The Token 6 (New Adult Dark Romance)

by Eros, Marata

  He groans against my anger, taking me deeper into his body and lifting my feet off the ground.

  “Hurt me if you need to, Faren, but love me.”

  I grab his neck and squeeze, trying to choke the life out of him.

  I hear a grunt. “Damn. You two are so many levels of fucked up.”

  We turn to Thorn. I see Mick's mouth bleeding out of my peripheral vision.

  I wipe my own mouth and turn to Mick. He brushes my hair out of my eyes and cups my chin. I cast my eyes away from his damaged lip.

  A mouth that's loved every part of me.

  And maybe her, my mind whispers into that deep part of every woman. The part that knows no matter how right something may feel up top, something profoundly wrong might happen.

  “I set it up. I set ya both up.” Thorn’s palms sweep out from his body as he casually steps over Gus's form.

  I follow him, ignoring Gus.

  We move to that office where I auditioned on his lap, where I collected my first paycheck at Mick's feet.

  I gulp back my shame and anger in a lump of regret.

  Thorn continues. “I thought if I got Christy to show her wares for my boy and you walked in on it, you'd get jealous and make things right with Mick.”

  Mick puts his hands on his hips. “I believe she thought there was more to the bargain than an audition.”

  I look between the two of them.

  “A lot more.” I seethe. “Why?” I ask Thorn, trying to make sense of why he thought his mess of a plan would work.

  “You're one of those chicks who needs a dose to get your ass in gear.”

  I open my mouth to deny it.

  But I can't. I'd been ready to pull out the stops that day. Instead, I'd gotten a load of the skank, assumed the worst, tucked my tail between my legs, and gotten the hell out of there. Mick had been texting me ever since. When I wouldn't respond, he put Butch on me.

  Oh my God—Butch.

  “I left Butch somewhere,” I confess.

  Thorn rolls his eyes. “He's dumber than a box of rocks, but at least I didn’t use Gus.”

  “Yeah.” I fight not to glance over my shoulder.

  “How could you let someone like him work for you, Mick?”

  Mick looks at Thorn.

  “I did a background check,” Thorn says, defending his choice. “He had no priors. Some dudes just like to victimize.”

  “Or take what they don't deserve.” Mick's eyes drill into mine.

  “Yeah, he won't be doing dick for a while.”

  I have to ask… “Where'd you learn how to fight like that?”

  Thorn and Mick look at each other.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Remember, I'm a self-made man, Faren.”

  Thorn grins. “Not everyone you run with is.”

  Mick smiles back. “True, but I like some of my associates a little rough around the edges.”

  I fold my arms as they discuss the benefits of solving everything with violence.

  “Chet's an asshole,” Thorn says.

  Mick shrugs, dismissing the topic.

  I wonder why Chet, whoever he is, was the first one who came to Thorn’s mind.

  Mick turns to me. “Christy means nothing to me. She was just the woman who kept us apart for too long.”

  I look at my feet. I can't believe Thorn set me up. He got that dumb bunny to run up there and tear off her clothes for Mick so that when I walked in... well, it looked bad.

  “Faren, look at me,” Mick says.

  I lift my head.

  “I could never be with someone like her.”

  My lips quirk. “She had crappy boobs.”

  Thorn shakes his head, dimples appearing as he tries to stop his laughter.

  “Haven't met tits I didn't like.”

  Mick says, “You're not helping.”

  Thorn turns away, and I want to hit him as his shoulders shake.

  “You are beautiful to me. Every part of you,” Mick continues.

  “Come back to me, Faren.”

  A tear escapes my eye. “Why?”

  Is it the baby? Is it guilt?

  “I love you. If I only have this window of time to do it in, let me love you now. Because tomorrow will come, and if you're not in it, I can't live with knowing you could have been.”

  I walk into his arms and run my hands down his back, his heartbeat against my cheek. His body warms me to my toes, in places I didn't know were frozen. Mick thaws my resistance.

  I tilt my head back and notice Thorn quietly left. I don't know when or how.

  My vision closes like a tunnel until it's only Mick's face I see.

  “What if I tell you it isn't a window but a lifetime?” The breath catches in my throat. Knowing that I've bared that part of me I keep hidden.

  His smile is like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Then you'll be mine for longer. Mine to hold, cherish and keep.”

  I still don't breathe until spots fill my vision. I inhale deeply to keep upright.

  Mick bends his head to kiss me, a press of warm breath and skin like heated paper, and then it's gone.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  He doesn't answer but tows me. We walk through the labyrinth of halls that lead from Thorn's to his office.

  Mick opens the door and walks to his desk. With a flick behind a drawer, it bounces open a crack, then he slides the drawer out fully.

  He places a velvet box on the desktop.

  Our gazes lock. “What is this?” I ask.

  Revelation mixes with disbelief.

  It can't be. It can't.

  Mick taps it once. “Ask me how long I've had this?”

  I shake my head, my vision fuzzy. I don't think I've breathed properly since Mick came through the door of the Black Rose.

  “That first night.” His dark eyes hold my gaze, keeping me prisoner.

  My hand moves to my chest. I have to hold my heart in. It's trying to escape. “Which?”

  “The night I thought you were... acting out the virginal scene.”

  I walk forward and snatch the box off the desk while Mick's eyes gleam with anticipation and another emotion I can't name.

  I pop the lid and gasp, sinking into the chair in front of his desk.

  Moments lengthen like hot taffy.

  “Do you like it?” he asks quietly.

  Like it? Love is too soft a word.

  Nestled in black velvet, a deep-pink heart-shaped stone the size of a large pea glitters like rose-colored ice. Every facet fractures a prism back at me. A narrow platinum band holds it in six prongs. A secondary band has baguette diamonds flush-mounted in a ring that's three times the width of the engagement ring.

  My eyes flare to his.

  I can't speak.

  Or move.

  Finally, I do the right thing. I stand and throw my arms around his neck across the desk.

  “I didn't know.”

  Mick pulls away a little. “I didn't either.”

  I feel my frown.

  “I didn't know I loved you. Then I met you and realized I always had.” His gaze burrows into mine. “Marry me, Faren Mitchell.”

  His words are barely above a whisper. It's Mick's eyes that convince me.

  They hold mine.

  And don't let go.

  Instead of answering, I say the words I'd alluded to before.

  He blinks.

  “What did you say?”

  “I'm not dying.”

  His eyes close for a moment.

  It's more than the yes he’s hoping for.

  Men who cry are not weak.

  Sometimes tears are bravery that leaks out when there's too much to hold in.

  ~ 6 ~

  Mick pulls my hand up for the hundredth time, admiring the ring on my finger. He brings my fingertips to his mouth and kisses each one while looking into my eyes.

  We're naked in his bed, a place I didn't ever presume to grace again. His hands run down the length of my
torso, and he puts the side of his face against my tummy.

  “Are you going to get sick of moving my stuff back and forth?” I ask, my naked breasts brushing the top of his head.

  “Ah, I think so.”

  I frown. I can't decide if he's teasing me.

  He laughs, the sides of his eyes crinkling as he looks up at me. “The construction for the new penthouse is at the bitter end.” His face takes on a coy cast.

  “What have you done, Mr. McKenna?”

  He jerks me underneath him, and I squeal. Our faces are almost pressed together.

  “I’ve made sure my family will have a special place.”

  He leaps out of bed, and I enjoy his nakedness. Mick's eyes become hooded when he notices me watching him.

  “Let me show you,” he says.

  Mick pulls me out of the bed we've just made love in. I wrap his robe around me, and it trails behind me like a cape.

  He snuggles it underneath my chin and grins. “You look great in my clothes.”

  “Funny,” I say, “I never wear any when I'm here.”

  “As it should be.” Mick slaps my ass through the terrycloth.

  He puts on some black nylon work-out pants, and I see his abs flex into lines of striated muscle. He laces his fingers through mine as we walk to the front door.

  He looks at my feet. “Get your shoes on. There's a lot of construction debris that could hurt you.”

  I slip on my clogs, feeling a little exposed out in the hall.

  He sees my expression. “Don't worry. My neighbors only care that I'm rich. They don't care if my... fiancée is walking around in my robe with her work clogs on.”

  I flush, thinking about being his wife. I like the new title of fiancée very much.

  It's not shame, but happiness. An entirely new feeling.

  Hope.

  Joy.

  Ecstasy.

  It's a heady combination.

  We take the elevator up. I'm like a lovesick puppy, nuzzling against his bare chest. I don't even notice when Mick moves me out of the elevator.

  He pushes back the plastic tarp that covers the front entrance, and I take in the view.

  I thought his view in the downstairs condo was amazing, but it's nothing compared to this. Every wall is glass. It feels both private and exposed. I weave between stacked molding, nail guns, caulking, and the other finishing products that line the subfloor. I stop in front of windows that have only an eight-inch ledge between their bottoms and the floor. My eye follows the seam to the twenty-foot ceiling and it stretches the length, running without a break to the top where it transitions into the ceiling and runs the perimeter. The corners meet in a thickened forty-five degree angle of glass.

  “It's almost... a little nerve-wracking,” I say, pressing my hand to my belly.

  My eye catches the sparkling pink diamond on my left ring finger as Mick wraps his arms around my waist. “It's supposed to seem like we're floating in the sky.”

  It does. I feel as if I'm borrowing a slice of the sky and standing on a magic carpet that's invisible.

  I step away from the glass, and Mick thrusts his sneakered foot forward in a martial arts move. His instep beats the glass with a burst of sound, and I jump back.

  His foot smoothly drops. “Tempered, baby.”

  “Oh,” I say, nervously scooping the robe closed at my throat.

  Mick chuckles. “It's specially made for”—he waves a palm at the windows—“height, atmosphere, viewing aesthetic, etc.”

  “Right,” I say softly, not looking down at the people and cars that scurry like ants beneath us.

  “I have a surprise,” Mick breaks into my thoughts. He grabs my hand and leads me through the chaotic mess of the penthouse.

  It feels like it takes a year, it's so big. I realize the penthouse is at least twice the size of his condo. “How big is... all this?”

  “Eight thousand,” he replies as he pushes open double doors.

  A sea of creams, buff, and cafe au lait greets me. There's a beautiful crib in the corner, not too near the windows. A breath of relief escapes me when I see only half the wall is comprised of glass. Light coffee covers the walls with a beautiful cream on the ceiling. Mini-crystal chandeliers dot the ceiling in two spots, dripping their prisms, and fluffy chocolate and caramel clouds appear to float between them. Built-in bookshelves line the interior wall from floor to ceiling, and every child's book a person could wish for is neatly stacked on them. A soft animal mobile floats above the crib.

  The plush carpet gives beneath my feet as I walk across the variegated espresso-speckled pile.

  My hand runs over the exquisite bed linen of the crib sheets. An antique toy chest in cherry hardwood softly glows like brandy in a crystal sniffer. It's nestled in the corner beneath a huge bank of windows.

  Overwhelmed doesn't describe my feelings as I soak in the opulence. My mom and I have always worked hard. To experience this level of luxury is surreal.

  Mick watches my expression “You like?”

  I slowly nod.

  He steals behind me and layers kisses up to the tender spot behind my ear and back down again.

  I don't know how I feel about the extravagance, but the subtle wealth in every detail is understated. I can't help but love it.

  “I guess it doesn't matter if it's a boy or girl,” I say.

  Mick shakes his head.

  He kisses my swollen face where Gus hit me. “He hurt you.”

  It hurts to smile so I just tilt up the corners of my lips. “You fired him.”

  His expression darkens. “I wanted to do more than that.”

  My eyes flick to his scraped knuckles. “You scare me sometimes.”

  Mick glances away. We're quiet for a moment.

  When he looks back, his body is tense. His memories share space with us; they crowd our intimacy.

  “I am a different man than I could have been.”

  “Because of Rose?” I ask.

  He nods and looks down at me. “I’m the right man for a woman like you.”

  I search his eyes. “What kind of woman am I?”

  My heartbeats pile on top of each other in anticipation of his answer.

  “The woman I love,” he says slowly.

  I believe he meant to say something different. I stand in the circle of his arms, taking in the only finished room in the penthouse, and ask, “What were you going to say?”

  I feel his hesitation.

  “Fragile.”

  “A man who wants to possess a woman as breakable as you has to be willing to do things that others might not.”

  I lean back. “Like hurt Gus?”

  I see something move over his face as the shadows shift. His expression makes me shiver.

  His head gives the barest shake. “No. That’s the least of what I'd do if someone threatened you.”

  “Oh.”

  He kisses the top of my head, and we leave the nursery.

  His revelations have made me heavy inside. Not in sadness but in solidness.

  Mick turns off the light, and I glance behind me. Some of the city lights stream in through the bare windows.

  I can see the mobile from the front entrance. Shadows from the animals dance on the walls, disproportionately bigger that what they really are.

  They look like monsters in the dark.

  ~ 7 ~

  “So…” Kiki peeks at me from underneath her falsies. “Everything's all hunky-dory in the Land o' Mick?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Can't take back the pause.”

  I laugh. “No, I guess not.”

  I've had a lot to work through emotionally, and I know I'm not done reconciling the past month.

  We look at the huge sparkler on my finger.

  Kiki grabs my hand. “I've never seen a pink diamond before.”

  I smirk. “I think it's safe to mention neither one of us has seen that big of a diamond before.”

  “Right,” Kiki says, gently
putting down my hand. She's in day-off chic of bright pink yoga pants with the obligatory pink across the ass, mocha cami that exactly matches her skin, signature hoops, and a topknot of spiraling ringlets.

  Kiki's eyebrows lift.

  I swallow. “He knows.”

  “Yeah. I figured.”

  A disgruntled sigh slips out of me. “The girl was Christy, some skank Thorn sent up to make me jealous so Mick and I would get back together.”

  Kiki rolls her eyes, throwing up her arms. “Thorn!” She plants her elbows on the kitchen table, and her huge hoops swing forward, catching the light from the window. “He's like a meddling sister! That would never work with you.”

  I smile. True. “Didn't work too well.” I think about spewing vomit on his carpet.

  Not at all.

  Kiki flops back against the chair and takes a swig of Red Bull.

  It's ten a.m.

  “God, that's rank,” I say, giving a chin dip toward the energy drink.

  “Jealous?” She waggles her brows.

  I snort and cross my arms. “Yeah.”

  “Figures.”

  We smile.

  “I hate this lethargy,” I say. “I feel like I've been on spin cycle for about a year, and then someone enlisted my butt for a marathon.”

  “Charming. Where do I sign up for getting knocked up?”

  “You'd never have an accidental pregnancy.”

  Kiki's face gets serious. “I do like practicing.”

  “Not the same.”

  “I don't want a permanent dude.”

  I think she's scared to fall in love and that she hasn't met the right guy. I say none of that. “I know... but—”

  She wags a glittering pink nail tip at me. “There are no buts. Well, that's not entirely legit. There are lots of asses, just not that many exceptions in Kiki's world.”

  “I don't think we live on the same planet.”

  She nods. “You got that right. But it's interesting as hell.”

  I look at her ensemble. “You're going to have to class up your act when you get all lawyer-y.”

  Kiki shakes her head. “Nope. Going to do an Erin Brockovich on everyone's collective ass.”

  I draw a blank.

  “Y'know? Julia Roberts?” she prompts. “The chick with the awesome rack who everyone thinks has a room temp IQ and blows them away with her intellect while wearing club wear?”