The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  The letter sits between them, a harmless piece of paper waiting to ruin me or cure me. Lawrence jumps up and comes to me, taking my arms just above my wrists. “Promise me this is the end of it,” he begs, stroking up to my shoulders and gripping hard. “Whatever is in that letter, it’s the end. We put it to bed.”

  I rip my eyes away from the letter on the table and look at him. I hate the doubt lingering on his face. The fear. I move past him and slide it from the table with a shaky hand. I work the seal open. Take a deep breath and pull out the paper, unfolding it.

  I read the first line.

  It’s all I need to see.

  I loosen my grip and the paper floats down to my feet.

  “Beau?” Lawrence rushes to collect it, scanning it as I stare out of the kitchen window into the darkness.

  “They’re not re-opening the investigation.” I turn and walk out in a haze of devastation, feeling crushed, desolate, but most of all angry. So fucking angry.

  “Beau!” Lawrence yells, coming after me. “Beau, wait.” He seizes me, swinging me around to face him more violently than is in him. “Where are you going?” he asks, frantic. “Stay here. Stay with us. We’ll meditate. We’ll talk. I’ll help you.”

  I don’t need meditation. I don’t need to talk. I don’t need pills or therapy or sectioning. “I’m going out.” I pull myself free and open the door.

  “To him?” he asks, his panic rising. “To the man who did that to you?”

  I look at my hand on the door handle.

  “Who is he?” he goes on. “Who did that to you?”

  “He did nothing I didn’t ask for.” I walk away, hearing my uncle crying my name repeatedly, and I look back as I reach the bottom of the pathway, finding Dexter has intervened, pulling Lawrence back, trying to calm him.

  “Let her go,” he soothes.

  I’ve never seen disappointment on my uncle’s face.

  Until now.

  21

  JAMES

  “She’s heading toward your apartment,” Otto says as I dry off after my shower.

  I hang up and stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t know what I hoped to achieve in the car park of Walmart. Seeing her in the arms of her ex clouded my purpose in that moment. I aimed to stall her. To delay her finding out that her appeal had been denied. To delay the repercussions and to stall her grief, even if only for one more day. All I did instead was discover I have a jealous streak, and I’m shaken by that. But seeing another man soothe her?

  Rage. Rage spiked by jealousy, and that’s fucking new.

  I reach for my jaw and rub a hand across my scratchy face, tilting my head back, but I keep my eyes on the stranger in the mirror. The face of a man I no longer recognize. He’s distorted by grief. By a relentless need for vengeance. And by a heavy, misplaced sense of responsibility. He could cure Beau Hayley. He could also end her.

  This isn’t a case of fix me. I’m beyond that. Yet, scarily, I’ve discovered Beau certainly eases the torment. Masks the pain. She also injects my black soul with fragments of goodness, purpose beyond my only purpose. And perhaps the growing guilt I’m feeling, because I’m the reason she’s lost. I’m the reason she’s grieving her mother. I’m the reason Beau Hayley is so utterly damaged, both spiritually and physically. I can’t ignore the opportunity to redeem myself. Maybe give myself some light relief in more ways than one.

  I pull on some boxers and go wait for her.

  22

  BEAU

  When I walk into the lobby of James’s building, Goldie is sitting at the reception with her legs up on the desk, a can of soda in her hand. She glances up from the computer screen, says nothing, and gets up, walking to the elevator and punching in the code needed to take me to the very top. To James.

  I enter, avoiding her eyes, and the doors close, the whirling of the mechanisms kicking in. I ride up, questioning for the first time if James knew I’d come. Goldie’s reaction to my arrival suggests so. And I hate that. I hate that he was right.

  The doors open, and my eyes find him immediately, sitting at the bottom of the stairs in his boxers. My question is answered. He knew.

  But he doesn’t know why I’m here.

  I step out as he rises to his feet, unfolding every glorious inch of his body. There he is. My path to oblivion. His hair looks darker. His eyes lighter. His physique sharper. The air sizzles in the space between us, and I reach for the buttons of my shirt and start to unfasten them. His face remains impassive as he turns and starts taking the stairs, his steps measured and slow, his scarred back a beacon of ruin. I drop my shirt to the floor and follow him, reaching back to undo my bra, dropping it to the steps.

  When I reach the top, I kick my shoes off and start on the fly of my jeans, watching as he bypasses his bedroom and goes into his office. I don’t question it, my feet naturally following him. I arrive at the open door, finding him in his chair, reclined back. Waiting for me. And then suddenly we’re joined by music, and the track is no accident. I stare at him, struggling for air, as Labyrinth’s Still Don’t Know my Name plays.

  I don’t want to know his name. I don’t care. I just want this. Him. These sensations.

  He says nothing, scanning my face. Trying to read my emotions? Trying to figure out why I came when I refused him not so long ago? His eyes journey the length of my legs, and I take his silent instruction, pushing my jeans down my thighs, catching valuable air as I do, loading up, preparing. It’s a pointless endeavor. Nothing will prepare me.

  His sharp stare lands at the juncture of my thighs and stays there as I remove my panties. He pushes back in his chair a little, and once they’re on the floor at my feet, I step out and wander around his impressive desk to him. He looks up at me, watching me closely as his hands find my hips and guide me until I’m standing in between his legs. He leans forward and pushes his mouth onto my stomach, and my body folds in pleasure, my hands finding his shoulders, my fingers feeling the start of the scarred flesh of his back. Soft kisses are placed across my stomach, every inch of it, and I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes. He turns his face into my arm, licking the inside of my elbow, sending shivers surging through me. I look down at the back of his head, my hand finding his hair and stroking through the wet waves. I’m here. I was always going to be here, and he knew it. Was ready. Waiting.

  He looks up at me, his hands sliding onto my ass. His stare is hard yet soft. Revealing yet disguising. Reaching for my arms, he inspects my wrists, smoothing over the welts softly with the pad of his thumb. His moves are so tender, and yet his expression remains hard. Contrasting. Confusing? No. I feel like I’m beginning to read him. Understand him. He needs this too. What I don’t understand is why.

  He slowly encourages me to turn away from him and pulls me down to his lap. I rest against his chest, the back of my head settling on his shoulder, feeling his soft bristle against my cheek, his hardening cock behind his boxers pushing into my ass. He takes one of my legs and guides it up until my foot is wedged against the edge of his desk. He repeats with the other, and then places his palms on the insides of my thighs, pulling them apart so I’m spread wide open to the room. My arms curl back around our heads, and he turns his face into mine and kisses me softly. How he knows I need this moment of gentleness doesn’t escape me. I certainly didn’t expect it, not from this dark, complex man. The chemistry is electric, but I feel so incredibly calm. And yet the nerves between my legs are screaming, my flesh dripping.

  James reaches for something on his desk, and the next moment, the screens before us come alive.

  And on all of them . . .

  Us.

  A still image of us.

  Me, blindfolded, gagged, shackled, hanging from the suspension bar, and James standing before me naked. The same scene on every screen, but dozens of different angles. I inhale, scanning them all, taking in each one. My eyes home in on the center, largest screen. It’s a close up of his face. His wild, beautiful face. He looks drunk, dozy eyed, completely los
t. In me. He was lost in me. Completely. He didn’t like seeing me with Ollie, because he’s watched this. He’s watched us. And it’s a sight to behold. Mesmerizing. Spellbinding.

  Magical.

  This, us, what we do, how I feel. It’s magic.

  The sheer sight floods me with even more need, and I turn my face into him. His eyes are fixed on the screen, and he starts to walk his fingers down my stomach.

  “Shall I play it?” he whispers, turning his eyes my way as his fingers scissor and slip through my pulsing flesh. I inhale fast, tensing, the sensitivity too much already. He holds the remote control up, his thumb hovering over the play button. I nod, and then jolt when he rolls a fingertip around my clit painfully slowly.

  “Relax, Beau,” he orders gently, pressing play and sliding the remote control onto his desk. “Enjoy the show.” He takes my jaw between his fingers, kissing me hard, and then turns my face toward the screens.

  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Sex personified.

  And I am rapt by it.

  He massages me gently between my legs with one hand, his other tracing light circles around my nipple, and my head drops back, my eyes heavy, but I keep them rooted to the screens, unable and unwilling to look away. I watch as the James on the screen plays with me, tortures me, denies me of an orgasm, and my body bucks and bows in response, all the while my body now getting hotter and hotter, his touch getting firmer and firmer. I push my feet into the edge of his desk, my back into his front, my pants becoming loud, the fire inside raging. He spreads my need far and wide, fucking me with his fingers brutally, pinching my nipple, thrusting his groin upward constantly. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he pulls away. If he halts the climax building. My mouth drops open, more air needed, and I grapple for the arms of the chair, clawing my nails into the soft leather. “James,” I breathe, starting to shake, my body locking up, pinning down the rush of pleasure steaming forward. His fingers roll harder, plunge deeper. “More.” My head is limp, my drowsy eyes struggling to keep focused on the screens. Tingles start to attack me, my skin hyper-sensitive, the sounds from the TV mixed with my sounds now a sensory overload. “More!” He persists, circling his long fingers wider, pulling them free and spreading the wetness. My heart is hammering. My body blazing. My mind spinning. My feet push farther into the desk, sending us back a few feet in his chair.

  And suddenly we’re not facing the screens anymore. James spins us to face the wall of glass, and my feet instinctively find the window, looking for an anchor. I press my soles into the cold pane, my arms flying up to cradle our heads, my hips thrusting up into his drives. The lights of the city meld and blur, creating a rainbow splash of color under the moon. Everyone miles away. The world miles away. Misery, miles away.

  Freedom is here. Serenity. Detachment from the world.

  I turn my face into him and nuzzle his rough cheek, prompting him to look at me. His working fingers never falter. My heart doesn’t slow. He stares at me as he continues to blitz my mind and body with his incomprehensible capabilities, the real world gone. Because James can’t be real. This can’t be real. I want it to be, because this, here, us, how I feel? I don’t know how I will survive life without it now.

  He moves forward, sealing our lips, plunging his tongue deep into my mouth, and my hands find his hair, my tongue finds his pace, my lost soul finds . . .

  Relief.

  I come on a moan into his mouth, a tug of his hair, my hand resting on his over my breast and squeezing. I’m breathless. Exhausted. Stiff from tensing so much. The waves of pleasure rack my body to no end, my legs ramrod straight, braced against the window, as I let it consume me whole. Every last bit of it.

  His fingers slip free and softly circle my twitching clit, his lips slowing until they’re unmoving on my mouth. He breaks away and wraps his arms around my belly, turning the chair so we’re facing the screen again.

  Together, we watch the end of the show, the track still playing, James’s heavy breaths behind me, not a word murmured. I observe as the onscreen James rolls off me and my eyes become heavy, both on the screen and in reality. I can’t hold them open anymore. I sigh and give in to my tired muscles everywhere, and he holds me tighter in response to my body softening, tenderly kissing my cheek. “I’m glad you came back to me,” he whispers.

  And I’m gone.

  23

  JAMES

  It was all about her. I didn’t come. Didn’t want to. But I desperately needed her to need this.

  Peace. Peace found in intimacy. It’s new. Unexpected. A bit like the jealousy that found me when I saw her with Oliver Burrows.

  I remain in my chair, Beau on my lap sleeping, and rewind the footage to the beginning. And I watch it again, my concentration split between her face and mine. Both are fascinating. Hers because of the sheer pleasure, mine because of the sheer pain.

  I didn’t know what I was doing last night when I tied her up, but I knew I couldn’t stop it.

  I’m hooked on her. On us. But she doesn’t know me, and that will inevitably change everything. I fuck women to be seen. I take them with an audience because it’s the only time in my life that I can really show myself. I’m known as James Kelly, a private stockbroker, but no one knows who I am. Where I come from. Why I’m here.

  But Beau sees me. Even if she doesn’t know what she’s looking at. And I sure as shit see her. She’s blinding. Soft. And though she feels weak, she’s strong. I have to show her that.

  My phone bleeps from the desk, and I gently ease forward to claim it, checking that Beau doesn’t stir. I open the message from Otto. A picture of a well-dressed man appears on my screen, and I narrow my eyes on his chubby, cheerful face. He reeks bent. Swiping away from the screen, I dial Otto.

  “Who is he?” I ask quietly.

  “Judge Ferguson. He’s taking back-handers from someone in exchange for the manipulation of evidence on a man. A man under The Bear’s umbrella.”

  “Vince Roake,” I hum to myself. Otherwise known as The Alligator. Jaz Hayley got him in cuffs before I got my knife to his throat. “Could the judge know who The Bear is?”

  “No.”

  Makes two of us. And it’s as frustrating as fuck. “His movements?”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Thanks.” I hang up and get the image of the judge back up on my screen, airdropping it to my laptop. I look down at Beau. Dead to the world. Turning on my screens, I drop the judge’s face into the mix, scowling at his photo. Otto was right. The Bear will always add to his army. Until I find the fucker and end him.

  My eyes scan across the bank of TVs, landing on the last two. Blank screens. One reserved for The Bear, and the other for who he’s got on the inside. Because that’s a given.

  I look down at Beau’s peaceful, sleeping face. “Stop chasing the truth, Beau Hayley.” Because that ends in death.

  I gather her up and take her to my bed, settling her down gently, fighting the odd compulsion to crawl in behind her. No. I have shit to deal with. Beau Hayley is a complication. A big fucking complication. She was before I fucked her. Now? “Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face and backing out of the room. I head downstairs, coming to a gradual stop when Otto steps off the elevator. He holds up a file. The man works fast.

  “The judge’s schedule. He’s a busy man.” He drops it on the table and backs up into the elevator. “Can I ask you something?”

  “No,” I answer, knowing that won’t stop him.

  “Are you going to tell her who you are? What you do? What you did?”

  “Do you think she’ll handle it?”

  He recoils and reaches for his beard, stroking it thoughtfully. There’s no denying the worry emblazoned across his pierced face. It’s the same as the worry I’m feeling. I’m inviting disaster. “You might not have to even tell her,” he says quietly, glancing up the stairs where she’s sleeping. In my bed. Cozy. Warm. Safe. “Are you forgetting something here, Kel?”

  I don’
t know, am I? Probably. My head’s completely bent.

  “She’s an ex copper, boy. And a talented one at that. Just because she’s quit, doesn’t mean her instinct has. Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “You think she’ll hand my arse to me on a plate?”

  “You’ll have to kill her before that.”

  I swallow and retreat before Otto can bend my head further, going up to my dressing room and dragging out a case ready for Goldie. I check the contents, pull out a few parts, and polish them until they sparkle before slowly piecing the rifle together. I admire my work, slowly turning the gun in my grasp. Beau Hayley is searching for an answer.

  And she’s sleeping with it.

  I’m breaking the fucked-up scale.

  24

  BEAU

  The stretch of my muscles is something dreams are made of; the delicious pull lengthening every one of my limbs blissful. The warm, soft sheets radiate James’s heady scent, creeping into my nose, waking up my senses. I open my eyes to a soft, hazy, apricot glow in his room. It’s quiet. The room and my mind. Both quiet.

  I sit up and tug the loose hair tie from my waves and pull the sheets around my naked body. He’s not here. Shuffling to the side of the bed, I get up and go in search of him. I start in his office. No James. At least, not in the flesh. But the screens are frozen on our sleeping forms in his bed. I reach up to my lips. They don’t feel sore or bruised. My body doesn’t feel tender and damaged. This time was a very different experience, but the result was the same.

  Blitz my mind clear.

  I pull the door closed and make up way down the stairs. I hear him before I see him on the couch, tapping away at the keys of his laptop. He’s pulled on some lounge pants but left his chest bare. It’s quite a welcome. How can something so dark be so beautiful?