Chapter 10 #3
Mirage is velvet and shadow, a stage that knows how to make a secret feel like a show.
I see her immediately. Of course I do. She glows in rooms that don’t want light.
The vision of Melinda inside Mirage is one of radiant beauty that hits me the same way it did the first night I saw her here.
She and the same friend from the first time watch the dancers, laughing, soft as spun sugar.
I could watch her, absorbed in the spectacle of the dancers, forever, her eyes alight with wonder and admiration.
The beauty of her unguarded moments, the way her laughter mingles with the music.
Each time her face lights up it’s a shot of ecstasy straight into my veins.
I’ve been here before for business meetings, never for my own pleasure.
People don’t touch me. Any time I’ve had a woman, I paid for the illusion.
The first time wasn’t even my choice. Uncle Leven paid, calling it a gift for my thirteenth birthday.
You can't kill men and not have fucked women. His exact words. I haven’t had a woman in years.
I work. I read. Still, a part of me wonders if Lindy would touch me, or would she flinch away like everyone else?
She has me starving for something I was never meant to have.
I’m riding the high of her when the impulse to own Mirage, to make it hers if she wants it, becomes inevitable.
The look in her eyes, the joy on her face, I'd do anything to keep it there. Owning Mirage also presents other strategic advantages. It’s a way to keep her safe, a haven under my control.
It gives Caleb another avenue to hide money.
It gives Atlas another place to offer women with nowhere else to go.
I step away, pulling out my phone to call my cousin Eland.
“I need you to broker a deal.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“And?”
“I was asleep.”
“And?”
“The fuck do you want, Cassius?”
“I want you to be the lawyer your father pays you to be and buy Mirage.”
“The bar? Why do you want…she’s there isn’t she?”
“Make it happen, Eland. Mirage is mine,” I tell him, the words sealing a deal that's as much about possession as it is about protection. I’ll never be worthy of her, never truly good enough to keep her, but I’ll do everything in my power to give her all the things I am capable of.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Adrian said this woman was making you nuts. I didn’t imagine I’d be buying a bar in the middle of the night, but sure, I’m in.”
“As though you had a choice.”
“I’ll email the contract once I have it.” Eland hangs up. I pocket my phone and return to watch her from the shadows. Two men are sitting with her and her friend now and the sight of a man flirting with Melinda ignites a fire within me. This isn’t jealousy, this is unadulterated rage.
My text to her is sharp, a threat not so subtly veiled as advice.
I see the moment she reads it, her graceful excuse to the bathroom, the man's hand falling away from her shoulder. Unlike the first night, when I promised to stay out of sight, this is different. Staying away will keep her safer, yes, but it won’t stop me from stacking bodies at her feet.
If I’m killing them all anyway, I may as well get her out of the deal.
I could turn off all the fucking cameras.
Smash my phone to a thousand tiny shards.
But short of my brothers chaining me in a basement, nothing will keep me from watching her.
And even that wouldn’t last. I’d find a way out. Because she’s my sun.
The only part that still makes me hesitate is the more I circle this, protecting and possessing, deciding who lives and who dies, the more I’m like the predators I hunt.
The stark similarities claw at me harder than anything else.
It should be enough to keep me from her, to keep me from becoming the men I destroy.
Uncle Leven used to quote that shit to me.
Men who fight monsters should make damn sure they don’t become one.
That hesitation bought her a little time and gave me a line to stand behind.
The line is fraying. I recognize the likeness and hate it, and still I can’t step back.
I know I’m bad for her in ways I can’t ever fix.
One of those being I’ll never let her fall into another man’s hands.
If her ruin comes, it’ll be on me. Lucky for us both, I’m not a monster. I’m a Machine.
I move before the door can swing shut. Single-stall. Sometimes, when I get lucky like this, I believe there might be a God. The click of the lock is loud in the small space. She startles, wide eyes, hands halfway to defensive, but when our gazes catch the fear drains like someone pulled a plug.
“Cassius,” she whispers, a question tucked inside it.
“Lindy girl.” I take her in up close and unblurred.
The smear of glitter at her collarbone. The soft flush that climbs her neck and colors her cheeks.
The tiny pull in the stitching at her left hip from where she’s been fidgeting.
The way her scent is somehow strawberry and the pages of books being shuffled like a deck of cards.
I lift a knuckle to trace the edge of her jaw.
“You look positively obscene in that dress, darling.”
She swallows. Bites her bottom lip. The sound that tears out of me isn’t human.
I’m on her in two strides, palms at her waist, hauling her up like she weighs nothing and pinning her back to tile.
The force is somewhere between gentle and cruel and I can’t stop my smile at the fact that I know her back will bruise.
Mine. “Tell me to stop,” I growl against her mouth, letting her feel the tremor I can’t stop.
“No,” she breathes and opens for me on a gasp, arms around my neck, ankles locking at my lower back.
The sinks behind us throw mist; the counter is wet.
I set her down long enough to shrug out of my jacket, lay it over the length of stone so she won’t be cold, won’t be damp, then lift her onto it, cagging her between my shoulders and the mirror.
“Eyes on me,” I tell her. Her eyes find mine, blown wide. I hold her there. “Good girl. Say yes.”
“Yes,” she whispers, a thread of sound that sets every tendon in my body on fire.
I ease her knees open with my hands, kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, slow enough to make her shake.
Bites deep enough to bloom later. Goosebumps travel the length of her goddess legs.
I taste her through the thin lace of her black thong and she tips her head back, breath catching on the glass behind her.
I pull my knife out. A small, black thing that knows me better than any person ever has.
I lay the flat of the blade at the hollow of her throat, cool steel kissing pulse before sliding the flat of it to her hip so she can see it, feel the chill of it, a warning and a promise, before hooking one finger under the strap of her thong and flicking the blade once.
The fabric parts with a soft surrender. I set the knife high on her thigh where she can watch it gleam and put my mouth on her soaked center.
I eat her like penance. Like I can carve my name in pleasure instead of blood.
I seal my mouth to her and suck until she arches off the counter; I lick her as she whimpers and groan when she grinds against my face.
She finally understands who she belongs to.
Her fingers knot in my hair; my free hand pins her hip; my other keeps her wrists caged.
She tightens her grip in my hair.
“Look at me while you come,” I order. The mirror fogs behind her. She breaks on my tongue, hard, shaking, and I ride every aftershock until she’s wrecked and perfect.
“Cassius,” she says my name like it’s the only word she’ll ever speak again. I collect every tremor of her body and tuck them deep away so that I can keep pretending she truly belongs to me.
When her breathing stutters back into rhythm, I kiss the bitemark on her hip, clean the blade on my forearm, and tuck it away.
I smooth her dress back down, and comb through her hair with my fingers.
I lift her off the counter so I can grab my jacket.
She doesn’t speak while I dry the wet spot under the hand dryer and then slide it over her shoulders.
“Go back out there,” I murmur, thumb brushing the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth. “And tell him no.”
Her smile is shaky and wicked. “And if I don’t?”
I catch the tease and the guilt bites. We haven’t texted in hours—because of me—and one taste burned through what little restraint I had left.
She’s toying with me and I can’t even enjoy it; I’m two breaths from losing it and she has no idea.
She didn’t hesitate. She touched me, let me touch her, without blinking.
I don’t deserve that kind of light, but I’m going to take it. “Then I’ll say it for you.”
“You’d really stop me if it’s what I wanted?” She studies my face, heat and mischief tangling in her eyes.
“It isn’t what you want,” I murmur, letting my thumb graze her lower lip.
“And I’ll suck that exquisite pussy as many times as it takes to make sure you never believe otherwise.
” I unlock the door and let the noise of Mirage rush back in.
I wait a beat, then slip out behind her.
Whatever she ends up saying upon her return, is enough to send him away, a small victory in the silent war I wage.
I wait for him outside, my patience a thin veil over the simmering rage.
The confrontation is brief, my message clear.
“You are an extremely lucky man,” I say below the tone that would be considered yelling.
“You're catching me in a particularly euphoric mood, otherwise you'd already be dead.” I grab the collar of his shirt and push him into the shadows on the side of the building.
“What the hell, man?” He says as he struggles to free himself from my hold.
“The woman in there, Melinda, she's mine.”
“Look dude, I didn't know she wasn't single. Take that up with her.”
“I'm taking it up with you. Mirage, also mine.” Well, it will be mine by morning, so close enough. “If I ever see you here again, I'll kill you.” I look dead into this man’s eyes with my own, so he knows I’m not bluffing.
I could give a fuck about the guy reporting my threat, but the terrified look on the his face says he won't. I release him and he takes off toward his car.
I wait outside, long after the scardy-cat drives away, for Melinda to walk out with her friend. They’re holding hands and giggling as they stumble to the cab they must’ve called from inside. She’s radiant. She’s having fun, and it makes me happy. An emotion I haven’t felt in decades.
I long to take her home myself, to walk out of the shadows and offer to drive her.
But, I have to walk away. I should’ve never touched her tonight.
Should never touch her again. Never keep what makes you hesitate.
Uncle Leven would repeat this as he’d whip my back.
The weapon he created knows better than to let weakness into his orbit.
But I’ve tasted her. She makes me weak, yes, but worse than that she makes me want to be.
Softness is how men die in my world. There’s no shelf in my world to set her on that won’t get blood on it.
My life is locks and steel; hers is light and paperbacks.
I don’t know how those fit together, only that staying away isn’t one of the options anymore.
I don’t know that it ever was. From the second she texted me, I was drawn to her.
I hop on my bike and follow the taxi through the city as it drops off Victoria first and then Melinda. I watch as she fumbles to unlock her door. When she steps inside, I shoot a text to Adrian.
Send someone to get Melinda's car. Park it at her apartment. She just left Mirage. Get Adrian to figure out which car is her friend’s and take hers home too.
It’s the least I can do for Melinda, make her morning a little easier by eliminating the need to go back to Mirage for her car.
Honestly, I could give shit about making her friend’s morning easy, but Melinda will care and so I will protect her new friend now too.
Atlas will have no problem figuring out her name and address.
Adrian sends a thumbs up emoji and I pocket my phone before picking the lock to Melinda's front door.
I tell myself that it’s just to make sure she’s in bed and safe. She was too drunk to drive herself home after all.
She’s asleep on the couch, heels still on, purse half off the cushion.
I pace in front of her and argue with myself about moving her.
I lose. She’s going to wake up wondering how her car got home if she didn’t drive it so I may as well get her comfortable.
I’m busted either way, she might as well sleep without shoes on.
I take off her shoes and slide her dress away, leaving her in her bra.
Her cut thong is in my pocket, no way I was leaving it on the bathroom floor, and she’s never getting it back.
I think about it for maybe two seconds, then strip my shirt and pull it over her.
I’ll freeze my ass off on the ride home, but watching her sleep in what’s mine will be worth it.
She is beautiful, yes, but it’s her vulnerability that calls to me.
I gently lift her into my arms and place her in bed.
I allow myself a few moments to drink her in, but I refrain from touching her.
When I put my hands on her again, I want her awake and willing. My eyes trace her body. Magnificent.
I search around her apartment until I find Tylenol and place it on her nightstand next to a glass of water and a note that reads,
I'm sorry I stopped answering. I swear to you my heart was in the right place. I need you safe, always. If you forgive me, call me when you wake.
I sit in the yellow and gray chair that she has sitting next to the white bookshelves in her room, opposite her bed.
I watch her chest rise and fall, hoping, there’s that word again, hoping that once she’s sober she’ll forgive me for not calling, for not sending a single message.
I hope that I haven’t already fucked everything up beyond repair.
I keep telling myself to go home, but can’t make myself rise and turn away from her.
Hours later, when sunlight threads through the blinds of her bedroom window, I finally stand.