Every eye in the room turned toward me, some completely shocked, probably because I had done such a good job of staying under The Gate’s radar that everyone just assumed “anonymous” would forever be my state of being.
“I was.” I started stacking up some of the tablets we had been using during our strategy session. “But it’s okay. I’m fine.”
“I’m going to stay by your side,” Kobe insisted, his voice all sexy and protective. As much as I appreciated the gesture, there was no way I was going to allow him to do anything of the sort.
“No you are not. You are my lead on this and you will head up the team in Malaysia, just as we planned.”
“I can lead them from here,” he countered.
“No, Kobe.” I shook my head and frowned. “You cannot and you will not. You will leave today with Che and that’s that. We’re not discussing it further.”
He started to protest and I held up my hand, demanding his silence and obedience. And he knew he could either listen to me or deal with Death because if he continued down the road he was on, that’s where it would lead.
“Juma,” he persisted.
“No.” I’d heard enough and the tone of his voice made me nervous and reminded me of all the evil all of the pain headed my way, but as quickly as my nerves escalated so, too, did they calm and I backed off my sharp tone. “Really, I promise. I am going to be fine. I’ve been assigned, but my Keeper has not made themselves known at all so maybe they will maybe they won’t. In the meanwhile, we all have a job to do for this good woman placed into our care so please, spread out and let’s get rolling.”
I touched Kobe’s hand, entwined our fingers for a moment, and kissed his cheek, allowing my lips to linger on his skin a beat longer than I would with most others. We shared a past, and a present, days and nights enjoying each other, but we also shared a job, a most difficult one to pull off successfully, and I needed him leading my team. He pulled me close and I tensed. “No,” I insisted, “please, just go and do your job and I will do mine.” He studied me for a second, kissed me, and left. I watched as the rest of the team filed out after him, heading off to far reaches around the globe, working toward one goal: reclamation.
Empty of all life and gadgetry, the room fell into a peaceful hush. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me, the rare silence, the comforting stillness. I breathed deeply, filled my lungs to near-bursting capacity, then exhaled long and slow and hoped to rid myself of the trappings of the day, my assignment, my life.
Him.
Dutch.
As soon as his darkness entered my consciousness, I opened my eyes and snorted in frustration, made for the door and my escape, desperate for some fresh air on my skin in my lungs, some freedom. Exiting the Hudson Street loft, I stood on the steps and scanned the night, looking, listening, feeling for anything untoward or out of place.
I then looked again for her—Death—because she had been scarce for days and although I no longer yearned for her touch, her approval, she was a hard habit to break and her absence did not go unnoticed. Certain I was alone and safe and not being followed, I then looked again, for him.
Dutch.
Because I could not help myself and wanted nothing more than to wish him out of the shadows, knowing I was foolish for letting him into my blood and under my skin the way I had but understanding it was too late, I was too far gone.
I had spoken his name.
That encounter now felt like a hundred moons ago, another lifetime, another woman. For weeks afterward I hadn’t let anyone near me, hadn’t touched another, but I could only go so long and although no one set my skin afire by drawing a simple breath across my jaw the way he did, there were plenty of men and women who knew how to fuck there were plenty of men and women who reveled in touch there were plenty of men and women who wanted my touch and would not cringe when I neared.
And I enjoyed all of them.
Partly as a way to forget him but also because the Keepers were coming were around any corner up any staircase down any tunnel. And I needed to be prepared. I could not wait for him to learn to love me the way I needed to be loved, one, because he didn’t, and two, because he couldn’t.
Dutch.
I fucking hated knowing his name.
My cell phone pulled me out of my head and I checked the screen before swiping the glass opening the lines of communication.
“Ma.”
“Hi, sweetness”—her deep voice immediately soothed me—“how are you, baby?”
“I’m good,” I lied, “a little tired but whatever.”
“You sound . . .” Her voice trailed off as she thought of something, perhaps trying to find the right words, gentle words. “Not yourself.”
And for some reason, maybe it was her tone or the care with which she spoke, I felt the need for once to be honest with her to come clean to open myself.
“I’m rather out of sorts,” I admitted and she waited for me to continue, knowing it was rare to get personal details from me, fearful that if she spoke I would retreat into myself and her chance for some honesty would be lost again.
“I met a man,” I half-truthed her because he wasn’t the only thing turning me inside out but she didn’t need to know about the Keepers. No parent needed to know their child was being hunted day and night by deranged killers. “And I worry he will be the death of me.”
Ma shifted and I could tell she was smiling her slight smile, the one that almost curved her lip and was so goddamn sexy. It was the smile that stole my da from whoever was wrapping themselves around him before my ma sauntered into the room and captured his heart. “Are you in love? Has my Juma of the wandering eye been captured?”
I couldn’t help chuckling even though my situation was hardly laughable, definitely not joy inducing, and if she knew how he’d turned me away from him and almost fucked me blind, she wouldn’t laugh either. But that was not the kind of information one gave their ma no matter how honest how open they were trying to be and so instead I smiled and presented another half-truth.
“He did catch my eye,” I acknowledged, “but I’m not sure my wandering has been cured.”
She sighed. “Of course not.”
“Oh, Ma, don’t sound so put upon.” I sat down in my windowsill and watched the street below. “If you knew him, you might not be so eager for me to stop wandering and settle on him.”
“If I knew him, you would have already moved onto the next one.”
I laughed because she was right.
“Juma.” She suddenly sounded quite serious. “Just don’t let him steal your shine. He might be dark and dangerous and not the type you bring home to your da and me, and I understand that. You’re thirty-five years old, for heaven’s sake. But just promise me whatever his despair, don’t let it drown you.”
I sat for a moment, quiet, thoughtful.
“How did you . . .” I didn’t finish my question. “How could you?”
“I just do,” my ma replied. “I, too, am a woman and know the ways of a dangerous love and as much as I would rather you avoid some of the roads I’ve travelled, I also understand I cannot protect you from everything. But I can instill nuggets of wisdom, little pieces of me so sometimes you won’t have to be me, that girl who allowed another to steal her shine.”
“Oh, Ma.” My eyes filled with tears.
“And then your da found me and all that was forgotten.”
I wiped my eyes and felt a sudden restlessness shake my soul. I needed to be out in the streets among throbbing humanity—this is what spending a day surrounded by Deaders and Alighters and all the trappings of my job did to me.
I needed to fuck.
“I love you, Ma.”
“I love you, too, Juma,” she replied, knowing our time was at a close, my voice hinting at my sudden need to escape. “Call me tomorrow, sweetness.”
I blew a kiss through the phone and ended our call. My apartment was too warm and as I paced the kitchen I inched out of my T-shirt thankfu
l for the cool simplicity of my tank and panties. As much as I would have liked to remain so scantily attired, I pulled on a skirt and slipped into some flats, stuffed my credit card and some cash into my clutch, and headed for the street.
“Miss Landry.” My building security guard Oscar eyed me as I passed his station. “I know you’re not hitting those streets alone at this hour of the night.”
“Oh, Oscar.” I turned back and smiled. “Are you ever going to stop worrying about me?”
“It’s damn near two in the morning, woman,” he called after me.
“My favorite time to play,” I replied as I pushed open the door and walked onto the landing outside the building. The streets were deserted and just like I liked them. I rubbed the steel bars of the bicycle rack, gave them some good loving, and then headed for the restaurants along Washington Street, knowing just where to look for the perfect person to bring me out of my head.
Tonight I wanted a blond banker type—difficult to find in this city of dark and darker, but I would settle for dirty blond so long as he was tall and his eyes were brown and he had a nice smile. Of course, he could just as easily be a she although most blonde shes did nothing for me and were usually bypassed for the stunner with the dark eyes dark hair full mouth big tits.
But back to him.
He also needed to have nice hands and an easygoing way about him that suggested confidence and power and the ability to toss around a command in the bedroom without being an abusive asshole because tonight I wanted someone to dominate me control me take away all of my strength and turn it back on me in lust and desire and heat.
And I wanted him to be light in each and every place that Dutch was dark. I needed that.
So I headed to Tabac and took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink and I waited because if there was one thing I knew it was that men could not resist a beautiful woman in a barely-there shirt, no bra, sitting alone at a bar, enjoying a bourbon, neat, no fucking rocks, no nothing.
“Hey there.” He leaned close, ordered a Yamazaki 12, smiled, and took a seat. He didn’t ask if the seat was open and he didn’t come at me with a line, just a simple hello and that blond hair and I was sold. My pussy heated and I wondered if he could smell my desire because I sure as hell could.
“Hi,” I replied and sipped my drink, watching him all the while. The bartender set a glass in front of him and poured. He swirled the contents for a second, his hands swallowing the glass, took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“That’s good.”
I eyed him over my glass and smiled. His hair was kind of messy, as if once upon a time he surfed or skateboarded and was just a little wilder and looser than he was today and it fell into his eyes real sexy-like and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through it.
“Yeah?” I asked as I turned slightly toward him and he turned toward me and our knees hit and the jolt of that touch heated me everywhere.
“Yeah.” His eyes darkened as he studied me then leaned closer, placing his hand on my thigh so high and so close to where I really wanted his hand. “But I’m guessing not nearly as good as you.”
“Nothing tastes as good as me.”
“Except my dick in your mouth,” he whispered and his lips his warm breath touched the shell of my ear and my panties were rendered useless.
“Your dick in my mouth is a close second.” I smiled as my lips grazed his jaw, my breath warm on his skin. “Trust me on this.”
And he did because he never asked me to suck his dick but he dined on my pussy for hours and it was otherworldly. Because for a little while a mere bit of my existence a moment I did not think of the dark soul who haunted my dreams and thoughts I did not consider the man who hated touching me but was the only one I really wanted to touch.
I did not crave Dutch. At all.
And as I walked home I smiled and felt happy and light.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DUTCH
I was home for two fucking days before those assholes came calling. I thought it was strange they were at my spot but answered the door anyway. All the while, a part of my mind screamed, “Don’t do it, Dutch!” By then it was too late and they were inside, ripping my place apart before they pounced on me.
Literally. With every weapon at their disposal.
I was going to have to start listening to my inner voice more often, especially when it came to those two psychos, I thought to myself as I returned to consciousness and looked around the apartment through a haze of pain and agony. My insides were on fire, my bones were broken, I was more blood and tissue and muscle than I was intact skin.
And my balls.
Jesus.
They should have just cut them off, because they sure as hell wouldn’t work after having a meat tenderizer taken to them.
Rani and James, my favorite duo, sent to handle me, no doubt, by my doting father. Which was crazy because I’d just cleaned up Rani’s mess, but that counted for nothing. At least not with my father, because “handling” in his world would have been to kill the Poocha and kill the Keeper, and since I refused to do the latter I, in turn, needed to be handled. And Rani and James loved handling me—I was their goddamned favorite target.
Fuck them, I thought as I reached for my smokes and touched my eye. Goddamn. It was amazing I still had an eyeball. I touched the skin around the socket, finding one of the cuts so deep I could feel bone. It would take forever to heal, but they knew this when they did it to me and they didn’t care.
I punched some numbers into my cell and waited.
“What did you tell them?” I asked.
“Who?” Avery wondered.
“James and Rani and my goddamned father, you stupid fuck.”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Why? What did they do to you?”
“You mean what didn’t they do to me.” I lit my smoke and inhaled. “They didn’t kill me. Just get them to back off, Ave. I need a moment. Or two.”
I didn’t wait for his reply before ending the call. I didn’t need to hear it. I just needed him to take care of them. Not forever, but for the time being. I rolled over and gingerly pushed up onto all fours, my legs and torso screaming in pain, my balls making it difficult to breathe, then dragged myself across the floor and pulled up onto the kitchen counter. I splayed my upper body across the cold stone of the countertop, needing a moment to focus and control the pain. Once I could master it, make it mine, I could move forward.
Sometime later I was showered and clean but still battered, a state of being that was both physical and spiritual, but rather than sit still and try to speed up the healing process, I snatched my keys off the table, along with my smokes and flask, and hit the street. It was dark and quiet and the warm air was a welcome balm to my battered body. I sunk into myself and walked.
For the first time in ages, I was alone with my thoughts.
I was never my parents’ favorite child but as I grew older and excelled as a Keeper, quickly becoming one of The Gate’s best, I noticed my father’s ire growing exponentially. It began with the Kajal business and my refusal to stay away from her, but evolved into something altogether different, quite sinister and sick. Once upon a time I had been inquisitive and wondered as to the roots of our breach and whether it could be repaired, so much that I dared question him about his actions toward me, only to be met with his temper and fury and fists, and later his henchmen. It was my first lesson in this fucked-up game of lives, and what began as quiet disdain quickly grew into utter hatred for each other.
My father wanted me to become Ren, but on his terms—corrupt, cruel, and violent with my fellow Keepers—something I could not would not do. So he used those psychotic fucks, Rani and James, to press the issue, as if ripping me to shreds every couple of weeks was the best way to get his message across.
And he wondered why I wanted nothing to do with him, the Ren, or The Gate.
I shook my head and swigged some Scout as I made my way down the street, comforted by the darkn
ess as I wandered aimlessly, clearing my head, wondering if I would ever be able to similarly cleanse my soul. I stopped at the corner of Hudson and Chambers and leaned against the building to catch my breath and still the pain. A bit of blood trickled down my thigh and I wondered whether I was also bleeding internally, slowly dying without even knowing. I touched my stomach in various places as I searched for a tender spot, a sign of being more fucked up than I appeared. Satisfied I would survive the night with my insides intact, I gingerly sat down in the dim stairwell to my left and hoped that taking some pressure off my legs would stanch the flow of blood from my too-numerous-to-count wounds.
A swish of color—purple—from the corner of my eye and I turned, forever captivated by the hue as it reminded me of freedom and laughter and youth, things I hadn’t known in longer than I cared to remember or admit. And fuck if I didn’t stop breathing, right then and there. Short hair, brown skin, a revealing shirt, a perfect ass.
Juma.
I hadn’t seen her in months and if my dick worked, it would have been begging for release, as it did whenever she was near. Instead, my black, cold, fucked-up heart crept into my throat and threatened to suffocate me right then and there on that pissy stairwell. She was walking west and without thinking, I pulled myself up and followed, wondering where she was headed at this hour and with such purpose.
Tabac.
She opened the door and the silver bangles on her arms jangled, the sound both delicate and fucking sexy as hell. I leaned against a mailbox outside the bar and watched as she wove through the crowd of Wall Street types, powerful men seeking twentysomething blonde, waif-thin models, the exact opposite of Juma with all of her brown skin and those hips meant for pure wickedness. She was so goddamned beautiful, and the banker fucks couldn’t help stopping and staring as she passed. I smiled as she ignored all of them but I still wanted to kill each of them for even contemplating her.
She took a seat at the bar and her ass on that stool did all kinds of crazy shit to me and as she leaned forward to place her order, I imagined pushing up her skirt and sliding her panties to the side and fucking her up and down that bar top until it was covered in nothing but our sweat and come. She sipped her drink and I calmed a bit, and then it happened.
Dutch Page 14
