Catalyst: Book 2 in The Dark Paradise Chronicles

by Isadora Brown

  The detective, who had yet to formally introduce himself, stopped talking, as though he was waiting for her to respond. Instead, her face remained the same: impassive but suspicious.

  “Now, we’ve been keepin’ you here with nothing for five hours,” he continued when he realized she wasn’t going to say anything. “I tell you what. You tell us everything you know about Noir, we’ll let you walk, charges dropped, everythin’. You walk out of here, live your life as though nothing happened. You’d be free.”

  Again he stopped, and Keirah could tell by the growing wrinkle etching vertically between his brows that he was increasingly frustrated by her lack of response to his offer. Still, she remained silent, unresponsive, and she almost looked slightly bored. She was Noir’s lover for Chrissakes! Did he really expect her to be afraid of him?

  “You don’t start talkin’, we’re gonna have to make your stay here pretty uncomfortable,” the detective warned, and then to further his point, he cracked his knuckles.

  Keirah knew cops weren’t allowed to physically beat the people they were interrogating. Hell, she hadn’t even been charged with anything. However, the dark smirk that touched his features told her otherwise.

  “Hard way, it is,” he said before chuckling dangerously.

  Andie flinched. “I can’t watch anymore,” she murmured. “So she’s been arrested? Clearly. And look at that outfit. Is she his partner now?”

  “I tried, And,” he said, almost pleading. “I swear to God, And, I tried. But she…”

  “I know.”

  So that was it, then. Keirah had chosen her side, and she wasn’t looking back. She was gone.

  Why didn’t she feel her loss, though? Why wasn’t Andie crying?

  Maybe because Jack was looking at her like he expected something out of her, and she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself. But maybe it had to do with the fact that somehow, some way, she knew it. Once Noir had gotten hold of Keirah again, Andie knew her sister was lost to this world forever. And for some reason, Keirah wanted it that way.

  She was gone, and that was it.

  So why wasn’t Andie crying? Why didn’t she feel sad?

  Because everyone leaves, Andie, a voice calmly reminded her. Everyone leaves. Your father left you when you were young. Your mother kicked you out when things got too hard. And now your sister has chosen her path, and it has nothing to do with you. You’re used to not being the first priority, Andie. That’s the way life is. People blow in and out of your life like leaves in autumn and leave when things get too hard or when they find an easier way, even if it means sacrificing you. Eventually, Jack will leave too. He has to, and that’s okay. He has a greater purpose beyond starting something with you. The safest bet would be to cut your losses and get out now, before you get even more heartbroken.

  Andie looked up, her pale green eyes meeting Jack’s jade green ones. She knew the voice was right. As much as it would hurt her to let him go, it would hurt her even more to be with him when he always had to leave? She wouldn’t want him to sacrifice his work for her, either. It was a precarious position to be in, and she didn’t want to inadvertently force him to make a decision when she knew, deep down, he would choose her. She needed to leave. They couldn’t be friends; not right away. They had to move on. That was the right thing to do, right?

  Right?

  “Can you hand me my cell phone?” she asked, her voice still croaking. “I need to call Carey.”

  Keirah

  It had been three days. Three days.

  They hadn’t even charged Keirah with anything. Hell, they didn’t even know who Keirah was.

  They only fed her bread once a day. They gave her one glass of water twice a day. She was only allowed to go to the bathroom once a day, and she wasn’t allowed to call anyone, much less receive some sort of defense attorney.

  Most surprising of all, they actually beat Keirah up. It wasn’t too bad; she could move around, she could think, but her face, her neck, and her upper shoulders were pretty bruised up. She couldn’t know for sure, though; unless she was in the restroom, she didn’t get an opportunity to look at herself in a mirror. She hadn’t brushed her teeth or showered in the last three days. Even the clothes she was wearing—her Bombshell dress—was still on her body. It was damaged, torn in some places due to the beatings from the police. What could they do to her that Noir hadn’t done before? It was almost as though he had been building her body’s tolerance up for activity such as this. Even if he hadn’t, it seemed to work. Her body had sustained injuries far worse than these. Of course it hurt. She felt the pain quite acutely in fact, but her determination and stubbornness seemed to be winning the fight.

  Of course, this particular fact only upset the police officers, and they took it out on her even more. They called her every derogatory phrase they could think of; whether it related to her body, her sex, or some name referring to how loose she was, it didn’t matter. They didn’t hurt her. As long as she knew deep down in her heart that her silence was beneficial to Noir, then she would endure anything.

  It was silly, probably even downright stupid. But it was what she believed.

  It was all she knew.

  When Keirah wasn’t being interrogated by one of six different officers, she was kept in an isolated holding cell, four by six feet, with nothing but a bed. She wasn’t allowed to read anything, no books, magazines, or newspapers, nor was she allowed to write. She wasn’t allowed visitors, nor was she allowed any letters. She wasn’t allowed to watch or even listen to the nearby television, which constantly updated the city of Onyx on the status of who Bombshell was, what she was being charged with, and, most importantly, what her relationship with Noir was.

  Of course, the police couldn’t tell the festering press anything because Keirah had yet to open her mouth and say “hello,” let alone confess to everything they had been asking her about. So the police kept rephrasing what they had been saying from the get-go, but also continued to lie that Keirah had a defense attorney.

  Currently, the young woman was lying on her cot, her head resting as comfortably as it could on the white pillow, her fingers laced together and resting underneath her head as her brown eyes stared up at the ceiling. It was cold isolation, and she was certain if she remained here in the next couple of days, she might catch some kind of illness. After another moment, she pulled one hand out from underneath her and reached up to her face, wondering what damage had been done today. She was certain both sides of her face were bruised, but it didn’t mask the pink ‘J’ stained onto her face.

  They had asked about the ‘J’ too. They thought it was her name, or maybe her lover’s name. One even went so far as to claim it was the illegitimate child of Noir and Keirah, which caused Keirah to crack a smile. It amused her. At first, it felt odd, smiling after so long, but she realized she was winning, and that caused her smile to deepen.

  It felt good.

  The right side of her face felt a little less bruised than the left, and her bottom lip was swollen. She was positive that if she had a mirror she would see fingerprints littering her neck, but that was it. Her nosebleed from last night had stopped a while ago, but flakes of crusted blood still outlined the rim of her nostril.

  She was sore, and so very tired. At night, nearly every hour, someone would pop in and wake her up just to wake her up. She had to admit, they were very good at fucking with her.

  But she was incredibly stubborn.

  She refused to think about her mother. She refused to think about Andie. She refused to think about Commissioner Jarrett. They would be ashamed of her actions. They would tell her she deserved to be in jail. They would tell her she was sick in the head for being in love with a man like Noir. She wasn’t the same Keirah. The girl they knew was dead and gone, and some other woman stood in her place. And that woman needed to get out of here.

  “I want to get out of here,” she murmured to herself, though the tone she heard sounded foreign to her ears. Was this how she
sounded after three days of not talking? She sounded horrible, croaky and strained.

  A small part of her wished upon whatever wishing star was shining down on her that Noir would help her escape from this prison, but the bigger, less selfish part of her reminded her that if he did something like that, the chances were greater that he would be caught and then everything she had done would be for nothing.

  It felt like forever since she had been lying there, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. In fact, after further consideration, she thought it had been a while since she had last seen an officer. Shouldn’t one have come around here, to mock her at least? There was an odd feeling crawling around in her stomach that she couldn’t quite decipher, leaving her uneasy.

  “Hey.”

  The voice was low, quiet, and unfamiliar. But she heard it. She bolted upright on her bed, which caused her muscles to protest. She ignored them. Instead, her hearing was sharp and goose bumps erupted onto her skin. Was this an officer?

  “Look, I know you’re known for not talking, so just listen. I haven’t got all day. And, quite frankly, neither do you. He’s coming for you. But you knew that, didn't you? He’s coming for you soon. It’s absolutely necessary that you listen to what I’m about to tell you. Not just listen but, like, do it. Do what I tell you. If you don’t, all will be for nothing and you’ll die. Simple as that. When you see him—you know who—you need to get as close to him as possible. No questions asked, just do it. You got that? You hear me? I hope so.”

  A crooked cop in Onyx.

  Of course. Why wasn’t Keirah surprised?

  She should feel relief. Noir was really coming to get her. But she just didn’t like it being through some crooked cop.

  And what did his message mean anyway? Get as close to him as possible or else she would die?

  Before Keirah could contemplate that, a familiar goon who reminded her of one of the goats living under the bridge stomped in and led her into another interrogation room.

  For the next twenty minutes, he threw questions at her with his sharp voice and backhanded her once before something stopped him. People were screaming now, rushing; there was tension-filled activity outside the room. The officer interrogating Keirah forgot all about the young woman and left the room, leaving Keirah alone.

  She sat there a moment, contemplating what she should do.

  It didn’t take her long.

  Keirah slipped out of her chair and walked out of the room, trying to figure out where to go.

  A loud, familiar cackle filled the room, overpowering everything else and causing everyone around to go silent.

  And then, through the smoke and through the haze, there he stood. Tall, broad, and beautiful as ever. God, he was a sight for sore eyes.

  It was then that Keirah remembered just what the mysterious voice had said. She had been leaning against the door frame, her whole body slumping due to the pain she was currently trying to ignore, but she pushed off against the door and headed toward him. He hadn’t noticed her, not until she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Suddenly, she felt as though the world wasn’t on her shoulders anymore. She was safe.

  Finally she was safe.

  Noir chuckled at Keirah’s response to his performance and coiled his arm around her waist. “There, there, there, doll,” he murmured into her hair. Miraculously, it still smelled like sweet strawberries, despite the obvious unwashed state. “I'm here, and he’s not letting you go.” He grinned, golden eyes narrowed at the surrounding police officers. “And just think! You’re just in time for the, well, for the show.” The last word he spoke seemed darker than usual.

  Keirah couldn’t see anything, but she heard a ping, could feel Noir press some sort of button, and then heard an ear-deafening explosion from all around.

  It was only when Noir had brought Keirah home that he realized what she had endured during the past three days. Currently, she was resting on the bed they shared, but she made sure to change out of the dress she had been in. He would have to remember to grab her a new one because he really did like it on her.

  As she slept, Noir took a chair and placed it close to the bed so he could watch her, so he could study her, and so he could be there when she woke up in order to let her know that she was back at the manor with him, that she was safe. Since she wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting currently, his sharp, golden eyes surveyed her features, wanting to try and decipher just what sort of damage had been done to her.

  The first thing he noticed was that nothing permanent, at least on the surface of the skin, had been inflicted. Her face was swollen, purple, blue, with bruises scattered about. Her lip had been opened twice, maybe three times, with a cut of dried blood littered on her bottom lip. If she had been awake, he probably would have leaned over and kissed her bottom lip, sucking the metallic taste until the flavor ran dry. Even though they were only apart for three days, he had craved her body, her eyes, and her smile.

  He was an addict, and she was his drug. He needed her more than he needed chaos.

  Another thing he noticed was how much weight she had lost in three days. Her cheeks looked sunken in and her skin was paler than before.

  Those fucking cops tortured her.

  But why?

  It was then that he realized they probably questioned her, not about her own deeds of breaking the law, but about him, of what she knew about him. It was the only reason she would be this beaten up, lacking food and water; lacking a lot, really. Hell, she didn’t have a fucking lawyer to defend her—though Noir had connections to the greatest defense firms. And the only reason she looked like she did was because she hadn’t talked.

  Keirah had kept her mouth shut and taken quite a beating to make sure that he and his whereabouts were safe. It probably affected him more than he allowed himself to feel, but it meant a lot to him. More than he would say. He wouldn’t even try to put what he felt into words.

  He frowned and sighed through his nose. His feelings soon turned into anger, and he clenched his ungloved hands into tight fists in order to control himself. He needed to take it out on someone, but he’d be damned before he reached out and did so to Keirah, not after everything she had done for him.

  Without thinking everything through, he reached out, suddenly completely calm, and brushed the pad of his fingertip across her cheek in order to push a strand of brown hair out of her face. Such a beautiful, delicate thing as Keirah should not be damaged to the extent that she was. There were times when he lost himself in consuming passion for her, and he wouldn’t deny that he absolutely loved the way she looked when she was crying or bleeding, knowing that he could cause her to feel such emotions.

  But for someone else to do things to his girl? No way. Things were going to get destructive. No one could inflict such pain on his girl and get away with it.

  Did anyone know who they were fucking with?

  He clenched his teeth together, feeling his anger start to bubble up once again. This time, he couldn’t help himself, and he pressed his chapped lips on hers, needing to feel her warmth, even if she was unconscious. His tongue slid out of his lips and caressed her bottom lip lightly. His eyes rolled back as he enjoyed the taste of the blood on her lips meshed with her own sweet taste, causing a slight, sweet euphoria to slide throughout his body.

  Keirah’s eyes opened at that moment, but she wasn’t surprised to see Noir, to feel him. In fact, it brought a sense of security to her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her as she sighed in content. She put pressure against his lips, but she couldn’t get too passionate. Everything in her hurt and she was still incredibly exhausted, but at that moment, she was purely happy to be back in his arms, with him in the house.

  When they broke apart, he didn’t immediately pull back from her. Instead, he grazed his forehead against hers and started tracing her jawline. His golden irises had her own brown eyes locked into a gaze she had no means to escape
, but she didn’t really need to. She was perfectly fine being entwined with Noir forever. She closed her eyes again, relaxing arms that still held him, and basked in the attention he was giving her. Everything about this just felt right.

  “I’m glad you’re back with me, love,” he murmured in a silken tone, his voice sending shivers down her spine as his hot breath caressed the side of her face.

  “Me too,” she replied in the same, soft voice, only her words were mumbled because her lips had been pressed into his shoulder. She almost felt like a child.

  “I have a, hum…suggestion,” he said, tilting his head farther back so he could look at her, but not far enough for her to have to break her hold on him. “Let’s go downstairs and see what they have to report on the news.”

  Keirah nodded weakly and allowed Noir to reach over and slip his arms underneath her tired frame in order to carry her downstairs so they could watch television together. She didn’t seem to weigh that much or, at least, it didn’t feel that way when he held her. She buried her face in his chest; no matter what position she was in, she was always comfortable with him holding her, or any sort of physical contact really.

  When they reached the living room, Noir set her down after taking a seat on the couch himself, resting her head gently in his lap. Keirah shifted her body so she could watch the news in a comfortable position, and flipped on the television. The first thing both of them noticed was Commissioner Jarrett on the screen, giving some sort of press conference.

  “Now, we join Commissioner Jarrett of the Onyx City Police Department,” the reporter said before taking a step out of the shot. The camera zoomed in so Jarrett could be seen more clearly, and just as Keirah had seen him previously, he looked tired and slightly disheveled.