Black Queen, Dark Knight II

by Avant, Amarie

  “That’s right.” Trick stuffs one last piece of toast in his mouth. “We’ve got some time. Should we start the day right?”

  “No.” I speak too quickly.

  Mikayla’s eyes brighten, intrigued by our display. “I’ve gotta know what Trick’s point of view of ‘starting the day right’ entails—if it doesn’t include this hearty breakfast, wine, and two killers.”

  “You’re on to something there.” Trick slides out his cellphone. “Jag, I took that gig you were eyeing off the market. Some slimeball wanker in the area. We can share this one with Kayla here, get her hands bloody.”

  “Are you talking about . . .” she murmurs, taking the phone from him. I glance over Mikayla’s shoulder at the X-Member mark. I had considered agreeing to the mission while being in the area this weekend but knew that if I didn’t get Mikayla back soon, my marksmanship would be off kilter.

  Trick rubs his hands together. “Would be fun? Us taking this assignment with your bonny lass?”

  “Um, no.” Mikayla slides the phone back over. “I can’t condone your behavior. Besides, I’ve been pitted in enough arguments these past few months in my kingdom. Trick, you promised me tranquility this weekend.”

  He stares at her like some sort of foreign object, and I chuckle low in my abdominals. I won’t speak for Trick; however, dissecting a potential mark and the how that person will be expired is the archetype of serenity to a hitman.

  Trick leans forward, speaking in a whisper. “Jag, tell the girl. There’s nothing like claiming a life. It’s there, right friggen there.” He holds his hand up as a weight. “Just as tranquil as becoming immune to various poisons.”

  “I don’t . . .” She shakes her head. “I’m astonished. Thanks, Trick.”

  “Tell her, Jag.”

  Shrugging, I nod my head. “I don’t agree with his poison stuff but killing does have its delights.”

  “Tsk.” Trick pulls up his thick left forearm to show a multitude of scars, which are most notable in a tribe from New Guinea. The bastard’s crazy. Looking at his arm, she gasps in shock. “Each one done with a knife dipped in venom, sweetheart. Tell Jag to do the honors. You’ll—”

  “No, thank you.”

  Trick pushes away from the table and stands up, shaking his head. He steps away to pay the tab.

  Mikayla smiles at me. “You have one crazy friend there.”

  “Not my friend.”

  “Okay, whatever you say, Jagger.”

  I grip her thigh under the table and press my lips to her mouth. “Fuck, I really need to get you away for a while.”

  “Mmmm.” She smiles against me. “Let the desire build, Jag. Tonight, I won’t let you take your hands off me.”

  “You won’t let me.” I squeeze tightly, my fingers chewing softly into her skin, bringing with it enough pain to make her tremble beneath my hand. “I won’t let you cum until your throat is on the verge of breaking.”

  I massage away the pain and kiss the woman that I’ll have with me until the end of time.

  3

  Mikayla

  Prior to descending in London, Trick mentioned that he didn’t know where we would stay. Our luggage is in the backseat of the Mini Cooper that was waiting for us on the tarmac. We’ve left London for a neighboring small town. The streets are picturesque; landscaped homes, children playing. Trick continues through the tightknit community of cottage-style houses. About half a mile out, there looms an imposing family estate. Stone walls and green moss creeping up them, give it character and a warmth that such a mansion of a home normally wouldn’t have.

  Wow, this would be the perfect hideaway for Meghan and Harry if they craved a staycation just outside of the confines of the city.

  I get out of the backseat, unable to keep my eyes off it.

  I turn my eyes to stare at Trick. He slides the leather jacket from his perfect swimmer’s body. Aside from both having broad shoulders, he is nothing like Jagger. Dark hair and eyes, so delectably dark, they scared me during our first encounter—that and he was thinking about killing me. He’s a lot leaner, and probably pushing six feet, but not quite as tall as Jagger. The man is beautiful, only made more gorgeous by his British accent.

  But he is too weird. At least today, he dressed in normal attire for his niece’s soccer game.

  “This your house?”

  “Yeah.” He closes the driver door, and instead of heading up the fragmented stone, he leans against the car, pulling a cigarette from his back pocket.

  “Now, we wait,” he says, shoving a hand through his jet-black hair. His gaze never meets the fortress of a home. It’s almost like the boogeyman has something to fear.

  “But shouldn’t we go inside?”

  Jagger nudges his chin, and we walk closer to the house. I feel like a voyeur for glancing inside. From a window, I can see that there’s a sweeping staircase, crown molding, all the old country beauty that a Los Angeles realtor would glamorize to mark up the price of a million-dollar home. Really, the place would take my breath away if the love of my life weren’t standing before me with something to say.

  “He’s not going to let us in the house, Mikayla.”

  “Why not?” My arms fold. We had stayed at the place he had in Nevada. The outside had looked like crap, and it was in the same lot as a seedy strip club, but inside, nothing but the finest designs were used to house his armory. “Oh.” It dawns on me.

  “Yup.” He nods.

  This is the house that Trick owned before his wife died.

  “He’s nicer to you than I’ve ever seen him with any of the female assassins, Mikayla. Though, he flirts,” Jagger says, lips taut with momentary jealousy. “I think he views you like a kid sister. Even so, he won’t even look at the front door, let alone go any closer to it.”

  I glance over to Trick. His eyes, the color of obsidian, are beautiful and black. His dark hair that I thought was black as well, has faint blond highlights beneath the pale English sun. He looks badass and confident except for the slight tension in his mouth. What kind of man was he before his wife died? Was he an assassin? Did she die because—

  “My Kayla.” He pronounces each word, though this time it’s not as friendly as usual. “You are realizing that your good mate is just a sad, poor fuck, eh?”

  “U-um,” I stutter. His tone is hard. That’s his way of telling me to stop looking at him with sympathy. Shit, my mind wandered too much. Even when Trick’s joking at times, I notice his tone is steely, but now, it’s made more pronounced by the way he stares at Jagger and me. The way he stares at us tears at my heart for a split second. My eyes prickle. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Yeah. The caretakers enjoy it.” He pulls his phone out and busies himself by typing on the screen. “But you’re a queen, and I will not let you stay anywhere that isn’t five-star. Sorry about not having a hotel suite at the ready for you.”

  “Trick, you know me. It’s quite alright.” I smile softly. Damn, if we’re not permitted to stay here or even discuss it, since Trick refuses, then I doubt he’ll let me ask about his wife.

  He starts down the driveway as a car pulls up. The back door opens, and a teen in a soccer uniform with milk-white skin gets out. She runs to him, slamming into his arms. He takes a few exaggerated paces back.

  “Bollocks, Anna! What have you been eating?” He pats the top of her head as she shakes her chestnut waves.

  “Uncle Harry, I’ve missed you.”

  Harry? My eyebrow raises, and Jagger chuckles softly.

  “I’ve missed you too, snot face.” He lets her go, and she mumbles under her breath about not using her childhood nickname so loudly. “So, wot? I have gifts. I brought with me the barmy wanker who messed up our visit. And of course, the princess—who is now a queen.”

  Anna gasps. “Queen Mikayla Mthembu Rakoto!”

  Though my heart is weary for Trick, I smile at the young woman who has to be about fourteen years old. She comes over to me, bowing, dark brown eyes widenin
g.

  “You don’t have to bow, please.”

  “I do.” She completes the pose.

  “And you are Harry’s friend?”

  Jagger’s eyebrows lift as he stares at Trick. “Harry? And you have the nerve to call me Juggernaut?”

  Everyone shakes hands.

  Anna turns around to Trick and says, “I have to use the restroom. Mum says to ask you, but you’re always conveniently outside waiting when we get here. Can I?”

  Trick glares toward the Volkswagen. A woman, who has to be his sister, with the same dark hair only in a pixie cut winks at him. This must be her tough love.

  He tosses keys to Jagger before I can blink. Speaking over his shoulder, he says, “Open the door will ya, so I can go give snot face’s mum a hug.”

  “Eh, never mind.” Anna’s heart seems to sink. She speaks low for just Jagger and I to hear. “He never lets us in the house anymore. We always had such nice Christmases.”

  “Do you remember your last one?” I ask as we head to Trick’s sister’s car.

  “I was very little when Aunt Alice died.”

  “Alright, you two.” Jagger hushes us. “Respect his wishes.”

  I purse my lips at him.

  Trick sits in the front seat, reaches over and hugs his sister. While we get into the back, I’m squeezed in the middle.

  “Dorothy.” His sister holds her hand out. “Nice to meet you all, excuse my daughter. Anna just misses spending quality time with her uncle at his family home; although, we are in a rush.”

  * * *

  My throat is raw from all the screaming I did at the soccer game. Though I had been trying to learn more about Trick’s past, if there is one thing I know, that boy supports his family. We ended up at another pub, beers all around and endless mugs of root beer for Anna. The barkeep kicked us out at the stroke of nine with Trick ready to fight him, so that his niece could stay.

  The ride back is an hour of torture with Jagger quietly in my ear, breathing into existence all the nasty, dirty things he wants to do to me. Dorothy stops parallel to Trick’s beautiful, massive home. The three of us get out, and Anna gets into the front seat.

  Once Dorothy pulls away, we are like a trio act in a circus, climbing into the Mini Cooper. The walls of my pussy are screaming for action and damning Trick for his dysfunction. We are leaving such a perfectly good place where I could lay my head while Jagger’s strong frame glides between my thighs. Groaning, I set aside the image, placing my forehead on the chilly glass window—it isn’t enough to cool my core. Luckily, the excruciatingly long time it takes for of us to go back, in precisely the same direction we left, is cut in half since most of the traffic is leaving the city.

  Trick swoops into the drive of a grand hotel that would be considered a landmark in the States. I’ve gawked in awe at the mixture of ancient and new that London offers. We’ve passed by cathedrals that date back to the renaissance while across from it there’s a convenience store. Though the astonishing beauty of this place took my breath away earlier, it’s Jagger that’s has me delirious now. My skin aches, desiring his touch, and the burn intensifies when Trick hands us the key card to the hotel room he’s gotten for us.

  “Top of the world, lass.” He salutes me.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, hardly able to speak.

  Jagger holds me close as we all enter the hotel. The lobby is dimly lit. A bar is closed to the left side of us, and to the right, there are thick cushioned wingback chairs. It’s like an obstacle course for Jagger and me as Trick steers us around an accent table and a three-foot-high vase of green hydrangeas in the center. We file onto the elevator. He presses eight and thirty-nine.

  “What’s on level eight?” I ask.

  “My room, doll. It was either that or sleep in the car.” In a half a second, the doors are swooshing open for him to get out. “Sleep well, kids. Tomorrow, I show you the best parts of Lond—”

  The doors swoop closed before he can finish the statement.

  Damn, here I am ready to be screwed crazy, and emotions are flipping over in my belly. “I feel sorry for him.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “People die all the time, Mikayla. Besides, I don’t think he was with X-Member when Alice was murdered.”

  A hitch of air rolls through me. “Jag, seriously? ‘People die all the time.’ And then your tone, really sweet, adding the facts weren’t you?”

  “I’m horny; give me a fucking break.”

  I stare at him while the elevator continues to climb.

  He huffs. “Listen, we’re in a different world, Mikayla. I’ve promised to keep my assignments out of your hair. Truly, they’re the only way I will survive with you busy running a nation. So, forgive me for the facts. And I’d never let anything happen to you. He’s a man, and he failed at keeping his wife safe. Those are the facts.”

  We get off the elevator. “Do you know how his wife—”

  “Oh, fuck no.” He steps before me, and I almost bump into his chest “We’re not talking about Trick tonight. It’s just you and me, uthando. I’ll take you face down, ass up.”

  “You—”

  “Not allowed to speak unless you’re screaming my name, got that?”

  Not allowing me a moment to respond, my hair slaps me in the face as Jagger yanks me over his shoulder and starts down the hall. I giggle. This really has been a crazy two months.

  Inside the luxurious room, I pull my shirt off over my head, letting it fall. It has yet to hit the maple-wood floor with its fishbone pattern when Jagger has come out of all of his clothing in astonishing speed, snatching his shirt from his skin and tugging down his pants. His princely cock rises with two juicy, fat balls beneath it.

  “You weren’t wearing any—”

  “Hell no, Mikayla.” He steps closer to me, shoulders broad. He’s tall and such an imposing figure. It forces a hitch of fear into my throat when Jagger pulls me toward his dominatingly large body. Time has passed since that heavy cock of his has stretched out my insides.

  Am I ready?

  Jagger’s hand stops at the small of my back. My breasts are squished against his hard chest, sending another shock of fear and desire through me. His fingers trace gentle, leisurely circles over my spine, quickening the beat of my heart. I shiver, set off by how much I’m in love with this man.

  Jagger picks me up again, placing my legs around his hips and pushing me back onto the bed. I sink into the mattress, moaning at how good it feels below, and how hard he feels above me.

  I scoot up, attempting to take my jeans off. He clasps his hand over mine, stopping my movements.

  “Did I say?” he asks, not needing to finish the threat.

  My chest rises slowly as I take a cleansing breath of air. Jagger takes my shoes off. The slowness and deliberateness of his actions allow me time to think. I become attune with truth, which is how fatigued I am. And how raw I am with the intense desire of craving him, that it’s consuming my body. He tugs me out of my jeans, one hip then the other.

  He stands tall, looking down at me. “You’ve denied me this gorgeous body for two months.”

  “Sorry,” I respond meekly.

  “Don’t apologize now.” His teeth skim over my panties. He presses my knee across my body until my waist twists, and my hips and ass rise. His teeth sink into the meat of my ass until I gasp.

  “Owe . . .” I groan, pussy sparking with desire.

  Jagger kneels at the foot of the bed, pulling me like a rag doll until I’m almost falling off the edge. He presses my legs over his shoulders, his nose nudging against my panties. Sweet lust wets my thong until it’s soppy wet.

  “I said you weren’t gonna come so soon, right?” He reminds me of his threat from earlier—not until my throat was raw.

  Damn. Did he not know that just the sight of him made it oh, so easy for me to cum? He could just touch me, and I knew I’d be in trouble. Jagger’s eyes radiated cerulean fire. He smiles at the feeling
of drowning I’m experiencing. This is torture—breathless and unable to speak—all I can do is allow my eyes to plead for me.

  He peals my panties off, leaving me for a moment and sliding them into the back pocket of his jeans. “Those are so fucking wet, smell so fucking good. Now, they’re mine.”

  “They . . .” I find my voice, leaning on my elbows. Licking my lips, I attempt to please the beast. “They are yours. I’m yours, Jagger.”

  “I know.” His searing blue gaze trails over my thick, slick lips

  I work my hips a little, opening my legs wide, so he has a most entertaining and perfect view of my slick walls. I hope I’ve hypnotized him enough to penetrate me.

  He shoves a hand through his long hair and looks up at me. “Kayla, for the first time in my life, I understand why people stand in awe, staring at shitty paintings on walls.”

  “My pussy is yours, Jagger. You don’t have to stare.”

  The laughter from his powerful belly warms me over. It feels like I’m dying before his molten gaze. With bated breath, I watch as he kneels again. This time his breath glides across my legs. I wait for him to snatch away the loneliness and satisfy my depths the way only he knows. My lungs burn instead.

  “We made promises to each other yesterday, Mikayla.” His index finger twirls around the curls of my nether region as he stares at me, aware of my desire. “That I didn’t have to live without you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “That you are mine, and I own you.”

  “You do.” I press my hips down, so he can enjoy the display before him. I’ve become a fiend. My drug of choice is right before my gaze, and I’d lie, steal, kill for it. But am I in the position to commit those transgressions? No. A rush of desire burns my skin as I beg, “Jagger, I’m yours. Please, please fuck me.”

  My drug leans back on his haunches, stealing my breath away, moving further away from me.

  “Fuck your pussy,” he says lustfully. “Do not come, Mikayla.”

  “Nooooooo,” I moan. “I want you to do it.”