Takedown: An Enemies to Lovers Dark Romance

by Lana Hartley

  I feel Nathan’s fingers press into my soft hips as he gets behind me and kisses me on the shoulders.

  “Nightmares or not, touching you is way better than sleeping,” he says.

  Nathan peppers kisses down my spine, his lips making their way over my bottom. He adjusts my position so I’m kneeling on the bed, knees spread, ass in the air, but with a direct access to continue blowing Vincent. I feel Nathan’s cock presses against my thigh, then with a fascinating thrust, he’s injecting himself in me with a breathy groan.

  I release my lips from Vincent’s cock, kissing my way over his abs then grinding my ass back against Nathan’s thrusts and creating a delicious friction that I’m soon lost in.

  My body aches, reeling with the pleasure received.

  “Oh, Nathan…” I sigh. Vincent grips his cock in his strong hand and strokes himself up and down, pumping gently at the base. Vincent wraps his hand around my throat and plunges deep into my throat as Nathan’s cock massages my inner walls. He’s astoundingly big anyway, but engorged with lust Nathan seems even bigger; a monstrous cock, and he knows how to use it.

  I slide my tongue over Vincent’s opening, and he pulls at my hair.

  “I’m gonna come,” he tells me. I keep sucking him and run my hands over his balls. Nathan grips my hips harder, more hurried as he penetrates me deeper in demanding strokes. My orgasm washes over me unexpectedly, and I reach back to touch Nathan anywhere my hands can reach. Vincent’s release follows, and he douses my tits in sweet, hot cum. His jizz oozes from his tip, coating my chest and stomach, leaving a deliciously sticky mess behind.

  “That’s it, cover her up,” Nathan commands on a road as he comes inside of me. I topple over so my head is against the mattress, and he pulls out of me just in time to spray cum all over my ass.

  “Oh god…oh…”

  We each lay in our own bout of ecstasy, catching our breaths.

  “Oh my god…” Nathan reaches for a cigarette, and I lie on my side, sticky. Vincent reaches for his wine, taking a sip. We all share the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

  Vincent is the first to fall asleep, leaving Nathan and I awake in the dark.

  Nathan is very quiet as he gets out of bed and leads me out to the balcony. The sky is a very romantic array of stars. The moon is bright, but it’s not a full moon; it’s not the kind you might see in a scary movie about werewolves. It’s merely a hyphen in the night sky.

  “Sometimes I think it’s easy to be Vincent. Sometimes I wish I was him—like his life is a clean slate or something. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Or maybe that’s not good, maybe he hasn’t experienced life yet in the way I have.”

  I look at Nathan, keeping my eyes on his stormy brown eyes.

  “Which do you prefer?” he simply asks me.

  “I like both, obviously,” I say.

  Nathan doesn’t seem satisfied with this response and looks off at the garden.

  “What if I planted something? And you tried to guess what it was I planted, you know, once it grows.”

  I really like this idea. It’s mysterious and romantic, like this night. Like every night with Vincent and Nathan. And it gets my mind wondering—what will Nathan plant? What kind of plant would he like to see grow in a garden of honeysuckle, roses, gloriosas, hibiscus, frangipani, lobster-claws, sacred lotus, eucharis grandiflora, alpinia purpurata, gardenias, cattleya orchids, larkspur, and so forth. A cactus?

  I decide to just ask.

  “What is your favorite kind of flower?”

  “No,” he just says.

  “The no flower? Haven’t heard of it,” I joke.

  He shakes his head, barely grins, and drags his smoke along the edge of the balcony so it leaves a thick black line I know will annoy Vincent and the maid.

  “You’ve probably never seen it either, they refuse to grow,” Nathan says, and we both laugh. These are the kinds of conversations we have, and we laugh in the middle of the night and it’s the best thing.

  “I like watching you sleep,” I say, “When you’re not having nightmares.”

  “I kind of wish I could see myself sleep. I’m not making a weird face?”

  “No, you look so peaceful, so do you have good dreams, too?” I ask.

  “Every time I look at your face,” Nathan winks. He’s pouring it on a bit thick, but I don’t mind.

  “I see.”

  Nathan smiles and looks in the room where Vincent now lay awake. .

  “Can you tell the difference between our smells?” Nathan asks. This is quite the question. I’m not expecting it. Vincent walks out onto the balcony right as I’m getting ready to answer it. Although I have no idea what the answer is.

  “I mean…some days, when you shower, because you both use different types of soap.”

  “I shower every day,” Nathan claims. Vincent laughs at this and points at Nathan with his cigarette.

  “See?” Vincent says. “You are a liar.” The three of us share a laugh and Vincent looks out at the garden. “I shower every day,” he mocks Nathan in a mutter and starts on yet another glass of wine.

  “Whiskey,” I suddenly say, and Nathan actually starts to pour me some.

  “No, no,”—I hold a hand up, politely protesting—“I mean you smell of whiskey,” I point at Nathan. “You taste of it. And Vincent tastes like wine. And, Vincent, you use some kind of peppermint smelling soap and Nathan uses one that smells like the beach in the morning.

  Nathan has grown quiet as if he’s no longer interested in the response I’m giving to his own inquiry.

  What is he thinking right now? Is he thinking about his nightmares? Is he wishing they would stop? Is he afraid to go to sleep tonight? Does he want me to hold him? Maybe Vincent is right, maybe he is obsessing over something dark from his childhood that he should just let go. Things can’t grow when you do this.

  “Nathan?”

  He looks at me with those wonderful brand-new pennies for eyes and his black hair flows down in his face.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure,” he says, and gulps his whiskey. Vincent drinks his wine, and I watch them both as they sit there in all their silent, deadly handsomeness, wondering what the two of them are thinking.

  “Asiatic black lilies,” Nathan suddenly says. “That’s the flower I would grow.”

  I become obsessed with finding out everything I can about said flower, so much so that in the middle of the night, I get up and go on the Internet and look it up. It’s a beautiful lily, but it’s very dark and looks a bit vulnerable, like its petals might fall off from the slightest touch or little insects that mean to do it harm. I wonder what it smells like. I think about dark musty kinds of cologne, like the kind that Nathan wears sometimes. It just kind of clings to his clothes, and in the morning I smell that way.

  Vincent

  I wake up to find the space between Nathan and myself empty. Isadora is gone. I get up and quickly check Isadora's chambers. She's not in her bathroom or dressing room. When I come back to the bedroom Nathan is awake, stretching.

  “Where's Isadora?” He asks.

  “I don't know. I’ve searched her rooms.”

  Nathan sits up in bed looking worried. “Do you think Ileana’s done something to her?”

  “Who knows what Ileana is capable of,” I say

  “We need to find Isadora?”

  I agree. Nathan and I dress quickly.

  “It's evening, and the palace is quiet. We can't have the servants go looking for her; it will cause a fuss, and it may make Ileana suspicious,” Nathan says.

  “It will take forever for just the two of us to search the entire palace, and god knows what Ileana could do to her by that time.” I try not to think about what could happen, but I have no doubt that if Ileana has to, she’ll kill Isadora, and Nathan and I would make easy targets for the blame. Ileana would still win, and we simply can’t let that happen. “How does Ileana usually spend her evenings?” I
’m certain Nathan’s operatives have given him the answer to this question.

  “Usually she spends them outside of the palace. What she does is something even my best operatives weren’t able to ascertain,” Nathan says.

  “What about Theresa?” I ask.

  “The queen's secretary?” He raises a brow.

  “Remember Isadora said some of her mother's staff aren't as loyal as she thinks.”

  “Do you think she’ll tell us anything?”

  “I can usually get people to tell me what I want to know,” I say.

  Nathan quickly summons Theresa to the Royal Chambers. She looks even smaller than I remember. Perhaps it’s the lack of high heels and the fluffy pink robe that looks like it’s going to swallow her.

  “Good evening, your highnesses,” she says giving us both a small bow.

  “Theresa”—Nathan begins—“we need your help.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says.

  “Where is the queen?” Nathan asks.

  “Right now?” Theresa says, shifting from foot to foot, looking from Nathan to me.

  I fold my arms across my chest and give her a stern look. She looks away from me and back to Nathan.

  “I'm not sure. It's late, maybe she's in bed.” This girl is a terrible liar.

  “Theresa,” I say in my most intimidating voice, the one that makes battle-hardened generals cower, and “you’re a terrible liar. I’m going to ask you again. I know you know the answer. Where is the queen?” Theresa doesn’t flinch, hell she doesn’t even blink.

  “My apologies, lying isn’t one of my strengths. I shouldn’t have tried it.”

  “Answer the question, Theresa?” I say, stepping into her personal space and looking her right in the eyes. She doesn’t step back as she meets my gaze with an equally determined look of her own.

  “Princess Isadora told me not to tell either of you where she is, and telling you the queen’s location would do that. So I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. It doesn’t look like good prince bad prince is going to work. Clearly, Theresa is tougher than she looks, and I suspect that’s by design.

  “Isadora's life might depend on you telling us,” Nathan says.

  “Your lives may depend on me keeping me silent,” she says.

  “Surely we aren't worth more to you than Isadora,” I chide.

  Theresa is polite enough not to agree, but I can see in her eyes she’s torn. I know that she and Isadora have been friends since childhood, and I don’t think she wants to see Isadora torn any more than we do.

  “With all due respect, you’re right. Princess Isadora means more to me than either of you do. I’m sorry, I won’t betray the trust of the princess for anyone, not even the two of you.”

  “You would let her die?” I ask.

  “I don't think she'll be the one to die,” Theresa challenges, folding her arms across her chest. She glances up at the antique clock on the wall, it’s seconds from striking midnight.

  “She's not going to tell us anything,” Nathan says.

  Theresa glances at the clock again. “Of course not, I think she’s stalling for time.”

  The clock strikes twelve.

  “She asked me to, as a friend. Isadora said to give her a half hour and then give you this.” She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a piece of Isadora’s stationery.

  Nathan take sit from her and dismisses her. We read the note together.

  My darling husbands,

  I know that you love and want to protect me from my mother, but you can't. No one can. I have to deal with my mother alone. Know that I love you both with all my heart, and you've made me the happiest I've ever been in my life. Please understand this is something that I have to do alone, not just for myself but for my father. I love you always.

  Yours,

  Isadora.

  Nathan throws the note down into the fireplace and growls. We both know immediately where Isadora’s gone. I see my own worry reflected in his eyes at the thought of Isadora confronting someone as dangerous and treacherous as Ileana alone. Nathan and I race to pool house as quickly as we can hoping we’re not too late.

  Isadora

  My blue dress drags across the white marble tiles of the corridor leading to the pool room. The hallway seems shorter now, though I know it hasn’t changed. I haven't been here since the night my father died. I had to come here tonight. I have to face my mother. I can't let Nathan and Vincent fight a battle that's mine. I'm not going to stand idly by while my mother has them killed so she can have more power.

  Over the years I've tried to convince myself that it wasn't true. That I was a child half-awake from my nightmare, and what I’d seen was my imagination. I didn’t want to believe that the mother, who dried my tears at my father's funeral, could have been the cause of his death. For twenty long years I tried to lie to myself. What else could I do? I had no proof; I was a child, but I'm not a child now. I step into the pool room, the white marble glowing blue illuminated only by the underwater light of the pool.

  “Isadora,” my mother says, smiling as she steps out of the pool, dripping water on the white tiles. It may as well be blood. “I'm surprised to see you here. I'd think two husbands would keep you more than busy,” she laughs. I just walk toward her until we’re standing face to face.

  "I needed to be alone," I say

  “Oh they're not fighting, are they?” she asks, turning to pick up a towel and dry her hair. “I’d hoped that marrying you would help them get along,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder.

  The lie, the false concern in her voice, causes something in me to snap. “You'd like that wouldn't you?

  “What?” my mother questions, feigning innocence. “I'd like what?”

  “For my husbands to be fighting, of course.” I let the bitterness I feel creep into my voice.

  “What are you talking about, Isadora?” she asks with exasperation.

  I can’t believe the audacity, as if I’m not sick of her lies, her schemes, her betrayals; as if I’m not sick to death of her. “You know exactly what I'm talking about,” I say. “I’m sure you hope they're fighting each other right now. I know you hope they're killing each other.”

  “Isadora, don't be childish. Why would I want that?”

  “It would save you the cost of Alex Richter, if one of them killed the other. I do believe Alex is quite expensive.” I watch my mother's eyes grow cold and her mask of sweetness fall, replaced in an instant by the face I saw twenty years ago.

  She steps toward me. “How did you find out about that?”

  “That's not important,” I say, “but it's true isn't it?”

  “Yes,” she admits. At least she doesn't try to lie. “Isadora, this entire region could be ours. Think what we could do. You're smarter and more compassionate as ruler than the two of them could ever be. A schemer and a warmonger, they’ll tear the nations apart. I only want what's best for everyone.”

  “You only want what's best for you!” I spit back. “You and I both know you'd never let me rule.”

  “You're not fit to rule, Isadora. To be a ruler takes strength, takes cunning. It takes a killer instinct that you'll never have. You're a silly child, and if you get in my a you'll end up-”

  “Like my father,” I interject. I watch as her eyes go wide and fill with a level of hatred I’ve never seen. I wonder if my own eyes look the same way. “Oh, I know.” I feel twenty years of rage unfold. “I remember the way you held him under the water. He was your husband! He was my father! Didn’t you love him?” I’m screaming now, all my anger pouring out of me. “How could you?”

  My mother looks at me calmly, coldly. “I didn't marry your father for love. I married him for power, and when we got in the way of that I decided he was disposable.” My mother steps toward me “Just like you.”

  My mother’s hands are around my throat in an instant. She squeezes tightly, her nails diggi
ng into my neck. I struggle, but her grip is like irons. I can feel my vision going dark. I throw my weight backward, and we both plunge into the pool. My mother’s grip loosens as the cool blue water rushes up around us. I pull away from her and propel myself upward, gasping for air as I break through the surface. I try to pull myself up on the edge but my mother is grabbing my legs, pulling me under again.

  I kick free, and this time I manage to grab the ladder and climb up, heaving myself onto the floor my chest collapsing as I gasp for air. I turn to look for my mother and see her head rising just above the edge of the pool, and I struggle to stand.

  “Isadora.” She says my name like it’s poison on her tongue, as if she hates the taste of it as much as she hates me. “You're an obstacle just like your father, and you’re going to end up exactly like him.”

  She lunges forward, trying to get her hands around my throat again. I push her away with all of my strength, and suddenly everything around me seems to happen in slow motion as she loses her balance and falls back. The base of her skull hits the steel of the ladder with a sickening crack. I watch open mouthed as her lifeless body slips into the pool. I fall to my knees, sobbing with a mixture of relief and regret. It’s over.

  “Isadora! Isadora!” I hear, and I look up and see Nathan and Vincent standing in the doorway staring down at me.

  Nathan

  Vincent and I enter the pool room calling Isadora's name. We both stop short when we see Ileana's lifeless body floating in the blue water of the pool. We rush to Isadora's side and help her to her feet. We hold her close. I don't ask how it happened because it doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that Isadora is safe and that I can trust her and Vincent with my life. Over Isadora's head I can see that Vincent looks as relieved as I feel.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, noticing the bruises on her throat.

  “I'll be fine,” she says, “but we do have to explain . . .” She gestures to the pool.

  “Don't worry,” I say.