Harleigh_Dark Paranormal Romance

by Nikki Landis

  Jumping up, I run to the straightjacket and use it to wipe off most of the blood while I quickly shove my thong and the pale green scrub pants back on my naked bottom half. I’m nearly panicked, determined to leave by any means necessary. I have to get out of this room. The padded white walls seem to close in on me. The air hums with an odd sensation, similar to the time when I was attacked by the pool.

  Shit.

  I know what happens next.

  My vision begins to blur as my throat tightens. Weakly I stumble to the doorway as it opens and I catch the sinister gaze of a ruggedly handsome man with a leering and confident smile.

  He’s familiar in an odd way. I know him. I can feel him.

  His hands rise in what seems to be a mocking applause as he claps. Orderlies rush in toward me as I fall to my knees. The shadows are back, crawling into my mind, ripping my conscious thoughts away. They darken my vision and cloud my ability to fight. I’m at his mercy.

  When I hear his voice I know he’s the man from the speaker.

  I don’t know what game I’m playing but I think I lost.

  A syringe plunges into my neck and I falter.

  Before I pass out I hear his laugher, rippling along my spine in shimmering waves, and I shiver.

  He sounds just like . . . the Joker.

  Chapter 15

  I awaken with a jolt, my arms twitching at my sides as I raise my hands but unable to lift them up much farther than my chest. I’m handcuffed to a hospital bed but no longer in the padded white room of horrors. Ironically enough I’m located in a luxury office that smells of sandalwood and rich oil, leather, and a hint of lemon. Sunlight streams through the bright open windows and filters inside as dust bunnies scamper in the silent beams.

  “I see you’re finally awake.” The voice from the speaker. “It’s been hours.”

  I don’t reply, frustration and anger seeking dominance when I realize I’m trapped.

  “You should be thanking me. I reset that dislocated shoulder for you.”

  Ha, yeah I’ll get right on that. Fuck off.

  The deep timber of his voice drifts from the right and seems to hover like his dark presence. I can sense him so perfectly I feel a combination of excitement, caution, and lust crowding his other weaker emotions. I’m surprised he’s so easy for me to read and I suspect he’s toying with me somehow.

  “I suppose an introduction is necessary.” He moves from the dark corner and approaches the bed, his large frame settling as he sits on the edge of the mattress. “I’m Viktor.”

  “Blackstone,” I sneer, scooting as far from him as I can, which isn’t far enough.

  “You know, rumors aren’t always true. You should trust your instincts. They’re much more reliable.”

  “I don’t think my instincts were wrong when I was attacked by that asshole.”

  “And yet here you are. Accounts for something, correct?”

  Glaring at him, I try not to focus on the fact that he’s devastatingly sexy and attractive, his features nearly comic book like in their dark perfection. I must still be under the effects of the drugs in my system. This is total bullshit right now. Who cares how good looking he is? He’s obviously a psychopath.

  His wide mouth is drawn up in a sultry grin of amusement as I assess him. “You had to be tested. There’s no other way.”

  What a stupid excuse. “Says who? You?” I practically spit my words at him but he doesn’t move or flinch, instead he leans closer.

  “I do, and I needed to observe you Harleigh, when your instincts kicked in and you were threatened.”

  I’m tempted to yawn as if I’m bored but figure pissing him off while I need information is a bad idea. Maybe I’ll be nice and see what I can get him to reveal. “Aren’t you the friendly one? All nice advice and handcuffs. How sweet.”

  He chuckles at my sarcasm as he picks up my hand, running his fingers sensually over the top. “You can call me Viktor if you like . . . Harleigh.”

  So, he wants to play games? Fine, I’ll play. “I’m Ms. Quinlan. Thanks.”

  He tilts his head back and laughs hard for so long I don’t think he’s going to stop. “You exceed my expectations in every way Harleigh. I’m delighted.”

  “Good for you. I can’t say I feel all warm and fuzzy about it.”

  He lifts my hand up to his face as his tongue darts out and licks my palm. Shivering at the warm, wet sensation and rough texture I tug my hand away hoping he doesn’t notice the brief flicker of pleasure that betrays me. “I’ll lick other parts of you soon,” he states and stands, not waiting for my reply.

  I hope he’s leaving the room after that remark but he only walks to a large mahogany desk and picks up a file before returning to me and placing it in my lap.

  “Open and read,” he orders, his face a blank code that I can’t decipher.

  Against my better judgment I open the file carefully and immediately my heart starts to beat faster.

  It’s mine.

  Name: Harleigh Quinlan.

  Code Name: HARLEIGH

  Alias: Harley Quinn.

  Classification: Tier 1, Class HQ

  Status: Active.

  The picture is a decent shot of me and I’m dressed in full Harley Quinn mode. I think it’s a photo from a professional shoot Ivey and I did for fun last year. There’s a hand drawn heart in red ink next to my alias and I frown. “Why is there a heart drawn here?”

  Viktor smirks. “Is that really all you care about?”

  “I have many questions. That’s just the first one,” I quip, narrowing my eyes.

  “Well, if you must know, I drew the heart.”

  “Why?”

  “I may answer some of your questions Harleigh but not all.” The humor in his eyes is a direct contradiction to the deadly calm tone of his words. I’d have to tread carefully.

  “Fine, why is my file in your office?”

  “I kept it until the time we could meet,” he answers with a grin and leans closer. “I wanted to be the one who gave it to you.” Damn, Dev and Derek were so right about that.

  “Why?” I ask again but this time he seems to contemplate a response.

  “Let’s just say I have a vested interest.”

  “In what? My life?” That’s doubtful.

  “In your survival. I’m very interested in your success Harleigh.”

  I just want to spit out why again but I think he probably won’t tell me. Instead I ask another question that’s been on my thoughts since the warehouse office where I found all the files. “Why do you keep files on all of us?”

  He leans back and strokes his chin thoughtfully, as if he’s thinking of a response but I know a man as calculating as Victor Blackstone already knows exactly what he’s going to say. He’s simply dragging this out and toying with me, much to his amusement. His eyes dance with an inhuman zeal that makes my skin crawl as much as it entices me. “Blackstone Enterprises keeps files on all of our interests.”

  A vague and half-hearted reply.

  “I’m insulted. You expect me to be satisfied with that answer?”

  He laughs, “Of course not Harleigh but neither of us are fools, are we?”

  Certainly not but what’s the point then? “Why continue the charade unless you actually have information you’re willing to share?”

  “Indeed. Perhaps you ask the wrong questions and therefore you receive the wrong answers.”

  He actually just gave me a hint. The wicked devil. He’s still smirking at me but there’s an unguarded curiosity in his eyes that’s my window of opportunity.

  “Devon and Derek have files. I saw their classification. Have they ever been to this facility?”

  “Yes,” he answers, sitting back and crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Yes, as all the others have been.”

  All the others . . .

  My head lifts suddenly and I lock on his green eyes, hoping my surprise isn’t too evident. “That means I’ve been here too.”

  T
he smile fades from his face as a flicker of sadness and anger cross his features before he closes off his reaction. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  He shakes his head. Damn, wrong question.

  “I used to attend a special school when I was a child with my brother Devon. A school for the gifted.”

  He nods.

  “It was here?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t realize he’s holding my hand until I squeeze it tightly, afraid of delving any further but I must know the truth. “I have strange memories, they make me feel . . . afraid.” I’m not sure why I admit that to him but he scoots closer, his eyes softening for just a moment.

  “You should have questions . . .”

  “What happened here?” I ask with a whisper.

  He shakes his head and I nearly growl at him.

  “What kind of school was it?”

  “As you say, for those who are . . . uniquely gifted.”

  Latching onto the word unique, I gasp. “You mean genetic alterations, gene manipulation. Right?”

  He smiles wider, nearly frightening when he laughs. “Yes, if you wish to say it that way.”

  What other way was there to phrase it? A non-issue at present. “How did Dev and I end up at this school?”

  “Read,” he instructs, and flips the first page in the file.

  The next document is a letter, actually a series of letters and correspondence between my parents and the Graves School for the Gifted. To sum up the information within the pages suffice it to say that we were recognized as having extraordinary potential and the school wished to provide an education a normal school could never provide.

  I don’t understand. The sign outside said Graves Sanatorium, not a school. This is bizarre. “How were we recognized? How would the school know this?”

  Viktor’s features instantly darken as his eyes narrow. “He knew them.”

  He? Oh fuck! “You mean your father, Silas.” I know it’s the truth once the words pass my lips.

  “Yes,” he growls low.

  My heart is racing in my chest. I’m horrified to learn more but I have to see this through. I must know. “How did he know my parents?”

  “Indeed,” Viktor answers tersely. “Read.”

  My fingers flip a few more pages that contain more letters, medical release forms, and what appears to be DNA sequences and a complete medical history – from my birth all the way up to the present. Every doctor I’ve ever seen, every appointment, every medicine, any treatment I’ve ever had. All of it categorized. “I’ve been followed my entire life.”

  “Yes, but there’s more.”

  More? I gulp loudly and pass more medical documents until I come to a letter that causes the blood in my veins to turn cold. With shaky fingers I pick it up and read the lengthy piece of paper before grabbing the next few documents. I think I’m in shock.

  “Fertility treatments,” Viktor says with disgust.

  My head lifts until our eyes meet. “He helped my parents with infertility.”

  “Yes, although that’s only partially correct.”

  “He altered my genetic code, didn’t he? He tampered with my DNA.”

  “You became a child of the Collective, yes,” he confirms.

  “And my brother?”

  He points to the file and I continue reading more documents, one in particular lists my siblings. Yes, plural. Devon and two sisters. They were unnamed. “Your family sought the help of Dr. Blackstone for nearly a decade to conceive.”

  I’m shaking as I ask my next question, certain of the answer but needing confirmation. “My sisters?”

  “They didn’t survive.”

  Survive what? “The pregnancy or birth?”

  “Both.”

  So many conflicting emotions are raging under the surface – anger, fear, devastation, denial – and they nearly consume me. “Devon knows?”

  “He does, as well as others.”

  Others? “Ivey?” I’m so terrified for her. “Where is she?” I can’t believe I’ve only thought of her at this moment. “I want to know, now.”

  “She’s safe,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine.

  His sincerity stretches across his dark and tainted aura and I sense he’s telling the truth so I believe him. “Is she here?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  He said others, meaning more than just Ivey. “Derek?” I ask, dreading his answer.

  “Yes, among many more.”

  I want to know about my brother and Derek. The need to understand why they want revenge dominates my thoughts. What happened? Why do they hate Silas and Viktor Blackstone? These experiments and alterations happened long ago before we were born and yet I knew there had to be more reasons than simple genetic alteration. Silas was a sick man. My parents lost two children. What did Derek’s family lose?

  My curiosity burns and I want to ask but I don’t want to give away any more than he already knows. Viktor is dangerous, a deadly and sinister vibe hovers around his aura, and I don’t trust him. Knowing whether he’s being truthful or lying, sensing the emotions within him doesn’t erase the killer that lingers inside him ready to pounce.

  As I’ve been preoccupied with my thoughts he’s closed the remaining distance between us. “Harleigh, yield to me.”

  “Yield? What do you mean?” I’m caught by surprise when I see the blatant desire on his face.

  The bold hunger in his emerald eyes caresses my body and strokes my innermost thoughts, his fingertips brushing softly across my skin, leaving my flesh quivering beneath his strong and capable hands.

  My body reacts to him in ways I don’t understand, shivering with expectation. His arousal increases as he lifts his hand and a syringe appears. He’s so fast I don’t feel anything but a slight pinch and then I relax, the fight leaving my body as quickly as it tries to surface.

  “Why me?” I ask with a languid whisper.

  His finger glides gently across my cheek as I turn my head, alarmed at the attraction that is unmistakable in his eyes and my own amorous response.

  I want him, even as I want to hurt him.

  “You’ve always been my favorite Harleigh . . . my Puddin’.”

  Chapter 16

  The minutes and the hours pass. They combine into an endless parade of consistent ticks accompanied by the second hand of the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. The only noise is this one simple sound but it never stops, never falters just keeps on moving, no matter how much I scream. The effects of the drugs alter my perception of reality. I’m lost . . .

  Tick.

  I’m back in the straightjacket. I can’t move my arms. There’s no feeling in my fingertips.

  Rocking back and forth, I try to forget that sound.

  Tick.

  Make it stop. Please.

  My sanity is slipping away as I begin to laugh.

  Tick.

  I laugh until my voice is hoarse and I can’t continue, alternating between screaming.

  “Harleigh . . .”

  Tick.

  Derek. His voice. I don’t understand.

  How is Derek here?

  Tick.

  “No more!” I yell, shaking my head and throwing it back against the wall.

  Make it stop!

  Tick.

  “Harleigh . . .”

  I whimper. Not Derek’s voice. “Please,” I beg.

  Tick.

  “Open for me Harleigh, I want to taste you.”

  Moaning, my head tilts back, and my thighs fall open willingly.

  Tick.

  There’s no fighting this . . .

  No fighting him.

  His arousal scents the room, surrounds and penetrates every layer of my skin.

  Tick.

  I feel the slightest chill from a light breeze filter into the room.

  I’m bare from the waist down. My ass rests against the lumpy mattress as I shake my head.

  Please.

  Tick.

&
nbsp; Strong fingers brush along my skin and push me back, forcing my body backward as the straightjacket is chained to the wall, metal clasps lashed to metal rings anchored to the bed frame.

  I’m trapped in a web. Prey.

  Tick.

  “Harleigh.”

  Please. Not Derek. “Don’t use his voice against me,” I plead.

  Tick.

  My head rolls around on my neck. I’m dazed.

  Something is wrong. I can’t think or concentrate or string two coherent words together for more than a few seconds.

  I’ve been drugged.

  Tick.

  I feel a hot mouth press to my inner thigh, my core exposed as my legs are slowly spread farther apart.

  “I love your sweet pink little cunt,” Derek says and I squirm, aroused by his sexy deep voice and the heavy timber of the chords as they vibrate against my sensitive mound.

  Tick.

  A rough tongue is licking me, savoring my taste. I hear a groan of pleasure.

  My hips move, thrusting upward.

  Tick.

  I’m moaning, writhing, my hips moving against my control.

  Two fingers slip inside me, pumping with a consistent and gentle motion.

  Tick.

  I’m so slick, driven by need.

  “Harleigh, I want you to come on my tongue.”

  Tick.

  The pressure increases.

  The hot, wet tongue flicks at my clit as I lift my hips and cry out. My head falls back as I moan louder.

  Tick.

  “Please,” I whimper.

  Teeth nibble my flesh, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

  Tick.

  The noise of the clock no longer seems to bother me. My hips rotate as my breath hitches in my throat. I’m sinking into bliss . . .

  Magical fingers are bringing me closer to my release.

  Tick.

  There’s friction from my slick entrance as I move, rocking against the face that drives such immense need within me. I’m ready to give in to the pleasure.

  I can’t fight it.

  Tick.

  “Give in to me. Come!”

  His words shatter me.

  There’s no holding back. My release hits with fierce abandon.

  Tick.

  As I come with hard and exquisite agony, it’s not Derek’s face I see or his voice I hear.