And by doing this, she would sever the last tie she had with the city of Onyx. Commissioner Jarrett would surely recognize her face, and as a result, he would know she chose to be with Noir. Keirah wanted him to know that, at least for his sake. This way, Noir would have no reason to kill him, not if the commissioner was actively seeking Noir and Bombshell out as some sort of partners in crime. Jarrett wouldn’t be able to make any excuses for her, and dammit, she didn’t want him to.
Keirah was her own criminal. She had a costume, her own identity. But she was also the yin to Noir’s yang. He was Noir and she was his Bombshell. They were criminal royalty when they were together.
Noir had seen her as more than a piece of meat. Whether he would admit it or not, he trusted her, or she wouldn’t be privy to the numerous plans he came up with, wouldn’t be allowed to accompany him while he was committing a crime. She realized he wanted to break her slowly, to make her completely his. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she already was his, wholly, completely, and in every way. And to prove her loyalty—her love—for the man, she would break him out of Underwood Mental Institution.
When she was ready, every chestnut strand in place, her makeup perfected to a T, she headed out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Stewart and Donald were waiting by the door for Keirah’s arrival, and it was hard for them not to stare at her. She looked so different as Bombshell, but then again, she was supposed to.
“Kyle’s already down at the asylum,” Stewart informed her. “There’s a few more security guards driving around on golf carts around the parking lot, but he’s not sure how security has changed inside the building.”
“When do you think he’ll be ready?” Keirah asked him, her tone no-nonsense and firm. She didn’t want these guys to take advantage of her even though she knew they thought this whole plan was set up for failure. That was okay. She would show them. She would show everyone just what Keirah Shepherd—Bombshell—was capable of.
“Another fifteen minutes, maybe less,” Stewart replied. “But he told me everything was pretty much ready to go.”
Keirah nodded. “Great,” she murmured, and glanced over at Donald. “And you? You know what you’re doing right?”
Donald rolled his eyes, causing Keirah to purse her lips together in order to control the thousands of retorts that jumped onto the tip of her tongue. “Of course I know what I’m doing,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and he couldn’t believe she was asking him such a thing. “I’m the driver, the getaway car, the lookout.”
She glanced over at Stewart. “And I help the lookout on the other side of the building,” he replied automatically.
“Good,” she replied when she was satisfied. She glanced at the grandfather clock placed in the main hall. A smile touched her lips and for the first time that day, both Stewart and Donald realized that Keirah herself could be incredibly deadly. Even more so was the fact that nobody expected such a thing from someone who looked as sweet as she did, despite the J carved into her face. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Underwood Mental Institution was only fifteen minutes, and Keirah had firmly told Donald not to go any faster than the speed limit. She didn’t want to attract attention to herself because if that had happened, Noir’s rescue attempt would be in vain.
When they reached the asylum, they were stopped by one of the security guards. Keirah, shrouded in darkness and therefore somewhat indiscernible, reached over Donald and handed him her identification.
“I got called in from a masquerade party,” she said. “I heard there’s someone important here and a cell needs to be cleaned out immediately.”
The security guard still looked unsure, but decided to allow it. The young woman had identification and everything.
“These guys don’t go in,” he told her firmly.
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she assured him, and Keirah instructed Donald where to park so the car wouldn’t be suspicious and her henchmen wouldn’t be questioned.
Before she headed for the building, she grabbed two of the Glocks and strapped each one to each of her legs so that she would be armed if necessary. “All right,” Keirah said when she was finished, “I think I know where they’re holding him. If Underwood Mental Institution is anything, it’s predictable. Any high profile case they keep on the fourth floor, despite Noir escaping from the very cell a couple of weeks ago.” She gestured at Donald. “Here. Give me the keys. This way, if any of you decide to ditch us, you can’t take the car and have to take your chances on foot.”
The sour look on Donald’s face told Keirah that escape was just what he had been thinking about.
“Okay,” she said, nodding once. “I’ll be back in hopefully fifteen minutes. But who knows?” She turned then and headed to the back door of the entrance, the door Noir had escaped through with her by his side.
She walked over to the key pad, her identification card in her hand, and prayed with all her might that they hadn’t taken her out of the system. Keirah swiped her card and entered her seven-digit password. A green light lit up and she felt herself release a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. As quietly as she could, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.
Almost immediately her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she felt her feet leading her up the stairs until she reached the fourth floor of the building. Keirah’s heart was hammering thoroughly in her chest, and surprisingly, she had yet to get caught. Whatever security had been amped up was not anywhere near here.
However, upon reaching the fourth floor, Keirah noticed two security guards sanctioned outside one cell. That had to be where Noir was being kept. They wouldn’t just assign guards to anyone. Instead of feeling nervous, Keirah felt a surge of adrenaline flow through her as she calmly strode over to the door in question.
“Excuse me, miss,” one of the men said. “You’re not allowed to be up here. You need to leave.”
Keirah smiled innocently, and before the security guards could react, she grabbed one of her Glocks and fired two shots into the guard’s chest. The other one, the one who had not spoken, simply dropped his mouth and raised his hands up.
“Do you want to live?” she asked him, her voice sounding foreign even to her. He nodded without hesitation. “Type in the code to release the prisoner in this cage.”
The security guard didn’t need to be told twice. When he had finished what he was asked for, the door popped open and he dashed off. This left Keirah with five minutes or less before the whole security team was alerted.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawled upon seeing Keirah enter the room, completely decked out in her uniform. “Look who comes crawwwling back.”
“I’m going to take that as a thank you,” she murmured, walking over to him—sauntering was more like it—and offering him a small smirk.
“Don’t you look simply … uh … edible,” he said, his eyes sizing her up as he licked his lips with his tongue.
“I’ll let you take a bite of me once I get you out of here,” she said, glancing at just how locked up he was. Surprisingly, the asylum must have assumed that the two guards were enough security, at least for tonight because he only had on handcuffs and that was it. She bent down, lifted her skirt in order to grab a gun and handed it to him.
“Oh,” he said, looking pointedly at the revealed flesh of her thigh. “How I’ve missed you. If we didn’t have time restraints-ah, I would, well, I would take you right here.”
“Take me when we get out of here,” she said, turning around to look at the door.
Noir followed her, reaching out and cupping her backside with a territorial squeeze. “Well, doll,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I, uh, hate to see you leave, but I love, well, I love to watch. You. Go.” They turned, and Noir quickly grabbed the ring of keys off of the dead guard’s body before they both headed down the hall and reached the staircase. As they descended down the stai
rs, Noir released his wrists from their confines. Keirah could have sworn she heard footsteps hurrying after them, but they pushed open the doors and, as before, were free once more. Before Keirah could react, Noir grabbed Keirah roughly on her shoulders and pushed her against the wall. “Don’t … you … ever leave me.”
Keirah nodded, her eyes locked into his. Then, without warning, he placed his lips hungrily against hers. She matched his passion with her own, but for whatever reason, he cut the kiss short. That was when she heard the shouting, the warnings, saw the guns. It was like time slowed down, and for the first time in her life, Keirah saw everything crystal clear. She watched as Noir used his left arm to push her behind him. He didn’t even use his gun. He didn’t even fire back. He wasn’t focused on retaliating, only keeping Keirah safe, positioning his body in front of hers. And then she saw the bullet from one of the guards—she wasn’t sure which one—hit him straight in the heart—where his heart would be if he was human. And then, right before her eyes, she watched as her soul mate, the only man she ever loved in every sense of the word, disappeared with a sickening pop right before her wide eyes.
He was gone. Vanished. Into thin air.
But where?
Keirah wasn’t allowed time to think. The earth started spinning again and everything resumed its normal speed. She turned in the direction of where she parked the car and sprinted with all her might. She needed to survive if she was going to get him back.
She had to get him back, if it was the last thing she did.
38
It was two weeks, and they were still gone.
Reese hadn’t gone to school. She barely showered. She picked at her food.
The funeral had come and gone. She barely remembered it. When her friends visited, she didn’t talk. She inherited everything—assets, property, money, and barely any debt—and she couldn’t muster up feeling relieved. Ollo took care of everything, took care of her, and she couldn’t even thank him.
She just was.
She was a void. She was numb. And in that bleak despair, she was content.
“All right, this is ridiculous,” Ollo said, barging through the bedroom door. “You’re moping around, taking everyone and everything for granted. You’re probably the richest seventeen year old girl in the nation, and you’ve been wearing the same pair of pajamas for the past week. And you smell.”
Before Reese could do anything, let alone react, Ollo swooped her into his arms bridal-style, and took her over to the restroom. It was then that Reese could hear the familiar sound of the shower, feel the heat of the steam open up her pores.
God, her skin must look atrocious.
And then, surprising her even more, Ollo stepped into the shower with Reese, both fully clothed, and kneeled down until he was sitting with her in his lap. The water was hot, and she screeched in surprise at the shift in temperature. Normally, she didn’t mind hot showers, so it wasn’t long until she got used to it. Her clothes were clinging to her body, her hair was matted to her face, but she felt … good. Relaxed. And that’s when the tears began. Ollo was patient and rubbed her back, because, really, there wasn’t much else he could do and he wanted to at least attempt to soothe her. It was only when her tears were reduced to hiccups and the water begin to turn lukewarm did Ollo finally speak.
“Do you feel better?” he asked. “And before you remind me that you’re entire family died and you might never feel better again, you know that’s not—”
“Yes,” Reese said, her voice small. “I do.”
Her response took Ollo by surprise, and he needed a moment before he asked, “What happened, darl? That first day, I thought you were going to be okay. And then you just gave up. Why?”
“When I thought of my family as dead, I didn’t cry,” she replied, her grey eyes stormy in thought. “I tried to force myself to cry, because that’s the normal thing you do when someone in your family you’re close to dies. When I found out they were murdered—and I do hear your conversations with Henry, even though you shut the door, so I know the fire wasn’t an accident—I fainted, yes, but I didn’t cry. I only seem to cry when something or someone reminds me they’re gone. Like, the theme song to my brother’s favorite video game; like, looking down at my nails and thinking that if Mom were here, she’d practically drag me to get a manicure because I haven’t been taking care of them; like, watching football with my dad every Sunday while my mom went shopping with Brody. That’s when I start to cry. I didn’t think that was normal, so I started punishing myself, forcing myself to be depressed, not eating, staying in bed, not showering. That was how I thought it should be.”
“Everyone grieves differently, darl,” Ollo said, his voice gentle and safe. Reese felt herself lean into him so she could feel the low vibrations through his chest as he spoke. “And not everyone is healthy about it. When Pythia died, I threw myself into drinking. You’re the one who showed me that that wasn’t living. Now, it’s my turn to return the favor.” He paused, waiting for Reese to say something, but when she remained quiet, he cautiously pressed on. “Listen, darl, there’s something we need to discuss. Actually, several things. Some might be too hard for you to handle, and if at any point, it becomes too much, just tell me to stop, and I will. But you need to know these things.”
Reese nodded her head, but still said nothing. She kept her head on Ollo’s chest as the water continued to fall on them.
“First thing: After we get out of this shower, I’m going to feed you breakfast, and then you need to start training again. To be blunt, you are nowhere near ready to assume your role, and you need to be. This war could happen at any moment, and I need to know that you can take care of yourself on the battlefield. And right now, you can’t.”
“You’re right.” She nodded her head in agreement. “I need to start training again. I will. Today.”
“Good.” A beat. “Second thing: As you’ve overheard, the fire was not accidental. Henry and I have been going back and forth as to who would do something like that, and we’ve concluded it has to be someone with ties to this war, someone who knows your role in it, and wants to force you to side with the demons. Our number one suspect is Lucas Burr, but we’re still trying to rationalize why he stepped in so directly.”
This time, Reese picked her head up, pulling her eyes away from his long fingers and the water that dripped gracefully down the length of them, so she could look him in the eyes. She was caught by surprise by the blue and brown mixture, their beauty thrust in her face like an alarm going off. Feelings she had pushed to the side and forced herself to ignore came back as she looked at him, and she wondered how she let herself be without him for so long.
“I don’t think it’s Burr,” she said, after remembering why she needed to speak in the first place. “He had my mom create the Vigilante Registration Act. She was the lead on the project. Yeah, he probably had his motives as to why he chose her in the first place, but he needed her in case Black Wing either registered or was arrested.”
“This changes everything,” Ollo muttered more to himself than to her. “Who would want to harm your family, then? Who else has ties to the war?”
“Someone who knew we wouldn’t be home, obviously,” Reese said, her mind turning. Ollo grinned at the saucy response. “Someone who wanted to hurt me but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do it directly. Someone who has knowledge about fire and how to handle it …” Reese’s voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed. “Daphne.”
“What?” Ollo asked.
“Daphne,” she said again. “That bitch knew where we were and when we’d return home. She set an entire forest on fire in order to quote-unquote assist me with my training when all she wanted to do was burn my hair off. Oh, and she hates me because she thinks you’re in love with me.” Ollo opened his mouth to say something, but Reese continued to talk, oblivious to his intentions. “I’m not sure if she killed them because she was jealous and wanted to hurt me, or if she somehow honestly believed that she was doing someth
ing for the greater good and the war.” Without warning, Reese stood up.
“Where are you going?” Ollo asked, clamoring up to follow her.
“I’m going to shove donuts in my face and then I’m going to train,” she said, grabbing an old towel. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but Daphne’s responsible for my family’s death. I don’t care what side she’s on, either. I’m going to make her pay.”
A pleased smirk touched Ollo’s features as he took her in. She reminded him of a wet dog, but she had never looked more beautiful to him. “Brush your teeth while you’re at it, darl,” he told her. “Your breath reeks.”
The feel of the bow in her hands reminded her of seeing an old friend for the first time in a while and pulling them into a hug. She was below Bacchus’s, in the storage room. Ollo had set everything up for her while she was chowing down the best breakfast she’d had in a while, but when she finished, she asked him for time alone. She wanted to do this her way, by herself.
She grabbed an arrow from the collection and nocked it to the bow. She pulled the string back, and then one, two, three, released the arrow until it flew into the corner of the paper target she had been aiming for. She was definitely rusty, but she would make up for lost time. She had to. It was her destiny.
In a week, Reese did many things. She got back in touch with her friends and thanked them for everything they did for her. She also made sure she apologized for how poorly she had treated them. They all forgave her, including Piper, and she was suddenly so overwhelmed with appreciation for the people in her life that she actually had to fight back tears.
She found out that Andie and Jack Phillip were dating again, and that around the time her family had been killed, she had suffered a trauma of her own. She apologized profusely for not being there for her and sent her flowers as a way of expressing her regret. Andie had waved aside Reese’s concern, telling her she didn’t want to think about it because she hadn’t done anything wrong.
The Dark Paradise Trilogy Box Set Page 60
