The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6)

by Tamsen Parker

  Protest flashes in those dark eyes of his, warring with the voice of reason I know is sounding in the back of his head. How can he help his sister from behind bars?

  “Go.” It’s the last word he needs. He turns his back on me and takes off. It’s like watching a leopard. I could watch him run away from me all day. Instead I’ve got to dispatch with these assholes. I strip off my coat, cringing as I drop it to the pavement. It’s more likely Gino can get out dirt stains than blood, though, and this is one of my favorite suits. These fuckers had to pick a fight with me when I’m wearing one of my favorite suits, and that ticks me off even more.

  I take stock of them, deciding which one to go after first. The bigger one. Maybe if I take him down, the other one will fuck off. Instead of crouching into a fighting stance under the fuzzy halo of the closest streetlamp, I stand up straight, lift my chin, and hold out a hand, crooking two fingers.

  “Bring it on, motherfuckers.”

  I’m not exactly surprised when he charges me. He puts his close-cropped head down and drives a meaty shoulder into my chest, propelling me back against the brick wall of a building. There’s the familiar impact of my shoulder blades and the back of my skull hitting a hard surface, the breath forced out of my lungs. Before he can pull away from me, I grab his earlobe and wrench it hard. He squeals like the pig he is, and it awakens something inside of me, something I like to keep buried down deep.

  Rage. It crashes into me like desperate claws raking a door, begging to be let out. Just this once.

  It’s tempting. Oh, so tempting.

  No. He may be a savage, but I’m not. I’ll be better than him. Better than them all. So I harness the beast, bend it to my will.

  Hurt him, make him suffer. Avenge all the people he’s abused because there’s no way I’m the first one. I’m just the first one who can fight back properly because I am a god among men.

  I use the grip I have to wrench him to his knees. I know a thousand ways to get a man on his knees and force is my least favorite, but for this, it’ll do. Next I grab the back of his neck with my other hand, yanking his face down quick and hard onto my knee. There’s the very specific sound and feel of bone giving way, and the beast inside me roars. It wants more, always more. Rage twined with jealousy, the fury sounding in my ears, a symphony of pain.

  The man is on the ground, fairly writhing with it, and I want to give him more, let the beast out to play with this worthless piece of meat. What a fucking sorry excuse for a human being.

  I can’t let the beast win. If I let it win, then I’m no better than him. So I resist the urge to kick him in the side where his kidney is resting so close to the surface. To drop to my knees and pound my fists into his flesh until blood covers us both. I don’t drag him over to the curb, stomp my heel on his skull until his face is a pulpy mess and his teeth litter the pavement or he swallows them. Although I’d like to. God, I’d fucking love to. If I let myself start, I’ll never stop. Instead I look up at his friend, who’s staring dumbfounded at me, switchblade dangling from his hand.

  That’s right, you ratshit-for-brains sniveling sons of bitches. You thought we were fair game? Think again. This is my fucking city. But what comes out of my mouth is as smooth as the eyebrow I arch. “Next?”

  Thing is, if I apply logic here, I know he could take me. He’s got a knife for fuck’s sake. Maybe, though, he can tell logic and civility are widely spaced bars barely keeping the monster inside me from being set free. He’s none too eager to get close to the cage, and I don’t blame him. It’s scary as fuck.

  That’s when I catch the flashing of red and blue lights out of the corner of my eye, a squad car rapidly approaching. God love the police and Allie for calling them.

  The black-and-white pulls up alongside the curb, and the officers get out while my erstwhile attacker helps his friend to his feet. Blood drips from mugger number one’s disfigured face, and I imagine with some satisfaction exactly how bruised and swollen he’ll be soon.

  A trim Asian woman who happens to look damn fine in her uniform approaches. Her partner—a big white guy with the slight paunch of a man who’s attempting to fight upper middle age off and losing the battle—follows behind.

  “Something the matter here, guys?” The officers look between us, and though a man with a bloodied face would clearly say otherwise, they seem entirely willing to believe that, yes, in fact, everything is ship-shape.

  My sparring partner and his friend fumble for words, but I don’t want to give them the chance to say something idiotic and get us all hauled in. I’d be out in minutes, but I’d rather go home and get to bed than take a tour of the city in a squad car.

  “Only a slight misunderstanding, officers. I think we’ve cleared things up.”

  If you use the right tone of voice and signal with every molecule of your body you’re confident and correct, you’d be surprised what you can get away with in this life. I’m not anymore, actually, but I used to be.

  The officers are looking us all up and down, trying to decide on a course of action. Please let them have something better to do than make a federal case of a schoolyard fistfight. I’m saved from having to dredge up more rational, placating statements with the squawk of the radio. If I’m not mistaken, the dispatcher’s said something about a 419. If that’s true—and judging by the expressions on the officers’ faces, I’m guessing it is—a dead body is far more exciting than some men involved in minor fisticuffs. They exchange glances, and then the older one speaks.

  “Looks like the problem’s been solved. Why don’t we all move along then?”

  “Thank you, officers. I’ll be on my way.”

  I pick up my suitcoat from the ground and shake it out, inspecting it for stains, but aside from some crumbs of loose sidewalk concrete easily brushed off, it looks none the worse for wear. The asshat posse is already headed in the opposite direction, and I allow myself a sigh of relief as they turn the corner and the police officers step back inside their cruiser.

  There’s some guilt these guys will likely pick on someone else, someone who isn’t prepared to put an end to their nefarious plans, but I have to smother the urge to save everyone from everything. As I’ve told Hart, as much as I’d like to be, I’m not omniscient, nor can I be omnipresent, and therefore I have to let some things go.

  I head off in the direction Allie ran, not expecting to find him. Actually, I’d best not find him. The departing whine of sirens tells me I was at least close on the code. The beast inside is still pacing inside its cage, wanting satisfaction, wanting blood. I’m in the mood to throw it a bone.

  My footfalls barely sound on the pavement as I slip my cell from my pocket and click on a contact. It barely rings before he picks up, voice tight with frustration and anxiety. “Rey. Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly well, Hart. Meet me at the corner of Fell and Franklin in ten minutes.”

  *

  Allie is hard already when he takes his pants off. I could see the rigid line of his cock straining at the zipper before, but now his erection is free. He’s so beautiful. And mine to do with as I please. That’s what makes my cock start to fill. That and the idea of hurting him.

  The real question as I pace around him, standing at attention in the middle of my bedroom, is how. There are a million ways to hurt someone, and I have most of them at my disposal. To mark or not to mark? Do I want blood or will welts and bruises satisfy? To restrain him or not?

  Prowling around him while I think is its own torture. For him. Not for me. I could do this all day. The way his muscles shape his body, the gorgeous crest of a shoulder, the flawless curve of his ass, how the dim light reflects off his skin. I reach out a hand, skate a finger from the rise of one shoulder up to the nape of his neck and then back down to the other shoulder.

  “I’m going to hurt you, Hart.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are your plans for the next few days?”

  “I’m going to be watching the kids while
Kendra’s at school, and apartment hunting, sir.”

  Good to know. They’ll be climbing all over him, asking to be picked up, generally treating him like an animate jungle gym. I don’t want him wincing away from the children.

  Something temporary but excruciating it is.

  “Stay,” I tell him and stride out the door, breaking into a lope when I know he won’t be able to hear my footfalls anymore. Sure, I want to torture him, but I’m torturing myself at the same time and that won’t do. I want him now. I want him an hour ago.

  He glances at me when I come back through the door. If we’d done more work, I’d chastise him. Things being as they are, and how they will be, I don’t bother. We’re both humming with adrenaline, and I can excuse this small faux pas. This time. Someone else can beat the impulse out of him.

  I lay the case on the bed, and his eyes zero in on it. It looks like one of those metal cases hitmen carry in movies or perhaps the nuclear code some poor schmo has cuffed to his wrist. The tools of my trade are slightly different but no less powerful for that.

  Hart stares at me while I remove item after item from the case. Most of them I won’t use on him, but he doesn’t need to know that. The intensity of his gaze is heady, and I can practically hear the questions he’s beating back. What is all that stuff? What are you going to do to me? How are you going to make me feel?

  I take it as a compliment of the highest order that he doesn’t seem afraid, only curious, and I lay out the items in an order designed to interest, not terrify. A glass globe, a fixture that looks vaguely like a flogger made of tinsel or perhaps a limp pompom, an innocent-seeming length of tubing, a small rake, and a length of rope.

  He looks perplexed but not anxious as he stands there, his hands resting at his sides while his cock…well, his cock is doing anything but relaxing, despite his uncertainty. He’s marvelous.

  So I take the last bits I’ll need out of the kit—the base and the cords—and that’s when his eyes widen. Yes, what had looked like relatively innocent articles now look more threatening, the tools of a mad scientist. I take up the base and go to the wall, finding a conveniently placed outlet. I’ve never actually used this in here, and for a second I get stuck on that. Why am I doing so now?

  That’s not the point. The point is I have this striking man at my disposal, and I’m going to make good use of him, oh yes, I am. So I trail back to him, hefting the base in my hand and enjoying the way his gaze stays glued to me, the way he’s trying to decipher what the fuck it is I’m going to do. The velocity at which thoughts are racing through his brain is almost palpable. I can feel his amplified attention, and it’s lovely. If only everyone I worked with telegraphed their feelings as clearly as Allie, I’d have a simple job indeed.

  Turning the piece of equipment over and over in my hands—as if I hadn’t been demonstrating this the other day, as if I weren’t a goddamn expert in its applications and didn’t have twenty other attachments downstairs—I delight in the way I get him, finally, to shift his weight to one foot and then back again.

  So satisfying to have unnerved him.

  I pick up the globe and affix it to the base, knowing it’s showy as fuck but its bark is far worse than its bite. Or can be at any rate. I want to make Hart howl.

  Plugging the thing in and fiddling with the dials more than strictly necessary, the smell in the air changes. Such a strange thing to notice, but there’s a distinct acridness to the scent of him now. A whiff of fear no one else would notice, but I do. It makes my mouth water. That hint of distress confirms exactly how much power I have over him—it’s not a small amount. I control the very composition of his sweat, and it makes me want to lick him. But not yet, not yet. After I have him glistening with it and crying out, that’s when I’ll taste it, when I’ll allow myself that small and delectable pleasure.

  Without having to look at him, I know he’s focused on my every move and take advantage to stun him. Flipping the switch and pressing down on the pedal on the floor, the globe lights up a fiery violet, and Allie’s eyes spring open.

  “What the ever-loving—”

  “Violet wand,” I say, not appearing to pay much attention to him when, in fact, every ounce of me that’s not focused on the safe operation of the machinery is directed at him. “Thought this would be a fun way to torment you this evening.”

  Oh yes, another shift of his weight and a tightening of his muscles.

  “It looks quite threatening, doesn’t it?”

  He responds to my musing with only a grunt I read as a reluctant agreement. That’s when I allow my gaze to trail up his body to his face, plastering a smirk on my own countenance. God, he’s fun to toy with.

  “Don’t worry, Hart. I’m not going to hurt you…too much.”

  He’s practically vibrating now, and I decide he’s had enough anticipation. I want him to still feel it upon my approach. I don’t want him so frustrated he’s aching to get it over with. Boredom and annoyance aren’t useful to me.

  “You don’t have metal in your body, right? No piercings, no replaced joints? No pacemaker or anything of the sort?”

  His eyes don’t leave the wand as he answers. “No, sir.”

  As much as I can appreciate he’s preoccupied, this is important. Really, really important, so I snap, calling his attention to my face. Hopefully my stern expression and my bitten-off words will convey the import of this information.

  “You tell me again, this time with your eyes up here. Do you have any metal in your body?”

  “No, sir,” he grinds out, his dark eyes boring into mine. Oh, Allie, Allie, Allie, you’re a pleasure.

  “Good. Then hold out your arm.”

  There’s a single beat before he raises his hand until it’s parallel with his shoulder. He’s steady, so steady, not shaking with nerves. The rush of knowing it’s because he trusts me makes me float off the ground. I might have a beast inside of me, but I’ve tamed it sufficiently that Hart doesn’t fear me. No one should be afraid of me except the people who deserve to be, and no one who’s under my care deserves to be.

  I take the wand, checking the dial one last time to make sure it’s set to a reasonable level, and then I touch it to his forearm. With the contact, he flinches and a surprised noise emits from his mouth. “Ah!”

  Ah, indeed. Taking the wand off his arm, I smile at him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s do it again.”

  With the warning, there’s no noise forced from him and a slightly smaller start than last time. He’s getting used to it. I apply the wand longer this time, enjoying the dance of the current in the globe, the violet strands so pretty. They zone in on Hart the same way I do, and I hear his breathing. Deep and even like he’s been taught, trying to control his reaction.

  While I’d like to knock him off-balance, force him into pants and gasps, it’s not time for that yet. Comfort and acceptance is what I’m going for.

  “Ready for more?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turn the dial slightly, increasing the intensity of it, and I get that divine tremor from him again. Running the globe along his arm, I watch his muscles ripple in response. Some people don’t care for the wand—find it unnerving—but Hart seems to enjoy it, want more, so I’ll give it to him. I trail the globe along the crest from one set of biceps to the other, letting him feel the tingle like a yoke across his shoulders.

  Once he becomes used to the elevated current, I switch to the metallic strands. I show them to him, and the corner of his mouth curves up because it does look silly. What a Powerpuff Girl might use if she were into kink. Sparkly and girlish.

  When I drift the strands over his shoulder and down to his hips, he shudders and yelps. I can’t help my chuckle. “Packs more of a punch than you thought it would, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” He twists away a bit then, so I sink my fingers into the meat of his flank and hold him still so he’ll stop shying away. He takes
it as I drift the strands across the rise of his ass, deliberately dragging them more slowly over his cleft. He’s expending a not-insignificant amount of energy trying to do as I’ve bid and let me handle him as I will, though he appears more inclined to break out into giggles. I love it when I can drive him to snickering and cackles, but obedience is the order of the day. Down the outside of his obscenely well-built thigh, all the way down to circle his heel and then back up the inside of his ankle, swirling the metallic strands about his calf and then edging up the sensitive inside of his thigh, producing an incredible gasp and making him go rigid.

  Oh yes, my Hart likes this slow brand of torture. I mirror the action on the other side, and as I do, his head drops back while the rest of him tenses. After I’ve brushed the tinsely threads over every inch of him that’s safe, I turn it up to repeat, and when I’m through with the next tour, I switch to a peculiar-looking flexible tube. My particular favorite.

  I hold it out for him to see and enjoy the studious look he gives it. No longer taking for granted it’s going to feel anything like it looks, after giving it a once, twice, three times over, he lifts his gaze to mine in question.

  “Curious?” I gather the tubing, tucking the whole thing into my grip, then hold up my empty hand and wiggle my fingers. If he found my touch electrifying before—and I’d like to think he did—he’s not going to know what hit him. He tracks my empty hand with his eyes, and when I touch him, his mouth drops open.

  “Holy…”

  “Yes, I like this one too.” I trace a route in the dips and rises of his body. “It makes me the conduit, which means I can’t feel the electricity, but you can. Electricity is marvelous that way. Fabulous way to hurt someone without hurting or exerting oneself. It’s passing right through me, but you can feel it, can’t you, Hart?”

  “Yes, sir.” The strain in his voice is so goddamn sexy, and I can’t wait to turn up the three to an eleven. Make him shout and convulse with my barest touch. If I have all the time in the world, I can render someone into a puddle with only my voice and my hands, but this is more…expedient and I don’t have long to enjoy Hart before his family obligations call. Besides, this is an excellent distraction from what nearly befell us not so long ago.