Flesh: Part Eight (The Flesh Series Book 8)

Flesh

Part Eight

SKY CORGAN

Text copyright 2015
by Sky Corgan.

All rights reserved.

No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
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photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of
the author.

CHAPTER ONE

Even though Lucian
has a hold of my wrists, I don't feel powerless. In fact, I feel like
my defenses are more powerful than ever before. Not only have I been
able to resist him, but I've also lashed out at him.

It's over between
us. It's truly over. When I walk out his front door in a few minutes,
I won't be coming back. Ever. The spell is broken. I'm free from the
magnetic chains he's wrapped around me, pulling me in again and
again.

"You're
clever." He looks me over. I can tell that he's impressed by my
emotional jab at him.

"I'm leaving."
I apply force between his legs until he winces and lets me go,
stepping away with an expression that suggests he's surprised I'd go
so far as to hurt him to gain my freedom.

I wrap my hand
around the doorknob and open the door, expecting the winds of
liberation to sweep over me. Instead, I'm met by a woman. A gorgeous
blonde bombshell in a short red dress and sunglasses.

"Oh," she
sounds startled, her hand poised to ring the doorbell though she
quickly drops it to her side.

I turn briefly to
look at Lucian, and he's already standing behind me, his hand
clutching the side of the door to open it wider while he smiles at
her. For the shortest of moments, jealousy rages through me. But then
I remember that I don't care anymore. I certainly shouldn't be
surprised that he was sleeping with someone else the entire time that
he was sleeping with me. That's just the kind of man he is.

"Hello, Lora,"
Lucian greets the woman. "Could you give us just a minute? I'll
be right out."

"Certainly."
She beams at him, her cherry lips parting slightly to reveal two rows
of immaculately white teeth.

"It's fine,"
I begin to say, but the second my foot leaves the floor, Lucian is
pulling me back into the house and closing the door behind us. I spin
on my heels to face him. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

"Amy, please."
His expression is pleading. "Please stay. She's a client of
mine. This will only take a moment. I really want to talk to you
before you leave."

"We've already
talked." I raise my hands as if I want to strangle him. I kind
of do.

He gently places his
hands on top of mine, curling my fingers. "Please. I won't
advance on you again. I promise."

To be honest, I'm
not sure if he's capable of talking to me without advancing on me.
It's not exactly one of his talents.

"Please, Amy."
His eyes meet mine, and I feel trapped all over again.

"Fine. Go talk
to your...client." I pull my hands out of his grasp and gesture
to the door. "But after she leaves, you get five minutes with
me. That's all. Do you understand?"

He nods for half a
heartbeat before opening the door, stepping outside, and closing it
behind himself.
A client. Yeah right. If she really is a client,
then he wouldn't care about me listening in on their conversation.
Not that it's any of my business.

Maybe I should
listen in. What's the point though? I've made up my mind. And
besides, he's probably not going to say anything inappropriate to her
anyway, thinking that I'm going to be trying to listen in. My time is
better spent just sitting and waiting for him...or....

I glance back
towards the hall. A tight feeling forms in my chest, the feeling you
get when you know you're about to do something really wrong—something
you'll probably get in big trouble for.

I take a deep breath
before my feet carry me quickly across the marble floor, down the
hall, past so many doors to Lucian's bedroom. I flick the switch to
turn on the overhead light. This is a dangerous place for me to be,
but I have to see. I have to know.

My vision is laser
targeted, my hand reaching out before I even get halfway across the
room. I pick up one of the picture frames on Lucian's bedside table,
the ones that are all facing down so I can't see them. The knot in my
chest doubles as my eyes focus on the beautiful brunette woman and
the little raven-haired boy smiling at the camera. There was another
person in the picture, but they were ripped out of it.

My curiosity is not
quite satiated. I set the picture down, standing it up facing me;
then I reach for the next picture. It's far more telling, exactly
what I expected to find. Lucian is in this picture. The raven-haired
boy is on his shoulders, and the woman is standing beside him,
reaching up to hold the boy's hand.

I spend the next few
minutes circling the room, setting up all of the pictures. There are
studio portraits and candid photos. The boy is in about half of them.
The other half are just Lucian and the woman. Putting the nail in the
coffin of my suspicions though is one photo of the woman in a
gorgeous, expensive-looking wedding gown and Lucian in a tuxedo.

She's his wife. This
is his family.

Once I've looked at
all of the photos, I circle back around to the first one. I take it
into my hands and pull myself up onto the bed, wondering why Lucian
tore himself out of the photo...or if that's even him. It wouldn't
make sense that it would be the picture he kept on his bedside table
if it weren't him though. Perhaps they got into a fight, and he
decided to destroy the picture.

My mind goes over
various scenarios of why the pictures are still in the room. Perhaps
they're having marital problems and are on a break. In that case,
I've just been something to tide him over until she returns. That
wouldn't explain why he works at Flesh though. Maybe she doesn't even
know about it.

I hear the front
door close, and my name being called. I don't move. I want Lucian to
see me like this, to realize that I found him out.

The time for
pondering is over. I grasp the picture tightly as Lucian's footsteps
draw closer, coming down the hall. Every few feet, he calls my name.
Maybe he thinks I tried to sneak out the backdoor. He's going to be
sorely mistaken. I can only imagine that once he finds me with the
pictures, he's going to wish I had sneaked out. If he thought there
was any chance of salvaging what we had, this should be proof that
there's not.

"There you..."
Lucian's chipper voice quickly fades as he realizes I'm holding one
of the pictures.

It takes everything
in me to still the trembling that wants to break free to the surface.
I'm getting upset, and I don't even know why. Somehow, I think I knew
he was married all along. He's too gorgeous not to be. But at the
same time, I just feel so horrible for everything we've done.

Lucian takes long
strides across the room. I expect him to speak—perhaps to yell
at me—but he says nothing. Far more gently than I could have
ever imagined, he takes the picture from my hands, then sits beside
me, staring down at it. His thumb lazily brushes over the empty spot
where he should have been.

I feel like I
shouldn't be watching this, like this is some secret intimate moment
not meant for my eyes. Then again, none of this was meant for my
eyes. That's why the pictures were turned down in the first place.

The room is so
silent it's almost maddening. I wait for him to speak, for him to say
anything. He doesn't though, and when I look over at him, I can see
that he's completely fixated on the picture, the muscles in his jaw
tensed.

"She's your
wife," I offer. "The little boy is your son."

"Yes." He
reaches across me to set the picture back down on his bedside table.

The knot in my chest
gives way to hollowness. His admission makes me feel like the worst
person in the world though deep down I know it's not my fault. Had I
know he was married, I never would have slept with him. Still, there
are some questions that beg to be answered.

"Does she know
about us? Does she know about the things you do?" I can't even
look at him when I ask.

He takes a deep
breath. "I imagine she does. She knows everything I do."

"And she
doesn't care?" I furrow my eyebrows in disbelief.

He licks his lips,
staring at the picture. The subject obviously makes him incredibly
uncomfortable.

"She's an
angel," he says.

"I imagine so.
She'd have to be to put up with your shit," I huff, pushing
myself off of the bed to leave. I've had enough of his insensitive
bullshit. As soon as I get home, I'm going to spend hours scrubbing
every ounce of him off of me. He hasn't really touched me tonight,
but just being in his presence makes me feel defiled.

I start walking
towards the door, and Lucian catches me by the wrist. I'm so
overwhelmed by emotions that my body moves reflexively. My palm
stings as I slap him as hard as I can, the sound seeming to
reverberate from the walls.

Instead of flinching
back, Lucian grabs my other wrist, giving me a slight shake. "She's
dead, Amy. They both are."

My heart drops to
the pit of my stomach as I realize that his eyes are welling up with
tears. I can't tell if it's because I slapped him, or he's incredibly
grief stricken. Almost the second he catches the shift in my
expression, he lets go of my wrists and wipes his eyes, retreating to
the bed to pick the picture up again.

I'm absolutely
shocked, not so much because he told me that his family is dead, but
because of his reaction. I've never seen him so unsettled
before—never seen him look so weak. Part of me thinks I should
leave, but I can't seem to make my feet move. All I can do is stand
there and stare at him as he looks down at the picture.

"You can go."
He nods to the door, not even glancing up at me.

They're words I've
been praying to hear all night. For once, he's not fighting me, not
trying to keep me prisoner.

I pity him. It's a
strange thing to think. Despite all of his wealth and success and
beauty, I feel sorry for him. I can't even imagine what it would be
like to lose a spouse and a child.

I wrap my arms
around myself and take a few timid steps towards him. He doesn't even
look at me. It's as if I'm not even there. Before I even know what
I'm doing, I feel the soft comforter beneath my legs as I sit beside
him. My eyes fix on the picture. I have so many questions that I know
are none of my business, but I so desperately want the answers.

"What happened
to them?" I ask, keeping my tone soft.

Lucian closes his
eyes as if he's searching for the memory. "I don't like talking
about it."

"I'd like to
know." I lean against him.

"Why do you
want to know?" He turns to look at me.

"Because I want
to know you. I want to know who you are. Who you
really
are."
It's not a lie. This is what I've wanted all along. Not exactly this
per se—hearing about his dead wife and child—but just
learning something about him. Something more than that he enjoys
cooking, loves sex, and is obsessed with BDSM.

"Telling you
this won't give you any insight into who I am." He shakes his
head before returning his attention to the picture.