by Tiffany Snow
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
The note of warning in his voice gave me pause, but I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye.
“I’ve decided to leave,” I said.
“I see. And why would you do that?” he asked. “I’ve told you there are people after you. It makes absolutely no sense for you to leave.”
My temper sparked at the thinly veiled insult. “You’ve told me you’ll never quit your job, that basically I’m not enough for you, then you want me to stick around just because some people are supposedly after me?” I shook my head. “Taking care of myself is something I need to work on, and now is as good a time to start as any.”
I pushed past him, but he grabbed my arm.
“You’re a bloody fool if you leave,” he bit out.
“I’d be a bloody fool to stay,” I retorted, jerking out of his grip. In another moment, I was out the door and heading for the elevator.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I could do this, and I would. It was my life, and I was going to live it on my terms, even if it meant it would be more dangerous for me.
I stood in front of the elevator, waiting for the car to arrive. I clutched the handle of my suitcase. I felt unbearably sad inside, but good, too. The chains of obsession for Devon were finally loosened, and I hadn’t realized until now just how bound I’d been by them.
I heard a door open and close and I stiffened, seeing Devon approach in my peripheral vision. Staring resolutely ahead at the closed elevator doors, I said nothing. He walked toward me, not stopping until he was close at my side. He was looking at me, and I wondered if he’d try to make me stay through force.
But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke, his voice a low rasp of sound.
“Don’t go. Please.”
“I know you’re worried—”
“That’s not why,” he interrupted me. “Yes, I want to keep you safe. But it’s you. I don’t want to lose you, Ivy. Not like this.”
“Because I’m leaving you for a change?” I asked. No sense sugarcoating it.
“Because I care about you, more than I’ve cared about anyone in a very long time. And I should have told you that. Weeks ago. But I didn’t. And I hurt you.”
My throat was thick with emotion at the stark vulnerability in his voice. “Yes, you did,” I said simply.
His hand brushed my hair back from my cheek. “I am sorry, sweet Ivy.”
The elevator doors opened.
“I want you in my life,” he said. “Will you stay? Do you want me, too?”
I couldn’t speak, could only nod. I hadn’t meant to compel him to bare his feelings to me, but I was glad the threat of me walking away had caused him to tell me the truth.
He took my suitcase from me and grasped my hand, leading me back to the room.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“My mission,” he reminded me. “Ran afoul of some characters, so I’ll need to go back later.” He discarded his jacket and I saw a bright-red stain on the pristine white of his shirt where the tear had been.
“You’re hurt,” I said, going to him.
“Just a scratch,” he said, glancing at the wound. “One of the buggers had a knife.” By now he’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged it off. “Be a darling,” he said. “The bellman will be up shortly. Will you answer for me?”
“Um, yeah, sure,” I said, hastily averting my gaze from his bare and well-muscled chest. My fingers itched to touch him, and it seemed to me he lingered longer than was necessary before heading into the bathroom.
It took me that long to figure out he was using my room instead of his, but unless I wanted to see him naked in the shower—which I really, really did—I’d just have to wait and deal with it when he came out.
The bellman did knock a few minutes later and when I answered the door, he gave me a garment bag. “These have been cleaned and pressed,” he said, coming inside to hang them in the closet. He set a small leather bag on the bed, too, then waited.
“Oh, oh right,” I said, scrambling for my purse and pulling out a tip for him.
“Thank you, miss.”
He left and I took Devon’s clothes and bag over to his room. I was staying, but I wasn’t sure yet whether I was sleeping with him. He’d put himself out there, true, but so had I, multiple times.
I was sitting on the bed pretending to watch television when Devon emerged from the shower. He had a white towel slung low around his hips as he dried his hair with another. I watched from the corner of my eye as the muscles in his chest and arms flexed with his movements. His arm wasn’t bleeding any longer, though I noticed a few additional bruises on his torso and the knuckles of his right hand.
“I was worried,” I said. “I woke up and you were gone.”
“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you when I left earlier,” he said, tossing the towel aside. I averted my eyes in case he decided to drop the other towel, too. I only had so much willpower and a naked Devon was too hard to resist.
Devon picked up his discarded jacket and pulled something out of the pocket. “Here,” he said, tossing it toward me. It landed with a soft thump by my knee.
I glanced down. It was a cell phone. “What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a phone.”
I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm. “Obviously. Why do I have one?”
“It’s a burner phone. Untraceable,” he replied. He moved to stand next to me and I tipped my head back to look at him. “It has one number programmed into it, and that’s mine.”
My eyes slipped shut and the barest hint of a smile crossed my lips. “I can call you,” I said softly.
“You can call me,” he echoed, his voice much closer. His lips brushed mine before he moved away.
I opened my eyes, my smile wide. This was a good thing, a positive development.
“Did the bellman come?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I put your things in your room.”
The curve of his smile was faint. “Persisting in your self-imposed celibacy?” he asked, his tone sardonic.
“For now,” I said. “I think it’s best if we work on our relationship . . . outside of the bedroom. Surely you can see that.”
“I see no reason to deprive either of us a few hours of pleasure. God knows it’s in short supply considering all the other shite in life. So where does that leave us, sweet Ivy?”
“An impasse.”
“For now,” he said. “But, I think, not for long.”
His knowing smile and the certainty in his gaze made my eyes narrow. Stubborn tenacity was a strength of mine. “We’ll see,” I said, wondering just what Devon would give to be allowed in my bed again.
Glancing at the waterproof watch on his wrist, he said, “Get dressed in dark clothes. You’re coming with me.” Then he was through the connecting door, leaving it open behind him.
I jumped up from the bed and peered into the room to see he’d discarded his towel. Devon’s body was perfection. The muscles in his chest and back were as defined as his thighs and ass, which my eyes were currently glued to. He turned, and I’d be hard-pressed to say which was better—the front or the back—then he went still. His cock was heavy between his thighs, long and thick, and memories of what Devon could do with that particular asset made heat rush through my veins. As I watched, it twitched, hardening beneath my gaze.
Jerking my gaze up, I met his eyes watching me watch him. He raised an eyebrow and I quickly took a step back, closing the connecting door.
I hurriedly stripped off my skirt and T-shirt, then dug in my suitcase for dark jeans and a black shirt. All I had was a filmy one with elbow-length sleeves.
Black was one of my favorite colors to wear, making me feel more like the badass I wasn’t. I loosely braided my hair on the side, letting the heavy mass fall over my shoulder. The blouse was see-through in the right light, so the black bra I wore underneath was clearly visible, which suited me fine. I slipped on a
pair of black flats, got my purse, and sat on the bed to wait.
Devon came through the door a few minutes later. I stood, ready to go, and he gave me a once-over.
“Is this all right?” I asked. He was wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved black cotton shirt. The shirt fit him like a second skin.
“We’re not going clubbing,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But it’ll do.”
I could tell by the darkening of his eyes that he liked the way I looked, which always pleased me. “You can buy me a cocktail on the way back,” I sassed, passing by him on my way out the door. He stepped after me, closing the door behind him.
“I’ll buy you a cocktail anytime you’d like, darling,” he said. “Just say the word.”
I paused. “Really?” Just relaxing in a bar, having a drink with Devon, sounded divine.
“Yes, really,” he said, the corners of his lips tipping upward and his eyes softening.
I smiled, letting Devon have the last word, as he usually did, and headed for the elevator. A few minutes later, we were in his car and speeding down the road.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “And why am I coming?”
“I need to pick up someone,” he said. “You might help them be a little more . . . cooperative about coming along.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
I couldn’t imagine what I could do to help and wondered if Devon was planning on kidnapping someone. I didn’t think I wanted to be involved in something like that. But I didn’t really have a choice in the matter, as we traveled from the nice, well-maintained part of town to an area where working streetlights were few and far between. Hardly any people were around and those that were, I didn’t want to make eye contact with.
Finally, we stopped outside a tall, brick building, eight stories high. It was old—really old. The whole area was. Train tracks were only a street away and all the buildings seemed empty and lifeless, though their imposing structures loomed like haunted sentinels around us.
“Where are we?”
“The Bottoms.”
Yeah, that fit.
“And the person you’re picking up is here?” I asked, following his lead as he got out of the car.
“Yes. This way.”
He led me behind the building, taking care with where he walked. At one point, he took my hand, keeping me closer as the shadows loomed. His weapon was at the small of his back and I was glad that he didn’t think it dangerous enough to be holding it, even though it was creepy. The highway was above us, cars crossing on a bridge that spanned the area, the rush of traffic quieter at this hour than I imagined it would be during the day.
At the back of the building, Devon paused outside a door. “Reggie, it’s me. Let me in.” He was looking at the broken light hanging disconsolately from the dented gutter overhead. I opened my mouth to ask him who he was talking to, when there was a loud click and the door swung open.
“Come,” he said quietly, tugging on my hand. I followed him through the doorway into a cavernous dark space. Glancing to my right, I let out a shriek of terror.
A man sat in a chair, an ax embedded in his chest. Blood had dripped down and puddled on the floor beneath him.
Devon’s hand covered my mouth, stifling my scream, and he pulled me hard into him.
“Reggie, for fuck’s sake,” he called out, irritated. “I’m going to wallop you good for that one.”
I was sucking in air behind Devon’s hand, my eyes glued to the dead guy, when the lights came on.
“C’mon, man, just having a laugh.”
I swiveled my gaze to see another guy walk in the room. He was skinny and tall, about my height, with brown hair that needed to be trimmed and the sallow, pale skin of one who avoided sunlight.
“You’re lucky I’m not cranky,” Devon chastised him. Turning his attention to me, he said, “You all right, darling?” He slowly removed his hand from my mouth.
Bewildered, I gazed at the two of them. They didn’t seem to care that a dead man was feet away. I looked at the body again, then looked closer.
“It’s not real,” I said in confusion. “But it looked so real . . .”
“The Edge of Hell, my friend,” the man said, going to the mannequin and tapping it fondly on the shoulder. “Their castoffs are the absolute best. Got this one for a steal.”
“Meaning you did actually steal it,” Devon said.
I figured out this must be Reggie, who just shrugged. “Whatever. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes, you were quite successful in frightening the lady out of her wits, congratulations.” Devon’s dry reply made Reggie look my way for the first time. His eyes widened slightly.
“Oh, wow, yeah, hey, I’m sorry,” he said, actually sounding somewhat contrite.
“The Edge of Hell?” I asked, rather than acknowledge his apology.
“It’s the big haunted house down here,” Reggie hastened to explain. “It’s five stories tall and they run it every year. They’re always upgrading their props and they sell the old stuff. I like to . . . pick up a few things to help keep people away.”
“It’s certainly realistic,” I said, glancing back at the axed mannequin with a shudder.
“That’s not even the best I have,” Reggie boasted. “I have better stuff in this place.”
“Are you ready to go?” Devon interrupted. “Our flight is in the morning.”
Flight? What flight?
“Yeah, just need to grab my gear,” Reggie said. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the darkened hallway behind him.
“Where are you flying to?” I asked.
“Reggie’s wanted in Amsterdam,” he replied.
I couldn’t imagine what kind of threat Reggie posed to national security, but before I could ask any more questions, we heard a yell from downstairs that was abruptly cut off. In a flash, Devon had his gun in his hand.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “Keep out of sight.” Then he was gone, following in the direction Reggie had walked.
Panic struck immediately and it was difficult to breathe. More danger. More unknown men seeking to do harm. My knees grew weak and I leaned against the wall, sinking down until my butt hit the floor. Spots danced in front of my eyes and I leaned over to put my head between my knees, making a conscious effort to breathe normally.
I could hear sounds from below, the popping of gunfire, and I started at each shot. Then I heard the back door creak open.
I was exposed here in the kitchen, with the lights on and nowhere to hide. On all fours, I crept backward into the shadows until I felt I was hidden enough that I could risk getting to my feet. My eyes on the kitchen, I stood and took another few steps back.
Something touched my shoulder.
CHAPTER NINE
It was only through the greatest effort at self-control that I did not scream. Whirling around, I saw a monster standing at least seven feet tall. It was covered in dank fur, its canine-like face contorted in a snarl. At my movement, it came to life. Its eyes glowed red and the arm that had dropped to my shoulder moved again. Though I knew it was fake, in that moment it was terrifying.
Turning, I scurried away into the darkness, and ran right through a spider web. I clawed at the sticky fibers, then saw the spiders on me. Frantically I brushed at them, strangled noises coming from my throat as I tried not to scream.
Stairs were on my right and I ran up them, my thoughts a tangled mass of black terror. A shadow moved in the hallway below—someone was following me from the kitchen. I hit the first landing and ducked down the hallway, trying the first door I came to. Locked.
A creak on the stairs. I jerked my head around, watching fearfully for the shadowy figure as I blindly reached for the second doorway’s knob. It turned.
I flung myself into the room, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could and locking it. I waited, casting a quick glance behind me at the room.
The moonlight filtered through the window and gauzy white d
rapes that moved, even though there was no breeze to stir them. The hair stood up on the back of my neck as my eyes were inexorably drawn to the sole occupant of the room—an old woman sitting in a rocking chair. As though feeling my gaze, the woman began to rock in the chair. Slowly at first, then faster, as the curtains billowed. I could hear her breathing, a deep rasping that seemed to echo in the room. With each rock of the chair, she came a tiny bit closer to me.
I was frozen in fear, my eyes wide as I stared. When she was only feet from me, the rocking suddenly stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief—
She stood in one quick, jerking movement, an arm raised above her head. She was holding a knife.
I screamed and screamed and screamed, instinctively raising my arms to protect myself.
The knob rattled behind me. He was trying to get in. My screams had led him right to me.
Caught between the man behind the door at my back and the old lady in front of me, I didn’t know what to do.
Suddenly, she came rushing toward me. I screamed again, throwing myself to the floor as her arm came down, embedding the knife in the wooden door with a loud thunk. Scrambling to my feet, I lunged for the knife, knocking the lady out of the way. As soon as my body hit hers, I realized she was another automaton, strung up with pulleys and ropes. But the knife was very real, the hilt solid in my hand as I jerked it out of the wood just as the door was flung open.
“Ivy!” Devon said, raising his arms from where he’d had his gun pointed straight at me. “It’s me.”
“Oh, God,” I breathed, the knife clattering to the floor from my nerveless fingers. Relief hit me so hard, my head swam. “I thought you were him,” I said. “The other guy.”
“The other guy is dead,” Devon said flatly. In two strides, he was at my side. “And I see Reggie’s amusements have been terrorizing you.”
Reaching behind him, Devon flipped on the light, and I wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry at what I’d been so afraid of. The old woman looked ridiculously non-threatening in the harsh light, the chair and curtains obviously wired to produce the movement I’d seen.