Darkest Perception_A Dark and Mind-Blowing Steamy Romance

by Shari J. Ryan

  "Yes, sir," I reply so easily, agreeing to destroy the life of a girl I once hoped would notice me long enough to just ask my name.

  19

  Harley

  Sitting on a private jet is a new one for me. I'm knee to knee with Axel and sitting beside Everett. The tension is more than my nerves can handle at the moment, in combination with flying. Neither of them have divulged information surrounding the reason we're traveling to D.C. I just know it’s the last place I want to be, especially seeing as Axel knows too much about me. I need get away from them.

  I avoid their deafening silence and keep my focus on the end of the jet’s wing, staring intently at a blue star, wondering what it’s for. "You're going to need to find something nice to wear to dinner tonight," Axel tells me.

  I slowly turn my head to glance at him, feeling annoyed, which he likely knows by the resting bitch face I’ve perfected in the past hour. "Dinner?" Is he talking about the two of us? Because that's going to make for an awkward conversation in front of Everett, even though I wouldn’t be surprised if Axel intentionally caused a scene like that. He seems to enjoy poking at Everett for whatever reason.

  "Yes, we're meeting with someone," Axel says again, like it's nothing.

  "You said this had nothing to do with me. I’m not going to your dinner. I don’t trust either of you,” I tell them.

  I was stupid to use those dumb spoof music torture YouTube videos last week. The videos ran through the news a while ago when they were going viral, so I didn’t think much of it since the public already knew about them, but if I had known better or if I was thinking straight, I never would have used the videos. "He likes to meet with us once a month, and he's looking forward to meeting you."

  I lean my head back into the leather seat and close my eyes. It's been a full week since I ended up here with these guys, and I didn’t think they knew a damn thing about me. Mason told me to watch out for international businessmen who would be searching for me. Now I know I have to be fearful of anyone working for the government too. If I had known that last week, I would have been a hell of a lot more careful before taking this fucking job, despite the sacrifices I would have had to make.

  I dozed off for a bit, and now I’m waking up to Axel and Everett with their laptops out, both working intently on something. For some reason, the sight of this surprises me. I was starting to think the only thing they do is beat the shit out of people, then eat and drink it off. I can't see Everett’s screen, even though he’s sitting directly beside me. He must have one of those filters that block the view unless you're looking directly at the screen. I let out a groan and pull myself up against the seat I was slouched into.

  "We should be landing in about twenty minutes," Axel says while peering down at his watch. I had no idea I slept that long, but it would have been better if I slept for twenty minutes longer.

  "Did you see the one that just came in?" Everett asks Axel. He's in work mode, and when he's in work mode, none of Everett's true personality shines through.

  "Yeah," Axel says as he runs his hand down the side of his face. "I don't know how we're going to pull that one off."

  Everett closes his laptop and slips it into his bag. "Let's just get through tonight first," he suggests.

  Axel closes his laptop too and places it on the seat next to his. "Yeah, good point."

  I've been looking between the two of them, back and forth, trying to figure out what the hell they're talking about, but as usual, everything is a secret until I'm shoved into a room with a demented asshole. When their conversation ends, they look over at me and my "don't give a fuck" expression. If they think I don't care, I have hope that they'll be more inclined to tell me what they’re up to. If they don't tell me, I'll have to continue assuming the worst, like I currently am.

  They're beginning to gather their things in preparation for landing, and since my ears are popping, I assume we should be hitting the ground within just a few minutes now. I'm not used to a pilot who doesn't update the passengers on what's happening. It's not comforting. Plus, I don't like to fly.

  Almost the moment the wheels hit the ground, Axel and Everett are out of their seats, slinging their bags over their shoulders. I wait for the plane to stop and take my bag to follow them. We're not at an airport, so I'm unsure of what to expect once we step out of the jet, but my questions are quickly answered as we step out onto the tarmac where there's a car waiting for us.

  The irony of traveling to D.C. is that it took about two hours to get here by jet, and just over two hours to get to our hotel in the middle of the city. I feel like I'm ready for a nap, rather than dinner with this someone.

  The three of us quietly check into the hotel, and Axel hands me a key with a room number written on the front of the card.

  "So, do you travel a lot?" I ask them. The elevator doors open, and though we're in what must be a five-star hotel, this gold-plated space inside barely has enough room for the three of us. I'm a foot shorter than both of them, and this is brutally uncomfortable. At least I have a good view of a fresh stain on Everett’s shirt, probably from whatever he ate for lunch. Then there's Axel, who managed to step off a two-hour flight without a wrinkle on his shirt. I'm not sure how that's even possible.

  "Yeah, we do travel a lot, and you will be too," Axel says.

  "How about asking me? You know, since I’m not your pet and all," I tell him. "I can quit and walk away from all of this like I've been trying to do for the past day.” I’m not so sure I have that option anymore, but I need to do what I can to find a way out.

  The doors open, and only Axel and I step out of the elevator. "I'm one floor up," Everett says as the doors close between us.

  "You're right. I apologize for speaking to you that way," Axel says. I look down at my key and up at the room numbers, finding my room at the end of the short hall.

  "Great, thanks for that.” I head down the hallway, stopping in front of my room. Holding my key up to the scanner, I listen for the click. With a shove, I push the heavy door open and find Axel following me, rather than entering his room that I assumed was next to mine.

  "You got a minute?” he asks after stepping inside.

  "What are you doing?" I reply, knowing what he's likely about to do after what's happened today. How is today still today? It's been the longest goddamn day of my life.

  "Making sure your package arrived," he says, stepping in front of me and walking into the main part of the room. "Good." He pokes his head into the bathroom and flips the light on. "Everything you need for tonight is here. I had it delivered."

  I walk over to the king-size bed, finding an oversized, shiny pink box. "What is this?" I lift the cover, revealing a maroon dress, one that I can tell won’t go on without a struggle. "Is this necessary?"

  "When you see where we're eating tonight, you'll understand why it's necessary," he says, eyeing the dress.

  "Who picked this out?" I ask.

  "Doesn't matter," he quickly replies.

  "Is this just a ploy to take me out tonight?" I ask, cocking my head to the side. I don’t know what to think anymore. He’s fucking with my head as much as I’ve learned to do so with other people.

  "I wouldn't have brought Everett along if I were trying to trick you," he says, walking toward the door. "We need to leave here at six, so you only have an hour to get ready." He opens the closet door before leaving, pulls a shoebox out, and slides it over to where I'm standing. "Get dressed." He leaves the room, and I hear the door in the next room over open and close. He requested connecting rooms.

  Axel will probably barge in right when I'm squeezing into this damn dress that looks like it's meant for a Barbie doll with no hips. I suppose this is one more thing I can add to my job description: forcing people to kill themselves, and dressing like a game show host's assistant. Awesome.

  I slip out of my clothes and into the dress, zipping it halfway up my back. It's going to stay halfway up my back for now because this thing is tight, and I can
't reach the damn zipper. He had this all planned; I swear to God. Forgetting about the zipper for a minute, I move into the bathroom and find an array of cosmetics—makeup, perfume, mouthwash, and deodorant. Well, someone wants me to smell nice tonight. I am his puppet. This is ridiculous.

  While huffing through my frustration, I use every product, covering up my wounds from that bitch the other day just to make myself look human. I guess it is still possible to look normal. Usually, when I look in the mirror, I can only see a criminal—one who should be sharing a cell with Mason Phillips.

  I shake the thoughts away like I do a dozen times a day, and head over to my next box of death. I can already assume what's under the lid of this box, and as I lift it off, I confirm my thoughts … four-inch black pumps. They couldn't be three inch heels, obviously. They have to be four, so maybe I'll break my neck tonight. This isn't me—the me I am today. I used to enjoy getting dressed up, looking the best I could look, but I was raised that way, and it was the only way I thought I should appear in public. In truth, I also enjoy getting my hands dirty and not caring what people think of me. Or maybe it's what I've become accustomed to over the years while focusing more on my passions ... and now, troubles. It seems hard to remember what my life was like before I got involved with Mason.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and knock on the connecting door. It takes a minute, but Axel pushes the door open without concern, as if he wasn’t standing there in just boxer briefs. Heat quickly spreads through my cheeks as I take in a long drink of the delicious sight. Clearly, I didn’t have enough of it earlier. I want to know when he finds time in his busy life to go to the gym and maintain abs like that. Maybe it’s part of his job description. I appreciate the way he looked while hovering over me earlier, as well as the view of him from beneath me, but this angle is just as attractive.

  "Do you need something?" he asks without any form of expression.

  "My zipper … it's stuck."

  He twirls his finger in the air, gesturing that I turn around. More of the puppet controlling shit. God, this is infuriating. I roll my eyes as I turn around, fully aware that most of my back is bare. Whatever. His knuckles gently rest against my skin as he pulls the zipper up without a struggle, leaving me with a trail of chills from his slight touch. "I honestly couldn't get it up. That's the only reason I knocked on your door," I say, turning back to face him.

  "Well," he says with a soft laugh as he scratches the shadow of stubble across his chin, "that may be the same reason I knock on your door tonight too." By the way he's undressing me with his eyes, I suspect I know what he thinks will be happening after dinner. "I knew that dress would look amazing on you."

  "What are we doing, Axel?" I back up toward the edge of the bed. "I work for you, don't I?"

  "There is no hierarchy between any of us, despite what you might think. We're all equal." We are not equal.

  "So why do you have to act like you're above everyone all the time?"

  He moves toward me, and I find myself scooting backward, up against the bed. "Someone has to be in control at all times, and I happen to be good at controlling things. It works for all of us."

  While I know he's talking about the work we're doing, I can't help but consider the double meaning within his description of control. Is he warning me?

  "I guess we have that in common," I tell him. "I like to control things too.” I'm fighting against my alarming nerves, knowing stress causes my face to light up like a Christmas tree. I’ve worked hard to maintain control of my stress, but Axel has a way of breaking down my barriers.

  "I have to get dressed," he says, while trying to weaken me with his intense glare. Part of me wants to beg him to stop looking at me the way he is, but the other part of me is turned on by the trouble glowing in his eyes.

  Axel walks back into his room, leaving the door open. Whether it's an invitation or not, I'm putting it out of my head. I need to keep my head clear tonight while I meet with this "someone” who is responsible for keeping me off the street, or so I’m assuming.

  I grab the remote and turn the TV on, drowning out the noise of Axel's razor. I’ve tried to ignore the news during the last year since avoidance seems to allow me a sense of ignorance, and I’ve felt better not knowing what's going on in the world. However, after learning what I did to the guy Axel had us mind-washing the other day, I have an urge to see what else is going on out there now. God knows what else I’m missing. A woman with a microphone is standing in the middle of a street, talking about a new piece of evidence on an ongoing case.

  It could be about anything.

  It could be, but it's not. It’s about me.

  * * *

  "We have just learned that Dr. Mason Phillips, a former professor and Chief Science Officer of the Psychology Department at Boston University who was charged with forty counts of murder after conducting unauthorized research on Boston University grounds had several counterparts. Though, only one has survived the others. Details are still emerging, but as of now, investigators are telling us that this counterpart is still at large and is holding weaponized intelligence. However, the investigators have also recently reported that they have been tipped off on this woman’s whereabouts. They have supplied all news outlets with a photograph of what they believe this dangerous woman currently looks like. The woman's name is Isabelle Hammel, and if you have any information, please call your local police or FBI field office immediately."

  No. My hands instinctively reach up and scoop around my neck, and I can feel my heart beating frantically. A cold sweat covers me, knowing I’m about to face the biggest of my nightmares. I have been so careful throughout the last year, to remain hidden, so it has to be Axel and Everett. No one else has had any interaction with me. I want to close my eyes and face away from the TV, but I can't. My eyes are frozen open, drying out, beginning to burn and blur as I stare at the photograph in front of me. The woman on the screen has short, blonde hair and glasses. She’s heavyset and nicely dressed. She looks nothing like me. I'm a slim brunette without glasses, a person who wouldn't be questioned in relation to the photo they are showing.

  Relief is slight, but it's better than the alternative—my actual photo being shown. I don't know how they made such a mistake, and the good person I once was should save this woman from being blamed for the crime I was unknowingly responsible for. I will never again be able to refer to myself as a decent human being. Dr. Phillips took all the blame, but forty people were surely not killed because of him. It’s impossible. I designed the ensemble, but I never tested it or watched the testing; therefore, I can’t imagine he would try testing without my documentation. Even if he had been conducting testing, I can’t fathom the thought of Mason repeating a trial or test if it even caused one death. Our lab was called a torture chamber, but I thought it was a psychological term for prying the evil out of those who needed the help. There was never an intention to kill anyone. It certainly wasn’t my intention. My only goal was to help people who were suffering from trauma-caused mental conditions. I didn't know what I was capable of doing. No. We were not killing people. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t.

  I didn’t know how Darkest Perception would be used. Though, being the creator, I feel like I inadvertently played the part of God.

  Axel walks back into my room, clasping the cufflinks of his white pressed shirt. "You okay? You look like you're going to be sick. You don't need to worry about tonight. You’re Harley, okay?"

  "I think I need to go home," I tell him, standing up from the bed while wringing my fingers around my bracelet. I feel like I might be breaking out into hives. I'm itchy and burning up. "I need to leave."

  Axel places his hands on my bare shoulders, tilting his head to the side as he offers me a questioning look filled with a kindness I haven't seen him show before. "What's going on?"

  "Look," I exhale heavily. "I know you think you know everything about my history, but there's something you don't know."

  His eyes narrow an
d the corner of his lips quirk. "Isabelle, I know about everything. I know Phillips and what he did." How? How could he know any of this? There was no proof … until today, I guess. Has he known this all along? Has he seen the news? "You're protected under our care—my care," he says softly. "Roberts, the man we’re meeting tonight, will only know you as Harley, so there's nothing for you to worry about. To me, you're Isabelle, but to everyone else, you're Harley, and you’re not a murderer."

  "I need you," he says.

  I want to rebut and tell him I'm the last thing he needs. I want to tell him he doesn't know a thing about me because I have done my damnedest to make sure no one knew a thing about me—Harley—the person I have become. The government though … if there's one thing I should have known, they know everything, whether we think so or not. However, if they had anything to do with the suspect revelation today, I have a feeling they might be throwing me for a loop.

  "I might need you too," I admit. I need him to do what he said and keep me under his protection so I'm not found and thrown into prison.

  As my thoughts clear, the scent of Axel’s cologne fills my nose. It's entrancing, and it makes my chest ache with fear … and desire. Maybe he knows what I’m feeling. His hands slip from my shoulders, down to my elbows, as if he were silently responding to my thought. Since I've kept my secrets sealed up in the confines of my mind for so long, it's hard to comprehend that I'm suddenly not so alone, or that there is finally a person I can talk with and defend myself to. The loneliness that has consumed me this past year is mildly muted, but I know I can’t let my guard down. Running might still be my best option.

  "Okay then." Axel places his hand on my back and ushers me toward the door. "Be yourself tonight."