by S. Ann Cole
How could I answer a question I didn’t know the answer to? Hell if I knew why I kissed the bastard. And fuck if I knew why it felt so damn freeing.
As hard as it was for me to breathe right now, the feel of him pressed up against me, his erection digging into my stomach, was so unbelievably good.
“Fucking with my car and sneaking up on me in the dark, wasn’t this your motive? To cop a kiss, a touch, a feel? To get one stolen moment with me in the dark?”
As the pressing force of his arm eased from my neck, he took too long to deny it for it to not be the truth.
Holy shit. He wanted me. I wanted to kill him, and he wanted me. What would he do right now if he knew who I was and why I was there?
The too-late-to-be-true denial came. “I didn’t mess with your car.”
“You’re a liar,” I whispered.
Releasing me completely, he took a step back, but wouldn’t look at me. Because he was lying. “I didn’t.”
“You’re. A liar.”
Resealing the foot-apart distance between us, I fisted his lapels and pressed my body up against his. Because I’d felt and loved the feel of his hard, towering body against mine, and craved more. “Finish what you started, boss. Pretend I didn’t just kick your ass. Pretend I’m stranded in the dark with a car that won’t start. Do what you planned on doing. Take that kiss, that touch. Steal that moment with me. Here. Now.”
His cock twitched against my stomach, but he did nothing. Just watched my lips. Confusion. I could see it. He wanted me so bad he didn’t know what to do with me. And I was so unnaturally feeling him right now, I wished he would flipping do something. Fling me on the car bonnet and fuck me rabidly under the moonlight.
But he did nothing. Nothing at all. Except stare down at me with those conflicted dark eyes.
With an irritated growl, I let go of his lapels and chucked him. He moved back only a foot. Still saying nothing.
“Listen,” I snapped, with unexplainable anger, “if you’re not gonna follow through on your half-assed plan, then please fix whatever the fuck you messed with on my car so I can get the hell out of here.”
A minute of silence. Then he moved past me and opened my car door, pulled on the lever, and popped the hood. Rounding to the front, he took something shiny and metal from his pants pocket and reattached it to wherever he’d removed it from, then closed down the hood.
Moving to the side, he wordlessly watched me climb into the car, slamming the door harder than I needed to, and peel out of the parking lot.
And I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand what the fuck just happened.
I got home to a quiet, empty house.
No Sydney. All her stuff was gone. Clean.
Espying an envelope on the nightstand, I snatched it up and found a note inside:
Babe,
I know it’s cowardly of me to break up with you in a letter.
I’m sorry. But I’ve been seeing someone else.
He no longer wants to share me, not even with a woman, so he gave me an ultimatum. And I chose him. I’m so sorr—
I stopped reading and crushed the paper in my hand, aimed, and did a Kobe Bryant. The light-weighted crumple of paper landed in the wastebasket across the room.
Now what was I going to do for sex and companionship? Find a new girlfriend and start all over again with the trust thing? Hell. San Francisco was getting more and more annoying as the days dragged by.
I needed a girl pronto, because I needed sex. Sex was my drug. It was my high. It kept me leveled, focused. I needed it in mornings before and after my cup of coffee, and I needed it at night before and after my shower for bed. I needed sex. I just needed it.
And now this dumb blonde bailed on me.
I hated this place. It was sun-smoldering hot, quiet, and kill-me-now boring.
Now if I had done what I was supposed to do and snapped Chad’s goddamn neck when I had the chance, I could be boarding a jet right now to freedom.
But no, I’d screwed up. Letting lust, or whatever that feeling was, take over me. And instead of killing the damn man, I kissed him.
Kissed him.
Holy shitstick, what was happening to me? Have I been settled in this place for so long that I’ve completely forgotten how to do my job? It all could’ve ended tonight. Job complete. And I blew it.
Because for the first time in twelve years, I desired a man. Chadrick Niiveux. The rakehell who murdered my parents. A smooth killer. Affiliate of the Devil. A red-horned demon.
And I. Desired. Him.
A man.
I was so screwed.
The low dinning of my cellphone brought me back to the now. Caller ID: Unknown. Except I knew exactly who was calling.
The Voice.
The voice that had a face I’d never seen. The voice that owned me, that had been ruling me since the night of my family’s death. The voice that sent shivers down my spine. The voice that made my heart tremble.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I answered, “Allo?”
The conversation progressed in Russian…
“Any closer?”
Any closer? Any closer? I was fucking straddling him! My tongue was in his mouth. His nail-hard erection was pressed against my stomach. That’s how close I’d gotten.
“No, sir. The target doesn’t have a shadow, nor footprints, nor habits. Which makes him an almost impossible fish to catch. Are you sure I’m the right person for this assignment? It’s been six months, sir. Maybe…maybe I’m not experienced enough for a fish as big as him.”
Trying to buy your way out of this, Jhay?
“A dozen men have tried. A dozen men have died,” The Voice said in a lazy drag. “Of them all, you have gotten the farthest. Get the job done.”
When I remained quiet on my end, he said, “This is not for me, Byrd. This is for you. This is you avenging your family. This assignment is not for my benefit at all. It is for yours.”
A load of shit that was. But still my head nodded over and over, even though he couldn’t see me. Because I needed that reminder. I needed to remember what killing Chad meant for me.
“And you’ll keep your promise? You’ll free me if I succeed?”
“You have my word,” The Voice assured me.
“Okay,” I replied with renewed purpose. “I’ll get it done.”
Ending the call, I tossed my phone on the nightstand, then got out my bug detector from the closet and swept the entire apartment for planted cameras or listening devices. I did this every time I left my apartment and came back. Let’s just say I didn’t trust Sydney all that much. Or anyone for that matter. Anything at all could go down when I wasn’t around.
Fifteen minutes later, I detected nothing and decided the place was still clean, so I took a long, hot shower to clear all the dirt and grime from my body, and all of Chad’s tasty blood from my tongue.
After showering, stark naked I climbed into bed, masturbated, came hard, then slid under the covers, feeling a little cold without Sydney there.
Sleeping alone was no hobby of mine. Being alone, period, intimidated me. Loneliness tormented me. It haunted me. Gave me chills and anxieties. It blended all my emotions into one confusing vortex and drove me mad.
Loneliness was the monster I feared.
Slapping my palms together, I clapped the lights off and dragged the covers over my head.
And then I felt him.
His eyes. I could feel them on me.
Weird, because I was pretty sure no one had followed me from Empty Cage. I’d done a heat-run for twenty minutes before taking the direct path home. Plus I just scanned my apartment for bugs. So how could he be watching me?
Paranoia was definitely getting the better of me. This was the kind of shit that happened whenever I was alone.
Yet…I couldn’t shake the feeling that those dark eyes were on me.
I could feel him.
And it scared the living shit out of me.
Twelve years ago…
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Somewhere in Russia.
It was the throbbing head pain that woke the girl. No way could she remain unconscious with an ache so alive.
With a whispery flutter, her eyes opened. But even opened, she saw nothing. Nothing but darkness.
Now fully conscious, the pain grew more intense. The girl raised her hand to the area on her head where the pain was more pronounced. Something dried and flaky was there, and stuck on her skin all the way down to the side of her face.
Confused as to where she was and what had happened to her, with unseeing eyes, she looked around the room, her head making sharp jerky movements like a bird.
Then she saw a silver lining. No, it wasn’t a silver lining, it was just a slim slip of light piercing through the darkness. She bet it was escaping from under a door. As tightly sealed and dark as the place was, the slim line of light had stolen itself in under the door.
Maybe it was a silver lining after all.
The slip of light told her that even when her present was nothing but darkness, and she couldn’t find her way, couldn’t see the day, somewhere in all that consuming darkness, there’s always a sliver of light waiting for her to find it and follow it to freedom.
Light was light. It could not be overpowered by darkness. It could not be shut out.
Darkness is created. Light just is.
Always there.
She just had to look hard enough to find it.
On that thought, the girl shakily, like a rickety old man of nothing but skin and bones, got up to her feet and walked as strong as she could towards the light. That light led to a door. And beyond that door, possibly to freedom.
Her fists, she pounded them on the heavy steel, her little hands aching in protest, hardly any sound being made from skin to steel. Voice hoarse, she cried for help instead. Help. She needed help.
At the rumbling of male voices on the other side, she stopped pounding, stopped hollering, and waited in a heap of tears and heavy breaths.
There was a thud. The heavy sound of a lock sliding out of place. Then the door pushed open and light streamed in like a billion tiny lasers. Pricking at her eyeballs.
Her eyes burned like fire, blinding, and her head hurt even worse. With that light, came even more pain, and the memories of what happened the night before came surfing in on the rays of light.
Death.
Death was what happened. Her mother. Her father. Her brother. They were all dead.
A strangled cry burst from her throat at the new, additional pain. This pain hurt the most. This pain was visceral. Not physical. Coming from the inside out. Slicing her open and sucking the life from her veins.
A big, tall, bulky figure appeared in the doorway, blocking out the light. She thought of him as The Light Stealer.
The figure raised its hand, something long and black was in it. And that something came down with a force and landed on the side of her head, and a burst of colors exploded before her eyes like it was New Year’s Eve in Times Square.
The last thing she thought before she slipped into unconsciousness again was that she much preferred the darkness.
The darkness hurt a lot less than the light.
The light was truth, the darkness was lies.
She preferred the lies.
FIVE
And grace, my fears relieved…
CHAD
Chad navigated the roads through the Portola Valley neighborhood until he was at the location he’d driven forty minutes to get to.
At the gate, he punched in the security code not withheld from him and drove through the gates.
The home he approached was a grotesquely large, wood and weathered brick construction of country luxury. Hidden among pine trees, maple trees, tall trees, short trees…a whole crowd of fucking trees.
This was how people who had to hide lived. Behind the beautiful face of nature. Away from too much light and civilization, from narrowed eyes and curiously arched eyebrows. But into coarse tree barks and sharp greens, behind shrubs of shades and shadows where the eyes would have to squint too hard to see.
Switching off his car engine, he got out and walked up the gravel-stoned pathway to the house, appreciating the blooming, flamboyant plants lining the pathway as he did.
Up the steps and to the front door, he produced his given key, opened the door, and entered. Because he was welcomed.
He was always welcomed here.
As he took a left from the foyer leading into the living room, he heard happiness. The sound of happiness teased him each time he came to this place. He was so unfamiliar with the unfelt emotion, yet it made him yearn. He wasn’t sure what precisely he yearned for. He only knew that that sound, happiness, was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Happiness was always present there, in that home. So much he envied the residents. Envied the ones who created the sound.
How was the sound of happiness made? Where did it begin? Did it ever end? Was it a thing that lasted? Could it be found in the dark? Did he have to come out in the light and watch his ugly ass burn?
Is that where happiness was? In the light?
Fuck this place. It always made him think like a big, butt-fucked sissy.
Stopping at the archway that led into the living room, Chad soundlessly slipped his keys into his pocket.
Now he was seeing happiness.
A man and a woman, fiercely in love with each other. The woman was straddling the man, writhing against him, her honey-brown hair spilling to one side as she bent her head and melded their mouths together. When the man whispered something against her lips, she giggled and pushed harder against him, her stomach, swollen with a four-month-old fetus, restricting them from being tightly pressed together.
Chad leaned against a tall log post at the archway and waited for them to feel him. They laughed and flirted and kissed some more, their contentment as tangible as the Glock 30S in his waist.
Until the man, as though finally sensing him, turned his head in Chad’s direction. With narrowed eyes, the man grumbled, “Your voyeurism disgusts me.”
Chad said nothing.
The woman, who was a tiny wisp of a thing with a voice that sounded like happily-ever-after fairy tales, followed her husband’s gaze. Her eyes rolled when they landed on Chad.
“Tell me how you do it,” she demanded. “Tell me how you move so quietly like fragrance on the air?” Then she tilted her head and looked at him in that way she always did, like he was a puzzle she couldn’t seem to figure out. “It’s so…creepy. But so mesmerizing at the same time.”
The man clasped his wife at the hips and lifted her off him. “Okay. Rule number 37: No being mesmerized by anyone but me.”
The woman giggled, her voice soft and fine like mosquito wings. “You and your silly rules. I can barely remember the first ten.”
Annoyed by both the sound and the sight of happiness, Chad addressed the man: “We need to talk.”
He pushed away from the log column and strode off in the direction of the man’s office before he could utter another syllable.
Chad was at the wet bar pouring himself a finger of whiskey when the man finally came in the office and closed the door behind him.
“Help yourself, won’t you?” said the man through sarcasm, but there was no annoyance.
Taking a sip of his stiff drink, Chad waited for the blend of toffee, honey and white chocolate to settle on his taste buds in an enriching warmth, before turning to the man. “Clementine’s stomach is growing. Are you any closer to coming clean with her?”
The man glared at Chad for a beat, then sighed noisily as he went to sit behind his desk. Without grace, he flipped open his cigar box, took one out and lit it up, sucking in deep before bringing his attention back to Chad. “What if she leaves me? I…I can’t lose her, dammit.”
Chad tipped his head. “Why would she leave you? Did you do something wrong? No. You didn’t. You did something right, and that’s survive—when you weren’t supposed to. You need to tell her. She
needs to know why you have to live a hidden life. The only thing she’ll feel for you is sympathy. If she’s gonna hate anyone, it’ll be me. I’m the monster.”
“Yeah, but what if she decides she wants a husband who can travel with her, go to his son’s baseball games, his daughter’s ballet acts? A husband who can walk the earth without hiding from God knows who.”
“If she really loves you, she’ll understand.” Chad took another sip. Swallowed. “Besides, she’s already carrying your child. Where’s she gonna run to?”
The man sucked in another deep drag, contemplation pirouetting across his eyes. He nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. But—”
“Tell your wife who you are,” Chad reiterated cogently, done with this topic. Moving over to the desk, he eased down in one of the brown, leather club chairs. “I’m here on more pressing matters.”
“Pressing?” the man asked, instantly edgy. He was the most easily frightened, paranoid person Chad had ever known.
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
At this, the man erupted into a roar of coarse, tobacco-laced laughter. “And this is something new?”
“This time, yes, it is.”
The man’s brows furrowed, confusion written in the creases. “What could possibly be new about someone trying to snuff your lights out? Do what you do. Meet them halfway and kill them first.”
“This one’s already gotten close. Close enough to succeed.”
The man looked completely thrown. “Okay, Chadrick, I’m lost here.”
“This one’s a woman.”
“Annnnd since when did gender matter?” Then he laughed and waggled his brows in jest. “What, you got the hots for this killer chick or something?”
“Yes,” Chad confessed. “I do.”
Real fucking bad.
The man puffed out his cigar smoke in an array of circles. “So? Fuck her, then kill her. It’s a win-win. Hey, you can even pretend to be a Dom—”
“Ricardo,” Chad said, cutting him off, “this one’s your sister.”
Chad only half-listened as Kevin Bates yapped on excitedly with his presentation of potential bike concepts for Red Rhage—a rudimentary sports bike business he co-owned with his right arm, Jahleel aka JK.