Keirah looked into the dark night warily, her brows pushed together as she saw the sleeping homeless in the rain and the crime taking place. No one attempted to hide the fact that they were breaking the law. A shiver of fear ran down her spine and she shuddered, shaking her head, her eyes now focused on the driver’s seat.
A chuckle resonated beside her and she glanced up at the person sitting next to her. How ironic, she mused. I’m more afraid of where I am than who I am with. The crinkles around his eyes actually added to his attractiveness instead of detracting from it. Keirah always found rugged men much more appealing than men with baby-faces. They looked … boyish, not man-like. Not like him.
“Are ya … well, are ya scared, princess?” Noir asked. From the way he was wearing his fedora, shadows covered the majority of his face, causing him to look more intimidating than usual. Keirah ignored his question and swallowed, but as usual, he didn’t need her response to continue whatever he wanted to say. “No need to worry, my love. I’m here!” With that, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her toward him, disregarding the fact that she was still buckled up.
“You wanna know what’s funny?” he continued, ignoring Keirah’s grunts of discomfort and coiling his long, gloved fingers around her shoulder, holding her tight. “Ya see, I have my-ah, humble abode in the Zone because people … well, they expect me to be here! The Zone is home to villains, vigilantes, criminals, whatever you wanna call ‘em, and as such, I belong here. It’s so beautiful, my pet! However, the Zone is home to the lowest of the low. I am not expected here because I am hum … the best of the best. Yet here … we … are.” He began to cackle.
“So what you’re saying is that because people label you as a criminal, you’re expected to reside in the Zone,” Keirah began slowly, trying to untangle the labyrinth of Noir’s latest riddle. “However, because you’re intelligent and dress nice, they wouldn’t expect you to be in the slums but you are …?”
“Precisely-ah, my dear!” he exclaimed gleefully and then patted her hair. “I always knew you were so smart. Ya see, the most complicated riddle is really the most simple to hum … solve.”
The drive lasted only another five minutes when the car pulled in front of what looked like a shabby, abandoned building shielded by other apartment complexes and buildings. The car, while in park, was still running. Noir opened the door and hopped out before turning around and looking at Keirah with a lazy, expectant expression. The cold of the night suddenly overwhelmed her and she quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted over the leather seats before getting out of the car. Her feet hit damp asphalt and the sprinkles that fell from the sky caused her to shriek and grab Noir’s hand almost subconsciously. He cackled, shutting the door behind her. His laughter pierced the silent night.
“Are you, ah, cold, my dear?” he asked. “Well, uh, I can fix that.” Before Keirah even realized what was going on, he swept her up in his arms bridal style, laughing as he did so. Keirah, still incredibly cold, pushed her body into his, hoping to leech off his body heat.
Without knocking, Noir burst through the lanky, wooden door. “I’m ho-ooo-ome!” he sing-songed, slamming the door behind him with his foot. He grinned at his joke and then looked at the three occupants who were staring at him. “Well-ah, look what the cat dragged in.”
“Boss, we didn’t know you was gonna get your own girl,” the scrawny one said. He looked intimidated by Noir’s presence, something that amused Noir. He was short—Keirah would guess five foot six—and constantly rubbed his hands together. “The hooker’s in your room, see. We got her just the way you like ‘em.”
Keirah felt an odd sensation boil in the bowels of her heart, and it wasn’t because Noir had yet to put her down. She didn’t like to admit that maybe she was jealous he was seeking pleasure from a common street whore—another typical sight in the Zone—but she should have expected it. All men had needs and Noir was a man. She couldn’t understand where this jealousy was coming from. She had no claim on him; she didn’t want a claim on him …
Right?
And yet, there was this burning curiosity inside her to see this woman, to see what he liked. It was an odd thought Noir might actually like something other than knives, explosions, and stabbing people.
“Well-ah, get rid of her,” Noir ordered before putting Keirah on her feet. “As you can see, I’ve got my woman.”
“She’s a pretty one, boss,” another voice said. This man was older than the previous speaker, taller too by about half a head. He was staring at Keirah with his murky grey eyes that traveled up and down her body. “Is she gonna be staying a while?”
Noir looked down at Keirah, a tight smile on his face as he, too, looked her up and down. It was odd; Keirah felt different when he looked at her compared to his henchmen. Instead of being disgusted, she felt self-conscious. His grip on her tightened as his head snapped back to look at the man who had spoken.
“She is really pretty, isn’t she?” he asked. Keirah recognized the dangerous sparkle that suddenly occupied the crevice of his hazel eyes. In a flash, his whole demeanor darkened and he roared, “If any one of you touches her, I hum … well, let’s just say I’ll make it so you can be in two places at once. She is mine and mine alone.” He returned to normal, as normal as he could be. “Do I make myself hum … clear?” The three men quickly nodded their heads and averted their eyes from Keirah, as though just looking at her would cause sudden dismemberment. Noir grinned, obviously pleased. “What’re you boys standing around for? Get rid of the, uh, whore.” The three scrambled to do as they were told, leaving a giggling Noir and a frozen Keirah behind.
“I would introduce you to my henchmen, my love,” he rumbled from beside her, “but uh even I don’t know their names-ah. They’ll be hum … dead by the end of the week.” He paused, his eyes searing into her skin, causing her mark to sting ever so slightly. “Sooooo, would you like the tour, princess?”
Keirah nodded her head and Noir wrapped his arm around her as he led her through the shabby apartment. The living room was nearly empty, with only a small, old television that probably didn’t receive more than two channels, sitting in front of a worn couch so ugly it looked as though it was bought by a blind person in the ’70s. There was a tiny kitchen with only the bare necessities: bowls, plates, cups, and utensils. Food was in the fridge, but not much; there seemed to be an excessive amount of purple grapes, however.
“They’re my favorite,” was the only explanation he gave her.
There was only one bedroom, probably solely reserved for Noir. As they entered, his three men were on their way out with the woman they got for him. Keirah made sure she took a good look at the woman, but she received no satisfaction from it. The woman looked nothing like her; she was a few inches shorter than Keirah with straight blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Her skin was tan, her body curvy. Simply put, she was stunning. Keirah silently wondered why this woman was working as a hooker when she could easily be a model. However, the woman’s smirk directed toward Noir as she was led out caused any appreciation for her to fade.
“You’re not jealous, my love, arrre you?” he asked, his eyes scrutinizing her sharply.
“Why would I be jealous of a hooker?” Keirah all but spat.
The man cackled, pulling her toward him. “Exactly, my dear!” he exclaimed, leaning his face down so it was nearly level with hers. “I love you, remember?” He pouted his lips and his eyes became large. “Yanno, it hurts when you don’t take my, ah, love for you seriously.”
“I just can’t comprehend how you already love me when we barely know each other,” she replied.
“Why, uh, why do you try to understand lah-ve, my darling?” he asked her. “Everyone-ah, from philosophers to hum … entertainers, from playwrights to, uh, well, poets—everyone has tried to analyze, to define, to coin what love really is, and you know what they all had in common?” His eyes darkened a fraction. “They failed. No one can understand the full extent of the emotion. Every
one has a, well, they have a different perception of what love really is, and it always hum … changes. Right now, my perception of love is you, only you. Who knows when that’ll change, if it does in the, uh, first place?”
Noir paused, his eyes taking in Keirah. The pools of hazel weren’t condescending as they looked at her, nor were they amused or angry. They were simply studious, as though he wanted nothing more than to memorize everything about the young woman before him.
“You, my dear,” he continued in his dark, melodious tone, “use other people’s definitions of love which is why you don’t hum … understand what you feel. You’re the only person who knows you best, doll. It rrreally makes no sense for you to adapt their interpretations as your own.”
Keirah’s mouth dropped open. How could someone so psychotic say something so poignant?
“So,” he said, standing at his full height and regarding her with an even gaze, “how do you feel … about me?”
Keirah tensed at the question. Noir seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to make her feel undeniably exposed.
“I think you’re a wicked human being,” she told him in a firm voice just above a whisper. She forced herself to lock eyes with him. “I think people think you’re psychotic because of how merciless you are, but you’re not. You’re not crazy. In fact, you’re incredibly rational. You do the things you do because you can.” She blinked in realization. “The most complex riddles usually have the simplest solutions,” she murmured to herself.
Noir smirked. “Very clever, princess,” he said, “but you didn’t answer my-ah question.”
“I think you’re smarter than people give you credit for,” she continued, unable to look away from him. “You use both their ignorance and arrogance against them.” She paused, her thoughts racing, her eyes searching the blankness of his own. “I really don’t know how I feel about you. Every logical piece of me tells me I should be afraid of you—and I am—yet there’s this part of me that … It makes me like you when I know I shouldn’t, when I don’t want to.”
Noir smiled in triumph as he finally led her back to the lone bedroom the two would be sharing for an indefinite amount of time. “I knew you’d warm up to me, pet,” he drawled. “Everybody always does.” He smacked his lips together, that sparkle reclaiming its position back in his eyes.
The first thing Keirah noticed in the bedroom was the only expensive thing in the entire apartment: a beautiful grand piano, placed against the wall, across from the bed. It looked brand new, maybe untouched. Her fingers itched to caress the ivory keys. Granted, she never took lessons but she knew the melody of a few songs and loved playing them.
“Do you play?” she asked hopefully, spinning around so she faced him.
“The, uh, piano?” he asked, furrowing his brow. He stepped over to the instrument using large, dramatic steps until his shins brushed the bench. His finger was resting on his bottom lip, his other hand holding his elbow, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he sat down, almost unsure, before taking off his leather gloves and resting them beside him. He paused, and without warning, began to play a song with the instrument, intimately, passionately. Keirah knew it was something he composed himself, and she couldn’t help herself as her body slowly slid on the bed behind him, listening to its haunting beauty.
Without realizing it, she shut her eyes, getting lost in the music. She never felt as at peace as she did right now. It didn’t matter who he was or what he had done; all that mattered, at least for now, was the music.
When he finished, he opened his eyes. “That was beautiful,” she murmured to his hunched back.
“Do hum … you play, princess?” he asked. His fingers began to caress the keys so softly they didn’t make a sound. The room remained silent as his gaze burned the piano.
Without answering, Keirah stood up from the bed and walked over to the instrument. She hesitated before she sat down next to him. He turned so he stared at her profile, and with her index finger, she began to play the melody of “Deck the Halls.” She noticed an amused smile touch his face from the corner of her eye, but he did not laugh. As she played, Noir stood up and walked around the bench until he was right behind her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body as he leaned his head forward so his chin gently grazed her shoulder. Her skin responded by bursting with goose bumps. Without warning, his hands reached up and his fingers hung loosely as he ran them across her forearms. Keirah felt her breath hitch, and she missed a couple of keys due to the distraction. He remained silent rather than deliver his usual condescending remark, and when his fingers finally reached hers, he locked them around hers to prevent her from playing. She sat so still, trapped against his back, and at that moment, she was not afraid of anything.
“I guess that would be a … well, a no, wouldn’t it?” he asked against her neck.
She could do nothing but nod. He had yet to remove his mouth from her neck though he wasn’t kissing her. But her body was reacting as though he was, and she hated it.
“You need to get changed, my love,” Noir stated and abruptly pulled away from her so all she was left with was a new assortment of goose bumps, these ones in response to the cold. She promptly ignored the disappointment in the pit of her stomach and glanced over her shoulder to look at him.
Noir had already stripped off his blazer and vest and was currently undoing the buttons to his long-sleeved shirt. What is he doing?
As though he felt her stare on him, he met her eyes with a knowing smile, his scars twitching. “Well, you don’t honestly think I’m, ah, that I’m going to sleep in that garb-ah, do ya?” he asked her, raising his brow. He slipped off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Keirah snapped her eyes back to the piano keys in order to avoid looking at him. He laughed. “Out of all the people in this place,” he continued, and Keirah could tell he was walking toward her, “I’d expect that you would have known what I am. Well, I’m human, of course. I just can’t die. Look at me.”” She silently refused, her focus on the keys, not him. He smacked his tongue against his lips before leaning his head down and whispering, “I said, look. At. Me.”
Keirah swallowed and stood. She took a deep breath and turned, her eyes resting in his. He gave her his lazy, expectant stare, and she allowed her eyes to drop to his torso. He was fit, his body lean and tight. A couple of scars littered his flesh, and before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch one that was worse than the others. It looked deep and could have been fatal given that it was where his heart should be. She gently traced it with her fingertip, following the vertical line. She watched with wide eyes as the hair on his chest stood erect.
“He tried to go for my, uh, well, my heart,” he said. “Too bad he hum … forgot I didn’t have one.”
“But you do,” Keirah murmured, looking up at him. Her palm flattened over the scar. “I can feel it beating.”
He stared at her with something she couldn’t make out, though it might have resembled wonder if Keirah believed she could affect him in such a way. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and threw it off of him.
“Find clothes, princess,” he mumbled. “Change. I’ll be … well, I’m be in the next room.” With that, he all but stomped out the door and slammed it behind him.
Keirah watched him go, jumping when the door shut. She rubbed her arm but it didn’t hurt as much as her chest did. She walked over to the dresser to find something comfortable to change into. All of the clothes Noir had looked handmade, and she wondered if someone made them for him or if he did it himself. After minutes of searching, she decided on a black, red, and white t-shirt that fit relatively well and mirrored a Jackson Pollock painting. For pants, she found red pajama bottoms with black and white question marks, grabbing black socks with red toes to put on.
When she finished, she crawled into bed and put her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. Her raised arms caused the hem of the shirt to rise, exposing the lower half of her stomach.
At that mo
ment, Noir walked back into the room without knocking. He was still shirtless, but now wore plain black sweatpants. He paused when he noticed Keirah’s position on his bed. He didn’t look angry; his eyes focused on her lower stomach, primarily on her new scar. She held her breath as he walked over to the foot of the bed and knelt over her. She was nervous but didn’t push him away. Much like Keirah had only moments ago, Noir traced her scar—his scar—delicately. And then, surprising her, perhaps surprising both of them, he leaned over and kissed it. It was neither chaste nor sloppy. Keirah let out a moan, a whimper, really, before she could stop herself. His eyes snapped into hers and he slowly removed his lips from her stomach so he could crawl over her. He leaned toward her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.
However, his lips teetered off course and moved to her ear. “I love you too, princess,” he whispered before rolling off of her.
Just as Keirah felt her body relax, Noir turned on his side and gently wrapped his arm around her waist. His cool fingers slipped under the shirt she was wearing—his shirt—until it came in contact with the scar again. She tensed under his touch. He tilted his head up and softly began to kiss the column of her throat. He started off tenderly, but as his lips moved lower, they parted, seeking out more of her skin as though it were some sort of cure for a disease he had. “You are hum … mine, princess,” he murmured, his lips vibrating against her smooth skin. He inhaled her scent sharply. She giggled and felt him smile against her skin. “Are you tickle-ish, my love?” he asked her, his finger tracing a random pattern on her scar.
“No,” she said, but even she did not sound too convinced.
“I don’t like it when you, ah, lie to me,” he said, and then kissed the crevice of her throat as his fingers gripped her tighter. “Even though you look sooooo pretty doing it-ah.”
Awaken: Book 1 of the Dark Paradise Trilogy Page 18