The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  She nodded, not really listening and he smiled to himself.

  ‘Thing is they’re not coming, not tomorrow.’

  She shrugged, still pulling her toast to pieces and slathering them with peanut butter. ‘Okay.’

  ‘They’re coming in an hour.’ Then he waited.

  Isa stopped chewing and stared at him. ‘You’re kidding.’

  He very calmly took a sip of his coffee. ‘Nope.’

  He’d never seen anyone move so fast.

  An hour later, to his surprise, Isa was almost serene, chatting happily with the local art critics and dealers that Sam had invited.

  He had been right – well, he and Zoe. They’d planned the surprise viewing so that Isa didn’t have time to talk herself into a state of nervous introversion that made her unable to talk to anyone. The adrenaline that coursed through her after he told about the surprise viewing had made her outgoing, receptive. He could tell the critics were utterly charmed by her, whatever their views on her work. Cal and Seb were keeping their drinks refreshed and passing around food. Keep ‘em drunk and fed always worked, in his book.

  He managed to steal her away for a few moments, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her into a darkened corner. She grinned up at him, and he bent his head, pressing his lips against hers.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ He kissed her again and felt her laugh.

  ‘I’ll think about it. Seems to be going well, huh?’

  ‘Never in any doubt.’

  She glanced back into the viewing room. ‘You know all these people?’

  ‘Mostly. Some are newbies. How do you feel?’

  She nodded. ‘Good, actually. Hopeful.’

  He slid his hands into her hair on either side of her face. ‘I love you, you know?’

  She nodded and kissed him. ‘I do know. As I love you. Thank you for this, for all of it.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re welcome. Now get back in there and hustle.’

  She walked past him, back the milling crowd and he breathed in her scent, the perfume she left in her wake. It was thrilling being here, so near to her and hearing her talk in that gentle voice. She looked beautiful too, a simple white dress which showed off the rich gold of her skin.

  See me.

  She glanced in his direction as if he’d spoken out loud and their eyes met. She nodded, smiling. I love you. I love you.

  The jerk in his groin was almost painful. That smile. He almost couldn’t wait for that smile to turn to pain, to understanding she was dying and he was the one killing her. He imagined going to her now, in front of all these people, in front of her bastard lover, and stabbing her, plunging his knife into her belly, watching the blood bloom across the white dress. Hearing people scream their horror. To see her confusion as she bled to death.

  Soon, my darling. Soon.

  It was after midnight before the last of the critics had faded away. Isa and Sam banished Zoe to bed, while Cal bore Seb off to the city, already best friends. Isa was gathering up empty glasses, plates, discarded flyers and information leaflets. Finally, Sam bore her up to her apartment, snagging the last bottle of champagne. Inside, he shook the bottle and nodded at her.

  ‘Take your clothes off.’

  She dropped the dress to the floor, grinning, guessing his plan. He popped the cork and sprayed her entire body with the champagne. Tugging his own clothes off, he swept a furiously giggling and soaking wet Isa into bed and proceeded to lick every drop from her skin. She moaned and writhed under his touch, completely at his mercy.

  It was three forty-five a.m. before they finally broke apart. Isa reluctantly rolled from the bed. ‘Must pee,’ she grinned, blowing him a kiss on the way to the bathroom. Sam watched her with pleasure, the way her hips swayed as she walked, her hair clouding around her. Goddess. He couldn’t imagine life without her now. Sam sighed and got up, tugging his jeans on.

  ‘Coffee?’ he called, as he walked into the tiny kitchen.

  ‘Nah, I’m good, thanks.’

  Sam dumped some instant coffee into a mug and put the kettle on the gas. He glanced out at the night – there was no moon tonight, and he could barely make out the shape of Zoe’s house. Then he frowned. Through the windows of the darkened gallery he could see a small glow – was someone there?

  Isa, looking adorably ruffled in his t-shirt and pair of old paint-spattered pajama pants, batted his ass as she appeared from the bathroom, pulling a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator. ‘Why the face?’ She asked, draining half the liquid in one gulp, and pulled herself up onto the counter top.

  Sam nodded towards the gallery. ‘Did we leave some lights on?

  Isa glanced out of the window. Don’t think so. I’ll go check.'

  She yanked open the door and stopped, turning to look at him with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Sam…’

  He immediately smelled it too: smoke. In an instant they were racing down the stairs, banging on Zoe’s door to wake her and then into the back door of the gallery they ran. They were assailed by the choking smoke, the raging heat. Isa darted towards the paintings that she could see and started to lift them from the walls, but Sam went towards the backroom, his hand covering his mouth and nose, to where Isa’s exhibit was. When he got there, the heat increased, the flames crawling across the walls.

  Sam could see it was all gone. Every one of her paintings, every sketch. A bunch of paint stripper soaked rags was piled up beneath the largest of them. This was deliberate.

  ‘Sam!’

  Isa was beckoning him frantically and together they escaped the inferno. Zoe, her face drawn and shocked, was already out on the street as they joined her, sucking in the fresh air, coughing, choking. Sam saw Isa was trembling and pulled her to him.

  ‘I’m sorry, baby, it’s all gone, I’m so sorry.’

  Isa, her dark eyes wide and frightened shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, Sam, it doesn’t matter. I just….’ She put a hand to her forehead, and he saw tears pouring down her face. He pulled her into his arms. With his free hand, he called the emergency services.

  Zoe was trying to console Isa, but she was sobbing now. ‘The house… your house… I don’t know why….’ Suddenly Sam saw how lost she looked, how devastated. He understood that she didn’t care about her own work; all she cared was that now, it looked like Zoe had lost her livelihood, possibly her home. It made him love her even more.

  Zoe tugged at his arm. ‘Sam… Sam, what happened?’

  He shook his head, not knowing what to tell her. The fire was growing more intense. Sam coughed again, spitting smoke filled saliva onto the street. His cell phone bleeped. Another photo of Isa taken about ten seconds ago.

  Will you miss her when she’s dead?

  Sam’s body went cold. He spun around and scanned the street for anyone suspicious for Casey. In the distance, he could hear sirens, but now, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, Isa was walking towards the front of the gallery, her forehead creased with confusion. He saw her bend to pick up something at the same time as a burst of fire shot towards the front door. Sam hurtled towards her, pulling her away just as the window exploded above them. The shockwave sent them both tumbling across the asphalt. Neighbors had started to gather, and a couple of them rushed to help them to their feet.

  Sam saw blood trickling down Isa’s head from a nasty gash at her hairline but as he reached for her, she pushed something into his hands, and he was shocked at the terror in her eyes. He looked down at the canvas in his hands. It took him a second to understand, to comprehend what had frightened her so much.

  He thought at first that the small canvas was one she’d managed to save. The next moment, he changed his mind; it wasn’t her style, not one of her joyful, vibrantly colored abstracts. It was a cartoon, stark colors of black, white and red in the style of Japanese Manga. When he saw it, his stomach dropped, and the breath knocked from his lungs.

  It showed a woman, a beautiful woman, long brown hair, huge soft brown eyes – quite obviously Isa
- dead, lying a pool of blood. Murdered. The hilt of an over-sized knife protruded from her belly, the white dress she was wearing soaked in her blood. The expression on her lovely dead face was one of agonized terror. Next to the women, a dark haired man had sunk to his knees beside her, weeping. Even though the picture showed him only from back, Sam knew it was meant to be him. Jesus.

  Sam looked up into the frightened eyes of the women he loved.

  ‘Still think protection is a bad idea?’ Isa whirled away from him, sharply bent double and threw up.

  Fire trucks came screaming onto the street then, but Sam could only hear, only feel, the heavy thumping of his heart as he gazed at Isa, his world, his life, and felt the old terror return, the terror he’d long since buried.

  He was going to lose her. Someone wanted to take Isa from him. Someone wanted to kill her.

  And now, in that this moment, he didn’t have any clue how to stop them…

  Isabel Flynn stared out at the pale gold of dawn creeping over the island. The stark, marshal décor of the police station was giving her a headache; her eyes felt loaded with grit. She could not get warm despite Sam’s arms being around her, a scratchy blanket covering her. She could still taste the acrid smoke of the fire and feel the ashy dirt on her skin.

  The detective on the other side of the desk, Det. Halsey was scribbling down notes. He was kind and empathetic but professional. In front of him, the canvas she’d found outside the gallery.

  Her eyes kept sliding to it, disbelieving it was, that it was meant to be her. Her murder.

  Isa swallowed down a wave of nausea, slid a hand over her belly to quell the fear. She closed her eyes but kept imagining that knife was in her now, tearing through her, and a stabbing pain shot through her. Jesus.

  ‘Sweetheart, are you okay?’ She felt Sam’s lips at her temple. She nodded and opened her eyes. Det. Halsey smiled kindly.

  ‘Just a few more questions, Miss Flynn. Then you can go home. We have to ask; is there anyone you know that may want to harm you? An ex-boyfriend? Someone at work?’

  She shook her head. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Any bad break-ups?’

  She hesitated. ‘One. His name is Karl Dudek. We broke up a year ago.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Isa sighed. God, she really didn’t want to talk about this. ‘He hit me. Once but that was enough. He was drunk and lashed out. It was only that time.’ She felt bad, suddenly. Karl had been the wrong person for her, had not taken it well when she’d told him she was leaving but was horrified about what he had done instantly, begging her for forgiveness. ‘I don’t think he would do this.’

  ‘We’ll need his address. What does he do?’

  She hesitated and then her shoulders slumped. ‘He’s a cartoonist.’ She saw Sam and the detective exchanged loaded glances. ‘Look, I… Karl wouldn’t do this. We were over; he knew that, he accepted that.’

  ‘He could be jealous of the attention your work is receiving, jealous of your relationship with Mr. Levy.’

  ‘No… I….’

  ‘Isa, we have to investigate every possibility.’ Sam’s voice was low, racked with pain and it made tears spring into her eyes. ‘Someone is threatening to kill you.’

  Her eyes went immediately back to the painting. It couldn’t be doubted the dead woman was meant to be her. The stab wounds were horrific, so many of them, a frenzied attack. Someone wanted to do that to her. Isa swallowed, closed her eyes to shut it out, leaning into Sam.

  ‘Okay… okay…’

  Sam took her home soon after that. As they passed the smoking remains of the gallery, Isa gave a small, exhausted moan and Sam swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her apartment. He double-locked the door behind them and followed her into the bedroom. Isa curled up on the bed, and he lay down beside her, curving his body around hers. He stroked the hair from her eyes. ‘You should try to sleep, beautiful.’

  She stared back at him with pain-filled eyes. ‘My body says it wants to; my brain won’t let me.’

  His emotions were swirling, nausea, fear. He kissed her dry lips. ‘I can distract you if you like.’ He was partly joking, trying to lift the mood, but she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely.

  ‘Please, Sam… yes, please…’

  He undressed her slowly, kissing every part of her body as he did. She tasted of smoke, of salt skin, of Isa, and as he drew his fingertips gently down her body, he again wondered how anyone could even dream of hurting her.

  ‘If there was a way,’ he murmured, his lips against hers, ‘I could express how much you mean to me, how much I love you, I would do it…’

  Tears dropped down her cheeks, and she smiled for the first time in hours. ‘Show me; that’s all you need to do. I love you, Samuel Levy. You are my world, my life.’

  He kissed her then, his mouth rough on hers, his hand sliding between her legs, his fingers finding her slick, wet opening, slipping inside. She moaned and ground herself against his hand, her own hands on his cock, caressing his balls, sliding up and down his shaft as it stiffened. He ached to be inside her.

  ‘I’m yours, Sam,’ she whispered, ‘tell me what you want to me to do.’

  He smiled down at her. Christ, she was glorious. ‘Spread your thighs.’

  She did so, opening her legs wide and he pushed them further apart, lifting her to slide a pillow under her hips. His hands kneaded the soft flesh of her inner thighs as he gazed down at her, her dark hair framing her lovely, flushed pink face, her dark eyes, tired but soft. His cock was straining, but he held off, touching every part of her, her breasts, the tiny nubs of her nipples hard, the aureoles pink and quivering at his touch. The line down the center of her stomach, the mound of soft skin that curved down into the hollow of her navel. He traced a pattern around it, knowing how it turned her on and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You’re so beautiful, sweetheart, so, so lovely.’

  Her sex had swelled, ripe and soft as a peach under his caress and now, with her hands still stroking his cock, she guided him into her, moaning softly. As he moved, driving himself as deep into her as possible, she kept his gaze, urging him on. He pressed her legs apart as far as they would go, watching his cock slide in and out of her, feeling her muscles contract around it, the delicious wetness of her. Exhaustion and distress had made them both heady and abandoned, and as their excitement grew, he began to slam into her, encouraged by her. He maneuvered so he could kiss her as they both neared climax. She took his face in her hands.

  ‘This…’ she moaned as he drove himself harder onto her, ‘this is all that matters. You and I… this is the only thing that’s real… oh… God…’

  Her fingers dug into his buttocks as she came, clamping her hands on them, willing him deeper, deeper. He felt the hot rush of her climax envelop his cock as he felt himself explode inside of her. They both shuddered and collapsed, but he didn’t want to stop, wanted to possess her in every way. As she dragged air into her lungs, he kissed her throat, her neck, took the soft lobe of her ear into his mouth.

  ‘You and me.’ He whispered, finding her lips with his.

  ‘Forever,’ she replied, and Sam knew then, without a doubt, that she was his.

  Seb Marshall opened one eye and groaned. He heard a chuckle from the other side of the suite and pulled himself into a sitting position. However luxurious the Levy’s penthouse was, the sofa wasn’t meant for a guy Seb’s height, and he rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness. Big mistake. Nausea and pain ripped through his entire body, and he dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘Jesus…’

  He felt a cold glass being shoved into his hand. ‘Drink this; you’ll feel better.’ Cal Levy handed him a glass with a vomit-colored liquid in it. Seb looked at it dubiously, then glanced up at his friend. Cal grinned.

  ‘Best you don’t know what’s in it.’

  Seb sighed then as his hangover sent a shrieking pain
through his head, he downed the mixture in one. He gagged, and Cal laughed.

  ‘Give it time; I promise it works.’ He indicated a breakfast tray. ‘You should eat. Bit of a lightweight then?’

  Seb laughed with him. ‘I don’t usually drink, it’s true, but jeez. I didn’t think I would be affected as much as that. What were we drinking in the last place we went to?’

  ‘Tequila slammers.’

  Seb studied his new friend. ‘How come you don’t look as bad as me?’

  Cal grinned, tapping his abdomen. ‘Iron stomach. Did you enjoy it though?’

  ‘Hell yes, haven’t kicked back like that in quite a while. Mom and Isa are kinda homebodies – you’ve probably noticed. Most of my friends are, now I think about it. God, we’re just sad geeks.’ Seb gathered his dreads up, tied them back with a band he had on his wrist. ‘Talking of Isa, how good was that preview? So proud of her.’

  Cal got up, grabbed the t.v. remote. ‘Fantastic. They loved her too, might be something about it on KOMO.’

  He flicked through the channels. Seb, feeling the hangover cure start to kick in, wandered over to the breakfast tray and started to scarf down pancakes.

  ‘Shit.’

  Seb looked up at Cal’s exclamation, followed his gaze to the t.v. For a second he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Cal looked over at him, his eyes confused and alarmed. Finally, Seb managed to choke out ‘That’s my mom’s gallery….’

  In less than a minute, they were in the elevator.

  Isa glanced out of the window at the journalists milling about in front of the ruined gallery. She sighed, and Sam came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist.

  ‘Slow news day.’

  Sam kissed her neck. ‘Beautiful artist loses collection to arson on the eve of grand opening? I’d say that was pretty huge news.’

  Isa shrugged. ‘No biggie.’

  Sam sighed and tugged her around to face him. Her eyes were heavy, lilac shadows beneath them, her usually glowing skin sallow and drawn. He ran his thumbs gently over her cheeks. He knew she hadn’t slept – because neither had he. Someone wanted to kill Isa. Kill her. Sam kept saying it over and over in his head, but he still couldn’t understand it. Why? He could only figure it must be jealousy, could only suspect one person: Casey. But would Casey have honestly gone this far? Would she have the imagination, the moxie to blatantly threaten Isa’s life? The horrific, sickening cartoon of Isa’s murder wouldn’t leave his mind.