Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1)

by Tmonique Stephens

  The small room shrunk around her, choking her. “You’d leave me alone? You were hired to protect me. That man is still out there and you would walk out the door and leave me? Unbelievable! What type of a bodyguard are you?” Stella sniped. Her hands gripped the bedrails to keep from following him.

  “The type that would give you some privacy. The type who recognizes you don’t want me here, but you’re willing to put up with me for your own safety. I’m the type that would have stood outside your door until my relief arrived.”

  Weren’t bodyguards supposed to be nasty to everybody else, not to their clients? “I guess you can stay,” she muttered.

  “Thanks for the honor.” He glowered at her and opened the door. Doc entered as Roman exited.

  If she had the strength, she’d flip back the covers, find, and strangle the man. “Jacob, why did you hire Roman Nicolis?”

  “What do you mean? You needed protection. So I hired Nicolis Security.”

  “But . . . why him? Why not another firm?”

  “You don’t like Mr. Nicolis?” His eyebrows drew together. “He came highly recommended, but if you don’t like him I’ll fire him and hire another firm.” Doc gingerly propped himself on the edge of her bed.

  “No.” She grabbed his arthritic hand. Doc didn’t understand and she didn’t know how to explain how Roman Nicolis made her feel. Afraid, but not. His face, his body, those damned eyes, they were all familiar, but why? “I don’t want him fired. One company is as good as the next. I’ll stick with the devil I know.”

  “Are you sure? Anything to make you happy.” He patted the back of her hand.

  She swallowed her exasperation. Jacob was the grandfather she always wished she had. She refused to show him her ire, and nodded.

  “Good. Good, I like Roman Nicolis. Good character, I believe. Good man to have your back in a fight.” He shuffled to his feet, the snap and crackle of his joints background music to his deep sigh. “Dear, I’m off. Time for me to head home and barricade myself in,” he chuckled. “Not safe for an old man to be out in the evening.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  “Walk with me,” was all Doc said when he exited Stella’s room. Roman shortened his steps to match those of the elderly gentleman, who guided them a short distance away. Close enough for Roman kept a visual on Stella’s room.

  “She doesn’t like you. Why?”

  What could he tell the Doctor that wouldn’t make him seemed crazed? “What did she say?”

  “She asked why I hired you, not your company, but you personally. Though, I don’t think she realized she phrased it that way.”

  Suddenly, he realized he’d never asked that question. “Why did you hire my firm, Dr. Orley?”

  “I asked my nephew, Senator Orley. He said if he ever needed protection outside of the Secret Service, he would hire your company because you’re ruthless and will do what’s necessary. What better words are there when a man is trying to protect a loved one? Now, I must be off.” He shook Roman’s hand and passed EJ on the way to the elevator.

  “What’s new?” EJ asked and studied the area. Dressed in his usual jeans, steel-toed boots, and white tee, Roman spotted the subtle bulge under EJ’s biker jacket.

  “Nothing’s new. Everything remains the same.” A pent-up breath escaped him.

  EJ frowned. “Finally found the woman that can resist you and it’s the one you want. Life sucks.”

  “Thanks for that astute observation.” Roman headed back to her room. “I’ll tell her I’m leaving.”

  He entered the room to find the lights dimmed and Stella settled snuggly in bed with the covers drawn. She couldn’t be asleep so soon. He approached the bed. Her eyes opened and settled on him.

  “I came to say goodnight.”

  “You didn’t have to.” She shrugged.

  “Yes, I do.” He paused to take in her expression, but her shuttered face offered none. “Goodnight, Stella.”

  Stella watched him leave the room and fought the temptation to say—something, anything to fill the empty space enveloping her. The door closed behind him and the room became cavernous. She couldn’t explain why her heart became hollow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Yankees cap was pulled low over Alamut’s forehead and wraparound shades covered his eyes. Disguised, he waited in a small park across the street, five stories below Stella’s hospital room. Too many days had passed with him getting no closer to the woman. Daily, Anubis called, ripping his atoms apart, demanding his appearance. His shame and terror gave him the strength to resist.

  Do you play?” an old man asked and pointed to the checkerboard.

  Part of the park held six weather-worn, stone chess tables. He had the misfortune to be sitting at one. Distracted and not realizing where the conversation would lead, he nodded. A joyful smile smoothed over the man’s creased face and he produced chess pieces from a small case.

  If he told him to step off, the man would remember him as the asshole in the park. Not good. Alamut smiled. Chess. A game of strategy, deflection, and deception. “Of course I play.”

  “I’ve been praying for an opponent all day.”

  While the old man chattered, Alamut’s gaze returned to the hospital.

  Five moves in, the old man looked up from the board. “Is there someone you know in the hospital?”

  The knight in Alamut’s hand hovered. “Why do you ask?” A feral grin cracked the hard surface of his face.

  “W-Well, I’ve seen you here almost every day for a while now and most people here are visiting sick family. They use the park as a getaway.” The old man stuttered, his attention to the board.

  Alamut completed his move. Beneath the table, he dried his sweaty hands against his pant legs. “I’m killing time.”

  “I don’t like hospitals. Too many of my friends go in and never come out. Not good odds so I stay out of them.” The old man laughed, but stopped when Alamut didn’t join. “You are more skilled at chess than I first suspected.” The old man said after a few moves.

  “I love games. All sorts. I like to win.” At everything. Alamut checked the time on his phone and threw the next game.

  “I need to get going.” He rose from the table.

  “Oh, will you be here tomorrow?” A hopeful smile split the man’s face.

  Being old must suck. He would never have that problem. “No.”

  A block away, he could still see the main entrance to the hospital. From the depths of his pocket, he withdrew folded sheets of paper. Six-thirty P.M. Shift change. He scanned the pictures of the ICU nurses. For days, he spied on the staff, reconnoitering every facet of their lives. He had to redeem himself and tie off this loose end before Anubis called him again.

  He’d searched and exhausted every way possible to get to Stella Walker. The easiest would be to walk into the room and put two bullets, center mass. No time to play.

  Not only did that not seem . . . right, but he would never make it out. Then they would know. He wasn’t ready for them to know—not yet.

  He had to wait for a better time, the perfect moment when he’d kill, and repay her for his failure. Her death wouldn’t be quick. This time he would get to touch her, play with her, take her from Roman.

  He’d take Stella to the factory when he captured her. Once there, he planned to spend as much time as possible to make her death the most memorable event of her life. Time he didn’t have before.

  Her death, Roman’s suffering. What more could a brother ask for.

  But first, he had to get her out of the hospital and alone.

  He shook his head at the dire straits of his life, when he noticed someone leaving the hospital. Shuffling through his papers, he found her. Pamela Buckley. ICU nurse. 35. Unmarried. Lived alone. She waited on the sidewalk. Another ICU nurse exited the building and approached her. Nancy Dissent. 52. Widowed. Lived alone.

  Both lived on Long Island not far from each other. They worked the same shift, commuted tog
ether to save gas. He followed them as they walked the two blocks to the parking garage and was on the sidewalk when Pamela’s Toyota Highlander pulled out into traffic. He checked their addresses again. Five miles apart. Perfect. A giddy laugh escaped.

  He had been good for too long, endless weeks where time had stretched the days into decades. Since he couldn’t have Stella, tonight their time was up.

  Once again . . . his time had come.

  ~~~~~~

  “Have you slept at all?” Hector entered the office carrying a breakfast tray.

  “I tried, but my brain refused to unplug.” Roman closed his laptop and stretched.

  “Well, everything is arranged here and at RockGate for Miss Walker.” Hector poured him a cup of black coffee.

  Grateful for the caffeine, he downed it in two gulps. Work didn’t keep him awake, she did. Throughout this long week, his business kept him occupied, but not distracted enough to forget her angry, suspicious scowls and wary eyes.

  Truth is, he would have slept better in the hard chair by her bedside than in his own king-sized bed at home. It took everything he had to leave her hours at a time under EJ’s care. And though he trusted EJ to watch Stella, her safety was his job. . . his penance.

  “I’m sure she’ll love it.” What did it matter? Whether here, at his Park Ave townhouse or RockGate, he doubted she would ever see the inside of either of his homes.

  “Bianca’s delayed in LA,” Hector said. Information Roman already knew from the several emails she sent him.

  “Are you prepared?” Hector placed a western omelet, bagel, and bacon in front of him and waited for his answer.

  “I’m always prepared.” Roman chose to ignore Hector’s dry chuckle.

  He ate, showered, and shaved before returning to the hospital. He told himself he didn’t want to see her. This was a job and nothing more. Except, his heart raced when he parked his car and his skin prickled with excitement as he walked through the hospital lobby.

  Roman stepped off the elevator and into the controlled chaos of ICU. Anxious, he strode through the unit, scanning for potential threats. He nodded to EJ, stationed outside Stella’s door, before entering her room.

  Sitting up in bed, her empty breakfast tray was pushed to the side and a magazine lay in her lap. Her hair now had a glossy shine, and her skin had a pink radiance that hadn’t been there before. She appeared almost healthy.

  “You look beautiful today.” The words slipped from his lips.

  “As opposed to yesterday?” she quipped.

  “You were beautiful yesterday . . . but soap and water helps.”

  Her lips twitched and a smile danced at the corners. He hardened under her appraisal. His leer brought a blush to her pale cheeks. She glanced away, her dark hair covering half her face.

  “What are you reading?” He stepped closer to her.

  “Trash. Brad and Angelina are breaking up again.”

  “Aren’t they always?”

  He reached for her. She gasped and pressed back into her pillow. He continued and threaded his fingers through her hair and down the side of her face before swinging her tresses behind her ear.

  Stella jerked her head away from him and covered her face again. “Detective Lever stopped by this morning.” She choked. “She asked more questions about—”

  “Me?” He finished for her.

  She nodded.

  “Should I call my attorney?”

  “Guilty people need attorneys—”

  “—Smart people have one—”

  “—Which one are you?”

  “I’m rich. So I’m both smart enough to have one and guilty enough to need one, though not because of you.” He leaned close. Her face was the only thing he could see. “I’m not the man who put you in here.” Stella’s gaze caressed his features igniting a raging need inside him. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched, as if she had the same need. An inch closer and his lips would cover hers.

  “Then why do I remember you?”

  Low and husky, her voice washed over him. A growl almost escaped. He had to taste her, just once. He leaned a bit closer to take what he wanted.

  A scream rent the air. Footsteps pounded down the hall followed by two more screams and an “Oh my God!”

  EJ entered the room with his gun drawn. “I don’t know what’s happened.”

  “Stay with her.” Roman ordered. In the hallway, nurses screamed then ran toward the elevators.

  “Call the police!” someone yelled.

  Six rooms down, a crowd huddled by the South staircase. He approached with his gun at his side. Whether it was the weapon or the hard unforgiving lines of his face, a nurse fainted when she spotted him. The rest hugged the walls or fled after he passed.

  Careful not to contaminate the crime scene, he pushed the spring handle on the door with his elbow.

  Wrapped in plastic, a head waited on the landing.

  “Lockdown the hospital,” he said to the first security guard that arrived. “No one enters or leaves until the police get here.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Did you stay here all night with Miss Walker?” Lead Detective McCabe and Detective Lever stood in front of Roman outside of Stella’s room.

  Roman leashed his anger and tried to see the situation from their perspective. He failed. “No, I didn’t.” He snapped.

  “I need to know your whereabouts and see your license to carry.” McCabe held out his hand.

  He withdrew his gun permit from his wallet. “I was here until approximately eight o’clock last night. I went straight to my townhouse where I met my butler. I took care of some paperwork, answered emails, and voicemails.” He stared both detectives down.

  McCabe returned Roman’s permit and gun. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  They would investigate him and the family. They’d find nothing to link him to The Strangler, but if they probed deeper, they may uncover other things better left unexposed. Shit.

  “What’s next?” EJ asked when he entered the room.

  Roman turned his attention to Stella. Her face mimicked the white pillowcase she lay on and her hands fisted in the sheets. “We leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!” Her voice trembled along with her body.

  “You’re not safe here, Stella.” He moved closer to her.

  “I’m not leaving this room.” Like an angry child, she shook her head.

  They didn’t have time for this. He had to get her to safety. Nothing mattered more. Not her fear of him—or his fear of her.

  “All right. Stay here in this very accessible hospital and wait to be killed.”

  “But you said you’d protect me.” She gasped. Her gaze darted between both men while she anxiously brushed her hair out of her face and behind her ears.

  A deep pink, the scar cut a slender line under her hairline from her forehead to her cheekbone. It marred the perfection of her features, but nothing could dim her beauty. The man who took a knife to her skin still lived. Those heads were a message he couldn’t ignore. Somewhere in this city, he waited for another chance to kill her.

  Not while Roman lived.

  “Yes, I will protect you. While he picks off the medical staff to get to you, I will protect you.” Harsh to his own ears, Roman’s cruel voice echoed in the small room. “How many will he kill before they kick you out, send you to another facility where he will start over again, killing until he gets what he wants, you? How many will die, Stella?” He fanned her fear and watched as terror bloomed in her eyes. “I swear on all I love, I am not the man that did this.”

  “Then why do I remember you?” Her voice quivered.

  He could tell her she held the reincarnated soul of his dead lover locked away in her heart, but now wasn’t the time for dark revelations. “Remembering me . . . may not be a bad thing. Staying here is.” He held out his hand. “Trust me, this one time, and you will never regret it.”

  Her te
rror ebbed a bit, replaced by a tenuous spark of hope flickering in her gray eyes. “Where will we go?”

  “To my estate—”

  “Hell no. I’m not going to some country estate to be locked away with you.” Violently, her hair whipped back and forth.

  “You’re afraid of the wrong man.” He bit out.

  “I’m afraid of every man, especially a doppelganger of my attacker.” She snapped back.

  He growled low in his throat and a tick started at the corner of his right eye. He noticed it at the same moment she did. Her sensuous lips lifted in a smirk.

  “Fine.” He leaned closer, crowding her. “Where would you like to go? Milan? London? Maybe the Caribbean?” Getting her out of the city was an excellent idea.

  The commotion outside her room drew her attention. More police arrived. On the other side of the glass enclosure, nurses huddled together, comforting each other. One pointed to her room and their collective gazes nailed her. Red-rimmed eyes, tear stained cheeks, and overwhelming fear painted their faces. The accusation was clear.

  “They’re afraid of you. Death comes for them, through you. Which one will be next?” He pushed her, manipulated this horrid situation and he hated himself for it, almost as much as she hated him.

  Suddenly, she stretched out her arm and slapped her slim hand into his palm. A jolt of desire stabbed him. Her stormy eyes darkened and she inhaled sharply. She tried to pull way, but he pressed a kiss to her trembling knuckles and waited for her answer.

  “Okay . . . I’ll go.”

  I refuse to be ashamed. Stella waited as Roman unlocked her creaking apartment door.

  “It’s my burglar alarm,” she mumbled defensively. When he didn’t respond, she slumped lower in the wheelchair. He treated her as if she were an invalid. She may have left the hospital against medical advice, but the medical transport vehicle and the two EMTs were unnecessary. A cab would’ve been fine. Of course, Roman wouldn’t listen. Stella smothered a yawn and shifted in the wheelchair.

  She couldn’t remember how she left the place weeks ago. Neatness and her . . . well . . . they weren’t exactly a matching pair. Roman opened the door wide and stale decaying air wafted out. She glanced up, trying to catch a flash of disgust or—god forbid—pity. A glimpse of either and he would be on the wrong side of her locked door.