by Eros, Marata
Kiki's lips quirk. “You sound so funny when you try slang. Somehow, it's not you.”
“It was discouraged. Unclassy,” I say before I can sensor myself.
“Eff them.”
I nod.
“Yes. Definitely.”
Kiki leans across the seats, hugging me. “Text me if you need anything.”
“Thorn will take care of me.”
She pulls away. “If you let him.”
I didn't realize Kiki was so insightful. “True.”
“Get outta here, Juliette.”
My real name sounds like music. It makes me sad.
I slide out of her Fiat, my fingers clenched around the handles of my duffel.
Each step takes me farther away from Shepard and deeper inside the lies I've woven for Thorn.
I can't win, though it's all I can think of managing.
I walk toward the small building that houses the planes of those who can afford private transport. I don't stand out in a place as diverse as Seattle. I chose this region on purpose because I look like what I am: a woman of mixed ethnicity. I want to blend.
Shepard never thought I did. I remember his words.
*
“Ma cherie,” Shepard says, his hands everywhere on my naked body, “he shall not have you.”
I shudder. I don't want to lay with the King of the French Mafia. I want to be like a normal sixteen-year-old girl, putting on makeup and staying up half the night giggling with my girlfriends. Instead, I am clay.
Shepard molds me.
He protects me from the perverse affections of the monster who ruins others.
“How?” I ask, hating the quiver in my voice.
Shepard's dark eyes find mine. He swipes my tears away with his thumbs before rolling over on top of my body. He presses my knees wide, grabbing either side of my face in a hold that hurts. “He cannot have the one I marry.”
A thrill of fear like lightning strikes my guts, causing them to quiver with a deep-seeded resignation. His words kill something inside me.
My freedom.
It's the first time I realize I don't belong to me.
I'm no one.
Shepard pushes into me. With each thrust a little piece of me floats away.
I scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind.
Going everywhere and nowhere.
*
“Miss?”
My face jerks up at the man behind the counter.
“Are you well?” he asks.
I swallow. No.
“Yes, thank you. I'm fine.”
His eyebrows rise. They’re a fine silver that matches his hair. “Are you the young lady traveling with Mr. Simon?”
I nod.
“You may consider waiting in Mr. McKenna's private lounge.”
“All right.” I scan the building, and shame floods me. I should have been more aware, counting exits.
Stupid, Juliette. My paranoia is its own monster.
The older gentleman rounds the counter and takes my elbow. His touch fills me with anxiety.
Nerves.
“Through this door, Miss Balland.”
I move to the door he indicates. Silver tone lettering scrolls across the door: McKenna Enterprises. He sweeps it open with his right hand.
His grip on my right elbow tightens.
It hits me—a silent D.
No one says my name correctly.
I look into the room. Shepard sits at a bar stool. His suit is impeccable, elbows casually behind him as his Italian-encased shoe swings over crossed legs.
“Is this she?” the older man asks.
Shepard nods.
But I'm already moving toward Shep. I drive my left palm into his solar plexus.
He grunts, and with an expert twist, he wrenches my elbow. I squeal like a stuck pig and make my counter move count. I drive my elbow up like a wing into the beak of his nose.
Shep laughs. “So feisty. Subdue her, gentleman.”
Three men pour from the corners. I shrug off my jacket as I turn and wrap the arms around the old guy from the counter.
He carries himself well and tries to deflect my maneuver.
I'm better, knotting the arms across his face and shoving him at the same time.
He falls, temporarily blinded.
I turn, and the largest one comes for me.
“Careful, she's a tigress,” Shep calls.
He knows what I'm capable of, but the thug coming for me doesn't. He grunts a laugh, and I strike him hard in the jaw. I can't afford to hit teeth this soon. It'll tear up my knuckles before I can get the others.
He drops where he stands. I timed my hit perfectly and nailed the exact knockout spot on the jaw.
The other two come for me.
“Bitch,” one says.
I crouch, hands loose and ready. I don't waste time on words.
He moves in, fast for his size. I swing in a classic roundhouse kick, aiming for his jaw. He jerks backward, and the kick takes him at half-speed.
A fist sails over my head. I clutch the other man's arm, moving behind him as he follows through with the punch. I slam my instep into the back of his knee, and it caves. I jamb his arm between his shoulder blades and shove. He stumbles forward into a freefall.
I turn as a hand lands on my throat.
My eyes flick to Shepard's.
Amusement fills them.
Hate flares inside me like a lit match.
Two men are down. The old man came at me from behind.
Stars glitter in my vision and I slam my palm into Strangler's locked elbow. It dislocates and he howls, dropping me.
I whirl, bringing my foot into old man's stomach. It drives him into the wall.
Shepard is suddenly there.
Pain arrives, and with it—fear.
23
Thorn
I don't consider myself an intuitive dude. I'm more a gut-instinct kinda guy.
My instincts are all worked up into a damn lather.
I pace in front of Dillinger's door. My appointment is in five minutes.
Juliette is safe at Kiki's.
The jet is fueling at the private airport.
Why do I feel like I've got ants in my boxers? My skin creeps with it.
I crack my knuckles, and the receptionist looks up.
Gotta tone my shit down.
“Can I get you a glass of water, Mr. Simon?”
No, you can get me out of here so I can get to Juliette.
“No, thanks.”
A buzzer shrieks, and I about jump out of my shorts.
Fuck.
I scrub my face twice.
Bubble-gum Snapper gives me the green light. “Go ahead, Mr. Simon. Dr. Dillinger is ready for you.”
I burst through the door.
The doc looks up. “Mr. Simon?” He’s clearly concerned by my freaky attitude.
I dial it down.
“No problems, just have a busy agenda. Trying to push stuff through.”
“Yes, well... you seem under duress.”
Yeah, I can't get this girl off my mind. She’s got a stranglehold on my cock, and when that lets up, she leads me around by it. Not a problem, doc.
I blurt, “I met someone.” Going for honesty's jugular. Turning over a new leaf. Or twenty.
His eyebrows raise. “Please, sit.”
My eyes shift to the couch. Fuck that.
“Nah, not today.”
“All right.” Dillinger strolls over to his normal seat and settles in.
I exhale.
“That's fine progress, Mr. Simon.”
“Ty.”
He nods at my correction and cocks his head, waiting.
“I can't...” I'm so frustrated I could scream.
“I think it's progressive that you're willing to trust someone, Ty.”
I lace my hands behind my head and pace across his office. My elbows stand out from my head like wings.
He studies me as I go back and fort
h.
“I don't trust anyone.”
Dillinger stares at me.
“Yet since our last session ten days ago, you have met someone who has you in an apparent state of unravel.”
Well said.
I stop, my hands dropping to my sides. “Ya ever meet someone who seems to just tap right into who you are?” I punch my fist into my chest above my heart. “Right here.”
Dillinger's smile lights his face.
“I did indeed.”
Well isn't he the fucking cat that ate the canary. He's got all the answers, eh?
I peg my hands on my hips, my neck jerking forward like a duck's. “And what did you do?”
He lifts his left hand to show me a narrow band of gold encircling his ring finger. “I married her.”
I sink into any chair that'll hold me.
I put my head in my hands.
*
Juliette
His elbow is against my throat, and my back is on the ground.
The men I've disabled roll around beside me, moaning as they hold their various injuries.
“I do not like to hurt you, Juliette,” Shepard murmurs in French. His dark eyes are hard in his handsome face.
“I know,” I say.
I drive my knee into his nuts.
It's a glancing blow, but he loosens his hold in an instinctive reaction.
I spin away, jump to my feet and turn. He slaps my face. It doesn't sound like much, but a slap delivered by a man as strong as Shep snaps my head back like a flower bending on its stem.
My head rings as he charges hard. Shepard wraps me up tightly and pounds me against the wall.
I gasp as the wind's knocked out of me.
He kisses me, and I turn my head.
He forces my head back into place. He grinds his mouth against my lips until I submit, opening my mouth to keep from being cut by his teeth.
Shepard forces my arms open, pushing my wrists against the wall as he plunders my mouth. His strong legs pin my own.
He trained me. Shepard knows my body and how to tire me out before he got to me.
His erection lays between us, and I choke back a sob.
Thorn! my mind bellows in anguish.
“I smell him on you,” Shepard says as his nose grazes my neck. His kisses make me shiver in both memory and revulsion. “I will cover his scent with my own.”
“No,” I say.
I bite his lip.
Blood pours from the wound, and he leaps back.
I run to the door, jerking it open as his palm slams against it. I clamp my left hand against my right fist and drive my elbow into whatever part of him is behind me.
He grunts, and I rip the door open.
Roi is there.
His surprise is not greater than mine. His fist smashes into my face.
I tumble backward in slow motion.
Something soft meets me.
Shepard's arms.
His blood falls on my face like metallic rain. He's saying something but I can't hear him.
The darkness is absolute.
24
Thorn
Dillinger shakes my hand. “I don't think you're in need, anymore, Mr. Simon.”
“Ty.” I throw him a bone in the form of a small smile of my own.
He cleans his glasses with a cotton handkerchief from the pocket of his button-down.
Dillinger holds the glasses up to the light and sets them back on the bridge of his nose, adjusting them with a tapered finger. “I will give my recommendation that you be reinstated to full service.”
“Y'know, Doc?”
His eyebrows rise.
“I think I'm going to take a small sabbatical.”
He grins. “You do have quite a bit of vacation time on the books.”
I cram my hands in my pockets. “That's a no-shitter.”
His smile becomes wider, more knowing.
Before, all I had was my work.
Now I have something more. Worth.
“A word of caution,” Dillinger says.
The feeling of disquiet I'd had when I first got here returns.
“Sometimes we seek the very thing we run from.”
“Riddles, Doc?”
He inclines his head. “You have not had things easy, Ty. It would be very normal for you to pick a relationship with complications. It’s a replacement for dysfunctional dynamics, because they are familiar.”
“Yeah, I know. She has issues.”
Dillinger's eyes capture mine. “Some you may be unaware of.”
“Okay...?”
“Guard yourself.”
I pull my chin back. “I always do.”
Dillinger shakes his head a little sadly. “No. Before, there was nothing to guard—no one mattered.”
We look at each other for another moment that's so oppressive, I feel as if I've stopped treading water.
The fullness passes, and he claps me on the shoulder.
I nod and walk out.
His words swirl around in my head.
That session was my last, and I'm glad. Why do I feel as though it's only the beginning?
My cell buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and swipe.
Tag: We need to meet. ASAP.
Me: What's doin'?
Tag: Not here. Starbucks at Pike.
Me: Stupid parking.
Tag: Use the cherry.
I think of Juliette's story and shove it away.
Tag means the cop light.
Me: Yeah.
I jog to my Porsche and throw the red strobe on the top. I drive to Pike Place, but not before I look at the time.
An hour and a half until the jet leaves. This had better be good.
*
I pull up and double-park.
I take in the surroundings, seeing nothing unusual. Tourists dot the area with their umbrellas. I stride to the Starbucks.
Tag stands, his chin lifts in greeting, and I move around the three-foot ornate metal fence and sit in an ass-numbing metal bistro chair.
“What the fuck? What's with all the cloak-and-dagger shit?” I ask.
Tagger leans forward. His light eyes seem to storm, the bit of gray in them like an angry cloud. “That chick—Simone Balland?”
He nails the D, and my teeth clench. “Yeah?” My guts drop to my shoes. I know what's happening.
“Why didn't you tell me she was a suspect?”
Huh, wasn't expecting that.
“ 'Cuz she isn't.”
We stare at each other. Tag flops back, one arm sailing over the back of the chair to dangle behind him. “Says who? We've got a stinker at an apartment leased in her name, and signs of a beat down but no body.”
My face shuts down and I knot my hands, elbows going to the table. I rest my chin on them.
“Okay.” Tag leans forward, cupping his hand toward himself. “What level of fucked up is this?”
I blow out air.
Tag whistles. “Must be bad.”
I nod and glance at my watch. One hour, eighteen minutes.
“Got a hot date?”
Yes. “No, I just—I'm meeting Simone to fly outta here.”
“Shut up. You—” Tag plows fingers through his sandy hair, then points at me. “You do not-do not... run off with a suspect in a murder.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Well, great, so she flees? Pfft.” His front chair legs slam on the concrete as he leans forward.
I nod. “Listen, it's a long story...”
Tag leans back again, spreading his arms. “We're all ears at the precinct.”
Truth time.
“She's running from the French Mob.”
The legs come down with an echoing clunk, but the pedestrian traffic and noise of the market mask it. “No shit.”
I nod in the face of his shock. “Yeah.”
“So you're what, hiding her?” Tag’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. Then his eyes light up. “You're boning her? God, Thorn,
grow up. You've had more tail than I can shake a stick at.”
I don't know what my face does, but Tag puts up his palms in supplication, offering benevolence.
I stare at him.
He stares back, his face going through an assload of speculations. Finally, he settles on the right one.
“You're gone on her.” He clasps his hands together, shoving away the coffees we don't touch.
My head bows. My hands dangle between my knees as I neither confirm nor deny his statement.
“Holy fucking crow—I never. Shit, man.”
I don't look up. I feel embarrassed, vulnerable as hell, and exhilarated all at the same time. I never share shit.
Tag's chair scrapes back.
I watch his feet come around to stand by my chair.
He waits, and I lift my head. His hand is there.
I look at it.
Then I take it. He hauls me up and I tower over him.
“I'm happy for you, you morose dick.”
I grin, and he claps me on the back.
“It's okay, Thorn. Now let me help you.”
I leap. Again.
“Okay.”
We take off toward the airport, cherries flashing like a pulse of blood on our cars.
My stomach settles to something like normal.
I can save Juliette.
I can save me.
25
Juliette
The slap wakes me.
“Please, Roi—do not.”
“She is alive only because she is your wife. Look at the trouble she has caused.”
A sharp pain like a million bee stings lights up my cheek. The same one Shep backhanded.
His felt like a love tap compared to the King’s.
I catch Roi’s wrist and roll off the surface I'm on.
I stumble, driven to my knees from dizziness. “Stop hitting me.”
The King crouches next to my face. “No.”
He shoves me backward and my forearms cross to defend my face.
He hits them away. I scuttle backward, flipping to my feet and gliding into a defensive crouch.
“Juliette, no,” Shepard warns.
My eyes flick to him. His face wears our fight, as mine does.
“I can't let him beat me and not defend myself.”
My gaze shifts to Roi, and I see his resemblance to Thorn. His huge body is all Thorn, his nose, jawline, the shape of his eyes. It catches my breath.