When she finished, Keirah grabbed one towel and dried herself off with it before coiling it around her body. She grabbed another, this one to dry her hair, but when she finished, her locks were still damp. Instead of deciding to use a hair dryer, she let it air dry. Walking out of the bathroom, steam followed Keirah, even as she headed over to her wardrobe.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Noir greeted from behind the young woman, causing Keirah to jump in surprise. This no doubt amused him, and he cocked a smile.
She always amused him, in one way or another.
Keirah turned, giving him a beaming smile, and she temporarily forgot what she had set out to do. “Good morning,” she said, walking over to him. The lazy look he gave her sent chills down her spine. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Hum…maybe,” he murmured, grinning at her. “A little.”
Keirah blushed and apologized, but Noir waved her words away.
“So what are we doing today?” Keirah asked..
“We’re going to get, uh, the fink who ratted you out, my pet,” Noir drawled, his golden irises bronzing at the thought. “I found out, hum…who it was that set us up, and I believe that, well, that it’s only fair to repay the favor.” He stopped, the corners of his lips twitching up at the thought of exacting his revenge. “I suggest you get dressed. Your, hum…outfit is in the left wardrobe.”
It took another hour, but sooner rather than later, both Keirah and Noir were ready to follow through with his plan. It was still overcast when he and Keirah parked the car, so the sky looked darker than it really was. Noir grabbed Keirah’s hand and led her to a supply truck, while a few of the minions Noir had hired earlier began to transport weapons from the car over to the supply truck.
In a half an hour, one of the men sat in the driver’s seat while the rest of Noir’s posse—himself and Keirah included—sat where the supplies would be if they’d had any. And then, as they say, they would play the waiting game until the driver led them to where they needed to be in order to carry out Noir’s plan.
Keirah was dressed in her Bombshell costume, sitting on a metal shelf. She wasn’t exactly sure what was going on or what would happen when they got to wherever they needed to be, but she would go with it. She always did.
It was only when Noir had his men slide the supply truck door open that her interest really became piqued. The truck was still moving…. It was like Noir was going to be confronting a moving target. She straightened up, eager to watch what would soon take place.
Noir was currently gripping a thick strap tied tightly to a metal bar so he wouldn’t lose his balance. One of his henchmen handed him a compact machine gun, and before Keirah knew it, he started firing at an armored car. It was then that she realized this must be a police transport, protection the cops were offering the man who had set up the trap that got her arrested. The machine gun, however, did absolutely nothing to the armored car, despite how constantly Noir fired at it.
Keirah pushed off her seat and knelt down beside Noir, grabbing a rifle and handing it to him. The two locked eyes for a moment, and though neither of them said anything, both were currently wearing small smirks. It would seem they enjoyed doing damage while working together. Keirah watched with wide eyes as Noir took aim and fired three times on the armored car, still to no avail. Just watching him, so serious, caused a pulsating thump to start in her pelvis, and already she could feel herself reacting.
When they took the rifle out of the equation, Noir pressed his tongue against his teeth before picking what appeared to be a bazooka. Keirah’s mouth dropped open in fascination as she watched her lover load the weapon and then fire it. It missed the intended target, but managed to hit the car in front of it. Noir didn’t seem perturbed, and when he fired it again, he hit the armored car. The henchmen cheered, but Keirah and Noir didn’t do anything. Instead, they looked at each other, and Noir smirked once more, pushing Keirah overthe edge.
Without taking into consideration her environment and those in it, she grabbed Noir, pushed him down on the metal shelf, and straddled him. She didn’t care that there were four or five henchmen watching her, nor did she care that the door was open and people, if they chose to, could turn and see the two. All that mattered was acting out on her desires, and after seeing Noir so ruthlessly fire those weapons, she needed to feel him inside her.
Noir, for his part, didn’t seem to mind, and helped Keirah unzip his pants while getting rid of her boyshorts. They did it in such a way that the henchmen couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but they could guess. It didn’t take long before Keirah slid herself onto him, and before Noir could stop her, she slowly started to rock back and forth as she arched her back up.
It was then that the accomplices actually started making catcalls and whistles, which probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do on their part only because the machine gun was a few centimeters from where Noir sat, and as he nipped at Keirah’s neck, he grabbed the gun and shot the group, killing all four of them.
Keirah gasped in surprise, but it didn’t distract her from what she set out to do. In fact, it only heightened her desire for him, so she sped up the pace and came down hard. Even he couldn’t stop his grunts of approval, and he had to taste her. He reached up and yanked down the top of her dress so her breasts pooled out, and he immediately captured a breast with his lips, while the other he caressed with his fingers.
Keirah moaned, pressing herself even closer to him, and rocked back and forth harder than he expected her to.
Noir leaned his head back, gripping Keirah’s once again. Just the sight of her on top of him, in a moving vehicle and in front of his men, her dress pulled down, her breasts moving with her body, her hair tousled, a hickey on her neck…. He had to let himself go, and as he did so, he cocked his head forward and bit her left breast.
Though it was painful, it was the push that Keirah needed to cross over, and the two climaxed together, their breaths ragged, their bodies sweaty.
It was almost comical; they were much like hormone-fueled teenagers, without one ounce of knowledge of how to keep their hands off of each other. But they didn’t care. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.
Reese
They were gone. They were really gone.
And she could do nothing to stop it.
Maybe if she hadn’t been out camping, this never would have happened. But she couldn’t change her visions, or so Ollo said. Why would she be blessed—cursed?—with the power to see the future if she couldn’t do anything to change it?
Reese knew it wasn’t her fault. And that was probably the worst part.
In Ollo’s opinion, Investigator Piazza could have worded the bomb he dropped on Reese a little more carefully. Saying they had found the bodies so charred they were unrecognizable, so they had to send for DNA tests, wasn’t the best way to tell a seventeen-year-old girl her entire family was most likely dead. Ollo understood the need to be direct, but even she didn’t deserve such a clinical analysis of one of her visions coming true.
And there it was; her first vision actually came to pass. What a terrible one to be her first. Ollo liked to think he knew Reese quite well, and strongly believed that this right here would change Reese forever. Not only did her family die at such a critical point in her life, but she knew it was going to happen somehow, and there was no way she could stop it. When Pythia foresaw her own death in the war, she didn’t tell Ollo until the last minute, but by that point, no one could stop it. He hated her for keeping that from him for so long. It didn’t matter that she told him it was for her own good, that she didn’t want him to dwell on her death instead of focusing on living, on winning the war. None of that mattered because she was gone.
He still remembered the look in her violet eyes when she told him. The night was still, the stars bright, and her eyes—so warm, so welcoming—remained that way as she spoke the words: “Apollo, today I’m going to die.”
He lashed out at her, taking his fea
r of losing her out on her. That knowing smile lingered on her face, even as he threw words at her like flagellators threw their whips at the condemned. And she let him. That was one of the things that had frustrated him to no end about his former oracle: she was patient. Too patient. Sometimes, he had wished she would just yell at him, call him names, anything. But she never did. She waited until his tantrum was over, taking any and everything he said or did until he exhausted himself, and then calmly began to discuss all of the points he so immaturely brought up. It was in those moments he felt inadequate; he was supposed to be a god, and she, a mere oracle, and yet she was the one who had an innate ability to forgive every one of his transgressions and not be affected by it. She was perfect. And there were a few occasions when he resented her for it.
Reese, on the other hand, had a hot temper, just like him, except she tended to be easily bothered because her emotions got in the way quite a lot. However, Ollo recognized early on that he liked giving her a hard time; he liked watching her react. It was one of the things he appreciated and even respected about her: the fact that she fought with him, challenged him to be a better man. Somehow, he knew she, too, would forgive him for whatever it was they were going off about, but not before she made sure he knew she wasn’t happy about it. It was one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with her.
Love. With Reese. Even now, he couldn’t believe it. How could he? He had never been one of those men that swore off love and monogamy. Yes, he dabbled in the art of women like most gods did, but he didn’t hate them or judge those who were in love. He believed in the concept, but never believed it could happen to him.
And then he saw Reese, lying in that hospital bed. He kissed those lips, awakening her powers. He didn’t know it at the time, and she didn’t know it at all, but she awakened things in him just as much.
Even crazier than the concept of him being in love at all was the fact that he actually enjoyed being in love with her. Not that she wasn’t lovable; just the opposite, in fact, but she wasn’t the type of person he thought he would ever fall for. She was spoiled, wealthy, and a big snob. It would take her forever to get ready before they had to leave for anything, and those miniskirts she always wore—even in the cold—drove him absolutely crazy. She always asked to borrow his jacket, snorted a lot despite her etiquette-rich upbringing, and always dragged him to any event that involved dancing, even though she was terrible at it.
But Reese was also the kindest person he knew. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her compassion that caused her to be downright stunning. She was smart—though society deemed her too good-looking to be smart, as though smart had some kind of definitive physical appearance associated with it—and was sensitive because of her looks and the way they held her back. But she was a fighter, and every time she was underestimated, she proved her opposition wrong. She wasn’t as patient as Pythia by any means, but she was just as strong—maybe even more so, because Reese had to juggle so many different roles on top of being an oracle, an archer, and a savior. That, and someone had killed her entire family.
At least, Ollo thought it was her entire family. After Reese passed out and Ollo caught her before she hit the ground, Investigator Piazza asked him if she had any family she could stay with until the court system figured out where to send her since she was technically still a minor. Ollo answered honestly and told him he wasn’t sure. Piazza released her to him, handing Ollo his card and promising to be in touch. As Ollo walked back to his car, a selfish thought flitted across his mind. He hoped she didn’t have anyone else, or that would ruin everything.
Everything.
And the court couldn’t take her either, or it would be just as bad.
He needed help.
Once he managed to get Reese’s unconscious form in the passenger seat of his pickup truck and buckled her in, he drove away. It wasn’t until he passed the gate entrance that he pulled out his phone and pressed 2 on his speed dial.
Henry answered on second ring. “I’m already here,” he said in his light, Scottish brogue. “We’ll talk when you arrive.” A brief pause, and then, “How is she?”
Ollo pushed his brow up at the uncharacteristically caring question. Henry was the last person Ollo expected to ask how someone was doing.
“Unconscious,” was his reply.
Without another word, Henry hung up.
By the time Ollo arrived at his dingy little apartment located just above Bacchus’, Henry already had the front door open so it was easier for Ollo to carry Reese up the stairs. When he set her on his bed, his mind flashed to their conversation from yesterday; how they were going to eventually be intimate together, on more than one occasion. The thought gave him something he hadn’t felt in a while: hope. He knew there was a possibility that she was shielding him from her actual vision by talking about sex between them, but Reese was a terrible liar and he had a feeling he would be able to see through her. It was another one of her imperfections that endeared her to him.
Without meaning to, he reached out and curled an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear. His gaze took in the sight of her sleeping, and he couldn’t help but be transported back to the first night they met. She was sleeping just like this—except she was in a coma, not unconscious—and she looked so unexpectedly ethereal that he couldn’t help but stare much longer than he originally intended to. She still retained the same level of beauty, but on a much grander scale, because now he knew her.
Was it selfish of him to be thinking of her so intimately so soon after what had happened?
“Ollo.”
Henry’s voice broke through his thoughts and clouded them in the same way a surprise storm blots out the sun. He had been sitting with Reese for a few minutes and had already forgotten Henry was somewhere in his flat, waiting for him.
And there he was, sitting on Ollo’s couch, in one of his typical black suits paired with a crimson-colored skinny tie. The only thing that looked worn-in were his red Converse shoes. It was hard to imagine anyone being intimidated by a small, slight thing like Henry. He wasn’t even traditionally good-looking, though he did have his qualities. Reese seemed oddly taken with him after meeting him at school. But Henry had something most people did not: real power. He could make anything happen for anyone foolish enough to strike a deal with him—but fail to follow through with their side of the deal, and their life was a living hell. Not through any violence, of course, but through psychological warfare. No one was ever really the same after making a deal with Charon, the ferryman to the afterlife.
“You knew?” Ollo asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of Henry. Though it was substantially lower than the couch, they were now the same height.
“When it happened,” Henry replied.
“She had a vision of it.”
Henry didn’t look perturbed. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Losing one’s only family is a traumatic experience. Her subconscious was probably protecting her by allowing her to have some knowledge of the event so she was prepared for it.”
“She fainted.”
“Imagine how she would have reacted if she hadn’t known about it at all,” he pointed out.
Ollo thought for a moment. “When you say, ‘only family…’”
“She has no other living family,” Henry explained. “I’ve already taken care of the necessary documents to make you her legal guardian.”
Ollo felt his shoulders slump forward as relief ebbed through him. Henry’s sharp brown eyes never missed anything, but he didn’t comment on it, and for that, Ollo was grateful. He didn’t think now was the best time to discuss his feelings for the seer when so much was happening, and would happen.
“Do we know anything?” Ollo asked. “About what caused the fire?”
Henry shook his head, his wispy brown hair following the gesture. “Only that it was no accident,” he replied.
“I suppose it could be anyone then. Her mother is—” he stopped, realizing he needed to correct hi
mself, “was a lawyer for the city. Anyone she put away would have good reason to extract some kind of revenge.”
“No.” Again, Henry shook his head. “It’s too coincidental that it happened when Reese was nowhere near the house, in a place where she couldn’t be reached. Someone specifically targeted her family, either in order to get to her, or in order to take out a perceived threat they saw in one of her parents or brother.”
“Her mom did work for Lucas Burr,” Ollo said. He furrowed his brows. “But why kill one of his best lawyers?”
“Burr doesn’t care about the city,” Henry reminded him. “All he cares about is…corruption.”
“So maybe he killed her family in order to corrupt Reese?” Ollo asked, though confusion tainted his theory. Something was missing.
“Perhaps,” Henry allowed. “Lespoir is French for hope. Reese is supposed to be the hope. If, however, she doesn’t have any, she can’t do her job as seer because she won’t believe in herself. And you know how important self-confidence is to a seer.”
“Or Burr believed that Reese would blame herself for their deaths,” Ollo tried again. “And instead of throwing herself into being a seer, it would drain her of any desire to fulfill her role. Not only that, but she’s in a vulnerable position now. It wouldn’t surprise me if Burr sent his dipshit of a son to do the corrupting for him. Turn her to their side.”
The mere thought of Gabriel Burr touching Reese in any way or Lucas Burr using her as a tool caused uncontrollable anger to flare through Ollo’s body. If Ollo had his signature bourbon in his hand, the glass would be broken in pieces, and the amber liquid would be all over himself and Henry.
Catalyst: Book 2 in The Dark Paradise Chronicles Page 25