by I. T. Lucas
“I don’t think it’s possible to make him feel guilty. The man abused you, and he might have murdered your mother. He is probably a sociopath, and I can’t make him feel things he’s incapable of. Besides, tearing out his throat will give me so much more satisfaction.”
Cupping his cheek, she looked into his eyes. “Promise me that you won’t kill him.”
“Why? Because you are afraid it would tarnish my soul? Trust me. All I will feel is immense satisfaction.”
“That’s not the only reason.” Her expression turned hard. “I’ve changed my mind about making him kill himself because you are probably right and he’s incapable of feeling guilt. If you find out that he killed my mother, I want to be the one who ends his life.”
As if he would ever let her do that. Wendy wasn’t a warrior, and killing her father would for sure leave a dark mark on her soul.
“I thought that you never wanted to see him again.”
“I’ll make an exception. Will you help me do it?”
“I will do anything for you. But I really don’t think you should be the one ending his life. Let me do this for you.”
Releasing a breath, she plopped on her back. “When are you leaving?”
“I need to get Kian’s permission first, and I didn’t want to talk to him before getting your approval.”
Wendy turned on her side. “What if I had said that I didn’t want you to go? Would you have done it anyway?”
Vlad had planned on doing just that, but after talking with Richard, he’d realized that it would have been wrong.
“I wouldn’t have gone against your wishes, but I would have tried very hard to change your mind.”
29
Eleanor
Thomas opened the cottage door without knocking, but didn’t go in. “Enjoy your evening.” He held it open for Eleanor.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“Not this time. Perhaps the next.” He winked.
“Thanks for escorting me.”
As she walked in, he closed the door behind her.
Taking in the small living room, she noted that it was precisely as the nurse had described it. A brown fabric couch that looked like no one had ever sat on it, two floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with mismatched spines, which unlike the couch had seen a lot of use, and a zero-gravity recliner that swiveled her way and revealed Safe Haven’s leader, Emmett Haderech.
“Welcome to my home, Marisol.” He didn’t get up, regarding her with his dark eyes. They were nearly black and intense.
Up close, the man was even more impressive than she’d remembered. Eleanor was no longer sure that his hair was a wig, but it had certainly been styled. There was no way those curls at the bottom were natural.
He was dressed like a freaking sultan, with a white, long inner robe, an embroidered red caftan made of silk over it, and an outer dark-blue robe that was made from silk as well.
Where had he even gotten an outfit like that?
The guy was certainly into theatrics, and he also must have had plastic surgery because he had no wrinkles around his eyes. Perhaps he was hiding saggy jowls under his bushy beard, which he was most definitely dyeing. The hair on his head had been colored as well, and both were so dark that they looked nearly blue and had an enviable shine.
“Thank you for inviting me.” She expected him to tell her to take a seat, but he didn’t.
“Tell me about yourself.” It was a command, not a request, and she figured he must be using compulsion.
“I’m forty years old.” She chuckled nervously, and she didn’t even need to pretend because she was nervous as hell. “I don’t know why I opened with that. I usually don’t tell men how old I am.”
“Why is that? You are a beautiful woman. Age is meaningless.”
“Thank you.”
He still didn’t ask her to sit down. Was that part of the test?
Compulsion worked only through voice commands, not the lack thereof.
Walking up to the couch, she sat down and crossed her legs at the knee. “I’m athletic, so guys assume that I’m younger. As soon as they hear forty, their attitude toward me changes.”
“How so?”
“I become a pity fuck.” That should convince him that she was under his spell. “Damn.” Eleanor pushed her fingers through her hair. “I’ve never told that to anyone, not even my partner, Kara.”
She really hadn’t told anyone. After it had happened on more than one occasion, she’d stopped seeking male companionship altogether. It was no longer true, though. Now she was an immortal, and age was really irrelevant.
“Oh, yes, I read in your file that you have a female partner, but that you are bi-sexual.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Why limit myself to one gender, right?”
“Indeed. But you must have a preference.”
Eleanor shrugged. “I like dick, but I enjoy female company more.” She grimaced. “My track record with men is not good.”
He leaned forward. “What was your worst experience with a man?”
Eleanor swallowed. She still hated even thinking about it. “I was in love with a guy, and I used every shady tactic possible to trap him with me, believing that he would eventually learn to love me back, but he never did. I had to let him go, and it nearly broke me.”
“How did you trap him?”
She’d compelled him, but it wasn’t as if she would admit that. “I made excellent money, and I was a big honcho in the company I worked for. I could have gotten him fired, and I used it to keep him from leaving.” She shook her head. “Are you a hypnotist or something? I never talk about that with anyone, and I’ve just met you.”
Emmett’s satisfied smile was the last confirmation she needed that he’d been testing her susceptibility.
“I have this effect on people.” He rose to his feet and walked over to his immaculate kitchenette. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“You have alcohol? I was told that it’s forbidden at the resort.”
“This is my private residence. I don’t allow alcoholic beverages in the retreat or the community for a good reason. Our free-love culture requires many safeguards, and making sure that no one can use inebriation as an excuse for inappropriate behavior or dubious consent is one of them.” He smiled. “But since you seem more than willing to be here, I see no harm in offering you a drink.”
“I would love one, thank you. What do you have?”
“I’m afraid that my selection is limited. It’s either red wine or scotch.”
“I’ll take wine.”
He smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
30
Leon
Leon had lost the bet.
Anastasia couldn’t hit the bullseye even from ten feet away, and bringing it any closer would have been cheating.
At some point, he’d switched her to knife throwing, hoping she would be better with that, but the woman was hopeless.
If not for the scent of frustration he’d picked up from her, he would have thought that she’d done it on purpose, but she’d been really trying to do better.
He’d wriggled out from promising to forgo the blindfold if he lost, but he had a feeling she would bring it up as soon as they retired to the bedroom, which was why he was pretending to be engrossed in the television series that Anastasia had picked and was marathoning through. While she was watching, he was working on a convincing argument that wouldn’t be a total lie.
Thank the merciful Fates for his satphone and the connection to the internet, where one could find answers for the most bizarre questions. He’d picked up a few ideas and was mentally polishing his arguments.
“Another episode?” Anastasia picked up the remote as the credits started rolling in.
“Sure.”
She eyed him from under lowered lashes. “I know why you like this show so much.”
He couldn’t care less and had been barely paying attention to the plot. “You do?”
“You think
that Safe Haven is like The Good Place, hell masquerading as heaven.”
“It didn’t occur to me until you pointed it out.”
“Right.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think that’s enough vegging for one day.” She pushed out of his arms and stretched. “Let’s go to bed.”
“You go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ll clean up.” Leon picked up their empty coffee cups.
“I’ll help.”
He shook his head. “I can manage washing two mugs on my own.”
“Someone is in a mood,” she murmured before sauntering toward the bedroom.
“I’m not in a mood.”
She turned to look at him. “Yes, you are. You are upset about losing the bet.” She dragged her teeth over her lower lip. “I didn’t miss the target on purpose.”
“I know.”
“So why are you upset?”
“I’m not.” He left the cups in the sink, walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s get you to bed, beautiful.” He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way.
“I can still do what I promised to do if I lost.”
His erection swelled in response. “That wouldn’t be fair.” He sat down on the bed with her cradled in his arms. “But I’d be more than happy to uphold my promise to give you a sensual whole-body massage and pleasure you into an orgasm or two with my talented tongue.”
That was what he had promised instead of forgoing the blindfold.
Color rising in her pale cheeks, Anastasia smiled sheepishly. “To be frank, I really hoped that you would win, so I could do what I promised if you did.”
That was a surprise. No wonder she’d been so frustrated when she’d missed not only the bullseye but the entire target.
“That’s a different story.” He cupped her cheek. “We can take turns, but I’m giving you a massage first.”
She shook her head. “I know how that will end. Let me do this for you, and then you can have whatever you want.”
“Fine, but you’ll have to do it blindfolded.”
She pouted. “Do we really need to do this like that every time?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because those are my rules.”
Looking down, she pulled on a loose thread that was sticking from the bottom of his T-shirt. “If you are embarrassed about scars, don’t be. You are perfect to me with or without blemishes.”
“I don’t have scars.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“There is no problem. That’s how I like it, end of story.”
“What about what I like?”
He’d been afraid she would play that card. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you yet.”
“Because I enjoy it, but I want more.”
“And you’ll get more. But for now, this is how it’s going to be.” He smoothed his hand over her back. “Face it, Anastasia. This is what excites you. You said that I light your fire like no one else ever has. Why do you think that is?”
“Because it’s you?”
He chuckled. “I wish I could credit my masculine magnetism, but the truth is that the game we play ignites your fire. Without it, you wouldn’t enjoy yourself half as much. That doesn’t mean it will have to be like this forever, but for now, I want to keep the momentum going. Your engine is all revved up, and you don’t want to change gears and slow it down before it completes its maiden run.”
31
Eleanor
The wine was spiked.
Eleanor could feel the effect, which was mild because of her immortal metabolism, but it would have made a human high as a kite.
Not that she had first-hand experience with being high. She’d gotten slightly drunk a few times, and the rest of her knowledge on the subject was based mainly on movies, so acting the part was problematic.
She swayed on her feet, giggled, and tried to make her eyes appear unfocused.
So far, Emmett seemed to be buying the act, but he hadn’t made a move yet. The question was what she would do when he started getting frisky. She could overpower him with ease, but beating him up would defy the purpose of why she was there. Her job was to find out what he did to the women, and she would have to allow him quite a lot before ending the charade.
She needed to let him get friendlier, possibly even take the initiative, and see what he did with that.
Surprisingly, the prospect of getting her hands on Emmett wasn’t as abhorrent to her as she’d expected it to be. Her bond with Greggory hadn’t solidified yet, so it wasn’t as if she was repulsed by Emmett.
In fact, she found him a bit too appealing.
His commanding personality, his natural charm, and the way he focused his entire attention on her was a powerful combination, and his height and broad shoulders didn’t hurt his appeal either.
Damn, she was such a floozy.
She had a boyfriend that she cared for, and she shouldn’t feel anything for the charismatic cult leader.
Then again, this might be her last hurrah before she settled down with Greggory, and since it was part of her mission, she had a good excuse to indulge a little.
A few kisses and some caresses wouldn’t be so bad, and she would never let it lead to full-on sex. When things started heating up, she would fake a stomachache, and if that didn’t do the trick, she could wrestle Emmett to the floor and tie him up.
Heck, it might be a turn-on for him, and she could pretend it was part of a sex game.
Holding his scotch glass, he rose to his feet. “Let’s move the party to the bedroom, shall we?”
“I thought you would never ask.” As she got up, Eleanor pretended to sway on her feet and plopped back down on the couch.
He offered her a hand up. “You must have had a little too much wine.”
Right. As if two glasses could have made her even slightly tipsy.
“Yes.” She gave him her hand, expecting him to crush her against his chest and kiss her, but he didn’t.
Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her walk toward a door, which led either to a bedroom or the entrance to the underground.
It was a small bedroom with a single bed that obviously wasn’t the one Emmett slept in. He led her to another plain-looking door that looked like it could belong to a bathroom, but when he opened it, Eleanor realized that it was a fake, and behind it was the real deal, a steel door with a keypad and a fingerprint reader.
She giggled. “Are you taking me inside your safe?”
He looked surprised that she’d spoken. Was she supposed to be incoherent by now?
“You’ll see in a moment.” He leaned her against the wall and blocked her view of the keypad with his body while typing in the code.
The door swung open, and he wrapped his arm around her waist again. “We are going down a flight of stairs. Hold on to me tightly. I don’t want you tripping.”
Eleanor nodded but didn’t say a thing in case she was supposed to be incapable of speech. She also let him practically carry her down the stairs, which he did with surprising ease.
She was thin, but she was tall and had a lot of muscle mass for a woman, which made her heavier than she looked. At one hundred and forty-two pounds, she wasn’t a lightweight.
There was no door at the bottom of the stairs, and as they entered the large basement, Eleanor agreed with Gustav that it was as luxurious as any five-star hotel.
Again, she didn’t comment, but took everything in while pretending to be stoned.
Beautiful sectional couches upholstered in soft chenille fabrics sat on top of the largest oriental rug she’d ever seen; there was a full bar with eight barstools at the counter, a television screen that was so big it covered most of the wall, and more bookcases overflowing with books.
Apparently Emmett was an avid reader, which was a point in his favor, but it wasn’t enough to compensate for the minus ten thousand he got for drugging his sex partners.
What for, however,
she didn’t have a clue but was about to find out.
He’d made sure that she was willing before giving her the wine, so what was his deal? Was it just so his guests wouldn’t remember his fancy lair?
That didn’t make sense. His community worshiped him, and no one would have a problem with him living in luxury, especially if he shared it with them on occasion.
Emmett kept walking, passing the beautifully appointed living room, and entered a hallway that was about forty feet long and had two doors on each side, which she assumed led to bedrooms.
Hopefully, none of them led to a torture chamber. Eleanor wasn’t averse to a little rough play, but she wasn’t into pain.
As Emmett opened the first door on the left, she let out a stifled breath.
It was a normal bedroom, with a big modern-looking bed in the center, not a four-poster with dangling handcuffs, and the only odd thing about it was the black silk bedding.
It was a strange choice of decor given the more traditional style of the living area and Emmett’s sultan getup, but maybe he had every bedroom decorated in a different style to mix things up.
Leading her to the bed, he lowered her gently until she was seated, and then sat next to her. “You intrigue me, Marisol.” He brushed her hair aside with his fingers. “You smell so delicious.”
Eleanor had put on some perfume, but she wouldn’t call the scent delicious. It was a Lancôme’s Ôud Bouquet that she’d ordered online. She found the scent sophisticated, a little flowery, and a little musky, but not delicious.
Deciding she should keep up the charade of being barely conscious, she just gazed at him with unfocused eyes and said nothing.
Rubbing his thumb over her neck, he leaned in and kissed the spot, evoking shivers that she wished were caused by repulsion, but weren’t.
Emmett had soft lips, and he smelled good.
