“I have one,” he said in a soft-spoken voice. His eyes lost all amusement. “No late-night visitors.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I’m not easy,” she snapped.
“I know that,” he replied. He sounded like he was sorry, like he wanted to make amends. “I’m not saying I don’t trust your judgment, but I don’t want any random guys here.”
“I wouldn’t bring a random guy here, Jack,” Andie said. She was gritting her teeth now, trying to contain her patience. She was grateful he was allowing her to stay here for however long she needed to, but did he really think she would be bringing different guys to his house every night? “I’m not one of your floozies.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she winced. Definitely not the right thing to say.
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You know exactly what it means,” she returned, defensive. “Everyone knows that the girls you date—if you can even call it that—are only seeking publicity or want to get in your pants, or both.”
“Well, then I think it’s safe to say I can pick out an easy girl when I see one,” Jack said.
Andie’s entire face fell. The look of pain lingered only a moment before it disappeared, gone forever. Without warning, she slapped him across the face and got off the barstool. She didn’t run to her temporary room, but every muscle in her body was tense as she walked there. Once she was safely inside, she shut the door behind her and let the tears fall.
She had to get out of this house.
With that thought, she quickly went through the dresser, throwing on a pair of jeans— possibly an old pair of Beverly’s—a long-sleeved shirt she was certain was Jack’s, and slipped on her gladiator-style sandals she had worn to his party last night. She pulled her hair up in a loose ponytail and walked out of her room, hoping she wouldn’t run into him.
When she was outside, she had no idea what to do. She remembered she had no car, which meant she was stuck.
Brilliant plan, Andie, she thought to herself with a roll of her eyes. At least you’re outside the stupid house. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Mansion is more like it.
Ultimately, Andie decided to explore the grounds while her thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Jack. The fact that he even alluded to her being easy caused a sense of misery to overtake her. Immediately, she mentally scolded herself for such thoughts, shaking her head as she did so. Andie hated that she cared what the arrogant playboy thought about her, but she did. She wasn’t easy—Pat was a jerk of an ex-boyfriend, and had been her first and only. Not that it was any of his business.
Jack’s grounds were extraordinary. The green lawn was cut so that every blade was in place. There was a garden tucked away to the east side of the manor with a beautiful array of flowers. Pinks, blues, yellows, reds, whites, purples, and greens added color to the grass. There was also a vegetable garden that outlined the border of the grounds filled with ripe tomatoes, lettuce, and carrots. A bountiful collection of trees could be found throughout, providing pockets of shade during the hot summer months. Some of them tempted Andie to climb. Finally, there was a three tiered fountain placed in the west side, where a group of various birds were bathing and drinking.
To be a bird, Andie mused to herself with a small smile. I would fly everywhere.
She walked over to the fountain, making sure she didn’t scare away the birds. She found it odd that there were no coins at the bottom of the fountain. But then again, billionaires don’t really need to wish for much, do they? She was surprised to find that Jack didn’t own a swimming pool, and she wondered why, when he could definitely afford one.
Andie reached into her pocket and grinned when she found a tarnished penny. She glanced at the coin and without hesitation wished for the safety of her sister. With that, she tossed the penny so it landed in the third level of the fountain with a loud kerplunk.
“What’d you wish for?”
Before she could stop herself, her brow furrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. However, as quickly as her defensive posture came, it disappeared. She didn’t want to fight with Jack. She didn’t want things between them to be bad. It was odd because she usually didn’t care about trying to patch things up between herself and someone else, especially if the tension wasn’t her fault. Now, though, maybe she had snapped at him too soon and maybe he was apologizing the only way he could.
“I’m not allowed to say,” she said, turning so she faced him. A small smile touched her lips. “Or else it won’t come true.”
“Listen,” he said, sliding his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms. He still hadn’t changed, and her clothes didn’t fit. They both looked ridiculous. “About what happened. I know you’re not easy, and I’m sorry that I said you were, in so many words.”
“I know,” Andie said, nodding once. “And I know you don’t date only floozies.”
“No, that’s true,” Jack said, a subtle smile appearing on her lips. “You didn’t exactly have to word it the way you did, but it’s true. It’s just … easy, I guess.” He chuckled at this, shaking his head.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she told him.
“I want to,” he replied, locking eyes with her. “Floozies, as you so elegantly call them, are easy to get. They’re easy to date and they’re easy to sleep with. The class I come from expects me to date these women because it adds to my reputation. I’m … well, I guess I’m underestimated and I like that. People assume I’m just a wealthy guy who doesn’t care about anything except spending exorbitant amounts of money on extravagant, needless things and sleeping with beautiful women. Everyone believes that I can get any girl I want, but it’s not true.” He looked at her pointedly, and there was something in his gaze that caused Andie to think that maybe there was more to his words than what he was saying. She just couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe she didn't want to look too much into it, not with Keirah still gone. Not with the fact that she didn't really have a home yet.
“You keep saying that,” Andie said with a sigh, “yet you continue to act like it is. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m just wondering, at what point does the line blur and the person you’re pretending to be and the person you are become one and the same? What if you lose yourself, Jack? What if you can’t remember who you are?”
“That won’t happen, Andie,” he said. Despite the warm thermal shirt she was wearing, her body burst into goose bumps. “I know who I am. And you, you know who I am. If I fall—”
“I’ll let you borrow my wings,” she finished, a smile eclipsing her features. “And once I do remind you of who you are, I will kick your ass.” This caused Jack to laugh once again. “Now, if you’re not doing anything, I really need to pick up some clothes, my school stuff, and my car.”
26
Keirah
Keirah woke up the next morning feeling cold. She blinked a few times, nearly forgetting where she was. If anyone had told her last week that she’d be living in the Zone with Onyx’s most notorious villain, without attempting to escape or contacting the police, she would have laughed out loud. Now, however, things had changed. While it wasn’t often, she began to see flashes of humanity under Noir’s thick skin. She began to feel, not sympathy for him, but a fondness, and though she tried to put that fire out, she was afraid that she was past the point of no return. She was too far gone and a growing part of her didn’t want to be saved.
It was then that Keirah realized Noir was not holding her as he had been throughout the night. She pursed her lips and swung her legs over the side of the bed before indulging in a long stretch as she stood. Maybe he was in the living room or somewhere else in the apartment. As she walked out the door, she spotted the piano and paused. She wanted him to play for her again.
Once she exited the bedroom, her eyes began to seek out the only familiar face she knew.
And there he was.
“Well, uh, good morning, sunshine,” he cooed, folding the paper shut and placing it on the table. “How was your sleep?”
“Deep,” she murmured.
It was still somewhat difficult for her to wrap her mind around something as simple as conversing with a known murderer, so she tried not to speak too much. She walked over to the dining table, a bit hesitant, but confident nonetheless. Up close, she could see Noir was now fully decked out in his uniform, save for the fedora.
“And yours?” she asked as an afterthought, taking a seat across from his standing form.
Noir looked at her once again before leaning toward her, his palms placed firmly on the side of the table. “Quite well, my dear,” he told her. “Thank you.”
Keirah felt her throat swallow of its own accord and she nodded a couple of times. Her eyes traveled to the paper Noir just discarded. The headline on the front page of the Onyx Times read Onyx’s New Rosebud? She furrowed her brow at the picture that accompanied it; a tall man with more muscle than a football player was standing there, with jet-black eyes, a sadistic smile, and a mask over his face. Keirah nibbled her bottom lip without realizing it.
“I, ah, well, I see you’ve noticed Onyx’s new visitor,” Noir said. When Keirah looked up at him, she could see his hazel eyes hardening and wondered if he knew this man personally. “He seems to want to, well, take over the town, really. People fear him because, ummm … because of his size, because of his height. Fear is invoked immediately. But what the people of this city don’t understand is he does not have the heart of a, hum … true criminal. He wants the usual things-ah. Revenge. Money. Women. Fame.”
“Do you know him?” Keirah asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Noir said, straightening up. His eyes flashed with obvious annoyance and something darker that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “We used to, well, work together. But you know the, um, cliché, I’m sure. Greed got between us. I, hum … intimidated victims. But he, well, he just went off the deep end-ah. When I heard about Onyx, I jump-ed at the chance. So we broke up. Not on friendly terms. And now it would seem he’s here. In my town. My turf.”
“So what are you going to do?” she asked him. She wouldn’t deny the worry that pushed her brow down. Even though Noir might have more intelligence than this man the Onyx media dubbed simply as Kane, but Kane appeared much stronger and she didn’t want him to get hurt.
Noir smiled, seemingly delighted by her response. “Worried, princess?” he asked, and then flicked his wrist dismissively. “No need to be worried. But to answer your, hum … question, I am going to rob a bank.” He paused and then leaned forward, capturing her eyes with his. “Would you … well, would you like to come?”
Keirah kept telling herself that she only agreed to accompany him to his bank robbery to keep an eye on him. She hated to admit that she actually cared about his well-being, but it was better than staying here and hoping he would turn up all right all while denying that she really didn’t care about him. She also didn’t want to think about her family, not when it sent stabbing guilt through her stomach. However, she wouldn’t go so far as to say that she actually reveled in the fact that his hazel eyes lit up and his lips curled into a knowing smile when she gave consent to accompanying him. It seemed he was utterly delighted and showed his excitement by grabbing her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers, while simultaneously coiling his other arm around her waist and pulling her toward him. Then he began to dance with her to the music only in his head, and dipped her at the end.
“Well-ah, this was, hum … unexpected, but quite enticing,” he said, pulling her back up. Instead of releasing her, he wrapped his other arm around her as well, pulling her as tightly as he could against him. His eyes sought out hers and she found herself becoming more comfortable with such blatant stares to the point where she began to return them. His hands moved from her waist to her shoulders, cupping them gently as his thumbs stretched out and caressed the graceful curve of her collarbone. “We just ah, well, we need to figure everything out.”
Twenty minutes later, Keirah was in a miniskirt, a tight black, long-sleeved shirt, and black high heels she didn’t think she could actually maneuver in. When Noir handed her a red wig, she had to fight the question that begged to be asked: “Where the hell did you get all these random articles of clothing?” Judging from yesterday’s company, she figured they belonged to previous guests and just prayed they had been thoroughly washed.
When she emerged from the bathroom, a long, low whistle followed her. Keirah turned so she faced the living room and arched a brow as she noticed Noir leaning against the arm of the couch, his hands resting in his pockets and his fedora on his head. “Don’t you look dapper?” he asked, pushing up from his position and sauntering over to her. His eyes studied her unabashedly, taking in every curve and the flesh of her legs revealed by the miniskirt. He placed his hands on their usual place—her hips—as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “You look verrry alluring, princess.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then, surprising herself, she leaned into his hug. Her forehead touched his sturdy shoulder and her arms lifted until they locked around his neck. It shocked her how natural the act came to her, how natural it felt to hold him in her arms, but after knowing this man, there was little that could surprise her concerning him and her reactions to him. She actually felt herself relax and allowed a tiny feeling of security from being in his arms to fill a portion of her heart. “So what am I going to be doing?”
“Good question!” he exclaimed and smacked his lips together. “It’s, uh … well, it’s quite easy, my dear, because all you have to do is go into the bank and, hum … pretend you’re making a deposit. Keep an eye on things and such.” His eyes hardened as his grip on her waist tightened. “And make sure you leave when you’re supposed to, my love. Do not make yourself, uh, a liability because, well, because that would be bad.”
Keirah walked into Onyx First National Bank at approximately ten thirty on Saturday morning. The bank was larger than most, with a high ceiling and polished floor. There was a long row of tellers, all busy, their windows open rather than protected by a thick pane of bulletproof glass. She headed over to the line in the middle of the building, taking a spot behind a tall balding man dressed in a suit. She made sure to keep her eyes straight ahead of her so she wouldn’t bring unwanted attention to herself. Without realizing it, she placed her hands on her hips and began to tap her foot. Her mind drifted to Andie and her heart clenched with guilt. Andie was probably sick with worry about her safety and here Keirah was, robbing a bank with her captor.
A few minutes later, only one customer in line moved. A whistle sounded behind her and she jumped. Glancing over her shoulder, she expected Noir’s familiar hazel eyes staring back at her. Instead, icy blue eyes belonging to a guy a few years older than she was locked with hers and a shiver ran down her spine. This was most definitely not Noir and she quickly turned back around.
“Ah, come on, doll face,” he drawled, with a distinct Zone accent. “Don’t be so cold.”
Keirah remained silent, unsure and awkward in these types of situations. She figured if she reacted in some way, it would only add fuel to the fire.
“Ah, toots, now the silent treatment?” He stepped closer to her so he could ask the question over her shoulder. “Now, shucks, I don’t deserve that.” H
e placed his hands on her shoulders and she tensed.
“Please don’t touch me,” she told him under breath.
“So now you talk, eh?” He smirked, tightening his hold on her.
Before Keirah could respond, a shot was fired and the man behind her dropped. She squealed, caught so off-guard that she nearly tripped over herself. Her fingers steepled around her mouth and she didn’t even notice the bangs of the red wig anymore. She didn’t want to look. The man had been alive just seconds before and now he was dead in his own blood, his crumpled form just a few inches from her. She heard one of Noir’s henchmen ordering all the bank’s inhabitants to sit on the floor while another began tying their wrists together with cord. Keirah had no idea how she got into a sitting position nor did she notice a man tie her wrists together. She only reconnected with reality when she looked up at Noir. He, too, was in disguise—a postman—hiding his identity while he robbed the bank. They made eye contact for a brief moment and she could easily read anger showcased in his golden irises.
“Now,” one of the men said as soon as a large mail cart was nearly filled to the top with bags of money, bonds, and other valuables, “to make sure none of you will do something stupid, we’re going to need hostages.”
Noir walked over to Keirah and grabbed her so she stumbled up and into him. Around her, the other robbers were doing the same. He turned her around so her back pressed against his chest and he placed the barrel of his gun on the column of her throat, the same column he’d kissed not twelve hours ago. Slowly, he began to back up. Before heading to the mail carts, he shot his two henchmen, narrowly missing their captives, while keeping a strong hold on Keirah. The pair walked over to the mail cart, and after putting his gun in the front waistband of his pants, placed both his hands around her so they gripped the cart while keeping her trapped between his arms. With that, he walked out of the bank like he was any other postman who happened to have a hostage with him.
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