Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2)

by Logan Patricks

  “Want one more?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m stranded on a different boat than you are in terms of feeling remorse,” I said as I took the glass and sipped it this time, the harsh sweetness of the liquid settling on my tongue. “I’m not bitter at the fact that I couldn’t save Justin—though watching him burn did affect my abilities to enjoy music. I’m angry at myself for telling him about the Midnight Society in the first place. He died because I couldn’t hold my tongue. I was so stupid—so naïve—thinking that nothing bad would happen. I thought that the Midnight Society was just some exciting game I was playing.”

  Lincoln took a seat at the circular table and leaned back in his chair. He took another generous sip from his drink.

  “Aria, Justin was going to die no matter what,” he said. “Calisto would have found another way to manipulate the situation. Trust me. She’s very good at creating chaos, and then convincing another person that they were the root cause of it.”

  “I noticed you’re starting to reference her by her name.”

  Lincoln nodded. “It takes me a few days to get over heartbreak,” he replied as he rapped his fingers on the table. “It’s been about three weeks since she revealed her true colors to me. I think that’s more than an acceptable amount of time to get over the queen of sociopaths.”

  “Do you still love her?” I asked.

  Lincoln poured himself yet another drink. He took a healthy swig, and then closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating the question.

  “Yes,” he said. “I fancied that girl ever since the Academy—despite knowing that loving a woman like that would only lead to trouble for my poor heart.”

  “How can you love a woman who’s the devil in a black dress?”

  “I wish I didn’t,” Lincoln said. “But love is a very difficult thing to just turn on and off.”

  It was—unless your name was Shadow Tremaine.

  “But I’m finding that every day, I love Calisto a little less…” he paused, “Make that a lot less. I’m beginning to appreciate the simple qualities in women that I once loved before I had a penny to my name.”

  I was intrigued.

  “And what qualities would that be?” I asked.

  He smiled. “A good heart, a strong personality, and a killer set of tits.”

  I reached over and lightly punched him in the shoulder. “You’re a caveman,” I laughed.

  He looked at me, his eyes wide with wonder, as if he had gazed upon a falling star. There was a wicked alchemy brewing—a seductive concoction composed of liquor and my own vulnerability—and I felt his animalistic magnetism pull me in like a black hole.

  I was drawn to Lincoln’s boyish charms, especially that innocent yet devious grin of his which told me he was up to no good. The intensity of his blue eyes had me frozen in my place. He could have had his way with me at this moment—tied me to the bed and fucked me with his cock until sunrise, and I wouldn’t have resisted.

  Shit, was that what I actually wanted? Or was it the alcohol talking? I wasn’t in a good place at the moment; I knew that much was true.

  I looked at Lincoln, my body quivering.

  I needed to kiss him. I leaned forward, aiming for his mouth. However instead of finding his lips, I felt my nose brush against his elbow as he rose from the table, avoiding me just in the nick of time.

  Rejected.

  My heart sank. I felt like a complete idiot.

  I watched him walk over to the old piano pushed against the wall of the room.

  “You should play again,” he said, pretending my attempt to suck his lips didn’t just happen.

  “No,” I said. “It just reminds me of Justin.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?” Lincoln said. “He was a good friend, after all. He should be remembered.”

  “But not the way I remember him,” I said. When I thought of Justin, the only thing I could picture was him screaming while his flesh cooked in Calisto’s fire.

  “It’s unfortunate that human nature has a tendency to remember how a person has died, and not necessarily how they lived,” Lincoln said. “I fall victim to that as well.”

  He sat down in front of the piano and lightly hit a note, the “C” key of the middle octave. The sound resonated through the bedroom. He pressed the “D” key next to it, followed by the “E.”

  For such an old piano, it was very well tuned.

  “If you won’t play, then I will,” he said.

  “You know how to play?” I asked.

  “Good heavens, no,” Lincoln replied, “Not as good as you anyway. I can hammer out a few notes but my fingers weren’t made for piano keys.”

  I was amazed at how easy it was talking to Lincoln, even after I felt like I had tossed the last of my dignity out the window with my failed attempt at a kiss.

  There was no lingering awkwardness, nor sudden coldness on his part. I screwed up, but I didn’t feel like he held it against me.

  God damn it, why couldn’t Shadow be the same? If he could just pull his head out of his ass for ten minutes and have a decent conversation with me, then perhaps we could take the first step towards a happily ever after?

  But that time was gone now. I was sure of it—wasn’t I?

  I looked at Lincoln with adoration, as he sat in front of the piano, his back turned to me.

  “Let’s hear it,” I said, breaking the brief moment of silence. “What are you going to play?”

  Lincoln thought about it for a moment, before finally replying, “A worthy song to say goodbye to some old friends.”

  The song he attempted was Ave Maria. I did my best to listen, despite every fourth note he played being incorrect.

  I bit my tongue because I knew he was trying his best. Or was he? Some out of tune notes he played seemed far out of reach from what the song called for. I couldn’t help but think that he was messing up on purpose.

  “Shit, screwed it up again,” he said as he continued playing a song, which should have been beautiful.

  I didn’t want to be critical about it, but seeing as how I could have played that song with my eyes closed, I struggled to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Fuck me,” he cursed as he hit another note that transformed the beautiful essence of the verse into something you’d hear during the stabbing scene of a horror flick.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Listening to him stumble through the song—which he was attempting as a tribute to his fallen friends—felt like I was listening to a sack of drowning cats. I needed to save it. I rose from my seat, marched over towards the piano and shoved him over on piano bench.

  “Let me play this song,” I ordered.

  “As you wish,” Lincoln said with a grin that told me he was up to something.

  I sat down next to him, took a deep breath, and started the song over from the beginning. I closed my eyes and allowed my fingers to dance over the keys, lingering on the essential notes that brought out the true spirit of the song.

  It was a simple song to play, but beautiful nonetheless. The key to mastering Ave Maria was to bring forth the sorrowful emotions and infuse it into the main melody. My fingers transitioned smoothly between the well-constructed chords, which made the song brilliant.

  Meanwhile, Lincoln hummed the song next to me, his eyes closed; seemingly enjoying my playing. His humming voice wasn’t half-bad, much better than his playing at least.

  Eventually, I landed on the last note of the song, and as I always did, I took in the sound of the final chord transitioning into silence.

  I stared at the piano, my fingers resting on top of the keys. I realized that I was crying.

  I had missed playing so much. I felt this overwhelming joy from deep within me, as if someone had returned a piece of my soul that I thought was lost forever.

  I was a mother, who had just had their long lost child returned to them.

  “Now, play for you and only you,” Lincoln said, more as an order than a request.
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br />   I nodded as I closed my eyes once more and allowed my emotions to take hold of me. I played a simple melody, one that moved across the entire spectrum of my emotions, from happiness to sadness, from hope to helplessness. Everything I had endured over the past two weeks, I put into my song—Aria’s song—and it felt bittersweet.

  By no means was this piece a technical achievement, but it was simple, beautiful, and most of all, honest. If a mirror was a reflection of my physical existence, this song I played now was a true reflection of my spirit inside.

  When I was done, I felt as if a weight had just been lifted off my shoulders. I turned to look at Lincoln, and that was when he kissed me, and I lost myself to him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Shadow

  After climbing what felt like two hundred agonizing steps—my body still in shambles from the beating Cairo delivered to me—we stood at the base of Tian Tan Buddha, the bronze monolithic statue which cast its five o’clock shadow over us. The once-golden afternoon sun began to fade into a pale orange, marking the beginning of dusk.

  The Buddha itself was over one-hundred feet tall and he sat on a bed of lotus blossoms with his right hand raised, palm extending outwards. He had a serene look on his face.

  For some reason, Nathan wanted to meet in Lantau Island, at Hong Kong’s epicenter of Buddhism. I would have preferred meeting somewhere more enclosed and less of a major tourist attraction, seeing as how I wished to keep a low profile.

  I didn’t want Calisto to know I was here in Hong Kong.

  However, it was proving hard to be conspicuous with Cairo hovering around me. The two of us together stuck out like dinosaurs at a petting zoo. I had suggested that he stay home with Reiko, but he was as stubborn as an ox and insisted on coming with me, providing me with some “hard chocolate muscle”—his words, not mine.

  Nathan fired up a cigarette and took a deep drag from it. Tsung stood behind him; hand in his jacket pocket, gripping a weapon from what I figured. They were already anticipating negotiations going sour.

  “It’s quiet up here,” Nathan said.

  He was right.

  Nathan’s men formed a blockade at the base of the structure’s steps, sealing off the only entrance to reach the top of the Buddha’s temple, where we stood. Up here, there were no wandering ears to listen to our conversation.

  It was only us, the birds, and the Big Buddha. After pointing out the glaring silence, Nathan’s choice of meeting up here made a lot of sense.

  “So, I heard you lost your first fight, Cairo,” Nathan said, amusement in his voice. “I have to admit, I was surprised.”

  Cairo didn’t look happy at the mention of the loss. “Freakin’ guy sucker punched me,” he said.

  I sighed. “How much more are you going to whine about this? I had you beat anyways. You were on your knees.”

  “No way. I was getting my second wind. Five more seconds and you would have been flat on your back. You were a sneaky bitch, that’s all.”

  I raised my hand and made the motion of a puppet talking. “Blah blah blah.”

  “Fuck, let’s have a rematch then, right here and now,” Cairo fumed, cracking his knuckles.

  I never understood why the cracking of knuckles was meant to be intimidating. It only led to arthritis.

  “If you think you can survive rolling down two-hundred steps,” I replied, pointing to the steep staircase leading up here, “I’m not carrying your unconscious body all the way down.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting him?” Tsung asked Cairo, a perplexed look on his face.

  “Maybe I would if he stopped acting like a little bitch.”

  “Awww, muffin…,” I replied sarcastically.

  Nathan cleared his throat, getting both our attentions. “Enough,” he snapped. “I’m sorry I mentioned the fight.”

  Cairo was about to open his mouth, but stopped himself, blowing air from his nostrils instead like steam from a piston.

  “Back to business?” I suggested.

  Nathan nodded.

  “Everything’s ready,” I said. “The economic infrastructure for your organization has been completed. All it needs is my activation.”

  “Good,” Nathan replied. “I guess my next question is when does this activation take place?”

  “The second I get to see Elena behind closed doors. You hand her over to me, I hand you the Triad’s future.”

  “It seems simple enough,” Nathan said.

  “When and where?” I asked.

  Nathan thought about for a moment. “Tonight, eleven p.m. I shall arrange a meeting to discuss handing you over to her.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s exactly what I just said,” Nathan replied. “Elena won’t want to meet me unless it’s something important. I will tell her that you have arrived in Hong Kong, and that you’re the guest of the Triad. I’ll suggest making a deal when I hand you over to her.”

  “This sounds like some sneaky shit,” Cairo replied. “How can we trust you? With the game you’re playing, it can go either way.”

  Nathan shrugged. “You can’t trust me, really. The only thing you can do is figure out if I gain more siding with you, or Elena? If you’re confident that the offer you presented me is better for the Triad than anything Elena can give me, then you can rest easy.”

  “I’m offering you a kingdom,” I replied.

  Nathan laughed. “Yes you are Shadow, yes you are. Tonight, eleven o’clock, the Bamboo Lily restaurant in Kwonloon. I own the place, so it will be in safe territory.”

  “Safe for you,” I pointed out.

  “Well yes, of course,” Nathan said. “That’s a given.” He looked at us and smiled. “Don’t worry about any of Elena’s men. I’ll have them taken care of.”

  “She’s just going to take your word that you have me in your clutches?”

  Nathan shrugged. “A photo will help,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Your bruised face is a nice addition to the ‘prisoner’ look that we’re going for. Now, look like you’re in pain.”

  Just as he finished his sentence, I felt a sharp, electrifying pain shoot up through the side of my face that was bruised.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” I cursed, wondering what the fuck just hit me. I heard a snapping sound come from Nathan’s phone.

  I turned to Cairo and saw his hand outstretched, thumb and index finger fully extended. The bastard had flicked me in the cheek with his crowbar fingers.

  “Did you get a good shot?” Cairo asked. “I can do it again.”

  Nathan nodded. “It’ll do,” he said, turning his phone to us so we could see the screen.

  He had caught me right at the moment where I was cursing, the look on my face contorted from the sharpness of the pain.

  I scowled at Cairo.

  “You happy now?” I asked. “We’re even.”

  “Not even close. You smashed me with your whole fist. I hit you with a finger. The way I see it, I still owe you four more digits.”

  I shook my head and growled.

  “I’ll send this picture over to Elena,” Nathan said. “That should be all for now.”

  “Till tonight then,” I replied, the pain in my cheek slowly subsiding.

  I watched as Nathan made his long descent down the steps, Tsung hot on his heels.

  When he was finally out of earshot, Cairo turned to me.

  “That guy is possibly the most cunning son-of-a-bitch alive,” he said. “Do you honestly think you can trust him?”

  “Probably not, but at this point, I have no choice. This is what happens when the devil you know is the most dangerous and psychotic bitch that ever lived. All the other devils look like Mother Theresa.”

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing man,” Cairo said.

  I did know what I was doing. I just didn’t know if it was going to land me—and everyone else involved—six feet under.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aria

  He tasted like s
ugar and whiskey. His tongue brushed against mine, our mouths forming a perfect union.

  Lincoln’s throaty moans while he kissed me lifted my spirits and I felt my legs naturally spread apart, a gravitational pull formed by the hot lust I felt for him—a gorgeous tattooed enigma, whom I had fallen for over the past couple of weeks.

  I thought of Shadow, and suddenly out of guilt I pulled away but Lincoln’s strong arms pulled me back towards him.

  I lost myself all over again.

  He lifted me up and pushed me against the piano. Before I could protest, I found myself sitting on top of the ivory, the sound of mashed keys echoing throughout the room. He growled as he spread my legs apart while his mouth found the base of my neck and began kissing it, his gentle lips sending flutters throughout my body.

  “Lincoln,” I whispered, my body giving into his touches.

  “Take off your panties,” he ordered.

  “I…”

  Before I could respond, he lifted my dress up to my waist with one hand, and with the other he pulled down my panties, revealing my wet, anxious pussy.

  The heat from Lincoln, pressed up against my body, melted me as I grabbed the base of his tank top and lifted it up and over his head, stripping him.

  My hands ran down his firm body, brushing against his pecs, my fingers dancing over his nipples and then finding their way to his hard abs.

  I took in the sight of his inked body, a magnificent canvas of artwork painted onto his hard flesh that made me gasp.

  I realized I hadn’t gotten over my high school dangerous bad boy phase yet.

  I recalled Juno’s screams in the tattoo parlor and how Lincoln had pinned her to the table while he fucked her, his dirty words filling both her—and me—with want. I needed him to do the same to me.

  My hands immediately went for his belt but just as I was about to undo the clasp, Lincoln grabbed my wrists and then pushed them back against the piano frame.

  “No,” he ordered.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I breathed.

  “No,” he said again.

  I was about to ask why, but suddenly I felt two of his long slender fingers slip inside of me, moving in and out while the pad of his thumb brushed up against my clit.