ISAK & Red: An enemies-to-lovers Dark Romance

by Cari Silverwood

  Was this what I had lost in the mind-rush of the mesmer?

  Sighing, I turned over my hand.

  As the bus rattled and swayed down the road, Red’s knee bumped against mine. The tour group had come together in some sort of joint appreciation of my actions since I helped the boy. I registered their appreciation as a wave of... warmth? A side-effect of my power.

  Beside me, rocking with the sway of the bus, were Red’s thighs in those pale gray jeans, and her lap with her hands folded in them. She was mine, and always would be, but did I now have a new key?

  Touch. If it affected me, it must affect her. I dredged my memory to recall how it had been with Megan before the wedding disaster in Cuba.

  A key. Not sexual touch, not fucking, or not always.

  Was it the way to her heart? The heart was the part of her that I could not take. I needed something more than her list of how to be good. That was artificial. This spoke directly to the senses. And it was more subtle.

  Saving the boy was curious, because I could not quite see what it was about it that I liked.

  I reached for Red’s hand to cover it with mine. When I squeezed, she gasped. A quiet intake of air, and not something induced by a mesmer command. This was just her responding to my touch.

  I thought to smile, but smiles never felt right, and I let it fall away.

  The voices of those in the bus bounced about, wrapping the two of us, whispers and laughs, taunts, and earnest words, making it clear how silent I and Red were most of the time. We lay in a bubble of silence.

  Talking. Touching. I squeezed her hand again, thinking I should try talking also. She seemed stunned by the handholding and kept her gaze fixated on how our fingers wrapped together.

  Her hand did look cute, but not as pretty as the bulge of her breasts against the T-shirt and the faint lines showing where her areolas were, despite her bra trying to hide them.

  I shifted, wanting to press our hands between her legs and get her off, but knowing it would be impossible to hide that from the whole bus. We had hours, and it would be nighttime before we reached the town.

  I cleared my throat. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What?” Her brow creased in consternation. “Really?”

  “Yes. It will pass the time.” I leaned in and whispered to her ear, giving the lobe one tiny lick. “Either that or I make you come without touching you, and you know I can.”

  It would mean she would have to try to not betray her arousal.

  “So tempting.”

  “Okay,” Red said quietly. “Eff you, though.”

  I did smile then. I’d watched her eyes brighten with an awareness of her attraction to me, then her dismay, then that stunned realization that I could and might do it… All so perfectly amusing.

  “Make it good,” I said, insinuating bad things would happen if she bored me.

  Her breasts rose then fell as she inhaled, exhaled in an audible rush. “I was born in Washington and went to school—”

  I snorted. “Fast forward to more recent times. Why did you join the CIA? Who was your first lover? Enthrall me.” I pressed our hands to the V of her legs, in just the right spot, watching her tongue flick out across her lip and back in. If only I could grab that…

  “Right. Ahem. Restarting then.”

  I half-listened as she talked, finding her physical presence as interesting as her past. After all, her past was gone. I draped my arm over her shoulders to draw her closer, allowing my hand to dangle. As if by accident, I let the motion of the bus brush and tap my fingers against the side of her breast.

  That smallest of touches kept her simmering with desire.

  When the driver announced we would be late getting into town, the sky was already darkening. Anticipating this, I had phoned ahead. The kennels would keep the dog until the next day. Accommodation was booked for everyone on the bus. Tonight, no matter what this hotel room looked like, I would make her stand against the wall again, for my viewing, and tease her – touching her only with hands, tongue, and teeth.

  I only wished I had some nipple clamps. Perhaps I could find pegs. Another clothes hanger? A corner store might still be open.

  Now was the prelude.

  The bus lighting was dim, and by six o’clock I’d been teasing her endlessly with glancing touches and the mildest of mesmer inducement – my fingertips bumping at her shirt and with light kisses to her neck whenever I spoke, with the press of our hands over where her clit was beneath those sexy jeans.

  The closer we became, the more I knew her. Every aching pulse of her clit made my dick do the same.

  I had been training her for years, and I reaped the benefits.

  Her answers to questions became more and more disjointed.

  “Touching you in public – the feel of you under my hands…” My lips glanced along the curve of her lobe, and I lightly kissed her ear.

  “Shhh.” Her breathing was shaky, her fingers grabbing mine then letting go.

  “I liked hearing about what you used to do.”

  “Have you never heard of casual conversation?”

  “Maybe. Is it good?”

  She made an exasperated noise. “It is a part of being normal!”

  “I see. I promise to learn it then.”

  To relearn. Maybe I should.

  “Start again, and I will listen and not touch you.”

  The bus rocked and shuddered and hummed into the night. Headlights flashed by, lighting up the interior.

  I did exactly what I said I would. I listened to her until she yawned and leaned into me. For the last of the journey, I sat very quietly with her head resting on my shoulder, watching her sleep.

  Her red curls spilled across my shirt and tickled my neck, but I didn’t move – apart from to gently pull out a few strands to let them uncurl and run from my fingers.

  The one problem was the man in the seat across the aisle. He was absorbed in his phone and the screen glowed with videos – saved ones perhaps, since reception was poor. Mostly it was porn. This I was not disturbed by.

  Not until…

  The screen angled our way. The video was of a woman driver, filmed from above and outside the car. A dildo was between her thighs, and she was partially naked. A man’s hand was on her as was hers. Though her face was not in the scenes I saw, this was Red.

  The truck driver’s vid had been uploaded. If the man opposite had made the connection, he showed no sign of it, and the camera angle made it unlikely her face would be visible.

  Later that night, I did what I’d planned to – I stripped her then told her to stand at the wall so that I could tease her nude body until she was wrecked by need. I made her worship my length, to suck me inside her heat with those soft, rose-petal lips. Greedily, I watched my cock vanish inside her and blessed that roving wet tongue of hers, and then I filled her mouth while I held her hair and neck to the wall.

  After she swallowed and begged for more, I checked her below, kissing her while using two fingers like a dipstick.

  I felt the squeeze of her wanton pussy.

  “More,” she croaked.

  “More?”

  I kiss her. Hear her moan, watch the movement of her mouth as I do a few pumps with those fingers. “Definitely…” A long and brutal kiss, suck out those fingers, casually paint the side of her ass with them where it bulges against the wall. “Turned on. Good. Stay that way. Bedtime for you.”

  “Bastard,” she added quietly.

  “Mmm.” I vowed to keep stirring her a while in bed, until we slept. Punishment as well as fun.

  Then I steered her to bed, still naked, still wanting me, and laid her over the edge.

  “Bastard?” I spanked her a few times, firmly and pointed to the middle of this creaky bed.

  She climbed in and glowered at me.

  “Go to sleep now.” I touched foreheads while inserting my fingers in that dirty mouth. Slowly I withdrew them. Her tongue flicked at them, curled.

  Could not r
esist. I shoved her onto her back, straddled her, and fucking teased her clit with my mouth until she cried and whimpered, and tried to lock me there with her thighs. I bit her thigh and slapped her away.

  “No coming for you. Sleep.”

  Leaving her wanting and unfucked was now on my list of favorites. Funny, how it almost seemed as if she liked it too. There was a sweet smile on her lips as she squirmed in place before she snuggled into the sheets.

  * * * * *

  In the parking garage, Joe leaned on the side of the car with his finger hovering over the send button. “Should I, boys? Ryan?” His youngest nodded, then Jack nodded too. “Okay. You’re right. I should’ve thanked that man more than I did. Let’s see if this helps us find him.”

  He hit the button and the video Mrs. Hendriks had caught of Ryan’s rescue was sent. A few more shares, and it was loose on the internet, on YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram. He reread the text and nodded. This would do it.

  Help me find this man, he saved my son’s life today and I was too shocked to really thank him. #superhero #goodSamaritan #shareThispost #ourLifesaver #whoIsHe

  As an afterthought, he added a description of the car the man and his girlfriend were driving. He only had a partial rego, but it might jog someone’s memory.

  “Now we wait, guys.”

  He hugged his sons to his side then wiped his eyes. Since his wife had passed away, he was theirs, and they were his responsibility in every way. His sons were his life. That man had saved him in so many ways.

  CHAPTER 16

  RED

  When we collected him, the dog leaped all over Isak. I crouched down and called to him, and he finally noticed me and ran over, knocking me backward with his enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure if I should be miffed that he chose to greet Isak first. I wasn’t sure why we were keeping a dog that might belong to another.

  However, I saw potential here. If Isak could bond with a dog and feel affection, we were getting closer to that goal of his.

  To my shock, Isak grabbed my hand with the one unoccupied by dog leash. Hand in hand we strolled to the front glass door like a married couple. Why did I feel as though this was a new strategy of his and not a blossoming friendship? The usual reason. Everything he ever did to me, the murders, the sadism.

  “Pill’s due,” I said when we were outside on the footpath.

  He gave me a glance then popped one from the foil-backed sheet he took from a pocket and swallowed it down with a slug of water. Matter of fact. As if I could truly tell him what to do. We both knew he could refuse.

  And what was this with the whole pill? The last time I noticed the dose it had been less. Clearly, he was testing the effect with different doses. An idea surfaced. It was probably a bad idea.

  What if I managed to get him to OD? We’d been there before, though. Years ago, I had tried slipping some to him without his knowledge. I’d added some ground-up Keppra to his wine, and as punishment he had fucked me on the table on broken glass. Then he’d stapled me together.

  That was Isak when he was off the drug, in vicious sadist mode.

  How easily this routine could slip. If he threw it up or ran out when we were hours of travel from a chemist, or if I forgot to remind him.

  I wasn’t Cassandra from the Greek legends or Dr. Strange. I couldn’t predict or alter the future. I could only do my best not to screw up.

  I took a few measured breaths then trotted after Isak and Banjo.

  For once Isak drove. In the vet’s white ute, we headed for the town of Yellert, ever nearer the middle of Australia though nowhere close to it. The country was enormous. Another day or two and I guess we might be in the center. I wasn’t googling it, considering my lack of the internet or a cellphone. Somehow my imagination made it more a fantasy. This could be the land that went on forever.

  Fantasy was good. It let me imagine Isak as a man who could become better than a monster. A smaller monster would also be an improvement.

  Yesterday he had closely resembled a hero.

  I looked over my shoulder at Banjo and where he lay on the back seat. He panted and laughed at me, with his long pink tongue hanging out so far he might never get it rolled back inside. I was pretty sure this dog thought Isak was his hero.

  Weren’t dogs supposed to be good judges of character?

  * * * * *

  Yellert was smaller than Bormage or whatever was the name of that other one. The names were a blur. Isak exited and found the widow who lived here.

  While Isak met with the same lady who’d given him the bronze pick-up. Banjo stuck his head out the wound-down window.

  I leaned on the car and gave him pats. Six or seven black crows cawed accusingly at us from a large tree. I didn’t blame them.

  The weathered concrete footpath lay beside her small but neat house – corrugated iron roof, timber walls, a small patio, and some neighbors who looked at us curiously. Isak had her phone number and with one call he’d verified where she was and told her to hand over the keys and whatever he needed to find the property she owned once we arrived.

  I barely took in her appearance. It was a safety mechanism for me. I could consign all these people to oblivion when we left. They became ghosts to me. Gone. It made my head hurt less.

  But… she had gray hair and a frail figure. This was the widow. She chose to stay here, in town, but owned a small farm that had been left to itself. I hoped she was living here for the neighbors and that they were her friends. That made me feel better.

  Maybe she would sell the farm one day, assuming Isak let her, move to the Bahamas and make more friends? I could dream for others.

  Today, the place was his, and for however long he wanted it.

  “Let’s go.” He turned from her and stalked back to the car. I unleaned myself from it, stretched muscles that felt frozen from the long drive.

  I pitied her, though. Perhaps she was losing less than most who came into Isak’s sphere of influence.

  The roads leading to the property deteriorated as we drew closer. The sky was pale, hazy, and blue with few clouds. The surface became potholed dirt after we entered through a steel and wire gate. Luckily the ute had big tires and a high clearance.

  “It’s a small place, she told me. Those cows are here on what’s called agistment.” He pointed out the windshield at a scattering of brown beasts behind a fence, on the slope beside us. The grass was pale like everything else, but the cows munched on it placidly.

  “Agistment?” It was a new word.

  “Means somebody pays to leave their cows here to get good grass. I gather it’s drier where they came from. We don’t have to do anything to them, unless they escape the fences. Someone will check them every so often.”

  He kept driving, rolling the wheel to avoid the bigger holes in the road, jarring my teeth, and churning up dust, but not too much as we had slowed.

  An excitement stirred in me though I’d never yearned for a country life. Isak seemed more laidback – the cows’ attitude must be infectious. This place all by its lonesome felt different to where I’d lived in the cities and towns. The water came from a tank, though the property had power and not a generator. The ride back to town would take nearly half an hour.

  “There it is.” He raised a finger to the house that had appeared as the road topped a rise.

  It seemed a quintessential Aussie outback house – biggish with a verandah all the way around, a windmill on the skyline, and one wandering cow. The roof was red, and everything looked battered, old, and mildly neglected.

  It felt like a home, though I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  A small plane flew overhead, the engine making a distant muted whir. It was low enough to make me think it was landing soon.

  “A crop duster uses the place as a fuel and storage depot. An air strip is over the hill.”

  I nodded. We were not as alone here as I imagined.

  We pulled up beside the house then drove into the double garage which had only two walls. The fro
nt and a side were open to the elements.

  “Let’s get unpacked.” Isak exited along with the dog that took advantage of his open door. He began pulling cases off the back. We had accumulated a few things on the way here – boxes of food, new clothes and riding boots, even a rifle. I guess even Isak could not mind control a cow or a dingo. No bears, pumas, or large predators lived in Oz though, barring men and the sharks in the sea. And there was Isak.

  I entered the primitive kitchen, where almost everything had a layer of dust, as well as chips, scratches, and pieces falling off – the benches, the oven, the chairs, everything was a mess. To my utter shock, a bunch of fresh red flowers popped against the bleakness, in a vase on a rectangular table.

  “For you.” Then he pulled me to a chair and sat me facing him, on his lap with my legs to either side, and… he kissed me.

  No sadism, no cruelty, nothing but the most earnest of kisses… okay it did turn into hair pulling and neck biting as well as kissing. I was clutching at the chair back at first, then at his shoulders, digging my fingers into those delicious muscles, and kissing him back.

  Kissing made such intimate and private sounds – the breathing, the small moans, the nudge of lips to lips…the creaks as our weight shifted the chair. Man, this always felt like a betrayal of myself to respond like this.

  When the snarl of a motorbike split the air and grew abruptly louder, pulling to a crackling halt somewhere nearby, he stopped and let me regain my feet.

  Flustered, I brushed at my mouth, backing away but recognizing that delicious hypersensitivity in my lips. The mouth could be so sexual. He sat on the chair, manspreading his legs, with an eyebrow kinked upward as he saw how I studied him. I had, however, not felt his mesmer power.

  “Why?” I asked, voice betraying my confusion.

  “The flowers? I thought you’d like them. This is a new start, remember. I’m finding myself and my humanity.” Grandiosely, he opened his arms.

  “You mean the list I gave you?”

  Good deeds and helping others had been on it, not gentle, normal-ish kissing and bouquets.