by Anne Conley
Her ponytail had come loose in her flurry of activity, her hat completely gone now, and she blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Don’t call me Sweetheart.” Her hands clenched into fists, and he tightened his grip, not about to let her go.
“Then give me a name.” He still held the rope, and her body against his was distracting him. He could feel her breasts heaving after her burst of exertion, brushing against his chest with each breath.
“Untie me.” Anger still flashed in her eyes, only now it was accompanied by pure unadulterated lust. She was affected by his proximity, and he would use that to his advantage. Her own quotation of Tzu came back to him, “… strike at what is weak.” Ruled by hormones, she wanted him. He would use that.
His lips curled into a satisfied smile. “No,” he said simply. Unlocking his gaze from hers, he looked around the sparsely furnished room. A mission-style sofa dominated the room, brown leather cushions with two wooden arms and plain cross pieces. It was solid wood and sturdy. Perfect.
“We need to talk.” He led her over to the sofa and gently pushed her resisting form onto it, tying the other end of the rope to one sofa arm before stretching her body out and sitting on her feet. She wiggled against his butt ineffectually, letting out a frustrated whimper.
Michael leaned on the other arm, watching her. “No name?” She shook her head, tears of anger and frustration in her eyes. “Well then, Sweetheart, you made a deal with the Devil tonight. I’m going to get you out of it.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I didn’t make a deal with anyone. Tonight’s job was my last for a while, I did it to get out of a deal, and now I’m done. I would have been done before, but you interrupted it, and I had to leave.”
“I didn’t stop you. I was just watching. Nonetheless, I heard it, and in his mind you made a deal. He gave you the necklace, and he’ll be showing back up to collect. You need to get away.”
“From you.” She squirmed against her restraints, and Michael admired her writhing form, laid out before him.
“You don’t need to get away from me. You’re mine. You stupidly made a deal with the Original Evil back at that house, and you’ve put yourself in serious danger.” If he couldn’t make her see reason, he’d have to do this the hard way.
“You’re a troglodyte.”
He barked laughter at her, which only made her squirm more. He crawled up her body to still her, quite enjoying the feel of her under him. “Get the fuck off me,” she spat at him.
“Only if you tell me your name, Sweetheart.” Michael lowered his hips on top of hers, trying not to think too hard about the position he was putting them in. Her heaving breasts were touching his chest, and they were really fucking soft. He could feel her heart pounding under her shirt and told himself he wasn’t scaring her. He smirked. “I’m Michael. Your turn.” He could feel her legs squirming under his and he used his feet to pin them. She sighed, rolling her eyes. It was a bit dramatic, so he humored her.
“Untie me, and I’ll tell you my name.”
“Promise not to attack me anymore.”
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth in thought and looked at him through glassy eyes. She was gorgeous. “Faith,” she whispered.
Michael stilled on his journey up her body. Did He choose the women for their names? It sounded like something He would do. Was the name choice part of the allure? “Of course.” He reached over her head and let the ropes loose, entwining his fingers with hers and bringing them between them, looking at the nearly perfect specimen of feminine wiles under him.
Faith. Because Michael had lost Faith in his Father?
Whatever. She was still his.
He watched her, as he hovered over her body, his hands still clasping hers. She clutched at his fingers as if he were a lifeline, and she still heaved ragged gasps. Michael had been around a long time and knew his way around a woman’s body. Her pulse raced in her neck, he could smell a sweet sweat just under her skin, her cheeks flushed.
Faith was turned on.
He could use this to his advantage, and it wouldn’t be a hardship. Not at all.
Michael released her hands and slowly lowered his mouth to hers until there was only a whisper of breath between them. “I swear to you, I’m not the enemy here.” He continued, with something he hoped she would understand, “If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete.”
Then, to his surprise, she broached the distance and kissed him. It was a passionate kiss, one that distracted him beyond reason. Her hot little tongue slipped past his lips, and Michael couldn’t find himself if he tried. Her mouth was so warm and wet, reminiscent of other orifices, and his manhood popped to attention as he forgot the mission, forgot the trouble she’d gotten herself in, and reveled in the feel of her mouth.
She groaned into him, and he ate the sounds, uncaring about why he was doing this anymore. He’d never experienced a kiss this demanding, this fervid, in a long time. It was his undoing.
Literally.
Faith arched under him, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and pulling, while her other hand snaked around his neck, pulling him closer. He continued exploring the cavern of her mouth as she raised her knee, and with one swift upward thrust, kicked his armpit, adjusting his posture. In a seamless move, she rolled, scissoring her legs around his torso, and he found himself on the ground next to the sofa, wrapped in a jujitsu hold that was cutting off his air supply quickly.
She had one arm and his neck between powerful thighs, squeezing him into unconsciousness.
Yeah, this might be fun.
He eased his hand between her leg and his neck, unwrapping himself from her tenacious grip. Holding both of her hands in his, for self-protection more than anything else, he got in her face, taking much needed gasps of oxygen. His corporeal form may not feel pain, but it did have some limits.
“I’ll leave. It’s plain you’re not listening. But hear this.” His mouth a whisper away from hers, “You’re mine. He won’t get you.”
He let her think he left, but didn’t go far. Nope, he was sticking around a while.
Chapter Seven
Faith hadn’t been awake long Monday morning when her phone rang. She was in the kitchen desperate for a cup of coffee after another sleepless night. Images of Michael kept racing through her mind, sleeping, waking, didn’t matter. It seemed like he was always there with that infuriating smirk and those silver eyes, pulsing at her.
Warring with that image was the memory of that guy at the Howards’ house, giving her the necklace, and Michael’s obvious distress at the notion she’d made some sort of deal with him. It wasn’t like she’d agreed to anything.
But he’d given her the necklace. And that was too fucking easy.
Now she couldn’t get a hold of Shamus, and still had the damned thing. She wanted to get rid of it and put this whole thing behind her. Go back to doing things her own way, back in control. It was some sort of artifact, and she’d had to hide it because it gave off some weird vibes. Reassuring vibes that pissed her smooth off.
And then there was this … this… guy following her around. She could still smell him in her apartment. That spicy, sweet scent permeated everything in her living room and had seeped into her bedroom.
Her body hadn’t stopped humming since he’d been here two days ago. She was going nuts, like her body had become some sort of nuclear reactor ready to detonate at any moment. The humming gave her a serious sense of imminent disaster, like her life was about to change irrevocably.
“Hello?” She answered her phone.
“Fuck, Faith! What the hell did you do?” Shamus was panicking, his voice cracking.
“What do you mean?”
“Jerome found the Howards dead in their bed this morning. You were there the other night, weren’t you?”
A prickle of unease chilled Faith. “How would you know? You haven’t answered my calls.”
“Jerome saw you on the security footage.” Jerome must be the inside guy, the one Shamus had paid to get her entrance to the party.
“Well, then he saw the other guy too?”
“Faith, get the hell out of town. Ditch the necklace. We’re done.” Shamus hung up, and Faith stared at her phone in stunned silence.
That would explain why the man in their room hadn’t attempted to keep quiet. He’d already killed them. She dropped the phone and scrambled for her things. Throwing clothing into a bag, making sure she had the necklace, she declared herself packed and jumped in her car.
Faith drove an ancient Jeep Wagoneer and was pathetically grateful it still ran. At one point in her ownership, she’d had to lift the hood and start it by touching some wire to something in there. A mechanic had shown her the trick when she couldn’t afford $600 to replace her starter. The dash mounted four-wheel drive mechanism didn’t work, so it perpetually drove with all four wheels, which was completely useless in the city and ate up the gas, but where she was going, it would come in handy.
She stopped at a drug store on her way out of town, pulled her hoodie over her head and grabbed some dark brown hair dye and a package of vanity contact lenses. Choosing the longest line to check out of, she didn’t make eye contact with anybody and instead flipped idly through magazines in the aisle while waiting. Over the edge of the magazine, she looked around, seeing nobody was even looking her way and tossed it and a local newspaper on her pile of purchases.
Most everybody else there was dressed in work clothes, probably stuck in offices and not having seen the local news today. Faith could only hope.
Outside of town, she stopped at a gas station with an outdoor restroom and locked herself in for an hour to read the paper while she waited for dye to seep into her hair follicles.
She wasn’t on the front page, but she was on the inside of it. And the picture was off surveillance footage from the house. Not a great image at all. She heaved a relieved sigh but still continued with her plans to disappear. Until she figured out what to do anyway.
Once the dye soaked in, she rinsed and used a pair of scissors to cut her curls off. Now she looked like a dark-haired Meg Ryan, except Faith’s lips were fuller, and her nose wasn’t all pert and stuff. Satisfied with the changes, she got back in her Jeep and drove.
Chapter Eight
Michael had seen the news, but even before that, he knew she’d run. Faith wasn’t the type to stick around and take the fall for someone else. So when he showed up at her apartment after only leaving for an hour or two, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find it empty, clothing scattered everywhere.
She was tough, he knew that. But he still needed to find her. First of all, it was his mission. But secondly, and above all else, he knew the Deceiver would be after her. And she was his. He couldn’t let him have her.
Walking outside her apartment, he closed his eyes and allowed the tug in his stomach to tell him where to go.
He climbed on his motorcycle and headed north.
Michael had been staying with her since he’d “left” two days ago. His invisibility had been a gift those two days.
Faith was fun to watch, even though she didn’t do anything exciting. He watched her stumble around the kitchen for coffee in the mornings, bleary-eyed and beautiful. He watched as she constantly cleaned and piddled around her apartment. Apparently, she was waiting on something about the necklace because she was forever checking her phone for missed calls, sighing when nothing appeared. And she called that Shamus guy a lot, leaving him increasingly exasperated messages.
Night times got interesting. Michael could dream walk. He and Gabe both had the ability to see others’ dreams while they slept. Michael used it rarely, finding dreams of his typical targets repulsive. But with Faith, it was a compulsion.
And he saw himself there.
The feeling of possessiveness that overtook him at the images in her mind overwhelmed him. He stood in the corner of her bedroom watching her sleep, knowing how creepy it was, but all he saw was himself in her dreams. Flashes of his eyes, his mouth, his hands…
She was his and she knew it. Subconsciously anyway.
Now, he just needed to find her again.
Faith had been at the cabin two hours. On the way, she’d stopped for groceries, picking up stuff she could cook with, mostly soup and bread making ingredients. The weather had gotten a little chillier the further north she’d driven, and soup just sounded good. Besides, there wasn’t a microwave at the cabin, and she couldn’t heat stuff up easily.
With everything that had happened in the last few days, she honestly didn’t see herself sleeping anytime soon, so she went ahead and stocked up on stuff to make chicken soup tonight. That was usually an all-day affair for her, but now, it would be an all-nighter.
The grocery owner wasn’t the same old nosy guy who’s been there last time, for which Faith was grateful. The young, bored guy would have sold her TNT without looking up, if she’d needed it. She didn’t have to worry about him recognizing her. He’d never even seen her.
Back at the cabin, she grabbed the stew pot and put in the chicken, filled it with water, and started it to boil. Then she put away the rest of the groceries.
Faith had just been here a couple of months ago, but a fine layer of dust coated everything. Cleaning the house would clear her mind and the images filling it of superhuman men, murders, and that necklace.
She opened all the doors and windows, letting in the brisk air while she swept and dusted. She put fresher sheets on the bed and beat dust out of the cushions on the sofa. When she was satisfied, she gathered enough firewood from branches that had fallen near the cabin to start a fire to warm the chilling air.
She pulled the chicken out of the pot and let it cool, adding an herb sachet to the broth before deboning the chicken and putting the meat back in. She chopped up celery, carrots and onions to add.
All this mindless work did nothing to get Michael out of her head. She had felt him steadily in her mind since the night he’d caught her outside the Howards’ house. Of course, remembering that reminded her the Howards were dead, and that man knew who she was. She apparently owed him a debt, and if Michael was right, he was not a man one needed to owe.
But the humming was gone, thankfully. She still didn’t know what it was, but for someone who was accustomed to total silence, this vague humming sensation vibrating through her bones had been making her want to crawl out of her skin. She was really glad her sanctuary kept the humming at bay. Faith suspected it had something to do with Michael, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what.
Faith sat in an overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace, her Sig Sauer in her lap and the necklace in her hand. Holding it up in front of the firelight, she examined this piece two people had lost their lives over, sending her on the run.
It was gold -- that much was obvious. A small round sphere hung from a long thick chain. The ball was encrusted with jewels, though they weren’t particularly fine jewels. The entire piece looked handmade. And really old. It must be worth a shit ton of money, Faith decided. Upon closer examination, the ball had hinges on it and a nearly invisible clasp. When she figured out how to open it, what looked like a moldy banana peel was inside, covered in dust.
“Eeeww…” She said it to herself, but the small noise was loud in the silence of the cabin. An eerie silence broken only by a twig snapping outside.
Suddenly alert, Faith shoved the necklace in her shirt and pulled up her gun, aiming at the door.
The twig snapping could have been anything, but Faith suddenly had a horrible feeling in her gut, and she always trusted her gut. Her gut wasn’t always right, but she’d never been too cautious. She dropped to the floor silently, keeping her gun trained on the door. The buzzing vibrations seeped into her bones again, and she took a breath in an attempt to shake it off. As she crouch-walked across the room to get a better position behind the couch, she watched the doorknob turn.
The figure leapt to his right and fell with a loud crash, knocking over the hall tree filled with coats next to the door.
“Michael?” A grunt was her only answer. “Fuck.” Guilt ripped through her, followed quickly by indignation, as she ran to his side. He was clutching his chest, eyes squeezed shut, grimacing. She’d shot him.
His eyes slit open, and silver shone through. “I should have expected that,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
“What are you doing here?” Faith was trying to help him up so she could get him to the sofa, but he was so big, and hard. Her legs crumpled under her, and as much as she tried, Faith couldn’t lift him.
“Protecting what’s mine.” He managed to get into a sitting position, breathing heavily out through his teeth, grunting. She grabbed him under his arm, trying not to grope the massive bicep as it flexed with exertion.
“Come on. Stand up, I can’t carry you as easily as you carry me. Let’s get to the couch,” she grunted as she tugged and pulled him into an upright position.
He leaned on her heavily, one arm draped over her shoulder as they stumbled across the room, before collapsing on the couch. He tugged her down with him, so she landed sprawled out on top of his bulk.
“Sorry.” Squirming out of his grasp, she went into the kitchen for the first aid kit.
“I’ll be okay. Don’t fuss.”
“Are you kidding? I shot you. What the hell were you doing? How did you even know where I was?”
“The tug. I was pulled to you.” His head wobbled from side to side, “Don’t worry about me.” Grimacing, she watched him struggle to focus his eyes on her. “Nice hair… Liked blonde better…”
“Just shut up a minute.” What the hell was she going to do? If he died, she’d be on the books for three murders, only two of which she didn’t actually commit. But if Michael turned up dead at her hand, who would believe her about the other two?