Mr. Harrison’s cold, calculating eyes take in the group. “Yesterday, an unfortunate event occurred at the police station. Jonathan Hayes and Daniel Anderson, two empaths involved with the Phoenix, escaped the prison and now roam the streets of Braxton. They can be anywhere. Alyssa has notified the blockers to keep an eye out for them.”
“That’s hardly enough!” shouts a man by Icarus. “This Phoenix character has gone too far.”
Icarus lifts a brow and turns to address the man. “And how do you propose to stop him when the police can’t even catch him?”
“The police?” Red creeps up the man’s face, and his outrage spreads across the table. “The police have done nothing.”
The Chief bristles in his chair and leans forward. “I beg your pardon?”
“Under your authority, three of our members have been murdered, and the two men responsible escaped right under your noses!” His gaze cuts in my direction, and his hatred smashes into me. “And let’s not even mention the abomination you’ve allowed to help with the case.”
My anger rises to greet his, red waves barrelling into one another. I open my mouth as venomous words form at the tip of my tongue, but the Chief speaks before I can.
“Moira has proved herself.” His voice rises with indignation. “And what happened yesterday could have happened to anyone, anywhere, and at any time.”
The man turns his burning gaze on the Chief. “My point exactly!”
Mr. Harrison’s calm contrasts with the rising tension. “What do you propose, Mr. Stewart?”
“Shut down the houses, lock the empaths, and show them who’s in charge.” Mr. Stewart’s gaze settles on me, and his tone darkens. “We’ve been lenient for far too long, allowing them to think they are one of us.”
Though he looks at me, his statement extends to the other empaths, the blockers who help them. People like Madame Josephine and Alyssa. The threads of black weaving around him convey what he doesn’t voice to the others. He doesn’t want us locked away. He wants us gone, wiped away from Fortland. Extinct. Several of the other Elite members nod in agreement. My heart thunders, a roar that reverberates in my ears and erodes my previous anxiety. Icarus’s command reverberates in my head, but it no longer controls me. Not even my fear for my life holds dominance. Instead, my own fury, built up from years of servitude, fuels the blood coursing through my veins.
My gaze drifts to Mr. Harrison. I will eliminate him. Not for Icarus. For all the empaths. For Charlotte and Devin.
For myself.
Icarus leans forward and interrupts. “Imprisoning them up won’t solve anything. We have the past to thank for that. Or have you all forgotten what happened in the south?”
Everyone in the room falls silent, recalling the mass riots that had occurred in Portland.
He continues, his voice spurred on by determination. “What we need to do is give them a little freedom. Loosen the chains, so to speak.”
The Chief furrows his brows. “Like what?”
“You start with something small. Give them wages.”
Red creeps across Mr. Stewart’s face. “This is preposterous!”
Icarus speaks over him. “You take everything from them, and they’re bound to push back. By giving a little, we ensure their cooperation and the safety of the city.”
Mr. Stewart opens his mouth, but Mr. Harrison stops him by raising a hand.
Mr. Harrison scrutinizes the other members. “Mr. Hayes makes a valid suggestion.”
I glance at Icarus, and our eyes meet. Though his expression remains neutral, gold drifts around him. A question floats to the surface. Has he interfered with Mr. Harrison’s mind? I know for a fact he’s meddled before. He’s responsible for my release from prison, and I have no doubt he’s the reason for Madame Josephine’s position as the Pleasure House Instigator.
If only I knew what his plans were.
7
Time passes, yet the argument remains the same. One side votes to close the houses, while the other insists on permitting the empaths more freedom. The idea is to form some sort of truce, a political agreement between empaths and the Elite. It’s all preposterous to me, but a treaty is better than continued enslavement. Eventually, I stop listening to the Elite members. Their voices fade, drowned out by the thoughts whirling in my head. How will I approach Mr. Harrison in private? And how strong will his mental barriers be?
After an hour has passed, Mr. Harrison finally ends the discussion.
His voice rings through the room, cutting the other members off. “I see we won’t come to an arrangement tonight, so I will deliberate on this further and reveal my decision tomorrow.”
His words draw me back into the room. I blink at the men around me as I regain my composure. Mr. Harrison rises from his seat and moves toward the door. I grip the arms of my chair as my gaze trails after him. When I turn my attention back on the table, Icarus grazes my mind and his thoughts trickle inside me. It’s time. A rush of adrenaline courses through me and threatens to break my calm exterior.
I rise to my feet and lean close to the Chief. “May I use the bathroom before I leave?”
“Of course.” Heat creeps up to colour his cheeks. “It’s upstairs. The second door to the left.”
I nod and slip past him. The men in the room continue to argue, despite Mr. Harrison’s absence. No one notices me as I exit. Except the detective. His curiosity creeps up my spine and prods the base of my neck. I force my legs to slow and breathe a sigh of relief when his suspicion fails to escalate. Once out in the hall, I search in each direction and catch sight of Mr. Harrison entering a room at the far end. He disappears inside, yet leaves the door open.
Instead of turning left and heading up the stairs, I veer right. The grumblings of the men inside the dining room fade, replaced with an eerie silence. Along the walls, unfamiliar faces stare back at me from photographs, a mute audience. When I arrive at the end of the hallway, I glance back and survey the area. Empty. A steadying breath gives me courage to rest the tip of my fingers on the door. The wood gives way with a squeak, yet Mr. Harrison keeps his eyes glued on the papers in front of him.
He sets one of the documents down. “Yes? What is it?”
I lean back on the door until it clicks closed. The sound draws his attention, and he lifts his head to examine me. His brows furrow, and his confusion marks the air with small bursts of yellow brown.
After a second, he flattens his expression and regards me with mild curiosity. “Is there something you wish to discuss, Moira?”
“Yes, in fact, there is.”
I thrust forward with my mind. Determination and years of pain add power to my invasion. A large barrier blocks my path, but gives way after another attack. Relief courses through me, along with an upsurge of gratitude. I stumble onto his landscape and waste no time in burying a seed of persuasion.
Don’t move and don’t speak.
The command sears his mind. His body stills, and his pale eyes transform into empty shards of ice. A thread of suspicion weaves around me as I examine the unusual darkness of his layout. When I step forward, my presence echoes through the expanse. Nothing but emptiness. Curiosity compels me to dig deeper.
Finally, I catch a glimpse of light. Reddish-orange specks shimmer before me, brightening and expanding with each step I take. They flare and spread into several individual marks. My breath leaves me in a gasp as horror widens my eyes. Mr. Harrison’s will lies buried beneath the commands of several empaths. The multitude of insignias burning inside him bruise and scar his landscape, evidence of severe abuse. Amazement and disbelief pull my feet forward. Some of the marks are familiar, the same design on my own mind.
Icarus.
I touch the unfamiliar imprint, resting my palm against one of the doors. The heat radiates through the wood and pulses through my hand. Several memories, unaffected by the persuasion, cling to the panel. I tug one of the threads and watch it unfold.
The office door creaks open, and Mr. Harr
ison peers up from the document on his desk to examine the intruder. My heart skitters to a halt as I stare up into familiar black eyes. Even in the presence of the Chief Elite Member, Scott looks the same. Callous and untouchable. He sits across from his master, and I force myself to remain in the memory. Unlike the calm Icarus and Jonathan exude, Scott fidgets with bottled energy. He picks at the armchair, digging a groove with his nail. His gaze flicks back and forth between his hand and Mr. Harrison’s face. Anyone else would see it as a form of submission. But I know better. It’s all an act to distract others from what he truly wants.
Mr. Harrison leans back in his chair and taps his pen on the desk. “What is it, Scott?”
“Have you considered my request?”
The words confirm my suspicion. He wants something. I can see it in the way he darts his gaze back to watching his nail carve into his seat.
“I have.” Mr. Harrison eyes him, mistrust and curiosity intertwining with one another. “Although I have to wonder why.”
He shrugs, though his expression remains the same. “I’m a man with needs like any other.”
A chill rattles my bones. Though his voice lacks the apparent desire in his words, the phrase alone reminds me of Icarus. I can remember a time when he had said something similar. Whereas Icarus meant it, Scott doesn’t. The needs he refers to lie buried and contaminated by years of sexual abuse. Mr. Harrison nods, though not entirely convinced. Scott has never displayed any interest of this nature before to him, and the Elite member wonders why now.
“You have permission to visit the Pleasure House, yet you choose not to.”
Scott’s right fist clenches, and a vein in his neck bulges. “I have no intention in taking my private affairs outside of my home, nor do I wish to share. The concubine must be mine alone.”
“Very well.” Mr. Harrison relents and leans forward. “I’ll have Madame Del Mar send you a few to choose from. Do you have any particular tastes?”
“That’s not necessary.” He stands, his expression blank, yet a glint glimmers in his eyes. “I’ve already chosen.”
Outside of Mr. Harrison’s mind, the door to his study screeches open. In a panic, I stumble out of the memory and brush against the intruder’s mind. A sigh of relief escapes me when I don’t sense anyone familiar, but I retreat from Mr. Harrison’s mind and act on an impulse. I press his hand on one of my breasts as my lips crush against his. He doesn’t move or speak, remaining under my persuasion. A servant enters the room, and his eyes widen upon seeing us. I break away from the kiss and look at the young man with feigned embarrassment, as if he had caught Mr. Harrison dallying with a concubine. The servant mutters a quick apology and rushes out of the room.
The moment I’m alone again, I dive back into Mr. Harrison’s mind. Instead of getting caught up in the memories, I plant another seed of persuasion, making certain the roots hold strong.
Tonight, when everyone else has fallen asleep, you will come down to your office and commit suicide using your revolver.
The command imbeds upon his mind as I continue to weave threads. I take hold of the memory of me entering his office and envision a small chest. When the image settles at the bottom of the box, I snap the lid shut and press my palm upon the wood. Fragments of my will slip out and connect, forming a symbol beneath my hand. Similar to when I had persuaded Madame Del Mar, I use the Phoenix’s insignia, a small bird made of fire. A mixture of pride and regret interweave, twisting a knot in the pit of my stomach. Deep within, a voice threatens to rise and give breath to my doubts.
I harden my expression and abandon his layout while still maintaining my hold on him. His face remains blank, mirroring the malleability of his mind. I strip away any guilt clinging to me, leaving the useless emotion at his feet. With slow, cautious steps, I ease backwards and open the door, peeking through the small crack to search the hallway. Some of the Elite members still linger, crowding together in the foyer, yet none of them look my way. I slip out, closing the door behind me, and only then release Mr. Harrison’s mind.
Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to my left. A servant, the same one who had interrupted me in Mr. Harrison’s office, stands in the hallway. Our gazes lock, and a strange chill settles over me as we stare at one another. A peculiar sensation crawls along the outskirts of my landscape like nails raking down my spine, and I unconsciously step forward and reach out for his mind. A solid wall blocks my path, and his lips curve upwards.
“Moira?”
The sound of my name jolts me, and my awareness snaps back into my body. The servant turns away and walks down the hallway. The unusual feeling enveloping me eases with his departure. I rein in my confusion and turn to face the detective. His eyes burn bright beneath the deep furrowing of his brows as he examines me. The absence of colour surrounding him leaves me clueless to his thoughts.
I soften my voice. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I investigate behind him, noticing everyone else has left. “I simply got lost. Are we leaving now?”
Rather than waiting for him to answer, I ease my way past him and head toward the entrance. The butler hands me my coat and gives the detective his hat and cane. Without a word, he opens the door for us. The detective’s presence presses on my back as we exit, his curiosity and suspicion snaking across my skin. Silent tension fills the drive back to his townhouse.
When we finally arrive, relief eases the tightness in my muscles. I step out of the motor vehicle and rush inside. The detective follows close behind my heels. Questions whir in his mind, but I have no intention of answering them. So as soon as I enter the foyer, I climb up the stairs and head for my bedroom. Instead of retreating to his study, he trails in after me. The door slams closed, sending a shock through me, and my shoulders rise as tension grips my spine.
“I didn’t invite you into my room, Detective.” Anger wipes away my anxiety as I stomp toward him. “Haven’t I made myself clear?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, a dark red cloud, tinged black, erupts around him.
“Ever since Jonathan was arrested, you’ve been pushing me away. Yet, every night, you turn into someone else and crawl into my bed.”
I retreat as he approaches.
His eyes narrow, and the fog around him darkens. “One minute you’re telling me you love me, and the next minute, you act as if you despise me. So, no, you haven’t been clear.”
I halt, rooting my feet to the ground, and glower up at him.
“Then let me ease your confusion right now.” Rage builds, forcing me forward as the words rush out. “I don’t want you. I don’t love you. And I never will.”
When only a few inches separate us, my shoulders drop as the breath I had been holding escapes me. My irritation continues to itch beneath the surface, yet something else causes a shudder to grip my spine. A slight quiver stirs my bottom lip. I blink away the water that threatens to blur my vision, but the stinging remains. Thunder rumbles in my head as a familiar voice screams in outrage. The creases around Keenan’s eyes soften, and the dark emotions around him vanish. In their wake, tiny flakes of pink and green flicker beneath the soft light.
His gaze drops to my mouth as his fingers brush my hand and curl around my wrist. When he leans forward, the shock winding my body tight releases its hold. I jolt away from him as my limbs thaw, but I’m not quick enough. His lips crash against mine, sending a ripple of longing across my skin. I grab his neck and pull him closer while my other hand pushes on his chest. Two sides of myself warring with one another. He wraps his arms around my waist as his tongue slips into my mouth. Memories float to the surface, carrying along locked feelings. An anguished inhalation fills my lungs with the scent of smoke and aftershave. All too clearly, I remember the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine.
The cavern door vibrates, threatening to burst open.
His lips leave mine to torment the soft curve of my neck. “Tell me to leave. Persuade
me.”
The heat of his breath elicits a tremor.
In a strange daze, a different demand leaves my lips. “Touch me.”
He slides his hands up my back and unhooks my dress, pushing the fabric off my shoulders. The thousand beads make a collective thump as they hit the ground. His hands wander beneath the hem of my chemise, searching. A cloud of yearning envelops me, tethering me to him. My mind wants to say no, but my body screams yes. Desire floods my senses, heightening every caress into an unbearable torture of pleasure. I work at the buttons on his shirt, eager to get rid of the fabric abrading my skin.
His lips become a soft demand as he leads us to the bed. At the last minute, I twist us around and push him onto the mattress. Surprise rises into the air as he falls onto his back. I loosen his trousers and crawl onto him, straddling his waist. His cock swells and twitches as I rock my hips back and forth. The feel of his lust restrained beneath me sends a ripple of need between my legs. I flick my tongue out to lick my lips, and the taste of control sweetens my mouth.
A soft moan slips out as his tip glides into me. I bite my lip and slide all the way down, welcoming the fullness he provides. Our eyes meet, and the love in his eyes threatens to pull me out of my haze. He sits up and presses his lips against mine, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace, securing me in place as we grind in a unified motion. My chest squeezes as my breath leaves me. Too tight. Too tender. In a flash, his touch morphs. The fingertips that dance along my spine morph into claws that rake across my flesh, a promise of the pain to come. Because, in the end, he will hurt me.
Just like Icarus.
Pink threads slither out from his chest and wrap around me, smothering. I shove him away and climb off, unable to face the full brunt of his emotions. A command rushes to my lips as I fall to my hands and knees, but he rises without a word and grabs my hips, thrusting inside me. With my face in the sheets, the tenderness in his eyes and touch no longer holds me back. I moan and press into him with force, urging him to move quicker. Faster. Harder.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 10