Chapter 2 An Enticing Dusk
An Enticing Dusk
Mikko
Late summer sun warmed his back as Mikko sped toward the glimmering skyline dotting the horizon ahead of him.
His meeting was in a couple hours, his clothes sure to be wind blown and hair askew, but he didn’t mind.
At this point in his career, anything outside the mind-numbing repetitions proved exciting.
Stuffy suits ruled his life, one moment without them wouldn’t kill him.
His reign was ever slipping, Alek’s firm grasp on people still evident all these years later. It tired Mikko. Times had changed, people had changed, so why was it so hard to keep things running smoothly?
Memories of his childhood and of blood stained floors sent him to his oceanside house. Cristiano hadn’t asked questions since he also had his own demons from Alek instilled inside of him. Instead, he let his friend leave, content to look after things until he got back.
Time healed all, but for Mikko it appeared time was crushing him.
Now he was recuperated and ready to take on the tasks set before him. Alas, his city penthouse would suffice, even if the city was too loud; too much. At least until the ordeal with Ivan blew over.
Until then, these moments on his motorcycle would help him cope. The engine roared below him as his body was bent over the tank, pliant from endorphins. Finally, he could think; finally he was free. The wind whipping at his clothes plucked all other thoughts from his mind.
As the dashed lines blurred beneath him, he let his mind wander.
The ghosts of his past clung to him despite the speeds he traveled, an image of his mom flashing across his mind.
It’d been twenty-two years since she’d been gone, but it never got any easier.
Not a day passed where he didn’t think of her.
Or more so, what she’d think of me, her once precious and gentle son forming alliances with monsters.
Mikko had grown up into something terrible despite all his best efforts.
Blood coated his hands, the mistakes of her past forever in his mind.
Since his mom was no longer alive to encourage his true self, he’d buried it along with her.
He’d transformed into the man his father had wanted instead. It was easier that way.
It was kill or be killed, and Mikko had chosen the lesser of the two evils.
Although now, he wished he hadn’t.
And maybe traces of her still lingered in him. Evident in the ways he would escape to his seaside estate, much the same way his mother would flee his father’s wrath and find seclusion elsewhere if only for a while.
It was too late now, his fate determined long ago, and his body struggling to keep up.
Regardless, his spite fueled him, along with the tingling in his fingers as his eyes scanned the road before him.
Excitement dulled his sense of sadness and self-preservation, his mind snapping back to the present moment.
But that was the point of these solo trysts with his motorcycle.
To think. To move on. To forget.
If only he knew how difficult that would soon become.
MOLTEN ORANGE SHIMMERED against the harsh line of the cityscape, an inevitable marriage of man-made structures and nature.
While his back had faced the sun on the way into the city, he was now able to catch a glimpse of it between the looming silhouettes of the buildings.
The precipice of the moment was palatable, the burst of colors glaring as the sun kissed the horizon.
The clouds were stained a hue reminding him of marmalade before cascading into rosy pinks, and at its edges, it was violaceous, a coolness settling above him.
He’d seen a sunset a hundred times before, but the uniqueness of each one called for him to stop and appreciate the moment.
My little daydreamer, his mom used to murmur.
Sighing inside his helmet, Mikko wished to capture it.
The familiar shutter of his camera cementing the view before him into a picture, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t worth it.
The beauty before him was ephemeral, no picture could hope to seize it and contain the colors inside a screen or piece of photo paper.
Instead, he’d tuck—
“What’s that saying?” a voice interrupted his daydream. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”
Rolling his eyes, Mikko turned to the source of the voice, perturbed that his friend had somehow read his mind, yet mocked him.
Typical.
Cristiano had pulled up behind him along the curb, his gray Mercedes sleek in the fading light of the sunset that had just consumed his mind. While they’d talked on the phone a night prior, Mikko was still glad to see his friend in person. Sarcasm and all.
Flipping up his visor, Mikko met Cristiano’s humorous gaze. “And here I was going to say how much I missed you.”
“A lie if I’ve ever heard one.” Cristiano stood on the edge of the curb beside where Mikko had maneuvered his Yamaha R6 motorcycle into a parking spot, a grin plastered on his face.
Shaking his head, Mikko swept his kickstand down as the sounds of the city filtered in around him. He grimaced as cars sped by, faster than was necessary in the heart of the city and distant sirens grew into a cacophonous swell around them, reaching a crescendo grating on his nerves.
Oh, Portland, how I’ve missed you, he internally scoffed.
But that wasn’t what held his attention.
It was the shade of Cristiano’s hair—a light powdery blue.
His friend noticed the infinitesimal flick of Mikko’s eyes, his mouth already opening, “If you say one mean thing about my hair,” Cristiano started, “I’ll make you take care of Ivan by yourself.”
Closing his mouth beneath his helmet, Mikko swallowed his words and swung his leg over his bike.
Cristiano clicked the fob in his hand, and the Mercedes’ headlights flashed amber, glinting off his white smile. “Didn’t think that would actually work.”
He spun the keys around his pointer finger. The streetlights around them would soon flicker on, nighttime blanketing the city once the sun set the rest of the way.
“Fuck off,” Mikko mumbled, tugging the gloves off his hands and tucking them into the pockets of his riding jacket.
“I would if I could, but you have a tendency of scaring any prospects away,” Cristiano teased, “but here I am, still trying. Obviously.” He gestured to Bubblegum behind him.
The infuriating shade of pink on the sign glinted off the glass buildings nearby, but all Mikko could think about was The Portland Social’s article.
A headache was building behind his eyes.
A line was forming outside the door, opening time almost upon them. It was one of the many establishments Mikko owned, his real estate development business renting out dozens of properties within city limits.
Regardless of how this night would end, he suspected it would begin as an evening of Cristiano blowing off some steam.
“Although, if you’re giving me permission to kill two birds with one stone…” his friend continued, words trailing off before he punctuated them with a devious wiggle of his brows.
Socking Cristiano in the arm, he walked by him with a tired sigh. “I’m going to demote you.”
“Personally or professionally? Because the former is impossible; I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever, sweetheart.”
A small smile threatened to spread across Mikko’s lips. His friend’s nicknames were always cringy and appalling, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I’ll find a way to make you disappear, darling.”
“Oh, sounds ominous.” He fell into step with Mikko. “But consider me interested.”
“Let’s get this night over with, yeah?” Mikko hated coming here, and any other place like it. The music was always too loud and the stifling weight of bodies pressed around him made nausea churn in his gut. So many people in one room was asking for trouble.
It made him anxious.
If the deviants he employed and paid knew that, he’d be in trouble. And if Cristiano knew, he would laugh his ass off until he fucking cried.
“Whatever ya say, boss.”
Cristiano dodged Mikko’s second playful punch.
“Since when did this place get so busy?” Mikko asked as he finally slipped his helmet off, relishing in the cool air brushing across his cheeks.
“Since forever, you just don’t get out. Ever.”
Mikko’s hand gripped his helmet tighter, his companion’s words stinging with truth. His mind wandered back to last night, the crisp taste of vodka erasing his lonely, shut-in evening.
Cristiano continued, unaware of the other man’s thoughts. “But I agree, we should hurry before the line gets any longer.”
“You act like we don’t own the place—like we can’t cut the line,” Mikko countered.
Cristiano shook his head as if Mikko was missing some obvious point. “Sometimes I like to pretend I’m a regular person.”
“By waiting in line?”
Cristiano nodded.
“While I commend you and your patience, you’ll never be normal with that shade of hair.”
“What did I say about making fun of me?” Cristiano chided before surging forward, and flipping Mikko off over his shoulder as he was left to stare at the atrocious color adorning his friend’s buzz cut. “It’s called being spontaneous, you should try it sometime.”
Rolling his eyes, Mikko slipped through the door, the bouncer letting them pass easily. Both his and Cristiano’s faces were recognizable to many—a perk and a curse. Before the dimness of the club’s interior consumed him, a flash in his peripherals forced his ever watchful gaze to linger.
There, in line, was a woman; her tan skin glowed in the fading colors of the sunset, the city skyline unable to keep it from kissing along every exposed surface of her flesh. And even from this far, it looked soft and supple, a delicious place to set his rough hands.
Dark ink was etched across her shoulders, most of it hidden by the people she waited behind in line. Her ebony hair was styled, cascading over her shoulders in silky waves and a small section of it was blonde. It framed her face, the brightness against the onyx making him squint.
Like the colorful stripe on a poisonous creature, the contrast was meant to entice—to draw him in and force his eyes to pause.
But that wasn’t all.
Her eyes, pools of honeyed amber reminiscent of sunlight dappled whiskey, met his icy perusal.
And something dark slithered in his gut.
The bouncer ushered him along before he could dwell on it further, his intuition prickling in his stomach.
Why did it feel like her gaze had met his intentionally? And why did that pique his interest?
Cristiano was right, he didn’t get out.