Lash (Club Sin #7)

7. A Conversation With a Ghost

a conversation with a ghost

T he blue-green waters of the Adriatic Sea ripple and glint, the brilliant Mediterranean sun shines hot and searing, and the wind blows restlessly. We are in the cockpit with the pilot, making sure he doesn’t change course or do anything stupid, like radio the authorities. We reassure him we mean him, the crew, and the passengers no harm—we only need passage away from Croatia.

"This is Ancona line," he says. "It is eleven hour sailing."

"We don't care where you take us," I tell him. "As long as you keep your mouth shut about us. You do not know what happened in Split. You never saw us. Understand? You don't tell anyone on the radio, you don't talk to your crew about us, you don't tell anyone when you get to port, not now, not in fifty years. Yes?"

The captain, an older man, a salty old sailor with weathered skin and white hair and the thousand-yard stare of a man who has seen the infinite horrors of this life, stares hard at us, scrutinizing all five of us as we stand in his cockpit.

He nods after several long moments. "I know nothing. I make mistake, leave too soon. No more job, but I live, hey?"

He produces a first aid kit from a cabinet and shoves it at me with a brusque jerk of his chin at Lorenzo. "He is shooted. Make him better. He die—you put over side. Yes?"

"He will not die," I answer.

He only shrugged. "Do not frighten passenger."

"We will go topside.”

He nodded. "Is very long sail. Eleven hour."

So we take ourselves topside while Sol stays with the captain, and I take care of Lorenzo's wound. It is a through-and-through, fortunately, and hit nothing important. I apply pressure dressings to both holes and Lorenzo stretches out across a row of seats. We are alone on the top deck while the handful of passengers on board huddle fearfully in the lower deck, along with the lone crew member. Scarlett stretches out on another row, drapes an arm over her eyes, and is asleep with the speed of a career soldier.

Tatiana watches her lay down and fall asleep almost instantly. "I wish I could do that."

"Do what?" I ask, and then follow her gaze to Scarlett. "Oh, fall asleep like that?"

She nods. "Yes. It usually takes me forever."

"There is a trick to it," I tell her. "It takes a lot of practice, but when you are a soldier, there is a lot of waiting around, and you learn to sleep when you can."

She only nods to this, and I sense the subject change. "Lash, about what I said…"

I take her hand. "Please, Tatiana. Stop." I kiss the back of her hand. "I am grateful. Truly. I was lost in my anger. You reminded me of my duty—to my brothers and Inez. Not only were you absolutely correct, but it was precisely what I needed to hear. I am indebted to you for having the courage to confront me with a hard truth."

"I just…" her eyes blur with unshed tears. "You deserve the chance for justice. Your family deserves it."

I slide my thumb beneath her eyes. "Tatiana, Lovely One…" I frown, hunting for words. "Justice…Revenge…they will not bring back my wife and children. I do not know if getting revenge will even assuage my feelings. Maybe I would sleep easier knowing Roberto Pugli is dead. But then again, maybe I would not. Who knows? What I know is that I cannot and will not shirk my duty. I will not break the oath I swore to my brothers."

She sniffles, wipes at her face. "I still feel badly. I know it was important to you. I do not want to take anything away from you." She tilts her head back and gives a gruff, frustrated groan. "I am so sick of crying."

I pull her close to me, wrap my arm around her. "It is okay, Tiana."

She shakes her head. "I know. I just…I do not like it. I do not cry almost ever, but…" she huffs a bitter laugh. "Things have been intense lately.”

"Yes, just a little."

She’s quiet for a moment. "I am going to ask you something. It is quite personal. It is none of my business, but I am going to ask anyway. You do not have to answer."

“Okay. I will answer if I can."

Another brief pause. "Ileana, your wife. What—what was she like?"

Pain stabs my heart at the sound of that name. "Oh, god. Ileana." I lean back in the seat, close my eyes, and think. After a while, I allow the words to pour out. "I have not thought about her, really thought of her, in a very long time. It is hard."

"Lash, you do not—"

"I want to," I interrupt. "I need to." I sigh. "What was Ileana like? She was joyful. Always, always joyful. She laughed all the time. It was very easy to make her laugh, and when she laughed, you wanted to laugh with her. It made you feel good. Her hair was like mine, only better. Longer, thicker, glossy as a raven's wing in the summer sunlight. She never cut it, only trimmed the ends once in a while. Sometimes she would braid it, but mostly it was loose. Often, she wore a…" I frown, the word I’m looking for momentarily eluding me—it comes to me in German, Romani, French, Croatian, half a dozen others that I know and have half-forgotten, but its English counterpart avoids my tongue, so I use the Croatian word. "A marama . A scarf—that is the word. I could not remember it. She had many of them, in every color and pattern you can think of."

I smile, remembering. "The one she wore the most was…mmm, dark red. There is a word, but I am tired and cannot remember. Dark red, with black designs that looked like commas, you know?"

Tatiana nods. "I know what you mean. I cannot think of the word either, because I do not know it."

"This scarf had little golden coins sewn onto the edges, and they would make music when she moved." I close my eyes and picture her. "She was always moving, and it always seemed like she was dancing to music only she could hear. And those coins would tinkle, tinkle, tinkle."

I lapse into silence again for a moment.

"I said she was always joyful. It is true. But…she would sometimes become very sad. Not often. Only once in a while. But this sadness was not ordinary. It was deep. She would stay in bed for days and do nothing. She would not speak, would not eat, nothing. I could do nothing. It was awful to be so helpless. I could only leave her alone and wait. And then, it would pass like it had never been. It was like the sun came out after days of rain." I sigh. "I thought quite a lot about these sadnesses of hers. And I always thought that it was the price she had to pay for being so full of joy all the rest of the time."

"How did you meet her?" she asks.

"I met her in Munich when I was in the German counterintelligence unit, the MAD. I lived in a small flat in a not very good part of town, but I liked it because it had a small Romani community, and it made me feel more at home. She moved into the flat across from mine, and I was immediately in love." I laugh. "She did not return my love right away. I was very different then. My hair was short, and I had no beard, and I mostly wore uniforms. I did not look or act like Romani. I spoke German like a native citizen. I….it was on purpose. I had been trying to forget my Romani-ness, I guess. After the violence of the revolution and seeing my parents murdered and everyone else I knew either killed, beaten, or chased away from our homes, I…" I shake my head. "I am embarrassed now, but I was scared. I was afraid to be me. To be proud of my heritage. I did not want to be different, to be persecuted and shamed and bullied for my race. I could not escape it, no matter how hard I tried, and I tried very hard to seem like just another German. Ileana saw right through it."

Tatiana nuzzles closer. "Of course she did."

I laugh. "Yes, of course she did. She was far braver than I. She was from Hungary, and experienced many of the same things I did. But she did not let them sour her spirit. She did not let them kill her pride in who she was and where she came from. No, she was full of courage and fire and joy. I was not worthy to love her. But I did. And in time she came to love me as well, and helped me find myself."

I glance down at Tatiana, and see a thoughtful expression on her face. "What? I see you thinking very hard. I would know what you think, please."

She sighs. "Maybe it's not for me to say."

"It is."

"I…I am thinking that maybe you have returned to that place. You have not forgotten who you are, I do not think. But it seems like maybe you have let your experiences sour your spirit." She twists to look up at me, dark deep eyes searching and intense. "How could they not? What you went through would kill most men. Yet here you are. I do not fault you, Lash. No one would. But…I wonder what your Ileana would say if you could speak with her.”

I feel, again, as if ten thousand volts have shocked me. My instinct is to run, to lash out, to shut down. Instead, I force myself into total stillness; instead, I force myself to examine my feelings with brutal honesty.

The stillness doesn't last.

I gently dislodge Tatiana and stand up, pace across the upper deck to the front and stand at the railing.

What would my beloved Ileana say if she could give me a message from beyond the grave?

"You are a fool, Nico." That was her pet name for me—Nico. "I am gone. I live on in your heart, but you are still alive. You still walk the earth. You still have a heart. A body. A spirit. "

I know, my beloved. But without you, what am I? Who am I?

"My Nico. Always my Nico." I can almost feel her leaning against my shoulder the way she loved to do as we sipped coffee in the morning and watched the sunrise. "But Nico, my love…You must move on."

I do not know how, my beloved. I am stuck. I am lost.

"Because you cling to my spirit. You wallow in your grief."

My eyes burn.

How can I move on? How can I forget you? How can I allow myself to love another when your spirit walks beside me and haunts my dreams?

"You will not forget me. But Nico, my love, I am dead. I commune with our ancestors. I cannot be jealous. When I was alive, I was jealous of your time and your attention and your love. But now that I am dead, I only wish for your peace."

How can I have peace? The only peace I have ever known in my life was in your embrace.

I hear her sigh—it is a soft breath carried on the winds of the Adriatic. "Nico, Nico, Nico. You are not looking for peace. You are looking for forgetting. Some men look for forgetting in the bottom of a bottle, but you look for it in self-denial. You deny your brothers the closeness with you which you know they seek. You isolate. You erect walls. You live a sere and spartan life to punish yourself for our deaths."

The wind—her breath—snatches away the salt drops leaking from my eyes.

It is my fault .

"You know it is not. The fault of our deaths lies at the feet of one man, and he is not you."

I have not avenged you.

"Do you think I wish to be avenged? Did I seek vengeance against the men who murdered my father and raped my mother and me? No, I did not, Nico. Men like Roberto Pugli will always exist in the world. They always have. Killing him will not bring you peace, my love. It will not satisfy the anger that burns inside you. Would his death be justice? Yes, of course. But what is that, to you? His death will not fill the hole in your heart that my death created."

What can, my beloved? Nothing .

"No, nothing. It is true. No justice, no vengeance can fill the hole. No object, no place." The wind ruffles my hair and beard, and for a moment I can imagine it is her fingers, her lips. "But no THING is not the same as no ONE.”

I duck my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

Do not say it, Ileana. I would not betray you that way.

"Betray? Nico, you foolish man. I…am…DEAD. You are speaking to yourself. You hear my voice because you have kept me alive in your heart. You cannot betray a dead woman, my love."

So I should let her in? I should open my heart to Tatiana?

Her voice is faint, now. "My love. Would I not want you to find joy once more? Would I not want you to laugh again? To feel pleasure again?"

I hear the chime of her scarf on the wind. I hear her laughter. I feel her touch.

I feel her farewell.

Honor me with your life, my love. I am your heart, and hearts are meant to be shared.

Her words are but a whisper on the wind, now, felt more than heard.

I hear Tatiana's steps behind me, feel her presence. "Are you okay, Lash?"

I nod without turning to face her. "Just…saying goodbye."

“To whom?"

"Ileana."

"Lash, I—"

"You asked me what she would say. So I asked myself, and I heard the answer."

Her breath catches on a half-sob, half-sigh. "Lash." She switches to Croatian. "I feel like I am taking things from you. First justice and now your wife."

I answer in English because that is the language I have become most comfortable with. "You have taken nothing from me, Tatiana." I turn and face her, take her hands in mine. "On the contrary. You are setting me free."

She swallows hard, her eyes glistening as they waver, searching mine. "I am being selfish. I…I want you, Lash. I want you to let me in."

I smile at her, and it feels like using atrophied muscles; I lean in and kiss her eye and then the other. "Be selfish, Tatiana. Demand more of me. You will have to be patient with me, but…I will try. I have let the past hold me captive. You have helped me see that."

Her answering smile is tentative and fraught with a myriad of powerful emotions. "I can be patient."

"Tatiana, I…" I close my eyes with a long, slow sigh. "Ileana will always be a part of me. I fear that some part of my heart still belongs to her."

She withdraws one of her hands from mine and cups my face. "Of course, Lash. She was your wife. You loved her. She was taken from you too soon. You should have had a long happy life with her." She steps into me. Her dark eyes search me, pierce my soul. "I do not ask for that part of you, Lash. It is hers. I just…I want the parts of you that can still be mine."

I shake my head. "Why, Tatiana? Why me? Anyone could protect you."

She rolls a shoulder. "Who can say? Who knows why we feel attraction to someone? Who can say why we fall in love?" She grins at me. "Unless you're fishing for compliments. In which case, I can oblige."

I snort. "I am not fishing for compliments. It's just that you are a smart, beautiful, successful woman, and I am a man with a tragic and painful past, and no real ambitions for the future beyond learning to live a life of peace. Death has surrounded me since I was a boy. And the years I have spent in Club Sin with my brothers have been the most peaceful I have ever known, but even those years have been haunted by the deaths of my family. What can I offer you, Tatiana?"

“Yourself. I am not attracted to you for what you can offer me, Lash. What you can offer me is you . Your mind, your heart, your body. Protection. Safety. Acceptance." She trails her fingers down through my beard and then grips it in her fist and tugs. "I only want you, Lash. The rest I can find on my own. I have a business and I enjoy running it. I can bring it to the States easily. And to be honest, I think it would be good to get away from my father and his business. I am tired of being afraid of every car that follows me. I jump at shadows because I have had men jump out of them at me and hold me hostage to get money from Tata. I am over it."

"I will always protect you."

"I know."

"I just…I cannot promise you safety until after Inez is rescued. I will have blood on my hands until this is over."

She strokes my beard, tugging it through her fist, combing her fingers through it. "You are who you are, Lash. For better or worse, violence has been a part of my life. That man may be the first person I have killed, but he is rather far from the first I have seen killed. I am not afraid of you."

She takes my hands and kisses the palms, places my hands against her cheeks. "I do not need your hands to be clean, Lash." She giggles. "Metaphorically speaking, at least."

"You are a wonder, do you know that?" I lean in, brush my lips against hers.

She exhales softly as my lips touch hers. "Lash. Kiss me. Please."

So, I do.

For the first time since that awful day, I allow the calcification around my heart to soften. I allow the atrophied muscle of desire to flex, to come alive.

I let out a breath and let my sorrow, which I have held on to so tightly for so long, exhale with it.

I cradle Tatiana’s beautiful face in my hands, glorying in the softness of her skin and the anticipation in her eyes. I start small, merely questing my lips against hers. She sighs, and her fingers dimple into my nape, digging in at my hairline, her thumbs grazing behind my ears.

"Lash," she whispers, my name a breath, the movement of her lips on mine. "More."

A deep, wild hunger flickers to life within me, a gaping, yawning chasm of fierce need—cold skin craving the warmth of touch, hard planes craving the softness of curves, the ache of emptiness craving the fulfillment of love.

I twist to press her against the railing and palm the back of her head in one hand, cup her cheek in the other, and deepen the kiss. She whimpers, and her tongue sweeps against mine and her mouth opens, soft and wet and warm and inviting. I can't help but growl in satisfaction and desire, crush my hardness against her softness.

My heart slams in my chest, my pulse pounds in my throat. "Tatiana…my god. What are you doing to me?"

She pulls back and smiles up at me, fisting my shirt in her hands. "Kissing you."

My hands tremble. "It has been so long since I felt…" I close my eyes, shake my head, search for the words. "Anything at all, let alone such a potent desire."

"I never have," she murmurs. "Never. It is a little frightening, is it not? In an exhilarating sort of way."

I've lost track of who is speaking which language. It doesn’t matter. We understand each other.

"Yes," I agree. "A little frightening, and a lot exhilarating."

"Kiss me again, Lash. The way you kiss me, I never want to stop."

"I worry about getting carried away," I say. "If we were alone, I never would stop."

She grasps my beard and pulls me back in for another kiss, and this time she cups the back of my head and keeps a tight grip on my beard and sweeps her tongue through my mouth with a soft, delicate moan of pleasure.

My hands take on a life of their own, raking down her waist to grip her hips, and then the taut bubble of her ass. She moans as I cradle her ass, crushing herself harder against me.

Her breasts flatten against my chest, and she is all I feel, all I hear, all I smell, all I taste. Every sense, every synapse is attuned to her.

She pulls away from the kiss, and I feel her smile curve against my lips. She nips my lower lip between her teeth and grinds her hips against mine. "I want you, Lash."

"Tatiana," I growl, panting. "You make me feel like a madman. I am at the end of my control."

She rests her forehead on my shoulder, and I press my mouth and nose into her hair, inhaling her scent. I grunt in shock when she dips her hand behind the waist of my jeans and delves down to cup my erection. "Lash," she whispers. "God. God, I need you."

"Tatiana…we can't. Not here." I grab her wrist but can't make myself stop her touch. "Fuck."

"Where can we go to be alone?" She murmurs. "I need you. I fucking need you like I've never needed anyone or anything. I feel like I might die if I don't have you soon."

"We are on a boat in the middle of the sea," I say. "There is nowhere to go."

Slowly, with obvious and immense reluctance, she pulls her hand out and grips my shirt with it. "Soon, Lash. Promise me. Please."

"Soon," I answer, the word a growl, a hoarse breath. "Whatever it takes, Lovely One. Soon."

"Promise?" She traces my lips with her fingertips.

"I promise. The moment we can steal away and be alone together, You and I, we will…" I shake my head as words fail me. "We shall discover one another."

She huffs a laugh. "I want to do much more than merely discover you, Lash." She presses her lips to my ear, breathing sensual promises. "I want you naked and all for me. I want to ride you. I want to be beneath you. I want to taste every last inch of you. I want you to come so hard for me that you forget your name. I want you to forget everything but me, Lash. I told you, I'm selfish."

I growl, gripping her ass so hard it must hurt, but all she does is pant with delight and wriggle her ass into my grip. "Tatiana…"

“Lash?" she breathes.

"If I do not let you go right now, I will have you here on the deck of this boat for all the world to see."

Wide dark eyes search and sear, rife with an insatiable need. "Tempting," she whispers. "I've never had sex in public before."

"Tatiana," I breathe, the sound more warning than word.

She only laughs "So serious." She pushes me backward, reaches behind herself and captures my hands, tangling our fingers between our bodies. "Is that better?"

"I would do very bad things to be alone with you right now, Tatiana."

She bites her lower lip and gazes at me. "I know. So would I."

I lead her away from the railing and to a row of seats, sit with my back to the railing, and pull her down between my legs, her back to my front. "If we can't be alone, this will have to do."

She takes my hands and drapes them over her shoulders, clutching them against her chest. Rests a cheek against our joined hands. I feel her breathing slow almost immediately. "It will do. For now."