Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I t was optimistic of me to believe that the depot would give us time to actually go on a date before our sexcation.
Immediately after the cherubs were on the bus taking them to the processing center, my phone chimed with the next location.
I knew going in that Fox didn’t get many days off, but when my phone chimes a fourth time, I suspect that someone is playing with me.
So far Fox has annihilated the people keeping the cherubs, some random homeless guy—no idea what his crime was—and a group of dickheads in a board meeting.
I’m not saying the dickheads didn’t deserve to die, but a vacuum of power in any large company probably isn’t good. Even if the people dying are evil.
Not my problem, though.
My problem now is the building in front of me.
It looks like a warehouse on the outside, but it’s one of those warehouse-turned-club things that crop up every now and again.
I've heard of this place. The owner is one of those rich philanthropists nobody actually trusts, but he funds some of the resources that the homeless in this city rely on. I don’t actually want him to be the target, because that might be bad for the people I know.
It would have been bad for me a week ago.
Just in case, I check the address, but unfortunately I’m in the right place, so I put some steel in my spine and enter through the front door.
I pass the entry way and the cash desk and come to a full stop when my feet pass the threshold to the main floor, agog at the sight that greets me.
It’s…it’s an orgy. I can’t even emphasize that enough.
Ok, let me set this scene. In front of me is three steps down into a large pit/dance floor with a disco ball hanging at the dead center.
To the left and right of the dance floor and three steps up are rectangular platforms with comfortable, overstuffed couches and tables.
Directly across from me is another three steps and a smaller platform with a throne dead center, and behind it another three steps up, a platform with, uh, interesting furnishings that include lots of ropes and padded benches.
Groups ranging from two to seven people occupy the lounge areas and the furthest platform, engaging in sex acts that would make me blush if I didn’t have a vivid imagination and a backlist of raunchy books I’ve read and loved.
Under the disco ball, a naked man kneels, tied up in white rope with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs splayed to show off an angry red cock that someone tied up in a fancy bow.
It’s important to note that the warehouse lights are on, lighting up the entire space without leaving any shadows to hide anything going on.
Absolutely nothing is left to the imagination, and I think that’s a damn shame.
There’s something to be said for dim lighting when everyone’s naked.
Sex is fun, but it’s not the most glorious thing to watch unless you’re viewing porn, and that’s a production, not—whatever the hell is going on here.
The tied-up man at the center of the pit glares at me through angry, bloodshot, blue eyes and shouts around a bright red ball gag. He’s not the owner of the club, but he is one of the people in the background of photos of the owner guy—a bodyguard or something; I don’t pay enough attention to know.
On the throne across from me sits a blond guy who looks like he’s not old enough to be in the club, but as we’ve all learned in the last week, the body doesn’t always reflect a person’s age. After all, Fox looks like he’s about thirty.
The guy on the throne is naked, of course, petting the blond curls of a man on his knees worshiping his cock.
Behind the guy on his right side stands a giant, vaguely Asian, naked guy with his arms crossed, scowling at me while his comically large dick juts out next to the young guy’s face.
The young guy has one leg tossed over the arm of his throne to make room for the guy bobbing on his dick, and he holds the other guy’s cock in his free hand, absently playing with it as he watches the guy in his lap.
“Hello, Harbinger,” the guy on the throne says without looking up. His voice doesn’t rise above the noise of the people fucking all around the room so much as it absorbs the noise, muting them while he speaks, but as soon as he stops, the noises continue at full volume.
He gives a laconic wave toward the tied-up guy. “I’ve prepared the sacrifice.” He looks up and black eyes meet mine as a wave of pure lust washes over me and sinks into my bones. The lust isn’t directed at anyone in the room; it’s pure, physical, urgent arousal.
I step back, wide eyed, trembling with the effort to not reach for my cock, stumbling when I hit a warm body behind me. Arms come around me to help stabilize me, but they tighten instead of releasing me as soon as I find my balance.
“Gotcha,” a cool, genteel voice whispers in my ear, full of amusement.
Oh shit.
“The ward doesn’t protect you from harmless magic wielded without malice towards you. And I have no malice toward you,” the dude on the throne says.
I take a deep breath and sigh, and then try to get my visceral reaction to the lust thrumming through my veins back under control.
My eyes might roll up when the guy behind me shifts just enough that his hard cock nudges my butt cheek.
I’m not even attracted to him, but the sex magic in this place makes me desperate for another person to touch me.
Ugh. Fox needs to get here before my higher thinking skills are completely paralyzed.
With more effort than it really should take, I lift my hand and present my middle finger to the man I’m assuming is Santanos.
I’ve never known a better way of silently communicating “fuck you” than flipping people the bird.
It also works as a “fuck off” and a “go fuck yourself.” It’s a versatile gesture.
Santanos laughs, muting the noises around us again, though no one actually stops fucking to pay attention to us. “I’d heard you were the silent type. Perfect for Fox. I wonder if you’ll break your silence when you orgasm.”
Another wave of his magic hits me hard. Arousal more potent than anything I’ve ever felt spins in and around me.
Resistance is hard—pun intended—and fuck if surrender isn’t easier.
Santanos’ magic is pure temptation. Even as I give in to the need, I know I’ll be pissed later.
I let the magic pull an orgasm out of me, leaving me breathless and raw, spinning in a whirlpool of all-consuming lust.
“Interesting,” Santanos grunts, audibly annoyed.
The whirlpool drowns me in Santanos’ magic.
The lust isn’t satiated by the orgasm, and though my logical mind doesn’t believe it will help, I let myself surrender to it again.
Weakness and fatigue roll through me; the only thing keeping me on my feet are the arms of the man holding me up.
I rest my head on my captor’s shoulder, too tired to resist and too fuzzy for anger.
The anger will come later, but right now, I just want to sleep.
No. I can’t sleep yet. I will, but not before Fox gets here. Where is he?
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” the man holding me up murmurs, jostling me enough to rouse me.
I slowly lift my head, discovering that I must’ve passed out for at least a few minutes because I’ve somehow gone from across the room to standing before Santanos.
I blink at him, bringing my brain back online after it’s mini vacation. I still feel weak and raw, but fury slowly heats in my gut, giving me the energy boost I need. I’m not ready to shake off the guy holding me up yet, but I will be.
Santanos looks at me like an interesting bug, like he might actually want to stomp on me. “I marvel at your silence, Harbinger,” he announces with enough sarcasm that I feel like I can safely assume he’s mocking me.
Or not.
Another wave of his magic rolls over me, and the next thing I’m aware of is the tap of someone’s hand against my cheek, pulling me back to consciousness.
I crack my eyes open, greeted by the face of the guy who chased me through the streets yesterday. He…looks concerned.
I’m not humble enough that I don’t know exactly how good I am at reading people.
Body language is my thing. I’m good at projecting, and I’m good at reading.
So when I stare into the purple eyes of the man looking down at me and there’s a moment of connection and understanding between us, I know that he’s going to do something to help me.
And somehow I just know it’s going to be soooooo stoooopid.
Seriously. He’s about to go against his boss, and even I know Santanos isn’t a dude to mess with.
The guy—I desperately need to know his name so I can stop calling him “the guy” or “the would-be abductor” or other inconvenient things—helps me stand back up, grabbing the lapels of my suit to pull me back to vertical.
He turns me back toward Santanos, who’s looking rather annoyed at this point.
“I have brought warlords to their knees and sent them crawling home to cry in their mother’s laps,” Santanos growls, leaning forward on his throne three steps up from me. “Everyone screams for me.”
I blink at him, somehow unsurprised to discover he’s a narcissist who can’t be bothered to think things through when he doesn’t get his way. Surprise, surprise. Santanos doesn’t know I’m mute and hasn’t seen past his annoyance to figure it out.
Where the fuck is Fox?
I’d probably save myself some dick torture by informing Santanos of my disability, but because I’m an antagonistic brat sometimes, I only find the energy to smirk at him.
I’m sure I have some reserves somewhere, but this bastard has basically ensured that I won’t be able to get it up tonight when I’m supposed to be sexing it up with my boyfriend.
Who’s finally shown up.
I feel the atmosphere in the room change when he steps into it. Santanos flicks his eyes behind me and leans back in his throne again. “Fox. You’ve finally come to see me.”
The guy holding me moves us to the side at a gesture from Santanos. When he gets us turned around, I shoot Fox a glare that says, “What took you so long?”
Fox studies me from the top of the steps across the room, impassively eyeing my disheveled state and the wet spot on the front of my trousers.
The blank mask he always wears while working slips just enough for me to get a peek at his fury, but as he flicks his eyes back to Santanos, the mask slides back into place.
Fox descends the steps, exuding confidence with every step as he approaches the bound man at the center of the dance floor.
He unholsters a gun and holds it pointing down until he brushes by the bound man.
The gunshot is deafening in the wide-open space of the warehouse.
My ears ring as the body goes limp, unable to fall to the floor because of the tension from the ropes binding it.
Santanos’ voice covers the silence after the gunshot, which is the only reason I notice that the orgy going on around us has stopped. I’d kinda just tuned it out as background noise until now. “Now that you’ve fulfilled your misguided duty, let’s talk.”
Fox’s stride never falters as he walks right up to me and pulls me out of the arms of the guy .
His focus centers on me as he cups my jaw and looks into my eyes.
He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to.
His eyes ask me if I’m ok, they project his sincere worry for me, and they tell me that he loves me.
Dammit, right now is not the time for this mush! I flatten my lips, roll my eyes, and then press a quick peck to Fox’s lips. Tapping his gun hand, I turn him to face Santanos. That’s the best way I know to tell him to kill the fucker on the throne.
“ Seriously?! ” Santanos exclaims. “I’ve had him for a full fifteen minutes and you can’t even be bothered to ask him if he’s ok? No wonder your Harbingers keep quitting. This is why you need to come work for me. You’re evil minion material to the core.”
That’s what this has been about? Santanos is trying to recruit him? What the heck? I thought he wanted him dead?
Fox lifts the gun and shoots him. Just like that.
Of course, the bullet stops about an inch from Santanos’ face and drops on top of the head of the guy in his lap.
Oh yeah, I forgot about that dude. I don’t know how because he hasn’t stopped blowing Santanos the entire time, but ya know, I’ve been distracted.
Santanos smirks at Fox. “The council doesn’t want me dead.”
Dammit.
Fox empties his gun. It’s a waste of bullets, and even though my ears are ringing, it’s kind of satisfying that Fox doesn’t have to say a word to tell him to go fuck himself. Reaching back, Fox takes my hand and turns away from Santanos’ smug grin.
I grab the man behind me by his shirt, tugging him along as I follow Fox. He was going to rescue me; I feel like I should return the favor.
“You can’t have Bellamy,” Santanos calls, which makes the man in my grasp stumble to a halt.
Fox and I both turn back toward the throne. I glance between Santanos and the man in my grip, Bellamy—yay for having names—and pull him away from Santanos.
Fox gives me a questioning look, but the answer is right on my face: Bellamy is mine now. He nods once, grabs Bellamy and pulls him behind us. “My Harbinger has claimed him.”
Santanos scowls at Fox. “He did not.”
Fox tips his head slightly. “Romily, are you claiming Bellamy?”
I grin at Santanos, showing him my teeth, and nod.
“You can’t have my assassin!” Santanos roars, furious and seething with power.
I feel his magic hit me, but this time it washes harmlessly over me. I guess he’s feeling a bit attacky now. Ha!
Grabbing Bellamy again, I turn my back on the seething man and march us out the front door, unhindered and free from attack.
And now I have my very own assassin. Ok. Now I have another assassin, but I don’t think Fox would consider himself one. I don’t know. He’s a Reaper; that’s not quite the same thing.