Serpent's Storm (29 page)

“Ow!” I cried as Frank pulled me close and wrapped an arm around me. Anyone walking around us would think I’d just gotten woozy and Frank was the Good Samaritan keeping me on my feet.

“You don’t need to fight me, little lady,” Frank breathed in my ear. “We’re on the same side here.”

“Then why are you kidnapping me,” I growled back at him.

I got no answer. Which left me wondering how long it would take Jarvis to realize I’d disappeared.

“Sick lady coming through,” Frank repeated as he duck-walked us back down the stairway, eliciting some nasty comments from the people trying to get up the stairs to make their transfers to other lines.

Frank, cowboy hat in hand, ignored the comments, an apologetic smile on his lips. When we got to the bottom of the steps, he made a hard right and dragged me behind the stairwell, which, while not being totally hidden from curious eyes, did afford a bit of privacy. Holding tight to my waist, he pushed me up against the wall, pressing his hard-muscled body into mine. I glared at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Calliope Reaper-Jones, you are one spitfire of a little lady,” he said, grinning at me. “Yes-sir-ee, a real hellion.”

And then he leaned in and kissed me.

I wish I could say I didn’t respond to the kiss, that it made me feel gross and dirty and evil, but the truth was much more confused . . . and complicated. And by “complicated,” I mean it was
electric
. When he slid his tongue into my mouth, I felt like a pork loin simmering away on the stove, all warm and mushy, my body melting into his. He grabbed my ass and hauled me up, my legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord. The kiss deepened, his mouth devouring mine, tasting my tongue and nipping at my lips.

We fell back against the wall, his crotch hard against the softness between my legs. He pulled at my shirt, snaking his hands past the flimsy material so he could get at my naked flesh, his hands burning me where they touched my skin . . . but it was the good kind of burn. He slid his hand up my sides, tickling the flesh as he searched for a way to get at my breasts.

When his nimble fingers found my bra, he sighed.

“Oh damn, baby, you feel nice,” he moaned into my neck as he pulled my right bra cup down, freeing my aching breast, the nipple already hard and ready.

“You’re as soft as silk, honey,” he rasped, kneading my breast with his hand. He traced his thumb over my nipple, again and again, making it stand wantonly.

I moaned when he stabbed his crotch furtively into mine; dry humping me right there in the middle of midmorning commuter traffic. I didn’t care that we were on a subway platform doing things to each other’s bodies that should only be attempted in the privacy of one’s own bedroom, because I felt like I was on top of the world, or at least on top of a very sexy hunk of manhood.

He started kissing my neck, sucking on the delicate skin below my ear.

“Oh, Callie, honey,” he mouthed into my neck, then he pulled his head away, smiling up at me as I sat astride him.

Without a word, he released me from his embrace and my body slid down the length of him. We stood there staring at each other for a full ten seconds, our eyes locked together like two dogs fucking, then he spun me around, slamming me face-first into the subway-tiled wall. It should have hurt—scrap that, it
did
hurt—but I was too overheated to notice or care. Especially when he stuck his hands up under my skirt and yanked down my tights. I was still wearing underwear, but it was so thin and filmy that it was like having nothing on at all.

“Baby,” he said as he slipped his fingers underneath the lacy edges of my panties and plunged his fingers inside me. He slid his fingers in and out of me, and I groaned with every thrust, my entire body quivering as he had his way with me.

“Oh my God,” I moaned, straining against him as I unexpectedly climaxed, my legs going all limp and useless underneath me.

He caught me in his arms before I could hit the ground.

“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing my temple before hauling me back up onto my feet.

I was drunk on sex—dazed and confused, totally out of my gourd. I hadn’t done anything so hot and sexy in my entire life. It was like I’d stepped into some soft-core Showtime movie—which had absolutely
nothing
to do with my real life—and been mistaken for one of the sex extras. It was insanity.

I pulled up my tights and readjusted my skirt, but there was nothing I could do to hide the flush of sex that was ripe on my face. I felt giddy with it, wanton and completely satiated—but then a little niggling feeling of guilt crept into my head, buzz-killing my sex high.

I’d just cheated on the guy I was supposed to be in love with . . . well, at least, the guy I
thought
I was supposed to be in love with.

I groaned, letting my head drop into my hands.

“What’s wrong, honey pie?” Frank said, stroking my hair.

“I’m a jerk,” I said from in between my fingers.

I let my hands fall to my sides and lifted my head, looking up into the face of the man who’d just tempted me away from the straight and narrow. He was still as handsome as he’d been before I’d let him touch me, muttonchops and all, and I was still attracted to him, even though I felt terrible about it, but deep inside, I knew I’d just done something really stupid.

“Don’t feel bad, little one,” he said, running his thumb across my cheekbone—I could smell my own sex on his fingers, which only made me feel ill. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

“How it’s supposed to be?” I said, pissed at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, grinning at me before reaching down to pick up his discarded cowboy hat from the floor.

“Yeah?” I said, getting annoyed by his lack of explanation. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that . . .” he said, lazily cupping my chin in his hand.

“That you can take a bloody hike!” Jarvis finished for him before slamming one large, heroin-addict fist into Frank’s face.

Jarvis grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him as Frank fell to his knees, clutching his busted nose. Blood poured through his fingers, some of it dripping onto the floor, where it made a Rorschach pattern on the concrete. Eyes wide, he looked up at me askance.

“Callie, honey?” he murmured, his voice thick from all the blood.

But Jarvis didn’t give me the opportunity to answer him. He took me in hand, ushering me away from the scene of the crime and back onto the platform, where we quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Jarvis was silent as we threaded our way down the platform, using the opposite staircase to take us to the next level of the station. Wordlessly, we followed the subway signs to the J, Z, and L lines. This platform was even more crowded than the previous one, but I allowed Jarvis to guide me to a quieter spot by one of the columns. It wasn’t as busy here and I could lean my head against the cool of the metal. Across the track, a young man with a pale yellow Afro was busking for change, his saxophone case open to catch the quarters and dollar bills people lobbed at his feet, the melancholic strains of “Nature Boy” mixing with the clamor of the commuters and the throb of the incoming and outgoing trains.

“So, what was that all about?” Jarvis said finally.

“I don’t know,” I said—and it was the most honest answer I could give him.

“Who was the young man? Obviously . . .
hopefully
. . . someone you know?”

Well, at least I knew where I stood with Jarvis; he thought I was a total ho-bag.

“That was
Frank
,” I said. “One of Sumi’s people.”

I expected Jarvis to get really upset and castigate me for fraternizing with the enemy, but he merely wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

“Strange,” Jarvis said after a pause. “I cannot place the man. You would assume with those . . .
muttonchops
. . . he would be hard to misplace.”

“I don’t know the first thing about him.” I shrugged. “He could be Charles Manson for all I know.”

“
Him
,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, “I would remember.”

I sighed, banging the back of my head on the metal column.

“I can’t believe I did that, with him, in
public
,” I breathed, tears of frustration snaking out the corners of my eyes. “Dumb, dumb . . .
dumb
.”

Jarvis put his hand between my head and the column. It was a sweet gesture, but one I didn’t deserve.

“I’m a terrible person, Jarvi,” I said, looking over at the stranger’s face that now housed my good friend’s soul. “How could I have
done
that?”

Jarvis took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Shit happens, Calliope.”

It was such a un-Jarvis statement that I couldn’t help laughing.

“You can either beat your head against a metal subway column, or you can own up to your mistakes and take responsibility for them,” he finished.

“That’s much more Jarvis-like,” I said, smiling at him, although I still felt like a total shit heel. “And you’re right. What’s done is done.”

Our train chose that very moment to materialize at the end of the track. It quivered to a stop, a set of doors lining up exactly with where we were standing.

“God, I sound like a Hallmark card,” I said as the doors opened in front of us.

“Yes, you do,” Jarvis said, taking my hand again and leading me onto the standing-room-only train.

 

 

i felt like
we were on the damn train forever, but maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, the train was so crowded—and I kept getting jostled farther and farther away from Jarvis by the people standing around me—that it became impossible to talk. Needless to say, I had a lot of downtime to think about what I’d just done.

I didn’t know why I felt like such a heel. It wasn’t like Daniel and I were married. We were just dating each other nonexclusively—but I could only say that because we’d never “officially” talked about it one way or the other.

Oh, crap,
I thought,
that makes it sound even worse. I am such a finger-banging cheater. Bad, bad, bad!

The next time I saw Daniel, I just had to man up and do the right thing. I had to tell him what I’d done and then we’d see how it went from there. Maybe he wouldn’t hate my guts too much. Maybe he’d understand that I hadn’t meant to hook up with an almost total stranger in the middle of a crowded subway platform, that it’d just happened . . . by accident.

Fat chance of that,
I thought miserably.

“We’re getting off here.”

Jarvis had worked his way back over to me, but I was so lost in my own thoughts that it took me a minute to remember it was Jarvis standing there, not some strange, gangling kid I didn’t know.

We waited for the doors to open, then followed the crowd out onto the platform. It was the 14th Street Station, a station I frequented, but I didn’t think I’d ever been on this particular track before. Like a newborn lamb, I followed Jarvis and the crowd toward the exit stairs, but instead of climbing up the first step, Jarvis circumvented it, leaving the flow of foot traffic behind us.

“Where are we going?” I asked, but when Jarvis put his finger to his lips for silence, I shut up.

He pointed to the mouth of the subway tunnel and then pointed to us. It didn’t take two guesses to figure out where we were going. He checked to make sure we weren’t being observed then he stepped into the subway tunnel, his gangly body disappearing into the inky darkness. I followed suit a moment later, plunging into the unknown with only my trust in Jarvis to guide me.

For some reason, my night vision didn’t work in here, and after only a few steps into the tunnel, I was engulfed in a blackness so absolute and impenetrable—and improbably comforting—that it was like being refolded into the universal womb. All the tension in my body melted away, and even though I couldn’t see two inches in front of me, I had no fear of walking into or tripping over anything unseen. I felt weightless as I danced through the darkness, unfettered from all the human worries that had plagued me during the past twenty-four hours, all the guilt and doubt dissolving like sugar into boiling water.

I could’ve stayed in that lovely state of stasis forever, but just as soon as my body—and mind—had arrived at the apex of relaxation, the dark became less inscrutable, a murkier shade of gray rather than pitch black. It was like I’d been walking among the blind and then someone had turned on the light at the end of the not-so-proverbial tunnel and I could see again.

Jarvis waited at the edge, his back to the light, beckoning me forward. Shedding the last remnants of the darkness like a shroud, I left the tunnel behind me and came to stand beside my friend, my eyes feasting on the beautiful, brown-tiled subway station that magically opened up before us.

The station was bathed in an ethereal golden light that bounced off the wheat brown tiles and filled the whole space with a burnished glow. A row of gold-leafed ticket windows lined the far wall, stretching as far as the eye could see. Above the central ticket windows hung a gigantic electronic destination board with so many sets of arrivals and departures—some for places I’d never even heard of before—that it boggled the eye. Every few seconds the board refigured itself, platform numbers lighting up beside new arrivals and impending departures.

To our left, two arched walkways bore signs above them indicating that one tunnel led to the departure platforms while the other led to arrivals. This made me wonder, since we obviously hadn’t come by way of either arched tunnel, how we had gotten here. I crooked my head so I could look behind me. To my surprise, there was no darkened tunnel behind us, only a large black door with a plaque above it that read EMERGENCY EXIT in large block letters.