by Keri Lake
Requiem & Reverie
The Sandman Duet, Book Two
Keri Lake
REQUIEM & REVERIE
The Sandman Duet, Book Two
Keri Lake
Copyright © 2019
All Rights Reserved.
AUTHOR’S NOTE This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Cover Art © OkayCreations
Editing by Julie Belfield
Warning: This book is recommended for mature readers due to graphic violence, sex, and scenes that some readers may find disturbing.
All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.
Virginia Woolf
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
BONUS SCENE - Dark
BONUS SCENE - Light
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1
Voss
“I want to show you something,” Carl says. Shadows slice across his face, where he stands alongside my bed. “C’mon.”
The room is dark, and the tone of his voice carries an unsettling edge of amusement that makes me reluctant to do as he says. I follow after him, anyway, even though Grandfather would be furious to know I’ve gotten out of bed, because it’s the lesser of two evils. If I don’t, Carl will take pleasure in tormenting me tomorrow.
We pad down the hallway to the door that leads to the cellar. I never understood why it was located at the end of this particular corridor, when the house holds so many rooms and hallways between the north and south wing. It’s no secret grandfather chooses to keep Carl and me as far away from him as possible, and perhaps this hallway is merely a step up from making us sleep in the cellar itself.
Whispers reach my ear, as I approach the dark door that’s crafted of thick ornate wood. At night, without the hallway lights on, it looks like a vacuous hole that would pull an unsuspecting passerby in and swallow him up.
A faint voice reaches my ears, like a cold breeze across my skin, springing goosebumps. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
Carl opens the door to the cellar, his face still obscured by the darkness, which hides the smile I know is there as he moves aside to let me pass.
With careful steps, I descend the stairs, and the whispers seem to get louder. Or maybe the surrounding emptiness just becomes more pronounced the farther I go, like walking into a tomb.
I follow the sound to a room with empty shelves, where grandfather once kept all his tools and supplies. The place I first watched Carl slice open a baby mouse he found, while it was still alive.
Little light penetrates this room, but I can make out a figure lying on the floor. A girl.
Seems no more than a blink later, and Carl is lying on top of her, driving his hips into her, but his eyes are on me. The wicked grin stretched across his face is a trigger that incites my nerves, urging me to attack. He wraps his hands around her throat, and as I approach, her face slowly comes into view.
Nola.
My blood turns hot, every muscle taut with the anger pumping through my veins. I rush toward him, knocking him off of her, and wrap my arms around his throat.
“She’s mine! Fucking mine!” Digging my fingers into his gullet, I tell myself to end it. Kill him now. How long I’ve fantasized about the moment when I can watch life drain from his body.
“Voss!” he chokes out. “Please!”
His pleas only goad me to press harder, to squeeze every last ounce of breath out of him.
“Voss!” It’s not Carl’s voice, but Nola’s.
The face below me morphs into hers, and the moment I release her throat, her body turns limp. Her head falls to the side, eyes vacant and dull.
A tremble starts deep inside of me and ripples into waves of agony, as I stare down at my hands. My murdering hands.
“No!”
Shooting upright, I gasp for breath, clutching the bed sheets at either side of me. I don’t know where I am. The darkness of the room leaves me momentarily disoriented as I search for Nola.
She lies beside me, curled into a ball, and nuzzles tighter, asleep.
My heart gallops inside my chest, pounding against my ribs with each panting breath that tries to keep up with it. To be sure she isn’t hurt, I stroke a hand down her hair, and watch her lips twitch with a slight smile, but she doesn’t wake. She’s alive, though. Alive, and here with me, not lying in some dingy cellar, but right beside me. Safe.
Maybe it’s just the way the small bit of light beaming through the cracks of the curtains hits her face, but she glows like an angel. A beautiful, innocent angel, who somehow got herself tangled up with the devil.
At another flash of her choking for breath, I squint my eyes, retracting my hand. The fuck kind of dream was that?
Two minutes later, and I still can’t shake it off.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb her, and crack the curtain just enough to find the alcohol that I desperately need right now. Crossing the room to the dinner cart, I pour a glass of wine and take a seat in the chair across from the bed, my eyes rapt on Nola as I sip the drink.
It’s no great mystery why I find her so irresistible. The obvious is her looks—the woman possesses a rare and effortless beauty that draws those around her. It’s fascinating, watching her move through life, completely oblivious to the lingering stares from others, the double glances of both men and women who’ve been struck by her natural beauty. As if she doesn’t have a clue.
It’s the goodness in her, though, that attracts the predatory instincts in me. The selfless nature that she carries to a fault. A powerful magnet that excites the bad shit inside of me, the same way darkness cloys its hunger for light.
I want to drown myself in her innocence, just to know what goodness feels like. For too long, I’ve lived in the shadows of bad men. I’ve seen horrible things.
But Nola is a reminder of why men fight and kill so passionately.
She’s purpose. That elusive reasoning I’ve been missing all this time. I know exactly why I want Carl dead, why I want him to suffer the most excruciating pain. I felt it in those moments while dreaming, watching him taint her with his dirty hands at her t
hroat.
Then mine.
I’ll never be good enough for a woman like her, a woman who deserves a man without the fucked-up history that mars my timeline. But that doesn’t mean I won’t fight for what I want and protect what’s mine.
That doesn’t mean that I won’t kill another man for touching her that way.
I push up from the chair, setting my glass of wine on the nightstand, and slide back into bed beside her. Wrapping my arm around her midsection, I drag her into me, and as she stirs against me, I kiss her shoulder to settle her.
Her sweet floral scent is both calming and mouthwatering, stirring my blood, but I won’t take from her right now. I’ll wait until she’s ready.
Because the moment I indulge is the moment she’ll no longer be innocent Nola. She’ll be mine, and there will be nothing she can do to change that.
2
Nola
I hate permagrin. It’s like everyone knows you got laid. And as Lara, one of the younger waitresses, strolls up with a wicked smile on her face, I know it’s practically inked across my face.
“My, my, my. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody got a piece of ass this weekend.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Who won the lottery?”
“You don’t know him.” I grin, busying myself with wiping down the counter.
“He wouldn’t happen to be a tall drink of water in a suit, with dark hair and wicked, fuck-me eyes staring at you?”
“Huh?” I turn to see Voss standing in the doorway, his lips cocked to a crooked smile.
“Jesus Christ, Nola, I’m not gonna lie. I thought life was over at your age, but shit. You’re my hero.”
“Fuck off, Lara.” I saunter toward him, trying not to look like a horny kitten eyeing up a ball of catnip. “Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”
“I forgot how hot you look in an apron.” Bringing his lips to my ear, he lowers his voice. “Gotta keep my fantasies fresh with all the details.”
“Perhaps something to consider next time, ”I respond in an equally quiet voice, so as not to draw unwanted attention from the waitresses, who’ll undoubtedly be asking me about the shape of his dick when he leaves.
“I’d like that very much,” he whispers and kisses the shell of my ear. “I’m going to take a coffee and go.”
“You seriously only came here to see me in my apron?”
“Yes. And for the coffee.”
With a chuckle, I twist away from him and nab a to-go cup from the other side of the bar. “You’re crazy,” I say, pouring coffee into the plastic cup.
“We’ve established this, yes.” He accepts the coffee that I hand off to him and tosses a twenty on the counter. “Another minute of staring at you in that uniform, and I’m going to need a straitjacket to keep my hands off you.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Hang on, I’ll get your change.”
“I’ll take it out in trade.”
“I’m afraid we sold out of all my wares, if you’ll recall.”
“Not all of them.” Licking his lips, he smiles at that. “You have something far more valuable to me than pottery.”
Gaze sliding to the side, I catch Mister Gibbons, two stools down, eating his oatmeal and seemingly oblivious to our conversation. “Perhaps we can discuss this transaction at a later time.”
“Fair enough. But before I go, tell me I get to fuck you tonight.”
Clearing my throat, I busy myself with wiping down the countertop and steal the opportunity to check the proximity of other patrons. “Oliver will be home.”
“At some point, Oliver will be in bed, unless you allow him to stay up all night.”
“Absolutely not. But I … don’t think …” I clear my throat a second time, as Mrs. Granger hobbles past toward the cash register. “That’s a good idea to do those kinds of things just down the hall from my son.”
“Then, you can meet me in my apartment. After Oliver is asleep.”
“You’re awfully persistent.”
“When I want something, yes. I rarely back down from the opportunity to acquire it.”
My brows wing up, while I toy with the petals of a fresh flower sat in a vase on the counter. “Acquire? Am I like stock to you, Mister Voss? Something you can trade?”
“I wouldn’t trade you for anything, Star Wars. In fact, I’d promptly take you off the market.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Almost sounds like a commitment.”
“Temporarily, of course.”
“Of course. Listen, I have to get back to work.” I lean forward for a quick kiss, something that won’t make a spectacle, but he grips the back of my head, turning it far too intimate for my comfort, and I gotta believe the whole damn restaurant is watching us.
The second he pulls away, my fears are confirmed, when I turn to see all eyes fixed on us.
With a nervous swallow, I step back from the counter and smooth the wrinkles in my uniform. “Later.”
“Later,” he echoes.
Not even two seconds after Voss exits, Lara, who I’m pretty sure isn’t getting much action at home, saunters toward me.
“Mmmm. Daaaaddy. Details. I want details.” She takes a seat on one of the stools in front of me. “That motherfucker is hot. Like dirty hot.”
You have no idea. “What’s the difference between hot and dirty hot?”
“Hot would be the guy you take home to momma. But a guy like that? He’d probably fuck you and your momma.”
Eyes wide, I lean away from her and nab Mister Gibbons’ empty bowl. “Good thing I don’t have to worry about that, I guess.”
“Well, he gets the best of both worlds with you, doesn’t he?”
My phone rings, and typically I’d ignore it, but I consider it a save in this case.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Tensley?”
“Yes.”
“This is Principal Johnson, from Norvan Middle School.”
My heart stops beating for a second, and I mentally rewind his words in my head to the grim tone of his voice. “Is Oliver okay?”
“Oliver is fine. But I’m going to need you to come to the school right away.”
Surely, he must hear my massive sigh of relief blasting against the earpiece, but his response doesn’t take away the trembles that have me feeling cold, all of a sudden. “You’re sure he’s okay.”
“Yes, Mrs. Tensley. I’m positive.”
My hands are shaking as I click off the phone, and the residual terror from before must be written all over my face, because Lara tips her head in front of me and says, “Nola, is everything all right? You look pale, honey.”
Her question is a nagging background noise, as I scour my brain for what possibilities lay ahead of me. He’s okay. Which means he’s not hurt, or dead.
After a moment of shock, I scramble toward the back, slipping my apron over my head. “Dale! I have to leave. It’s Oliver!”
“Everything all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Go! Go!” He shoos me off from the kitchen, and I race through the restaurant and out the door.
The drive feels like it takes an eternity, and by the time I arrive at the school, my body is shaking so bad, it’s a wonder I can walk straight. The secretary greets me when I walk into the main office.
“I’m Oliver’s mom.”
“Oh.” Her brows dip, matching her disappointed tone. “Have a seat.”
After ten minutes of catching side glances from her, Principal Johnson finally calls me in.
Oliver sits slumped in a chair opposite the principal, and I take the seat beside him. “What’s going on?”
“It’s come to my attention, by a number of witnesses, that Oliver touched one of his classmates …” He slices his fingers near his throat, as if to demonstrate. “And the boy, apparently, passed out immediately after.”
My eyes flit to Oliver for a moment, where he’s still slumped in his chair, and back to Principal Johnson. “Like …
he knocked him out?” Hearing Oliver knocked anything out is like finding a rabbit prefers human meat over carrots.
It’s not natural.
“No. No one reported any punches thrown. Just that he touched his neck and the boy passed out. Has Oliver taken self-defense classes, or anything?”
“No. Nothing. I’m not entirely sure how he’d have accomplished that, to be honest. I only thought that happened in movies and books.” Fingers curled around the arms of the chair, I sit forward, my eyes darting a second time to Oliver, then back to Principal Johnson. “Is he okay? The other classmate? He isn’t—”
“He’s fine. He has a small bump, from hitting a table on the way down, but the nurse has checked him, and he’s otherwise okay.”
On a sigh, I slouch back in my seat and rub my temple. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ve informed the other parents and fortunately, they’ve opted not to file a report against Oliver. I mentioned to them that it was self-defense. Though, between us, I’m not entirely sure what this was. Your son doesn’t have a history of aggression.”
I snap my attention to Oliver again, and guide his face to mine, looking for any signs of injury, but he pushes me away, keeping his eyes glued toward where his hands fidget in his lap.
“I know this has been a very hard year for the both of you, so I’m trying to go easy on you. Oliver’s grades have been a bit concerning, as of late. I would like to recommend a tutor for him, if you’re okay with that. She would visit the house a couple times a week, and help with math and writing, which is where he seems to be struggling most.”