“I was afraid, James. I ran and hid how Dirk taught me to with his stories. I didn’t want to trouble you until I could sort out my own feelings. I thought for sure I could take care of it myself. But when your man kept hounding me, always only one step behind me, and then mother died, I gave in. I wanted to feel safe again. Home is safe. When I heard Mother had died I raced to you, taking it as a sign I needed to be here. I’m sorry, James. Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” Damien shouted.
“Of course you must stay. You’re safe here. Was it just one letter?” James asked.
“Yes.” Chloe sniffed into his shoulder. She swiped at her eyes, looking weary.
James smiled down into her tear-streaked face and dried her cheeks with a gentle hand. “You are safe. Let Dirk and the others handle it now. You’ve had a long day. Off to bed with you, sweetheart.”
Chloe hugged the others goodnight. She wrapped her arms around Dirk, offering a soft apology whispered in his ear.
“You were right, Dirk. I should have come to you immediately.”He sensed her confusion stopped battling with her uttered admittance. There were just too many lessons of compliance learned at a young age and stressed throughout her life. At her heartfelt sincerity, Dirk smiled down at her and cuddled her to his chest, his anger evaporating. This was the Chloe he remembered. She did still need him. Chloe sighed, looking relieved at Dirk’s forgiveness, and she then went up to her room.
Once gone, Dirk leveled a dark look at his father. “I could have handled it.”
“Son, Chloe is too close. You can’t be firm with her when you have protected her her entire life. Commands and coercion won’t work with loved ones; she has no fear of you. You changed her diapers, she toddled after you everywhere. She adores you like a big brother. She was afraid you might have thought this was somehow her fault. Having you ashamed or disappointed with her would destroy her. Chloe is committed to this family; she must learn that hiding any information could harm us. She would never want that.”
“She knows I love her,” Dirk grumbled, yet his father’s experience once more proved a boon.
“As you sought to use her love to your advantage, she in turn sought to hide the truth because of her love for you,” James said reasonably.
“It still doesn’t help us understand why someone would want to frighten her,” Damien interjected. Wolf concurred.
“Perhaps it’s nothing, though it wouldn’t hurt to send out some feelers,” James cautioned.
Dirk agreed. It was too bad Chloe had disposed of the note. He could have gotten fingerprints if the writer had been careless. He had men who were very good with paper trails. They had an uncanny ability of tracking right down to ink and the pen it came from. These men were very handy in his line of work.
Dirk decided to move swiftly. He would have a man in the air within the hour, back to her last known location. He would get to the bottom of this. He must determine if a threat existed. If there was a threat he needed to dispose of it immediately.
Perhaps if the note writer had just done it for fun, a stupid prank of sorts, Dirk would make certain he would come to see the error of his ways. He and his men excelled in making people see the error of their ways.
* * * *
While Dirk looked lost in thought, Damien was having his own ideas. Chloe had been gone far too long. It was past time they reacquainted themselves with one another. Smiling, Damien headed up the huge oak staircase.
Chapter Three
Chloe looked up from her bed when Damien entered her room. He closed the door behind him, locking it. Her jaw quivered. She lifted her hand to cover one high breast, barely hidden beneath the tiny lingerie silk top she wore, which had slipped down, exposing her. She had known he would come. He had been watching her all evening. All throughout dinner he caressed her neck or shoulders. A cool finger had risen to sensually stroke and tease her earlobe. His steamy look had rested on her fevered face until her hands trembled with deep desire.
Damien walked with the ease and grace of a mighty warrior, a predator, and Chloe smiled at the thought. Never in her life had Chloe ever seen Damien harm anyone. He was the gentlest man she knew. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being stalked, hunted. Damien was a skilled hunter. It was in his blood, and hers was the scent he coveted.
Damien sat closely beside her on the bed. He lifted his hand, sliding the back of it down her cheek. He wrapped his long finger around, then tugged at a wayward lock of her hair. He let the strands flow over his hardened knuckles, lifting them to his nose. He gathered her into his arms. His chin settled onto the top of her head.
“Why didn’t you come to me if you were afraid, sweetheart? Haven’t I always protected you, looked out after you? My father still laughs that when you took your first steps I trailed behind you to keep you from falling.”
Chloe could hear the sadness in his voice. She settled her head on his shoulder, allowing her silken shirt to slip once more while she eased her fingers over his warm chest.
“I have stood on my own for a long time. I’m not a little girl anymore, Damien. You above all others would know that, or have you forgotten?”
Cupping her chin in his hand, Damien stared into her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten, Chloe.”
He dipped his head, and she met his lips with hers. His mouth was soft and moist; his teeth were gentle, probing as he nipped her bottom lip. She whimpered as he grew more demanding. She knew he hungered for her.
He gripped the back of her head, pulling her closer, as though wanting to devour her. She could feel his prowess radiate from within him and she moaned. She knew the sound had reached his ears when his hardened muscles bunched beneath her hands.
He had grown more solid over the years; his torso had broadened impressively. The thigh pressed to her own captured her to him, his helpless, willing victim. Nothing of the boy’s body she had known remained. It was a man who had her crushed within his powerful arms.
Damien glided his hand down Chloe’s arm, making her shiver at his heated touch. He stopped midway down and squeezed his strong fingers into her soft skin with meaning.
“I would never allow anyone to harm you; there is no one more precious to me. There is no one I want to hold onto harder than you,” Damien said, as he claimed her breast.
The soft padding of his thumb slid over a dusky rose-colored nipple, hardening it while he teased and manipulated the bud. He released her hair to trail lower, settling between her heated thighs. With deft fingers he pulled her lace panties aside to seek entry.
Chloe gasped, then moaned as his thick fingers found her most sensual spot and he worked his magic with knowing remembrance.
He dipped deeper within her. She was moist, slick, and ready. He trailed his lips in heated demand down her throat and Chloe could feel the slight growth of stubble on his chin and face like rug burn against her soft flesh.
She had always loved the feeling, its brutal pleasure. It reminded her he was all man. Unable to resist the need to roam, she reached lower. She could feel his long, hard arousal struggling to burst free from his restrictive clothing.
She stroked the rock hardness beneath. He had more than a generous length that he wielded with expertise and Chloe knew soon enough she would be begging for him to enter her. Her mind became a whirlwind of sensual thoughts.
Damien whispered heated words of what he was going to do to her into her ear. It made her blood pump fast, while her head spun with deep desire. She began to pant, desperate for breath when more of his heavy weight pressed onto her.
She had known he was eager for her, but he had never come at her like a runaway train. His hands pawed everywhere at once, rediscovering her in bits and pieces, short bursts of hectic-paced wanton lust. Touching, tasting everything as though she might vanish to leave him unsatisfied.
He seemed almost frantic in his taking of her, and it caused Chloe a moment's panic. He was striving to dominate every inch of her.
As the real
ization struck, Chloe was saddened. This was sex, lust, plain and simple. Damien was seeking his own driving sexual satisfaction. She knew he would satisfy her body’s needs, but she wanted more. He owed her more after three long years of waiting.
This was not how she had envisioned their reunion to be. She wanted him to want her; she wanted him to make love to her. Not to simply taste, lap and suckle from her, but to drink from her.
Damien attempted to push Chloe backwards onto the bed. He gripped her bottom, lifting her in his attempt to settle himself between her legs. Chloe tightened her fingers in his clothing, pushing against his hard chest. She wanted him, but she determined she would pick the time and place. It was too soon, too fast. Her emotions were still raw, fearful.
The last time they had been together he had hurt her emotionally. She knew he hadn’t meant to. Damien had never harmed her on purpose. Chloe stilled his roaming hands. When Damien gazed into her eyes, his own liquid, sky blue eyes were hungry with a glaze of sensual passion; his desire burned its way to her core.
She almost relented. When they made love the world came to a standstill. There was no air except what Damien breathed into her mouth. There were no thoughts except of how much closer she needed him to be. She became a slave to her passion for him when their bodies collided in an almost desperate dance of the living. A wild dance of instinct, something that couldn’t be taught. He would make love to her, she vowed.
“I want you,” Damien said. More of his hard body pressed against her. Once more his hands reached for her.
With resolve, Chloe stilled his hands again. “I’m tired, Damien. Please give me some time. My mother has just died. I need my strength to traipse through those boxes in the house tomorrow. Wait for me, please?” she asked. She removed the hand he had once more settled onto her breast and kissed his open palm.
* * * *
Damien sighed. She was worth waiting for, always had been. He bowed his head to rest on her shoulder. He allowed himself the luxury of resting his weight on her slight form while he glided his hand from her creamy, bare breast to her heart, feeling it pound beneath his open palm, while his own hammered in his chest.
He smoothed his other hand up and down her slender back, calming himself, feeling the painful pulsing in his loins. Resolved, he rose to his feet in front of her. After dragging a quick hand over his eyes he once more cupped her chin, lifting her face to look up at him.
“You know where I am, sweetheart, if you change your mind. I’m happy you’re home; you’re safe now.” She nodded up at him.
Chloe watched as Damien left her room. She stood up on shaking legs and entered the bathroom. With an unsteady hand she splashed cool water over her face, then gulped down a large amount. Lifting her head, she looked at herself scornfully in the mirror. For the last three years she had battled her wants, insisting she was strong. She didn’t need a knight in shining armor anymore; she could take care of herself. She was independent, self-reliant, self-sufficient. Why did she suddenly feel so stupid?
“The hottest man in the world declares he wants you and you say you’re tired. You’re not only tired, but crazy!” Chloe grouched at herself. Shaking her head, she strode back to her bed and flopped onto the sheets.
* * * *
Chloe lifted the picture from the box. She was going through her mother’s things at the small house. She removed the tissue paper and gazed with sadness at the three smiling faces. It was a picture of her and her parents. A happier time.
Chloe had been no more than two. She was smiling while being held by her mother. Her father’s hand rested possessively on her mother’s shoulder. He had been a very handsome man, with dark, captivating looks, a broad, powerful chest, smiling eyes. It was no wonder her mother had been enamored of him when they had first met. Her mother’s bright-eyed expression gazed up at her. It was sweet and clear, fitting for one so young and in love.
Sighing, Chloe went to place the picture back into the box, but was startled as a small black book fell to the ground. Studying the picture carefully, she realized the thin rectangular shaped book had been taped to the back of the picture frame, giving it the illusion of being its backing. Over time the tape had become worn, dulled with age, and finally gave way.
She ran her thumb over the book. A vague image of her father holding the book and studying it flashed through her thoughts. Shaking, feeling pensive, she opened it. The dates were worn, and for the most part unrecognizable, the paper yellowed with age. Parts of it were water damaged. The writing had fared better. She recognized her father’s handwriting.
December, Iron Hand wants my ‘mark’ done dirty. A real bad ass. I’m not used to that. Usually I get the pop and walk, easy stuff. I might ask Dirk for help, his advice on how he should be done. He’s used to this kind of stuff. It’s kinda embarrassing, especially when he’s younger, but hell he was weaned on this crap, trained from birth to kill. I heard tell he plugged his first at eighteen. Holy shit, no wonder my wife cowers when he comes over. The man’s relentless when it comes to tracking. No one is safe.
Chloe snapped the book closed, eyes raised. Her shaking had increased. She realized she was looking at a diary of executions. She also had heard James referred to as ‘The Iron Hand’. Her first instinct was to hand the book over to Dirk. He was in charge now, he would know what to do with it.
Her mind became clouded with indecision. Curiosity overcame her rational thoughts. The temptation was too great. After all, the man had been her father. Once more, with trepidation, she opened the book, morbidly curious. Perhaps she could garner insight as to what had made the man a ticking time bomb.
Damn that was wild! What a way to go. Sealed in a tempered glass case, gagged and bound, with his terrified eyes begging up at me pitifully for mercy, buried alive and then having cement dumped over him. Christ I’m glad I’m on Iron Hand’s side. I never knew anyone so cruel.
Once more Chloe slammed the book closed. With a shaky hand she swiped at her eyes, which had begun to ache. How could he! Her thoughts screamed. No! James would never do that to someone. A cold feeling swept over her. Even if James had ordered it done it was her father who had watched and aided, he had carried out the crime. He had been truly evil.
Why a glass case? She wondered, brows knit. A sick feeling filled her belly. So he could see death coming? So his killers could witness his unbearable fear? How could anyone watch a man being buried over with cement?
Knowing his terror, seeing his pitiful face, his frightened tears, his thrashing and muffled screams. How long would he have lain there alive and suffering before he died? His mind crying out for his family to save him. Would he have been crushed quickly? Would he have suffocated? Would he have died of a heart attack, frightened to death? Maybe he had lain there for hours until he went mad with terror?
Chloe shuddered as the images assaulted her mind. The man’s face would have haunted her forever. Perhaps that was why her father drank so much—to relieve himself of the horrifying images. Perhaps he was haunted even while awake. It would serve him right! Chloe felt as though she may vomit. She pressed her hand pressed her mouth as she gagged.
“How are you doing?” Chloe jumped, frightened, and shoved the book back into the box. She spun to face Damien, stumbling to her feet in her haste.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that! I’ve only just convinced myself there are no ghosts here and then you scare me half to death,” she snapped to cover up her turbulent emotions. She couldn’t help but feel she was betraying James by reading the book.
“Hey, sorry,” Damien replied, eyebrows raised. He held out his hands in supplication. “I only thought you might like a break. Maybe some lunch?”
Chloe rubbed a dusty hand across her tired eyes. Was it really that late already? Looking around at the strewn boxes, she realized she had been reminiscing for hours. No wonder she felt drained.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Salvator. It’s just that all of these memories are crashing over me. With ev
ery picture I remember. Some things are better left alone. I feel so worn out.”
Damien moved to embrace her. Chloe cuddled her head into his chest, eyes squeezed shut, now grateful for his presence. She trembled against him.
“I’m sorry this has been so hard on you, sweetheart. Can I help?”
Chloe sighed and disengaged herself from him. “No, I suppose it’s one of those necessary evils of life.”
“So is lunch,” Damien cajoled, and winked.
“All right, all right. I can take a hint. What was that your niece called you at dinner last night, your new nickname…glutton, wasn’t it?”
“Very funny. You stay away from Carrie. I can see she’s going to be a bad influence. If you don’t recall, I am wonderful!”
“Wonderfully hungry all the time. I remember when we were kids; you were always eating…everything. I used to hide my hair ribbons. I’m surprised your father has any furniture left.”
“Hey, I left him a few bookends and the dining room table. Besides, the hair ribbons were too chewy, and the white ones had no flavor at all.”
“Are we headed back to the house or will you spring for lunch? Remember, I’m unemployed now, no cash flow,” Chloe said, looking at him dryly. He still had the same old humor.
“Liar! I know very well Dad adds to an account regularly that he has set up for you. You are so spoiled.”
Chloe smiled up at him sweetly. “I guess I’ll just have to add James to the new list of men I’m going to marry, since he takes care of me so well.”
“Oh, no you don’t! I’m finally at the head of the line for once,” Damien said, chuckling. He then grew serious. “Listen, babe, we need to do lunch at the house. Dirk wants you close until he can figure out what’s what. You know he’s like a big, ugly dog with a bone when something doesn’t add up.”
“In other words I’m his prisoner until he’s satisfied no one will eat me,” Chloe grumbled, annoyed. She wasn’t a child, after all. She had gotten by without contacting them for six whole months.
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