“Bon appétit.” He lifted his glass in my direction and we clinked, sipped, and dug into the food. It was a simple meal but so delicious, as if I’d never eaten eggs and fried potatoes before sitting down to this table. I told him as much, and he cracked a joke about my lack of appreciation for his culinary skills, then admitted it wasn’t him at all.
“It’s mother nature,” he replied in between mouthfuls of food. “Every item I used was made fresh on the property, from the chickens to the cheese.”
“Is this what life is like with you?” I asked. “Constant surprises? Killer by day, chicken farmer by the light of the moon?”
He poured us more champagne and enjoyed my teasing. “Yes, princess, this is exactly what life is like with me. Nothing but mayhem and moonsets.”
I pushed back from my empty plate, sipped my champagne, and watched him. There were so many questions bumping around in my brain, I didn’t know where to begin.
“Start with the simplest ones,” he stated, and I gawked. “Oh, come on. I know how your brain works. Shit, I can see it working right now. So ask the easy questions first and the rest will just flow.”
“Where are we?” I began.
“Northwest Spain. The town of Galicia, where the Camino de Santiago pilgrim pathways end.”
“And whose house is this?” I continued.
“Mine.”
I didn’t know why, but that answer surprised me. I looked around the room and the space with new eyes, wondering how much of the man I loved lay buried in the details.
“I like peace and quiet and being alone,” he continued, “and all of those exist here. Avery gave me this house as a birthday gift almost ten years ago. Only he, Kash, Frist, and now you know it belongs to me.”
“When is your birthday?”
Dutch raised a brow and shot me a look. “That cannot possibly be on your list of things you need to know.”
“It is at the very top.”
He considered me, and I knew he was weighing his response, I could see it in his eyes and I figured his birthday wasn’t the happiest occasion. I almost wanted to tell him it didn’t matter when he started to speak.
“Most Keepers I know will tell you their birthday is the day they entered The Gate, which happens sometime during your sixteenth year, depending on the cycle of the moon and the time of your actual birth,” he said, and twirled the champagne in his flute, tiny air bubbles dancing everywhere. “I’ve never once uttered the day I entered The Gate. My birthday is November sixteenth. And I hate gifts.”
“Who said I was going to get you a gift?” I asked. “I just plan on fucking you all day.”
He leaned forward and under the table ran his hand up my thigh, and all of him was just so damn edible. “Next question, princess.”
“Is that my new nickname?”
“Maybe.”
“I hate it.”
“I know you do,” he said with a grin, and kissed my hand as it rested on the table and I loved him so hard.
“How did we get here?” I asked.
“That—” He rapped the table with his finger, the thunk-thunk deep and rich. “—is an interesting story.”
“Do tell,” I replied, all ears for all his words.
“I used the portal.”
“You what?” I asked, certain I did not hear him correctly.
He nodded his head. “Yeah, Rani kind of looked at me the same way when I told her my plan. She also yelled at me about it—I think she’s taken a liking to you, because she was royally bent out of shape when I brought up the idea.”
“But . . .” I paused. I wanted to hear more because I liked the way his brain worked and I had a feeling he went out on a limb, way outside the box for this shit, I just didn’t know where to begin.
“The way I saw it, you were dead,” he began, “and the oath we take when we become Keepers includes the use of portals and how it’s restricted to members of The Gate. Rani was all caught up on the fact you’re not of The Gate, but I was more focused on the fact you weren’t alive. And in my mind, the phrase ‘of The Gate’ is a direct assumption and reference to live members of The Gate.
“No one ever tried bringing someone dead with them, because most members of The Gate don’t run around falling madly in love with the very being they’re created to kill,” he continued, “so I took a chance, prayed to all the gods out there, and portal’ed right into the carriage house on the back of this property.”
I shot him a look and he added, “Oh yeah. Another thing about our portal in that godforsaken shit-hole—you can leave and go anywhere you want. So I chose this house that no one knows exists. Also, unlike Rani, I thought you’d want me to give the portal a shot.”
“What did Rani want you to do?”
“Walk out of the forest and to the nearest town,” he replied.
“Fuck Rani,” I said, and he smiled the kind of smile that broke my heart.
“I told myself you would say that.”
I leaned across the table and kissed his mouth, soft and tender and full of love. “Thank you for getting me out of that forest and away from all things Barlow.”
He cupped my face and kissed me back. “Any time, gorgeous.”
“Where’s Rani?” I asked as I grabbed another bottle of champagne from the fridge, popped the cork, and poured us new glasses, “And what happened with her hand?”
“India, lurking in the shadows,” he said, then added with a chill, “and she knows a guy who can help with the hand.”
I considered his words and his tone and figured that guy wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to have to know.
“He can fix her?” I asked.
Dutch nodded. “He can.”
“But?”
He lit a smoke and watched me as he exhaled and he knew I knew he didn’t like that guy. “He’s not the guy you ever want to have to know. He’s what we call a Crooper—a soul collector—and his price is steep.”
He didn’t need to say more. I already knew whatever Rani was doing in India would likely be more bad than good, I also knew I didn’t really care.
“Sevyn?”
“Traitorous bitch is dead,” Dutch snarled, and smoked, “Besides the guy with the hand, she’s part of the reason Rani went back to Trivandrum, said Sevyn’s intel on the Copse is for shit, meaningless drivel and lies.”
“She’s right,” I agreed, then added, “Sorry.”
Dutch cocked his head to the side and seemed to wonder at my apology, then waved me off, the smoke of his cigarette making zigs through the air. “Don’t, Juma.”
“Yes, Dutch,” I insisted. “I should have trusted you.”
“You didn’t know, no one did.”
“Doesn’t make it any better,” I replied.
“You can always fuck me,” he said with a grin. “That’ll make it better tenfold.”
“I would fuck you regardless, now I’ll just add some extra oomph to it.”
“You’ve got more oomph hidden in that pussy?” he asked, eyes bright and mischievous as he followed my every move, watching me as I pushed away from the table, came around to his side, and crawled into his lap.
“Boy,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers in his hair, “you have no idea,” I rocked into him and he hissed, “all the oomph up in this pussy.”
“Is that so?” he growled low into the tender skin of my throat and I still had the Veda question for him but fuck her and her Black Copse bullshit, this was so much better. He kissed me and bit me and threw me off guard with all his warm breath and tease and touch, because one second I was grinding on his lap and then next, I was seated on top of the table, ready to be his next meal. “About this extra oomph.”
He kissed the inside of my thigh and grinned. “I like the way it smells.”
“The oomph?” I asked as I watched him press wet heat up my thigh and felt my pussy drip all over the beautiful wood of his table. He wiped it with his finger and licked. “Tastes goo
d, too,” and I groaned and he pushed my legs open wider and kissed my clit, his full lips warm and soft as he sucked and licked me. I locked my elbows, leaned my head back, and gave in to his ownership of my body.
Again.
“Fuck me, Dutch,” I begged, and he slipped his fingers inside me and worked his magic while his lips performed tricks of their own and my legs started to shake with the orgasm building in my toes. He knew how I liked it and fucked me and sucked me harder and deeper and faster and I begged for mercy and forever and now—“Make me come, baby, now”—and he kissed me as my back arched into the fast and furious orgasm that rippled through me, wave after wave of delicious devastation courtesy of his magical mouth.
He kissed my swollen lips again, then leaned his head on my thigh and allowed me to settle.
“Tell me how Veda escaped while I’m still high off that orgasm and it won’t really fuck with me,” I finally spoke—eyes still closed, head tossed back, totally chill—into the postcoital quiet.
Dutch ran his hands up and down my thighs and it felt so good and I knew it was all in an effort to lessen the blow of her epic fuckery.
“Juma.” He started to speak and I wanted to shut my ears to his words but I knew I couldn’t, that we had to face our truths, all our truths—even the ugly ones—head on if we planned on fighting this fight and emerging from the battlefield victors in this horrific game of lives and souls and eternal ever-afters.
“Veda’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: DUTCH
Growing up, there was always that kid who never got the joke, even the simplest bullshit went right over his head and everyone had to explain the joke in such detail to him that when all was said and done, the joke wasn’t even funny anymore. The kid that was just kind of slow on the uptake because his head was stuck in a book or focused on the upcoming football match. Here and there, I was that kid.
And this was one of those moments.
I’d had no clue Juma spent most of her night and all the morning thinking my bitch-ass motherfucking cunt of a sister was still alive. I didn’t realize when I forgot to answer her question about Veda and instead gave her a quick lecture on ways not to put me in an early grave, she’d taken that as a sign Veda escaped and I just didn’t want to talk about it yet.
I wanted to eat breakfast.
In peace.
Ha.
That woman. As she would say: I swear.
I loved her like a sickness, but she should have said something. Anything. One tiny hint of what was banging around inside her head.
Instead.
“You let me fuck you upside down and right side up and eat your pussy every time I looked at it, and the whole time you were worried about Veda?” I bit her thigh and she jumped.
“Oh please,” she said, low and sexy, and her head leaned to the side and her eyes closed because she’d just come all over my mouth and my table and was feeling relaxed and nice. And now that she knew Veda was dead, she was feeling really motherfucking nice. “She was not even a thought.”
I wrapped my arms around her thighs, rested my hands on her perfect ass, and pulled her close. She was swollen and pink and so fucking wet and my baser selves wanted to dive back into her and make her come again, but I promised Avery twelve hours. I just needed twelve hours with her alone and then we would resurface.
Our clock was ticking down fast.
“Good, because now she’s dead so she really shouldn’t be a thought,” I replied, and kissed her thigh and when she leaned forward and looked down at me every cell of my being collectively sighed then knelt to pray at her beautiful brown most-perfect feet.
“Did it feel satisfying?” she asked, and her eyes sparkled and fuck if I didn’t love her twisted killer instinct.
“Honestly?”
“Honestly,” she replied, and ran her fingers through my hair, her touch sending chills down my spine and goose-bumping my skin.
“Yes, Juma,” I admitted with a wide smile, “it felt fucking amazing, but not for the reasons you might think. It wasn’t about childhood ill will or her being the favorite or the bond she shared with Khan. I think I’ve been so divorced from the idea of our being siblings, blood-related in any way, that nothing about her death reflected back on righting any familial wrong. It was more the quiet of my kill. The art of it. I wish you could have seen it because that’s where the beauty lay. She was so loud and obnoxious and carrying on because she believed I wouldn’t kill her. And then I did, a quick drag across her throat with your blade, and she was done. No fanfare, just death.”
Juma smiled and ran her hands down my arms and all of her seemed pleased.
“It was a good death,” she stated, and I couldn’t agree more.
“The best.”
“But no poof—” Juma snapped her fingers. “—and the Copse vanished into thin air, huh?”
I shook my head. Juma knew as well as I, the Black Copse was never tied to Veda.
“Dammit, Dutch,” she said, then leaned back and watched me, “and here I was hoping we could spend the remainder of our days hiking the Camino de Santiago and fucking like rabbits.”
“And teaching you to cook,” I added, and she grimaced.
“No.” Juma leaned down and kissed me. “The only reason I want to be in that kitchen is to watch you swing your big dick around while you make me a meal.”
I could spend multiple lifetimes listening to her say dirty shit to me.
“Fair enough,” I consented. “I’ll cook so long as dessert is your pussy.”
Juma’s eyes flashed fire and she ran her hands down her thighs and all of her was glistening and sexy and fuuuuuuuuuck, I loved her.
“Stop talking dirty to me, Mr. Mathew.”
“Never.” I leaned close and sniffed her and licked her and goddamn, we needed to put some clothes on. “I like you walking around, a soaked swollen mess, thinking about all the ways you want my tongue on your pussy.”
I sucked her clit and she pulled on my hair. “Do not make me come,” she demanded, her voice choked with sex and lust, and it shot right to my dick.
“I won’t—” I leaned back and kissed her kneecap. “—just wanted a taste,” and she kissed me because so did she. “You are so dirty,” I hissed, and she smiled and agreed.
“I am so dirty. And so full of champagne, I think I’m going to pee all over myself.”
I laughed and moved back so she could hop off the table and use the bathroom.
“It’s over there.” I pointed to the far side of the living room as I gathered our plates and glasses and started cleaning up our mess. “The first door on the hallway.”
I checked my phone—we had seventy-three minutes before check-in, and it felt like the last seventy-three minutes of my life. I scrubbed the pans and rinsed the mandoline and I thought to myself that at least when it was all said and done, I would have spent my last carefree moments loving her like nothing else mattered.
I pressed my hands into the countertop until my fingertips turned white and squeezed my eyes shut as the steam from the sink blanketed my face, and for a few seconds I lost myself to the despair of losing her and wondered whether I would be able to wake up and walk around without her or would my life become reduced to lists of all the ways I loved her and all the ways I never got a chance and holy fuck, our love was maddening in its epic beauty and its undeniable cruelty.
“Hey.” Juma bumped me with her hip, turned off the hot water, and twined her fingers with mine. “Right here. With me. This moment. Remember?”
I had been so deep into myself, I didn’t hear her slip back into the room and I wondered how I appeared to her at that moment. I smiled bright and squeezed her hand, but inside, all of me was broken.
“Oh, Dutch.” She kissed my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my waist and for a few minutes we agreed to quietly swim in our grief.
Together.
And then the moment passed because the fact of it was that goddamned clock and our seventy-t
hree minutes were now probably more like sixty-eight. I kissed the top of her head and when she turned her face up to me, I bit her lip and smiled.
“Can I ask a question now?” I finally broke our grief-induced silence. She turned, leaned her back into the counter, and sipped on her water, looking all kinds of beautiful without even trying.
“Hit me, gorgeous.”
I glanced at her sexy-as-fuck hips and asked, “When did you put on panties?” and she laughed, then threw me a pair of boxers. I raised a brow as I slipped into my underwear. “Someone’s been snooping.”
Juma raised her hand and did not look one bit shy. “Ummm, yeah, that would be me.”
“Well, thanks,” I replied as I dried our plates, “it’s becoming painfully apparent that if you’re naked, I have to be fucking you.”
“Dutch,” she kind of whispered, kind of moaned.
“Juma.”
“Behave,” she warned, and her cheeks flushed and my dick jumped.
“Or what?”
“Just,” she started to speak and touched her throat and her nipples were hard and I knew her panties were already ruined. “Please.”
I loved her and all her insatiable desire and proved as much by respecting her wishes when really, all I wanted to do was cross the space between us and slide right back inside her.
“As you wish, princess,” I replied, and she smiled and both of us calmed. “Want to get dressed?”
“No,” she said, and from the set of her jaw, I knew she wasn’t kidding. “I know we have to, but you asked if I wanted to and honestly, I don’t. Left to my own devices, I would spend the rest of my days naked, in this beautiful house with you. But I know what I want matters little, so, yes, Dutch, let’s get dressed.”
She was sad and stubborn and pissed, and the combination crushed me because I wanted to fix all her hurts and knew I couldn’t, so instead I pulled her into my arms, wrapped myself around her, and held her tight.
“What you want matters to me, Juma Landry.”
I felt her smile against my chest and release a long, deep sigh. “Thank you, Dutch Mathew.”
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