“You have a family to think of. We have somewhere we can go, back to Paris.”
“And what about all the people who have nowhere to go? All the victims?”
“You’re a reporter for God’s sake. Your job is to report it not fix it.”
“I’m also a man. With a conscience.”
“You go for days at a time,” she ranted over him. “I never know when you’re coming home. If you’re coming home. I just want to go back to Paris …” She started to cry.
His father shook his head. Hands on hips, he stared down at the carpet for what seemed like the longest time.
“You should go.” He looked back up at his wife. “You should go back to France.”
“Come with me.” Her eyes shone as she pleaded.
“I can’t. I have a moral obligation.” His father’s eyes shone with a different fervor.
His mother recoiled. “If I go, I’m never coming back, Iman. If you make me leave alone, I’m gone for good.”
“That, Claire, is up to you.”
“You’ll die here. We’ll all die here.”
“Sometimes we have to risks to do what is right.”
“You selfish, selfish man.” Her words turned angry and bitter. “And to think, I loved you …”
The accusation hung festering in the air as his father unflinchingly stood his ground.
Her eyes narrowed, the beautiful blue of them turning hard and cold. “Fine.”
With that one word, the war had finally entered their house.
“The boy and I will leave tomorrow, at first light.”
As long as you’re here waiting for me, I’ll always come home.
“We can’t leave,” Jericho blurted.
His mother turned to look at him. “Don’t be sil—”
“Let him decide, Claire.”
“Iman, he is a boy. A child.”
“He is of age. He can make his own decisions.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“Don’t fight me on this. The law is on my side.”
She turned back to Jerricho, trying to sound calm, but the quaver gave her away. “It’s too dangerous—”
The swelling above her eye was angry and raw, even the eyelid looked lazy. If she left, she’d be safe in France with her family … but his father …
Jerricho shook his head, squaring back his shoulders, trying to be brave. “They don’t see me as an outsider. I’m going to stay with Father and help.” He wanted to give the man a reason to come home.
His mother shook her head. “Mon fils, non.” The whisper was hoarse as she looked at him with horrified eyes.
Betrayed.
She looked at him as if she felt betrayed.
His gut churned. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his father didn’t need him. Maybe his mother needed him the most. He made to move from the fire to hug her, but his father put his hand on his shoulder, holding him put, fingers biting into his tender flesh and bone, but the pain seemed insignificant.
“Please. Please, tell him to come with me. Let me take the boy …”
“The madness will end, and when it does, we will need good men to rebuild Persia.”
She stood there still shaking her head in ritualistic denial.
“Mama …” He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry.
But she looked through him as he stood there, torn.
***
Torn.
Like now.
“No” Scarlet curled herself around him. “You’re not leaving.”
“Shh.” His arms automatically wrapped around her as she clung to him.
He picked her up, walked with her, and sank into the deep window seat in the breakfast corner. He leaned back against the wall, acutely aware of the feel of her in his arms, soft and feminine.
Scarlet molded herself to him, despite the damp of his cold clothes, as if she could anchor him down with sheer will.
He didn’t want to go, but she was wrong, he didn’t really have a choice.
Scarlet or himself? Either way he’d lose.
She cried with a weariness he felt, and he let it play out. Something inside of him yearned to be grieved.
When the hiccup of dry sobs racked her body, he placed a kiss on the top of her head just to inhale her scent. He would remember all these details and play them back when he felt lost.
“You can’t leave me. We fit. All of us, we fit.” She yawned.
“Shh. Sleep.” He stroked her hair, watching her eyelashes flutter as the grip on his T-shirt tightened.
“You can’t leave.” So sleepy and tonight she needed to perform.
“Shh.” There was no point in arguing. He was too tired, and she felt too good.
Thirty-Two
Scarlet stood under the Opera House stage lights and stared into the dark. Thousands of eyes were peering at her from that dark and she couldn’t see anyone. But she could feel them. Feel their anticipation. The energy crawled over her skin. Instead of exciting her, she shivered.
The first flash stunned her.
And then there was another and another and another.
Blinding flares, and for a moment, she was back in that room, the hood being pulled from her head, the voice telling her no one was going to hear her scream, the bone crushing grip on her wrist as they flattened her hand.
She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t do this.
It was too much too soon. She wasn’t ready …
She closed her eyes.
There are worse crimes.
Like?
Like not doing what you love.
All this time Jerricho’s couldn’t do what he loved, and she could.
The crowd rustled, their energy no longer patient.
She blew out a deep breath. Slow, as if blowing out candles and making a wish.
The music started, she’d forgotten to signal and they’d pushed ahead.
She opened her eyes, the lights changed with the set illuminating the first three rows. Eyes searching, she knew where to look. There. Killian and Jerricho sat in the middle of the second row.
Soul food for the eyes.
Power and strength … and love. Everything she needed to make her feel safe.
Everything she needed.
The fear was gone. All was good and right.
Everything had come together.
She’d survived. She and Killian had survived.
Jerricho was still here.
Daniel would be happy for her. For all of them. He’d always said the music of life was bigger than any one tune.
It was time for a new song.
She thrust her hip to the side on the beat of the drum, curled her hand around the microphone bringing it closer to her lips. The crowd’s energy shifted. Song swelled on the tide of anticipation and filled her lungs.
Yes, everything was perfect.
***
As soon as the show ended, Killian split from Jerricho and left the concert hall to go outside. He walked down the steps, across the forecourt along the harbor to the point where the open plaza met the road.
Hands in pockets, he waited until Eli rolled down the cul-de-sac on his Harley. The loud thumping of the engine as it crawled to a stop drew as much attention from the tourists as the dichotomy of him in his tuxedo standing there talking a tattooed man.
Eli kicked the stand but stayed straddling the seat as he removed his helmet. “You surprise me.”
“You keep flirting with me, Eli, but I’m off the market.”
Eli laughed and then shook his head. “Ten months of busting my balls to find him.” His attention followed as a ferry sailed past them and into Circular Quay. “I thought you and Romeo had big plans.”
Killian watched the boat with him. “Scar.” She was always his reason. “Plans change.”
“Well, never fuck with the wisdom of women.” Eli looked up at the sky. “Beautiful clear night.” The man dropped his gaze to looked Killian in the eye. “Am I c
ollecting dead or alive?”
“Plans change but not that much. Romeo won’t see tomorrow’s sunset.”
“I’ll let crematorium know.”
“I want the ashes.” It turned out Romeo was still going to be buried in a small box.
Eli nodded.
For a fleeting second, Killian had a strange sense of weightlessness. It was the same sensation he’d felt with Scarlet last night when he’d made her the promise. A sense of release.
It was time to move on.
Eli turned to look at the Opera House. “How’d she go tonight?”
“She was perfect.” Killian smiled.
“I heard her sing once. I stopped by the hospital after they’d taken the bullet out of your chest. Even with the drugs, you were restless. She sat there singing to you until you stilled.”
“I don’t remember,” He said hoarsely, absently rubbing his palm over his chest.
“You were pretty drugged up.”
He’d always thought she hadn’t sung since Daniel, but it was the hospital. After the hospital, they had never been the same.
Because of him.
Because loving him came in one flavor, fucked up. Even in the good times.
He let the hurt bloom in his chest and settle.
The ache was so familiar; in some ways, he didn’t know how to function without it.
“What about Black?” Eli was back on business.
Killian cleared his throat. “When do we get the papers?”
“I’m picking them up tonight. Lovely air hostess couriering them in directly from France.” Eli winked.
Killian laughed.
“You said you wanted authentic. I’ll drop them off tomorrow.”
He nodded. He looked down at his watch. They’d had the long drive back to the farm. He’d considered staying in Sydney overnight, Sarah had the house ready for them, but Scar wanted the Romeo gone.
Right now, it was all about Scar.
Tomorrow he’d deal with Black.
***
Jerricho made his way backstage to Scarlet. The door to the room was open as people milled in and out, and he nodded at them as he entered.
Scarlet sat in front of the long wall mirror talking to the woman he’d met before the show, her agent. On top of the bench next to them sat a bright bouquet of tulips.
Killian.
She had everything she needed again.
He was the piece that didn’t belong.
The agent stood and Scarlet looked up, she smiled at his reflection in the mirror as she saw him.
Warmth stirred his chest stirred, a bittersweet ache.
“Hailey was just telling me she’s already been approached with an offer. Another show.” Scarlet’s eyes glistened with possibility. “I like live. Records are impersonal, but the stage … I love the connection with the audience. I almost lost them at the start of tonight, though.” She laughed.
“You were sublime.” She was. His siren.
She swiveled around to face him. “It’s because of you.”
“What?”
“You make me feel strong. I feel like I wouldn’t be here tonight if not for you.”
He smiled. “I think you’re overestimating my contribution.”
“No.” She shook her head, got up, and walked over to him.
She curled her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist.
“You fell into my life just at the right time.” She went up on tiptoes and lightly brushed her mouth over his lips.
Just as he was about to kiss her, Killian walked in.
“Big night.” The man smiled at his wife. “We should get on the road.”
Jerricho gently lowered Scarlet back onto the balls of her feet.
The air turned cold as he moved back from her warm body. He looked at Killian and nodded.
It was time to let go.
Thirty-Three
The ride back to the farm was quiet, Jerricho was mentally preparing for what came next. He sat in the front of the car next to Killian while the man drove, he seemed just as wrapped up in his own thoughts. Scarlet slept curled up on the back seat. A few hours sleep was a good idea; Jerricho would be on the road again soon.
At least, he’d manage to catch a few hours this morning. Holding Scar in the window seat should’ve been uncomfortable, but there was nowhere he’d rather have been, and war had taught him how to sleep sitting up.
Killian had roused them up around midday. He’d felt a presence and woken to the man sitting at the table across the room watching them. It should have been uncomfortable, but somehow it wasn’t. It wasn’t strange when a housekeeper came in moments later and made them all something to eat. They’d eaten together, discussing mundane logistics of returning to Sydney for the concert, their plans for the rest of the day—the domestic rhythm of an ordinary house on an ordinary day.
Now there was a new tension as the car turned into the drive, creeping up to the farmhouse. Killian got out of the car and gently woke Scarlet. Jerricho followed them inside.
“Why don’t you head up to the room?” Killian kissed Scarlet’s ear as he started to undo his bow tie.
She lifted her hair, and he pulled the zipper to midway down her back—a wordless exchange between a couple who’d done this a hundred times.
This time, Jerricho stood there as the outsider.
Scarlet would be fine without him.
Instead of easing the ache in his chest, it twisted into something sharper.
He watched her climb the rising steps, her swaying in the svelte gold curtain of her dress, the gold lace of the bodice parting for the show as her hand caught and inched the zip lower until the gown slipped from her hips in a cascade of gold lace and satin. The sculpted line of her back implied delicacy and belied her strength. Another memory to collect.
And then it hit him.
This would be the last time he’d see her.
This was their goodbye.
For a moment, all the strength left his body. His chest burned for the inevitable loss.
“We should all go to bed,” Killian said softly.
Jerricho nodded mutely.
Killian stretched out his hand to him.
An invitation?
For a moment, the gesture didn’t make sense.
He wiped one hand over his eyes, but Killian was still waiting. The tension he’d sensed in the car, sat between them in the form of anticipation.
Jerricho’s heart quickened.
He should say no.
He should go to his room and get ready to go.
He should say yes and kiss Scarlet goodbye.
“In a minute.” He kept the tremor out of his voice but couldn’t keep it out of his hand. “I just need some water.”
Killian nodded and turned.
Jerricho raised his trembling hand and squeezed the back of his neck. He needed something stronger than water—a moment to compose himself, to run through the reasons why this would never work.
To find his strength.
Jerricho walked to the bedroom. Memories. He would take memories and then he’d leave. His conviction was reaffirmed with every step. Every step, that took him closer to where his heart wanted to go.
The door pushed open, the walls were covered in moody shadows, a lamp in the far corner that threw off a weak golden light. But it was the vision of the naked couple on the bed that set the tone.
Scarlet lay on her back with knees bent and Killian’s head between her thighs. Her head dangled off the bed, eyes opening as he entered, as if she felt his presence. Her slow, sinful smile was cut short by a gasp as her fingers curled in her husband’s hair.
She drew the fingers of her free hand up her body to circle her breast. Lazy eyelids sank closed as she bit her bottom lip.
Jerricho walked over unseen as she squeezed the plump mound, pushing them up as if in offering. He leaned down and took the erect nipple into his mouth.
Smell. Feel. Taste.
&n
bsp; He sank into the sensations, soaked them in. Every detail, every nuance filled him with the richness of Scarlet.
Unable to resist the growing ache in his jaws, he sucked.
“Oh God.” She arched up, pressing against his lips.
He smiled as he held the tight bud between his teeth, scraping them against the flesh and making her shiver.
Her body was so responsive to the smallest things he could tease her with the barest of touches for hours. But he didn’t have the luxury of hours tonight …
He bit down and her shiver became a buck against Killian’s mouth.
Her husband grabbed her hips and clamped them down.
They had her at their mercy. Pinned. Overwhelmed.
Her chest puffed in short, harsh bursts as she lay there panting.
Jerricho flicked his tongue over the nipple as Killian’s thumbs brushed over her hipbones.
The smallest of touches.
Killian pulled his mouth away and blew air over her wet sex.
Scarlet made that sweet, helpless noise. The noise Jerricho loved. The noise that meant she was falling over into surrender. The noise that made him hard.
And hard came with pain.
He bit down even more, pinching the sensitive flesh cruelly between his teeth, crushing her nipple until she cried out in pleasure.
He closed his mouth around the tortured tip, soothing wet heat to balm stinging nerves, and he could feel her sink back into the mattress, into the false security of the tenderness of the moment.
He sucked. Punishingly.
The pull was no longer soft. Jerricho ruthlessly tugged on all her throbbing nerves, a sharp sensation, deliberately drawing all of her attention into that one point, her world existing between his lips, against his tongue.
The power was seductive.
With heavy lids, he watched Killian spread her pussy lips to expose her engorged clit, the ghost of air making her mewl. The sound was drawn from her lungs as the man leaned in and sucked the swollen node into his mouth.
She screamed. The raw ecstasy in her voice.
A warm rush of pleasure flooded Jerricho’s body.
Emotions and nerves were too close to the surface tonight. A tide of love threatened to carry him away.
To block out the love, he tapped into his cruelty.
Sucked to the point of bruising.
Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3) Page 23
