Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) (7 page)

‘So what’s
your
real name?’

She smiled again. ‘What you see is what you get with me.’

And he knew
exactly
what he’d be getting. ‘Those numbers tell me I’m to watch my back.’

‘Depends if you stay on my good side.’

‘I’m not interested in your good side.’

She tongued her upper molars as she smiled again. She pulled his T-shirt up slightly to rake her gaze over his torso, survey his abs. She smirked in approval as she ran her hand over every groove of his chest, traced her fingers down to his wound – a wound that fortunately looked far older than less than a day.

‘Someone take a dislike to you in the penitentiary?’ she asked, running her finger along the stitches with the fascination of a child who enjoyed plucking the wings from live insects.

‘A lot of people take a dislike to me.’

‘Do you care?’ she asked, reaching down to single-handedly unfasten his belt as she exhaled another mouthful of smoke into the limited space between them.

‘Not much.’

She popped the buttons on his jeans, easing the front of his shorts down to free his stirring erection. Her eyes flashed with approval as she looked back into his. ‘I’m already coming up with a few nicknames.’

‘Keep it to one syllable. It makes it easier for when you’re screaming out my name.’

She laughed. ‘That’s a big promise.’

‘Which I always keep.’

She bit into her bottom lip as she wrapped a surprisingly soft hand straight around the base of him. ‘You been with a woman since you got out?’ she asked, slowly sliding her hand up and down in well-practised strokes.

Fortunately he’d never had a problem with blatancy – even less so in such deft hands. ‘No.’

‘How long were you in?’

‘Too long.’

‘Then clearly,’ she said, parting her thighs further as she eased even closer. ‘I’m going to have to do something about that.’ She tongued her molars again, her breaths heavier as she took a firmer hold of him, experimenting to find the pressure and angle he preferred.

But he caught hold of her wrist, eased her hand away. ‘You might want to reconsider before you go any further.’

‘Sweetie,’ she said before exhaling a curter stream of smoke. ‘If it’s my honour you’re worried about, you’d be better worrying about your own.’

‘I don’t do honour,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’m very likely to hurt you. I’m very likely to overstep the mark. And I’m
more
than likely to get to the point where I don’t give a fuck.
Your
choice.’

Her eyes flared, her pupils dilated. ‘You say that with such gravity.’ Almost closing her lips on his, she coiled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged slightly. ‘Just know I can have you out of this place in the next hour if I choose. The same as I can have your guts hung out on the washing line in the morning sun if you don’t please me by the end of the night.’ She gently licked his lips. ‘So enough of the small talk, con. My room’s right above this. I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?’

He took the cigarette from her hand, placed it between his lips to take an experienced and steady inhale before exhaling a slow mist of smoke around her. It had been a long time, years, since he’d given up. And right then he needed to remind himself why. ‘Callous little bitch, aren’t you?’

Her eyes flared again. But then she leaned closer. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ she said, sliding her hand down to his erection again, this time cupping his balls and squeezing slightly. ‘And I would
love
to damage you.’

‘You so much as make me wince and I’ll show you how callous
I
can be.’

She exhaled off a terse laugh, but her eyes glimmered with curiosity. ‘Is that a request?’

‘It’s my way of telling you I get the feeling you’ve been getting your own way around here for far too long,’ he declared, stubbing out the cigarette. He reached for the open bottle of wine and knocked back a mouthful, the liquid as potent as he’d expected. He licked the remnants off his lips before he ran the lip of the bottle up her inner thigh, his gaze following its journey.

He heard her hold her breath as he slid the bottle higher, finally meeting her sex.

‘You think you can put me in my place?’ she asked, her tone dripping with anticipation, her lips parted, her breaths shallow.

In the toxic haze of smoke and alcohol, it was an enticement that was easy to bite hold of; the kind of game-play he’d had an addiction to for longer than he could remember.

He pulled the bottle away and took another mouthful. ‘Only one way to find out.’ He indicated over his shoulder towards the door, his eyes locking back on hers. ‘Whenever you’re ready. Unless you’re having second thoughts?’

J
essie turned left
up the stairs, disappearing into the shadows before Tatum noticed their stare-off.

Passing Pummel’s room, she leaned back against the narrow wall by the window: the window she had caught a glimpse of Eden through only the night before. The same window she’d also seen the glimpse of the crates from – crates being delivered to the cellar Pummel rarely used except for his most secret dealings, dealings that even she was excluded from overhearing. Weapons, substances, trade-offs – Pummel had been involved in it all over the years. He was clearly up to something, though she had obviously missed it amidst her distraction with bigger concerns.

And now there was Eden in the mix too.

She held her palm over her heart, hating the unnatural pace he evoked.

She ascended the narrow, dog-legged staircase to her attic room and locked the door behind her. Her stomach churned, her head felt light, an oppressive weight making her shoulders and neck ache. The unsettled feeling was worse though – even worse than it had been those past few days since it had all started again.

She kicked off her ballet pumps and perched on the edge of her white, metal-framed bed that lay central to her room. Reaching under it, she pulled out her sketchbook. Sitting crossed-legged facing the door, the breeze from the open window flowed through the bars and the headboard behind her, reminding her of a world beyond as she flicked through the pages.

There, drawn by her own hand, he lay asleep, his eyelashes thick with a slight upward kink. And there were more, many more, all of them drawn those past two days, even before she had laid eyes on him. She ran her finger along his jawline, up to his lips, the paper cold and lifeless in comparison. It was
unmistakeably
him.

He was a part of it somehow. Though how, where, when and why remained as much a mystery to her as the rest of it – fragments of a puzzle she couldn’t fully understand, was not intended to understand.

Throwing her sketchbook aside, she fell onto her back to stare up at the beamed A-frame ceiling as she clutched her head. It couldn’t be coincidental – the visions returning only days before and now
him
appearing soon after. But whether for better or for worse remained as elusive as those visions themselves.

Hands behind her head, she drew her knees upwards, her feet sliding over the comfort of her duvet before she locked her knees against each other.

Despite the evidence played out in front of her down in the lounge, her gut still told her there was something different about him. If nothing else, there was definitely something different in her reaction to him – her jealousy at watching Tatum toy with him, at knowing she was with him now, told her that. But beneath the jealousy, something else had stirred – something she hadn’t felt before.

Because now, alone in her room, the unfamiliar stirring in the lowest depths of her abdomen was undeniable. The heat pooling there as she thought of him not being a kind lover or a gentle lover was unsettling. The back of her neck and her chest surged with heat. Her breathing became shallow. She rested the back of her hand against her forehead, tucked her wrist between her legs as her muscles clenched. She closed her eyes, imagined Eden in her room, his hard body pressed against hers, as it no doubt was against Tatum’s. She imagined it was
his
hand, not her wrist. Imagined he was there with her now. Imagined what could have happened if she hadn’t warned him off down in the lock-up. When, instead of being intimidated by her strength, the fact she wasn’t human, it seemed to have turned him on more.

She curled into a foetal position, raised her knees to her chest and slid her wrist back between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling a shot of pleasure deep inside as she lifted the fingers of her free hand to her lips again, lingering on where he had kissed her. Kisses that were now no doubt all over Tatum’s body; Tatum’s lips no doubt tasting every firm, hard and smooth inch of his.

She yanked her wrist away in frustration. She rolled onto her back, let her legs fall flat, stretching them out with an almost defeatist sigh.

She forced herself upright, resting back on braced arms, her fingers digging into the duvet.

Swivelling her legs over the edge of the bed to place her feet on the rug, she gripped the mattress either side of her, her train of thought causing acridity in her mouth.

He’d been there a few hours and already he was throwing her off balance, daring to penetrate through her well-guarded walls. Only now she felt mocked, discarded, as meaningless a commodity as Pummel instilled into her every day, as she reminded herself what Eden indulging himself with Tatum really meant. Tatum who would leave her signature marks all over his body – marks that would heal far too quickly.

Somehow she had to get him back to the lock-up as soon as he’d finished. That was unavoidable now, regardless of what her vision of him had meant.

She stepped over to the window. She gazed across the rooftops and out towards the hub of Blackthorn beyond. Whilst music and yells spilled from rooms below, out of open windows and doors, she rested her head on the bars, breathing in the cool night air as she gazed up at the dense pollution that blocked the stars. It was the busiest time of night but, now more than ever, it still felt like the loneliest place in Blackthorn.

She made her way into the bathroom and ran herself the luxury of a half-filled, semi-warm bath. She looked into the mirror, into her painfully dry eyes. She leaned closer to look at the subtle rim around her irises that Eden had detected.

Removing her brown contact lenses, she looked back at herself, at the vibrant orange-gold irises staring back at her, vivid against her dark hair. Sometimes they were navy-blue or forest green; other times they were claret, depending on the mood they were reflecting. Sometimes they were as black as her pupils themselves.

She blinked her eyes, relished in the relief of it, before splashing cold water onto her face.

She dared not leave them out for too long, Pummel insisting she removed them only when necessary. But right then she needed to see herself, to remind herself who she was, to renew her conviction in her own strength. To remind herself that no con, whatever Eden’s purpose was for her, was going to jeopardise the freedom she so desperately needed to retain. The freedom not to be watched twenty-four hours a day – now more than ever.

She undressed and stepped into the water. Lying back, she immersed herself in three foot of water in a futile attempt to escape the reality around her.

S
topping in the archway
, Eden glanced over his shoulder at the milling bodies before looking back towards the closed door of the lounge. He stepped past the foot of the stairs to check out the reassuringly empty kitchen. No one was going to take any notice, not if he was quick.

He ascended the first flight of stairs, passing a room before seeing the dog-legged staircase. Unless she was sharing a room with Pummel or Homer, she occupied an attic room just like Tatum did.

He checked back down the stairs, listening out in the darkness, before staring up into the shadows of those dog-legged stairs. Hand skimming the worn balustrade, he kept his boots quiet against bare wood.

Stopping outside the only door on the tiny landing, he glanced over his shoulder once more before lowering to his knees. He listened for a few moments before picking the lock with swift ease.

He scanned the room only to find it empty. The double bed lay central, its sheets as plain and basic as the curtains drawn back from the recess ahead that housed the only window – a window divided by metal bars.

Hearing a splash of water from behind the closed door to his left, Eden quietly shut the door behind him.

The only furniture aside from the bed and the small chest of drawers next to it was a scuffed mahogany wardrobe directly behind the door and a taller chest of drawers to the left of the window. But the room was anything but bare with the array of pictures Blu-Tacked to the walls – detailed pencil drawings that took on lifelike qualities: trees, flowers, landscapes, insects.

He wandered left, over to what logic dictated was a partition wall between her room and Tatum’s. He could hear the heavy bass now echoing through, Tatum no doubt setting the mood as she awaited his return from the kitchen.

He stepped closer to the drawings. What could have been mistaken as one giant piece of work was, in fact, a myriad of smaller pieces put together to create one single scene as lifelike as staring out a colourless window. Woodlands, waterfalls, mountains, rivers, clouds and birds, the tiniest detail in the grass down to every painstakingly drawn flower – each aspect depicted in meticulous detail, images that would never be seen in Blackthorn or the surrounding area, drawn with such a vividness as to have surely been experienced.

He glanced to the right-hand corner of the room and stepped up to the easel. He pulled the blanket away to reveal a work in progress. Only these pages were filled with anything but the optimism of the others. He flicked through the sheets of images, each as dark and deeply disturbing as the next. The malevolent faces were as disproportionate as their features; the scenes depicted cruel, brutal, sordid – almost hard to imagine as coming out of the same mind that had drawn the beautiful pictures that donned the walls.

It was the same in the piles of paper tucked against the skirting board and in the corners – picture after picture of some of the darkest scenes and creatures he had ever seen, and he’d heard of, not least seen, some disturbing shit over the years. It appeared that Jessie had seen her fair share too.

Scanning the rest of the room, conscious of how long she might remain in the bathroom, he headed over to the large chest of drawers. He skimmed through her underwear, a few items of clothing and even more stacks of paper, before turning to face the rest of the room.

He crouched down at the small chest of drawers by the bed. Pulling open each drawer he found little of interest as he riffled through. But knowing the oldest trick, one he himself used as a child, he pulled the bottom drawer out completely and felt around. Finding a collection of cold, hard tubes, he pulled one out. Holding it up, he stared at the contents of the glass vial. An iridescent liquid glinted back at him, sparkling in the moonlight as it wavered between shades of pink, then blue, then violet. A liquid that was familiar.

Unease clenching his chest, distracted only by another splash of water beyond, he tucked the vial into his jeans pocket. He slid the drawer back into place, ready to head around the foot of the bed, more than aware he’d have to silence Jessie’s potential scream when she emerged.

But the sketchpad on the covers caught his eye.

Reaching for it as he stood, he flicked through a few more pleasant images not unlike the ones tacked to the wall, when his heart skipped a beat.

She had drawn every intricate detail of him with lifelike accuracy, right down to the thickness of his eyelashes. And there wasn’t just one, but a collection of eight images of him, each slightly different.

Seemingly Jessie had something of a crush.

He raised his eyebrows, the flattery undeniable.

Seemingly getting close to her wasn’t going to be as difficult as he first thought.

J
essie sat bolt upright
.

She didn’t know if she’d heard something or just sensed it, the latter often more overwhelming than any other sense. Head turned towards the door, she listened in the silence. In a slow, cautious move, she reached for the towel resting over the end of the slipper bath and stood carefully.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she silently stepped out of the water to press her ear to the door.

The only one who ever went in her room was Pummel and she could count those instances on two hands even in the five decades that had passed. Her heart pounded a little faster at what he might find, panic striking that she hadn’t properly concealed her drawings of Eden.

Warily opening the door, she stared out into her moonlit room.

As Eden looked up from her sketchpad, her stomach flipped.

Eden – in
her
room, in
her
sanctuary.

Her hand grasped the towel knotted at her chest.

His eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected to see her there, but then she realised the cause behind his startled gaze, let alone his subsequent frown: her contact lenses. More to the point, her lack of them.

She didn’t know which way to run first – whether to snatch the sketchbook from his hands or hightail it back into the bathroom. Knowing it was too late to hide either, she marched around the bed to him.

‘You can’t be in here,’ she whispered sternly. ‘What the
fuck
are you playing at?’ She glanced anxiously at the wall where the music seeped through. ‘That’s Tatum’s room. If she hears you, if Pummel finds you– ’

‘No one’s going to find me. Not if you keep your voice down.’

She reached out to snatch her book from him but he was quicker, extending his arm to keep it away from her.

‘You’ve got quite the talent,’ he whispered. His gaze lingered on hers. ‘As well as one or two other secrets, I see.’

Breaking from his gaze, she tried to grab the sketchbook again. ‘Give that back.’

But he pulled it just far enough from her grasp again. ‘Seriously, you’re very good. And those,’ he said, indicating towards the wall, ‘well, they’re just incredible. The ones on the easel are a little disturbing, but still impressive. Dark little thing, aren’t you? Dark little thing with
very
pretty eyes.’

Keeping a firm grip on the towel, she padded across the room to shove the blanket back over the easel.

‘You’re taking a risk having these in your room, aren’t you?’ he added, flicking through a few more of himself.

‘No one comes in here,’ she whispered as she marched back across to him. ‘And you have
no right to be in here.’ She finally snatched the sketchpad from him and clamped it to her chest.

‘You can’t blame me for making the most of the opportunity. Tatum’s in there waiting for me. Pummel thinks I’m with her whilst he’s occupied downstairs. Besides, should you decide to snap my neck like you did the others’, my dead body will be harder to get down those stairs unnoticed than leaving it in the lock-up, right?’

‘I’m tempted to give it a damn good try.’

He smiled. ‘I bet you are. So,’ he said, catching her jaw, ‘what’s with the eyes?’

She yanked her chin away and took a step back, surprised at the instant flush she felt from his touch. ‘You need to leave.
Right now
.’

She grabbed her sweater from the foot of the bed, pulling it down over her head as her towel simultaneously pooled to the floor.

But seemingly he took advice as well then as he had in the lock-up.

He strolled back around the periphery of her room, examining the pictures once more before running his hand over the bars on the window.

She chucked her sketchpad back under her bed amidst other papers as she glanced anxiously back over at the partition wall. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’

‘In case you haven’t noticed, dangerous games are my thing,’ he remarked, sauntering past the opposite side of the bed.

‘And I’m fine with that, as long as it doesn’t involve me. Unfortunately for you, it does.’

He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘That sounded like a threat.’

She marched around the foot of the bed to join him. ‘What the hell are you doing coming back here? I told you to leave. I
asked
you to leave. There are lots of rows in The Circus. You don’t need to be in this one.’

‘But I
want
to be in this one.’

‘To work for Pummel? You’re on borrowed time. He’ll play you like a puppet and then cut your strings when he’s ready. And Tatum’s trouble. You don’t want to get involved with her.’

‘Saving my life and now saving my reputation. You’re fulfilling this guardian angel role really well.’

‘I’m just telling you how it is. Pummel arranged for her to seduce you.’

‘And that should bother me because…?’

His nonchalance grated somewhere deep. ‘She’s playing you.’

‘Depends how you view it.’

‘You might not have taken my advice earlier but take it now – get out of this place before it’s too late.’

‘Then sate my curiosity.’

‘With what?’

‘What are you?’

She folded her arms. ‘Someone you don’t want as an enemy around here.’

‘Now that
definitely
sounded like a threat,’ he said with a glint in his eyes.

She glanced at the wall again before fixing her gaze squarely back on his, and lowered her voice even more. ‘This is
not
a game, Eden. I thought I’d made myself clear earlier. If Pummel finds out I helped you, we’re both in more trouble than you can imagine.’

‘Because I’m not allowed anywhere near you, right?’

‘At least
something
is sinking in.’

‘Still, you managed to keep your cool earlier. I was impressed.’

‘I had no choice,’ she said sternly and quietly. ‘You turning up again saw to that.’

He flashed her a dark smile. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t find it just a
little
bit exciting.’

‘Exciting?’ She frowned, despite knowing that’s exactly what the pang in her chest had been when he’d cornered her, when he’d turned up again, when he’d rubbed his thumb across her spine – exciting, dangerous, and
completely
irrational. ‘You won’t find it so exciting when he’s gutting you alive.’

‘So if the risk is so great, why did you save me?’

‘Believe me, I haven’t stopped asking myself that since you turned up again.’

‘But you
did
save me. The same as you said nothing about our encounter, despite your threat in the lock-up.’

‘So now you think you can push your luck?’

‘I’m just saying I think we’ve both got a vested interest in keeping this between us.’

She frowned. ‘Who
are
you?’

‘Who are
you
?’

She stepped closer to him. ‘I’m not underplaying how much danger you’re in,’ she warned, her whisper low again.

‘I’m getting an idea,’ he whispered back. ‘After all, that’s quite some skill you’ve got. I’d be precious about it too. Especially in this place.’

Her heart skipped a beat at the added complication she’d dreaded.

He raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘You seriously think I hadn’t worked out what you did? Darling, I’ve had more scrapes than you can imagine. I know how quickly I heal and I know exactly how close I was to dying last night. You did something to me. What was it? Magic? Because with tricks like that, I can understand why Pummel would be protective of you. When it comes to surviving the most physically treacherous part of Blackthorn, you have one of the most useful abilities there is.’

A cold chill swept over her. ‘If you’re back for more, if that’s why you’re here, it’s not going to happen. So listen to me – what I put in your system will be there for a few more hours yet. Another stunt like last night, only with Pummel nearby to see you don’t wound like others do, and he’s going to know I helped you. This will be over. He will slaughter you for pleasure. And he will make my life hell. And I don’t need any more hell in my life than I’ve already got.
Please
. Leave.’

He frowned, his eyes penetrating too deeply for comfort, not helped by the depleted distance between them. ‘How long has this been your life, Jessie?’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘These pictures – are they places you’ve been? Or places you dream of going?’

‘They’re just pictures.’

‘They’re more than that. How long have you been here?’

‘Long enough not to fall for charm like yours.’

‘Why here of all places?’

‘This is my home.’

‘Looks more like a prison to me,’ he declared, glancing at the window. His brown eyes rested on hers again. ‘Do you
want
to leave?’

The very suggestion made her pulse race. She glanced down at the numbers on his arm then warily into his eyes again. ‘What if it’s my fortress?’ she asked, taking a cautious step back.

‘From what?’

‘From ones like you who think I’m a resource to be used at their convenience.’

‘Is that why you’re here? Does Pummel protect you?’ He tilted his head to the side slightly. ‘Or does he
use
you?’

‘This conversation is over.’

‘I’m not your enemy, Jessie.’

‘Then what are you?’

‘That’s up to you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I’m curious – about you, about what was in those crates.’