Darkest Perception_A Dark and Mind-Blowing Steamy Romance

by Shari J. Ryan

  There isn't much more I can add to this situation to make it any dirtier than it already is. I have Isabelle by the elbow, refusing to release her from my grip due to the massive goose egg sticking out of her head. Her pupils are still dilated, and I don't trust that she can stand up straight, or that she doesn't have at minimum a mild concussion.

  "Let go of me, Axel," she hisses again. "Or just let me sleep.”

  "No. Be quiet," I tell her.

  "I'll scream. You know what TSA will do to you?"

  "First, we’re on a private jet. There’s no TSA. Second, if there were TSA, do you know what they'd do to you … Isabelle?" I remind her that she isn't safe and that she's still on the run despite the promise of safety I offered her.

  "Both of you … shut up," Everett says. "Can we just get the fuck off this jet?"

  "Don’t tell me to shut up!” she tells Everett.

  "Jesus, stop it," he snaps.

  I keep my mouth shut until we’re out of the building beneath the jet’s landing pad. Thankfully, we find Chuck waiting out front.

  I open the back door, helping Isabelle into the car, but she pulls her arm from my grip and jumps in. Everett sits in the front seat, which is a relief for the moment because the three of us being smashed in the backseat isn't ideal.

  "Drop me off on Mass Avenue," Isabelle tells Chuck.

  I catch Chuck's eye in the rearview mirror and with a slight shake of my head, tell him to ignore her. He doesn't respond to Isabelle's request and peels away from the curb.

  I reach over and try to take Isabelle's hand, despite being as ticked off at her as she is at me right now. She doesn't comply, though. "Don't touch me."

  "Easy,” I tell her. "Relax. You don’t need to be getting all worked up after hitting your head as hard as you did.”

  "Who the fuck do you think you are?" she asks, twisting her entire body to stare me down. "You think another person's innocence is less important than your own?"

  I don't know how much she knows about me or my past, only what she has said so far. I want to tell her everything but now isn't the time.

  "You know who I am," I tell her.

  "Well then, tell me why you were you going to prison. Tell me who died because of you, and why they died."

  I clear my throat, holding my focus on the rearview mirror where Chuck will look if he has concern. While I know he has no issue ignoring everything he hears in this car, there are some things that need to remain private.

  "You want to know why Axel was arrested?" Everett asks like it's a big joke. "Because he's a fucking moron."

  I throw my head back into the leather seat, knowing there is no way of getting out of this car without my life's secrets being exposed.

  "I think I've figured that part out," Isabelle says to Everett.

  "Oh!" Everett shouts, sounding like he's watching a football game. "Did you ever go to that bar, ‘Dawgbar,’ on the other side of Fenway?"

  "Yeah," Isabelle says, sounding unamused and confused. "Why?"

  "You should have seen what happened the night Axel got dumped by this chick he was dating."

  "You're an asshole," I tell him, knowing he isn't going to stop.

  "So, imagine this, Axel gets dumped by this hot, older woman, right? We hit up the bar so he can get shit drunk to forget about her, and who do you think walks into the bar? This isn’t even a dumb joke. This is true, real life shit."

  Isabelle looks over at me after staring at the side of Everett's face. I can't tell if it's remorse in her eyes or empathy. In either case, I'd like to jump out of the car before this conversation goes any further. "The ex?" Isabelle asks with a dumbfounded look on her face. Everett might be trying to reveal my past, but he’s making himself sound like a real dick at the same time.

  "Yup. She sees Axel, and decides to dig the grave for their relationship a little deeper into the ground by hitting on half the dudes at the bar."

  "So, you got into a bar fight and then got arrested?" Isabelle asks. Her mood changes and she sounds like she’s on the verge of laughing rather than being irritated like she was a moment ago. Except Everett’s storytelling skills are worthless because that's not how it went down.

  "Nice that you'd think that little of me, but no, that's not what happened, and I don't feel the need to defend myself to either of you," I tell them.

  "I don't care if you defend yourself. I'm allowed to think what I want to think," Isabelle comes back at me.

  "No one really knows what happened,” Everett says with a snide laugh. "I was in the bathroom when shit went down.”

  "Jesus, do you not know when to stop?" I ask him.

  "Well, I'd say I learned from your actions, but you don't exactly know when to stop either, am I right?"

  "Fellas," Chuck says. "Enough! It's obvious you all need a minute to cool your jets. Take it easy, will ya?"

  Chuck doesn't usually get involved in our spats or speak to us like this, but he's partially the reason we're all here. The driving gig is his form of retirement without having to leave the business. He's the eyes and ears, disguised as an old man doing nothing more than listening to whatever thoughts are aimlessly rolling through his head. He works directly for Agent Roberts, but he’s a good guy and a hell of a lot nicer than Roberts.

  Harley unlatches her seatbelt and scoots forward. "Let me tell you three something. The second this car stops, I'm gone. I want nothing to do with this shit, your lies, your secrets, and whatever the hell I've managed to get myself into here. You don't want to be honest with me about a damn thing, so I'm done."

  "You're not leaving," I tell her.

  She snaps around so quickly, it looks like her head might come loose. "See, here's the thing, Axel, you don't get to tell me what to do. You were hired to chase and find me, and congrats on that major accomplishment. It takes a real psychopath to stalk the crap out of some woman he once knew. The one thing you didn't think through, though, was how you'd manage to keep stringing me along when you haven't the slightest clue on how to treat a woman—you know, since that was your angle and all—get her into bed with you, and she'll just become putty in your hands, right?"

  Everett's chuckling from the front seat and I'm about to hit him good, but I have to figure out how the hell I'm going to keep Isabelle locked down. If she leaves, we're all fucked. "She's got a good point," Everett says as he folds his arms behind his neck like the cocky bastard he's being.

  We're pulling up in front of the hotel, and I want to tell Chuck to keep driving, but he's not into the whole hostage thing, so that won't fly. "Listen to me," Chuck says. "The three of ya’s got some shit to work out. I suggest you all come clean and figure out how you can work together to keep yourselves safe. The gig is up, Axel. You screwed up in D.C. You have been spotted with Isabelle, and you don't have a whole lot of time before things go down the shitter. You got me?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?" I ask him. "Why are you just spitting this out now?"

  "You've been too busy bickering like children," he says.

  "Who spotted us?" I ask him.

  "It's not important," Chuck says. "Roberts is on his way here.”

  "The hell it isn't important," I tell him.

  "You think you have time to argue with me?" Chuck says. "Both of you get out of the car, take Harley somewhere safe, and figure out how you're going to get out of the firing range, then let me know what you decide. Oh, and I suggest one of you get her up to date on the truth."

  I can't get myself to look over at Isabelle. I'm too focused on my own rage at the moment. I've been so careful, and I go and get my feelings tied up with her and now we're all done. I've put her in more danger than she was already in, and Everett and I are damned now too.

  "Look, can we talk?" I ask Isabelle. "Calmly." I hold my hands up so she knows I'm being truthful, but I don't know what's going through her head right now. That's one thing I'll never figure out. She's got those thoughts of hers locked up so tightly, I don't think the best of t
he CIA could crack her code.

  Isabelle's hand reaches for the door handle, so I grab her arm. "You don't understand. You can't just leave."

  "No, Axel," she says, pulling away. "You don't understand. I've been on the run for almost a year, and I've managed on my own and kept to myself. The last thing I need is you holding me down right now. You had your chance, and you did a damn good job of holding your web of lies together, but I'm not saying it again ... this is over."

  She's out the door as I lunge to grab ahold of her again, but she's quicker than I am in my frenzied state.

  "Axel,” Chuck says quietly and calmly. "Take care of yourself, kid. Just know … you’re going to be okay.” What the hell is he talking about?

  "Ah, thanks, Chuck.” I try to brush away the confusion from his statement as I jump out of the car, and Everett follows as we begin the chase I knew was coming at some point.

  Of course, it's dark and the middle of the goddamn night, which is going to make this harder than it has to be, but her legs are half the size of mine.

  She got a twenty-foot head start, and I'm beginning to think the girl must have been a track star at some point in her life because she can fucking run. Then again, she's used to running away from shit. I mean, running in an evening dress should slow her down, but she took her heels off in the car and it's not affecting her in the slightest. My dress shoes, however, are leaving holes in the back of my heels.

  Despite the obnoxious pain, I continue after her, yelling her damn fake name through the streets. I don't feel Everett on my heels, so I'm assuming between the dress shoes and his water-weighted muscles, he's having a rough time keeping up. How the hell can she outrun us? We're trained for this shit. Or, at least, we've trained for this.

  She makes it across a street and a fucking SUV separates us, stopping at the curb to let someone out. I move to the side to see around the vehicle, but by the time I get visibility of the sidewalk, it's clear. There's no one in sight. I change my direction and head down the street the car stopped on, figuring she's heading down a dark alley. That seems like something Isabelle would do just for shits and giggles.

  My chest beings to ache when I reach the end of the alley because she isn't down here. She must have been hiding in the nook of a storefront, which means she's gone now unless Everett managed to catch up.

  I grab my phone and open the GPS to find the two of them, but Everett's back at the hotel, and Isabelle is supposedly still standing at the corner of the street I'm on, which I doubt, seeing as I can see every square-foot of the area from where I’m standing. I jog back down to the corner, looking in every direction, but I don't see her anywhere. I call her phone and see the damn thing lighting up on the curb against the brick building I'm in front of. It’s no surprise that she'd toss her phone. She's fucking smarter than I am.

  Shit.

  "Harley, where the fuck are you?" I shout through anger. I know she's not going to respond because I know she probably can't even fucking hear me.

  I call Chuck up, waiting the long ring for him to answer. "She's gone," I tell him.

  "Well, you better keep looking," he says.

  "Thanks. Want to give me a hand?"

  "Axel, I told you I'm too old for this shit."

  "You got me into this. Now, help me," I tell him.

  "I got you into this?" he asks. I can hear a wrath bubbling in his voice, one I haven't heard in years. Chuck keeps calm. It's one of his best qualities. The man doesn't get worked up or angry. He just handles shit with a straight face.

  "I kept you from going to prison by keeping you in line, Axel—all I was doing was following Roberts’s orders. Don’t give me the credit I don’t deserve, son," he tells me.

  "Yeah, well, I think I would have been better off in prison," I respond.

  "You think so, huh?" he asks. "I can arrange it, Axel. Just say the word."

  27

  Harley

  I should have known better. No one gets a job the way I did. Jobs don’t offer room and board in exchange for a salary. I knew better and I let fear take over. It's a weakness I haven't succumbed to in years, and now I'm running again.

  Part of me wonders if Axel is running after me for selfish reasons. Part of me thinks he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I've been running faster than I thought I was capable of, but with the adrenaline ripping through me, I've managed to put space between us, especially with an SUV pulling around the corner.

  The SUV stops, and I know it's my chance to get out of sight.

  Which, won't be a problem.

  A hand claps over my mouth, and I'm flung into the vehicle, restrained from moving as the door is slammed against the material of this damn dress I'm in. The hand remains cupped tightly over my mouth as my senses ignite one by one.

  There are four men in the car, none of which are speaking English. They're grimy, covered in sweat, and the man's hand over my face smells foul, like gasoline and sweat.

  I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, and I can hardly breathe with the frantic pace my heart is beating. They're going to kill me. Maybe Axel knew these men were waiting for me. Maybe he chased me into them. The world has been against me for years, and I've run out of places to hide.

  It's the waiting part that will be the worst, then the several attempts of interrogation techniques they'll use. When I refuse to give up the information, they'll put a bullet into my brain. If they can't have the information, no one will be able to. It's how they probably see it.

  The driver has his eyes on the rearview mirror because he must know where I came from, which probably doesn’t matter at this point.

  I could bite this man's hand and stir them up, but then they'll think I care, or worse, that I’m scared. Instead, I hold still, trying not to blink. It starts now, not when we get wherever we're going. They'll be watching my every move. I've prepared for this. I've had nightmares about this moment, knowing it was only a matter of time before Mason’s mistakes caught up with me.

  From the looks of the direction the driver is heading, we're making circles to lose anyone following us. I can't see behind us, but I assume when this vehicle stops, it means no one is behind us. It means their disclosed location will be safe to enter. I can predict every moment of the next twenty-hours of my life—most likely the last twenty-four hours of my life as well.

  I close my eyes, blocking out the scene around me to avoid their analyzing glares in attempt to read my thoughts. Playing dead and mute will only work for as long as we're in this car, but it gives me time to collect my thoughts.

  After what must be thirty minutes of driving, the SUV stops short and the doors open all at once. I'm swung around, though, trying to remain stable on my feet as the cold concrete turns into damp brick steps. When I open my eyes, the sight in front of me doesn’t change because we’re walking through opaque darkness, and from the steep descent we’re moving in, I assume we’re heading underground to their version of a torture chamber.

  After the final brick step, the ground's texture turns back into concrete, and we walk for several more minutes until I hear metal clashing against metal. I’m tossed into a wall, feeling more brick scrape against all areas of my exposed skin. The metal crushing sounds occur again, and though I can't see a thing, it feels as though the space around me is empty.

  I right myself, so as not to lean against the wall. I don’t want to appear weak for when they can see me.

  I'm not afraid of them.

  They're speaking in the distance, still in their foreign language, so I take the opportunity to feel around the space I'm in, but my hands don’t land on anything but brick until I reach a set of scuffed, likely rusted, metal bars. I'm confined, as expected.

  I'm sure they'll keep me waiting just to try and up my level of paranoia and anxiety, but maybe they weren't warned of my skills to fight their game. Even if they do know my background, they may not care. When someone wants something badly enough, people become hollow bodies, and minds are just objects locked in
a safe.

  Minute by minute crawls by, and I rest my back against the wall, facing the emptiness in front of me. Without light, I’m forced to think and recall memories from the last couple of years. I shoo the thoughts away, knowing these men are intending to weaken me by taking away my senses. I’ve been outnumbered since day one, yet I’ve come this far and remained alive and unharmed for longer than I could have asked for. I signed my name on Mason’s papers and agreed to the potential outcome I’m living through. I’m the only one to blame, which makes dying for this reason a little easier. I don’t have to be angry with anyone except myself.

  My only regret was feeling any sort of mere happiness for Axel because now I’m almost positive he was a tool used to weaken me. I have to believe that now.

  I want to hate him for it. I want to hate Everett for helping him. However, it’s desperation that got the best of me. Desperation will always win. It’s the rule in life.

  A lightbulb flickers above my head, offering me a small area of visibility.

  The sound of the metal door unlatching echoes against the wall behind me. Footsteps from what must be a heavyset man come forward, and it isn't until he's almost in the center of this cell that I can make out his features—the features that are visible. He's cloaked in black, and his face is completely covered except for his eyes. He's tall and overweight, which I assume is supposed to add fear to this situation.

  "What is your name?" he asks, his accent thick, almost incomprehensible. I’m not sure where he’s from or the language he speaks because it sounds like a combination of accents mixed together.

  I won't give this man the satisfaction of thinking I'll be easy, even with a fake name, so I keep my mouth closed. They will do whatever they have planned regardless of the information I give them. The quicker their aggravation grows, the faster this will be over and at this point, that’s what I’m hoping for—a quick ending.

  "Fine," he says. "Are you going to answer our questions?" Are you a moron? I want to ask him. I think I already know the answer, though. "We can do this easily or the hard way." I cross my arms over my chest and reposition my back against the wall. "What would you like first? Toothpicks under your nails, waterboarding, electric shock?" By his forward questions, I'm certain he is knowledgeable of my education. In any case, I remain silent. The man pulls a chair out of the dark corner where the bars meet the wall and with an achy groan, he sits down under the hanging bulb. "We are aware that you are fearless, and that no tactic of ours will extract the information we are after. Well, except one." I can live without fingers and toes if that's the direction they're heading. I know rape and other sexual tools are available at their discretion, as well, but I'll just let them think I'm enjoying it. They have nothing. "This is your last opportunity to speak before we take things a step further." I'm surprised he has already dragged this out as long as he has. It's making me wonder if this is his first interrogation. Wouldn't that just be my luck? I'll be sitting in this fucking cell until I die of starvation.