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

by Cari Silverwood

  “That too, as well as other things. Be kind to others, especially your loved ones – that has to include kissing and flowers?”

  Loved ones. Why did this feel like the opening of the jaws of a trap?

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  “Hello! Am I disturbing anything? Thought I should say hi!”

  That was a woman. A young woman.

  I recognized the predatory interest infiltrating Isak’s eyes, and I turned and hurried to the door.

  When I opened it there was a woman in her mid-twenties on the verandah.

  “Hi. I was flying by so…”

  I scanned her. Curiously young for a pilot. Dusty jeans and red T-shirt, and with her ponytail drawn back the exquisite lines of her jaw and neck were obvious. She filled out that shirt well too.

  “Mrs. Vincent phoned and said she had people coming here, and I was doing some work on a place nearby.” She waved a hand. “Thought I’d drop by and check everything was okay?”

  I shrugged. The girl was suspicious of us. I’d let Isak handle this. I had to, really. “You have a motorbike on a plane?”

  The red trail bike sat propped on a stand a few meters away, engine ticking from the heat.

  “Oh that. Ha! It’s not mine.” Absentmindedly, she flipped her ponytail from shoulder to behind her back. “Belongs here, but I use it to get from the strip to wherever when I’m here. I refuel. Restock from drums. Used to visit the Vincents when they were living here. Her hubs passed away, sadly. Hi there!”

  Isak moved out past me, and she backed away a step.

  He held out his hand. Warily she shook it.

  I thought I saw some recognition pass across her face, but it was gone quickly. Had he done something?

  It angered me beyond the usual. I was used to him mindfucking people, but not her. If he dared to… I ran down. A useless threat.

  “Mrs. Vincent said she was letting you live here for a while. Long as you wanted to, really?” She scratched her head, legs planted like a man’s would be. This was a self-confident woman, like I was, once upon a time.

  My heart sank. Please, not her.

  “Yes. She did say that.” And he smiled at her, let go of her hand.

  Only then did I realize he’d been still holding her hand for an extended length of time. I frowned.

  Was he sneaking in his hooks? Fuck him if he was.

  “I’m Georgia West.”

  “Isak here, and this is Red.” He came to me and slipped his arm about my waist, all casual-like.

  It was as if we were instantly man and wife. I leaned into him. Fuck, I was a weathercock, going back and forth.

  “Uh-huh. Nice to meet you both.”

  I smiled at her. “Brave of you to fly small planes.”

  “Oh, my dad did it too. Taught me from when I was a teenager. He still flies. We’re a small company in these parts.”

  Banjo galloped up from wherever he’d vanished to and stuck his nose in her crotch.

  What with her giggles and kneeling to pat the tail-wagging newcomer, things somehow calmed.

  Isak no longer seemed about to bite.

  We invited her in for a cup of something hot and cookies, or rather they were biscuits as they called cookies here – confusing as hell, some of the Aussie slang. I knew we had tea and coffee because we had bought some along the way. Luckily, we also had working faucets and a saucepan to boil the water. Though the water came with bonus brownness. Milk and the tea or coffee helped disguise the hue and the tang. I prayed the fridge worked or we would be throwing out a lot of food.

  We sat on the rickety timber chairs and an old musty sofa, and we talked.

  It was so, so strange.

  So normal.

  “You need a kettle for the tea.” She gulped another swallow, grimaced but took another. “And other stuff. Say, come down to the pub in Yellert on this coming Friday arvo and I will introduce you to the locals, buy you a beer. They’ll get a kick out of having two Americans here.”

  Isak wasn’t American. I let the words wash over me and decided that arvo must mean afternoon.

  The conversation seemed dreamlike, and every now and then I spotted the flash of interest in her eyes that said she was stripping him of his shirt, at least. Hormones, and Isak was attractive.

  When she tipped the leftovers from her mug into the kitchen sink, his gaze fell to considering the roundness of her pert ass. I could see it clear as day.

  She had no idea what and who she was toying with.

  A knot of anxiety unraveled in my belly when she left. I waved to her as she roared off on the bike, with Isak beside me.

  “You didn’t do anything to her?” I bit my lip, frowned up at him, aware of how close I might come to annoying him.

  “No. I was good. Choice, remember? Good people choose to do the right thing. I chose not to do anything to her.”

  Again, he had quoted my words to me.

  He brushed his fingers along my jaw, holding my attention.

  “I missed getting married in Cuba, by a slip of fate. Instead, I was given these mesmer powers. Each day, I learn more about how to control them. I’m glad the wedding fell through, because instead I found you. Why would I need her?”

  Because. Always because. I knew how he worked.

  He wouldn’t have me soon, unless that was a Freudian slip?

  It must be. The truth was in those words.

  It wasn’t a great surprise.

  I focused past him and saw the one thing left unloaded from the back of the ute. The big suitcase. It was partially covered. That thing was steeped in my terror.

  I could never trust him. Not really, really trust him. Isak was a loaded weapon, even with the drug in his system. And yet, coming here had revealed something to me that I had never realized before. It was something I should have seen coming.

  This new Isak with his attempt to fit into society in the best way he could – I liked him. I liked some of him. The bits he let me see that were not purely villainous had their allure.

  I needed to see a psychiatrist. Stockholm syndrome had nothing on this.

  CHAPTER 17

  RED

  By Friday arvo – I was getting the hang of this slang – we had the farmhouse well organized regarding food and functioning electrical things such as fridges, hot water, fans, and even the internet. Though for some reason, Isak was keeping use of that to a minimum. Did he fear me revealing something? How could I? I was forever in his mesmer thrall.

  And so that Friday we visited the pub, just as Georgia had suggested. We waded through the hubbub of locals raising beers and snacking on hot chips aka fries, and pub meals, until we found her and her friends. Stockmen, pilots, workers off the various properties and farms, I supposed. Only one other woman, and she talked offhandedly about cattle and horses, same as the men, and Georgia.

  The introductions went well. Isak could charm most, even the rare females he couldn’t reach as a mesmer.

  And Georgia? She kept the men enraptured with the swing of her hair, with her smirks and her nudges at the jokers who teased her, with a bump of her shoulder or cutting remark. I think her almost manly assumption of dominance broke them a little – made them want to take her down a peg, in their beds. For Isak that would be a simple thing to do – to break her.

  I had to wonder if I was actually jealous. Was my weird mind wanting a future with Isak?

  Not really, I told myself, and fuck no.

  I watched him laugh and raise a beer, swallow it down with the drip of condensation from his wrist staining his light gray shirt, with the solid way he filled out shirt and pants enough to even make me check him out. He was a man underneath that skin.

  When he left to order a new round of beers, Georgia leaned back toward me. “You’re married?”

  “Well.” Here was where that compulsion to conceal wrecked the truth in my reply. “Sort of.”

  “A couple, hey? You’ve got a catch there then.” Her lips twitched in bemus
ement. “He is hot.”

  Her girlfriend chuckled. “Not mincing words today, are we?”

  Georgia swished that long hair and chortled too. “You know me. I call a hottie a hottie.”

  “He is way out of your league, girls.” I said it to chase them off, of course, mostly for their own protection.

  I raised my own cold glass of beer and silently toasted him as he walked back bearing alcoholic gifts for all.

  The cheers rose, and people started in with the what’s this country like compared to yours sort of questions.

  I answered them, even the old guy in the cowboy hat who called us yanks and looked as if he’d been in the last world war.

  Then Isak placed his hand on my thigh. That was sufficient to make me want him. He’d been abstaining from truly fucking me. Was that a strategy of his? Probably.

  Damn this. I wriggled my butt on the stool and half-wished he’d remove his hand, half-wished he would do more, somewhere, maybe once we reached the ute. Or before, against a building. My mind was so fogged, after that I barely noticed what was said to me.

  Bastard. He was doing things. I scowled at him and he smiled and squeezed my leg, slid that hand up my thigh.

  I shivered into a higher appreciation of lust.

  When we left, I found out we had booked horse-riding lessons because of that pub conversation, and had a date to see a rodeo, when it came in a few weeks.

  Isak unlocked the door to our stolen run-down vehicle and gestured like a chauffeur to the door. “Enter, milady.”

  What was this? Was the local humor rubbing off on him? I slid in, and he leaned on the top of the door to talk to me. “There is a distinct leaning toward kink with her friend, Katie.”

  Oh shit. I swung my gaze and found he’d locked on. I couldn’t think for a moment. Mesmer mode.

  “The pill?” I managed to squeak out.

  “Ah. It is due. Was. In my jacket.” He’d thrown it onto the footwell.

  I was free of that mindlock. Panicking a little, I found the Keppra and punched out one pill, handed it to him then watched him swallow without water. Then I found myself wondering whether beer would interfere with the effect.

  “As I said. The Katie one was interesting. I will be running that clue down. You want to go to one of those play sessions they have, don’t you?”

  I nodded. What else could I do?

  “Good, Good.” He sucked on his teeth. “It’d be fun to show you off to them.”

  “Oh.” Fuck. My clit pulsed, slammed a tide of ecstasy through me, and I gasped. That pill would take a while to slide into his system.

  “There are things beyond human comprehension.” He reached in and fingered the side of my neck as carefully as an executioner.

  That sounded so evil. I shuddered, and I came.

  It never ever left him. The pills only masked him.

  “Time to go home. I like this place.” He strolled around the front of the ute and opened his door, slid in, slammed the door, started the engine.

  Me, I was panting with my eyes opening then closing, watching him, feeling the aftereffects of being forced into orgasm like a piece of lumber shoved through a woodchipper.

  “Fuck,” I swallowed, panted some more, let my head flop back.

  “See how nice I can be.”

  We peeled away from the footpath, drove a kilometer out of town where he pulled over in a shaded spot, ordered me from the car so he could wrench down my jeans. The button flew off into the grass. He screwed me over the hood of the car, grunting. My open mouth smeared drool on the paintwork.

  The pill was taking way too long to work.

  When he dropped me into the undergrowth and placed his foot on my neck as he zipped up, I barely noticed the mouthful of grass.

  “I’m getting lax. I haven’t fucked you with a stick for months or whipped you while you masturbate. Or strung you upside down from the rafters. Stuck needles in you.” He shook his head in disgust at himself.

  Luckily, by the time we reached the house he was calming.

  He strangled the wheel once the engine was off, then punched it hard over and over. My heart thudded and thudded so loudly. Fear, this was fear, again. He looked to me, studied me as if I were alien to him.

  “I’m sorry.” He lay back into the seat headrest and sighed. “Really. You might not believe this, but I am.” He turned his head. “You’re a strong person. Don’t give up on me.”

  Fuck. Fuck! This scared me more than before. So different to what he had been like for years, my mind went skitter-skating around, unable to comprehend.

  That could still be lies. It has to be lies.

  Lies I could deal with.

  My heart was thudding even louder in my ears.

  A thank you – was that what he expected?

  Then he added, “Fucking you though…” He dragged me to him and examined my partly naked state. My jeans had been left by the side of the road. My shirt was unbuttoned to halfway down, and my panties were missing too – mild for him. “Yeah. Not sorry for that.”

  He caressed my face then gently kissed me on the mouth.

  When he slowly stuck his fingers between my lips and whispered suck, I may have had tears rolling down my face but, god, I loved it, loved doing it while he avidly watched every motion of my mouth and lips. A tear ran down my face, then another.

  Maybe, perhaps, he was actually changing? It threw several spanners and a whole slew of wreckage into the works. There might be hope. I’d been saying that to myself but hadn’t believed it.

  “You are such a good girl, Red.”

  The pills were crucial.

  * * * * *

  Jacob: What have you got?

  Dan: There’s a vid circulating of a guy who saved a kid from falling off a cliff, and I think it’s our man. I’ll send it now. There.

  Jacob: Got it. Heyyy. That’s him. Good work! If I need more from you, be ready. Ted will be fucking happy.

  Dan: Great. Check that partial rego. That might do it. I’ll be ready fer sure.

  CHAPTER 18

  RED

  The country must run on slower time than the city, for the days sifted by and Isak also slowed. He spent mornings sitting out on the wide verandah, throwing the ball for Banjo and checking the sky for eagles, or the bush nearby for kangaroos.

  Watching that ball go flying and bouncing, then our mad cattle dog tear off after it and the ensuing soft words and pats when he returned it to Isak…

  It made me wonder what was happening.

  We went horse riding – which means we tried the gentlest mounts available and bounced around and suffered from sore rear ends afterward. We also stayed in bed and screwed, painted the walls, and messed about in the town. Sometimes we went further afield shopping for groceries when the local store was lacking.

  We made casual friends, and I ensured that drug kept circulating inside Isak on a rigid, twice-daily schedule.

  Golem was still his default emotional state. This was not a novel thing, but I also saw him laugh, most often when wrestling the dog. Banjo developed a habit of trying to herd any cows that sneaked through the fence. A loose area of wire was discovered by a few of them and they would stray. We – that is me, Isak, and Banjo – would carefully herd them back through the gate.

  Today was no different. I looked up at a shout, and spotted Banjo circling and snapping at the heels of the orneriest cow. Isak waved his cowboy hat at her. I recognized her by a patch of white on her head. If you ventured into the paddock, she would take a run at you.

  Banjo ducked in again – heel nipping and herding was instinctive in his breed.

  The cow kicked backward and connected, sending the dog tumbling and yipping. I’d never heard that noise before, and I shot to my feet. He struggled to stand.

  Isak sprinted out, trying to shoo the cow off the poor dog. He picked up Banjo and was heading my way when the cow decided to charge.

  “Run!” I grimaced then stopped breathing, anticipating the c
ontact.

  The thud as she whacked into his side and threw him sprawling was loud enough for me to hear it from the house.

  Rifle. I whipped inside and grabbed it from where Isak had placed it, hidden near the door and then I ran out, in an arc to the side. I paused, hesitating as I wondered about safety. With a round in the chamber, I drew a bead on the cow as it circled in, and I figured she planned to stampede over man and dog where they lay in a heap. Banjo wriggled loose and leaped up to growl at the oncoming cow.

  She trotted slowly, snorting, head lowered.

  Shoot her?

  This was something I’d practiced years ago, with the sole purpose of killing Isak.

  She sped up, galloping in, dirt flying. No choice. I squeezed the trigger and felt the kick to shoulder and ears as the round sped on its way. The cow stumbled and slid to one knee. A second shot to the chest must have reached the heart because she lay down nose first, plowing dirt. I trotted up, rifle held high, finger off the trigger.

  A second later she stilled. Dead.

  Despite my reasons, I felt the twist of regret for killing her, but I swung to check on the wounded.

  “You okay?” I jogged faster. Banjo came to me, and the slight limp in his gait seemed all that remained of his battle with the dread beast.

  Isak levered himself onto his side, groaning. “Slow. Jesus! That hurt. You were slow, woman.”

  My heart flip-flopped, half because he was alive, half because I… what? Liked being called woman? I frowned at myself. “Here.” I put out my hand out.

  “Where were you when Assassin Cow was after me? Ouch, fucking ouch.” He climbed to one knee, balanced there with a hand on his side, a hand on the ground. “But thank you.” A stick thrust up from his shirt. Hell, no, that was through it, blood welling onto the cloth. “I landed on this. Fuck, it hurts.”

  To my utter amazement, I was worried he might be badly hurt. My nemesis, hurt.

  But he wasn’t quite that anymore.

  I slung the rifle over my shoulder and leaned in to look more closely, then I helped him rise. He staggered, straightened with a grimace, then unbuttoned his shirt and slowly extracted that damn stick from his flesh.