Requiem & Reverie (The Sandman Duet Book 2)

by Keri Lake

  With a frown, I pad quietly down the hallway and enter my room, which is eerily still, aside from the curtain blowing in the wind.

  Wind?

  The window is cracked, setting my heartbeat into a steady pounding against my ribs. I back away slowly, and arms band around me, a hand slaps over my mouth. I scream against the warm barrier, but my body is spun around until I’m flat to the wall. I can scarcely draw in a breath, as a large, imposing force presses into me from behind and my robe is stripped away to my naked body beneath.

  Harsh breaths in my ear tell me my attacker is excited. Happy to see that I’m wearing nothing beneath. Fingers digging into my jaw, he kicks my legs wide, and the jangling sound must be his belt. With a moan and a whimper, I squirm between him and the wall, trying to get loose. I try to bring my legs together, but he knocks his ankle into mine, harder this time, stretching my legs even wider.

  “Wait, please! Don’t!” My muffled words fail to break through his hand at my mouth.

  Seconds later, his tip finds my entrance, and in one sharp thrust, he fills me. Spine stiff with the intrusion, I tip my head back and let out a grunt, while he seats himself deep inside of me.

  His body shivers against mine, before he sets into motion, hammering his hips into me. Squirming and wriggling does nothing against the steel frame caging me against this wall. Squeezing a handful of my hair, he pulls out of me, and guides me toward the bed, bending me over the edge of it, forcing me facedown onto the mattress, my ass high in the air like an invitation.

  Hot breath fans the back of my neck, smelling like cinnamon and tobacco. Deep, masculine grunts and groans are the only noises he makes as he drives into me from behind.

  The wet sounds with every withdrawal burn my cheeks with embarrassment, and I bury my face into the mattress, willing away the thoughts that tell me I’m a horrible person for being turned on by my attacker. I reach back to grab for him, but he slams my hand back against the mattress, without so much as a pause in his thrusts.

  Cock pumping into me like a steady piston, he tangles his fingers in my hair, and his teeth find the nape of my neck, sending little tingles across my skin.

  The assault lasts a good ten minutes, with his forearm pressed into my spine, holding me down. As he ups the pace, I feel the knot inside my belly growing bigger and bigger, tightening to the extent I have to breathe shallow just to get enough oxygen in my lungs.

  His cock expands inside of me, waxing my walls with every furious drive of his hips. The slapping of his skin against mine marks each countdown to climax as my whole body winds tight, preparing to explode. Slickness runs down the back of my thighs like a smack in the face, and I feel his warm palm gather the fluids and spread it over my ass. “You fucking love this,” he rasps, his voice ragged and thick with pleasure.

  His words tug at my belly, and I cry out, fingers curling into the bedspread as I shamelessly lift my ass higher to him.

  The orgasm slams into the back of my skull and detonates on a flash of light that ripples through my body.

  “Fuck!” He continues to hammer into me from behind, until his fingers dig into my nape and his body seizes up. Another shudder, and he pulls out of me, the trickle of warmth down my thighs evidence of his release.

  I open my mouth to draw in a breath and chuckle. “I … forgot my safe word.”

  Head resting against my back, Voss snorts, and the mattress dips as he pushes up off it, taking my arm to pull me against him, where he stands beside the bed.

  “You never forget your safe word, Star Wars.” Fingers threaded through my hair, he tugs my face to his, and groans as he kisses me with the kind of aggression that makes me wonder if he’s eaten anything today. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve jacked off to this very scenario, these past couple of weeks?”

  “Not nearly enough, it seems.” I glance down at the fluids still running out of me. “Thought your flight didn’t come in until eleven.”

  “How do I take you by surprise, if you know I’m coming?” Swiping my legs out from beneath me, he lifts me up into his arms and carries me to the bathroom. The slightest limp marks the after effects of the bullet shot into the back of his thigh. “I cannot believe I get you for a whole fucking weekend to myself. Did Jonah take Oli up to the cabin already?”

  “He did.”

  “Good. Still on his shit-list, aren’t I?”

  “You are. But he’ll come around, eventually. In the meantime …” Wrapping my arms around him, I smile and kiss him. “What do you plan to do this weekend, Mister Voss?”

  “Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Repeat. Not necessarily in that order.” Setting me down inside the bathroom, he flips on the shower and removes his shirt. His muscled body is riddled with scars, but the one at his flank is healing nicely, no longer red and puffy, like it was the last time I saw him, a few weeks back.

  I run my fingers over it, and he nabs my hand, kissing my palm, before he pulls me in for another kiss. “You ate dinner, right?” I ask against his lips and chuckle.

  “I’m starving for whiskey and pussy right now. Or wine.” He smiles back, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arms around him again, as he lifts me into the shower with him.

  “I’ll pass on the wine.”

  “You sure about that? As I recall, you enjoyed a bit too much last time.”

  Trying to hide my sudden trepidation is useless. It’s evident I’m failing, when Voss tips his head.

  “Everything okay?”

  I wanted this to be clever and humorous, to make light of it, so that if it’s not welcomed news, it won’t feel awkward, but everything about the moment is awkward. Mostly because Voss is so damn hard to read. “Wine isn’t good for the baby.”

  His body goes stiff. Like, board stiff.

  Not a good sign.

  I stare up at him, and the look on his face, pale and blank, leaves me to wonder if it’s possible for a person to go comatose after hearing news like this. “Voss? Do you need to sit down?”

  Face still expressionless, he nods and slides down the tiled wall onto the floor of the shower, staring off. Water beats against his chest, and the errant sprays have him flinching, but he doesn’t divert his gaze from whatever he’s looking at right now.

  Probably a visual of some post-apocalyptic future, where I’m the face of oppression.

  Not that I expected him to break into tears of joy, or anything, but this reaction is a bit more extreme. Christ, not even Denny turned this level of zombie, when I told him about Oliver. Crouching down in front of Voss, I tip my head to guide his eyes to mine, and I suddenly feel the urge to fight back tears. Like I did this alone, or something.

  “Look, it’s not confirmed. I’m just late. Might be nothing, but if it is … you can walk away. I don’t need—”

  “No.” His brows pinch to a frown as he grabs the back of my nape, and for the first time in the last few minutes, there’s lucidity in them again.

  I’m thoroughly fucking confused as to what this news means to him.

  “This baby is mine.”

  I lower my gaze from his and shake my head. “You sure about that? Because I can raise a baby alone. I’m perfectly—”

  Wet lips cut me off, and when he releases me from the kiss, his eyes are swirling with disappointment, as if I’ve wounded him by suggesting such a thing. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m not walking away from what’s mine.”

  A chill runs down my spine at the sound of possession in his voice. Mine.

  “I would love this baby with everything in me … but I didn’t want you to feel … trapped. I know this is all temporary with us.”

  “We were never temporary. I knew from the start I wanted you, and it’s only gotten worse, the longer I’m with you.” He pushes to his feet and reaches down to lift me up from the floor. “Been thinking, Star Wars. How do you feel about living in New York?”

  “Oh. Well, this is my parent’s house. And … I have my studio here. And … Oli has school.” Tracing my fingers over the
tattoos and scars on his chest, I keep my gaze away from his. “Any chance you’re interested in renting the in-law suite in the back?” Lips stretched with a smile, I glance up to see the color has returned to his face.

  He cocks a brow. “It’s still available, then?”

  “It is.”

  “How much?”

  I sigh and wrap my arms around him, lifting up to kiss him. “Perhaps we can strike a deal.”

  Palms gripping my sides, he gives a squeeze and groans against my mouth. “What kind of deal?”

  “How about a couple massages, diaper duty a few times a day, and sex on occasion, and we’ll call it fair trade?”

  “How ‘bout sex a few times a day, and diaper duty on occasion?” He lifts me up into his arms, gripping my bottom as the shower beats against my back. Burying his face in my neck, he kisses me there and licks the water dribbling down my skin. The sensation sends a zap of pleasure through my body, and I close my eyes, mouth gaping. “That’s a fair deal.”

  “For now.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, trying to ignore the tickle of his five o’clock shadow, while his tongue sweeps across my collarbone. “We can work out the kinks later.”

  He smiles against my skin. “Baby, you haven’t even met my kinks yet.”

  “Should I be scared?”

  “Let’s just say, you better remember that safe word.”

  Pinning me to the wall, he kisses me tenderly this time, and I almost think it’s someone else, as soft as he is.

  “Like I said. Nothing is confirmed,” It occurs to me what this could mean if it is. Voss and I would be creating our own little family. A new baby that’ll be half of him and half of me.

  As if those same thoughts are filling his headspace, the brief contentment in his eyes dims to something grim. “This baby …. What if it turns out fucked up, just like Simon? What if ends up with all that darkness inside?”

  “Then, we’ll be sure to shower it with so much love and light, it’ll never know darkness and hate. It’s half of you, Voss. Odds are, it’ll be pretty awesome. Maybe a little deviant, but I can deal with that.”

  His eyes narrow on mine. “Did you just call me awesome?”

  “I think I did. Slipped out, I guess.”

  Still holding me against the wall, he nuzzles his face in my neck again and kisses my throat. “If this baby is even half as amazing as you, then I’ll be one lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “Before we do this, I need to tell you something, Star Wars.”

  “Oh God, you’re not married, are you?” My blood turns cold at the thought.

  “No. Definitely not.” Stroking a hand down over the top of my head, he grips a fistful of hair, tipping my head back, and runs his lips over my throat, kissing my jaw. “I’m going to take care of you and Oliver. From now on, you don’t worry about money, or any of that shit.” His kiss trails lower, to my collarbone. “You concentrate on taking care of my baby and doing the things that keep you happy, because I’ll tell you what.” He nuzzles against my shoulder. “There isn’t anything more beautiful than when you’re happy.” Forehead pressed to mine, he keeps his gaze cast downward. “I love you, Nola.”

  Smiling, I rest my palm against his cheek and rub my thumb over his perfect lips that beg for another kiss. “What a coincidence, Voss. I love you, too.”

  “I’m going to New York to tie up some loose ends, but when I come back, we’ll get this family thing going. Sound good?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  25

  Voss

  “Panic room open.”

  “Password?” the robotic voice asks.

  “Fuck me.” I wait for the door to slide open before descending the concrete stairs, and make my way to the bar, where I pour a glass of whiskey.

  The scent of blood and agony clings to the air, and I realize I’m going to have to fumigate this fucking place before I ever bring Nola down here. Goddamn, human beings stink when they’re brimming with infection.

  Twisting around, I stare across the room toward where a latex vacuum bed is laid out on the floor. The tremble of the tube sticking up from the plastic tells me Simon is still alive.

  Hearty bastard.

  Thought, for sure, the thirteen-hour drive from Chicago to New York in my trunk would kill him, but the guy just keeps on ticking like a wound-up watch.

  Unclipping the aluminum rod, I unroll the latex sheet and allow the air to seep back inside. Simon coughs, and I reach in and drag his torso out from inside. The stumps where his arms and legs used to be are healing nicely, where I’ve cauterized the flesh, but his eye sockets appear to be leaking white pus, and his skin feels hot when I set him down on the plastic sheet beside his bed.

  Placing a straw to his lips, I let him have a drink of water from a Styrofoam cup I used earlier that morning, and he sucks away until the gurgling sound indicates it’s gone. The urine collected in a catheter bag attached at his side looks a little orange. I’ve never inserted a catheter before, but from the looks of it, I did something right. Except, the bastard probably isn’t filtering right, and I dread having to empty that bag later. Shit thing about killing someone slowly is having to play nursemaid.

  “So, what should we remove today, Simon?”

  On each of these little visits, I’ve made the effort to remove a piece of his body, and so far, he’s missing all four limbs, both eyes and an ear.

  “Please …” His voice is hoarse and raspy, brimming with what sounds like exhaustion and fever. “Just … kill me.”

  “Smells like your body is taking care of that for you. I was thinking maybe we could help it along some tonight, though.”

  “You’ve … proven … your point. Just … kill me already!” His voice cracks on a sob. The guy must be so dehydrated he can’t even produce a convincing cry.

  I’ve been keeping him alive on fluids, mostly. Same shit they give people in the hospital when they can’t eat. Still, his body is pretty much skeletal, at this point.

  Ignoring him, I slip my blade from where it’s clipped to my belt and twist it in front of him. “I think your tongue this time. Kind of a pain in the ass, hearing you ask me to kill you every time we do this shit.”

  His head rolls against the sheet of plastic, and he moans the kind of agony I’d imagine from someone living in hell.

  “You’re probably not going to make it through the night, so I’ve brought you a gift.” I nab a plastic carton from beside me and pop it open to reveal the flower inside. “Took me for-fucking-ever to find one of these. You know they only bloom at night and die in the morning? Anyway, I’ve been keeping in touch with a guy who raises them. Took two weeks for this bastard to finally blossom. Any idea how hard it’s been, keeping you alive these last two weeks?”

  I set the flower on his chest, and he lifts his head, nostrils flaring as he inhales the intoxicating scent of the flower.

  “Queen of the Night.”

  “So, tell me, Simon. Why fill the eyes with sand?”

  “I couldn’t stand … looking into empty … sockets.”

  “Why?”

  “I never much cared … for imperfection.”

  I trail my gaze over the torso, all that’s left of him, and chuckle. “If you could see yourself now, you’d probably shit. If you could shit, that is.”

  The green pallor to his skin seems to be getting worse with each passing minute, and his eyes continue to ooze.

  “Please … kill me.”

  “You want that more than anything right now, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” I push up from the floor and nab my drink off the bar. “In the next couple of hours, you can think about the women you killed. Their families. Friends. Or you can fucking sit in blackness, smelling your flower. I don’t give a shit, either way. Tomorrow, you’ll be dead.”

  At the door, I pause and turn around, mentally teasing out one nagging question that’s bothered m
e from the start. “I’m curious, Simon. My profile’s been dead for a while now. How the hell did you manage to track me down in the beginning?”

  “I’m afraid … I don’t know what … you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play stupid, asshole. The email you sent to me a couple months back. You hired me to come after you, remember?” Christ, he must be delirious, on top of everything else. Guy definitely isn’t going to make it through the night. “How did you stumble upon my profile?”

  “I … never paid you … to come after me.”

  Confusion muddles the memory of that email, still stuck in my head, and I frown back at where he lies with his eyeballs out, nothing but a torso and head. “Don’t lie to me. There’s still time to cut out your tongue before you die.”

  “At this point … what would be … the value in lying?”

  I ponder that for a moment, then continue on, up the stairs, shutting him inside what will become his tomb in a matter of hours. On the way, I polish off the rest of my drink, letting the burn of whiskey cleanse my sinuses of that putrid, shit, infection smell still lingering in my nose.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I answer to Milo. “What’s going on, Chief?”

  “I got a job for you. End of the week. Jackson will get the details, but it’s out of state. Two days tops, and first-class flight. You in?”

  “I’ll wait for the details to answer that.” Passing through the kitchen, I stop to refill my drink. I have my reasons for considering each job more carefully than before—namely the woman I wish I could keep locked away, so my enemies will never find her. Since Nola isn’t one for cages, or walking around with a bodyguard, all hours of the day, I have to settle for being judicious and vigilant. To keep her under the radar and ensure that no one ever finds out she’s carrying my baby. “Be sure Jackson takes his anti-fuckup pills before you send me anything.”