Darkest Fire (3 page)
His expression changed, and some emotion she couldn’t name flashed in his eyes. “Actually, it’s more of a proposal. One that involves marriage.”
It took at least a heartbeat or two for his words to register in her head. Her hands flew to her mouth, slamming over it just as an expletive of disbelief tumbled over her tongue.
What the hell? Marriage? No. This was a joke. A bizarre, sick prank.
Finally, she trusted herself not to say something rude or embarrassing—for some reason, she wasn’t ready to tell Drako to fuck off yet. “You’re asking me to
marry
you?” she asked, exaggerating the disbelief in her voice. “Marry? As in church, flowers, dresses, veils.
Vows?
”
marry
you?” she asked, exaggerating the disbelief in her voice. “Marry? As in church, flowers, dresses, veils.
Vows?
”
“Yes, marry. Vows, sure.”
“You? A guy who could have any woman you want?”
Dammit, she thought he was an idiot. Or desperate. Or both. He wasn’t either.
Before his intriguing Rin could shoot him down, he fought to explain, “Yes, me. I know this isn’t the way things normally go between a man and a woman, but I just thought . . .” What? That she was desperate, since she fucked men for money. For very little money, as he had been told.
He couldn’t say that. She’d probably cry.
“Thought what?” she shot back, scowling.
He sighed, shoved his fingers through his hair and looked at her. What an ass he was making of himself. It was easy hooking up with a woman. He had that routine down pat. But this was new territory. He wasn’t looking for a quick fuck. This woman was going to be his wife. He couldn’t be his usual guy-on-the-hunt self. Dammit, he didn’t know how to be anything else with a woman. “Look. I’m the last guy who should judge anyone. I’ll admit, I’ve fucked more women than I can count. But you and I both know what you so-called masseuses do in Magic Touch for your money. You’re not giving therapeutic massages.”
Her mouth tightened and she turned away from him.
Shit! He’d hurt her feelings.
He swallowed a growl of frustration. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She was supposed to be squealing with glee, her little arms wrapped around his neck, and those lovely eyes filled with tears of joy.
All the way into the city, he’d told himself how easy this would be. Rin—as lovely as she was—was a sex worker. Thanks to his brother, who lacked principles and thus had friends in low places, he’d met many sex workers. Dancers. Prostitutes. Actresses in adult films. He may not know any of them intimately, but he knew one thing—to a sex worker, everything had a price, even her body. Especially her body.
Rin should be glad to walk away from the life she had now. She couldn’t love it, right?
Right. Rin was just doing a job because she had to.
Like all the others, she’d found herself trapped in a life she despised. She didn’t know how to get herself out. Whether she’d admit it or not, she needed the kind of opportunity he was about to offer. Yes, she did.
All he had to do to convince her to accept his proposal was tell her how great she’d have it with him—tell her about the money, the clothes, the shoes, the lifestyle—and she’d gladly kiss that life good-bye and scamper down the aisle with him.
He just had to determine what her price was. No problem. Cash talked, he reminded himself.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and lifted out a Grover Cleveland. Because he used cash only, for everything, he always had a pocket full of large-currency bills. He quietly laid the thousand-dollar bill on the table in front of her.
She glanced down. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Her pretty lips thinned even more. But she didn’t shove the money away. Or cuss him out for making any presumptions. Nor did she snatch it up and stuff it in her pocket either. She didn’t make any move.
Weighing her options.
Maybe he needed to sweeten the deal.
Dipping into his wallet again, he pulled out a second Cleveland. He set it on top of the first.
Still nothing from her.
He added a third, fourth, and fifth.
Finally, she looked at him. “Why do you need to buy a wife, Drako? Maybe years ago men like you would buy a wife. But anymore? Come on. Guys with money buy whores and collect trophy wives.”
Drako slid his wallet back into his pocket. “I won’t disagree with that—for the average guy like me.” Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that his duty as a Black Gryffon called for him taking a wife for more reasons than appearances, he would’ve found himself a woman who was content to call herself his wife in public while living separate lives in private. “But my situation is a little unique.”
“Unique? How?”
They were straying from the topic at hand. And more than ever, he was determined to convince her to accept.
She was lovely. Delicate and small. Her voice was sweet and smooth. He sensed a spark of intelligence. And the memories of their dance made him hard and tight. He pulled out his wallet again, added another thousand dollar bill to the pile. On top of that, he placed a ring box and lifted the lid.
Her eyes flared with some unreadable emotion as they tracked his movements.
“You’ll have a very good life. A nice home. Clothes. Jewelry. Art. A very generous sum of money to spend any way you like. As my wife, you’ll have every comfort you can imagine.”
After a beat she asked, “How generous?”
Yes, even this stubborn beauty had her price. Now, he felt like he was on solid footing. Negotiating a deal, he could handle. Tiptoeing through a woman’s emotional minefield was an entirely different matter.
He measured her reaction to the money, the ring. She hadn’t reacted as he’d hoped, leading him to believe she might have very high expectations. Her manner of speaking, the way she carried herself, and her cool demeanor spoke of culture and refinement she shouldn’t possess. “Twenty thousand a month.”
Her eyes revealed nothing. “What’s the catch? There’s always something. What do you expect from a wife you’d buy versus one you’d meet, fall in love with, and then marry?”
He felt the smile spread over his face, “See, that’s just it. If I wanted love from a wife, I wouldn’t need to buy one.”
“No love?”
“No love.”
“Can I ask, why?”
Shit, he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask that question. “Well, because I’m trying to avoid some very serious complications in my life.”
She set her elbows on the table and plunked her chin on her fists. “So, you’ve had some bad experiences?”
“Yes and no.”
Rin placed one hand on his. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand.”
Feeling like things weren’t going the way he’d hoped, and anxious to get the conversation back on track, he searched for the right words. “I’ve watched men fall in love and then fall apart. I can’t allow myself to be weak. Too many people count on me.”
“I think I understand.” She stared down at the ring. “Kind of.” She touched the stone, a brief, hesitant contact with one fingertip. “Will there be sex?”
“Yes. That would be part of the marriage.”
“Children?”
“Most definitely. That’s the most important reason for my taking a wife.”
“But no love. Not ever.”
“Not ever. I can’t let myself fall in love. I won’t. I’m trying to be honest, lay everything on the table upfront.” He slid the stack of bills closer to her. “And it may go without saying, but I don’t want any misunderstandings. Divorce is not an option. So, now you understand why I’d rather buy a wife than find one by more traditional methods. I want my wife to understand and accept my limitations ahead of time. It’s my hope you can approach our marriage like a business partnership, or a friendship, rather than an emotion-driven relationship. That’s not to say there won’t be some tender feelings. Respect. Admiration. Loyalty. Even affection.”
“I see. Will you be . . . ?” She sipped her cola and set down her glass. “Will you still go to the dungeons? Do the bondage stuff?” After a beat, she added, “My friend Andi told me.”
“Yes, I will,” he answered, making sure to keep his voice free of any guilt or apology. “D/s is a part of who I am. But if it’s not something you’re interested in, I respect that. I would never ask you to do anything just for me, my pleasure.”
“Then you’ll do those things with someone else?”
“Yes. But I promise I won’t have intercourse with another partner. I won’t put your health or mine in jeopardy. My activities in the dungeon will be strictly nonsexual.”
Again, he could read nothing in her eyes.
“I need time. To think. One day?”
He nodded. “One day. Should we meet here?”
“No. This is the worst dump ever. There’s a nicer restaurant on Main and Seventh. Riley’s. How about we meet there tomorrow at noon?”
“Tomorrow at twelve o’clock, at Riley’s.” As he watched her stand, he palmed the ring box, then pushed the money toward her. “This is yours to keep, regardless of your decision.”
This time, as her eyes met his, he did read something in them, something that looked a lot like gratitude.
“Okay.” She gathered the bills into her fist and tucked them into her purse.
Confident he’d found his bride, he smiled. “I hope next time you’ll let me buy you a meal.”
For the first time in a long, tense stretch, she returned his smile. “I’ll think about it.”
He’d just walked out. Nobody had stopped him; nobody had known they needed to. According to the United States Constitution John Dale Oram, head of a clandestine group called the Chimera, had every right to sign those papers, releasing himself from the hospital. For the past ten years, he’d been in and out of halfway houses and hospitals, but he’d never been violent, never hurt anyone. His diagnosis: hebephrenic schizophrenia. Just a month ago, he’d voluntarily committed himself again, but his “condition” was under control. And he was no longer viewed as a threat to himself or others.
Drako knew better.
Oram wasn’t delusional and his thoughts were far from disorganized. He was calculating, intelligent, and his seeming preoccupation with religion and philosophy had a purpose.
Nobody suspected the truth.
Oram was a bigger danger than anyone had ever guessed—not to himself, not to a few people, but to millions.
Drako had put out a call to a few close friends, hoping he’d get a bead on the man, but Drako had found out too late that Oram had checked out. Within minutes of being released, the man, and the vehicle he’d left in, had vanished.
The timing of Oram’s vanishing act was too convenient to be accidental.
Within moments of learning his father had taken his last breath, Drako had been told that the man his father had nearly executed was out walking the streets, the shroud of a fake psychiatric condition cast aside.
When his brothers entered the library, Drako didn’t wait to tell them the news. He started with, “Father’s dead,” and ended with, “Oram’s on the move and he already shook our tail.”
Malek was the first of the two to find his tongue. “Damn.”
Talen shook his head. “I knew it would be soon, but. . .shit. I’ll miss him.”
“Me too.” Standing at his desk, Drako flattened his hands on the top and leaned forward. “Unfortunately, there’s no time for grieving. It’ll be a quick burial. Nothing complicated. And for obvious reasons, we can’t attend. We’ve got to keep focused; it’s our duty.” Drako straightened. “Oram has had ten years to plan for today. We have to be ready, to be aware of everyone and everything around us. He doesn’t know what we look like or our aliases. And he might not know how to find us yet, but already it’s obvious he’s been using the time wisely. If he launches an attack before we’re ready, we’re fucked.”
“And so is most of humanity,” Talen added.
“Yeah,” Drako and Malek agreed.
The three shared a silent moment, a thought, a prayer, for their father’s peace. None of them said it, but Drako imagined they all thought it, he was finally with their mother again, in a better place.
When his brothers both met his gaze, letting him know they were ready to move on, Drako pulled a file from his drawer. “We need eyes and ears. But we need to be careful who we hire. We don’t want to risk tipping off the enemy.” Drako pointed at Talen. “I’m thinking two good men should do it.”
Talen nodded. “I’m on it.”
“Malek, if Oram finds out who we are, we want to divert him to another location, not here. We need another house, somewhere far enough from here to keep us safe.”
“Got it.”
Satisfied they were on the right track, Drako sat. “I’m going to—”
“Get married,” Malek interrupted. “As soon as possible. You can’t put it off now. Not with father gone. There’s nobody but us. Father’s brothers died years ago, and they left no sons to take our places. If we die without sons, there isn’t a man, woman, or child alive that won’t suffer the consequences.”
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