The Sound of Salvation (Deliverance Book 1)

by I. A. Dice

  Thomas rested in the doorway, arms crossed, and dark eyes looking straight into mine. He took two steps, cupped my face, and pressed a hot, demanding kiss to my lips, parting them avidly. I gave in just for a moment, soaking up the positive emotions that arrived with him. He drew me in closer as if all he needed to stay sane was me.

  I knew the feeling, but what the hell?

  Mustering enough strength to push him away proved difficult. I pressed my hands to his chest, but the gesture lacked resolve, and Thomas nibbled on my lower lip, as if to convince me not to move away.

  I pushed harder, taking a step back. “What are you doing? And how did you get in here?”

  The temperature shot up by a few degrees. An explosive mixture of lust and anger danced in his cinnamon irises. If it were anyone else, I would have panicked, but fear was absent when Thomas was present.

  “Kissing you. The door was open,” he hissed. “Did he touch you?”

  Again, what?

  If his looks weren’t proof enough of insanity, the tone of his voice dispelled any doubts.

  “Who?”

  “Ethan!” he snapped, then fisted his hands and took a deep breath along with a step back. “I asked if he touched you.”

  My first reaction was to slap him, but I was a coward. Just because I slept with him a few hours after we met didn’t mean it was my regular play, but Thomas offered more than anyone else hence the rush.

  “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

  He took a step forward, and I took a step back. One, two, and one more before he backed me against the kitchen island, his eyes roaming over my body as if looking for injuries.

  “Don’t make this harder than it is,” he pleaded. “You sounded upset on the phone.”

  “You were at Nick’s just now?”

  He nodded. “You said Ethan wanted to sleep with you. I’ll ask again—did he touch you?”

  It seemed as if he was just waiting for a confirmation so he could hit Ethan. He had no right to act possessive, but knowing he had my back put me at ease.

  “No, he didn’t. You’re smarter and more perceptive than any of our friends, but now you’re acting clueless.”

  “I know you wouldn’t want him to touch you, but some guys don’t wait for permission.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You should know.”

  “Guilty as charged. The difference is I know you don’t mind me kissing you. You don’t mind me touching you. You want it, baby doll.”

  The pull was mutual. We both felt it equally strong.

  “I told you I won’t sleep with you again.”

  “I remember. But I don’t understand it. I know you want me. And since I’m the only one you’re not afraid of–”

  “Doesn’t it scare you?” I cut in, crossing my arms.

  “That you trust me? That you’re not anxious when I’m close? It’s intriguing, not scary.”

  “It should be. See, you’re wrong,” I pressed my fingers to his chest, forcing him to step back.

  He did, because he knew better than to act against my will. I led him outside, and took a seat on one of the two metal chairs, pulling my knees to my chin.

  “I don’t want you. I want the strength that comes when you’re with me. I can’t explain it, but something about you erases my issues. Things that happened a few weeks ago fade to the point where it seems like they happened in a different lifetime.”

  I chanced a glance his way. He stood by the wall, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, looking up to the sky. He was silent, as if waiting for more words to pour out of my mouth, but I already said too much. A simple no would have sufficed, but the urge to let him in was strong.

  “I can’t do this,” I continued. “I’m addicted to pills, but I don’t want to be addicted to you. I don’t want to use you to get my life back on track because I have to do it alone, or else I won’t ever move on.”

  It took another minute before he reacted. He threw the cigarette into an ashtray, readjusted his jersey, and looked down at me. “Point well made,” he cited my words, a defensive, arrogant expression on his face. “I’ll let myself out.”

  A sad, tearful chuckle was my answer as I watched him leave. A sad chuckle that turned into pathetic whimpers when the door to my apartment closed behind him. I climbed the stairs, curled into a ball on my bed and cried myself to sleep, hoping and praying that I didn’t just make the biggest mistake.

  CHAPTER 11

  THOMAS

  Rebound case

  Kill me. Kill me now. Or better yet, kill whoever the fuck decided to call at eight o’clock in the morning, three hours after I crawled into bed… drunk.

  After I left Nadia’s apartment, I headed to the club to unwind. All I needed was one drink to get over her—one drink to forget that she became the centre of my world.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  One Corona made it clear that I needed much more than one drink to take the edge off the overwhelming disappointment. It wasn’t the best way to cope with the situation, but I had no idea how to handle my emotions. I never had to handle shit like that.

  I sat by the bar for hours pouring Coronas down my throat while looking for a girl to fuck, but every time a potential candidate arrived, Nadia’s face flashed before my eyes, and my ass remained glued to the seat. Her words replayed in my head flaring my anger.

  “I can’t do this. I don’t want to use you.”

  I wanted to scream, “Use me! Use me, goddamnit!”

  Another sentence she spoke poisoned my thoughts.

  “I don’t want you.”

  I just sat there, downing one bottle after another until I felt sick. Ten pints of beer will do that to a man. The upside was the drunken state—it numbed the pain and masked the shame and regret that swept over me the second I left her sad and alone.

  It was a disturbing image—Nadia’s eyes filled with tears, all her secrets and bruises on display. Why she chose to forgo sex was understandable, and I had to give it to her—she was a tough girl. If I found a way to erase the negative feelings which accompanied me since Adam’s death, I wouldn’t have it in me to walk away.

  The biggest problem? I found it. Nadia was it. She was my way. My road to redemption, but she chose to face her demons alone. Because of that, we were both losing out.

  Too drunk to stand straight, let alone drive, I called my personal taxi driver—Scorpio. Clever guy that he was, he brought Jane, so she could drive my car back home. Annoying prick that he was, he didn’t pass on the opportunity to twist in the knife.

  “You know what you feel right now?” he asked once I relayed what Nadia told me word for word.

  “I sure do. I’m pissed off and fucking confused.”

  He shook his head. “You’re humiliated. For the first time in your life, you’ve been rejected.”

  Know-it-all.

  Nadia made me want to change and do better. I had built my hopes based on one night and an enormous ego. I finally got what I deserved for treating women like blow-up dolls.

  Karma’s a bitch: it always arrives at the least convenient moment.

  I banged on the nightstand to locate and answer my blaring cell phone. Eyes closed, I swiped my thumb across the screen and laid the phone on the side of my face, then tucked my hand back under the duvet.

  “I need a favour,” Nick said instead of a well-mannered “Good morning.”

  I remained silent; my loud, pissed-off breathing was the only greeting he deserved.

  “Nadia called…”

  I sat up and Nick’s voice faded when the phone slipped off my face. Yep, I was wide-awake at the sound of her name. My heart pounded in my chest; my head weighed a tone. The aroma of stale beer coming from, well—from me, made me cringe. I picked the phone again and squinted to let my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight that poured into the room through the balcony doors.

  “…and I would appreciate it if you would help her,” Nick finished whatever he was saying.

&nb
sp; “Help her with what?”

  It didn’t matter; I would help her with anything, but I didn’t like not knowing. Regardless of how much it stung to hear she didn’t want me, it stung more to know she was upset. If I could make her life more bearable by helping with whatever it was, then count me in.

  Nick let out an exasperated puff. “Did you even listen to me? I asked if you would help Nadia set up a dining table and chairs. It was delivered in flat packs and she rang to ask for a screwdriver. She’ll poke her eye out with it if left unattended, and you know I’m not an expert.”

  “Runs in the family?” I dragged myself out of bed, still half-drunk.

  “I guess. So? You got time or should I ask Ethan?”

  If only he knew what a fucking motivator that sentence was.

  “I’m up. Nothing better than DIY on a Sunday morning.”

  Nick laughed, said “thanks” and cut the call. I hit the shower to wash off the stench of alcohol, smoke, and sweat.

  The guy in the mirror looked like shit—pale with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Cold water, toothpaste and three painkillers—damage control at its finest helped erase the yesterday’s look, but my eyes gave away that I drank too much.

  Twenty minutes later, I left the house with a set of tools, and my soul on my arm. I had never been so self-conscious in my life. I almost changed my mind halfway to Nadia’s apartment but talked myself out of turning back. She didn’t want me, but she was Nick’s sister and was there to stay. I had to learn to live with the bitter aftertaste of rejection.

  My own thoughts drove me fucking livid yet again. I met her a week ago. One week and a multitude of emotions I never expected to feel pounded on my mind and heart like a drum.

  Nadia lived close by, but it took me twenty minutes to get through traffic. London just wouldn’t be London without traffic.

  The handsfree system activated, and a call from Claudia appeared on the dashboard. My stomach did a back flip. A call this early was out of the ordinary. My first thought was that something happened to her daughter—Maya. A cold shiver ran down my spine, burning off the remnants of alcohol from my bloodstream.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Paranoid much?” she chirped. “We’re fine, babe. I’m calling with an invitation. Brunch in a week on Sunday? I’ll cook.”

  My eyebrows drew together, and an involuntary grimace twisted my face. “Please don’t. We’ll order in. What’s the occasion?”

  “I’ll cook,” she said firmly. “Hold on…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence before her voice was replaced by a different, much cuter one.

  “Thomas!” Maya exclaimed. “Are you coming? I have new puzzles!”

  A wide smile stretched my mouth, and a familiar warmth filled my insides like hot air fills a balloon.

  “Good morning, sunshine, how are you today?”

  Maya giggled. She always giggled and I loved it.

  “I’m okay. When will you come?”

  “I’ll come next week. We can go somewhere nice, and we’ll leave your mummy to cook in peace.”

  “Yes! Oh! Can we feed the ducks at Uncle Nick’s house?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  Maya was the only girl allowed to mess with my head and walk all over me. There wasn’t much I would refuse her. Quite frankly, I couldn’t name a single thing. If Claudia hadn’t protested, I would have bought her a freaking pony for her birthday last year because she whispered, “I love you, Thomas,” before she asked.

  “I’ll see you on Sunday, sweetie; now put Mummy on the phone.”

  I didn’t expect her to do that. Maya always hung up when she finished talking. I redialled, and by the time Claudia picked up, after probably having to chase Maya around the living room to get the phone back, I parked outside of Nadia’s apartment.

  “Sorry, I can’t get her to stop doing that,” Claudia sighed. “She’s been bugging me to call you all week.”

  “You should have. I’ll always find time for Maya. I’ll be over around noon on Sunday to take her out, and don’t protest.”

  For a reason I would never understand, Claudia thought I sacrificed too much time for them. Granted—at first it was a matter of keeping a promise given to Adam, but I soon grew fond of the girls, and couldn’t imagine not seeing them

  “That’s actually great. I’ll have time to cook something fancy. Maya hit that age when she wants to help and by help, I mean cause chaos. I would also like you to meet someone, so be nice, okay?” The tone of her voice betrayed nerves.

  Cue in another cold shudder.

  “Someone? Who’s someone, Claudia?”

  “Someone I have been meaning to introduce you to for a while now. His name is Richard, and he’s important so, again, be nice.”

  “You’re dating this guy? Are you serious?”

  Way to add to the ever-growing list of problems I had to deal with.

  One shitty news at a time please.

  “What about Adam? What about Maya? Does she know him? Does she like him? Who the fuck is this guy?”

  “Can we talk on Sunday?”

  The disappointment in her voice hurt more than I anticipated.

  Jesus, Thomas. Pussy much?

  “This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone,” Claudia continued. “We’ll talk on Sunday, okay?”

  She was right. We had to be face to face if I was to change her mind. She was Adam’s girl. Richard had no fucking right to touch her. He would have to go through me first, and good fucking luck, mate.

  “I’ll see you on Sunday. Make sure Maya’s ready.”

  I stopped by a nearby coffee shop for a morning shot of caffeine. One espresso on the spot, and two black coffees to go.

  Claudia and Richard were pushed to the back of my mind, and Nadia took the stage when I climbed the stairs to her apartment.

  Excitement at the thought of spending time alone with her evaporated and a sense of dread arrived. Somewhere in the deranged head of mine there was hope that she changed her mind.

  I entered her apartment without knocking—an involuntary habit. Strong smell of turpentine hit my nose. Music blared from the large portable speaker, that stood in the living room. I didn’t recognize the song, but the calm rhythm, and half-whispered, half-sung words created an intimate, yet sad atmosphere, making me regret that I barged in.

  And I regretted it more when I entered the kitchen and found Nadia with a glass of water in one hand, and a palm-full of pills in the other. Half a dozen of orange prescription bottles littered the countertop—diazepam, citalopram, paroxetine… and others with names too long to pronounce.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, pushing the meds aside.

  Her hands and clothes were covered in different coloured paints. A speck of black marked her cheek. She wore her hair in a messy bun and more paint covered loose strands around her face. She swallowed the pills and washed them down with water, avoiding my gaze.

  If it weren’t for the red, puffy eyes filled with sadness, I would have considered her artistic attire the sexiest look she sported to date.

  “You were crying,” I said, my shoulders sagging.

  “You were drinking.” She took the coffee I pushed across the countertop toward her. “I asked you a question.”

  I cleared my throat, annoyed by the coarseness. “Nick called me. He said you need help.”

  She rolled her eyes, placing the half-empty glass of water by the sink, and went about washing her hands.

  “You could have told him you’re busy.”

  She reached for a bottle of olive oil, poured it on a sponge and scrubbed her delicate skin.

  “I’m not busy.” I dropped the toolbox on the tiled floor. “But you sure look like you had a busy morning.”

  “I felt like painting,” she admitted, a little less anger in her voice. “Too bad the convenience store down the road only stocks small sets of tiny tubes of oil paints. They’re a bitch to wash off.”


  “There’s an art supply store in the city centre.”

  She nodded, scrubbing harder, turning her skin red. “I doubt it’s open at midnight.”

  “You went shopping after I left?” I took the sponge out of her hand, unable to watch any longer. “You’ll peel your skin off in a minute.”

  She examined her hands, scratched on the remaining paint marks, and satisfied, washed them with soap.

  “C’mon. Show me what needs doing.”

  “Nothing. I told Nick I need a screwdriver not helping hands. I can manage on my own.”

  She rejected me—fine, well, not fine but I couldn’t do shit to change her mind; but why was she adamant at keeping me at a distance when she already said she wanted us to be friends? It made no fucking sense. Good job I wasn’t a quitter.

  “I’m not saying you can’t, but since I’m here, you might as well take advantage of the helping hands.”

  Considering the number of boxes, and the overall mayhem in the apartment, she needed help. Of course, she was too proud to ask, as if letting me help would somehow make her weaker.

  She pulled her lips into a thin line, then turned around and marched straight into the living room. Most of the white wooden floor was covered with flatpacks. A large, bottle-green corner sofa and a black coffee table in front of it were the only ready-to-use furniture.

  “No bookshelves? No TV unit?”

  She motioned to more flatpacks stacked under the window. “It seems nothing comes pre-assembled anymore.”

  “You got more of that anywhere?”

  “Yes, in every room.”

  It looked like I wasn’t going anywhere for a good few hours. I took my jacket off and rolled the sleeves of my jumper.

  “We’ll need more coffee, baby doll.”

  She frowned when I tore open the first two boxes. Instead of arguing like I expected her to, or convincing me she would get it done herself, she placed her hand on my arm, pulling me outside to the balcony.