Blake: An Eidolon Black Ops Novel: Book 2

by Wade, Maddie

  She sighed and Bebe laughed, the deep rich sound matching the deeply seductive mystery of the woman with her dark brown, almost rich chocolate, coloured hair and her big brown, almost black eyes, their slight almond shape showing her heritage. “Want me to stick around and keep you company?”

  Pax could see she needed about three days of sleep and wasn’t going to keep her from her bed. “No. You look exhausted and this is hardly a high crime area.”

  Hereford was on the border between England and Wales and while definitely still in England and the locals would gut you if you called them Welsh, it was still relatively safe.

  “Okay. If you’re sure, I’ll head out. I have a large glass of wine and a hot bath with my name on it waiting for me.” Bebe smiled as she waved and slipped out the door.

  Pax went back to the pick list in front of her. She had three girls out of the country that needed go bags put in safe places before midday tomorrow. She still couldn’t get hold of the new supplier for the discreet weapons she needed, and her feet were hurting. She wanted to go home, pour herself a gin and tonic, slip into shorts and a vest top, and read the new thriller on her kindle.

  She knew that wasn’t going to happen though. She would go home and start researching a way into the Palace, study the skills she would need to get the nannies job for Princess Louisa without Blake’s help.

  Pax looked at her watch and cursed. The client was late, not that it was unusual. People with money often thought they could come and go as they pleased without a thought for anyone else. Unfortunately for them, Athena Art Gallery didn’t work that way. She would give them ten minutes and then she would close up. Packing the paperwork away and locking the computer down, she moved to the gallery area and double checked the security on the paintings.

  If there was one thing Zenobi did well, it was security. Nobody would get past and it was why they didn’t have security guards. That and the girls, which for all her lack in that area included her, were better trained than any security guard.

  Checking her watch she noticed the ten minutes were up and with a shrug flipped the lights off in the gallery, leaving only the lights that illuminated the paintings themselves on.

  She moved towards the desk to collect her bag when she heard a sound a split second before someone shoved her violently forward. Her face hit the edge of her desk, the pain sending her vision blurry for a second as warm blood trickled down her face. Grabbing the edge of the desk she used it to balance herself as she kicked back with her leg, catching her attacker on the side of his knee. He yelped in pain and Pax was surprised at how quickly he seemed to recover as she felt her hair being grabbed from behind. Twisting, Pax realised she was facing two men rather than just one, and it was the second that had her hair in his grip. She fought harder, fear mixing with adrenalin as the man holding her hair released it and grabbed her around her arms, securing her against his massive body. Pax tried to stay alert, to clamp down the fear that threatened to make her weak. Both men had ski masks on, and were big, well over six feet tall and muscular.

  She struggled to try to loosen the grip the man had on her as the one she had kicked moved in closer. His hands balled into fists as she tried to get free, but she didn’t have the same skills as the others. A blow to the ribs made her lose her breath as pain radiated outwards. Another to the other side made her cry out and she saw the man smile.

  A thousand thoughts went through her head as punch after punch landed on her body and face until she felt numb. Her left eye was closing, and she could barely breathe such was the pain throughout her body.

  Finally the man holding her spoke. “Enough. It’s only a warning. We weren’t meant to kill her.” Pax immediately recognised his Boston accent.

  “Let her go.”

  The other man’s accent was less pronounced but still unmistakably American. She felt arms let her go and she fell to her knees as the man who had beat her caught her around the throat with his meaty hands.

  Her hands flew to her neck, clawing at his hands as he squeezed. She felt her eyes go wide in terror as he began to choke her. Her vision started to go black as small dots danced in front of her. Seconds before she passed out, he released her, shoving her to the ground as she coughed and gasped, trying to get oxygen into her burning lungs which hurt like a bitch because of her damaged ribs.

  “Stay away from things that don’t concern you, bitch. Daddy can’t protect you this time.” The man spat the words at her before he hauled back and kicked her in the stomach, making her lose her much-needed air.

  She watched from the floor as the two men left, letting the door slam shut behind them. Pax absently heard the sound of a car as it screamed away from the curb. She lay on the floor letting the pain radiate through her as she caught her breath. She knew the cameras would have captured it all and felt humiliation bubble under her skin. None of the others would have allowed that to happen. She needed to delete the footage before they saw it. Dragging herself upright took longer than she anticipated, sweat beading her brow as she struggled through the pain her ribs and abdomen.

  She would have horrendous bruises tomorrow and she didn’t even want to think what her face looked like. After what felt like a lifetime, she got to the door, closing and locking it behind her before slowly making her way to the back office, copying and then deleting the footage.

  She didn’t want anyone else to see it, but she wasn’t stupid—she knew it was evidence and could hold clues. Once she had finished what felt like a herculean task, she considered how she would drive in such a state. But her options were limited. She would never walk it and a taxi driver would ask a thousand questions before demanding she go to the hospital. Driving was the only option.

  Bending to nab her bag from the floor, she hissed in pain at the movement. Walking slowly to the exit, she bowed her head and avoided the camera as she locked up and went to her car. Pax drove home slowly thanking all the gods that she drove an automatic and had no need to keep changing gears. Even that minuscule movement hurt. Parking on the drive of her two-bedroom house, she cut the ignition and took a moment before hauling her body out of the car and ducking her head again so none of her neighbours would see her. The sky was dusky as the summer day gave way to the anonymity of night. Placing the key in the lock she let herself in and felt an instant sense of peace.

  Her home was her sanctuary against everything that went on in her life. She had bought and paid for it with her inheritance from her grandmother on her mom’s side. Every item in the house was hers, earned with hard work and tears. The money her father tried to put in her bank account was refused every month. Eventually she’s started sending it straight to a charity she chose at random.

  Pax moved forward, down the sleek wide hallway with cream walls and a blue-grey gloss on the woodwork, the floors a dark oak colour with a blue abstract patterned runner up the middle. That room led to the large kitchen diner with double doors out onto the lawn and deck area.

  The kitchen had pale grey shaker-style units with white marble countertops in a U-shape separating the areas in the kitchen diner. Pale grey tile on the floor was repeated in the dining area that held a round, glass table. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet above the sink, Pax filled it with water and knocked back two ibuprofens for the pain. They wouldn’t kill it but they would take the edge off so she could at least undress.

  Turning back the way she came, she moved slowly up the stairs wincing in pain with every step until she reached her bedroom. This was her favourite room in the house with its pale blush walls, thick cream carpet, and her king-sized bed with a floral pink and cream comforter and six toss pillows.

  Pax took a minute and sat on the edge of the bed gingerly. She needed to get cleaned up, wash the blood from her face, and assess the damage to her body. Then she had to figure out a way to stop Roz from finding out one of her girls had let someone get the drop on them.

  Feeling the painkillers finally start to offer some relief, Pax moved into the bathroom a
nd looked in the mirror. It was as she feared—her cheek was cut but not deep enough to need stitches. Her eyes were black with the left one slightly closed, the finger marks on her throat were clear as crystal. She lifted her top and there was a bruise on her abdomen, and both her ribs were a marble of black and purple.

  Never in her life had Pax been more thankful for the person that invented shirt dresses. She was going to write them a personal thank you just as soon as she felt like holding a pen. Slipping the buttons through the pale green silk buttonholes she let the fabric pool at her feet before she stepped into the hot shower allowing the hot spray to hit the cuts on her face and clean the blood away. Not bothering to wash her hair because she knew lifting her arms would be more pain than she could cope with right now, she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her.

  After letting her body dry naturally, she slipped on the sleep shorts and vest by pulling it up from the bottom and climbed into bed. Pax thought sleep would be impossible and she’d spend all night going over it in her head, but blessedly she slept.

  Chapter Five

  Blake woke early as was his way. His head was clear despite the nine pints the night before and he knew he needed to drag his ass for a run. Crawling out of bed he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt he then necked a pint of water. Dehydration was a kicker at the best of times but in this heat, and with a hangover, it was a double whammy.

  Hitting the street, he ran towards the park eager to see if he would run into Pax again though he thought the odds were slim. When she was knocked back, she didn’t strike him as the type to ask twice. In fact, he half expected her to make him work for it when he said he would help her. He smiled looking forward to it.

  After five miles he called it a day and went to shower and change. He was out the door by five past eight and driving towards Pax’s home. He knew where she lived, he’d made it a point to find out when they came back from Monaco. Her home was in the small village of Bartestree to the North of the city centre. It was a beautiful area and her house was on a small and exclusive estate with only five other homes. All ‘new builds’ with extensive gardens and private driveways and he wondered why she’d chosen there. He pictured her in a large apartment on the river not in a small detached house.

  Parking, his smile grew as he prepared for the mental battle of wills he was about to face with Pax. If he were lucky, he would catch her still in bed all rumpled and mussed from sleep. The thought made his body respond as he banged on the door and waited for her to answer.

  He looked up at what he assumed was a bedroom window and then banged again when she didn’t answer. She was definitely there—her car was in the drive and he could see her bag on the floor in the kitchen as he looked through the window.

  “Come on, Pax, open up. I know you’re in there.”

  He saw movement at the upstairs window and grinned. She had been in bed. He waited for her to come downstairs wondering what was taking so long and then guessing she was probably making him wait on purpose. He heard the lock turn on the other side and grinned as she pulled the door open.

  The smile died on his face when he got his first glimpse of her. His gut twisted and bile fury made his blood burn and his hands shake. “What the fuck happened?”

  He pushed past her careful not to jostle her as he did. Her face was a mass of purple bruises from her eyes—one of which was closed—to her nose. His eyes moved down her throat and he had to physically restrain himself from going nuclear and scaring her when he saw the bruises on her neck.

  Some motherfucker had put his hands on her perfect peach skin. Had dared to hurt a woman he cared about. A lot, if his need to hunt down the man or woman who had done this and break every bone in their body was any indication. He cared about this woman who hid behind her armour of designer clothes—more than he had even realised.

  The way she moved towards him, her hand wrapped around her middle as she walked gingerly past him, made him realise the damage was worse than what he could see. Bile crawled up his throat at the thought.

  Blake followed her keeping a tiny bit of distance between them. “Pax.” He called her name softly as they reached her immaculate and unused kitchen if the pile of takeaway menus were anything to go by. He moved in front of her as she dropped her face, not looking at him. He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Honey, talk to me, please. Tell me who did this.”

  Her eyes met his and he saw shame, pain, and a hint of stubbornness that made him breathe a little easier. “Don’t know. Just know I was warned to keep my nose out of things that don’t concern me and that my dad couldn’t protect me this time.”

  He would deal with that in a second, but he needed to know how serious her injuries were. “Did you go to the hospital?” She shook her head. “Call Roz?” Again she shook her head. “Where did this happen, Pax?”

  “At the Gallery. I was just closing.”

  “They left you on your own?” He felt anger bubble in his blood at the thought of her facing someone on her own.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “The other girls would never have let this happen to them. It was my own fault. I should have been more vigilant.”

  “Bullshit,” he roared and watched her wince. He instantly felt bad for shouting. “I’m sorry, Pax, but this is not your fault. It could happen to anyone. Fuck, it’s happened to most of us at some time or another. You don’t do dangerous jobs without taking a hit now and then.”

  He moved closer. She was looking at him like she didn’t recognise him, and it frightened him. He wanted her smart mouth and witty comebacks. He wanted his Pax back—his Pax. Was she his? He didn’t know but suddenly he realised he wanted her to be.

  “They only beat me,” she said.

  “They? Only?” he asked confused for a second and stunned at the realisation there was more than one attacker.

  “I mean they didn’t rape me or assault me sexually. This was a warning.”

  Blake nodded not fully understanding but he would. He would get answers just as soon as he made sure she was okay and not bleeding internally. He rested his hand gently on her hip bone and stroked his thumb over her cheek with whisper-soft tenderness. “You gonna let me check you over or am I driving you to the hospital?”

  “You can do it.” Her voice was husky, either from being strangled. Or maybe, just maybe, if the beating pulse in her neck was any giveaway—it was him.

  “Do you want to do it in here or the bedroom?” He watched her eyes dilate and she leaned into him slightly not even realising she was doing it.

  “What?”

  He wondered how hard she’d hit her head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, honey. When I fuck you it won’t be when you’re too busted up to enjoy it.” His grin seemed to snap her out of her fog.

  “Pig,” she responded but with little heat.

  “Let’s go into the living room and I can check your ribs.”

  Blake pulled her gently with him to what he assumed was the living room. He wasn’t convinced he could keep it professional if he got her upstairs. Reaching the door to the living room he pushed through and took in the cream carpet, cream couches, and pale dusky purple walls. A large television dominated the wall above the fireplace where a log burner sat below a heavy oak mantle. He was tempted to lecture her about having a tv on the wall above a fireplace but curbed it, deciding the timing was most definitely wrong. Vases of fresh flowers sat on end tables beside the sofa and a deep cuddle chair with an open book placed face down was on the back wall.

  He realised that he had made a mistake when he’d thought this didn’t suit Pax. It did suit her, just not the Pax she showed the world. The Pax that was starting to worm her way under his skin was a different thing, and this suited that Pax perfectly.

  Blake led her towards the sofa facing away from the window and stopped. “You’re going to need to lift your top.”

  He looked down and for the first time really took in the long legs, the shapely thighs, and the thin vest top that barely covered he
r tits. He sucked in a silent breath and said a prayer for patience.

  Pax looked at him a beat before she slowly lifted the top until it was just beneath her tits, their curve teasing him. Blake instantly forgot about her sexy curves when the black and blue of her ribs came in to view. The desire to punch something made his body vibrate with suppressed anger.

  Whoever had given this so-called warning had really gone to town on her. Her ribs were a marble of bruises in differing shades of blue and purple. His eyes shot to hers and saw she was watching him.

  “I need to touch you, make sure they aren’t broken.” Blake’s words were half request and half apology. He knew this would hurt and the thought of causing her any more pain than she was already in filled him with horror.

  “It’s okay, just do it.”

  Blake gently checked her ribs noticing the inhale as he did and offering her an apologetic look. “Sorry, honey.”

  He dropped his hands a few minutes later when he was satisfied her ribs were only bruised and not broken. It wouldn’t feel like much of a comfort to her at that moment, but it made him give a sigh of relief. “Bruised not broken. You need to keep on top of the painkillers.” He took a step back and moved towards the kitchen.

  Pax followed him at a much slower rate than usual. He could feel her watching him as he walked to her freezer and started hunting through.

  “What are you doing?”

  He lifted his head and grinned. “Ice.” He held up some frozen sweetcorn. “You need to ice them regularly to keep the swelling down.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess.” She shrugged then winced at the movement. “Fuck that hurts. Tell me this heals quickly?” she implored; her face worried.

  Blake wrapped the sweetcorn in a dishcloth and turned her back towards the living room. “Yeah, it will hurt bad for about a week. You need to rest, ice them, and keep on top of the pain relief and breathe normally. You need to make sure your lungs inflate and clear properly or you’ll get an infection that can quickly turn to pneumonia if you’re not careful, and that shit is serious.”