Destroy Me (7 page)

Was the cold harsh truth that he had just wanted her as his whore, to exact his revenge on Mike, and that he felt nothing for her?

She couldn’t feel violated because she had willingly allowed him, had fully encouraged him, had even provoked him to use her body.

He had such arrogance to believe that he could use her like that, but she was angry with herself too, knowing she had partly caused it, that she had been in cohorts with him right from the moment he had first touched her. She had been his willing accomplice in the arrangement and she had orchestrated her own downfall.

She wished she had not let him use her like that and yet in her heart she knew if he were to appear in front of her now, she would shed her clothes for him without hesitation. She wanted him more than ever.

Chapter Eight

Damien was aware of the tightening sensation in his chest when he thought of her. He could also hardly fail to notice the physiological changes his body underwent at the mere thought of her body. Recalling the extremes of their encounters, the abandon with which her body responded to him, gave him an instant hard on, often at the office. He was fortunate to have his own executive suite, for it would have been obvious to his employees the state he frequently found himself in. He had thought retrieving the money, being able to focus his energy and thoughts on slow revenge against Marc Chambers, would have kept him more than satisfied, and yet she had come to him in his dreams, and the images of their sex in the cold light of day transported him straight back to the room in which their encounters had taken place.

He remembered every detail. The way in which his body responded to hers, the carnal ferocity with which he responded, astonished him. He had never behaved like that before, and she had seemed to feed off of it, driving him further. Without it now, he had no other outlet in which to feel that intensity, to render it void by replacement; he had no other form of deliverance.

His mood had become harsher, hardened by the knowledge that he could not have her, that theirs had been a relationship that had had to end; that it was an impossibility. It was not something he could do. He was not able. The demons inside of him would only destroy it, destroy them.

In that instant he resolved to go on the trip one of his team were making to Somalia, departing that evening. A Black Operation to extract a known terrorist. He needed purpose, focus, distraction and normality, and for him this was it. He disliked anything but total control in his life, control over his emotions. Order and uniformity.

His company performed black ops, strictly non-legitimate rendition of terrorists that, though paid for by the Government, were unaccountable and deniable by those who sanctioned them. Damien looked beyond politicians covering their asses and believed in the purpose of protecting citizens from mass murder. He believed it was a noble cause for which many of his fellow soldiers had died, and for which millions of civilians’ lives were made safer.

Chapter Nine

Tara looked at the bedside alarm clock again; it was 2.46 am and she couldn’t sleep. She sat up in bed and grabbed her cell phone, tears threatening to come. She typed in the words.

“
Meet me in the room, tonight
.”

She sent the text and lay back down, wishing texts could be retrieved before the recipient received them, her face hot with embarrassment at what she had just done. She had done it with full intent, but now she felt humiliated by admitting her need for him when he was clearly showing no interest, and she felt mortified at the thought of him being woken by the text at this hour. She fervently hoped his phone was on silent.

She switched on her bedside radio, tuning it into a late night talk show hoping it would distract her thoughts.

The noise inside the military aircraft made any conversation impossible as they sat on the benches of the carrier, nothing like the more comfortable seats found in a commercial passenger airplane. But they weren’t along for the comfort. He was taking a lead on this one, and had briefed the men as to the plans prior to embarking. As each man sat with their private thoughts, Damien was focused fully on their objective, running through scenarios of how it would pan out as he read the intelligence reports, and formulating contingency plans that they may need to ensure the operations was successful.

Finally satisfied that he had covered every angle, he transcended into a state of mind close to meditativeness; no distractions, no thoughts, just a calmness. At times like this he could sleep easily; he had learned a long time ago that getting rest when he could was a vital skill to be developed in combat, for you never knew when you would get the next opportunity.

When Tara awoke, she checked her phone immediately, remembering her embarrassment from the night before and expecting a possibly curt reply about the time of her message, but there was no reply from him. Devastated, with tears running down her face, she rose quickly and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged that without Damien in her life, she had no reason to be here. On a more practical basis, she had no money. She couldn’t get a job here. She could barely afford to eat with the few dollars she had left, and she couldn’t pay her rent. She couldn’t stay here. She needed money badly, and admitting defeat, she sent an email to her old boss, Joseph, in London. She couldn’t work on the fiancé visa she had, and the reality was she would need to return to London to work there. She needed to know if he would take her back in his company. She had left on very good terms with Jacob, and despite being hugely embarrassed at the thought of having to explain why she was returning so soon to London, there was a good chance he would employ her again, having worked there for nearly eight years. Though she had never met Damien, she remembered now hearing his name and his company mentioned from time to time.

It was her best bet now, to try to return to the company. There was very little else she could do. She felt stupid for the gamble she had taken with Mike, for she had not really known him all that long, but as she had got to know him, she had felt comfortable with him; safe and looked after, because of his background. She would never have expected him to betray her in quite so cruel a manner. It took her back to the pain of her irresponsible artist parents, who at six years old had casually packed her off to live with her Grandmother, choosing to travel the world without her, obviously seeing her as a burden to their free spirited lifestyle. Her grandmother had reluctantly taken her in but she was elderly and didn’t have the energy or inclination to do very much with her. Her childhood had been quite a lonely one, seeing her parents only on their rare visits. She had learnt the art of self-sufficiency and self-reliance quickly, yet it had left her with an insecurity inside. Her grandmother was quite a cold woman, perhaps due to widowhood, and Tara felt she got in the way much of the time, feeling guilty for her presence there. An only child, she spent much of her time reading or playing alone in her room. She did well at school and was accepted for Oxford University. Academia felt a like a safe haven, and her degree in English was an escapism into the lives of the characters in the books. She had boyfriends during this time, although the life-changing, all consuming ‘love of her life,’ that she knew existed from the books she read, seemed to elude her. Her boyfriends were pleasant, well mannered, enjoyable company, but passion; unbridled, inescapable, compulsive, addictive emotions were not ones that she discovered with them. When Mike came along, seconded to provide security services for her London employers, she had been single for some time. He had offered companionship, security, warmth; or so she had thought. Because their relationship was long distance, it was easier for her to believe he was the one for her; time apart gave her the excitement of waiting to see him again, the anticipation building, making it more thrilling. When he proposed, she envisioned her future with him and found it was a pleasant prospect. He was mature, caring, and handsome. He seemed to offer her the stability she needed, because though his job often took him away from her, he promised he would always be there for her. She fell for it. It fitted with her past; long periods of absence and reunions. She believed he would always come back for her. How wrong she had been.

Chapter Ten

Damien knew his team well. They had previously worked together on many assignments. They made it to the base after the flight and waited out their down time until it was time to strike. It would be wrapped up in twenty four hours; of that he had no doubt. It felt good to be back in the game. Alert, ready, primed for action; his natural state.

They settled in for the wait.

Tara dressed in a beige lace dress, matching jacket, and nude heels to coordinate the outfit. Grabbing her bag, she checked her appearance in the mirror. She could clearly see the shadows under her eyes, made darker by the mane of hair surrounding her face, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Though she had not heard from him, as the time had got closer, the more she had convinced herself that he would be there, waiting for her. She refused to believe he would not go to the Club. She could not admit to herself that there was no hope.

As she left the apartment and walked to the metro, it was still light out, and she passed people returning from work or an early dinner. She went down the steps of the subway entrance at Union station, merging with the professionals and tourists, the air still quite humid in the early autumn evening. As she stood at the edge of the platform, she wondered what would happen to her tonight and the familiar butterflies started in her stomach as thought about it; what he would say to her when he came through the bedroom door, what he would do to her.

Disembarking from the Metro, she came up to street level and again nerves gripped her stomach as she walked to the Club. She was so close to him now; he could arrive at any moment.

She went up the steps of the Club, images already in her head of events that had occurred here with him; in the Bar, in the Library, and in the room that she thought of now as theirs.

It was the same well-groomed receptionist she had seen the first time she had come here. With a terrible shock she suddenly realised she had not reserved the room, that she wasn’t a member and therefore couldn’t reserve it now. She had not thought about the practicalities. Perhaps, given that Damien had always made the arrangements, she had simply assumed. She hadn’t thought beyond the act of them physically coming together. And now she stood in reception like a fool not knowing what to do. She didn’t have a key to the bedroom they used, and she didn’t know if Damien had reserved it; she couldn’t simply go up to it and she didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking the receptionist if he had. Uncertainty filled her. She couldn’t call him; she didn’t want him to think she was chasing him any more than she already had. She would have to wait for him in the Bar, just like the first time they had met, when he had kept her waiting.

She approached the Barman.

“Hi, I’m meeting Damien Lawson. Have you seen him?”

She hoped the barman would tell her where he was seated, saving her the embarrassment of having to look around for him.

“Not this evening Madam.”

“Oh ok, thank you, I will wait for him.”

“Would you like a drink Ma’am?”

“Oh, thank you, could I have bourbon please?”

“Of course, I will bring it over.”
“Thank you so much.”

She hoped the barman would put it on Damien’s tab; she could barely afford to pay for it herself.

There were perhaps twenty members, scattered throughout the plush bar on various tables, laughing together, or talking. She took in the lavishness of the decor again, the obvious expense it must have cost to furnish the Club.

She walked over to the newspapers and picked one up, before choosing to sit at ‘their table;’ the one they had met at the first time, before he had dragged her shockingly by the arms out of the bar in front of everyone, into the Library, and assailed her sexually in the most exquisite act of eroticism, slapping his cock across her lips as she he made her kneel before him.

She began to read the headlines, although she found she could not focus her attention on them; the words going in but her mind processing none of them, thinking of his cock, abusing her, provoking her, wielding its power over her.

Goddamn him, where was he? He seemed to like playing power games, liked her to be at his beck and call. He had probably done this deliberately, his twisted idea of foreplay. Though she didn’t wear a watch, she checked her phone several times for messages. There were none.

Soon it was close to an hour and a half since she had come into the bar. She was growing increasingly concerned that he was not coming, and felt like an imposter in the Club, given the all-male members surrounding her.

Suddenly a man appeared in front of her as she was turning the pages of the newspaper in growing irritation. Looking up she saw black hair, with streaks of silver running through it, a man with an air of distinction in a dark tailored suit.

“Good evening. I notice your glass is empty. Let me get you another drink?”

She looked into the darkest eyes she had ever seen.

“Thank you,” she said falteringly, “but I’m fine, I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Really? It seems you have been waiting awhile. Who would keep such a beautiful woman waiting so long?”
She smiled in answer, but he made her feel very uncomfortable.

He signalled to the Barman before she could stop him.

“They’re just running late. I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”

“Well, let me keep you company until they arrive. We’re all friends in the Club, after all. Who are you waiting for?”

“You’ll see him when he arrives; I’m sure you will know him.”