The room jarred into existence and I gasped.
What was the time? One thirty in the afternoon, according to my watch.
I couldn’t even last a day without going batshit bananas? Weak.
Wait. The date was the day after what it should’ve been.
Another night had passed?
Had I eaten? Slept? I couldn’t remember. Could I kill myself and not notice until a millisecond before?
That last was a devastating idea. I might die and not know until I was bleeding out, or falling, or if I ate pills, I’d simply fade away into nothing.
To be buried, six feet under, cold and dead and sightless. My life stolen. The man would win.
Fuck no.
“No!” I kicked at the table, banging my toes into timber, rocking the table, and screeching when pain arrived.
Clutching my throbbing foot, I made a vow.
Reuben was not winning. If I could last the day, that was all, maybe I’d be okay?
Maybe.
Violence rattled around and around in my thoughts.
The gun lay on the little table, beckoning me.
If I was out there among people, maybe I’d not go all spaced out? Checking myself into some sort of psychiatric ward might be more sensible but I’d been in one once, visiting. I’d possibly go crazier in there.
Maybe letting it all out, shooting at some targets, destroying something, would help?
I phoned the pistol range and got an open time slot that afternoon then sat down and cleaned the gun, very carefully. The bad memories, from the last time I’d handled it, I pushed aside.
Another time for that stuff. A time when I could hire a therapist and work through all this, at leisure.
Now, things were urgent.
One more day.
This was a test. I needed a test. A rigorous, fail-and-die test.
If I could survive this and not shoot myself I’d be fine...
This time I did it right and packed the gun into the portable gun safe to transport it to the range. Only a few people were about. It was a workday and most of the women, who weren’t working and who could afford to shoot, would be picking up kiddies from daycare or doing other motherly things.
Almost alone. I scanned to either side. An elderly man to my right, and two muscled gung-ho T-shirt and tattoos men to the left. No one paid me much attention except to maybe admire my ass when I stooped to pick up a dropped card. The ear protectors rendered the environment a muffled one, interspersed with the intermittent bangs of the handguns.
I shot four full magazines, blew a lot of holes in paper, and felt one hundred percent better.
Control. My smile was probably obvious to everyone for miles. I’d handled that. No hazing out. Nothing.
Now. Take it step by step. Make sure the gun was unloaded, clean it a little, as nobody was waiting on my spot, put it away. Lock the safe. Go to the car.
The drive home was the first carefree moment for days and days. Just one problem occurred to me – what would Reuben think when he found out I wasn’t dead?
One problem and there must be a way around it.
One...
Then I woke in the shade of the fig tree in my favorite park, with the gun barrel in my mouth.
My lips were aching, as if I’d been sucking on gun for quite a while.
It took a few seconds before I could figure out which fingers and muscles let me remove the gun. They were all mixed up and numb. It was entirely possible I might’ve pulled the trigger when I thought I was doing something else.
A little six- or seven-year-old boy stood on the sidewalk beside my window, thumb in mouth and ball at his feet, looking in at me.
I smiled, trying to pretend a string of drool wasn’t going from my lip to the gun I was lowering. Or that my entire body wasn’t trembling. No, shaking. My knees were swaying from the shake, then my teeth started to chatter. The gun...it...I dropped it to the passenger seat. The butt bounced off the parking brake. My judgment was out a tad.
Fuck.
The safety was off, the red dot showing.
Carefully, I reached over and uncocked the Beretta, made that red dot go away.
Help, I needed help.
I exited the car and managed to lock the vehicle, before I went to my knees and vomited on the grass. I staggered down to my usual bench seat. The boy’s mother was yelling behind me and calling him away. Least I’d left the gun in the car.
Grimm was a washout. I could see he wasn’t here, and why should he be? It’d been days.
Besides, what did he know about this quagmire through which I was wading? I might as well call in the Easter Bunny.
There was only one man I could think of with any expertise, and he was the enemy too.
I went to the drinking fountain to rinse my mouth and face, then sat down and cranked back my neck to look at the wispy clouds.
Ducks were arriving around my feet, quacking.
“Sorry guys. No food.”
Mister Black. Had to be him. Only how did I find him? And could I do it before I topped myself?
*****
The room at the Hilton was the only place I knew where he’d ever existed. I had no addresses, no phone number, and no real name. Asking at the reception desk seemed a bad idea.
Riding up in the lift, I had time to think about backing out, but a split in my lip from where the muzzle had hurt me and the memory of vomiting while a wide-eyed little boy watched me, convinced me otherwise.
What if he wasn’t even here anymore? I’d not asked for a message to be sent. For all I knew he was long gone.
But I knocked on the gray door anyway, and I stood there fidgeting, thinking good thoughts as much as I could, holding my hands in front of me so they didn’t shake, much.
Was he here?
I could feel nothing of his presence.
If he wasn’t, what would I do?
What would I do? The place seemed empty.
Nobody but a cleaning lady, down the other end of the hallway.
My mind began to wander. My feet were way down there, on the floor. I studied the gym shoes I’d shoved my feet into not long ago, a century ago, today, then I turned and walked away.
Did the windows, this high up, open?
Chapter 23
Mister Black
“Zorie! Stop.”
The woman halted and turned around.
I’d been telling myself for days, that I had no reason to still be at this hotel. I’d returned to the U.K. but kept the room simply because I felt I should. After working off and on at the practice, and wondering constantly what Zorie was doing, I’d returned. I’d said I was done with Zorie, until Reuben discarded her, yet here I was. Now I knew why.
Hope.
She was more than a random acquired woman. Exactly what she was, I wasn’t certain. If it were just her ability to resist mesmers attracting me, I might be backing the wrong horse.
Right now she looked like a bedraggled mouse. A cute, bedraggled mouse. I wanted to feed her some cheese, get her coat all shiny again, and then...do animal things to her.
I’d seen multiple surveillance of Zorie, videos, hundreds of photos, yet never seen her this disheveled. Her red hair was partly up in a bun. Mostly it hung in strands over her face, sticking to her lips and around her eyes. With her mouth slack, she looked out through the curtain of hair. Big eyes, blinking. Smudges of something black stained one cheekbone. She barely focused on me. Her clothes were a mish-mash of ivory miniskirt-length dress, black tights, and a single black glove.
On her feet? I frowned. Purple gym shoes and one pink sock.
“You look like –”
“Shit?” She smirked.
“Come.” I stepped forward and took her by the elbow to steer her through the door. “I need to save you before the fashion police find you.”
“Fuck the fashion police,” she mumbled.
The door clicked shut.
Her mind was as much a mess as her clothes.
Overlaying the confusion was a blanket of depression so thick it made me sad just touching it momentarily. She even smelled of vomit.
How had she managed to get past security?
“Where?” she stared at me, puzzled.
“Shower. Right now. It’s an emergency.”
“The best sort.” Clarity returned to her gaze at the same time as her mind seemed to clear. “Damn, you are here?”
“I am. Waiting for you.”
“Oh.”
“These clothes are coming off.”
She shook her head quickly. “No sex.”
“No sex but yes to clothes.” I needed to find out what had brought on this state.
We’d reached the petite but luxurious bathroom and I began to strip off her clothes. The dress came off first. That she barely protested worried me.
“Sit down.” I pushed her so she sat in the timber chair.
“Sorry.” Zorie wrinkled her nose. “Do I smell?”
Her mortified expression made me smile. “Yes.”
“Sorry. I was sick earlier. I almost did something bad.” Her glance was full of sorrow.
“It’s okay.”
I went to my knees and efficiently pulled off her shoes and one sock. Everything could go into the bin in here. I balled them up and tossed them. Though Zorie frowned, she said nothing.
“Stand.”
The tights and panties came off next, in one swoop. She swayed on her feet as those were threaded off her feet, so I steadied her with a hand on her bare ass.
For the first time she showed awareness of how sexually charged this might become. Her face shifted from annoyed to bemused, and I cocked an eyebrow as I stood.
Clad only in bra and nothing else except for that black glove, in spite of everything else, she was...
“What are you staring at, Mister Black?”
“You. Turn around.”
“Why?” She swallowed.
At least she was one hundred percent focused on what was happening to her.
“So I can undo your bra and take it off you. You’re going in there.” I poked a finger toward the tub.
“I guess...” After a twist of her brow, Zorie turned and let me undo the clasp then slip the bra down her arms.
I reached around her to twist on the tap, setting it on the middle temperature. As I rose to my feet, my arm brushed her breast. Without preamble, with my thumb smoothing across her shoulder, I watched her nipple harden.
Her breathing deepened and she didn’t move away.
“I’m going to give you a bath, maybe a shower too. You need both.”
“Heyyy. Insults, and I can do it myself.”
“True, but you came here for my help. This is my price. One of them.” I softened that with a smile. “And while I do that, you’re going to tell me what has happened to get you into this state.”
Her shoulders raised and lowered. “I did. I do need help. You figured that out?”
How could I not?
The watery look in her eyes moved me. Yet... What was I doing? Getting this attached to a girl I needed to use to kill bad men was insane.
“It was obvious.” Especially when a woman I’d told I was done with arrived looking like she’d been under a truck, or a Mardi Gras stampede.
“Thank...you.” Her simple, choked-up words tugged at my heart and I hadn’t even been sure I still had one. “I’d be in your debt.”
I needed to remember my reason for being here, for finding her.
“Yes, you would.” Lightly, I ran his finger under her chin. The hitch in her breath and electricity between us was plain enough that I was surprised there weren’t sparks.
“I didn’t mean sexual...”
Again I looked down at her and studied her body. How impossible. “Yet your breasts alone would lead me to poetic raptures.”
She rolled her eyes, though I could tell the comment had pleased her.
“First, I’m getting you clean and happy.” With my hands at her hips, I made her revolve to face the half-filled tub. Feeling her skin under my hand was glorious, slapping the underside of her ass cheek, even more so. “Omorfi. Get in.”
“Happy? I don’t know if I can do happy anymore.” Zorie tested the water temperature then stepped into the tub. “Omorfi?”
“Beautiful. Means you have a beautiful, bouncy ass.”
“Sure,” she said, scorn dripping from the word. “You’re Italian? Greek?”
“One of those.”
Her smile was the first I’d seen so far and it broke a second later, when a stark, scared look came over her.
She stared into space. “I can wash myself. You should go now.”
The should chilled me. “No. I’m staying.” I pulled off my shirt then my pants and underwear. That she barely noticed only firmed my decision. Not that I would’ve stayed away if she’d been perfectly normal.
I edged in behind her, the water sloshing as I sat. The tub was more than big enough for both of us. What had Reuben done to her mind? I gathered up handfuls of her magnificent red hair, squirted a dollop of shampoo onto it then lathered up foam.
Despite her mental state coming and going, my cock was getting ideas. First, make her normal again. I was no caveman... Over her shoulder, I glimpsed her wet and shiny breasts.
Be good.
Using the spray from the detachable shower head, I rinsed off her hair, massaging to get the shampoo out. By the end, she’d snuggled back against my chest.
“Thank you. I feel better. I’m not fixed, but better.”
“I know.” With my fingers, I stirred her hair where it clung to her shoulder.
“There are things in my head. You need to do some of your tricks on me,” she said, sadly.
“Tricks?”
“Yes. If you don’t, I think I’ll kill myself soon.”
“Iisoús.”
“What’s that?”
“It means, Jesus, in excitement, disbelief. I think...” I sprayed water over her shoulder and it cascaded onto her breasts. “I will need to make Reuben dead if he has created this situation.”
“He got into my head. He told me I have to kill myself, today. In public.” She looked around at the bathroom. “I guess that rules out here.”
“Yes. It does. I’m going to play inside your mind now, Zorie. Turn off the tap then be quiet and still.”
“Oh. You think you can help?”
“Let me see.”
After a few seconds, she leaned forward and turned off the water flow.
I hadn’t used an ounce of will on her yet. Not since she walked in the door. She’d always been strong. Whatever Reuben had done, it was powerful and like nothing I’d thought a mesmer could do.
With the tap off, the room was silent, except for our breathing and the water dripping.
“Play away. It’s all fucked-up in here anyway.”
“Good girl,” I whispered then I reached into her mind.
The landscape of the devil. Reuben had implanted a suicidal urge that soaked through every part of her mind. I could patch her and smooth a sense of happiness in, but dislodging the nastiness completely might take a far closer relationship with her.
Not yet, I warned myself. I applied my will, easing into her mind, dismissing much the sadness that filled her thoughts.
The main play.
The suicide command...
It stuck like glue.
“Done?” she asked, curled forward with her head on her forearms.
“Stay still a bit longer, baby.”
“Baby? Uh-uh.”
But she stayed.
After a while I lay back against the tub, with my legs either side of hers, idly watching beads of water dribble down her back. A very intimate position.
What a spine. I could bite her all day, leaving teeth marks. I sucked in a slow, appreciative breath. Zorie was such a pretty female.
“Feeling better?”
She looked over her shoulder, her mouth quirking up. “A lit
tle.”
“Good.”
Now I knew, Reuben needed to die, after all.
“Why don’t we have something to eat? I’ll order from room service.”
“Okay. I am hungry.”
The hollowness of her face would be partly from not remembering to eat.
“Good.” I stepped out, helped her stand then scooped her out of the tub.
Drying her with the big, soft towel reminded me of drying off Pelagia, except for the delightful swell of Zorie’s ass.
“This is like...” I gave her hair another rub, dried a trail on her back, then went back to her hair. “Drying off my wolfhound, Pelagia.”
“A dog?” She snorted.
“It’s a compliment. She is a beautiful bitch. Loyal. Pretty.”
“Hairy.” Zorie turned and looked up through the towel. So cute seeing just her flushed cheeks and lips, her nose and eyes, surrounded by towel. And so sexy the way her breasts swayed into view as the towel slipped.
“Yes. Hairy. Like you.” I moved some of her wet locks. “Though she’s back in Greece and you’re here.” I kissed her hand. “Let’s order food.”
“Clothes? Is there anything?”
“There’d be a dressing gown somewhere but I like you in that towel. I’ll wrap you up.”
“Ummm.”
But she let me, and she came out to the lounge area with her hand in mine.
It was touching and also sobering. She was trusting me not to fuck her over like Reuben had. Yet I was planning to, in my own way. If she survived I’d have my weapon. Raw, untrained, but a weapon.
Room service arrived and I insisted on her sitting with me on the sofa. I fed her little quiches with a crunchy crust, broccolini in a savory sauce, then strawberries and cream, chocolate French pastries and champagne. She revived. The color returned to her face. I touched her, occasionally. I put a pillow down and had her lean against the arm rest with her long legs over my lap, and ever so slowly I seduced her. Her mouth relaxed and she watched me sleepily with those gray eyes. Past the edge of the sofa, her mostly empty champagne glass hung from her hand.
And the curve of her lips seduced me, as did the glimpses of her body.
Wicked Ways (Dark Hearts Book 1) Page 12
