by Marata Eros
Praise for THE TOKEN SERIAL....
"… Marata Eros' writing style is very unique and entertaining. It added a different dynamic and twist to make this story really stand out. I was caught up in this series from the start and I cannot wait to read the remaining three parts..." -H BestSellersBestStellars "HWR"
"… The Token 1-3 definitely exceeded my expectations and is a new favorite. I'm thoroughly invested in the serial now and will continue on with the subsequent installments. The author is truly talented and manages to capture such a unique and thrilling story through the course of novellas..." -R Nicole "xoxo"
"… Completely pulling me into this dark and seedy underworld by Eros's descriptive writing style, I found myself utterly invested in her story telling. Absolutely keeping me on the edge of my seat to till the very end, Eros genius shines through...and what an ending...!!!" -Beth H
Table of Contents
Praise for THE TOKEN SERIAL
Dedication
Synopsis
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
Marata Eros NEWSLETTER
Acknowledgments
More Books by Marata Eros:
Books written under Marata's real name, Tamara Rose Blodgett:
About the Author
Dedication:
Amanda Catoe
Chet Sinclair
THE TOKEN 9
Copyright © 2014-15 Marata Eros
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing
Synopsis:
An Addiction.
Kiki is desperate to stop her twisted relationship with Chet Sinclair but finds that she can't. He is too vital, too potent... like a magnet, she cleaves to him. Desperate to break the pattern, she goes into hiding to escape her feelings, and a ghost from her past comes back to haunt her.
The Consumption.
Needy and unnerved, Kiki turns to the one person who offered her solace from the past. Can Damon Axton erase what's begun? Will he be the one to break the cycle of sexual intensity and obsession that Chet uses to imprison her, body and soul?
A Recompense of Love.
When Sinclair discovers where Kiki is hiding, their passion explodes once again. Can either admit their true feelings for each other? Or will sensual enslavement destroy their dark love before it has begun?
ONE
Kiki
Day four
“Whoa, girl, slow down.”
I suck in a breath then another. Try for calm—freak out instead. My eyes feel kind of bulge-y and dry in their sockets.
Christ.
Ax holds my elbows, his fingers wrapping them, and looks deeply into my eyes.
I begin, “I can't...”
Breathe.
Think.
Live. Like. This.
“Tell me this isn't over this Chuck ass-wipe.”
So is. “Chet,” I croak.
He lifts a muscular shoulder. “Nah, baby, no guy is worth this.” He waggles his brows. “Except yours truly.”
I find enough breath to laugh. It's shaky but it's there.
“He—god, Ax, I feel like someone kicked me.”
“Must be some kind of fucked up love thing then,” he says with a smile.
I can't smile back. Will my face ever make one of those again?
My expression wipes the smile off his face. “Tell me what's going on, Kik.”
I perch on the edge of an old over-stuffed chair inside Ax's tiny apartment above his nightclub, the Crawl.
I came here straight away. As soon as that piece of work Clarice got done wiping her expensive shoes on my heart, I blasted home. I grabbed enough panties for a week, a toothbrush, and my seedy money from my life as a stripper and came directly here. I couldn't think of anyone else to text. Faren is busy with her life, and though I don’t begrudge her one second of her happiness, it didn't feel right to drag her into this.
Back to square one I go. It brings back memories of my upbringing at Yesler. Back to surviving. I hate the feeling. Even more, I hate how easy it is to slip back in that mode.
How comfortable.
I ease back into the chair, breathing a sigh of relief. Ax's fingertips slide off my arms as his intense gaze stays on me. Worried. I know being here isn’t a long-term solution. I can't hide forever. But if even half of what Clarice said is true—and that's the only half that matters—Chet is toying with me.
I close my eyes and shove the heels of my hands into them. They burn. Tears leak out from behind my stiff fingers, and Ax gently takes my hands away. I'm sure my makeup is smeared to hell, but he thumbs away the black water on my face.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on?” he asks.
I gasp a little before I begin. “I—Chet's stepmom came by the Black Rose when I was picking up my last paycheck—”
“The strip joint? God, Kik—not trying to judge, but wow.”
I hang my head. “So don't, ʼkay?” The words come out in the whisper of my regret.
Silence hangs in the air like dust motes, invisible but present.
Ax scrubs his head, sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out like a blow horn. “Fine.”
“Anyway,” I say dryly, “she sideswiped me with the fact that Chet is in some kind of arranged engagement with this stick-up-her-rich-ass twit, Chloe.”
His face pulls into a grimace. “Fucking ouch.”
“Yeah.” I blow a stray piece of hair out of my face and swipe the remaining makeup off my cheekbone.
“So this broomstick rider happens to catch you at the Black Rose strip joint? She puts you on notice that you’re an unsuitable choice for Chuck—”
I roll my eyes but his words get a chuckle out of me, probably what Ax was going for.
His eyebrows pop. “And then she drops the bomb about the baller that's better.”
I do laugh then, a real one. “Yeah, god, I forgot how funny you are.”
“Yup, I'm an unforgettable dude.”
We stare at each other, a lot of unsaid shit riding between us. I don't do awkward too well. Usually that's the kind of shit I slay, but this time, I do what's right. My heart demands it.
I lean forward, and Ax meets me, wrapping his arms around me as I sob like a bird with a broken wing.
“I think I love him,” I choke out.
He pats my back. “Nah, he's just got a big dick or something, Kik.”
I hiccup back a laugh, and his hand squeezes the nape of my neck. The rumble of his chuckle transfers to my chest.
I smile against his button-down shirt. “I think it's the ʻor somethingʼ part.”
He pulls back and gives me the once-over, taking in my rumpled T, my naked face—f
razzled hair. He palms my face, shaking his head. “Let's get you over the ʻor somethingʼ so you can dust your feet on his ass and move on.”
I nod.
He cocks his head. “Listen, let me be devil's advocate here. What if this bitch is just yanking your chain? Yʼknow, there might be a reasonable explanation.”
I feel my face flush with disbelief. “Do you really think there's a reasonable explanation?”
His expression leaks doubt. “No. But I don't want to totally dis this guy. I mean, maybe he's really into you, and that's why she's in full freak out. She knows the relationship has potential.” His hands leave me and he stands, giving a shoulder roll of a shrug.
I hadn't really thought about it like that. Giving Chet the benefit of the doubt isn’t first on my list. Maybe it should've been.
I open my mouth. Shut it. Huh. “I guess it's weird that she knew where to find me.”
Ax nods, moving toward his galley kitchen. Definitely a one-butt space.
“Yeah. Something about this whole thing reeks.”
I squeeze my way in there with him and hike myself onto the limited countertop area.
“Counters are for glasses, not asses,” Ax says and winks.
I stay put.
“Your ass is okay,” he comments as he puts on coffee.
I nod. “Figured.”
“You figured right, girl.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, stretching my arm across the sink, and his dark eyes gleam as they stare into mine. “Keep it together, Kiki.”
I gulp my sadness. Grief has a taste. It's dark, gritty, and comes when I don't expect it. I choke on the flavor, hating it and recognizing it like an old friend.
How could I have been so wrong?
Chet woke me up. I'd been walking through life as though the very air I breathed was a sandstorm, thick with vicious grains. Now those fine specks were emptying into the hourglass of my life.
Like a mirage in the desert, Chet had appeared, a cool drink of water. Everything suddenly became so real, so vital with him in it.
Ax shrugs out from underneath my hand as I cling to him. I slip forward, unbalanced, and he catches me then gently sets me on my feet.
Coffee with cream stands on the countertop, steaming.
Ax steps away from me, putting the coffee into my hands. “Drink up. No one is human until that first cup.”
I think I'll need more than a cup to survive.
Like ten.
*
“Wake up, Kik.”
A hand gently shakes me, and my eyelids crack open. The tears and rubbed off makeup are a mess of crust gluing them together.
Lovely.
I peek up at Ax, and he grins.
“Ya look like shit.”
I flip him off. “Feel like it too. Thanks for noticing.”
Music vibrates the floor underneath the couch I’m on. Actually, it's a low-slung futon made of cushy, library-like leather. I sit up.
“Gotta jet, babe—work's aʼcallinʼ.”
Right. The Crawl.
I swivel my head, searching for a clock. I spy an ultra-modern one in the kitchen. It's only five p.m. I rub my eyes out of my head again. “It's early.”
Ax nods, and I take in his new attire. He got all spruced up while I slept my shit away. I notice it's still there though. All of it. And it stinks.
I sigh.
He pets my head as if I’m a stray puppy, and I glare at him. “I'd much rather stay here and pat your ass, but I gotta go run stuff. And things.”
My lips twitch as I scan his form. “You look great,” I say grudgingly.
“I know.” He grins.
I roll my eyes and toss a pillow at him as he walks away, and it glances off his tight ass. Like a lot of really dark black men, Ax looks fantastic in all-black. He knows it. His sculpted cheekbones and perfect skin are marred by a jagged scar that runs like a streak of pure white lightning across his right cheekbone.
I know where he got that.
A well-aimed fist.
Roi. Daddy Dearest. Beating Ax while he hid me.
I breathe through my mouth, trying to calm my rioting nerves.
His smile fades as he sees through my thoughts like a window. “Don't think about the bullshit in the past, Kik. Right now, concentrate on rethinking the plan.”
The plan? What plan?
He moves his cuff up and looks at his Rolex. He smiles.
I try not to balk at his show of wealth.
“The Crawl bringing in the flow?” I can't help but ask.
He nods. “It's enough—more than enough moo-lah. We'll talk more when I get back.”
He tosses some keys at me. “Use the gym next door, take a shower, doll up. Then get your ass downstairs and forget Chuck.”
“Chet!” I nearly shout, but there's a smile in my voice and that's something.
Ax chuckles. “Chump? Yeah…” He cups his chin. “I think I like the sound of that better. It's got a good ring to it.”
I stand, and he scoots out the door.
Good thing. He'd have definitely gotten pillow-whipped again.
I stare after him, even though the door's shut, then fan out the keys in my palm. “Hmm.”
With such a small apartment, I wonder how he can have a gym next door. The Crawl must be making serious bank. We are in downtown Seattle, for God's sake.
I rummage through my overnight case and drag out a pair of panties, yoga pants, and a fresh T. As I walk to the front of the apartment, I notice how ancient everything is. The molding is wide, deeply fluted, and painted creamy white. Ax’s door is solid Douglas fir, and it has about ten thousand latches on it. Some are original to the door, old brass glowing like butter. Some are shiny and new. I spend ten seconds navigating which is what. Finally, I extract myself and move into the hall. There're three other doors beside Ax's and a long corridor leading to a steep staircase that only goes down.
I look at the keys. No number. I frown. The keys warm inside my loose fist.
I slide one of the keys inside the lock of door number one. It resists the turn. Locked.
I try number two, and it swings open. It's a mirror of Ax's tiny apartment but sparsely furnished. Not the gym.
I walk inside. It smells like lemons and wax, recently cleaned.
I move deeper into the room. The beaten bare floors are a muted amber beneath my feet. The black-out shade in the tall, narrow window is glaringly modern against the old-fashioned casing, its antique creamy paint nicked and chipped from over a hundred years of existence.
I ease the shade aside and look over a back alley of Seattle, the water distant and dark. The faint lights of the ferry twinkle like fallen stars in the tapestry of the coming night.
The sight instantly reminds me of that alley. The one where Chet beat four guys into submission with his bare hands.
I remember his anger. Like my grief, it also has a taste.
An acquired taste.
It didn't take me long to get the hankering for that flavor. I shiver slightly as I remember all that contained violence narrowed down on me with a wash of passion. It only barely covered Chet, so sheer I could always see the animal underneath.
I look out at the old brick structures beside modern high rises for a minute longer. Peeks of the view beyond slide through temptingly. Of course, my condo has a great view. But I'm hiding here instead. A part of me wonders if Chet's tried to get a hold of me.
The other part answers hell yes.
A shadow catches my peripheral vision. Two.
I squint. The sun has set, but the ambient light of twilight bleeds into the pockets of dark that remain, illuminating them like spilt bloody ink.
One shadow I recognize as Ax—I'd know his tall, muscular figure anywhere. He tends to loom, as he’s doing now.
The other dude? I lean against the window, my fingertips barely pressing against the cold glass and my breath held.
I stare.
His head is bent next to Ax’s, who'
s gesturing wildly.
Then the unknown guy turns his head in my direction.
The room I stand in is dark. I know he can't see me, but I cringe back all the same. Habit.
Our eyes meet, though I know the window is a black hole. He's blind to me.
Thump, thump, thump, my heart lurches. I know this bastard.
He was that merciless perv fucker who was after Juliette—her husband.
My body begs me to flee, but I hold my ground until his face turns away. I try to make sense of why Ax would be talking to him.
Roi's dead. My French pimp of a dad is gone forever.
But this badass remains.
Shepard.
I step away from the blind and slowly, ever so slowly, let it fall back into place. I walk backward out of the door and close it softly. It latches, and I fight against jumping at the small click in the gloom of the hallway.
And I thought hiding from Chet and licking my wounds would be the extent of my troubles.
But trouble finds me.
TWO
Chet
Day five
“Axton, Damon.”
I wait for Dean's response. My fingers drum on the slick wood of my desk.
“No record, Mr. Sinclair.”
Fuck.
“All right. Try corporations. This man must be doing something illegal. What better way to hide what you're doing than in plain sight.”
A pause. “Of course, Mr. Sinclair. I'm on it.”
Glad someone is.
I hang up before he signs off, and I toss my cell onto the desk. It revolves slowly as I swivel in my chair and face the window. I lock my fingers together and rest them on my head. The glass wall overlooks the Sound. The waves churn like my anger.
