Date = 8 July
Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)
POV – Aria
“Just stick your finger up his nose and then kick him on his sexy ass!” My laugh sounds sectionable, like I’ve been chicken-flipping cocaine. Mel lowers her voice, “But really bitch, talk to my stupid brother and make him open his frickin eyes.” Yeah, right. That would be nice, except I’m the blind one, seeing things that ain’t real. For him we are nothing more than an expired contract. Signatures on a piece of paper. But I can’t tell her that.
“Come on Aria, hurry up.” From the passenger seat, the tiny voice, giddy with anticipation, interrupts my phone call with my best friend. I miss her.
“Mel, wish you were here.”
“Soon.” Really though? I’m not so sure this whole revenge ‘thing’ those people got going is ending soon. In a world teeming with intrigue and uncertainty, there are those who find themselves marked for danger. Like these San Francisco boys. A spectre of stalking looms over their existence, an eminent threat that not only affect their lives, but everyone around them. That’s why I walked away a week ago. I need out. I can’t live in constant fear. I’m not that brave. But for some reason my heart disagrees. My heart wants in.
“My brother said that you have a man in your life. Someone better than him. But I’ve never met a man that’s better than my brother before, though.” To be honest, it sounds exactly like something Leyla would say about Noah. Locking the car, we step onto the garden path leading to the front door. I slow my pace so the tiny turnip can keep up in her sparkling-pink princess high-heels.
“So is this your boyfriend’s house?”
“No.” I say without looking down at the girl, mentally berating Brian for putting me on the spot. This last week we’ve started what could be considered a distant friendship. It’s not that I suddenly trust the man (cause I don’t), but I decided to give him a chance for amity, if he shows true remorse for his doings. Which he’s done so far. And actually, if he’s not being a blackmailing scheming asshole, he’s got a rather likable warm personality. Maybe he’ll be someone I can rely on in the future, who knows. Frankly, we do have a lot in common. Charlotte tugs on my arm, forcing me to face her.
“No, it’s not your boyfriend, or no, it’s not his house?” I purposefully skip over the section about the boyfriend and instead focus on the house, wondering if teaching sass to eight-year-olds in school these days is standard practice.
“Eh, this is not his house.” She wrinkles her nose in a cute way. “Got it. Yes to boyfriend, no to house.” I roll my eyes.
“EX … ex boyfriend.” I emphasize the word hoping to end this rather uncomfortable conversation. Maybe I should emphasize it a little more so my brainless heart can get the message. My bottom lip curls back between my teeth as I bite down softly, a habit that’s been with me since I can remember. It’s like my calming mechanism. And right now I need every bit of calm I can get.
“If you say so.” She pulls up her tiny shoulders, her young mind already on another topic.
“Check out that pond with the ducks!” Her hand lifts, arm straight, she points a crooked little finger. “It looks like a fairy tale!”
Fairy tales. Yeah, right. I was dumb enough to believe in that shit. But it’s not real. I learned that the hard way – falling in love with a metal prince with a heart of steel. If I could have my way, I would never lay eyes on that heartless bot ever again. Apart from hallucinating him lurking around everywhere I went this last week, I truly made a valiant effort to move on with my life. I immersed myself in my work and pod cast, in a desperate effort to keep my mind from any thoughts involving Enrique. To erase him from my mind. My heart. My sole. But it’s easier said than done.
‘Cause when he called last night I could not stop the bombardment of emotions at the mere sound of his voice. The memories. The love. The desires. The longing. The pain. EVERYTHING I tried so precariously to forget.
So here I am, a sucker for punishment, my mind clearly not working normally. I push out my chin; my right eye twitches. I’m not here for him. I’m here for the girl. Apparently, she came looking for a missing sister, and doesn’t know her brother might be kidnapped as well. That’s why I’m here. For her. And that’s just what I’m going to tell myself until I believe it.
“Are we not going closer?” When did we stop walking? Charlotte looks up, those impressionable chocolate eyes, dark hair, pale complexion and flushed cheeks, reminds one of Snow White. Innocence.
I muster up a flimsy smile, yearning for that childlike guileless that we all lose somewhere along the lines of growing up. Oh, would it not be nice to stay so virtuous and naive; trusting with no worries; just living in the moment, unaware how harsh life can be. I take a hesitant step forward. Growing up is not something we can run away from. Neither is heartbreak. Or pain. Or death.
“Ain’t you gonna knock?” Charlotte pulls on my sleeve. I haven’t even noticed that we’ve reached the door. I pull in my breath, deep and long and slow, the preparation to a final all-encompassing sigh. Then my knuckles hit the wood. Three times.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door opens almost immediately and my knees buckle at the sight of him. He’s a little unkempt but even more gorgeous than a week back, if that’s possible. A strange look crosses his face. Lust or disappointment, I can’t tell which. But then the look peters out as if it were never there in the first place.
Without any kind of greeting he gestures for us to come in. Charlotte goes first. As I pass by, he grabs my arm and pulls me tight against his chest. His other hand takes hold of the back of my neck, fingers weaving into my hair. For a moment he just holds me, and I cave into my own yearning, pressing my face to his throat. Oh, the smell of him. Immediately I’m overcome with reminiscence. No. I don’t want to dwell in the past anymore, so I push myself away but his hold on my neck tightens.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he hisses softly in my ear. His grip on my bicep is so fierce it hurts. He’s angry. About what I’m not sure. I look up into his eyes. He studies me with a ferocious physical force that seems unnatural for him. A whisper of electricity zings along my nerve endings to make my hair stand on end. Nope, not angry, make that apoplectically furious. I droop my head, afraid that he will see the painful hunger in my eyes as my heart struggles to comprehend this intimacy.
“Eh … I thought the girl would … eh … like … eh someone her own age. And since Leyla can’t … I brought … eh … Charlotte … ” I stutter.
“B. R. A. I. N’s sister.” I can hear the disdain laced in his voice. Is that the reason for his anger … Brian?
“Be nice, she’s a very sweet girl.” I want to add that Brian is not all bad too, but he inhales deeply against my neck and makes a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, tying my tongue in a knot.
“I’ve missed you.” His lips move against the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending my pulse wild. I’m speechless. My face ablaze and my heart pounding, I can’t get my mouth to form words. My tongue got stuck to my tonsils, my mouth dry.
Bullshit, as if I’m gonna believe that. I’ve seen the photos – a new girl each night this past week. Fuck, just last night he was all over some cleavage showing bimbo at the bar. So, yeah, I know exactly how much he missed me. Zilch. Nil. Diddly-squat. Sweet FA. Not even a dicky-bird. But I’ll show him. I’ll drag him from my heart and fill the wound with freaking concrete. Then nobody can hurt me like this again. But first I’ll get my revenge.
“Ahem,” Charlotte clears her throat. “EX boyfriend? I don’t believe that.” She rubs it in.
He turns his head, the tip of his nose skimps against my earlobe, and my heartbeat starts doing something strange. It flutters, then stops, then starts up again like an old motorcar on a cold Monday morning.
“You clearly love each other very much.” Kids these days really grow up way to smart for their shoe size. Enrique sucks in a breath and goes rigid. I hold mine. If I have to take a wild guess as to the reason why he’s impersonating a frozen brick wall all of a sudden – he’s allergic to the word ‘love’. His heart is a jackhammer against my cheek and I’m scared he might be going into cardiac arrest. But then it slowly returns to normal.
“I’m Charlotte Cruise and I’m eight years old,” she says as if reciting a memorized verse. Maybe it’s another thing they learn at school. She takes the end of her fancy dress and does a cute little curtsy. That thaws the robot and he lets out a soft snicker. Not even metallic hearts can be completely insensitive to the cuteness factor of small kids, puppies and ducklings. And Charlotte just happens to be a very cutesy girly-girl. Future head cheerleader and pram queen. A queen bee in the making.
Funny coincidence … she and Leyla attends the same school. Brian now regularly bring Charlotte and her other friend Olivia to visit Leyla. And they tell her everything that happens, all the little things she misses, the juice gritty gossip.
Enrique takes another wisp in my hair, then lets me go so suddenly, I almost fall to the ground. I stumble with weak knees to the kitchen counter and hold onto it for dear life.
As detach my tongue from the back of my mouth, I manage to ask in an unsteady voice, “Eh … so … where’s the little angel?” needing something to distract my focus from the manly specimen now standing next to me. Inches away. While pretending his look of intense longing directed at my mouth doesn’t affect me one bit. Bloody hell, he makes things hard.
“Angel?” he snorts out a chuckle. “I’m not sure that word suits our little runaway. She definitely shares Lee’s DNA. For a moment I even assumed she could very well be my twin’s offspring.” Just the though of Jackson reproducing pin-wheels my brain and I lose my chain of thought. I look at Charlotte to help a girl out, but she just lifts her shoulders and pout. Obviously not getting it either.
“Anyway, she’s playing on the beach. For some reason her energy levels are as sassy as her attitude.” He points through the large open sliding doors.
“A fair warning … that one can be a bit … eh … harsh.”
I stand up straight on my still wobbly legs and level him with a look that attempts scornful indifference, but probably falls miles short of it given how many of my body functions are on the verge of collapsing. I say acidly, “You should know.” His gaze drops to my mouth again. He moistens his lips. His eyes burning with … dare I say … heated desire.
Nope. I’m not going there. My heart hasn’t even started to heal, it’s still a raw mess. I can’t deal with this now, so I stroll out to the swimming pool area, feeling his eyes burning into my back. Ignore him, Aria … just do what you came to do. You’re here for the girl, remember.
The soon-to-be-setting sun reflects from the ocean, harsh bright rays blinding me, my eyes spontaneously squint. Without deliberation, my hand moves to block them, and only then do I notice the small figure wildly chasing after seagulls – arms waving like propeller blades. A long ponytail swings to and fro, glittering different shades in the sun, from gold to dark toffee. Laughter echos through the air forming a vigorous cacophony of exuberant zest as it combines with the sound of the waves and the loud raw vocalizations of the birds. It roars into my soul, expelling every tiny bit of melancholy to exchange it with the zing of life. For the first time in a long while, a genuine warm smile covers my face.
I can’t begin to even think how we’re going to tell her about her brother. I don’t want to be the one to crash that energy that seems to miraculously brighten up the gloomiest existence. Let’s face it … right now, no-one is ecstatically happy. Everyone just exists, trying to get through another strained day, hoping to see the sunset still alive and in one piece without losing another loved one.
“She looks like fun,” Charlotte squeaks, twirling her dark hair around her finger.
“River!” Enrique calls out and the girl stops in her tracks. He gestures for her to come to us. She whirlwinds to where we’re standing, slides to a halt right in front of me and looks up into my face. Knock out. Magic mirror on the wall … this is the fairest of them all.
“I know … right,” Enrique mumbles. “Goosebumps.” That doesn’t even begin to explain it. It feels as if I was dropped in an icy ocean where jaded sea-grass twirl in pale turquoise water. A shiver runs down my spine. On the other hand, Enrique’s warm voice in my ear heats through my blood. Hot and cold. Frozen and electrified. Guess this is what it feels like when you drop a warm toaster into your cold bath.
“Some fucking stare she’s got going. Remind you of someone?” Disregarding the color difference, this girl matches the exact devilish inferno perfected by both Lee and Jackson. And I’m gonna take a wild guess that she’s just as much a handful. Without being judgmental.
“You’re a pretty one, ” Charlotte then says, seemingly unaffected by that gaze.
“Thanks, you’re rather a doll yourself … you look like that Disney ho that lived with the seven little dudes,” the girl says boldly, clearly matching her brother’s bravado. My head snaps, my jaw drops. Unexpected. Even Charlotte seems a little taken aback. I wonder what that family eats for breakfast. Must be the same ego-building cereal, the Blackburns grew up on.
Smiling in the guise of regret, our slightly rattled expressions apparently didn’t go unnoticed. Maybe having extra-ordinary eyes makes you more alert.
“Eh … sorry … didn’t mean …” She scratches her head as if racking her brains. “I’m not so much into that princess stuff. And Skye tends to twist fairy tales to real-life adventures that’s way more fun than those old fairy tale BS. We believe real princesses slay their own dragons.” Just when I think this girl can’t stun me more … I get debunked.
“It’s Snow White. Yeah, my friends keep telling me that.” Charlotte is clearly not as spooked as I am. “The name’s Charlotte by the way.” Charlotte then points at me. “And this is Aria.”
The other girl plaster on a smile that can turn the devil into a fully robed Catholic priest, holding a cross and doing a Hail Mary. I’m gobsmacked. I swear something in the San Francisco drinking water is eating away my brain cells.
“River-Rose Moore. But call me River.” I manage to pick up my dropped jaw but my words still come out in a breathy rush.
“Eh, so River, I hear you’re looking for your sister?” The corners of her mouth droop, forming a downward crescent.
“I’ll tell you the whole story,” she slide her eyes towards me, “But first,” another melt-your-heart smile and a little finger pointing in the air, “Enrique, be a doll and scrunch us up something to munch. I’m starving and this might take a while.”
She winks at the tin-man, whose look of utter disbelieve is rather satisfying. He clearly didn’t expect that. Neither did I. After a beat however, he walks obediently to the fridge. We go sit down on Damion’s comfy leather sofas.
River shows me a picture of her sister and I’m stunned by her beauty. And the fact that she’s a replica of Lee … just with long hair. Enrique comes back with a try filled with sandwiches and sodas which he places on the coffee table between us, sitting down next to me. Directly next to me. So close I can feel his heat and smell his skin. That close. I’m careful not to move a single inch more than I absolutely have to. If we touch right now I might ignite.
The girls gobble up two sarnies each while, in intervals amid chews, River tells us about Skye’s last message to contact Jackson Blackburn in case something happens. And now she’s not answering her phone. That Skye had a plan to get some money, but she don’t know the exact details of said plan.
After I recovered from the shock that she took a bus here alone from Portland (she decided instead of calling she would come see the J-man face-to-face), I ask about her brother, and apparently Skye-Lee and Storm-Lee are twins. Which explains why they look so much alike. Everything seems to match up … except that she doesn’t seem to know that her brother is missing too. She thinks he’s in the UK.
The girls rush to feed the ducks after they ate there full, leaving me alone with another problem. One I’m not sure I want to face right now … or ever.
“Aria,” His voice is low, a little spunky, and a whole lot suggestive, although I know that last part is all my own imagination. I feel heat rushing through my veins. I can’t help it, the man has a voice that brings to mind slow, steamy sex. But on that note, I must add, that I’m not the same girl as before. I’ve grown.
“Can we talk?” Absolutely not. “No.”
I don’t want to discuss my carnal knowledge of how he just upt and left. Okay, maybe it was me who left, but that’s not the point. The real problem is how he just moved on mere minutes after I slammed the door shut.
So, no, I don’t want to talk. Not when I still remember everything we did in vivid technicolor: Each time he thrusted into me until I couldn’t recall my own name; the feel of him, hot and thick inside me; his hard body; how he can make me come using only his mouth, or his eyes, or his hands.
Shit.
I begin to sweat and my heart rate doubles. And if I’m being totally honest, there’s some other even more base reactions going on. But I firmly ignore them all and look into his eyes.
“No. I don’t want to talk.” I want to forget. But I know that feeling of him burying himself inside me is permanently edged into my brain. There’s no forgetting that.
He nods gravely, but his eyes heat and combines with what is some self deprecating humor.
Great. Now he’s remembering too.
But what really red-flags my bull is that while I’m agonizing with hard nipples and hungry parts, he’s entertained.
I want to strangle him. I really do. But then another thought jumps to mind. Payback.
All I need to do is get him un-entertained and flustered. I need him aroused. Wanting. Begging. Oh, begging would be so satisfying.
Because when he admits that he wants me out loud, I’m going to look him in the face, flat-out reject him, walk out the door and maybe feel just the tiniest bit better.
It doesn’t make sense, but maybe because I am hurt and I need him to be the same. Petty revenge on the man that broke my heart. I want him to want me. More than his next breath. Because he needs to suffer like I am suffering. Something needs to ease this pain in my chest. A pain that is suffocating me, as it just grows bigger and bigger, threatening to overcome me.
Biting my lip, I grab all the courage I have inside and place my hand on his thigh, way too close to his junk to be appropriate. The unflappable, cool, heartless robot goes still as pale stone. His eyes stare at my hand with crackling intensity, his expression a combination of frustration, irritation and helpless intrigue. I’m gratified to see an absolute lack of humor now.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. The bulge straining the zipper of his jeans say it all. Triumph. Not that I’m a vengeful person, but the man not only broke my heart, but shattered my confidence. He literally moved on as soon as I crawled out of his bed. I get up, intentionally bending so my top bellows, advertising my tits in my lacy bra in his face. He grabs my pulse, pulls down hard. I lose my balance and land on his lap.
Then he turns his eyes on me. It’s like being hit by a prismatic disco-light. My priorities are suddenly so out of whack I don’t even know where to start. Hell, I don’t even know how to breathe. His eyes are blistering with desire. This is what I wanted. But now I’m not so sure what to do with it.
“You’re playing with fire, fairy girl.” His voice thick. I realize my heart might still be to fragile for these revenge games. I should get out of here. I should walk away … right now. The longer we spend together, the closer we’re gonna get, the more it’s gonna hurt. But my emotions are in war. One part wants to hurt him, another wants to fuck him, a small part wants to run, but the biggest part feels safe, as if I belong.
I drop my head onto his shoulder, smelling the familiarity of his skin. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” I’m tired. My eyes droop. I haven’t slept very well since the abduction. Almost haven’t slept at all. Every time I close my eyes I see Lee being dragged off. Visions of those men killing everyone I care for shutter my dreams, then I wake up all sweaty, a strong feeling of dread, danger and foreboding suffocating me. I struggle to breathe, dizziness takes over as chills shiver through my body. So I get up and do something to occupy my mind.
But my body is exhausted. So is the rest of me.
I seriously need a nap. And the only way that’s gonna happen (without any nightmares) is in his arms. So I burrow into his warmth, wiggle my head into the dip of his shoulder.
“Aria?” His voice soft, almost longing. But then again, I’m sleep deprived and not sure about anything right now. I feather my lips against the indentation in his neck, licking the soft skin, tasting him. “I …” His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. Hard. The tone of his voice snaps me back to reality.
“Right.” I know. He doesn’t want me. Doesn’t want to be with me. Most probably doesn’t want me to touch him. He just made love to me cause that’s who he is … the consequential playboy of Hollywood. Going through vaginas like I go through toothpaste. A robot that can’t even say the word love. I pull free from him and get up. “Sorry. That was stupid.”
“Aria …” He stays seated.
“No, you’re right. Absolutely right. Let’s not go there.” I walk to the window and watch the waves rolling onto the beach. It’s a clear day. Beautiful even. The sun gets swallowed where the water meets the sky. It’s perfect.
“I wish you hadn’t hurt me,” I say softly after gathering my thoughts, “and that I didn’t have the urge to hurt you back.” I turn to look at him. A look of grief spreads all over his face. He lowers his eyes.
“I know it’s juvenile and childish, but it’s a fact. I want you to hurt.” When the silence swells so much it’s about to burst I continue, “But at the same time, being close to you is the only place I feel safe right now.” I bite my lip and look back at the ocean, burying my feelings.
“I’m tired. I’m scared. And I struggle to sleep.” The seagulls River chased returned to sit on the rocks. “I just thought that we could take a nap together, maybe I won’t dream …” Why am I explaining myself to the prick.
“Aria … I … ” The front door bursts open, slamming with a loud thud against the wall, stopping him from what he was going to say. He jolts to his feet. I spin around and suffocates a yelp by slapping a hand over my mouth.
“I fucking hope this is important!” Jackson barks while storming into the room. A big ball of tension and nerves, his frustration seeping out with every uneven breath. Nostrils flaring, his hands are closed in tight fists, his jaw covered in stubble, at least a week old, his hair a mess. He looks like shit.
But it’s his eyes that make me go cold and send icy shivers down my spine. Shaking legs, I take a seat on one of the kitchen bar chairs. It’s as if I’m staring straight into the very deepest part of hell; the blistering intensity of a thousand suns laced with dark cold hatred burning blue in his unblinking gaze. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Enrique goes pale. He sees it too.