slipped out of bed and threw on his white collared shirt that covered a good portion of her body. As she headed to the connecting bathroom, she made sure she was quiet. It was rare for Noir to sleep in, and she didn’t want to wake him up when he was catching up on the sleep he needed.

  The bathroom itself was incredibly large with marble tile and two sinks. There was a Jacuzzi-style bathtub adjacent to a large shower. Towels hung on racks waiting to be used after a cleansing of the body, and after Keirah flossed and brushed her teeth, she stepped into the shower. The hot liquid fell on her skin, waking her up even more than she already was, and she felt the muscles in her body slowly start to relax. She washed herself and her hair, taking her time while doing so. The day was overcast and Keirah wanted to be warm before she would have to step out into the cool, crisp morning.

  When she finished, Keirah grabbed one towel and dried herself off with it before coiling it around her body. She grabbed another, this one to dry her hair, but when she finished, her locks were still damp. Instead of deciding to use a hair dryer, she let it air dry. Walking out of the restroom, steam followed Keirah, even as she headed over to her wardrobe.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Noir greeted her from behind the young woman, causing Keirah to jump in surprise. This no doubt amused him, and he cocked a smile.

  She always amused him, in one way or another.

  Keirah turned, giving him a beaming smile, and she temporarily forgot what she had set out to do. “Good morning,” she said, walking over to him. The lazy look he gave her sent chills down her spine. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Hum … maybe,” he murmured, grinning at her. “A little.”

  Keirah blushed and apologized, but Noir waved her words away.

  “So what are we doing today?” Keirah asked..

  “We’re going to get, uh, the fink who ratted you out, my pet,” Noir drawled, his golden irises bronzing at the thought. “I found out, hum … who it was that set us up, and I believe that, well, that it’s only fair to repay the favor.” He stopped, the corners of his lips twitching up at the thought of extracting his revenge. “I suggest you get dressed. Your, hum … outfit is in the left wardrobe.”

  It took another hour, but sooner rather than later, both Keirah and Noir were ready to follow through with his plan. It was still overcast when he and Keirah parked the car, so the sky looked darker than it really was. Noir grabbed Keirah’s hand and led her to a supply truck, while a few of the minions Noir had hired earlier began to transport the weapons from the car over to the supply truck.

  In a half an hour, one of the men sat in the driver’s seat while the rest of Noir’s posse—himself and Keirah included—sat where the supplies would be if they had any. And then, as they say, they would play the waiting game until the driver led them to where they needed to be in order to carry out Noir’s plan.

  Keirah was dressed in her Bombshell costume, sitting on a metal shelf. She wasn’t exactly sure what was going on or what would happen when they got to wherever they needed to be, but she would go with it. She always did.

  It was only when Noir had his men slide the supply truck door open did her interest really become piqued. The truck was still moving … It was like Noir was going to be confronting a moving target. She straightened up, eager to watch what would soon take place.

  Noir was currently gripping a thick strap tied tightly to a metal bar so he wouldn’t lose his balance. One of his henchmen handed him a compact machine gun, and before Keirah knew it, he started firing at some armored car. It was then that she realized this must be a police transport, protection the cops were offering the man who had set up the trap that got her arrested. The machine gun, however, did absolutely nothing to the armored car, despite how constantly Noir fired at it.

  Keirah pushed off her seat and knelt down beside Noir, grabbing a rifle and handing it to him. The two locked eyes for a moment, and though neither of them said anything, both were currently wearing small smirks. It would seem they enj
oyed doing damage while working together. Keirah watched with wide eyes as Noir took aim and fired three times on the armored car, still to no avail. Just watching him, so serious, caused a pulsating thump to start in her pelvis, and already she could feel herself reacting.

  When they took the rifle out of the question, Noir pressed his tongue against his teeth before picking what appeared to be a bazooka. Keirah’s mouth dropped open in fascination as she watched her lover load the weapon and then fire it. It missed the intended target, but managed to hit the car in front of it. Noir didn’t seem perturbed, and when he fired it again, he managed to hit the armored car. The henchmen cheered, but Keirah and Noir didn’t do anything. Instead, they looked at each other, and Noir smirked once more, pushing Keirah off the edge.

  Without taking into consideration her environment and those in it, she grabbed Noir, pushed him down on the metal shelf, and straddled him. She didn’t care that there were four or five henchmen watching her, nor did she care that the door was open and people, if they chose to, could turn and see the two. All that mattered was acting out on her desires, and after seeing Noir so ruthlessly fire those weapons, she needed to feel him inside her.

  Noir, for his part, didn’t seem to mind, and helped Keirah unzip his pants while getting rid of her boyshorts. They did in such a way that the henchmen couldn’t exactly see what they were doing, but they could guess. It didn’t take long before Keirah slid herself onto him, and before even Noir could stop her, she slowly started to rock back and forth as she arched her back up.

  It was then that the henchmen actually started making catcalls and whistles, which probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do on their part only because the machine gun was a few centimeters from where Noir sat, and as he nipped at Keirah’s neck, he grabbed the gun and shot the group, killing all four of them.

  Keirah gasped in surprise, but it didn’t distract her from what she set out to do. In fact, it only furthered her desire for him, so she sped up the pace and came down hard. Even he couldn’t stop his grunts of approval, and he had to taste her. He reached up and yanked down the top of her dress so her breasts pooled out, and he immediately captured a breast with his lips while the other he caressed with his fingers.

  Keirah moaned, pressing herself even closer to him, and rocked back and forth harder than he expected her to.

  Noir leaned his head back, gripping Keirah’s once again. Just the sight of her on top of him, in a moving vehicle and in front of his men, her dress pulled down, her breasts moving with her body, her hair tousled, a hickey on her neck … He had to let himself go, and as he did so, he cocked his head forward and bit her left breast.

  Though it was painful, it was the push that Keirah needed to cross over, and the two climaxed together, their breaths ragged, their bodies sweaty.

  It was almost comical; they were much like hormone fueled teenagers, without one ounce of knowledge on how to keep their hands off of each other. But they didn’t care. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

  32

  They were gone. They were really gone.

  And she could do nothing to stop it.

  Maybe if she hadn’t been out camping, this never would have happened. But she couldn’t change her visions, or so Ollo said. Why would she be blessed—cursed?—with the power to see the future if she couldn’t do anything to change it?

  Reese knew it wasn’t her fault. And that was probably the worst part.

  In Ollo’s opinion, Investigator Piazza could have worded the bomb he dropped on Reese with a little more sympathy. Saying they had found the bodies so charred they were unrecognizable so they had to send for DNA tests wasn’t the best way to tell a seventeen year old girl her entire family was most likely dead. Ollo understood the need to be direct, especially with a girl as spoiled as Reese, but even she didn’t deserve such a clinical analysis of one of her visions coming true.

  And there it was; her first vision actually coming to pass. What a terrible one to be her first. Ollo liked to think he knew Reese quite well, and strongly believed that this right here would change Reese forever. Not only did her family die at such a critical point in her life, but she knew it was going to happen somehow, and there was no way she could stop it. When Pythia foresaw her own death in the war, she didn’t tell Ollo until the last minute, but by that point, no one could stop it. He hated her for keeping that from him for so long. It didn’t matter that she told him it was for her own good, that she didn’t want him to dwell on her death instead of focusing on living, on winning this war. None of that mattered because she was gone.

  He still remembered the look in her violet eyes when she told him. The night was still, the stars bright, and her eyes—so warm, so welcoming—continued to remain that way as she spoke the words: “Ollo, today, I’m going to die.”

  He lashed out at her, taking his fear of losing her out on her. That knowing smile lingered on her face, even as he threw words at her like punishers threw their whips at the condemned. And she let him. That was one of the things that frustrated him to no end about his former oracle: she was patient. Too patient. Sometimes, he had wished she would just yell at him, call him names, anything. But she never did. She waited until his tantrum was over, taking any and everything he said and did until he exhausted himself, and then calmly began to discuss all of the points he so immaturely brought up. It was in those moments when he felt inadequate; he was supposed to be a god, and she, a mere oracle, and yet she was the one who had this innate ability to forgive every one of his transgressions and not be affected by it. If anyone was perfect, it was her. And there were a few occasions when he resented her for it.

  Reese, on the other hand, had a hot temper, just like him, except she tended to be easily bothered because her emotions got in the way quite a lot. However, Ollo recognized early on that he liked giving her a hard time, he liked watching her react. It was one of the things he appreciated and even respected about her; the fact that she fought with him, challenged him to be a better man. Somehow, he knew she, too, would forgive him for whatever it was they were going off about, but not before she made sure he knew she wasn’t happy about it. It was one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with her.

  Love. With Reese. Even now, he couldn’t believe it. How could he? He had never been one of those men that swore off love and monogamy. Yes, he dabbled in the art of women like most gods did, but he didn’t hate them or judge those who were in love. He believed in the concept, but never believed it could happen to him.

  And then he saw Reese, lying in that hospital bed. He kissed those lips, awakening her powers. He didn’t know it at the time, and she didn’t know it at all, but she awakened things in him just the same.

  Even crazier than the concept of him being in love at all was the fact that he actually enjoyed being in love with her. Not that she wasn’t lovable, just the opposite, in fact, but she wasn’t the type of person he thought he would ever fall for. She was spoiled, wealthy, and a big snob. It would take her forever to get ready before they had to leave for anything, and those miniskirts she always wore—even in the cold—drove him absolutely crazy. She always asked to borrow his jacket, snorted a lot despite her etiquette-rich upbringing, and always dragged him to any event that involved dancing, even though she was terrible at it.

  But Reese was also the kindest person he knew. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her compassion that caused her to be downright stunning. She was smart—though society deemed her too good looking to be smart, as though smart had some kind of definitive physical appearance associated with it—and was sensitive because of her looks and the way they held her back. But she was a fighter, and every time she was underestimated, she proved her opposer wrong. She wasn’t as patient as Pythia by any means, but she was just as strong—maybe even more so, because Reese had to juggle so many different roles on top of being an oracle, an archer, and a savior. That, and someone had killed her entire family.

  At least, Ollo thought it was
her entire family. After Reese passed out and Ollo caught her in time before she hit the ground, Investigator Piazza asked him if she had any family she could stay with. Until the court system figured out where to send her since she was technically still a minor. Ollo answered honestly and told him he wasn’t sure. Piazza released her to him, handing Ollo his card, and promising to be in touch. As Ollo walked back to his car, a selfish thought flitted across his mind. He hoped she didn’t have anyone else, or that would ruin everything.

  Everything.

  And the court couldn’t take her either, or it would be just as bad.

  He needed help.

  Once he managed to get Reese’s unconscious form in the passenger seat of his pickup truck and buckled her in, he drove away. It wasn’t until he passed the gate entrance that he pulled out his phone and pressed 2 on his speed dial.

  Henry answered on second ring. “I’m already here,” he said in his light, Scottish brogue. “We’ll talk when you arrive.” A brief pause, and then, “How is she?”

  Ollo pushed his brow up at the uncharacteristically caring question. Henry was the last person Ollo expected to ask how someone was doing.

  “Unconscious,” was his reply.

  Without another word, Henry hung up.

  By the time Ollo arrived at his dingy little apartment located just above Bacchus’s, Henry already had the front door open so it was easier for Ollo to carry Reese up the stairs. When he set her on his bed, his mind flashed to their conversation from yesterday; how they were going to eventually be intimate together, on more than one occasion. The thought gave him something he hadn’t felt in a while: hope. And he knew if she had used the idea of them having sex as a means to distract him from the real vision she had of them, he would be able to see directly through her due to the fact that she was a terrible liar. It was another one of her imperfections that endeared her to him.