Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (44 page)

“Ona...you don’t know what you’re saying.  You don’t know what you’re asking of me.  I love you and I can never accept that taking your virginity is the only way we can be together” 

His brows knitted, affirming his unyielding stance; he couldn’t consider her proposal.  There were too many pitfalls to number, and he had to help her see this.  He wouldn’t deny that he wanted her, because he did; but he’d envisioned something far less shameful than the offering she was suggesting.  He’d planned to say this, when he felt her body leaning towards him.  Her fingers trembled when she grasped hold of his shirt, fisting the fabric in her hand.  She pressed a light kiss on his lips, and her mouth beheld a sweet taste.  He felt a catch in his throat, and he warred with his brain to protest the absurdity of her maneuvering; but he didn’t.  He forced his objections to the rear of his brain, because it was easier that way.  He wanted to allow himself to get caught up in the heat of their madness--and he did.  Who was he to defy her logic.  Who was he to debate a Creed that he didn’t recognize or believe in.  But he believed in himself, and he believed in Ona.  He believed in hope, and doing right by her.  He believed that he would hate himself if they made love, without seeking another way.  He broke their kiss, trying desperately to calm the lower half of his body.  Their breaths were rapid and he pulled her close, wanting more than anything to keep her wrapped in his arms.  He searched for reason, knowing full well that he had to consider the obvious.  Take me.  That’s what her request amounted to.  Take me.  A simple request and stated so easily.  She'd said the words, but he knew that this action involved more than the loss of her virginity.  Making love would mean more then deflowering her or denying another man that esteemed privilege.  In most religions, the loss of purity outside of marriage is viewed as an immoral act but in Ona’s case, her shame would be the least of her sorrows.  If he were to believe her, giving herself to him would usher in expulsion from her Sect and excommunication from her family.  She'd told him that she wanted him, and this would mean the denouncement of her Creed.  She'd said the words, making it sound straightforward and easy for him--but it wasn't and he knew this. 

Lucien brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb.  He leaned in, kissing the places he'd just touched.  He recounted countless days filled with uncertainty dreading the return of her parents.  He'd willed himself to believe that love would conquer all; and it would--but not this way.  Lucien wanted a relationship based on love, not desperation.  He’d waited this long, hoping to find the right girl, and when he had, he'd been prepared to do whatever it would take to marry her.  He was willing to take a leap of faith, flying by the seat of his pants.  But he wasn't prepared to disgrace the woman that he loved; even if it meant not losing her. 

He held her close, and flinched when he said...

“Ona...we can’t.  I just can’t do what you’re asking.”

He felt her bodies rapid jerks.  She was crying, and he rocked her while saying...

“Honey...do you trust me.”

He’d asked her this before and in the past, she’d acquiesced, giving him her assurance that she did.  He felt the slow rise and fall of her head as she nodded her response.  He said...

“You’ll stay here with me tonight.  But before you go to sleep, I want you to call your parents.  They’ll rest better knowing that you’re not out on the streets, or held up at the Children’s Center.”

She sniffled when she said...

“I’ll call them...and I know what they’re going to say.”

He waited, then she said...

“I will be instructed to meet them at the dock.”

“Fine...that’s exactly what we’ll do.  I’ll go with you to the dock, and we’ll force your parent’s to see reason.”

“You don’t understand Lucien.”

By now, he had a pretty decent picture and he had accepted that the odds wouldn’t be in his favor.  More than likely, her parent’s would treat him the way Sahara had described.  They would pity him, therefore their exchange would be nothing more than Samaritan politeness.  He was pretty sure that Ona’s parents would urge her to return to their commune, and as she’d explained to him, out of devotion, she would fall in line, dutifully following their instructions.  But he had an ace up his sleeve.  The one thing that her parent’s wouldn’t count on.   Lucien had something far stronger than allegiances, or a lifetime governed by Creeds. 

He said...

“Ona...will you marry me?”

Ona jerked back, then her eyes lowered, taking in the band that encircled her wrist.  Her lids raised, and she felt a rapid flow of hot tears.  Her lips spread wide in a smile that warmed her cheeks.  She nodded, while saying...

“Yes...I accept your intentions.  I will be betrothed to you.”

Ona reached up, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, then she drew him into a passionate kiss.  Lucien pulled her head close, weaving his fingers between strands of her hair.  What more could he ask for; nothing he supposed.  He couldn’t imagine his life without Ona; he’d be a broken man.  When Ona moaned, in her whimper he heard so many things.  Fulfillment.  Yearning desire.  Promises kept, and chances worth taking.  He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he was certain of one thing.  Making love would have been easy--but being in love had complicated things.  And love was the reason that he damn well wouldn’t allow anyone to stand in their way.  Not Geff, not her brothers or her parents.  He would have Ona as his wife, come hell or high water.  He would have her, and no one could prevent that from happening.

**********

Chapter 21

Little ducks in a row.  Pow, pow--bang.

Joplin blew out a breath of chilled air.  He steadied his hand, refocusing his field of view.  The night vision goggles illuminated the room making the objects glow like green lava.  He’d sat watching, deciding how best to kill his mark.  He still hadn’t recovered from the bombshell hoisted on him by of all people, Morpheus Gustafson.  He’d arrived at his apartment with an ultimatum concerning a topic that would follow him to his grave.  The subject had concern Tollin Pettier and the way he’d died.  Morpheus had done all the talking, telling him what a mess he’d made of things.  Then Morpheus had insisted to know the connection between Joplin and Andrew.  In other words, how did Andrew know to contact him.  Years ago, Joplin had crossed paths with Andrew before he’d been a governor.  Their’s had been a chance meeting of sort.  Andrew had gotten involved with an underage prostitute, and she’d tricked him by stealing his wallet.  For a small exchange of cash, he’d caught the girl and retrieved Andrew’s wallet.  He’d given Andrew his number, and over the years their paths had crossed several times, but Tollin had been the first person Andrew had asked him to deal with.  Morpheus had sat silent, in disbelief.  When he composed himself, he started by telling Joplin that he didn’t know where his mother got the name Paddox; and it really didn’t matter.  He’d told him that he was a Gustafson, and as such, he would have to do better.  They took a quick trip down memory lane, with Morpheus doing most of the talking.  Joplin had never met his father, and his mother had lied, telling him that she had not known who had fathered him.  Then when his mother had died, Joplin had been nine years old, and he’d been raised by his maternal grandmother.  He’d been a piss ass, wise ass, and every other ass, a shitty little snot nosed kid could be.  He’d been too much for his grandmother to handle and when he’d been old enough, one of his counselors had suggested a career in the military.  The day after graduation he’d been shipped off to basic training, where he’d excelled in every area.  Then after serving two tours of duty, when his hitch had been up, he’d decided that enough was enough, and that he’d wanted a civilian life.  When he’d been offered a job working for a security firm, at the time he didn’t know that the company was a subsidiary of Gustafson’s securities.  The money had been good, but Joplin loved to kill.  Not hunting animals; he loved to set his sites, watching the way the body shook, then fell after the kill.  It didn’t take much to get his name out, and in no time, he’d begun his career as a part time paid assassin.  The irony had been that Morpheus had known about him all along and he’d used his connections to employ him.  He’d also known about Joplin’s part time job; and he’d stood silent, because when he’d heard about this, his informants had reported that Joplin was a natural born killer.  In many ways, Morpheus had admired this trait, mainly because, he viewed death much differently than most. 

Morpheus had explained why he’d decided not to tell his father about him.  Joplin had to admit; he’d never been a good kid, and his adult life had not been much better; so, he couldn’t blame Morpheus for hesitating, after learning that he’d found his brothers son.  But when Morpheus had said, that he’d made the decision, for a greater good; Joplin had ruminated on that but in the end, he’d concluded that nothing good had come from keeping father and son apart.  Not one damn thing. 

After the awkwardness of their reunion had passed, Morpheus summed up his visit.  He’d been told that he had to clean up his mess, then clean up his act--or else.  In other words, fix his Tollin shit--or die.  Clean up his life--or die.  He didn’t much like the clean up part, but he really didn’t like the dying part.  He swallowed what it all meant to him, then he’d nodded, and agreed to whatever would keep him breathing on planet earth.

Joplin had been given one name and his instructions had been crystal clear.  Morpheus had stared at him, stone faced.  He’d said...

“When this job is done, report to this private airfield.”

He’d handed Joplin a set of coordinates, then he’d said...

“A plane will be waiting.  Before you arrive, pack only one suitcase.  Clear out your apartment because, you won’t be coming back.”

When Joplin had said...

“Destination”

Morpheus responded,

“Greece”

And that had been that.  Joplin didn’t know all the specifics, but Morpheus had told him once he’d completed this job, he would personally make introductions.  He’d said their names; Raal and Kyle, his father’s lover.  None of it made any sense to him, and he wondered what had provoked his uncles sudden spark of conscience.  Oddly, he understood why he’d chosen him for this mission--that part made perfect sense to him.  After tonights kill, the secret concerning Tollin’s murder would leave with him; because after tonight, he would be saying goodbye to the America’s for a long, long time; if he valued his life.  That was fine by him, because lately the country had become highly overrated.

Back to business, he’d thought, because the kitchen light had gone out.  He considered his options.  Shoot from here...or break into the ranch.

“What the hell.”

He said...because even if the window shattered into a million pieces, broken glass wouldn’t change the outcome.  Not with the bullets he’d chosen.  In fact...Andrew was as good as dead; the lying fuck.  According to Morpheus, the governor had said that when he’d phoned Joplin he’d only asked him to keep Tollin away from his sister; what a crock.  Joplin grinned, because he remembered the conversation.  Andrew had instructed him to kill Tollin, and he specified that the murder should be an agonizing death.  Putz that he was, Andrew had lied, placing the blame solely on Joplin.  That was fine by him because if this angle didn’t work, there was always the up close and personal approach; just like he’d done with Tollin.  He wondered if Andrew was a religious man.

He sighed, then he said...

“Yep...this business of killing is getting to easy” 

Gloria was asleep in another part of the house, and Andrew’s wife had abandoned his bed years ago, after learning about her husband’s sex addiction.  He didn’t have to worry about the women, and he’d been warned to avoid the mistake of collateral kills.  He watched Andrew’s movements, until he settled in his bedroom, carrying an oversized bowl, filled with popcorn.  Joplin smirked, because he spotted a large jar of petroleum jelly on the nightstand. 

“Lover boy Wilcox.  Sorry my friend, but you won’t need that tonight.”  He joked.

He readjusted his scope, then he inhaled, preparing for the jerk, then the pop.  When the shot rang out like a cannon, he lay motionless, then almost instantaneously, he witnessed the through and through slump of his head shot.  It was done.  Joplin lay on his stomach, moving away, using his sniper training to stealthily egress the area.  He blended in like a shadow, melding with the surroundings.  By the time the people in the house figured out what had happened, he knew that he’d be long gone, and the state police would be tasked with the job of solving this murder.  After that, compromising secret’s would be leaked and the information would come from an anonymous source.  The New’s stories would paint a picture of a man gone wrong, and he would be blamed for Tollin’s murder.  He didn’t know who Andrew had pissed off, and he didn’t rightly care.  His part had been played, and his involvement with the governor was done and over with. 

Joplin’s thoughts went to Greece, and the new life that awaited him.  He would take this secret across the Atlantic, and the truth would follow him to his grave.  He would start over, being a better man.  He considered, maybe the time had come to take a lover.  Maybe the time had come to settled down, and find a wife.  He looked forward to his future.

Epilogue