Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3) (3 page)

Sticky with humidity, Scarlet looked up at the heavy gray cloud and stifled the hysterical giggle tickling her throat. It seemed absurd—graveyard, stormy skies, her standing there like a bruise in a violet dress with her ruby-colored hair. Her and her dead men.

Except only one of them was underground.

That thought subdued her.

Scarlet stared down at the headstone, then the grave, with neutral acceptance.

It was amazing what a good therapist could do. Together they’d focused a lot on acceptance. Acceptance of what had happened to her. Acceptance of what had happened to Daniel. Acute myeloid leukemia. Rare and deadly. Comfort offered in the cold, hard facts that the prognosis for survival was low. They hadn’t missed anything. There was nothing that could’ve been done differently.

No blame.

Just acceptance.

Killian sank to his haunches and traced Daniel’s name in the marble stone, a confusing clash of emotions battled inside her as she watched him.

There was no acceptance there.

She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
lose him.

She averted her gaze, looking all the way across the cemetery, searching for some kind of sign. For hope. Better yet, reanimation.

Nothing.

There was only more of the same oppressive silence, the same thick, suffocating quiet from home.

She glanced back at Killian. His touch lingered on the letters one last time then he slowly rose to stand and study her.

The previous night’s argument hung in the air between them. The memory of angry words simmered in the moment’s tension.

She wanted to smash it, splinter it into shreds.

“I just want things back the way they were.” It was only her voice that cracked. The unintended tone of accusation did nothing to ease the tension.

“There’s no bringing back from the dead, Scar.” The look in his eyes told her he didn’t want to fight today.

Too bad. She wasn’t ready to give in.

“Stop making everything about Daniel. He’s not the only thing we’ve lost.”

His gaze fell on her hand as she spoke, and it was only because she knew him more intimately than anyone else that she recognized the small flinch at her words.

“Don’t look at my hand! Damn you.” She whipped the offending limb behind her back. “Look at me.
See me
.” Her voice rose. “This isn’t about Daniel…or my hand.”

Killian’s gaze snapped back to her face, his focus moving to her cheek. He reached for her, but she knocked his arm away. Not his pity. She’d had ten months of his pity. He’d paid for the plastic surgery, but he still looked at her as if she was broken.

“You think I don’t see you?” He looked incredulous. “Jesus Christ, I can’t even close my eyes in bed without seeing you. I relive those twenty-five hours every fucking moment of every fucking day.” He reached for her again.

She wanted him to see her now, see her healed. She knocked his hand away harder than before.

Killian bristled.

He didn’t like it. Didn’t like rejection. You had to love the irony.

“You know what I want, Scar?” His frustration barked at her as he held it tethered on a tight rein.

She stood her ground, chin up, defiant.

“Justice.” He ground the word out. Anger and pain crackled in him like electricity. His eyes burned with the intensity of it.

“Fuck justice.” Justice wouldn’t give her anything, wouldn’t help them move on. She needed closure; she wanted a fresh start.

He laughed without mirth. “That’s funny, babe. It almost sounded like you were telling me to go fuck myself.”

There was a scream inside her. A silent roar.

She wanted to tell him to skip the lube. She wanted to tell him she wished he were a different kind of man.

She wanted to hurt him because he wouldn’t let her love him.

“Sometimes I hate you.”

He blinked.

“I love you. Always.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “You need a friend,” he said more gently.

“I need a husband.”

“You’ve got one.” His gaze traveled over her face, reading her for signs of what?

She said nothing. And then he changed.

Whatever vulnerability had been there was gone. He was locking her out again.

“Bastard.”

“So nothing’s changed in five years then?”

She laughed bitterly because everything had. They had.

And that was the saddest thing in the world.

Her laugh broke into a sob.

Killian reached for her, and this time, she didn’t bother resisting as he pulled her into his chest. Wrapping her up in his arms, he placed his lips close to her ear. “I hear Lana’s back from Europe. Why don’t you take her out to lunch? Or we could have a dinner? Just like we used to.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He sank his fingers into her hair at the back of her neck, grasping it into a fist as if he couldn’t hold her tight enough. “Call Lana.”

An overwhelming sense of despair settled over her. He was deliberately avoiding the problem. She struggled against him, but it only made Killian hug her tighter.

“You know what it feels like when you fight me, Scar?”

His voice was so low; she stilled her body to listen as she shook her head.

“It feels like you’ve lost all faith in me.”

Damn him.

Damn him, damn him.

“No. No, you’ve got that wrong.” She pushed against his chest, shoving him away. “I’ve never lost faith in you. It’s you …” She choked on angry tears. “You’ve lost your faith in us.”

He didn’t stop her as she turned and walked away.

Tears so thick, Scarlet went blindly to the cemetery gates. The two drivers were leaning on the hoods. Separate cars to go separate ways. Was their demise inevitable?

The car crawled out of the cemetery and soon the Sydney urban landscape passed in an indistinct blur. She sat in the backseat unaware and numb.

After Daniel died, they had collapsed into the sanctuary of each other, wrapped deep and thick in a grieving intimacy of need and touch and solace. But after the kidnapping …

Their world had shifted, cracked open. This was how continents drifted, with a lingering evidence of how they were once together but no longer fit.

Unmoored, she kept reaching for Killian, but all she managed was to scrape up against him, the friction leaving her raw and alone. Strange how the absence of touch slowly turned you into an island.

At first Killian’s withdrawal had made sense; they had been wounded—more than wounded.

But now …

Everyone healed differently. Therein lay the problem.

Touch was her medicine.

The more Killian denied her, the more she suffered.

Her mother had always said she was a girl hungry for affection. It was why she performed.

Now, she wanted the mindless affirmation of fucking, needed the sweaty dark intimacy of it. She needed someone to lay hands on her skin and make her whole.

She shifted in her seat and her handbag fell heavy against her hip. Inside was a little black card … and all the weight of temptation.

***

“Fuck. That was fantastic.” Jessica blew out as she let her arms collapse over her head. She lay there all liquid relaxation.

Jerricho smiled, but the truth was, the placebo effect from dominating her was already fading. The agitation from this morning’s meeting with Dado was still in his system. Of all his clients, Jessica was his favorite. Usually, it felt like a sin to charge her for the pleasure.

Usually.

She raised herself onto her elbows and looked down her naked body at him as he finished toweling off from the quick shower and began to dress.

He noticed her wince as she tried to get comfortable. She’d still be tender tomorrow. Maybe even the next day. And because she’d sucked his cock so sweetly, he’d left bruises on her wrist.

Just how she liked it.

“Jerricho?”

He raised his brow in question and began to button up his shirt.

“Can I be your girlfriend?”

He laughed even as he shook his head. That was what he liked about her, she unapologetically asked for what she wanted.

“I’m serious.” She smiled. “I think I love you. Or your cock. Doesn’t matter. One day you’re going to say yes, and then I’ll have both.”

“One day you’re going to meet a nice man your parents will like. That man isn’t me.”

“You bruise me.” She pouted playfully.

“That’s why you hire me.”

She laughed.

He took his wallet out of his pocket and reached for the money on the table next to the TV.

“You’re not staying?”

Usually, they shared a lunch afterward. In some ways, she was the closest thing he had to a friend.

He shook his head. He was not good company today.

“Fine. But that means you have to make it up to me next time.” She crawled down to the bottom of the bed, all playful kitten with her ass swaying in the air.

“Yeah? How am I going to do that?”

“I want to spar. I want to meet in a boxing ring and get all hot and sweaty before we fuck. Jesus, just saying that out loud makes me wet.”

“You want to spar?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded and kneeled. A mischievous grin began to curl her lips. “I’ve been taking lessons. It’s all the rage for fitness.”

Boxing? Nice to know. Forewarned is forearmed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Why not? I’ll have protective gear. Besides, my trainer says I have the right moves. I might not go down so easy.”

He laughed. She might have the moves, but she didn’t have the strategy. “You’ll always go down easy.”

“You’re rather cocky for a man who’s never seen me in the ring.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s your eyes. They give you away.”

Her head tilted.

“They show me what you’re thinking. You look in the direction you’re going to move next. Act. Don’t think. You think first. I’m going to anticipate you every single time.”

“What else do I do?”

He slowly shook his head. No point in giving all his advantages away. He pulled back his strength when they played, so he didn’t hurt her. The better she got, the more he’d have to rely on brute strength, and he didn’t want that. The more you used force, the harder it was to control. “Here endeth the lesson.”

Her eyes narrowed and she plotted. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I have my trainer.”

He just smiled.

“So you’ll do it?” Her eyes twinkled.

He looked down at his hands. Surgeon’s hands. His life. He just had to get out of purgatory first.

No problem, he’d already escaped hell.

He flexed the right hand, savoring the feel of tendons and strength. “No. No punching.” He shook his head slowly.

No matter the price, some things couldn’t be bought.

The door clicked as he pulled it shut. Maybe he should have stayed, enjoyed some companionship. Jessica’s playful banter was infectious, but in the end, it was temporary. She’d be out of his system before he reached the elevator. Nothing was permanent.

Except existing.

His phone, still on silent, buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Jerricho.” He heard a slow, shaky breath on the other end. “Hello?” He pressed the phone against his ear.

“Jerricho Black?” The voice was feminine, hesitant.

“At your service.”

“So I’ve been told. You come recommended, Mr. Black.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” She laughed nervously. “Highly.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me….” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

She laughed again. More relaxed. “Scarlet. My name’s Scarlet.”

He waited for a second, but she didn’t offer a last name. “Then you know I offer very particular services, Scarlet?”

“I know. Dom for hire, right?” She sounded nervous again.

“That’s what it says on the card. You haven’t done this before, have you?”

“Paid someone?” There was a pause. “No. No, I don’t think I ever have. Not personally.”

“This is how I work. We meet. Have a coffee. Broad daylight. Public space, but private. If you like what you see, what you hear, then we take the next step.”

“What’s the next step?”

“You tell me your fantasies.”

“That’s a good step.” The nervousness was disappearing. Warm huskiness was left in its place. She sounded like sex on a phone.

He laughed. “You tell me your limits. What you need. It’s not always about sex.”

“You don’t sleep with your clients?”

“Penetrate? Very few.”

She kept quiet.

“There are a lot of other avenues for sexual gratification, Scarlet, but we’re jumping the gun. Let’s meet and greet.”

“I already know I’ll like what I see.”

“Have we met?”

“Jason Wright, the photographer? You’re hanging on my wall.”

Despite him being naked, he knew how little the picture showed. Although most likely paranoid, he’d made Jason promise no one would be able to tell it was him in the picture. Why he’d even agreed to it in the first place? A piece of evidence that he was still corporeal? That he existed even if he’d disappeared? And there’d been the question of money …

“We should still meet.”

“Nothing’s going to change my mind.” She paused, as if taking a breath. “I’m not calling you lightly, Mr. Black. Can we just take the next step?”

There was something about her voice, a connection he couldn’t place.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

She seemed surprised he’d agreed so easily. So was he. Intuition was telling him that Scarlet came with complications. He just didn’t know what they were. He was about to retract, but then he thought of Dado and the additional interest.

“We’ll take the next step.”

“Thank you.”

He could almost sense her relaxing, the husky lilting returning to her voice. A siren’s call.

“Jerricho?”

“Yes?”

“I want sex. I want you to consume me. Hurt me. Fuck me. Degrade me. I don’t care. You asked me what my fantasy is … I want to feel … really feel … I want to feel you want me.”

She wanted to belong.

He got that.

More than he should. More than he wanted to.