Violets & Violence (12 page)

“Tonight’s show,” James leaned closer to me, “is apparently going to be one of the best ever.”

“Uh-huh,” I allowed, still watching the stage as the lights dimmed and some kind of glowing substance fluttered from the ceiling. It reminded me of snowflakes, but they seemed to disappear once they came close enough that the audience reached up to catch them.

“See?” James said in the dark, nudging my arm and sending a creepy jolt through my body. “Magic.”

At the end of the final act, Violet’s magic show was the same as always—she disappeared on the stage and reappeared somewhere in the audience. As she called upon the audience and surrounded herself with random witnesses—and they
were
random because none of them looked familiar from the previous two shows I had seen—I considered leaving, heading to the bathroom to freshen myself up. I could sense my own anxiety at seeing her again. This new information about Luke Kemble, and seeing her again…

“Relax,” James whispered next to me, elbowing me again.

I shifted in my seat, moving my body weight away from James. I hadn’t looked at him at all during the show, not even as I stepped past him after my intermission trip to the bathroom.

Watching the dramatic tension thicken on the stage, I cast a glance back to see if I could find Violet’s face, her eyes among the others in attendance. But I saw only strangers. As I moved my attention back toward the stage, I caught the amazing disappearing act. She seemingly vanished into thin air, just like the cliché suggested. But really, she
disappeared
; the fabric that had been covering her moments ago settled on the stage like a tissue.

Much better than the water tank, less dramatic, but better for showmanship.

The men around her pulled away from their tight circle, the confusion and awe obvious, even from this distance.

And then it happened.

Violet reappeared.

Right beside me.

James was gone and Violet sat in his place. At some point—
between acts? When else could it have been?
—James and Violet had changed places. And now she reached down and took my hand with hers. She stood up from her seat, dragging me with her.

Applause, screams and gasps of human shock erupted around us. I looked down and discovered the clothes James had been wearing at our feet and –
really, I was so incredibly stupid to have not noticed her beside me
– wondered, “What happened to James?”

They must have swapped spots during the intermission
, I reasoned.
He hadn’t annoyed me with his Violet-talk since that point in the show, so they had definitely switched then. Is James part of the show?

Violet’s hazel eyes locked on mine through her mask. Her palm was clammy and nervous, having just pulled off this amazing trick right in front of my eyes.

“Thank you!” she shouted at everyone, and as the people around us started to stand and see for themselves just what had happened, she took a few more bows, waved our hands at the disbelieving crowd, and then locked her eyes on mine. Quietly, she asked, “Are you ready for what happens next?”

I nodded, not because I was ready but because I thought I might pass out.

And then she kissed me, hard and deep.

She kissed me so that I knew – despite whatever it was that James Calver had told me about Luke Kemble – she really was into me. She was mine, or at least she was working her way there. Her heart, her soul, her love. It wasn’t the same kiss from that night in Birmingham, either; this one was true, like the one from the weekend when she cooked for me. This one was titanium.

The crowd liked the kiss. I heard whistles and screams and loud applause.

When Violet pulled back, I saw the hazy dreaminess in her eyes, and she asked again, this time half-slurring her words from the passion, “Are you ready?”

I nodded. Again.

She reached up with her free hand and shouted another, “Thank you!” and then snapped her hand toward the floor, causing a large burst of light, a loud bang, and something else.

The floor dropped underneath us, and we fell fast and hard into something of a slide before slamming into a large bean-bag cushion.

I wanted to shout –
okay, I wanted to scream!
– but Violet pressed her hand to my mouth before I could object.

It was dark.

“Quiet,” she whispered, then removed her hand from my mouth only long enough to replace it with her lips.

We kissed in the quiet darkness underneath the stage, my hands sliding up the outside of her legs and tracing the contour of her ass in those tight, black pants. I slid a finger underneath the elastic waist, then moved it around to the front as my eyes started to adjust to the dim light cast by a single exit sign.

She moaned and rolled on top of me, straddling me in the dark.

“Carter,” she moaned, reaching down and pulling her tight shirt off, peeling it up over her head to reveal her bare breasts. I could barely see, so I reached up and cupped them, massaging soft circles around her nipples.

“I missed you,” I admitted.

She leaned forward and smashed her lips against mine, sending her own hand down my chest to my belt buckle. She worked like a magician would; opening the waist to my pants with the same stealthy ease that she had used to disappear in front of all of those people in the Fisher tonight.
Poof!

Drawing back from my lips, she crawled backward, opening my jacket and kissing down my shirt until she reached my pants.

“I missed you more,” she cooed, and my mind was so fuzzy that I had to remind myself that the last thing I had said was that I missed her.

Before I could argue, she peeled my pants down to the midway mark on my thighs and took my rock-hard cock in her mouth. She didn’t ease her way around me; she took it all at once, and I jerked forward.

“Holy shit,” I said, my voice popping out in a high-pitched blurt of surprise.

She purred, slipped her hand underneath my shirt and urged me back into the bean-bag or whatever this mattress was. I didn’t really care, it could’ve been broken glass. Violet had a way of taking me out of this world and bringing me somewhere else, somewhere better.

After a few minutes, she released me and stripped my pants off my legs. Fully exposed, I watched her shadow draw one leg out of those tights before she swung it over me.

“Carter, you awake?” she whispered.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Giggling, she closed her hand around my shaft and brought her pussy closer. She rubbed my tip against her clit and let out a soft moan, then teased herself a little more, running it between her swollen, warm and wet lips. She was wet, really wet. I wanted inside her. I wanted her.

But not like this. Not so easy.

As she eased herself on top of me, taking me progressively deeper with each roll of her hips, I froze. Gripping her hips, I stopped her.

“What—?”

“No,” I said.

Before she could ask
What?
again, I rolled her onto her back and pinned her down, still inside her. I moved my hips slowly, taking her wrists and holding them above her head so that she had to arch her back and grant me deeper access.

She moaned, biting down on her lip. “Car…” moan, “…ter. Oh…” moan, “God…” moan, then, “
Oh God!
”

And then I pulled out.

“No,” she begged.

I released her wrists and slid down her body, just as she had moved down mine. Sliding my thumb inside her, I felt her roll her hips against me, quicker and quicker with each breath.

“I want to taste you,” I said.

“Carter,” she moaned.

Withdrawing my thumb from her, I placed it in my mouth and sucked her wetness away.

“Carter,” she moaned again, still moving her hips. I felt like I had created a bit of magic all by myself, bringing her to another world for once.

I placed my lips against the inside of her warm thighs, slowing her down.

“Oh, Carter…”

When I found her pussy, I licked a line from her ass to her clit, incredibly turned on by just how wet I had made her. Me, a number crunching divorcée who drove a leased Toyota Camry.

“Carter, oh, Carter,” she groaned louder.

I slipped my finger inside her and flicked her clit with my tongue. I worked quickly, not because she was getting close, but because
I
was close. So incredibly close.

“I need to be inside you,” I said, but it came out as a question.

“Yes,” she begged.

As I crawled on top of her, I stared at the pinpoints of light that reflected off of her eyes.

“I want you,” she whispered.

Reaching down, I grabbed my cock and held myself back from taking her.

“Carter, please,” she begged and when she rolled her hips, her wet pussy rubbed across the tip of my dick.

I closed my eyes for strength, eased my face closer to hers and kissed that spot between her eyebrows where the freckle or birthmark was. I had wanted to kiss her there since first meeting her and, now that I had, I surrendered to her.

She moaned as I pushed inside her, wrapping her legs around my waist and slipping her hands up my thighs, across my ass and then over my back where she gripped me hard. Her fingertips trembled as she squeezed me. Hard.

“I’m going to…” I grunted.

And then she reached her orgasm, her body convulsing around me as she held me deep, deep inside her.

I buried my face into the crook her of neck, my eyes squeezed shut as the woman of my dreams locked me inside her and ripped out my soul at the same time.

Sitting in Violet’s elaborate and private dressing room, I studied my tired reflection in the mirror. The bright lights around the outside of that mirror highlighted the lines underneath my eyes, the grooves that ran from my nose, past the outer edges of my mouth and down toward my chin. Those lines made me look old after the three-week weight loss program I had endured. Maria, Violet’s makeup artist, could’ve brushed them away, but Maria wasn’t here in the dressing room. No Violet, either.

And that annoyed me.

I had watched the flat-screens backstage as she grabbed the man’s hand, the same man from the first show and gave a final wave before snapping off a firecracker and the flash of light swallowed her and Carter whole, right in front of everyone’s eyes. Magic.
My
magic. It made me grin, the mere thought of how I could make these kinds of illusions happen so seamlessly that they felt and looked real.

When the dressing room door opened, the smirk melted off of my face. I spun the salon chair around and faced Violet and her latest and greatest love. Carter Borden, the man with no past, no money, no kids, nothing.

Standing up, I extended my hand.

“I’m Luke Kemble,” I said. “I’m sure James Calver told you about me.”

He nodded, his face perspiring a touch. When my eyes moved from Carter to Violet, I understood why. Sighing, I pulled my hand back, wondering if I would smell her pussy on it, and then retreated back to the chair with their eyes glued to my back while I tried to discretely wipe my hand against my pants.

“You’re the options guy,” I said, keeping my voice professional.

“I am,” he confirmed.

Violet groaned. She hated this stuff, hated the little details that made her entire life worthwhile. Those late nights out with Carter would become impossible without these little details.

“We’re going out,” she said, tossing her mask onto the make-up counter.

I watched her move to the closet where she kept all her clothes, and glanced over at Carter to find him watching her, too. His face betrayed that cute feeling he felt in his stomach, the one that deprived him of hunger and logic and the things that made the most miserable of days tolerable. He was falling for Violet.

I chuckled—
fucking fool
—then checked on her again as she pulled the wig from her head and donned a new one, transforming herself from a short-haired brunette to a wavy, long-haired blonde. That wig, for instance, had been made possible through little details that she found boring and stupid. In such a short period of time, she had become incredibly spoiled.

Once she found her outfit for the night, she noticed both of us watching her. Those big hazel eyes bounced from Carter to me, then back to Carter.

“I’m getting changed,” she told him. Then, to me, “Behave.”

Carter and I shared a glance. I felt like he wanted to convey an undertone of ownership—he
had
just made love to the woman of his dreams; I couldn’t blame him for feeling a tad possessive right now—but his face lacked conviction. After spending three weekends tied to a cross, eating Wonder Bread, and playing a game of hostage with Rinker and his whorebag sidekick, nothing this soft-handed number cruncher could say or do could intimidate me.

So I walked closer to him.

He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket and once against I wondered if I might catch a whiff of Violet. Carter Borden was a lightweight; his face had blanched, and I bet if I sneezed, he might jump out of his skin.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

Carter’s eyebrows tightened as he considered my odd question.

“I haven’t seen you around.” I chose my words carefully. “Ever. You’re not rich or flamboyant like any of the others. Like James Calver
.
You show up out of nowhere and now you have a date with Violet?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, cleared his throat and stared off toward Violet’s change room. “She picked me,” he answered with a tight voice. “I was in the audience—”

“Yeah, yeah, I saw that,” I said, my muscles starting to burn from grinding my teeth. “I design the illusions.”

“James told me that,” he said, glancing sideways at me.

“James would know,” I sighed. Because James knew everything. Everything.

Behind us, the door opened and James himself appeared.

“Speak of the devil,” I muttered to Carter.

“Oh, great,” he said. “You’ve met, James.”

As I walked through the parking garage, I noticed that the long incandescent lights above the Range Rover had been broken. Even from this distance, I spotted the thin, shattered glass on the concrete, some shards on the hood along with another item. It was black and slim and not part of the broken lights.

Slowing down, I inspected my surroundings, taking note of the different vehicles that remained here—an Impala, a minivan, a Dodge Dart, Jeep Wrangler—and listened to the nothingness.

I was safe.

But that small, rectangular object on my Range Rover’s hood held my attention. I caught myself staring at it with such an intensity that if a SWAT team had just jumped out at me from the shadows, I would not have noticed it until the men were on top of me.

With a few steps to go, the device came to life, chirping and vibrating and making enough noise that I not only jumped, but its screams echoed off the concrete walls.

“Jeez,” I breathed, my chest aching from the sudden blast of sound. It was a cell phone, one of those pay-as-you-go devices, which didn’t do much to calm my nerves.

The broken glass made a crunching noise as I reached the Rover and grabbed the phone. I checked the screen, but the local number meant nothing to me.

I hit the answer button and listened.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten about our arrangement,” Henry Rinker’s voice came at last.

I stepped inside my vehicle and locked the doors. I considered pressing the engine’s start button, but thought better of it. Something I’d seen in a few movies about psychopaths like Rinker suggested I better not start the engine just yet. Mostly mob movies, but still.

“Two million,” I started, but he cut me off with an angry snap.

“
Three
million!”

I chuckled. “How’s Lindsey?”

Silence.

“You said it was over, that it ended. What’s brought your greed back to life, Rinker?”

I reached into the glove box and grabbed the LED flashlight. After checking my mirrors for signs of someone lurking in the dark, I stepped out onto the broken glass, swept it aside with my shoes, then dropped to my knees while Rinker breathed like an old man hooked up to an oxygen mask on the other end. I activated the flashlight and searched the underside of my Range Rover for signs of a bomb. I probably looked stupid, but not looking was even stupider.

“You have a week,” he told me, his voice calm now.

And then there was some rummaging on the other end, followed by Lindsey’s voice. “You want to know how I’m doing?” she hissed.

“Hi, Lindsey,” I answered evenly, not finding anything underneath the vehicle. I stepped over to the passenger side, repeated the bomb-searching process over there. “How’s that pretty face of yours?”

She chuckled, but . “You’ll see.”

Nothing underneath the vehicle on this side either.

Rinker had taken the phone back. “One week, Luke Kemble. Or I’m coming for you,” he threatened.

“Uh-huh,” I said, disconnecting and climbing back into the Range Rover. As I pressed the ignition button to get the engine purring, I wondered just how much more of a message I needed to hammer home with Rinker. Maybe I had underestimated his determination and overestimated his appreciation for life.

Fuck.

Maybe all I needed was another trip to New York City, assuming he wasn’t here already.

I woke the following morning to the sound of a car door closing in the driveway outside my window. With the blinds closed, the absence of light made it difficult to know the time without finding the alarm clock.

9:32am.

“Shit.”

Scrambling out of bed, I hit the button to get the blinds open, but by the time I could see outside, the car that had just dropped Violet off had already left the property. So I returned to bed, pulled the sheets up over my chest, and waited.

And waited.

The last time we played this game, she had not only arrived a little earlier, but she had stood in the doorway and stared at me like I was the spoiled brat here, not her.

Her footfalls edged across the floor. And then nothing.

“What’s going on?” I asked, more to myself than to Violet who was being extra careful to stay quiet.

Flinging the blankets aside, I pushed my legs into a pair of 501’s, a tighter pair than my old ones now that I had lost so much weight, and found one of my long-sleeved shirts.

I slipped into the hallway, peeked into the office, glanced up the stairs and listened for movement upstairs, and then continued deeper into the house—bathroom door was open, nobody inside, the living room had seen no activity. As I crept closer to the kitchen, I knew.

I stayed in the hallway for a moment, listening to her move around. I could smell the bread in the toaster, hear her pour a glass of water or orange juice or something. I heard her. Not just the movement, but the happiness in her strides, the quick and gentle whistle as she cracked an egg into a frying pan, followed by the
sizzle
because she always turned the element so high that she was always bitching about the brown on the edges to her eggs, but never doing anything about it.

As much as her happiness made me happy, it also broke me. This wasn’t the same Violet I loved.

“Are you hungry?” she asked from the other room.

I pressed myself up against the wall, rested my head against the drywall.

“I know you’re there, Luke. I can hear your heartbeat.”

Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself off the wall and headed into the kitchen. I gripped the edge of the island’s countertop and came straight out and asked her, “Did you sleep with him?”

She kept working like it was no big deal. “Of course I did.”

My legs felt weak. It killed me. No matter what anyone said, I knew I was losing her. We had probably already lost her, and this time it felt worse than any of the others. “Do you…” I swallowed the difficult question, tried again. “Do you love him?”

The only answer she offered was a glance and a smirk so bright I wanted to pull the shade shut. She went back to work, and I watched from this difficult distance.

“You sure this is what you want, Violet? This guy, he’s a nobody. Look at everything I’ve done for you, with James and everything else.”

She didn’t speak, just kept working. When she started whistling—
spoiled bitch always does that when she’s beyond happy, and I can tell she’s beyond happy right now
—I put an end to it.

“This guy’s got some issues,” I said at last.

Chuckling, she shook her head. “Issues? Says you, the guy who was tied to a cross underneath the Imperial and nearly died if I hadn’t agreed to cancel the show for a day and fly out to save your sorry ass.”

I moved to the other side of the island and placed my hands on her waist, but she spun around and slapped me across the face. Hard, so hard the burn happened instantly.

“You do
not
have permission to touch me,” she hissed. “I’m falling for Carter and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”

I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’ll lay off.” I paused, pretending to think about it for a minute. And then I said what needed to be said. “You need to stop and look at all of the sacrifices people have made to accommodate you.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she returned to the stove to get back to those sizzling eggs. “Coming from you, Luke?”