by V. L. Brock
My thighs were free of his wandering touch, the door was free of the pressure he maintained against it as he pushed himself back two steps. “No?” he challenged again.
Adamant, I watched as he hastily ripped his plaid shirt open, the poppers clicking as each one was pulled free. Stripping the material from his arms, he tossed it on the floor, before curving his arms over his head to grasp the neckline. His body folded, his muscles stirred as he drew the white tank top over his head and let it meet the shirt on the wooden slab flooring.
As he reared, my mouth was agape. My first instincts were right; he was built like an Irish God. With broad shoulders, defined lines and that V, which turns smart women into a puddle of mush. His six-pack was tensing with each uneven, ragged breath he drew in and exhaled. What I didn’t expect to see, was brutal, arcane scars covering his entire tanned torso. Deep, silver stripes and wild, round blemishes stared back at me.
Throughout the mass of self-mutilation that I was studying, the one that demanded attention was the pale, distorted, withered flesh covering half of his left pectoral and ribcage. It shone slightly. Fuck, was that some sort of skin graft?
“Desires remain, even if the memory doesn’t. Don’t tell me that we’re not alike, Kady.”
Blindly seeking the doorknob behind me, I pulled the door open, staggered back into the hall and ran down the stairs, stopping myself from taking them two at a time. By the time I reached the second floor, I could hear him calling my name, his tone desperate and fraught. Yet, I didn’t allow him to stop me. I kept running. I had to keep running.
Stepping out into the cool nightly breeze, I folded my arms over my chest, and found myself drifting through the night for the second time in as many hours.
I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t be. Those scars were…they…hideous was to too much of an ugly word to use, they weren’t hideous. They screamed pain. They screamed anger. They screamed self-loathing. Now it all made sense. No wonder he always had his torso covered. Did he feel ashamed by them? Or was he ashamed that he had done it to himself?
The air was left fresh after the downpour of the evening. I gazed up and lost myself in the vastness of night, the sky clear, the glittering stars looking down upon me as I silently prayed for a form of guidance, a form of understanding. I didn’t feel the breeze. The night had withdrawn any form of feeling from me, and I suppose I was beyond gratified that one man could take away the pain and anger that the other inflicted.
The verities the he succeeded in doing just that by issuing pain on me himself, was a challenging concept to grasp.
My mind rolled like a marble in a maze. And each time, that damned marble would hit a dead-end.
Why was this so hard? When did my life become so twisted, so problematic and rival that of a damn soap opera? If Walker was right, and his form of release is what I craved, then surely Liam’s strike earlier wouldn’t have been so much of a shock.
God, attempting to differentiate between that and a form of deliverance was beyond challenging. Is it even considered possible to draw a line between abuse and what Walker had just done to me?
Time was nonexistent as I walked mindlessly through the streets, while getting lost in my own mental interrogation. The last thing I remembered was a car speeding passed while men catcalled from the window. The next, I’m standing under a streetlamp, the burning orange glow surrounding me like a spotlight, on the opposite sidewalk, peeking up at the only white house on the block. A house in which two weeks ago, I believed was going to become a home, a home that would have sparked memories, a house that I would come to remember.
Spying through the bay window, Liam was pacing in the living room, the phone to his ear as he flexed his free hand.
Two weeks I had been seeking clarity, enlightenment…nirvana. And right then, Walker’s words haunted my mind. ‘If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make damn fucking sure you remember’.
As I stood staking out my home from the safety of the sidewalk like some abused little woman, I felt myself spiraling rapidly down the rabbit hole without any brakes. The quandary which I came to accept back when I was laying in the hospital bed, about the doctors and medical personnel being unable to hook me up to some device like in a sci-fi movie, and travel the tunnel of past memories, was now very much tangible.
And it took Walker and everything I had seen and felt that night to instigate it.
Sparks fired. Memories unlocked. Nirvana was found.
Fuck…
##The End##
Acknowledgment
Firstly, I would like to thank you, my readers. Self-doubt is a demon is disguise, and the mere notion that you have taken a chance on a new author warms my heart no end. Your support, kind words and enjoyment obtained through a world which I have created is something which will always make me ugly cry.
An enormous thank you to Lorraine Lilly Wickson and Kaprii Dolphin at Two Ordinary Girls and Their Books Blog for hosting Seeking Nirvana’s Cover Reveal, Release Day Blitz and also mashing-it-up with Kyler Jefferson at Sweet N Sassy Book A Holics for the Release Day Party. (You literally saved my ass). Without you ladies I would have been drowning. Also, thank you to the many additional blogs: BJ’s Book Blog, Eye Candy Bookstore, Beautifully Broken Book Blog, Cover to Cover Book Blog, Til’ The Last Page Book Blog, Naughty Girls of Romance, Pixie’s Book Review Blog, Miles Apart Books, Panty dropping Book Blog, Summer’s Book Blog, Indie Author Books and Renee Entress’s Blog, to name but a few, for your participation in the Reveal and Blitz.
Thank you to my bestie, Samantha Ulysses, whose constant nagging for more ‘Wady’ gave me a swift kick up the backside to crack on and meet her deadlines. Love you, girl <3
Charlie Chisholm…what can I say? You’ve been an angel, creating teasers, spreading the word of Kady and Walker, and I’m thrilled beyond all belief that their story has had you smiling, crying and rather vexed.
My dear friend and editor, Brittani Pritchard, you had saved me on more than one occasion with Seeking Nirvana. My gratitude will forever be bountiful.
Claire Mech, you’re another star in the sky. Thank you for the assistance that you have, and still give, in understanding the medical side of PTA and follow-ups throughout this series.
To all of my reviewers, thank you for taking the time to read, rate and review. I know family and life can interfere with reading schedules and I am so thankful that in between those commitments, you could read something new by someone new.
My husband and munchkin, I smirking writing this because although I don’t admit in your presence that you tolerate my constant writing, ideas, promotional posts, etc., I do acknowledge the degree of my absence when it comes to family time. Usually, a person finds their direction and bearings before they settle. Unfortunately for me, it appears I have done it in reverse. All I can ask is for your tolerance until I have found my feet, or at least sought a way to get my characters to talk to me in allocated hours. Either way, it hasn’t gone unnoticed. I love you both.
A special note to my munchkin. You’re far too young to read this, but books are a legacy. When you’re gone, they still remain. A person could choose to pick up a copy of Seeking Nirvana long after my time is up and read it. It could be you. And that is why I am adding this paragraph. ALWAYS FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS, no matter how farfetched, no matter if people say it’s unattainable. To make a dream a reality, you must first believe that it can be, and then transform it into one. Mummy loves you a goo-goo pecks.
Eluding Nirvana (Dark Evoke, #2) Sneak Peek.
December 2010.
Two and a half years before the accident…
The warmth and softness of the velvet backrest left my body feeling cold as I shifted to the edge of my seat, practically folding myself over the romantically dressed, table for two. I was staring at the man before me, a man who was fiercely passionate in both work, and his relationship. A man who was never dealt his cards; he was the one who dealt them.
He was pretty much as haughty and
as confident then as he had been the night I agreed to go on a date with him. And so there we were sitting, in the heart of the most romantic Italian in Boston, amongst high-class lovers swathed in golden flickering candlelight, in the exact place, right down to the exact table, where we had our first date, celebrating our two year anniversary.
I drew in my lower lip and clamped my teeth down gently. He knew my game. He saw it in my eyes. The way they glimmered and darkened as I held my head low and coquettish, casting him with my scandalous, ‘I want you to fuck me, and I don’t care if you take me over this very table with the clientele watching’, look.
Liam DeLaney could read me like a book.
It was a shame the skill wasn’t mutual.
“Happy Anniversary, Kady, baby,” he muttered on a small smirk. His tie was held flush against his black shirt when he swiftly rose from his seat opposite to avoid catching the flickering, golden flame of the candle in-between us. Bestowed with a chaste kiss on my lips, Liam left me humming in both profound appreciation and objection, when he drew his skillful lips away from me.
“Happy anniversary, Liam,” I whispered back. I could feel the creases fanning out from the corners of my pale blue eyes as my once demure smile, broadened with the merging of his warm, soft hand as he tenderly cradled the side of my face.
If I had known that the moment he lowered himself back into the seat opposite, that my stomach was going to free fall and the smile on my face was about to vanish with the husky, deep beckoning of a certain name, I would have kept Liam him there for a little longer.
“Raven?”
Craning my head to the source of the voice, I was met by a tall, coffee-skinned man, whose head was reflecting the muted, romantic glow of the restaurants lights, making a beeline to our table. “Jerome,” I gasped. What the fuck was he doing there? Damn fucking timing.
When a warm, friendly hand lightly crashed down onto my shoulder, Liam did a fantastic job of making damn sure everyone knew he was pissed. Looking at him wasn’t necessary. I could feel his green and blue speckled eyes hardening into emeralds and hear his jaw tightening with the shadowed sound of grinding teeth. The gust of air he ousted in an angry sigh, pasted itself to my forearm.
“Hey, girl, I didn’t expect to see you in here.”
Although my head was caught somewhere between cursing the rich punter to Hell and praying he would leave us alone, I found myself smiling politely. “It’s our two year anniversary, so we’re celebrating.”
“Oh, wow,” he sounded stunned and he looked it, too, with his black eyes widening and, well, I would have said his eyebrows meeting his hairline, but he was bald as a coot. Extending an arm to Liam, he offered his congratulations. Silent and making no attempt in reciprocating the gesture, Liam simply responded with a glare, and I swear if he was telekinetic, he would have strangled the poor man with his ruby colored tie. Jerome turned his attention back to me. “I was wondering if you’re working Friday night.”
“That I am, Jerome. That I am.” I took a sip of the pink champagne which left a lingering taste of strawberries on my palate and bubbles tickling my nose.
Black eyes glistened like black sapphires. “Great, I’ll come in for my usual.” I nodded my acknowledgement as he turned on his heel and muttered, “See you, Friday, girl.” And I was left pondering whether the tall, muscular Blackman could have made that statement sound any seedier.
Emotions I felt that night sitting opposite my lover, in the most notable restaurant in town, losing myself in his loving gaze as we celebrated this monumental bridge in our relationship, and which would hopefully bring about a climatic result when we got home, took a nosedive. Love, joy and excitement curdled into embarrassment and anxiety. I hooked my hair behind my ears. Liam glowering at me was something I couldn’t fare with. Not if we weren’t having angry sex anyway. And sex was something, angry or not, that we hadn’t had in several weeks. And I was sexually frustrated beyond all comprehension.
“Liam, please. Stop looking at me like that.” With a crumpling brow and my lips forming a firm line, I eventually surrendered to a full-on, sullen pout before taking another sip of the fizzy liquid, in an eager attempt to drown the additional serving of guilt which was flooding my system. He was making that night so perfect, spoiling me rotten, being as loving as Liam DeLaney could be, and one of my punters had just gatecrashed it.
“I’ve had it, Kady. I can’t keep doing this.”
I lowered the flute onto the white linen cloth, while shaking my head and shrugged my shoulders, completely baffled.
“Kady, the first time a guy approached you regarding work, I was fine with. The second, third and fourth, I’ll admit, I found a little hot, knowing that they could only look and I was the lucky bastard that got to touch. But enough is enough.”
“What does that mean?” I gasped, slighted.
Focusing his livid gaze on the empty plates before us, he scoured his hand over his mouth. “Kady,” he peeked up, holding me with hard eyes. “We haven’t had sex for weeks because I am feeling physically sick knowing that all those men, including that Jerome guy, are going home and knocking one off while fantasizing about my girlfriend’s ass grinding up against them, and her tits being shoved in their face, counting down the fucking days until they get to actually, physically experience my fucking girl doing that to them.”
I was sitting overlooking the table where we’d begun a life together and journeyed through two years side-by-side, and I was completely dumbstruck, flabbergasted by his omission. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know he was being affected that badly. Two years, and I still continued to work Red Velvet without any regard to how he felt. Apart of me felt terrible.
“I’m done with it, Kady, baby,” he flailed his head and spoke in earnest. “You can’t expect me to continue like this.”
“Liam,” I murmured over the violins which were being played a few tables over. “Am I ashamed of what I do? Yes, I am.” The nodding of my head swiftly became a faint shake. “But I can’t just quit. I make more money in a night than what some people make in a week.”
“For the love of fucking, God, Kady,” he reprimanded and I instantly recoiled at his harshness. God he was severely pissed at me. I swore I could see his breath rising in steamy clouds as he blew out of his nose, his mouth hard. I’d never seen him so angry before. He looked like a raging bull in a china shop. I knew in that moment, it was something I wouldn’t care to see again. “Fuck the money, Kady. Do you want us to go back to how we were?”
“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.
“Then choose.” I watched his mouth upturn scornfully and the power behind his voice had my brow, once again, creased for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, as he presented me with his ultimatum. “Come on, Kady, baby,” he softened his tone, rose from his seat and drew it to my side. When he lowered himself back into the velvet, my hands were promptly clutched in a clam-like grasp. His eyes softened substantially matching that of his voice. “Remember the passion? The need and want?” Dropping his head, his breath tickled my face as he resumed his, DeLaney Persuasion. “I miss having your ass in the air, I miss the moans and groans I can draw from you, baby.”
His words were gradually killing me and my resolve. The rasping vibrations which penetrated my flesh, connecting with me on a deep, needy level, made me squirm in my seat and cross my legs.
“I miss making you come, knowing that you’re mine, knowing that I’m the only one who gets to see you vulnerable like that, and knowing I’m the one to make you vulnerable like that.” My eye were searched, my silent contemplations hunted by the intensity of his gaze. “We can have it all back, Kady, baby. Just say the word. Make me happy.”
Make him happy? He was my boyfriend; I wanted nothing more than to do just that. I drank in a breath before slipping my hand from his and taking a mouthful of liquid courage, disguising itself as a $300 bottle of pink champagne. “And we go back to normal? If I do this, we go back to norm
al?” I questioned after swallowing, my upper lip curled slightly.
The grip around my lingering hand tightened. Smiling, he nodded his response.
“Okay,” I resigned. “Okay, Liam. I’ll quit.”
My hair was fisted as his hand threaded through my large, bouncing curls, holding the back of my head as he wrenched me closer. His mouth crashed down onto mine, his tongue cool from the alcohol and slightly bitter from the Key Lime Pie as he swept it through my mouth and over my lips. A groan was torn from my throat as he pulled his lips away, and braced our foreheads against each other. “Those groans I draw from you, Kady, baby,” he breathed, an element of desire and approval cloaking his tone, while tightly screwed eyes enhanced the faint creases from their corners.
“I hope you’ll draw more from me tonight, Liam,” I flirted.
Cool air eradicated his warmth and bonded to my brow when he freed himself from me, leaving me feeling somewhat bereft while his large hand cradled my face. I leaned into his caress, while his eyes bored a fucking void in my mind. “You have no idea, baby…” He shook his head shrewdly, his mouth giving way to that haughty, conceited smirk that I loved so damn much. “You have no, fucking idea.”
After settling the bill, Liam proffered his hand, and with a beam to rival the Cheshire cat, I unthinkingly slipped my hand into his warm possession, our fingers locking as he led us out into the chilly nightly breeze. The weight of the world had seemingly been removed from his shoulders as he gazed down at me. I suppose, in a way it had. My conceding to his wishes had made him happy, and regardless of losing sometimes anything up to $600 a night, knowing that it was my answer and my decision to grant his wish, had me feeling like I was in Seventh Heaven.
Smooth flesh of his mouth united with the back of my hand when he planted a kiss on my knuckles. Into his body I stepped, and despite the fact I was in heels, I rose onto my toes to eliminate the good five inches which was looming above me, to meet his lips. “Take me home, Mr. DeLaney,” I requested with seductive purpose.
