Flawed (The Clans Book 12)

by Elizabeth Knox

  “Not betray me, Jessica,” I answer darkly, my anger getting the better of me even though I’m not an angry man.

  She purses her lips at me, obviously taken aback. I try to ignore the stirring and whining from the little girl in the other room.

  That of our daughter, Lynn.

  “You knew what you were getting into,” I remind her. And it’s the truth. Her family had been allies to the Clans from the Ukraine before we lost the territory, and while she was never directly involved in Clan business, she knew what we did. Knew what I did. That made her a perfect candidate to be my wife, along with the fact that I found her to be gorgeous and nurturing.

  I was sure that we would be in love forever. And it got even better once the Clans approved our engagement.

  But things began to shift when she became pregnant with Lynn and we pushed back our wedding a little so she could have our daughter first. Now, we were only a month away from the wedding.

  “You can’t tell me you’re happy with her being right in the middle of any of this! Warlords ready to snatch up children just outside the city. Illegal activities that could get you locked up or killed.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what I think or want. This is the life I was born into. I can’t abandon my birthright.”

  “The Clans are not a monarchy; they are a criminal organization!” she hisses at me, her ring sliding off her finger as she tugs. That gets my attention, and I practically leap off the wall.

  “You can’t be serious. I get that you’re disillusioned, but you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” I nod to the sleeping child, only 11 months old, in the other room.

  “You caught me with another man. One that wants to whisk us away. One with promises you can’t make, because as tough as you are, you can’t truly promise Lynn will be safe. Or that this life we once thought was an adventure won’t end in a tragedy.”

  She passes me the ring, and I feel like my heart’s been ripped out. Because I know what she’s threatening.

  To take my daughter away from me. But as serious as she is, I know what she can threaten. She can reveal my activities. Tell secrets about the Clans. And then what good would I be to my daughter?

  I’m going have to let them go and lock up my heart.

  That night I find myself dreaming about where my daughter is now. What she looks like. What it would be like if Lynn were still in my life. And I am only awoken by a frantic knocking on my door and the badly muffled screams from some man in my house.

  I rush to my door, Glock in hand. I don’t even hide it because I have no idea who it could be and don’t want to play games.

  I can’t afford to, especially with Melody in the house. When I swing the door open, hinges almost falling off from the force of my hands, I find Arjana and two other men carrying a man who is injured, clearly bleeding. His wails are only muffled by a thick cloth he bites down on.

  “What the hell happened!” I whisper scream, ushering them in and trying to help them maneuver down the hall to another guestroom without waking Melody. It’s still dark out, and I hope she’s a heavy sleeper.

  “He’s been hurt. An attack on the territory. The men we took it from, they retaliated. He got hurt the worst. We need a cover and a doctor that won’t talk. We thought it best to get him here,” Arjana explains, and I nod. I can understand there was little choice.

  “You did the right thing. Let’s just get him into a room. I’ll get some morphine. I’m sure I must have some on hand and then call around. I’ll pay whatever’s necessary to keep it hush hush.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Her voice stops me in my tracks, but I quickly recover, ushering them into the room down the hall before coming back down to where Melody stands in her own doorway, looking at me with concern on her tired face.

  “It will be. A friend of mine witnessed a child being taken and tried to stop it, it got him injured.” I hate how easy it is to lie to her. She’s done so much for me and deserves not to be lied to, but what else can I do?

  Just like Jessica, she doesn’t want or need this. It may be time very soon, once the building is done, to find Melody a place to live that’s not with me.

  Chapter Nine

  Melody

  “You are so much fun, Miss Melody.” Zane’s little but deep voice makes me smile, and I try not to tear up in a classroom now with 21 children, many saved from lives that were torturous and abusive, and a couple that were plucked off the streets before that had to happen to them.

  Mikel has taken it upon himself to save more than he was asked to, and it’s one of the reasons I know even through all his mysteriousness, that he’s a good man.

  One of the best. Which makes being around him in a work environment dangerous for me.

  He’s recently offered to help me find a place of my own. I certainly make enough money for it, and I know the city much better than I did when I first arrived.

  But something makes me a little uncomfortable moving out; I don’t know if it’s I’m already too attached to Mikel or simply still culture shocked.

  “That means so much to me!” I tell him. “I know we’re all here to learn things, but I try to also make it fun for you.”

  As I dismiss them for the day, knowing they will be safe either in foster homes we’ve found or on the other side of this very building where we’ve made a room full of bunk beds and a small kitchen, staffed with two armed security officers and a kinder officer a young girl named Eshe comes up to me.

  Her story is an unfortunate one. At thirteen years old, she’s the second oldest in the program right now, and one I’ve had to sit down with to discuss women’s health many times.

  She had been used by the warlords and their many men for pleasure, even giving birth to a child she will likely never see again. This was normal to her, and self-respect and birth control were both high on my list of priorities with her.

  “Eshe, is everything okay?” I ask, but she simply wraps her arms around me. This time, I can’t hold back the tears. This is what I was meant to be doing. It’s why I’ve always wanted to work with children.

  They are the future. And I fully believe a better world lies in their capable hands.

  “Thank you for everything, Miss Melody.”

  “You are so welcome,” I whisper, squeezing her back. When she runs off, likely to go read as she’s found much joy in it lately, I turn around to watch her and instead my bleary eyes land on Mikel.

  “Are you alright?”

  He must have just walked in. Some days, he comes to check on how things are going and let me know of any incoming students so I can prepare. When they first come in, it can be hard, depending on their age and where they’re coming from.

  “I’m just so grateful for all of this.” I swing my hands around to show him what I mean before wiping at the lingering tears, my eyes likely red-rimmed. “Thank you so much for allowing me to do this work.”

  Now that I can see clearly, Mikel’s features come into focus, and as I thank him, he seems to not know how to handle it. He takes a step back and looks down awkwardly before clearing his throat.

  His reaction makes me wonder about what’s lurking in his past. or rather who; who made him feel like no one would be grateful or that this exchange is strange?

  Honestly, if I hadn’t gone into non-profit work for children, I would’ve gone into psychology. I can read people pretty well, and there are all kinds of red flags going off that someone has done Mikel an injustice.

  Other than living together and the work he does for the charity, I know so little about him. Which is my own fault, considering I’ve made it a point to keep everything professional. On the one hand, it’s been because I want to get this right. Lives are literally in our hands at this point. Innocent ones who’ve already been harmed. I can’t afford to slip up.

  But I know deep down the other reason is I’m afraid if I get too close there will be another kiss.

  Another hookup. W
hich will lead to more. And it could cost me this job I now love, whether because of misconduct or simply because whatever we do will eventually put us at odds.

  After many weeks of reflection, I know Carson and I only lasted so long because of his devotion but my almost indifference. Had there been passion between us, it could have been volatile, especially with my demanding schedule, and ended much sooner with much harsher words than were already said.

  Though, I take full responsibility for the crossed signals and his pain, I know I don’t want to feel the sting of that myself. My heart is in what I do, in children, not in grown men. Even if I can be caring.

  I don’t think the two mix.

  Maybe one day they will. Maybe I’ll meet someone as passionate about all this as me who works side by side with me and the children, and we’ll fall deeply in love. But I doubt that time is now.

  And though I did attend some parties in my college days, I’ve never been one for a hookup, and certainly not with someone I’ll have to see and interact with on a near daily basis.

  But in that note, I’m going to have to suck it up because Mikel is my colleague, my boss, and this is the kind of job that requires working together in an intimate way. I need to get to know him, and I need to loosen up.

  So, on the ride home, I make the decision that we’ll have dinner together tonight, something I don’t do. I usually take it in my room or pick something up on the way home.

  “Is there a good place you can order in?” I ask him.

  “Sure, lots of places. Did you have something in mind?”

  “I feel bad for not getting to know you better, and I thought we could eat dinner together tonight.”

  He looks thoughtful and then agrees. “I’ll order from one of my favorites. I hope you’ll like it too.”

  I smile, knowing it will already be something more than I know right now.

  An hour later, we’re sitting down at the kitchen table and passing around curry and pastries family style. The food is so fragrant, it makes my mouth water just smelling it.

  “This even smells good,” I comment, noticing the bright colors the spices give the food. I am more than impressed by his choice.

  “I knew there would be no resisting. It’s the best place in town. Doesn’t matter who you are,” he says in between bites, just as eager as me to get a taste even though he’s had it, likely many times before.

  I take my first few bites and have to close my eyes just to savor it.

  We eat in silence for a few moments before we slow down, and I get up the courage to start asking him things.

  “So, did you grow up here?” I ask him, wanting to understand how he landed in South Africa. I don’t think he was born here since he doesn’t have any of the local accents, though he knows the language and blends in well with the culture.

  “I was actually born in Romania. I spent my earliest years there and then a couple of years moving around. When I was seven, my father came here for work and bought this home, which I’ve expanded on over the years.”

  He points around us, and it’s the first time I realize he inherited the place.

  “How did you not pick up the accent?”

  I worry for a moment I’m being too curious, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the line of questioning.

  “We travelled so much, and even now I’m always back and forth between Europe, here, and the States. I speak like I’m from everywhere,” he explains.

  It makes sense, and it’s an incredible existence. I wonder why he hasn’t shared it with anyone.

  But before I can get more personal he starts asking me questions as well, which my answers sound boring as I relay to him about my middle-class upbringing, my time in college taking me away from my parents by hundreds of miles, and then my workaholic nature.

  I even mention Carson briefly, having no reason to hide him. It no longer hurts, just feels like a lesson learned.

  “So, what’s your excuse?” It just slips out, and I wonder if it’s the little bit of wine I’ve had. but honestly, it’s not near enough to cause anything like this. I’m just too curious for my own good.

  “For what?” he asks not looking up, still diving into his food. I can’t blame him; it’s so damn good.

  “For not having a woman around. There must be a story, or were you just too busy?”

  He pauses, and the air in the room shifts, as if I’ve sucked half of it out. Oh, there’s a story. And not a good one from the looks of it.

  “I’ve never been married, but I was engaged once. Got really close. In the end, it just didn’t work out.”

  I detect the hint of sadness underneath, though I can guess it’s not a fresh wound. No tears, but I ripped something open I didn’t mean to. But before I can apologize, he quickly changes the subject. “What do you like to do for fun? I feel I’ve failed you a bit, letting you do nothing but work. You should get to experience new things and enjoy them, especially while you’re young.”

  He speaks as if he’s so ancient, but I know now he’s pushing 50, and while that’s almost two decades my senior, it’s not one foot in the grave either.

  Especially with as active as he is.

  “Dancing. I actually enjoy dancing, though I haven’t done any dancing in a long time. Unless you count that party.”

  Mikel shakes his head and then sets his fork down, dabbing at his hands and face with his napkin. “Give me one moment. I think I have something you’ll like.” He gets up from the table and disappears into the depths of the property for a few minutes, and my curiosity is piqued.

  When he comes back out, he has a record player in his hands and clunks it down onto a side table, carefully placing the needle on so the music will play.

  It’s music from the 80s, though I don’t know the artist. It has a good beat, though.

  Mikel comes up to me and offers his hand. “Would you like to dance?” I giggle despite myself and take his hand. We move a couple feet away from the table and begin to dance. He’s not too bad, though his moves are limited, nothing like what I pull out from the few years I did spend going to clubs just for the sake of dancing. Always sure to be home by one in the morning and do my homework before I left. And only one drink.

  It seems silly now, all the rules I’ve set on myself. I very well still could have landed such a good job if I’d allowed myself to let loose even a few times. And I wonder now if I missed out on something I should have done while I could.

  I blush as a new song comes on, bringing me out of my thoughts and back into the moment as Mikel dances closer to me, our bodies almost touching. It’s another upbeat number, and it makes me feel so free, the stress I didn’t know I was holding onto danced away to the old music.

  My smile and giggles stop the moment a slow song plays and Mikel slides his hand down my back, pulling me close so we can keep dancing. A strange tingle I’m not used to rolls through my body, and it’s both pleasurable and frightening at the same time.

  I never felt this with Carson, and I know this is bad news. It’s like this feeling alone spurs me on to do things without thinking straight. It’s worse than being drunk. And my lips land on his even though I can’t remember making the decision to put them there.

  I pull away, startled by my own actions, but Mikel looks down to me, lust in his eyes. We don’t break our bodies apart.

  “Melody, I told you I’m a grown ass man. If we need to get something out of our systems without being serious here, I can handle it.”

  His words are a kind of permission I just can’t ignore, and I place my lips back on his, needing to know what this feels like just once. To surrender to wild abandon with a man I shouldn’t.

  It can be the one crazy story I tell my kids one day, assuming I settle down and have them.

  The music is still playing, none of the beats matching up to our movements anymore.

  I allow my hands to just do what they want, tangling in his hair, tugging at his beard, hands pulling at his shirt until he helps
me get it off and throws it to the floor.

  Vaguely, I remember we don’t often stay in this house alone. He has some other employees here, and they might catch us, but then I shut the thought off. Who cares? I’m an adult, and I’m allowed to have sex with who I want, when and where I would like.

  Normal people do it all the time.

  He sucks in a breath as my hands explore his bare chest, and I’m guessing it’s been a while since he had a woman touch him like this. It makes me want to do this even more, like a favor for the man who’s shown so much kindness to me.

  I begin kissing up and down his chest and playing with the curly hairs at the top. They’re the same as gray as the hairs on his head.

  They’re growing on me.

  Drunk with the adrenaline, I go for his pants, but before I can do much, he pulls my attention back to him, his eyes piercing mine as he tugs off my clothes, leaving my curves bare for him to admire.

  He places a hand on either side of my face, cupping and caressing it as he simply looks at me as if I might disappear or as if he’s memorizing this. I don’t know, but his gaze is so intense.

  The hardness in his boxers presses against my thigh, heat pooling there at the idea of him taking me.

  The adventure doesn’t end as he suddenly flips me around, placing my hands against one of the dining room chairs.

  I know the moment he allows his boxers to drop to the ground because his dripping head slides up against my ass, making a gasp escape my throat.

  I didn’t realize I would want this so badly.

  His warmth enveloping me, his hands grasp my large breasts, spilling out over them as they are too big to fully hold. He begins to massage them, tweaking my nipples, and my back arches into the feeling and my eyes close in ecstasy.

  If this part is this good, my mouth waters at the idea of more.

  His cock slides between my ass cheeks, up to the sky, and I feel his precum against my skin. I’ve never known simple skin contact to be so tantalizing, and I wish for just a moment we could do this whole thing without protection so I could feel him bare inside of me.