Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DIORA
Sitting on a fourteen-hour flight isn’t a comfortable experience, but sitting on a fourteen-hour flight across from a child trafficker is a hell I don’t wish to experience again.
The itch, the craving, for the life in her eyes to die is strong. From the tips of my fingers to my forearms, I crave to satisfy the urge to attack. To plant, deceive, kill the woman in the tweed suit sitting across from me.
But I resist. I resist because I know when there is a fight I can’t win. I resist, because Elliot still calls her Mother. Regardless of the relationship struggles between the two, there is still a motherly feeling there, and I can’t risk Elliot.
I could slip some poison into her drink and call it a day. But she’s too smart for that. She hasn’t let me close to her drinks since I started training under her. Only if she’s watching me does she let me near her drinks or food.
It kills me to know there is a chance I won’t be able to kill Mrs. Jay.
Getting off the plane and to the hotel, I follow Mrs. Jay playing the dutiful puppy.
If the hotel looks like this, I can only imagine what the venue is going to look like.
Golden arches with gods painted into the moldings, ruby red rugs, and matching decor decorate the hotel’s lobby.
My eyes wander around, looking at all the people, the French language coming from all angles of the room.
I’ve never experienced such a different life.
I’ve never left Litchfort, couldn’t afford to, so Paris is…
Paris is completely different. I’ve yet to feel such awe toward anything quite like being in a different country.
Standing in the lobby, we wait for Elliot, who has already checked us in and needs to give us our key cards.
At two p.m. sharp, he walks through the doors of the lobby.
The wind pushing his loose shirt tight against his front and his hair blowing away from his face.
All reminding me of the beauty I find in him.
Where my attraction for him started and how I yearn for more.
I hold back my smile at seeing him again as he approaches us, holding two keycards in his hands like playing cards.
“Hello, ladies,” he says. He leans to give Mrs. Jay a kiss on her cheek, but his eyes stay on me.
The serial killer winks at me, and I tilt my head, feeling a flush over my cheeks and neck.
The decorations of the fancy hotel fade as my full attention is on him.
He moves away from Mrs. Jay and waves toward someone behind me.
“Elliot, darling, how nice of you to show up,” Mrs. Jays says, even though we’ve only been standing here for maybe three minutes.
I watch as he raises his brows but leaves the comment unanswered as he turns to greet the bellhop, who is loading our luggage onto the gold rack on wheels.
“Boys,” Mrs. Jay mutters as she rolls her eyes.
“I’ll take you to your rooms. We’re on the eighth floor,” Elliot informs us. The news instantly puts a frown on Mrs. Jay’s face.
“Why not the tenth? Why did you book us for the eighth?” she asks, scrunching her brows.
“Air conditioning is best on the eighth floor,” Elliot says as our little party walks toward the elevators. I can practically see Elliot’s frustration, as if it were steam coming off of him. His body language remains neutral, too neutral, and that’s his tell.
Silent as ever, I follow the pair and bellhop into the small elevator.
The bellhop enters first with the rack, and I follow suit, with Mrs. Jay standing next to me.
Elliot is last, and he tells the man who stays in the elevator the floor number.
I’m not sure of the formal title of this position, since I’ve never been in a hotel this nice before.
Paris isn’t known for air conditioning. That is one of the first things that any search on the city will tell you.
This elevator must be one of the places they cut back on.
I feel the warm heat welcome us as we raise past the other floors.
Swallowing my spit, I release a slow breath so as not to bring attention to myself.
Mrs. Jay looks completely fine in her tweed jacket, and for a moment, I’m envious.
The heat colors my cheeks almost like a blush and it seems like I'm the only one a bit uncomfortable. I’m surrounded in a confined space surrounded by people who apparently don’t get hot? I’m out of place, and yet I see his hand out of the corner of my eye.
Elliot hasn’t outwardly acknowledged me since seeing me, but I know that’s part of the plan.
We needed to hold off Mrs. Jay thinking we’re getting too close for as long as possible.
Elliot says, once that happens, either one of two things will happen: one is, she will assign me to someone else, probably under her, which could lead to me being sold into her trafficking ring.
This would only happen if I don’t figure out how to overpower her. The second option is, she simply kills me, and that would be her favorable option, with my skill set right now. I wouldn’t win that fight.
Still, I see his pinky finger move toward me.
He sees me. I can’t help the twitch in my lips.
I cough, covering my lips with an elbow, moving as if the cough rocked my body forward.
And I brush my opposite hand with his. His pinky hooks on to mine for the quickest moment.
Enough for my smile to break through my face and the warmth covering my skin settling into a warm… hug-like feeling.
My lips tingle at the contact, the memory of me in his lap and our lips crashing together playing through my mind as we ride the elevator. Is this what a crush feels like? A craving for someone’s presence? A carnal need to feel.
I haven’t– I’ve never experienced an emotion quite like this. It’s similar to the feeling of holding life and death in my hands, but not quite the same. I don’t want this to end in death.
I want this to end after a lifetime together. A chance to experience sitting in rocking chairs on the porch when we get too old to worry about the small stuff, a dream where grandkids run ragged in the yards.
Juliet’s always talked about this kind of emotion, but I never thought I’d get to experience it. I didn’t think I was hard-wired that way. Maybe I’m more like Juliet than I thought.
Too bad serial killers don’t get happy endings.
The elevator dings, and we file out of the velvet red room and into a matching hallway, a single huge window, with a beautiful gold frame, at the opposing end.
Mother’s room is directly in the middle, and she waits for Elliot to open her door. He does, and she quite literally dances into the room as if she was waltzing with a lover.
The white baby grand piano glistens under the afternoon daylight. The shiny floors, velvet couches, and crown moldings decorate the room that’s bigger than my apartment back home.
Looking back at Elliot, who still stands by the open door as the bellhop unloads her bags, I raise both my eyebrows.
He shakes his head and smiles, walking past me to give Mrs. Jay her key. “I’m sure you need some rest, Mother.” He walks out of the room, brushing my arm along the way.
I try not to react. I simply follow behind Elliot. Walking out of Mrs. Jay’s room, the bellhop stands by the rack where my one suitcase is.
“I’ll take it from here,” Elliot says, and grabs my suitcase. The bellhop only smiles and nods before disappearing to one set of elevators. I look back to Elliot, who is already walking to a different set of elevators.
“What floor am I on?” I ask as we step back inside.
“We’re on the sixth floor,” he says and nods to the… elevator man? This time, Elliot doesn’t settle for my pinky; he takes my whole hand.
“We?” I ask.
“Have separate rooms,” he answers, stopping between two doors. He chuckles and looks down at me. Golden brown eyes meet mine, and they gleam. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Elliot Jay is happy. He is either happy or hiding something. Maybe both? “Interconnected.”
I can’t help the giggle I let out. Sliding my hand from his, I snatch the keycard from his other hand and go into my room. I’ve never stayed in a hotel, let alone one as cool as to have interconnected rooms. What kids’ movie did I just jump into?
A giddy feeling rises up inside and makes all my limbs feel light as I swing open the door between our rooms. He’s already there, on the other side of the door, waiting for me. I scream in delight, a sound I haven’t heard in years, and laugh as he swoops me up and drops me on my bed.
“Diora, Diora, Diora.” He beams, turning away from me and grabbing something that is already on my dresser.
That must have gotten here before I got here.
I gaze at him with a questionable brow. He turns around with a sleek black box.
It almost looks like a sheet cake box. Except there is no plastic see through top, and the box is most definitely heavier than a sheet cake.
“What is this?” I ask, as I gingerly take the box from his hands.
My hands shake, and I can’t quite calm down as fast as I’d like.
I watch his face more than I look at the box.
His face turns red, a red even his golden skin can’t hide.
He bites his lip as he watches the box in my hands instead of my face. Is the Elliot Jay nervous?
“Open it, Little Crane.”
I take another look at the box. It’s not like I’ve never gotten a gift before.
Juliet has given me plenty. She always gets me gifts for my birthday and Christmas.
But this is weird. I feel ashamed of my excitement at what could be in the box.
My cheeks flush and a smile so damn big my face hurts.
With my head down, I try to hide my face, but his fingers on my jaw forces me to look at him.
“Elliot,” I say, but I don’t even know what to say. I can hardly hold the box in my shaking hands. I try to breathe, smile, breathe, stop smiling.
Come on, breath, Dee. Breathe, Dee.
I swallow hard, and he kneels in front of me. His smile dampens, and I hate myself even more. “I know, Little Crane. I know.”
I breathe out as his words register in my ears.
“We don’t get to experience the act of receiving gifts like others do.
I didn’t get or give my first gift until I met Enyo.
The nerves I had receiving my first gift nearly made me faint,” he softly says with a chuckle.
His hands weigh heavily over mine, grounding me.
“I get gifts from Juliet—” I try to excuse, but he shakes his head.
“Not always the same,” he says with a light smile on his face. It’s odd, all the smiles he has. “Let’s open it together.”
His hands guide mine, moving over the top of the box and lifting the lid.
A soft pop and the box is open in my lap, the lid released from the bottom, and Elliot takes it from my hands.
Black matte fabric is folded in the box, and my mind brings me back to that damn yacht and our first kill together.
When we finally kissed, he invited me to the ball.
“You bought me a dress?” I whisper as my hands lift the dress from the box. It slowly unfolds and the most beautiful thing I will probably ever wear unravels before me. It is a strapless dress, with a v-shaped neckline attached to a corset and a beautiful flowy skirt.
“I said I’d take care of everything if you came with me, Little Crane,” Elliot says. I feel his eyes searching my face, and this is when my hands finally stop shaking. I put the dress down in my lap, and there he is.
My golden serial killer.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching my hand to his cheek and drawing him closer.
“Thank God,” he mumbles, bringing his lips to mine. His lips are soft, perfect against mine. I pull away and smile.
“Thank you.” I kiss his nose. “Thank you.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” I kiss his forehead and he swallows me up. Launching toward me, lying on the bed, over me, kissing me furiously.
“I was so fucking nervous,” he mumbles, and I chuckle. I like this side of Elliot. He isn’t the big, bad, suave serial killer. He’s the shy, nervous ball of energy that I want to consume.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, wanting to soothe his worries. Want is such a fickle feeling. A desire to do something outside of my selfish urges. Elliot is the only other person I’ve wanted to care for. It’s odd to feel my circle growing, but I’m… I'm not mad at it.
“Elliot,” I say, as he lays his head over my chest. My heart pounds and he wraps his arms tight around my body. The dress lies on the bed beside us, and I know I should hang it up so it’ll be ready for tonight, but I don’t want to move.
“My heart is racing, too, Little Crane.”
I stare at him. His head is turned to the side as he cuddles me.
Dangerous killers attending a ball in Paris, cuddling in their hotel room.
I scoff at the thought. My hands lay over his shoulders, on his back, and we stay like this.
I sigh, trying to breathe normally as if I’m not scared of this, of us, of everything with Mrs. Jay and Juliet.
It’s just us here. Hiding from the big bad wolf two floors up.
She’s gonna find out. She may even kill me for being with Elliot. As much as I’d hate to leave Juliet alone in this world, this moment, cuddling with Elliot Jay, is worth tempting the wolf.
“Do we still have to go to the ball?” I mutter, tracing mindless shapes on his back with my fingers.
“If we don’t go, that would tip Mrs. Jay off, and we’re not quite ready for that. Plus, I think the Society would be pissed if their host didn’t show up.”
I hum in response. He’s right, of course. But it would be nice to say fuck it and stay here. This one time.
“Plus, this weekend will be fun, Little Crane. I promise.”