The Drazen World: Unraveled (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Delaney Foster

  “How do you propose we do that?” he asks, rolling his pen between his fingers as he leans back in his chair.

  I’m not intimidated by his title. My goal isn’t to outrank or outsmart him. I have a job. I don’t need his. I just need to make sure everyone who works for me stays safe. “Police protection isn’t doing anything.” He nods in agreement. “So, I suggest you try military action. Not force. Just… presence. Let them know you’re willing to take that step. If necessary.”

  “We don’t have the funding for that kind of statement.”

  “I researched your funding before I came. I wouldn’t have wasted your time otherwise.”

  “Who are you?” he asks, his eyes landing on the open manila folder in front of him. He scans my profile for anything outstanding, which he doesn’t find. My past is a secret I keep well hidden. Then he looks back up at me.

  “Just a concerned citizen who’s seen more than his share of anguish over the years.”

  He excuses me from his office while he makes a phone call. Several moments later, he calls me back in to inform me the first set of troops will be deployed within the week. And that local authorities will notify the citizens immediately.

  It’s about fucking time.

  As soon as I leave the embassy, I find the DHL office responsible for delivering David’s photo to the Greenleaf.

  I scribble a quick note and leave it inside a plain, gold envelope, identical to the one that was left for me. It takes two hours of waiting near the loading docks until the driver I’m looking for finally shows up. He’s no sooner opened his door when I shove the envelope against his chest.

  “You left a message for me two days ago at the Greenleaf Lodge. In an envelope eerily similar to this one.” His mouth falls, my observation rendering him speechless. “Now you’re going to deliver a response.”

  I wait until he takes the envelope from my hands before I turn and walk away. By this time tomorrow, David will be safe and free. And the man who sent that photo will remember my name for the rest of his life. However long I decide to let that be.

  ***

  My hotel room goes dark when I click the television off. The announcement was made on the local news, just like Johannes promised. If my message was delivered, the nightmare David’s been living the past few weeks will be over, and I can take some time off. Make sure Willem and the farm are doing well. And get to know more about a certain doctor I can’t seem to stop thinking about. I grab David’s camera on my way out of the door. I’ve looked through his pictures a dozen times, the pain, the desperation, and the occasional mother embracing her child. A splash of hope among the hopelessness.

  The cool night breeze blows in off the water, filling the air in the courtyard with the scent of newly blossomed flowers. I walk past the covered dining area where I sat with Grace, and I wonder where she is now. Or what she’s doing. Is she in her room, moaning my name, bringing herself to the brink of pleasure?

  I sit down to relax and go through the photographs once more when I reach the pool area. There’s one of a man, his body consumed in flames as people run away from him in fear. A barefoot child on the pavement of an alley, a satchel strapped to his back and his foot resting on a blue and yellow soccer ball. And a woman, dressed all in white, running from her doorway into the street, her arms spread as wide as the smile on her face as she greets an unnamed man in a dark suit.

  I catch a sudden gleam of soft light from the corner of my eye. It’s her room. She pulls back the set of curtains that was keeping her hidden from me. I lift the camera, focusing on her. She’s lost the white coat and scrubs, her body barely covered with a simple tee-shirt. And nothing else. It’s sexy as fuck in its innocence, and I want to capture it. She looks out into the courtyard but never directly at me. She has to know I’m here. She has to feel me watching. I’m sitting in plain view. The light and shadows across her face captivate me. I can’t resist. Click. She turns around, her back toward me. Click. Click. Her fingers sink into her long, dark hair, pulling it up off her neck and onto the top of her head. The movement pulls her shirt up over her ass, exposing a pair of delicate pink panties and perfectly round cheeks. I wonder if they redden the way her face does so easily.

  She ties her hair up in a bun then clicks on her television before crawling into her bed. We’re working on borrowed time. She’s leaving soon, and tomorrow may not go the way I hope. It’s unlikely, but there’s always a chance I won’t walk away. A man can only test fate so many times before it catches up with him. I can’t let her fall asleep without seeing her again. Without smelling her. Without touching her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace

  I wasn’t expecting anyone to be outside this late at night. So, when I pull back the curtains and see Deacon sitting there by the pool, watching me through the lens of a camera, my body reacts quicker than my mind. He’s watching me. And I want nothing more than for him to like what he sees.

  I’m too self-conscious to give him more than a glimpse before my mind finally decides how to work again, and I shut off the light and climb into bed. The late- night news talks about the military presence on the streets of the city, and I wonder if I should be worried. Is this what these people live through every day? Poverty. Fear. I don’t suppose it’s too far removed from the things I see in my own city. Hatred doesn’t have boundaries. It’s not prejudiced. It doesn’t limit itself to the confines of certain zip codes or cultures. A soft knock on my door startles me out of my thoughts. I glance into the courtyard at the now empty chaise lounge and hope it’s him.

  My heart stops when I see that it is. His presence holds me captive. My thoughts, my senses- every single one of them- belong to him whenever he’s near.

  “Is everything okay? Is Johan…”

  “He’s fine.” His voice revives my heart the moment it reaches my ears. “Have dinner with me.”

  My brain dies again. Surely, he doesn’t mean now. It’s almost ten o’clock at night. Of course, he doesn’t mean now.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  I haven’t even answered yet. Then again, he never really asked. The whole interaction was a subtle command that I couldn’t help but follow.

  “What should I wear?”

  A slight smile plays on his lips at my question.

  “A little more than this,” he replies, giving the bottom of my Hard Rock Café tee a tug. The backs of his fingers graze the top of my thigh. Heat. Scorching, burning desire fires through my veins.

  “Okay.”

  He lingers against my skin a second longer before moving his hands to the side of my face. He drags a stray lock of hair between his fingertips. “Good night, Grace.”

  “Good night, Deacon.”

  ***

  By six-thirty, I’ve changed clothes three times. I didn’t exactly plan on meeting a gorgeous, mysterious, and inexplicably irresistible man while I was here. And I certainly didn’t plan on going to dinner with one. Finally, I decide the little black dress I brought in case of a special meeting will have to be good enough.

  Deacon is predictably punctual. He takes me to a place on the waterfront not far from the lodge. Everything about this place is so incredibly different from what I’ve experienced so far. It’s breathtaking. Fishing boats dock in a working harbor while people stroll along the sidewalks. There’s a huge Ferris wheel set against the backdrop of a magnificent sea and glorious mountain. The setting alternates between modern architecture and historical restorations, giving the whole place a welcoming charm, very much the way I’d imagine the Hamptons to be. If I ever got to go to the Hamptons. We walk past shops and restaurants where people laugh and make memories.

  He takes me into a chocolatier and feeds me some of the best damn chocolate I’ve ever experienced. We stop at a jewelry store, and he drapes a platinum necklace with a solitary diamond around my neck.

  “This belongs here,” he says against my ear. He’s standing b
ehind me, both of us facing a full-length mirror. The single diamond flashes in the light, a bright blue glow against the olive tone of my collarbone.

  I reach behind, placing my hands on top of his, and pull the necklace from around my throat. He hands it back to the sales clerk.

  “I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear it.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  We walk the shops a little while longer, and he explains the history of the waterfront paradise.

  “I didn’t know something like this existed here,” I say as we pass a massive white structure with a balcony overlooking the water and large white columns framing the entrance.

  “It’s easy to get lost in the ugliness of it all. Easy to miss the beauty that’s right in front of you.” Warmth spreads across my skin when I catch a hint of unguarded desire in his eyes. I want to be closer to him, to touch him. And I want him to touch me too. Why does he do these things to me? What makes him different from the rest? He takes my hand, and the static returns. The electric crackle in the air every time he’s near. “We’re here.”

  He guides me, his strong hand at the small of my back, as we follow the hostess to our table. The waiter pours a wine sample.

  “See anything you like?” Deacon asks as I scan the menu.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Do you eat sushi?”

  “I love it.”

  “Great,” he says, ordering for both of us when the waiter returns. He watches me carefully as I sip my wine. I notice he doesn’t take a single drink of his. I’ve never been more aware of what my mouth and tongue were doing than I am in this moment. The chilled white liquid slides past my lips and down my throat, cooling the flame that is scorching my skin. My tongue instinctively snakes out to catch a lost drop from my bottom lip. I hope it wasn’t seductive. I want it to be seductive. The waiter leaves us alone, and Deacon angles his body toward mine. “Do you know why I asked you here?”

  I know why I wanted him to ask me here. I hope it’s because he’s as curious about me as I am about him. I want him to want to spend more time with me. Even if it’s my last night here. I want to leave with the memory of his skin on my skin. “Because you were hungry?”

  He smirks. “Something like that.” His strong hand finds my naked knee. “Your body is begging to be touched.” His fingers inch to the inside of my thigh, and my legs part without hesitation. “Begging to be touched by me.” Yes. Please. Touch me. “See how you open up for me?”

  Oh my god. I’ve been with men. I’m not entirely inexperienced. But I’ve never been spoken to like this. Never in the privacy of my bedroom. And definitely never in a public restaurant full of people. The drop of the long black tablecloth hides our sin from curious eyes. Even without the recognition of the other diners around us, I know exactly what’s going on under here, and I like it. I like it a lot.

  Would I like it even more if I knew they could see? Something about that thought excites me and embarrasses me at the same time.

  “I’m going to touch you, Grace. I’m going to give you what you want.” I spread my thighs wider, giving him the access he desires, that we both desire. It’s a silent response, but a response just the same. “But you’re not going to say a word. Not a single sound. Understand?”

  I nod.

  He smiles. “Good.”

  His fingers slip past the elastic trim of my panties to find me soaking wet with need. He pulls my clit between his fingers, pinching the tender flesh. I want to cry out. I want to ask why. But, more than that I want to do as he asked. Because that’s what he wants. He glides the same finger along my slit, slipping the tip inside me then drawing it back out. His eyes lock with mine, challenging me to disobey. I don’t. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to keep quiet and drop my eyes to the small white square plate in front of me. Focus on that, Grace. The plate and the pleasure. I can do this. He circles the swollen nub, and I fight back a moan. It feels so good. Being touched by a hand that’s not my own. Knowing a man like Deacon finds me desirable. I feel sexy and sensual. I feel feminine and powerful. Powerful because while he is in control of my body, I maintain the willpower to give him what he asked for. I press into his hand, asking for more, and he picks up his pace. Circling my clit and dipping inside me. Until I can’t take anymore. He must sense that I’m on the edge, because he slows for a second while he speaks. “Look at me.” I take in a deep breath, bring my eyes to his, and swallow hard as my body clenches and pulses around his middle finger. He brings that finger to his lips, tasting me. “You taste like heaven. Tell me, have you done this before?”

  I can’t say that I have. But his question makes me wonder how many times he’s brought a woman to orgasm at the dinner table. That has to be my hormones talking, still on the adrenaline high. Because I shouldn’t care how many women he’s been here with. I leave tomorrow, and I’ll never see him again. This is exactly what I wanted it to be. A release. A memory made. Nothing more. So why do I still care?

  “No. Have you?”

  “Not here. Not like this.”

  His answer is both a relief and a disappointment. Thankfully, the waiter shows up with our food, and I don’t have a chance to ask any more questions. And he doesn’t have to explain. Not that I expected him to. Other than what he reveals on the surface, he doesn’t seem like the type of man to talk much about his past. So, I choose a safer, more comfortable subject. One we have in common.

  “How is Johan?”

  “Healing nicely thanks to you. You’re very good at what you do. I saw you at the hospital yesterday. With the woman.”

  “Thank you. It’s a no-brainer for me. Helping people.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Do you travel like this often?” Deacon pinches part of his sushi roll between two chopsticks and places it on my plate. “Try this.”

  I take a piece of ginger from the plate, letting the contrast of tart and sweet cleanse my palette. “This is my first time out of California. But I’d definitely do it again.” A flirtatious smile flashes in my eyes when I say the last words. I’ll let him decide if I’m talking about the trip or this dinner. I pop the sushi in my mouth, and he never takes his eyes off me as my senses take in the delicious flavor. I moan, and he narrows his eyes.

  “Why here? Why now?” he asks, his gaze still locked on mine.

  “A friend of mine, Deirdre Drazen, made the offer. She’s sort of a philanthropist…”

  “I know who she is.”

  He clears his throat and tosses his napkin across his plate. Maybe he doesn’t believe in charity work? And what is it with his mood shifts every time I bring up anything about my home?

  “It’s getting late. I should get back and check on Johan,” he tells me, as he nods to the waiter for his attention.

  It’s eight o’clock. And he just said Johan is doing fine. Something happened in the last thirty seconds. A bucket of water dumped on a blazing fire. If I had more time, if I was looking for more, I’d fight to find out why. But time is something that eludes me these days, and because of that, there’s no room for more. So, we ride back to the hotel in silence and say goodnight with the sentiment of strangers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Deacon

  Of all the people she could’ve known. Of all the names she could’ve said. When the word “Drazen” left her lips, I froze. Everything I’d spent the past eleven months fighting to forget came flooding back. There’s Grace. And then there’s Fiona. And those worlds can’t intertwine. They just can’t.

  I don’t have time to process my reaction to what just happened. It’s eight o’clock. I have a meeting with some radicals in an hour. If everything goes as planned, in an hour and ten minutes, they’ll have learned exactly who they’re dealing with, and I’ll be on my way back to the lodge with David.

  ***

  Grace is on her way back to her room, and I’m on my way to an abandoned church outside of the city. Most of the thirty-minute drive, I curse myself for letting the night e
nd the way it did. Once David is safe, and I’ve taken care of business, I’ll find Grace and make amends. But right now, I have to focus on him. This is the gritty part of my job, the necessary evil. This is where being the man in charge means being the man with no conscious.

  The photojournalists on my team know what they’re getting into when they sign on the dotted line. They know the assignments are risky, but that’s what makes them worth the risk. So, when something like this happens to one of them, I don’t stop until they’re tucked safely in the warmth of their own bed.

  The narrow, gravel road seems to go on for miles in the moonlight. When I finally reach the old, stone building, the cross on the steeple peers down at me in its desecrated state, as if it knows what’s about to happen and has suffered great pain because of it.

  A black SUV makes the curve in the road just before the driveway, killing its headlights as it makes the turn. A tall man, much taller than I am, gets out of the passenger side.

  After I met with Johannes and confirmed the announcement of military presence, I sent a message to the radicals.

  You want action? Keep an eye on the news. Then meet me at 9:00 at the abandoned church off N1. Bring my man.

  I wait in the darkness of my own SUV, letting him take a few steps more before I make my presence known. The sound of crushed rock and dirt under the soles of designer shoes grows louder with each step he takes. I glance up at the cross and make my apologies for what I’m about to do. Then I open the driver’s side door and walk to the tail end of my vehicle, about ten feet from where he stopped.