Darkest Fire (8 page)
Drako hit the power button on the remote, cutting off the news broadcast. He needed quiet, to think, to remind himself what was important, and what would happen if he forgot. A knock interrupted his thoughts before he’d gotten past remembering the disappointment he’d seen in his new bride’s eyes earlier, and how good she’d looked, smelled, tasted during the ceremony. . . .
Talen entered without being invited, but that was nothing new. Both of Drako’s brothers knew his door was always open. They kept very little from each other. There wasn’t much need for closed doors and absolutely no room for secrets between them. Talen flopped into the chair opposite Drako’s desk and snatched the book Drako had been trying to read off the desktop. Without reading a word, Talen thumbed through the pages. “Somebody’s been in the old Chimera hangout since Oram was released, digging through some old files and stuff.”
Drako sat a little taller. This was news. There hadn’t been any movement in the old headquarters in months. Drako and his brothers had all basically agreed the place and everything in it—mostly rusted steel desks, broken chairs, and file cabinets stuffed full of worthless documents—had been abandoned. “How do you know?”
Talen glanced at the book’s cover, then returned it to its place. “The boys saw a car parked out back when they were reviewing some of the security camera footage. They went out there and took a look.”
Drako put the book in his desk drawer and shut it. “I don’t know why Oram would go back there. There’s nothing left that’s worth anything. We combed through every piece of paper, searched every corner. It’s all garbage.”
Talen shrugged. “Evidently, he disagrees.”
“Are you sure it’s Oram?”
“Not yet. Could be anyone—curious teenagers, indigents looking for something to sell for a quick buck—but the timing’s interesting.”
Drako agreed with a nod. “Probably not a coincidence.” He ran his fingertip over the trackpad on his laptop, waking it from sleep mode.
“The boys are going through some of the older security tapes to see if we can make an ID. I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t disconnect the cameras yet. I’ll let you know what we find, once we get through them all.”
Staring at his computer screen, but too distracted to really see it, Drako drummed his fingertips on his desk. “Something feels off. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Oram’s been sitting in plain view all these years, until the day our father dies, and next thing we know, he’s disappeared.”
“The timing makes sense to me. Or at least, it doesn’t strike me as illogical. The old guard’s gone for good, and now Oram is ready to slide under the radar and prepare to test the replacements.”
Drako set his elbows on the desktop and steepled his fingers under his chin. Thinking aloud, he asked, “So why go skulking around empty warehouses? Especially ones he has to know we’re keeping an eye on?”
Talen, restless as usual, got up and started pacing the office. “There’s gotta be something important in there.”
“Why wouldn’t he send somebody else?”
“Maybe he knows what he’s looking for but nobody else does?”
That was possible. If Oram hadn’t fully trusted the other members of the Chimera, he might have felt he needed to hide some things to protect them, or to secure his place within the Chimera while he was in the hospital. Still, Drako couldn’t shake the feeling they were looking at only half the picture. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll send Wilkerson and Dobbs over there to check things out. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it.” Talen walked with his usual loose-hipped saunter toward Drako’s desk. “You’ve got other things to think about now anyway.” He gave Drako a little slug on the shoulder. “How was the wedding?”
“Fast,” Drako answered, still distracted as he opened a file on John Dale Oram on his computer. Oram had a gift for deceit and manipulation. His criminal record went back to his childhood, when at the tender age of eight he’d talked some other kids into stealing some equipment from their elementary school. His take, about a thousand dollars worth of electronics. From there, he’d graduated to bigger crimes, more profitable, including embezzlement and fraud. Yet he hadn’t spent a single day in jail, thanks to a convenient, well-documented defense.
“Fast is good, at least when it comes to weddings.”
Drako wouldn’t argue that one. “Yeah.”
Talen strolled over to the bar in the corner and helped himself to a glass of scotch. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Tomorrow night, yeah. But you’re working on your wedding night?”
Drako gave his brother a glance, then went back to skimming the Oram file. “I’m not ready. . . .”
“Not ready for what?” When Drako didn’t answer right away, Talen shook his head. “Damn, is it that bad?”
“No.” Drako scrolled to the bottom of the page as he listened to the clank of ice in Talen’s glass, the thunk of the bottle striking the glass as he refilled it. “She’s a decent woman. Knows what to expect.”
His brother grunted. “Sounds like hell to me.”
“Not at all. It’s just going to take some time for her to get used to everything.” Drako stole a quick glance at his brother, emptying his glass again. “That’ll be easier with you two staying at your condos.”
“Are you worried at all about her being at the house by herself, with Oram out?”
“No. He doesn’t know who we are, let alone where we live. That’ll change, of course, if we learn Oram’s snooping too close to home.”
Talen filled his glass a third time, and drained it just as quickly. “It’s been years. If our old man and his brothers had left any trail for him to follow, it’s long gone by now.”
Drako clicked the X, closing the file on Oram. “I hope you’re right.”
“You’ve always been overly cautious. That’s not a bad thing. As long as it doesn’t work against us somehow.” Talen set his dirty glass on Drako’s desk.
Drako snatched it off and set it on a surface that wouldn’t be marked for all eternity. “I don’t see that happening.”
“Me either.” His brother’s head jerked down. He pulled his cell from his pocket. It vibrated with a deep humming sound. “There’s my baby. Gonna head down to the suite for some fun. Maybe you need to unwind a little too.”
Drako shut down his computer. “Yeah, unwind. Good idea.”
7
H
er skin was like fine alabaster, smooth and clear, not even the smallest imperfection marring its surface. Even though Rin’s skin wasn’t the color of ivory, he could easily imagine it was her kneeling before him now, waiting eagerly for his touch, his commands, his rewards.
er skin was like fine alabaster, smooth and clear, not even the smallest imperfection marring its surface. Even though Rin’s skin wasn’t the color of ivory, he could easily imagine it was her kneeling before him now, waiting eagerly for his touch, his commands, his rewards.
Drako’s gaze traveled the bony ridge of the submissive’s spine from nape to the crease of her exposed buttocks. Lovely. His canvas. He would paint a masterpiece, and in the process, he would provide for her every need.
And deny his own.
This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it was what they both needed—no, they all needed: himself, his submissive, and his new bride as well. If he didn’t exorcise his darker urges, using them as a prolonged foreplay, he would be tempted to try to pull Rin into this world of pleasure-pain and power play. It wasn’t what she wanted; he only played with submissives who came to him, willingly, eyes wide open, knowing it was what they needed. Not to mention, he would become too vulnerable if he scened with Rin. During the exchange of power and control, the submissive wasn’t the only one tested, challenged. The dom’s defenses could just as easily be stripped away.
No, he could not, would not scene with Rin. Not ever.
Focus on the present, on the submissive kneeling before you now.
The first thing this submissive craved was pain. Only a mild burn, just enough to prepare the nerves, to get the blood pumping a little. He selected a hairbrush with metal bristles, the sharp tips coated in plastic. He squatted, leaned over her, inhaled her scent, feminine and clean, no sharp, cloying cologne to burn his nostrils or mask the smells he hungered for. He blew a soft stream of air across her nape. When her skin puckered with goose bumps, he dragged the hairbrush down the center of her back and watched the muscles under that smooth surface tighten ever so slightly.
Ah, yes, she was so responsive. Already, his blood was warming, his body responding to the minute signals hers was sending.
A slight increase in heat emanating from her skin.
A tiny change in her breathing.
The almost-imperceptible spice of a woman’s arousal perfuming the air.
He inhaled again, exhaled, closed his eyes, imagined it was Rin’s shallow breaths he heard as he gently tapped the brush down the canvas, her aroma he was pulling into his lungs.
“Master.” The word, a sweet gift, hadn’t so much been spoken as sighed.
She needed more; he would give her more. More pain. More pleasure.
This submissive had been broken long ago, her defenses stripped away. She freely submitted to him now, eagerly accepting every morsel of pleasure he gave her, and in return, she offered her gratitude in the form of sighs, shudders, and, later, orgasms.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded. “Not with your words. With your body.”
Her shoulders quivered. Her spine arched prettily, pushing her round buttocks out. He stood, set the brush down on the table nearby, and made his next choice—a little whip with a bouquet of smooth satin tails that would make his submissive shiver with expectation at the sound of those ribbons sailing through the air. Its bite, however, was not what she would expect. Instead of sharp nips, she’d feel a soft cascade of taps that would prepare her for what would come next.
He drew his arm back high and brought it down quickly, maximizing the speed of the tails as they rained down upon her upper back. She flinched, relaxed, then tightened up again. Again, he struck her, and, again, her body responded. Over and over. He didn’t stop until he could tell she couldn’t handle any more torment.
As her body coiled with pent-up tension, so did his. Every shallow gasp, every shiver, every swallowed moan did he mirror. His response was completely involuntary, totally out of his control. He was in awe. Enraptured by her surrender. She held back nothing, not a shiver or sigh or moan. By the time he had set aside the satin flogger to take up the leather one, his cock was thick and hard, his blood simmering, his muscles tied into taut knots, his senses hyperalert.
His submissive responded to each strike of the leather flogger as if it were a thrust of his cock. She moaned. She sighed. She tightened until the svelte lines of her torso and arms looked as taut as a runner’s during a marathon. Her skin grew flushed, the dusky rose tinting her back, her cheeks, her chest. Tiny droplets of perspiration coated her shoulders, back, breasts.
He saw her face, knew she was lost in a cloud of pain and pleasure, and loving every excruciating second. He wasn’t with her, and yet he was. This was a journey she would make alone. But he was within reach, her guide. Her escort. Showing her the way to that place deep inside where thoughts couldn’t dull the sensation, smother them like a heavy blanket thrown over a flickering flame.
Many new submissives had asked him why he was a dom, what pleasure he received. He’d tried to tell them, but words could only reveal so much, a tiny fraction. This exquisite moment was what it was all about for him. His reward was in watching a submissive succumb to such deeply satisfying pleasure that every cell in her body vibrated on the perfect frequency. It was music one couldn’t hear with the ears, could only feel with the soul.
As he whispered the words, “Come now,” he knew he was ready to go to his bride, to give her what she needed.
Rin always had a hard time falling asleep. She assumed it was her body’s way of protecting itself, an unconscious response shaped by events she’d long ago pushed out of her mind. Unfortunately, her insomnia only got worse when she was in a new place, a new bed.
It was her brain. It simply wouldn’t slow down. Thoughts bounced around inside her skull like superballs dropped from the Sears Tower. She’d learned a long time ago that only one thing helped. Books. Reading.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought any books with her. In her rush to pack, she’d left them all. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then again, she’d assumed she wouldn’t need a book tonight.
Ack. This was awful. Even if she had read them cover to cover, several times, rereading an old book was better than lying in bed listening to all her doubts and fears echo in her ears over and over and over.
Drako had left hours ago. Where was he?
She sat up, flung her bare feet over the edge of the bed, and listened to the quiet stillness of her new home. It sounded like everyone was asleep. Good. She could go down to Drako’s barslash-library and take a gander, see if anything looked interesting.
Sporting a T-shirt and cropped sweats, her hair in a messy ponytail, she padded down the stairs, around the corner, and down the hall. She got about ten feet from her destination when she heard his voice. Drako? He was home? He was speaking in a low, sultry tone that made several of her body parts warm up. Even muffled and distant, his voice didn’t lose its ability to spark a reaction in her body.
Where was he?
She slowly pivoted on the balls of her feet to take a look behind her. His voice was ever so slightly louder. He had to be in one of the rooms she’d passed. Which one? Several closed doors lined both sides of the corridor.
He stopped speaking, leaving her to stand there in the dark, wondering who he might have been talking with. It was late. Very late. Or early, depending upon how you looked at it. Right before she’d left her room, she’d checked the clock. . . again. The red glaring numbers had told her it was just after three-thirty in the morning.
What did it say about her new husband that he was awake, just like she, and talking to somebody in the middle of the night? Was he a workaholic? Was he talking to a girlfriend? His brothers? A family member?
Those weren’t the kinds of questions she’d get answers to tonight.
Press on.
She did a one-eighty, crept quietly into the library. Just in case he came out into the hallway, she shut the library door before turning on a light. At the flip of one of the switches on the wall, the pendulum lights over the bar illuminated, providing just enough of a glow for her to read the books’ spines while not completely blinding her. She started at the closest shelf, skimming titles.
The Catcher in the Rye
.
Fahrenheit 451. The Color Purple
.
Ivanhoe
.
The Catcher in the Rye
.
Fahrenheit 451. The Color Purple
.
Ivanhoe
.
Classics.
She moved to the next shelf.
Emma
. Jane Austen. Now, that was more like it, something light and fun and diverting.
. Jane Austen. Now, that was more like it, something light and fun and diverting.
She pulled the book off and flipped to the first page.
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. . . .
“I’m happy to see someone making use of the library.” His baritone voice vibrated through the stark silence, making her heart lurch for a fraction of a second. “I went as far as putting in the bar, thinking it would draw my brothers in here. It worked. Though the books still sit, collecting dust.”
Clutching the hardback to her chest, Rin turned to face her husband. He was standing at the door, his button-down shirt unfastened, revealing a glorious stripe of suntanned and chiseled torso. One arm was bent, supporting his weight as he leaned casually against the door frame. His other hand was balled into a fist and resting on his hip. The overall picture he painted was of a man who was relaxed. Comfortable in his skin, and in his surroundings. A tiny glint sparkled in his eye. Ah, was the predator from the bar coming out to play?
She ran her fingertips across the spines of the books sitting on the closest shelf. “I’m a chronic insomniac. This library is going to be my salvation.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” He reached forward, fingers hooking beneath the back cover of the book that was still pressed against her breastbone. He gently pulled until she released her hold on the volume. “What do you have here?”
“
Emma
. Jane Austen.”
Emma
. Jane Austen.”
“Excellent book.” He opened the cover, the spine cracking from disuse and age. The air filled once again with the scent of dust and old paper. The corners of his mouth lifted into the hint of a smile as he read the first page.
“You’ve read it?” she asked.
“I’ve read every book in this room.” He closed the novel but didn’t hand it back to her. Instead, he swung his arm behind his back, hiding it from her. His gaze focused on her face, and something a little bit wicked and a tiny bit evil played over his features.
Her face instantly flamed, and she was grateful she was standing with her back to the light now, knowing the shadows would probably hide the deep red staining her cheeks. “Really? Every single one?”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
“Of course you don’t.”
A silent moment passed between them. Their gazes locked. Rin’s heart rate doubled, or maybe tripled.
“I can be honest with you about everything.” He took a step closer, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
“Yes, everything,” she said, her voice taking on a breathy, raspy quality. With him so near, she had to tip her head back to look into those dark, shadowed eyes of his. She felt small and vulnerable like this, but it wasn’t wholly a bad thing. No, quite the opposite, it was a very good thing.
Although she knew so little about the man standing before her—the man calling her his wife, the man looking down at her with a hungry, feral expression—she still trusted he wouldn’t hurt her.
She watched his gaze flick down to her mouth and then jump back to her eyes, and out of reflex, she moistened her lips with her tongue.
Would he kiss her again like he had in the courtroom? Would he make her forget for one magical moment that this whole thing had been a business deal and spark an even greater hope that there might, someday, be more between them?
“My book?” she asked between shallow inhalations that weren’t delivering nearly enough oxygen to her brain.
“I’ll give it to you, once I have what I want.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“We can start with a kiss.”
“Start?”
His expression darkened, making him look even more like the predator she’d met a few nights ago at the bar. This Drako, big and dangerous and sexy, made her blood pump hot and fast through her veins.
And his kiss . . .
Just like the one in the courtroom, this kiss started out soft, fleeting, teasing, but it quickly grew more demanding. Welcomed with a parting of her lips, his tongue slipped inside her mouth. He tasted rich and sweet, like expensive brandy and chocolate and man. It was an intoxicating combination, making her head spin so fast, she had no choice but to throw her arms around his neck and cling to him.
She returned every stab and stroke of his tongue with one of hers. Hungry for more, for something deeper, a touch, a caress, a possession, she pressed her body to his. His heat seeped through the thin cotton of her T-shirt within seconds, the warmth making her blood burn hotter, pump faster.
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