by Kells, India
“So you have nothing to say apart from goodbye and good luck?” Silence again, so she pushed even more. “If I need help, if I come across anything?”
“The team will keep an eye on you.”
The more he spoke, the more anger replaced her panic. He seemed to have thought this through. Orla had been certain he’d opened up to her, even through the mask. Had she become a lovesick puppy after all? Even more pissed at herself now, she was ready to spit nails. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you. Please thank your friends for taking such good care of me.”
Pouring herself another glass of wine, to the rim this time, she looked at him. “As you said, it’s probably for the best. If I’m lucky, the next vigilante that saves my ass will be as good, if not better, when he fucks my brains out.”
Her world moved fast; it took one full breath to realize she’d been taken from where she stood and was now plastered against the wall. She didn’t have time to wonder where her glass of wine went as her vision was filled with a mask. For a split second, she thought he would pull it off and reveal himself, but instead, he pushed the bottom half up. Orla had the briefest glimpse of his full lips and golden stubble before he shed his gloves and kissed her. He tasted of anger, bruising her mouth just as she craved.
A shiver coursed through her and he pressed her even harder against the wall. She wanted him naked, his hard planes molded against her curves, but when he ditched his gloves and slid his hands to the juncture of her thighs, it was clear this wasn’t about long kisses and soulful caresses. It was to be breathless, pounding sex, a race to orgasm. One last connection before the final goodbye. If it were going to be the last moment she had with the nameless, faceless man, then, she’d take all he offered.
His fingers traced the seam of her sex, diverting her thoughts when he parted her and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit. Her hips moved in accord, propelling her quickly toward orgasm until he pulled away.
She expected him to undo his pants, but instead, he fell to his knees. A man on a mission, he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, and she thought he’d bury his face in her sex, but instead, he gently parted her lips, exposing her inner core.
Suspended between anticipation and nervousness, it dissolved when his mouth made contact. He could have teased as he’d done before, or lavished her, but she soon discovered finesse wasn’t his plan when he swirled his tongue around her clit once before closing his lips over it. The combination of suction and tongue flicks exacerbated her state of arousal and pushed her into orgasm before she could prepare herself for it.
Her hands clutched the vigilante’s shoulder and head as she rode the exploding pleasure, her hips undulating, drawing all she could as she screamed. As soon as it dimmed, she tried to pull him up, but he didn’t relent.
“Wait, please stop. I can’t take more of this.” His only answer was a deep groan rumbled against her sensitive flesh, and before she could beg, his hold tightened, and he slid two fingers inside her.
The tinge of pain at his sucking, and the pleasure of being filled and fucked, tipped the balance and now she didn’t want him to stop. His lips were lighter, forcing pleasure out of her again, lick after lick. Then he pushed another finger inside her, and she stopped fighting and her pleading turned to supplication. She wanted more of him; in any way he gave her.
“I’ll give you my cock, I’ll fuck you senseless, but I want to hear you scream again. Scream for me, Orla.”
Her thighs shook when his fingers rammed hard inside her and withdrew, rubbing against her g-spot on their way out. It would take time to make her come that way, and he had no patience. Her body wasn’t her own anymore as she surrendered to him and screamed. Her body jerked as the vigilante wrenched a second orgasm from her.
Still in a haze, her knees wobbled when he let her go. If not for the cold wall at her back, she would’ve sprawled on the floor.
Her mouth watered when he tore at his pants, pushing them down. She wanted to touch him, taste him, but she was robbed of that when he grabbed her legs and used the wall to push his cock balls deep.
Filled and wanting time to stop, Orla felt her heart twist. Before she could acknowledge this sudden yearning, she churned her hips, forcing a groan out of them both. With shuddering breaths, Orla held on, shutting her mind, only focusing on the delicious friction between her legs, the way his pelvic bone bumped into her raw clit, increasing his speed rather than slowing. His grip on her thighs shifted, widening her legs, giving his cock a new angle, and she saw stars.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Orla buried her face in the crook of his neck, her cheek against the small accessible patch of skin and held on.
His scent was like an aphrodisiac, his deep voice becoming more vocal. Tightening her core, she reveled in how his hips jerked before losing their rhythm. Even with her limited movement, she matched his trusts, heightening her own pleasure until he closed his teeth on her shoulder and grunted, his body tensing.
His orgasm seized his body, and she could feel him spasming deep inside her. The last shudders of his hips triggered one last bout of delight. Her body melted into this last wave of pleasure, bringing her warmth and a sense of finality.
Limbs tangled in a tight hug, his heart reverberating into her own chest, Orla waited. Time stretched until she felt him take a deep breath. It was the signal it was over.
“I can’t offer you more than that, Orla. Ever again. I’m a criminal, but I still have some morals.” His voice was but a whisper muffled in her neck, a rasp across over-sensitized nerves and barely contained emotions.
Slowly, he loosened his hold on her until they no longer touched. The pain she felt surprised her, convincing her she’d feel bereft for a long time.
Covering herself with her nightshirt, she watched him fastening his pants, and she took one last look at his mouth before he covered it with his mask. Just as he was about to put his gloves on, he hesitated and reached inside a pocket in his body armor.
He took her hand and held it palm up. “I think this belongs to you.”
The silver glinted against his skin, and she saw the crescent moon that had adorned her neck for so many years. “My mother’s pendant. I searched for it everywhere. Where did you find it?”
“It got stuck on me, in the garage when we first…”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence, Orla remembered too well. “Why did you wait until now to give it back?”
He shuffled, hesitating. “I considered it my good luck charm. But now my luck has run out. I thought it should be returned to its rightful owner. And maybe her luck will pick up.”
Pocketing his gloves, he lifted the pendant and turned her around. Orla held her breath as he fastened it around her neck. His fingers lingered a moment over her skin, or maybe was it his lips?
When he stepped back, and cold replaced his presence, Orla didn’t have to turn to know he was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Damn sunlight were the first two words that formed in her brain when Orla woke. Why hadn’t she closed the blinds last night? That simple question was enough to finish waking her when she realized it had been opened for the last few days. She wanted to roll to her side, but her laptop, a bag of Cheetos, and two empty bottles of wine prevented her from moving.
The immaculate ceiling of her apartment was the perfect canvas to let her mind wander and wonder. Over the last few days, she hadn’t had the will to get out of her pajamas or even take a shower. It wasn’t depression or anxiety; just the irrepressible need to ignore the world and process the last few days. And hopefully, forget the fact she’d had incredible sex and a connection with a man she’d never see ever again. How depressing.
In the middle of a crisis she wanted to make sense of, time was the best remedy.
Orla had spent the last few days focused on the investigation, sorting through the bits of information she’d gathered so far. Immersing herself in the investigation, helped her to move on. It had been
arduous, but she’d begun to remember little details and put them all together.
One thing she indulged in several times was her memories of the vigilante, until finally, she pushed them away, trying to reason herself out of the stupid fantasy. The man in charge of the vigilantes had made sense. She couldn’t fault him for living life according to his own rules. What kind of future could she have with a vigilante?
Orla almost kicked herself for thinking it. A future? They’d only fucked, that was all they had, all they were.
Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? That was the question she’d asked herself countless times, and it became even worse when her brain finally connected the dots and she’d realized who the vigilante was. Maybe it was easier to accept her infatuation with him know she the masked vigilante was Sam Ferguson.
The last twenty-four hours had been dedicated to digging up everything she could on him. From his time in Australia, she got basic stuff like date and place of birth, schooling, etc. He’d worked in the mining sector, more specifically opal mining, and had become a respected expert, even expanding his knowledge to other gems, becoming a consultant and assessor in high demand. Until he’d disappeared for a time, surfacing a few years later in America and resuming his job as a gem appraiser, but this time, under the umbrella of Noctem Consulting.
She dug more into the company, and Noctem looked legit. They offered a wide range of consulting services; everything any client could want and they guaranteed discretion. Including gem appraisal.
Sam Ferguson was Australian, and the vigilante had slipped a couple of times, both in accent and expressions, enough to confirm her suspicions. Same height, same build. And what confirmed it on an even deeper level had been the connection she’d had with him at the party. He stirred her senses on the same level as the vigilante. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. However, what was she going to do with that information now? One way or another, she needed to move.
Ignoring her screaming muscles as well as the mess, Orla stripped and got under the shower spray. Her body felt like lead, and she turned up the heat. With each passing minute, she felt more and more human. Hibernating like a bear in a cave wasn’t something she did very often, but it wasn’t surprising how deep and fast she had shut down.
However, the danger was still in the front of her mind. Earlier, she’d had a message from Kelli telling her she was safe and sound at her sister’s place and would remain there for a while. At least Orla was reassured on that front.
As she enjoyed a couple more minutes of heat, her thoughts drifted again. Where was the vigilante? Was he safe? Had they managed to get White?
Orla turned off the tap and dried off quickly, wrapping the towel around her before entering her bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she realized she was in dire need of caffeine and real food.
Still, she sat, knowing that beyond breakfast, she needed direction. The investigation wasn’t over; the newspaper would require an article and the police chief her report.
What did she have to show? She had a lead, but she needed more proof. She could slide some information about the attack at the theater, and point them in the right direction. If only she knew what was in the briefcase.
Sitting in the middle of discarded clothes, Orla noticed the coat she’d taken when she escaped the party from hell. It would probably be wise to discard it, especially if the police got involved. She lifted the coat, and a phone fell out of the pocket.
When she picked it up, it was clear it wasn’t a phone, but rather some sort of electronic device. The shape was rectangular, but it was slightly bigger than a normal smartphone. A mix between a hiking GPS and a handheld computer.
When she pressed the power button, the screen flashed on, and a series of codes appeared.
Orla turned the device in her hand, but there wasn’t a company name, serial number, or any other indication of what it was. Only a small window made of glass on the bottom.
That was what White was after. But more importantly, what the hell was it? She pressed the power button once more to shut it off and put it on the bed.
With a surge of new-found motivation, Orla got to her feet and slung her towel away.
She didn’t know what it was, but she knew a man who would.
* * *
The Gamespyr complex looked like an odd mishmash of buildings at the edge of the Loop. With what she knew about Devin Curtis, she thought he could afford a high-rise or two, but it better reflected the type of man he was.
There was a campus feel about the place, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.
Passing a basketball court and some sort of game room on her way in, Orla went to what appeared to be a reception desk and asked to speak to Devin Curtis.
The woman looked at her with such disdain, Orla thought her face would freeze like that. It took her journalist’s ID, a hundred dollars, and a stern face just to get her to call upstairs.
She knew when Devin heard she was there, he’d want to meet with her. At least she hoped.
Five minutes later, she was taking the elevator to the top floor.
The door opened to the most un-CEO like office she had ever seen. There were computers and consoles everywhere, some open with wires and chips bursting from them like guts. Stacks of papers were crumpled on the floor along with several action figures and even a full-size Batman in a corner.
“You’re admiring my office?”
Devin came from a side door, jeans slung low, no shirt on and his shaggy brown hair wet. Under his nerdy look was the body of a god. Nonetheless, she remembered another body that would undeniably soak her quicker than Devin’s shower. “I wouldn’t call this an office. More like a toddler’s playroom.”
His smile was dazzling when he dropped the towel and reached for a vintage Mario Brothers t-shirt.
“Am I catching you at a bad moment?”
Devin smirked, popping an energy drink from a small refrigerator. “I’m not offering you one; you seem rested enough. Not like the rest of us who eat, drink, and shower when we have five minutes to spare.”
“That’s the trouble with running a secret organization at the same time as a multi-billion-dollar enterprise.”
“And that will be the death of me, fifty years from now. Are you here for an interview? Or have you finally decided you can’t resist me?”
He was so full of it, and it was comical. “I have no interest in a man who can’t pick up after himself and leaves cookie crumbs all over his desk. Unfortunately, you’re the only brainiac I know who can tell me what this is.”
All amusement fled from his face when she produced the device, and he moved forward, his eyes on what was in her hand. “Is that what I think it is?”
Orla relinquished it but remained close. “You tell me. What is it, Devin?”
Silent, Devin turned the device in his hand like she had and pressed the power button. As before, the codes reappeared. “Holy fuck. I didn’t know they could make this thing that small.”
“What?”
Only then did he look up. “It’s a molecular scanner. Quite a small one. How did you get your hands on it?”
Ignoring his question, she took it back. “What does a molecular scanner do?”
“It acts like a barcode scanner if you like. You put it over any material, and it will tell you its molecular composition. You point that small window toward what you want to analyze, and the chemical transcription appears.”
What she had seen on the small screen made more sense now.
“It’s what was in the briefcase, wasn’t it?”
She gave him a quick nod, still trying to decipher what was displayed. “Probably. I had it the whole time but only found it this morning. What’s on it?”
Devin offered his hand, and she put the device on it. He turned and started pushing things around in what appeared to be a workstation. He found a cable, plugged it in the device and went to what seemed to be the biggest computer around.
He typed a fe
w keys before bringing a chair closer to sit. Orla leaned over him until she saw the same codes as before appeared on the bigger screen. Shown like this, they seemed more like a chemical formula. “What is it?”
Devin grunted. “I didn’t learn that sort of science, never cared for it, but wait a sec. If I copy part of the formula and do a quick search on our beloved Internet…”
Pages flew until a name popped. “Haloperidol. What on earth is that?”
Devin continued typing. “Seems to be an antipsychotic drug. Very powerful. Part of the formula refers to haloperidol. Interesting, as it’s used to stop manifestations of several psychotic disorders, but one of the main side effects from it are hallucinations, seizures, dementia, and movement disorder.”
“Those are the same effects that Phantom supposedly causes. This must be a part of its composition. Someone must have scanned it.”
“Scanned Phantom? Well, the unknown provider keeps that drug so close to the vest, it’s no wonder some greedy soul would try to work out the recipe. What I don’t understand is why somebody didn’t try it sooner. Phantom has been rampant in Europe for months. Why not use one of these things and become a distributor?”
Wheels were obviously squeaking in that geeky head of his. Devin seemed to ponder it before taking it back in his hands and examining it. “Well, molecular scanners exist on a commercial scale, but from what I know, they’re not that precise. We’ll need to have a chemist look at the formula, but I doubt it would offer much in-depth information. No brand, no markings. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s one of a kind. Governmental secret project or a private researcher. Can’t say. Leave it with me, and I’ll send it to the guys.”
It was a possibility, but not one Orla was considering. “You can download whatever you find in there, but I’m taking it with me. I need to give something to the cops and write an article. And as I can’t talk about you guys, I need that option.”