by Roxy Harte
I can only imagine what the confinement is doing to Nikos. In his shoes I would feel like an impounded dog, waiting for the rabies test to come back negative or positive, determining if he is going to be put down or not. The thought is depressing.
I find him kicked back on the hospital bed, playing an online game on a borrowed laptop. He looks better than I could have guessed, the last twenty-four hours a huge improvement.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
He gives me a lopsided smile which I guess I could interpret as a good sign before lifting his shirt to show me the puffy red scars of his wounds. “All healed up.”
I sit on the edge of the bed. “So George tells me. We should talk about your drug rehabilitation.”
He logs out and powers down before closing the laptop lid. He gives me a long look. “What’s there to talk about? System flushed clean thanks to the doc.”
“It was hard on your body.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re telling me that? I’m the one who survived it.”
“Surviving,” I correct. “You’re still an addict, Nikos.”
“Yes. I was.”
I ignore the comment. “George is going to spend some time counseling you, now that you can hold your head up off the pillow. You’re going to need to get your head screwed on straight.”
He shakes his head, his expression all tough guy. “I’m good. One hundred percent, and I think if I spend one more day in this bed you are going to have to put a bullet through my brain. I’m ready to get back to work. Of course Henri is very likely to kill me for this disappearing act I’ve pulled. Tell me you’ve been in contact with him.”
“Not at all.”
His eyes fill with pure panic.
“The world thinks you’re dead,” I tell him. “I want you to stay here. With me. I’ll set you up with a place to live, a job if you want it. New name. New identity.”
He licks his lips, and I can see the hope in his eyes for something more even if he doesn’t have a clue what that is. For the first time in three weeks I start to believe that saving his life hasn’t been a supreme waste of time and energy.
“What’s the catch?”
“No drugs. No alcohol. No killing.”
“Basically give up all my vices at one throw.”
“Something like that,” I agree.
He pours himself a glass of water from a bedside carafe and takes a long swallow before saying, “George is concerned I’ve lived so far from normal for so long that I won’t be able to reacclimatize to mundane life.”
“What do you think?”
“Do you know anything about who I’ve been or what I’ve done over the last decade?” he asks.
I swallow hard, remembering the sight of the circular saw grinding into Eva’s chest. I’ve tried to not consider what atrocities he’s been forced to do.
He doesn’t wait for my answer. “You don’t want to, brother. Don’t let your imagination wander there.” He pauses. “My life has been a nightmare, but I don’t regret it. Not a single second of it. Because you have been here. You have been alive. You have been happy.”
At a big cost to you. I don’t say it. We both know the truth of it. I owe Nikos my life, my sanity.
“If you could see your face. Just say thank you.” He laughs and the sound is good to hear. It makes my guilt even greater.
“Why, Nikos? The job was mine.”
He gives me a long serious look, like he’s contemplating how to deliver bad news, before saying, “You wouldn’t have survived King Cobra.”
“You did.”
“We’re different. You still have a conscience.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
His answer makes a cold chill go up my spine. I’ve met other agents who have lost all sense of humanity and they’re scary things, not people anymore, just machines, very deadly machines. When I look at Nikos that isn’t what I see, but maybe my judgment is clouded by wishful thinking. He is a mere shadow of the man he once was, but he is also much more. He is scarred, mentally, physically, morally, and I am bound to an oath to take care of him. I will, more than willingly, if he will let me. “Stay here, with me. Let me protect you while we figure the rest out.”
“Each of us has to find out for himself what is permitted and what is forbidden—forbidden for him.”
Hermann Hesse, Demian
Chapter 12
Garrett
Kitten peeks around the corner into the kitchen but doesn’t enter. Sitting at the table, drinking coffee, I see her immediately. “I smelled the java,” she explains, sounding like she is apologizing.
The tension between us is growing. I could blame it on the pregnancy. I could blame it on Thomas’s abrupt departure. And then there was her conspiracy with Thomas in an effort to keep the pregnancy secret, I can’t forgive that. Or I can just face the fact recent events are playing a part in opening my eyes to the relationship we’ve had for months. I’ve tried to ignore the facts. The more Thomas is away working, the more she clings to him when he’s near, and instead of trying to draw her closer I’ve allowed a rift to grow between us.
I gesture her closer with a pat to my knee. I cannot remember the last time I shared my coffee with her. When she is settled onto my lap, I take a sip, then offer her my lips. She sucks the caffeine nectar greedily. She is and always will be a caffeine addict, which will make my next request a hard one to follow. “Enjoy today, tomorrow begins your withdrawal.”
“My what?”
“No more caffeine. It isn’t good for the baby.”
She pouts, looking angry, but doesn’t comment one way or the other.
“Do you want another sip?”
She nods, making me lift my brow.
“Yes, Master.”
I give her another sip from my mouth, holding her closer. I enjoy holding her naked in my lap. Soon, our intimacy will be changed by the patter of small feet and I can almost understand why she was so reluctant to have the interruption now. Abortion. I push the thought away as soon as it enters my mind. Dredging up old anger isn’t going to help our present. I stroke her head. “This pregnancy is going to change things before the baby is even born.”
She takes a bite of banana offered from my fingers.
“I’ll tell security any punishment has to be cleared by me, but I’m asking you to behave. There isn’t going to be any isolation sphere or whipping posts in your immediate future.”
“What? I’m not even fat yet!”
I didn’t think this conversation was going to go well. “The rules of the house have deteriorated to nonexistence. You speak what is on your mind even when you are not in the bedroom, but I will not stand for you arguing with me.”
She opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything. She rubs her face against mine, meowing softly. I pet her hair and continue feeding her. She eats, but the silence filling the room is tangible. Like this is better?
I push her onto the floor, leaving her wide-eyed. She is trained well enough that she doesn’t stand or say a word. I notice the tightening of her jaw a moment before she lifts her chin haughtily and then she crawls away, using the long extended arms, exaggerated sway of her hips sensual stalk she invented while under Lord Fyre’s tutelage. If she thinks to push my buttons—she is. She circles the room before crawling back toward me and as she does her gaze meets and holds mine. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. She is like a great cat of the African plains, angry. Her stealth is provocative and exotic. I’ve never seen a more sensual pet, and this kitten is mine. It makes me proud to know others see her like this.
Her breasts have swelled with her pregnancy, not much, a little. Not enough for them to sway with her movement but enough to add a very feminine curve. Add her swollen stomach and she is luscious, all woman, all animal. I still can’t believe I didn’t notice.
She reaches my legs and butts her head against my calves in a definite defiance.
She backs away, sitting, lifting her face to g
lare before turning to look at her hand. So very feline-typical, she pretends she didn’t just issue a challenge by lifting her wrist to her mouth and licking. Her tongue follows the long line of her gracefully posed hand. I warn, “Kitten.”
She lifts her face and hisses before bolting across the floor to slam her hand against the lip of her water bowl. The metal dish flies into the air, spreading water over the floor. She hits the food container next and the cocoa flavored dry cereal I keep in it scatters.
I lunge for her, very aware of her pregnant state, and not willing to hurt her in an effort to contain her. I am surprised when she doesn’t dodge but rather launches herself at my chest. On the slippery floor, we both fall, I taking the brunt of the landing.
She paws at my face, and her nails are every bit as sharp as claws. I taste blood on my lip and try to grab her hands but she is a fast tiger, pushing my t-shirt up to bare skin. She sinks her teeth into my pectoral muscle and I realize this isn’t a play for dominance, this is a staged scene for attention. She’s done it before, always at the club, and always when I’ve spent too much of my evening directing employees and dealing with business-related drama. Never at home. But then she’s always had my undivided attention at home, she hasn’t had to resort to instigation tactics.
Moaning with very real pain, I finally manage to capture her jaw, and although she doesn’t release my flesh from her teeth she holds the pressure steady. She hasn’t broken the skin, so I’m not bleeding, and I won’t be unless I jerk away. I’ll have a heck of a bruise in a few hours though.
Our gazes lock, and then she releases my flesh and squirms away. She is crawling as fast as she can across the wet floor, looking over her shoulder to see if I am pursuing. I pull my shirt over my head and fling it into the mess of water and scattered cereal. Standing, I unbutton and unzip my pants. Two can play this game, and I am still the king of beasts in this house. I strip and drop to my knees. Letting out a roar, I charge.
She bolts from the kitchen but I catch her halfway across the living room floor, clamping my hand around the back of her neck and pulling her back toward me to take the brunt of the force of our collision with her hip. Rolling her, I straddle her legs and the wrestling match is on.
Her hair is wet and has puffed cereal pieces caught in its tangled tresses. Her skin is flushed, her eyes bright. She’s raw and beautiful. Glowing. Happy.
Laughing, I realize that I too am having fun. It’s been too long since we’ve played. But then she’s subdued, exhausted too quickly, and she melts against the floor, giving up. I immediately worry I’ve been too rough and start to roll off her, but she grabs me and holds me tight. I’ve never seen her eyes filled with such worry.
I don’t kiss her.
I do push her legs apart and kneel between them. Grabbing her wrists, I pull her over me to straddle me and her arms go around my neck with the desperation of a drowning victim. I do not thrust into her as much as she impales herself on me. I try to rock her gently, but she is crazed and rides me hard. She sinks her teeth into my shoulder, asking for roughness in return, but I can’t give it to her. Even though rationally I know this will not hurt the baby, my intelligence and pure emotional panic war with each other. Within moments, she is gasping with her orgasm, not even realizing my erection has lost its might. Rearranging, I hide the fact from her and go to the kitchen to get my clothing. She doesn’t follow me and I dress privately.
Coming out of the kitchen, I find her sitting where I left her. “I need to go to the club.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“I know. I have an Attic session scheduled.”
She pouts, standing reluctantly. “I’ll get dressed.”
“No,” I say too quickly, too sharply. “Have Blake bring you by later. There isn’t any point in you being there day and night as well.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”
Sir Walter Scott, Marmion
Chapter 13
Kitten
Following a two day honeymoon-like renewal to our relationship, I realize nothing has changed. If I thought calling out to Lord Ice was going to fix things between us, I was sadly mistaken. I am covered with bruises on the tops and backs of my thighs, but I woke up this morning alone, no one beside me to worship the marks with gratitude. It was quite anti-climactic and to find him sullen over breakfast was more than I could take. I went back to bed, citing morning sickness. I think we both knew it was a lie. The truth is, Thomas isn’t here and we just don’t seem to work well as a couple without him.
I would still be in bed sobbing if Thomas hadn’t text me, asking me to meet him. I didn’t tell Garrett, and I’m not going to. So much for being a good submissive.
“I’m going into the office this morning.” My announcement doesn’t make Master happy. I’ve caught him staring through the large front window at the skyline. He could as easily be looking at a bare wall because I don’t think he’s seeing the view.
When he turns to look at me, his eyes widen and I think I might have tried too hard to be believable. I took time, styling my hair with the curling iron, carefully applying my makeup, even choosing sensible if not completely conventional pumps. They are leopard spotted. I just couldn’t resist funking-up the conservative brown tweed skirt-suit a little. Ditto for beneath my jacket, two layers, a white oxford shirt with a brown t-shirt pulled over the top, which proclaims: Got pussy?
Garrett doesn’t say whether I look good, or ridiculous, but does arch his brow.
“I know. Doctor’s appointment at four. I’m not going to forget, but I’ve neglected the paper for weeks and you know it.” I grab my briefcase which is stashed in the credenza.
“Sit.” Garrett gestures to the sofa.
Oh God, I do not want to argue about this. My coat and car keys are already in hand as I’d hoped to race out and not get into a conversation about whether I should or shouldn’t go to the office. The clock is ticking, though I left myself plenty of time, knowing this might happen. Damn it. I sit. My pulse is racing when he joins me on the edge of the sofa and takes my hand. I hope he doesn’t notice my sweating palms.
“We need to talk about Thomas.”
He knows. My heart stops beating, fearing somehow that he has guessed I am lying to him. “You’ve heard from him?”
“No, and I’m not so certain we’re going to. His brother brought danger into our home by showing up here. He’s obviously in trouble, on the run. Thomas took him away as quickly as he could—against my medical advice—because he was more worried about our safety than his brother’s life. He was protecting us. He may have left the country for all we know.”
This is why he’s been moody all morning? I swallow, hard, my heart in my chest. He misses Thomas as much as I do. I should tell him about the text. Oh God. The lies, the lies, piling one on top of the other. I take a deep breath, considering carefully how I would respond if I didn’t know that Thomas was in fact okay and still in the city. “You’re thinking he might be gone for a long time. Months maybe?”
He takes my hand in his. Holding my gaze, he kisses my knuckles. “I’m trying to prepare you that he may never come back.”
“Did he say that to you?” I try to sound affronted. God, what am I doing? Garrett and Thomas have both on separate occasions accused me of being such a good actress they hardly know what to believe. It isn’t true. I just keep getting put in these situations…where the truth isn’t always the best thing to say.
“I haven’t heard from him.” His eyes ask if I have, even though he doesn’t ask, or maybe I am just feeling guilty.
I jerk my hand away and stand. I’m on the verge of hysterics, I can feel it. My chest weighs a hundred pounds, I can’t breathe. I want to scream, but I know if I start I might not stop. I have to get out of this house. “He won’t leave us, not completely. We’ll hear from him soon.”
I start toward the door. I’m being a horrible slave. All protocol has gone out the wind
ow of late and Master isn’t enforcing the rules. It would be so easy to be good if he would just lock me in my cage. But no, he’s letting me run amok.
“And if he does, if he asks you to join him wherever he is, will you leave me to go to him?”
What? I hadn’t considered that. Thank God and the angels of mercy Master didn’t ask me that before giving me a glimpse of Lord Ice. Is that why Thomas text me and wants to meet with me privately? No, I won’t believe that. He’s committed to the ménage as much as I am.
Circumstances have changed though. Garrett’s right about his brother bringing trouble into our lives. What if the only way for us to be together is away from here? What if he does ask me to go away with him?
I would refuse him.
I would.
This has been long coming, the last six months driving the point home as more and more business trips lure him away and all that time desperation has made me cling to him and in many ways left a wedge lodged between me and Master. Master has been the anchor keeping me grounded. That I see clearly now. “I love you, Master, my place is at your side.”
“You love him as much, if not more.”
There is a hurt in Garrett’s eyes I wish I could erase. I’ve caused this doubt with the chaos that is mine and Lord Fyre’s relationship. I press my fingertips to his lips. “No. Not true.”
“You can say that now? With him God knows where?”
“I can promise you that I am not going anywhere. Even if he asked that. Thomas may come and go from our lives as he pleases, but I will never go with him. I was yours first. I will be yours always.” I look away, remembering how easily Thomas left us for Eva, the pain of his betrayal still fresh and unexplored. There hasn’t been time to think of that. So much has happened in the last few months. “I’m going to the office.”
* * * *
There is a deli around the corner and down the block from the penthouse. I know of it though I’ve never eaten there. His text said DELI, nothing more, nothing less. No day. No time. I do not know how he will know when I will be there; I only expect he will show up. It seems silly really that I have such blind faith.
