Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1)

by H. M. Rutherford

  No more room in his phone memory.

  He clenched his teeth and started going through his pictures, debating what to delete. As he scrolled through, a sickening feeling sat in his stomach. Picture after picture showed Suzette’s face, smiling so big and bright her eyes almost looked closed. She was such a sweet, happy girl, so different from the women he’d been with lately. It made him ache, knowing he could never have anything deep and meaningful with Suzette again.

  The other women helped with the pain only for a moment. He wanted what they offered, but looking at the pictures made him hate his desire, made him hate himself for just thinking about it. But he couldn’t erase what he had done. He didn’t want to, not after all the pleasure that had numbed his aching. He stood there in the store, frustrated as his emotions caught up in a violent storm. A bead of sweat sizzled against his forehead and his shirt grew warm. He needed to find a way to repress the feelings again. If only there was something that could help in the in-between moments like this.

  Dante stepped outside and stared at the ground as he walked, desperate to walk off his frustration and self-loathing. But after circling the block a few dozen times, the anger drove him to a halt in front of the bus stop. He sat on the bench, clenching and unclenching his jaw, trying to hold down his emotions as best he could. He watched as smoke began to drift off his hands.

  As time passed, he could feel his emotions start to dwindle, but they still prodded at his heart like an obnoxious tick. Pulling himself out of his mind, he noticed a shadow pass and felt the bench shift beneath him. Then a smooth, petite hand with brightly colored nails was in front of his face, offering Dante something he had never before in his life felt the urge to grab until that very moment. He hesitated but took the cigarette and examined it with a pair of curious, new eyes.

  “You’re in a bad way, ain’t ya’?”

  He looked up at the source of the sultry voice to find a pretty woman sitting next to him, lighting her own cigarette. She was a tall, plump woman with nothing really extraordinary about her; wavy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and freckles scattered across her creamy skin. But her bright pink smile beckoned him with a teasing ploy that made him want to let her continue. When she was finished lighting the cigarette, she held the lighter out to him.

  “I-I’ve never smoked before,” he grumbled under his breath, slightly embarrassed.

  She chuckled a bit, her lips closed firmly around her cigarette. Then she grabbed it between her two fingers and let out a long film of smoke. “It’ll be okay, hun. I promise it won’t kill you.”

  Dante didn’t feel comforted at all but he set the cigarette in his mouth and let her light the end. Sucking in, he felt the burn of the smoke fill his lungs. He felt surprised when he didn’t gag and cough. Instead, he felt comforted by the smog as it seeped into him, like his body was just waiting for the toxicity, ready to accept it. His whole frame began to relax. As he took another drag, he grinned, enjoying what felt like the first real breath he’d taken in weeks.

  The woman said nothing. She did not smile, laugh, or even look over at him. She leaned back on the bench, crossed her legs, and enjoyed her cigarette.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “No problem, darlin’.” She finally gave him a once-over, her eyebrow arching in curiosity. “You sure that was your first time?”

  He smiled crookedly at her and watched as her eyes glimmered. “I’m a quick learner, I guess.” As he smoked, he took her in—and she let him. Her quiet confidence drew him in and gave her a unique beauty. “What’s your name?”

  “Katelyn,” she said.

  “Anything else you want to show me, Katelyn?”

  She smiled.

  —

  Dante kicked back on his beer and grinned, despite the strange, new taste. He had thought that Katelyn would have guessed his age for sure after he had slipped her a twenty and gone to the restroom while she ordered their drinks. But if she knew, she didn’t care, and he felt grateful for that. Between the cigarette and the beer, the warm, soothing sensation that swelled in his lungs and stomach melted away his anxieties.

  Katelyn sat quietly next to him, switching between sipping her own bottle and taking a drag of her cigarette.

  Dante glanced around at the bar, devoid of a crowd. Makes sense. It’s only lunch time. He turned to Katelyn and leaned in. “So, you always get the party started this early?” he whispered, despite the lack of people.

  She gave him a sultry glance and let out a puff of smoke in reply.

  “What are you doing here?” a harsh voice demanded behind him.

  They both turned their attention.

  When Dante saw it was Cleo, his heart sank. “I’m here with an actual lady,” he replied mechanically.

  Cleo’s eyes bulged and her mouth fell open. But she quickly pursed her lips together and glared down her nose at Dante.

  “Who’s this?” Katelyn asked.

  Dante gave Cleo an equally angry glance. “No one important.”

  Cleo’s whole body stiffened, minus her puffed chest. “Why, you little—” The sentence snagged in her throat, something beyond Dante catching her attention.

  Before he could turn, a heavy hand came down and gripped onto his shoulder. “I told you I didn’t ever want to see you again,” Tony’s voice growled in his ear.

  Before Dante could reply, Tony pulled him out of his chair. Another set of rough hands joined Tony’s and together they dragged him toward the back. As the crisp outside air met his skin, he got a glimpse of Cleo’s grim expression and Katelyn’s confused one before the backdoor closed.

  Dante kicked and flailed, trying to escape as they dragged him down the stairs into the closed-off lot behind the bar. He’d had no experience with fights, and before he could contemplate his first move, two beefy arms came from behind and encircled him. Tony stepped into view a second later.

  “Tony, make this quick. If the boss finds you, you’re dead,” the nameless goon behind Dante warned.

  Tony ignored him, eyes boring into Dante’s face. There was no mercy in his gaze. “I’m gonna enjoy using you as a punching bag, kid,” he snarled. Then his big fist crashed into Dante’s stomach. Dante grunted, feeling his legs give out from the sudden pain that rippled through him. But the man behind him forced him upright. After enduring a few more hits, Dante felt the pain give way to rage. This whole thing was Cleo’s fault. He wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for her. That stupid slu—

  Tony grabbed Dante’s hair and yanked his head up. Then he reeled his fist back and delivered a mean right hook into Dante’s mouth.

  Dante could feel his lip split open and his head rattled painfully. He spit out a mouthful of hot blood and glared up at Tony, whose sickening smile died when he met Dante’s eyes.

  A startled cry came from the nameless, faceless man whose grip suddenly fell away.

  Dante’s vision blurred red as he lunged for Tony. His own fiery fist came through his line of vision and Tony stumbled back against a brick wall. Dante knew chaos would follow, but he welcomed it this time; he wanted to cause harm. He brought up a flaming fist and struck Tony in the face. He watched in satisfaction as the goon fell to the ground and shouted in pain.

  “You like that, Tony?” Dante said with a wicked laugh. Then he ran his hand down his bare arm, hoping he could flick off all the flames. And to his surprise, it balled up and collected in his hand, removing the flames from his arm. He stopped and marveled at the discovery. A scuffling sound to his left snapped him out of his thoughts. Dante turned and threw the sphere of fire like a baseball at the second man.

  The man jumped sideways, the flames catching on a stack of wooden pallets beside him. But the passing fire lit his pant leg and he let out a frantic shout, hurriedly trying to beat it out.

  Dante walked back to Tony. He picked up the thug by the shirt with his smoldering hand, and went away at his face with the flaming one. With each pounding hit, Tony let out an agonizing shout. The man begged for m
ercy through melting lips, but each plea filled Dante with a powerful excitement. No mercy, he thought gleefully.

  Suddenly, the back door flung open.

  Dante paused and turned to the sound to see the second man darting into the bar, half of his pant leg gone. The door slammed behind him.

  The sound shook Dante out of his high. He released Tony and let the goon’s limp body slump onto the ground. As Dante’s rage dwindled, the flames on his hands simmered and the pain from his own injuries returned. He hunched over slightly, gripping his midsection. Then he rubbed his sore mouth, wiping away the blood that dripped down his chin. After assessing himself, he looked down at Tony. The goon had a colorful mixture of blood, bruises, and boils adorning his face. The sight left Dante panicked; he didn’t need another dead body on his hands. Cautious, Dante reached down and pressed two fingers under the base of Tony’s jaw. Relief flooded over him as he felt a soft pulsating.

  The door opened again and Dante quickly straightened himself, glancing over to the intruders.

  Three older men stood in the opened doorway. The one on the right was smaller and watched Dante carefully. The one on the left, the younger one, was a beefy man who glared at Dante in confusion. The one in the middle was the oldest, with a round belly confined in a button-up shirt and his long hair slicked back. He watched with narrowed, curious eyes, glancing between Dante and Tony as if trying to piece the whole scene together.

  Dante stood frozen in place, debating whether to run or fight. He waited for them to make their move.

  The one in the middle who looked like the ringleader finally tilted his head. “You do that to Tony?”

  Dante gulped, his hands trembling at his sides. “So what if I did?”

  The leader huffed and examined Dante again. Then he leaned over and whispered to his muscled partner. The brute nodded and cautiously made his way down the steps.

  Dante jumped back and clenched his fists, ready to defend himself.

  But the large man trudged over to Tony, threw him over his shoulder, and started back inside.

  “Take care of him,” the main man said. Then he turned to Dante. “Name’s Ceasario Acerbi.” He nodded to his side. “This is my friend, Uso, and that big guy’s Bernardo. Why don’t you let us get you a drink, kid?”

  The offer surprised Dante and he stared, stunned.

  “It’ll help with the pain in that lip.” Without a word, Ceasario turned back into the bar, Uso following him in.

  Dante hesitated but then followed them inside.

  The two men stood at the bar and gestured toward a stool. The bartender set a drink out on the counter.

  Dante eased onto the seat and slowly took a sip, waiting to see if this was all a trick.

  The two men both leaned on the counter, one on either side, and watched as Dante moved with caution, trying to hide his concern. “What’s your name, kid?” Ceasario asked.

  “Dante Stein.”

  Ceasario grinned. “Well, Dante Stein, I’ve got a proposal for you. I’ll pay you real good, too.”

  The idea of payment perked Dante’s ears up. He set down his drink and turned to the men. “Oh, yeah?”

  “You see, there’re these two dames that I need some help with.”

  Two ladies? Well, I’d be more than happy to help. Dante grinned.

  —

  Jekyll glanced at the clock on the wall of his suite and took in the time. Feeling his paranoia rising, he continued pacing, hoping to not dwell too much on Dorian’s absence. It’s 9:00 at night! I should have heard from him by now! He hadn’t heard from the star since the night before. When Edward had taken over, Henry only got a vague idea of the master plan by watching Hyde and Gray’s conversation through the shattered glass on the floor of Dorian’s suite. Henry had been grateful for the glass shards; it was the only thing that had helped him feel connected to the real world—to sanity. But he’d been even more grateful when Dorian left and Hyde gave him his body back. Then he had been left to sit and wait for the plan to play out.

  But as the day dwindled away, Henry couldn’t help but wonder if the mission had failed. If Dorian would ever care to keep me in the loop, maybe I would know. But Henry kept waiting, pacing back and forth in the living room of his suite, waiting for the star’s great new plan. Surely, anything Dorian had was better than Henry’s absence of bright ideas.

  Filled with bitter anticipation, Henry looked at the clock again. 9:05. He couldn’t wait any longer. Anxious, he hurried toward the door of his room and slammed it closed behind him. Then he marched down the hall and made his way to Dorian’s suite. Let’s see if he’s home this time. He gave a loud knock and stood impatiently before the smooth door, whose stillness irked him.

  After a minute, a very calm Dorian Gray opened the door and grinned. “Ah, Henry, just in time,” he said. “Come in.”

  Once the door closed behind them, Henry went straight to business. “How did it go with Mrs. Prynne?”

  Dorian’s brows raised. “You heard that plan, did you?” But instead of being angry, the star chuckled. “Not how I anticipated. But there’s been a change of plans. We’ll deal with Mrs. Prynne later,” he said, leading Henry into the living room.

  Unbelievable! Henry wanted to be frustrated, but all he could feel was a swelling sense of worry. Hester Prynne was their absolute, utmost concern at the moment. No doubt Dorian had put everything on pause for some idiotic reason. But a faint and controlled, “Why?” was all he allowed himself to utter to the star for fear of Hyde.

  Dorian walked toward the two couches that faced one another, the broken coffee table from the night before noticeably absent. The actor walked around the nearest couch and sat on the one opposite it. With a gentle grin, he gestured to the seat in front of him. “We have a guest.” It was only then that Henry saw the top of their guest’s head peeking up from over the back of the other couch.

  Composing himself, Henry walked over and sat next to Dorian. The person sitting across from them was a young Asian woman, probably in her early to mid-twenties. She had soft, gentle features, plump lips, and wavy, raven-colored hair. Very pretty and innocent-looking, but something powerful and dark burned through her brown eyes and buried itself deep in Henry’s gut—a familiar feeling that left him tense and suddenly aware of his surroundings.

  “This is Dr. Henry Jekyll,” Dorian said. The woman stared, unblinking, an unsettling grin plastered on her face. “And this is Yuenu Jia.”

  You-een-you Jie-uh? Henry didn’t dare repeat the name for fear of butchering it and offending the small woman. “Pleasure,” he muttered.

  “You may call me Jill, Dr. Jekyll,” she replied through her accent. Her words were drenched in honey, but she couldn’t bite back the authoritative tone.

  “Jill was just here to make us a business offer,” Dorian explained, coughing a bit. He appeared more fidgety than usual. Either he felt unsettled or excited, though Jekyll couldn’t tell which. Maybe it was both. Henry remained silent.

  She seemed unfazed by the quietude from them both. “My master received your message about the woman, Dorian, and sent me to further investigate for myself.” She gave him a condescending smile. “However, it seems you have lied to him and you and I both know how much he despises being made a fool.” Her voice was proper and smooth, but her words had a hidden threat that made Henry tremble.

  It was clear to Henry that she held some position over Mr. Gray. It made them both squirm a bit.

  “Oh,” Dorian mumbled, a little unnerved. “I-I thought—”

  “You thought what?” Jill demanded through a tight smirk. “You thought you could make me think you were Abraham Van Helsing? You thought you of all people could think one step ahead of him? Did you even know he was there, Dorian?”

  The bombardment of patronizing questions left the actor unable to answer.

  “Instead of showing me a potential recruit,” she continued, “it appears you were trying to cover up another one of your messes. You always were slo
ppy, Mr. Gray. Was this woman even interested in the Order?”

  Dorian’s head lowered. “No. My apologies again.”

  She giggled a little. “Nonetheless, my master was pleased with my overall report and is willing to overlook your carelessness.”

  Dorian let go of his repressed breath and was suddenly suave again. “How merciful of him. I’m very grateful.”

  “When the real Van Helsing showed up with some vigilante—perhaps anticipating your move or perhaps wishing to take care of this Hester woman—I knew then that it would be worth it for me to report. My master only seemed vaguely interested in your own abilities, Mr. Gray. Van Helsing’s involvement is, of course, what prompted his attention.”

  “Master?” Henry asked. “What’s all this about?”

  Jill seemed slightly jolted by Henry’s sudden voice, like she forgot he was in the room. She was quickly composed again, though her stature fell. “My master is dying. His blood has been poisoned. Please, Doctor, he still has so much to offer this world. He wants your chemical so he may complete his work.” With that sentence, she struggled, almost imperceptibly, to hide her concern.

  The shift made Jekyll momentarily question his fear. Henry stared at her, debating her request. Perhaps just this one act of good could make up for the hell he had let Dorian release. But then again, perhaps it would only create more chaos. And if this woman and her “master” were associated with Dorian Gray, nothing good could come of it.

  “My master is a very rich man,” she added, reading the look on Henry’s face.

  For once, the thought of even more money than he already had didn’t sway Henry. “I don’t want anyone else to have the chemical.”

  Dorian laughed. “She wasn’t asking your permission, Henry. The money has already been transferred into your account. It’s a very generous amount, I might add.”