“You were quite shrill,” Ollo pointed out. “Very banshee-esque.”
Reese playfully smacked his shoulder. Without warning, Ollo caught her hand and pulled her even closer. Before she could ask what he was doing, before she could think, Ollo draped his jacket around her shoulders. She knew his arm lingered for too long, but she didn’t care. How could she, when his touch steadied her heart, her mind.
But there was something missing, something that needed to be addressed.
And then she remembered.
“Ollo,” she began, taking a step back so she could look him in the eyes, “where did Daphne go?”
15
VIGILANTE REGISTRATION ACT
The headline that greeted Andie the next morning caused her brow to pinch. Jack was still sleeping, or so she assumed, since he had yet to roll out of bed and join she and Beverly for breakfast. Today, Beverly was making fried eggs and hash browns, a popular breakfast in Europe.
“I didn’t like the food when I was in Cambridge,” Beverly explained, standing over the skillet and looking comfortable yet completely out of place simultaneously, “except for the fried eggs.” A pause, and then, “And the pastries. Always the pastries.”
A small smile danced on Andie’s lips as she took her seat until her pale green eyes flickered over to the pile of newspapers on Jack’s bar. In the time that Andie had been here—both now and after her mother had kicked her out Halloween night—she noticed that aunt and nephew never ate at the dining table settled in the corner of a remarkably small—small, in comparison to the rest of the manor, of course—dining table. Instead, they always ate at the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room, which was why various tabloids, newspapers, journals, and magazines cluttered the egg-white countertop. She grabbed The Onyx Register with the blunt headline and scanned the picture that accompanied the big, bold phrase.
It was Jack—well, Black Wing. The shot wasn’t great. Black Wing somehow managed to elude various smart technologies that could record and photograph anything at any moment, but that didn’t prevent photos of him from surfacing. And when it did, the photographer got paid a pretty penny. With the picture she stared at right now, she knew whoever was responsible for it just acquired a small fortune. It was the best photograph there was of him; not enough where there was even a remote chance he would be recognized, but enough where everyone knew this was the real Black Wing.
It was a shot of his back, completely bare and muscled and strong. She detected the masculine curve of his neck that morphed into his broad shoulders. As her eyes descended, she expected to see the tautness of his back, the ripples his muscles produced, but instead, his black, glossy wings were erect, spread out to the entirety of its six foot wing span. They looked as though they really were attached to his back, as though he really was some kind of guardian angel. They were, of course—Andie had seen so herself when he had rescued her from being assaulted—but people didn’t know that and wouldn’t believe it. That he had wings that simply vanished when he folded them against his back. That when he was soaring across the sky, he was actually soaring. She still didn’t know how it was possible, but it was possible.
His face and his hair were covered by a full, black mask, and he wore tight, black pants that helped him move even faster than he already did. On his feet was a pair of durable black boots.
He was flawless.
Andie had to blink in order to get her mind to start thinking thoughts again.
He was a hero. He gave the city hope. So why was there an article about how he was ruining Onyx’s integrity?
Next to the picture of Black Wing was a picture of the city’s District Attorney, Lucas Burr. He was the kind of beautiful Jack was not—blinding perfection that forced you to look away. Kind of like looking at the sun for too long, or at all. He wore one of his expensive suits, with his hair slicked back, staring with such intensity off camera with his mouth open. If Andie had to guess, she would say the picture was taken while he was arguing a case in a courtroom.
What did Lucas Burr have to do with Black Wing, unless it was to thank him for helping clean up the streets of Onyx?
And then she started reading the article. And then she started to understand.
Onyx District Attorney Lucas Burr is one of a growing number of people outraged by the handling of crime in the city of Onyx. Not at the brave women and men who make up the Onyx Police Department who abide by and respect the criminal justice system. His anger is directed toward our infamous savior known only as Black Wing.
“It’s a travesty he’s been awarded such positive attention,” Burr remarked at a press conference late last night, “and a lot of the fault goes to you, you know. The media has such power, and instead of writing about various charitable organizations or making heroes of our many deserving public servants, you’re writing about Black Wing or putting Jack Phillip’s latest floozy on the front page. Really, now.
“He’s a vigilante,” Burr continued, answering a reporter’s question about the fact that whether Burr agreed with his methods, Black Wing’s presence has decreased crime in Onyx by 7%. “Do you know what a vigilante is? Not a hero, as many of you deem him to be, judging by your writing. Actually, the dictionary defines a vigilante as any person who takes the law into his hands, in order to avenge a crime. In essence, he’s a criminal. He takes the law into his own hands and breaks the law in the process in order to accomplish one thing: vengeance. By doing this, he’s spitting on our criminal justice system.”
Lucas Burr has always been known for his pride and passion, and his persona does not deviate when discussing Black Wing. When asked how he plans to address the issue of depending on the vigilante to take control of crime—not police officials but an ordinary, assumed Onyx citizen—Burr paused for the first time, thinking about what he was going to say next.
“The answer to your question,” he said slowly, “is the reason why I called this press conference in the first place. I have proposed a Vigilante Registration Act. I cannot deny that Black Wing has inspired this city to do better. He has raised our expectations in terms of what is an acceptable level of crime—if any. He has cleaned up Onyx in a way we citizens never expected and are supremely grateful for. But if his intent is just that, to help you and me and Onyx, why not do it within the confines of the law? Why not register with my office? Tell us who you are, Black Wing. Be a real hero. Come out from the shadows and stand where we can see you and give you the appreciation you deserve. Let us see you.”
The proposed act will be on the ballot this June, but Black Wing does not have to wait for its passage to register.
“The sooner he registers, the sooner he can continue to do what he does best—saving Onyx—with the law on his side, this time. With people like Noir on the loose, I can admit we need all the help we can get, and Black Wing would make a formidable ally,” Burr concluded, looking at individual reporters in the eye. “Until then, however, his actions will be deemed contradictory to the law, and therefore illegal. He is a wanted man from this point forward, and he will be arrested on site if he does not register.”
Black Wing, if you happen to read this article, this journalist has some advice for you: Don’t worry about Onyx; save yourself and register.
Andie frowned as she finished reading the article. Did no one notice how much Lucas Burr contradicted himself? Or that besides revealing Black Wing’s true identity, there was no other information regarding what the Vigilante Registration Act really was, or what it required from a registering vigilante? How was this even able to get on the ballot? Why were Black Wing’s—Jack’s—good deeds being punished?
“I’m not too crazy about it, either.”
Andie’s heart beat increased dramatically at the familiar sardonic drawl, but she put a cool mask of indifference before he could read the effect he had on her.
“You know?” she asked, sitting up straighter.
When Jack came into the kitchen—and therefore into view—Andie
inhaled so sharply she was certain both Jack and Beverly heard her. In her defense, Jack was wearing a comfortable pair of striped pajama pants and a white wife beater, revealing those shoulders and arms so eloquently displayed in The Register.
God, those arms.
They were probably her favorite part of him.
Those arms that used to hold her, to offer her shelter, to—
“Stop.”
Jack pressed his brows together. “What was that, And?” he asked. There was a subtle smirk on his thin lips, as though he knew what was going on in her mind right now, and she had to clear her throat in order to buy herself time to think of a witty answer.
“You know about the act?” she tried again, though her voice wasn’t as sturdy as she had wanted it to be. “I thought the press conference announcing his existence only happened last night.”
Jack shared a look with his aunt. “It’s complicated,” he said. “Lucas Burr approached me personally because he wanted my support backing the act. I told him I stay out of politics.”
Andie tilted her head to the side as Beverly slid a plate of fried eggs in front of her. After murmuring a quick thanks to her, she turned her attention back to Jack.
“Are you worried about it?” she asked before she took a bite of the deliciousness.
“About the act?” Jack shook his head. He had just woken up, which was why his short brown hair fell in his face, making him look younger than his twenty-one years. More vulnerable, more boyish. “Absolutely not. Lucas Burr is just threatened by Black Wing. I’m making Onyx PD look like ignorant children, and this is just his way of trying to intimidate me. It’s not going to work.”
“So you’re not going to register?” Another bite. Andie pulled her eyes away from Jack to look at the amazingness that was her breakfast. She loved food, so why had she never had these before? “God, these are good. Yet another reason to visit Europe.”
“You’re helpless, you know that?”
Before Andie had the chance to question who Jack was talking about, he appeared before her with a cloth napkin in his hand.
“No,” he said as he bent before her so his face was level with hers. He reached up and slowly wiped some of the yolk remnants from her cheek. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her skin. “I’m not going to register.”
“But what about—” Andie forced herself to swallow her food so she could speak properly. “You could be arrested, Jack. Then they would know who you really are.”
“Luckily for me,” he said with a smile, still so close, too close, “the Onyx PD are ignorant children.” He tilted his head to the side so another strand of hair fell into his face. Andie had to tense her fingers in order to prevent herself from pushing the strands away. “Be careful, Andie. You almost sound worried about me.”
She scoffed. “Almost being the key word,” she pointed out. “I tend to get overly emotional at this time of the month so I apologize if I get carried away, even with you.”
His smirk deepened and he stood upright. “I’ll make a note of it in my calendar,” he said.
“By all means, tell your PA to mark down when I’m menstruating since there’s no way you’d be able to make plans all by yourself,” Andie said. She stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a new internship position I need to prepare for. Thank God school doesn’t start until Wednesday. Am I right?” She shot a look over at Beverly, who hid a chuckle behind her spatula.
“You know,” Jack said, trying to make his voice more innocent than it had ever been. He reached out and gently grabbed Andie’s bare arm, freezing her in place. “You don’t have to go. To Eagle Corp., I mean. You could stay. With me. I could ensure that you get the necessary credit you need.”
Andie opened her eyes, Jack coming back in focus. The way he looked at her with his dark green eyes sent a pulse of longing inside of her. His hand —fingers rough and callused and completely unexpected since he was supposed to be some rich playboy, too pretentious to get his hands dirty—still lingered on her skin, and though he was warm, so warm, his touch caused goose bumps. When he spoke, she watched his mouth move, forming words.
God, she was so far gone. There was no hope for her.
“I can’t.”
The words were out of her mouth, soft and regretful. She wasn’t even sure Jack heard them, so she cleared her throat and tried again.
“You know we can’t.”
And that was all there was to say. Jack dropped his hand from her and Andie left the kitchen to go back to her room.
Well, at least she looked better than she had at her interview with Jack Phillip. Andie pressed her fingers against the flat of her stomach, pushing away invisible wrinkles and smoothing out the white cotton material. She wore the same black slacks she had that fateful day when destiny forced her to collide with the most arrogant and beautiful man she had ever met. Since then, she had managed to purchase a few new collared shirts, though she did keep the one she had worn that day, with the stain still branded on it. For whatever reason, she couldn’t force herself to get rid of it. She pinned her bangs back from her face and applied light makeup on her face. There was no reason to be nervous—she had already gotten the internship, after all—but somehow, standing in front of the skyscraper that held Eagle Corp. caused her stomach to drop.
Andie looked down the block, a swell of longing hugging her heart. Phillip Enterprises was two streets south. She could even make out the dark grey building blending in with the overcast sky. Jack probably wasn’t even in yet, knowing him. He probably wouldn’t show up until eleven in the morning at the earliest, hands in his pockets, a nonchalant look plastered on his face.
“Focus, Shepherd.”
With another pat on her stomach, she dropped her hands and headed toward the automatic doors. The lobby of Eagle Corp. looked like any lobby in any business with a reception desk, comfortable couches, chairs to relax in, and a coffee table with various business magazines and newspapers placed neatly on its surface. A security guard stood in a corner and gave Andie a friendly nod. The only difference was that the lighting here was much more dim. That, and there was no Denise Bitch Longlegs that served as gatekeeper to the elevators.
She almost missed—
No, she would never miss that bitch.
The woman who greeted her, Tess, was actually nice, and gave Andie her own identification badge with clear directions of where she had to go. She was supposed to head to the elevator and go to the fifty-second floor. This time, she made sure to pay close attention to the numbers; Jack wouldn’t swoop in and save her. Not that she wanted him to. She could do this.
When she reached the floor, she expected to see a flurry of cubicles, pounding keyboards, and ringing phones. Instead, she saw nothing. It was completely empty, except for three offices. She was supposed to go to the middle one, with Pierce scrawled on the door window in formal lettering.
Was it weird that there were no windows on this floor? Maybe there’d be some in the offices.
It was too quiet, except—
There was low murmuring coming from Pierce’s door, which now that Andie’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, noticed that it was slightly ajar. If she held her breath, she could probably hear what was being said.
Was it wrong to eavesdrop on her new boss?
Well, she certainly didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. The more she listened, the more it sounded like Pierce was talking on the phone.
“Mmm-hmm.”
A pause.
“No, he doesn’t know. He’s a recluse. I highly doubt he even knows who Black Wing is.”
Another pause.
“Well, Eagle Corp. is honored to back the act in any capacity needed. Thank you for reaching out, Mr. Burr. If there’s anything else you need, you know how to reach me.”
A click of the phone. The squeak of the chair wheels.
Andie didn’t have time to prepare any excuse for herself as to why she was listening to his conversation before Gr
ayson Pierce slid open his office door and found her gaping like a fool.
16
Despite Noir’s insistence that she hurry, the two were a few minutes early to the meeting. From what Noir had informed her about in the car, the mafia had alerted him immediately after finding out the two had escaped from Underwood Mental Institution and were looking to strike some sort of deal with him.
Keirah knew Noir wasn’t going to take any part in such a deal. The man all but owned Onyx, and he wasn’t about to sign his power over to anyone, least of all the mafia.
“They don’t appreciate true crime,” he told her, glancing at her as he drove.
She didn’t quite understand the difference between crime and true crime, but she took his word for it. He always knew what he was talking about, and this particular subject had been acquainted with him for some time.
However, upon entrance of the secluded night club basement the mafia had chosen to hold this meeting, they weren’t exactly expecting Noir to be with anyone, let alone a woman. In fact, they decided to search the two of them for any weapons, and had no qualms about digging pretty deep.
“Yanno,” Noir said, staring pointedly at a nameless man getting too friendly with Keirah. “It’s not nice to, uh, well, to touch people in, hum … inappropriate places.” He clenched his jaw. “Ya better watch your hands unless you want me to chop them off myself.”
As they searched her, Keirah tried to take in the men as subtly as possible. What kind of mafia did these men make up, exactly? She couldn’t pin point it. There were a variety of races and ethnicities wearing incredibly expensive suits. They didn’t look like any stereotypical mafia; instead, they almost looked … professional.
Although they were protected by very powerful men, Noir’s presence caused the man to stop his ministrations on Keirah and disappear from sight. This caused Noir to snap his head back and let out one of his blood curdling laughs.
The Dark Paradise Trilogy Box Set Page 43
