Pricked (Chaos, Nevada Book 3)

by Liz K. Lorde

  Moving further down the corridor, I stopped to stand at Mag’s side. “Go home, Mags,” I instructed, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll let you off with full pay for the rest of the night.”

  Her face became a mask of concern. “Are you okay?” Her voice was sincere as always. “You know I don’t mind staying,” she continued, “I’m capable of being quiet. Despite what Redwood would hem and haw over.”

  “I know. But I’ve a need to be alone,” I offered her another smile. “Besides, Peter needs you by his side, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t let you go and see him.” Her husband was undergoing intense rounds of Chemotherapy; I was of course paying for it out of my own pocket. Family was, at the end of the day, family.

  “Thank you, Michael,” she said, giving me a polite bow. She used to do it mockingly for my father; I remember her taking the fall for me when I knocked over one of the family’s portraits in a tantrum when I was missing my mother. She gave him that very same motion, and a wink towards me.

  Magdalene took her leave for the night, and I made my way to the guest room where I kept my private key. It helped keep me somewhat distant from the painful memories by keeping it out of sight and reach. Opening the amaretto colored door, I stepped inside to the mostly empty room; save for the bed, windows and glass door that leads out to the terrace. I strolled over to the nightstand beside the bed, picked up the smooth, black vase and tilted it so that I could reach the small key tucked away inside.

  Retracing my steps, I made my way back to the red door, placed the key within the lock and descended.

  The room was intimately familiar to me. Like a chamber from my mind palace come to life. Her favorite shade of yellow on the walls; all the notes that we’d written on her desk that she kept at a slight angle. I spent a good long while down there, turning over old photos and papers and various mementos. I knew that one day I’d have to be rid of them, or most of them at least; but every once in a while this was the place where I could clear my mind the most.

  Yet the thought of Jane tormented me mercilessly.

  Finding no solace in the place after some time, I returned up the stairs and paced through the lonely halls, where once both love and life seemed to flourish.

  From the front side of the manor, the bell went off three times rapidly.

  Instantly I knew who was already at the door, and it wasn’t the person that I had been hoping it would be.

  Moving through at a hurried, annoyed pace, I opened the door to reveal my father. The lines of his face were drawn in a tight, pitying scowl. “You look like hell,” he announced, his hands pushed into his coat pockets. “Rebbecca told me about this girl that you’re investing in.” His terms were more clinical and business like than even mine.

  Jane was more than just a transaction.

  Surely.

  “Yeah, well things aren’t going so great with that,” I clipped. “Did you come all this way just to spite me, because that’s what it’s starting to feel like.”

  He narrowed his eagle-like eyes at me. “If you don’t start taking your duties seriously--”

  I put my hands on either side of the door’s frame. “I am. Do you think I’ve just been sitting here with my thumb up my ass? Every time I tell Tim that he needs to do one thing, you go around my back and tell them something else.”

  The vein in the side of his forehead was pulsing out. “I’ve laid Rebbecca off, Michael. She wasn’t doing her job,” handling me, feeding him every detail of my life is what he meant.

  My heart dropped from my chest, and the inherent need to hit something pounded away at the back of my skull. “You fired her?” I ejaculated, “do you know how badly she needs this? Do you even have any idea?” No, you wouldn’t. You never think about anyone but you.

  I hated the idea of becoming like that.

  “Don’t give a shit,” he spat back, “you’re ruining the legacy that I’ve built for your mother. For you. If you don’t turn this ship around, don’t think that I won’t disown you.” The words shivved at me in violent stabs, and sickness started to work through me.

  I moved to get into his face, not backing down an inch, barely aware of how loud my voice was starting to boom. “If you can’t respect me for who I’m trying to be,” I could feel the nails of my fingers biting into my palm’s flesh as I balled my fist. “Don’t come looking for me when you suddenly want a son.”

  I slammed the door on his face and locked it shut, hurrying up the foyer steps and striding through the empty halls, getting ready to lose my sense of reason.

  My father would never see eye to eye with me.

  Chapter 17

  Jane

  The time away from Michael had been dreadfully painful, and I’d been dreaming of his lips ever since they were on me. I strolled down the pet store isle, looking for JB‘s favorite food.

  Throwing a 20LB bag of it into my cart, I rolled it down a ways, making brief eye contact with an oily faced man in his middle ages. I didn’t recognize him, but he seemed to know me. His hairline was fading, and looked just as bad as his skin. Honestly it made me kind of want to retch a little. I don’t know why the opposite sex generally disgusted me so much - I mean aside from this one looking like he hadn’t showered for a month.

  But with Michael, it was different. Even when he was breaking my rules I still felt safe around him, felt like everything was going to be okay.

  Why he made me feel that irritating way, I was not certain.

  “I’ve seen you,” the creepy guy blurted, but not too loudly. He brought up a hand and put it to his chest, scratching nervously. “You’re from the news,” he nodded his head very sure of himself, repeating himself once more.

  I hurried away from the man and made my way to the check out. A dazzlingly beautiful young woman greeted me, scanning my items. Her black name tag, featuring Pet World, read Belle Jannis Hawthorne.

  ***

  When I got home, I’d only left my Christmas LED lights on. Resting on my bed, unmoving, was JB. “I’m home,” I called out to him affectionately, dropping the heavy bag of dog food on the floor against my kitchen counter. I went to and from the door, bringing back in some milk bone treats, a new red and blue tennis ball for him to play with, and a few other various things.

  I brushed back my hair and locked the door behind me, looking back over to my bed. “JB?” I called out. It wasn’t like him to be so soundly asleep after me coming home. Usually... normally.

  My heart rate picked up, and I called out his name again, a hair more concern than before; I clung to the doubt that I had like a warm blanket in a frigid storm.

  One step towards him, and needles of fear skewered my skin. “JB!” I fretted, my voice breaking after another step. At this point my mind could only turn and turn the same thoughts over endlessly, the agony of my realization stretching out my head and heart on a torturous rack.

  I dashed over to his side, climbed onto the bed and picked up his limp body. The weight of him in my arms, it made me want to die. Stings of water kissed at my eyes, and my vision started to become blurry. His neck had been broken, and every nerve in my body was on fire.

  There was no way that I could be alone right now. No. No fucking way in hell.

  Who the hell did this? I reached for the phone, and I called Michael. It all happened so quick it seemed like my actions and words blurred together; before I knew it, his voice was confidently assuring me that he would be here as fast as he could.

  The twenty minutes that passed did so in a painful rhythm of tears, sobs, and wiping at my own snot. At some point I moved hollow to the door, let Michael inside, and crushed myself against his chest, throwing all of the pain at him - praying that he would drink it all away.

  He held me tight. Really tight. The way that a priest might absolve a sinner from their sins. His tender fingers trailed through my hair, and I just cried. I pleaded to him that it wasn’t fair, and he told me that he knew - he knew that life was messed
up and full of unfairness. He kissed my head once, twice, and again for every squeeze that I gave him beside my door. Time and time again he proved to me that he wasn’t just a heartless man of business, and tonight I couldn’t be more thankful.

  “I’ll find who did this,” he promised in a pained, empathetic whisper. “I’ll find them, Jane.” His words cloaked me in warmth, and when the tears had all dried up, and the words had all been said. When he’d given me enough strength, we took JB out and put him into Michael’s car. I drove with him in my lap in the backseat, and while I made my way to the Heart Tree, Michael went with Joshua to fetch a shovel.

  The three of us buried him in somber silence, with me placing one of the Blood Roses that Michael had mentioned on top of the shallow grave.

  I would have bled a garden of those roses for him.

  ***

  Moonlight poured from the many floor-to-ceiling windows, the silver washed terrace tempting me to leave the comfort of Michael’s guest room bed. I hadn’t even changed out of my red Jegging style Capris, and black avocado, striped Boyfriend Tee.

  When a knock came at the door, I turned my head, my eyes heavy from the tiredness hitting me; yet my mind couldn’t stop turning from all the terrible images. Save for the one of Michael holding me.

  “Come in,” a weak little voice came from my throat, and Michael entered through the door, dressed in a not-so-formal gray t-shirt and black pants with drawstrings.

  “You can go there any time, you know,” he glided over to the foot of the bed and sat down, looking towards me. “I don’t care if you hate my guts,” he informed me, “or if we don’t like each other. Or don’t work,” Michael swallowed. “Any time you need to see him, you come down here,” he consoled, “or you call me.”

  “Thank you,” I sniffed, feeling it burn and rip at my chest, my heart wanting me to say it louder, and with more warmth. But at the same time, it felt like I could never express my gratitude for how he handled things with me tonight. “Michael?” I asked. He perked up and locked eyes with me, pursuing me to continue. “Can you fix me something stiff?” It took me a second to get my own unintentional pun. “I, I mean a drink,” I laughed, surprised that I was even able to do that much.

  He chuckled darkly, “I knew what you meant.” He got up from his spot and smirked, “not that I couldn’t do either or. Or both for that matter,” he added before walking away from me smartly.

  Not long later, and he returned with a relaxed swagger, holding two expensive amber colored drinks in each hand. He sat one on the end table by my bedside, next to the vase, and then moved back to the bed, up against my feet now.

  A thought between the others crept in, having me wish that my feet weren’t under the blanket so he could rub them.

  “What is it?” I asked, taking the tumbler in my hand and sniffing. There were rich notes of dried fruit behind the strong smell.

  “That’s a McCallan 1939. Scotch. You’re drinking a couple thousand dollars.” The sound of crickets chirping bled through the terrace outside. “I don’t normally drink,” he revealed. “Too dangerous for me.”

  The scotch went down surprisingly smooth, and I felt it burn wondrously through my throat. “It feels stupid to ask,” I said absently, blinking at my dry eyes. “But did you ever own a dog?”

  “I didn’t,” he replied artfully.

  “You’re very good at that, you know.” I remembered then what Lambert had said, on skirting around subjects.

  He sipped his drink, “I’m good at everything that I do,” he quipped narcissistically.

  “Right,” I replied, amazed at how dry my tone could be after having spent so many of my emotions. “I mean you’re good at not answering me. The way you said it made it sound like someone around you did.”

  Michael took a long swig now, and the energy of the room became heavier. “You’re right,” he admitted, “it’s something that I didn’t mean to become quite so good at.” He pushed out a breath through his nose, and the crickets began to chirp louder, becoming more and more in sync. “That’s just something...” his voice trailed off as he looked away from me.

  “Look at me,” I insisted quietly, not wanting to miss the glimpses into the every detail that he was.

  Michael returned his gaze to me, his lips not offering even a cocksure smirk. “It’s something that was cut into me,” he explained, “I was young once.”

  “You still are.”

  “Right,” he replied, “but when I was being taught how to fence at one of my father’s, now owned, prestigious academies, there was a girl that I sparred with.” Clouds shifted outside, and they played with the mysterious moonlight and their respective shadows. “It all adds up,” he mentioned beneath his breath, “I think you’d rather hear this anyway.”

  “You don’t have to tell me it all,” I responded kindly, “just whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  “I’m not, though,” Michael cocked his head to the side, and he polished off his drink greedily. “That first day that I met her, she bested me.” He let his head fall back and laughed something deep from his chest, of which I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes off of.

  Downing another few sips of my drink, I sat it down on the table and leaned in closer to him; so close that his heat became mine, and that mine so too, became his.

  Michael brought his head back and smiled that of roaring pride. “She was like no one else, I’ll tell you,” for a moment his eyes and his lips gave me a peek into what he was thinking. That he wanted to kiss me like he had before, that he wanted to tell me this story in careful, confidential whispers. “Her name was Morganna Hamilton.” I thought back on the MH initials that I saw before. “And for that whole year straight, we talked from afar, and in person, whenever we would have our classes, both public and private.” He took a breath, and turned closer to me, those sweet, sad eyes never looking from me. “Later, we spent our summer’s together at this estate. Tim was around a lot back then, too. The day’s would bleed away in blue and yellow and green; we would wake up in separate beds, since my father would never allow for any funny stuff. Each morning we would hike through the Wester Woods, climbing trees and banging ourselves up against the elements.”

  I beamed at him, because for some reason, his whole energy was becoming infectious. Between the sorrows, Michael seemed happy to be telling me this. I added: “You mean like falling into the Rushing River?”

  His smile widened, “Precisely. The next years after that were some of the best of my life; on her sixteenth birthday, I rescued a German Shepard just for her from the shelter. We raised it together, giving it the same adventures that we did in the past.”

  “It sounds like you really loved this girl,” I said.

  “I really did,” he said emphatically. “I was in love with her, and for a long, long time, there was never anything else. Anyone else,” he revealed those last words tenderly, and he leaned in closer to me. Before I knew it, I was leaning too, and our lips came together like they did before. We crashed into each other, hungry for contact; desperate to taste more, but somehow keeping our instincts in check.

  My hands went around him first, feeling his sculpted body against his clothes. We tightened our embrace, and we held each other for a long time, the liquor sitting in my stomach hot. I pulled away from his lips first, and our eyes locked on one another.

  This wasn’t just an arrangement.

  This was real.

  Even though my throat was tight with devil’s love, it was Michael that spoke first. “Let me take care of you.”

  “What do you mean,” I croaked, not letting go of him, my lips demanding that they move back to his.

  “If you trust me,” he whispered, “explicitly. I’ll show you.”

  The moment hung in the air, and my heart answered before my head when I nodded yes.

  “Lay here for a bit, and think of me,” he instructed carefully, his eyes drinking in the last images of me before walking out of the room.

  H
e came back twenty or so minutes later, though I hadn’t checked exactly. When he returned to me, he had a blindfold for me to wear - he asked me if I sure once again, then put it on me.

  This blindfold was quickly becoming an acquaintance of mine.

  We walked through the halls of his great house, my feet padding against the cold marble flooring. After a spell, we came to a stop, and he guided me gently through some doorway. From the sounds in the room, I recognized where we were. Heat kissed at my cheeks and between my legs when the memory of this place flooded my mind. This is where I first saw him in all of his... natural glory.

  “Why are we here?” I asked sheepishly, already knowing where this was heading. My mind turned against me, telling me to run, instructing that I flee from this place.

  But my heart said to keep going.

  “We’re here for us,” he said in my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist tightly, pulling me against his hard body. “If you’re ready, Jane, squeeze my hand. If you’re not,” he pressed against me further. “I’ll let you go.”

  Don’t let me go was what I wanted to say. But I couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to stand. So I just did as he told me, and gripped his hand with all the strength that I had.

  Michael removed the blindfold.

  Wow...

  There were rose petals scattered throughout the bath, and a dozen or so scented candles strewn around the outside, giving the pool an intimate and inviting appeal. “You’ve never seen this place at night,” he chuckled to himself, moving a hand over to a switch and flicking it.

  Illuminations of blue breathed into life throughout the room, reflecting up from the water and giving me a clear look at the limestone floor beneath the bath. It gave the whole room an ethereal, almost magical look.