Текст книги "Hero"

Автор книги: Leighton Del Mia

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“No,” she says. “He’s my husband . . .”

“Are there children here?”

“They’re grown up,” she rushes the words out, “moved away years ago.”

His eyes blink lazily as his life circles the drain. This is the time to let go and leave him with his warning. But I’m assaulted by the disturbing image of Cataline crouched in that corner. I block it and force myself to refocus.

I drop him on the floor before he loses consciousness. I catch his arm on its way to his throat and swiftly wrench it at an unnatural angle. More screaming when it cracks, but this time it’s his.

“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do if I have to come back here.” I dig a card out from a hidden pocket and set it on the table. “This is a battered women’s shelter nearby,” I tell her. “They’ll take you in, no questions asked.”

“Hero?” she calls as I turn away.

I don’t wait to hear what she’s going to say next. I’m out the window and downstairs in seconds. I don’t believe she’ll take my advice; many of them don’t. But that just gives me the excuse to come back and finish what I started. My body thrills at the thought, my heart pounding even harder than it just was.

I don’t normally let myself go so far. My code of ethics was developed by my parents and Norman to ensure justice is served only to those I’m certain deserve it. I need the boundaries because years spent cleaning up this kind of mess has made me a fiend for justice—and if I’m not clear-headed about every kill I make, my system will fail. But I have a special void to fill tonight, something I’m afraid is Cataline’s doing.

13
Cataline

Norman sets a tray table next to me, but my eyes remain focused out the window.

“You should eat your breakfast,” he says.

“I will.”

“All right, dear. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Staring past the lawn at the thicket of trees, I wonder what I’d do if I ever made it there. How dense is it? How far does it span? Is that even what I want? I blink after what feels like minutes. Of course it’s what I want. To escape this hell, made even worse now I’ve met the devil. I’m ashamed for all the days and nights I ever fantasized about Calvin. All the times I defended him to myself.

He’s not mean.

He isn’t cruel.

He’s just private.

Under his cool exterior, he’s a good man who needs patience, understanding, and love, just like anyone else. If I had him in my clutches, I would peel away those layers until I’d exposed the beauty of him.

How could I have been so wrong?

The reality of my situation roils through me, settling in my gut: Calvin Parish is dangerous. And now that I know the truth about him, how can he ever let me go?

Heat creeps up my neck as I relive the crush of Calvin’s hard body on mine. The pressure of him between my legs, begging to enter. I get mild comfort from the fact that in the end, he respected my request to stop.

“You’re not going to fly away, are you?” I hear.

Calvin’s voice is smooth and deep, but he startles me just the same. I wait for my heartbeat to calm before turning to face him. “And if I did?”

His arms cross over his chest, punctuating his rigid posture. “Have you got hidden wings underneath that robe, Little Sparrow?”

“I might be willing to find out.”

His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

With a heavy sigh, I deflate deeper against the wall. “Nothing.”

“About last night,” he says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t?” I ask.

“No.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

“I’m sorry?”

My thoughts scatter. “Isn’t that . . . ,” I start. “Why else would you . . . ?”

Silence follows, long and strained. His eyes drill into me without giving anything away.

“Then why am I here?”

“I’ve warned you about questions.”

“But what else could it be? I thought—”

“You are purposely trying my patience. Do you want to see what happens if you push me too far?”

His words leave a coat of goose bumps on my skin. I’m beginning to understand what he’s capable of physically, but it’s not knowing what’s underneath his exterior that scares me most.

“I have to return to the office. It’s important for us both that I maintain my routine. I recommend you eat,” he says, gesturing to the tray, “seeing as how you’ve slept until noon.”

“The office,” I mutter. “What do they say about my absence?”

He clears his throat and turns his face to the bed, his eyes resting on my mussed up sheets.

I can only laugh. “They haven’t noticed, have they? Hale probably replaced me right away. Such is my life, coming and going without anybody noticing.”

“That’s not true,” he says with surprising tenderness.

“You don’t know anything about me, so fuck off.”

I brace myself for a reaction. As seconds tick by, his impassive expression has me growing regretful of my comment. His eyebrows rise. “You ought to be careful, Cataline. Mouthing off can get you into trouble.”

Any regret vanishes. “More trouble than I’m already in?” I ask. “I’ve been kidnapped to fulfill some pervert’s sick fantasy. And since I know who you are, where you work, and where you live, I suppose you’ll have to kill me at the end of all this. So perhaps we move things along, and you make me do whatever it is I’m here for so I can have some relief from this hell.”

“As I just said, I won’t touch you again. Even,” he pauses to ensure my attention, “if you beg for it.” He takes a step forward, and I push back against the window frame. His large hand wraps gently around my throat until I’m covered with him. “And like a little sparrow, it would take nothing to snap your neck. I assure you, if that’s what I wanted, it would be done.”

He removes his hand, but I still feel his cold touch there. “I want to go home,” I say through a quivering chin.

With him so close, the shift in his demeanor is obvious. “Look around,” he snaps. “I’ve stocked the kitchen with your favorite foods, filled the library with books you love, and bestowed on you a closet any woman would die for. I’ve instructed everyone be at your beck and call.” His voice rises, falling heavily over me from above. “What is it you want? What more can I do?”

“I want my freedom.”

“Why, so you can go back to that shit apartment on Breaker Street and work for some ungrateful asshole at a job you don’t even want?”

I draw my knees against my chest, pulling my heels tight so as not to expose myself. “How do you know where I live?” I whisper. “Or what books I like?”

He scowls before storming away. When he reaches the door, he twists to look back at me. His voice is as intense and mesmerizing as his stare. “This isn’t hell; hell is what I rescued you from. I’ll have no more sulking, no more sneaking around. Am I understood?”

I agree with a mindless nod.

“Answer me,” he clips. “If I catch you doing either, you will be punished. Do we have an understanding?”

I don’t consider my options because it’s becoming clear I have none. So I can only answer, “Yes, I understand.”

14
Calvin

The new executive assistant stares back at me as her teeth carve into her bottom lip. She’s not bad to look at, petite like Cataline with dark brown hair. I think it might be all right to turn her around and take her from behind. I lick my lips as I think about Cataline bent over the sharp lip of that desk, my hands bound by long strands of her silky hair.

Back upstairs in my office, I automatically pick up my desk phone when it buzzes. “Parish.”

“Master Parish, you’re needed on the East Side.”

“Go ahead,” I say, reaching for a pen and paper to scribble down Norman’s message. My staff is the scaffolding of my secret identity, and their most important job is making sure no call to our private, direct line goes unanswered. I’ve told them countless times that minutes can mean the difference between life and death.

“Where you off to today, Parish?” Hale asks when he enters the elevator.

My attempt at a smile is pathetic. I hate this motherfucker because he’s a shit person, and because he’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Got a meeting.”

I shrug off his irritating attempts at conversation before exiting the elevator and heading for my car. Cataline doesn’t know, but I only started spending more time in the office when she was hired over two years ago. Most decision making is done by the board and the president of Parish Media, who was a friend to my parents and one of the few who knows the truth about Hero’s identity. He runs my company because he’s trustworthy, but what I pay him ensures he stays that way. Together, we manage as best we can what the city sees about Hero.

My car glides smoothly out of the underground garage, and I’m traveling toward my destination. There’s no time for a costume change or to switch cars, so I go as I am in my suit and tie. The seedy underbelly of New Rhone, also know as the East Side, is my most common playground. If I removed its entire population, something I’ve considered, New Rhone would be better for it.

I park the car and remove everything from my pockets, tossing the contents and my glasses under the passenger’s seat. From outside, the warehouse I’ve been directed to is still and quiet without a person in sight. I shield my eyes against the afternoon sun and scan the deserted lot on New Rhone’s outskirts.

The building is seemingly empty when I enter, but I immediately tune to hushed voices and shuffling feet in the maze of aisles. It’s not until I hit a clearing that people appear. I recognize the approaching men as Cartel members by their signature rose tattoos with “Riv” scripted across the middle. Having just murdered their leader and some of their crew, there’s no question what they want from me. I ball one fist into my other palm and crack my knuckles as the thrill of attack burns its course through my body. Today’s turning out better than I expected.

As if prompted by some silent cue, each of the five men draws a gun. “Where’s your costume?” one asks as they encircle me. “We were hoping for a Hero, not a yuppie.”

I relax my stance, my trained reaction to danger. The first shot rings out, catching me in the shoulder. I inhale deeply, drawing on the pain to fuel my anger—and smile. They look to each other as I advance. Two more shots are fired, one landing in my upper thigh and the other deflected as it comes at my head.

One yells in Spanish to slow down because they need me alive. I only laugh as I grab the two men nearest to me, easily lifting one in each hand by his shirt collar. Footsteps echo in the warehouse as someone I didn’t see runs for the door. My instincts will me to chase after him, and I know I should, but I’m salivating over what’s right in front of me. I launch one man into the nearest wall then seize the other’s head between both hands, snapping his neck with a satisfying crack. In the moments it takes me to kill both men, I hear shots outside.

The bullets I took are just starting to slow me down. The two biggest men grab each of my arms, pulling me back. The third slams his fist into my stomach. “Hijo de puta,” he curses, withdrawing quickly and cradling his hand. I kick him swiftly in the chest, sending him to the concrete, and rip one arm free. I use it to snatch a gun at my feet and shoot the three of them before they know what’s happening.

I tell myself I can catch the absconder, but it’s been too many minutes since he took off, and my body is weakening. I stop dead in my tracks though when I see the busted window of my car, the result of several bullets. The only thing missing from under the passenger’s seat is my wallet—and since it contains my identity, it’s the only thing of any real value.

15
Cataline

When I sit up, the book I’d been reading before I fell asleep slides off my chest and thumps on the ground. The room glows orange as the setting sun filters through the large windows. Voices prompt me to the library door, where I lean out into the corridor. Norman and Chef Michael huddle with Calvin near the mansion’s entrance. His words are short and rumbling, and concern blooms in my stomach. When they move across the foyer, I follow quietly, nearly tripping over a rug in my haste.

They disappear into the room I’d broken into my first day here. Curiosity propels me forward. Chef Michael exits in a rush almost immediately after, sending me hiding behind the staircase. When he’s gone, I tiptoe closer and crouch to peek inside. Calvin is shirtless and slumped in a chair, his legs spilling out in front him.

Pressed against his naked body last night, I could feel the steel in his muscles, but now is my first time seeing his bare chest in the light. His shoulders are sprawling and muscular, anchoring his towering frame. His strength is clear, but his body conveys only a fraction of the power I felt. He’s several inches over six feet tall, and even in repose, his abs are clearly defined, his arms brawny and solid—but bruises darken parts of his body.

“It was a setup,” Calvin says.

“Setup?” Norman repeats. “The tip was anonymous, filtered by the uptown sector.”

Calvin winces as Norman wipes his shoulder with a cloth. “Can we be sure our uptown contact is still with us?”

“I’ll have Carter look into it since he took the call. They assured him danger was imminent, or I never would’ve sent you out during the day.”

“Well, now I’m fucked. Whoever took that wallet has a death wish. I need more intel on the Cartel and its members. Is Carlos still in Mexico?”

At the mention of the Riviera Cartel, my body tenses.

“Yes, sir,” Norman says. “We’re tracking him closely.” Norman seems to hesitate, glancing at Calvin as he pulls on rubber gloves. “How many?” he asks.

Calvin barely nods. “Five. Had me cornered.” He looks up. “I had no choice. My identity was compromised. I had to kill them.”

Behind my hand, I inhale sharply. Calvin’s eyes cut right to me as he shoots out of his chair, sending it back into the desk. “What the—”

I scramble backward, falling on my ass just as the door bursts open and collides with the wall.

Calvin menaces above me, a tempest brewing in his eyes. “What did I tell you about sneaking around?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was worried—”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He bends over and seizes my upper arm, hurrying me to my feet. “Up to your room,” he says as he marches me to the staircase. “You’ve bought yourself a week in there, and you can forget about camera privileges.”

I glance at the sizeable, purple lump on his shoulder.

“Listen to me,” he intones. “Stay out of my business. It’s for your own good.”

“What is?” I cry. “You won’t tell me anything, and I’m scared, Calvin. What does the Cartel have to do with this, and why did you kill people?”

He shakes me hard, forcing the pools in my eyes to drip onto my cheeks. “That’s enough. Another word, and I’ll lock you up in the basement without your precious books or thousand-count sheets.”

“I don’t care,” I scream. I fall to my knees though he keeps his grip on my arm. “You’re going to do what you want anyway. Take me down there. Let me rot!”

With large strides across the room, he drags me kicking behind him. I yelp as my nightgown rides up and cold marble shocks my skin. He kicks open another locked door with a heavy foot. “Up,” he demands.

“I-I’m not going down there.”

“I thought you didn’t care? Thought you wanted to rot down there?”

I wiggle in his grasp, trying to free my arm. When he releases me, I start to get to my feet but his hands are swiftly under my armpits. He hoists me off the ground and carries me down the stairs as I kick and scream. An overpowering, musty smell chokes me as we descend into the basement. He drops me on my knees in a small cell and pulls the gate closed behind him.

“No, Calvin, please,” I sob, crawling forward and pulling on the bars. “Please, I promise I won’t sneak around anymore.”

His lids grow suddenly heavy as his hand grasps the front of his pants. “You’re making me so hard, Sparrow. Keep begging like that, and I’ll gladly find a way to shut you up.”

My stomach flips with charged nerves, and I can’t keep the shock from my face.

He laughs. “That’s right. And I’m not joking. I’m thinking a good fuck might finally do the trick.”

“I’d never let you,” I say.

He cocks his head. “If I wanted you, you’d know it, and you’d be right where you are, begging for it. Lucky for you, I don’t.”

I recoil, oddly hurt by the dig that’s delivered with a look of disgust. “Calvin, please,” I say as he turns away.

He sighs and pivots back, striding to me. “If you insist.” He grips the insides of two steel bars, and I swear they budge when he pulls.

“No,” I say, retreating further into the cell. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.” My leg knocks into something that clatters loudly against the concrete floor.

He pauses and releases the bars, his eyes glued to me. “Your toilet,” he says, pointing to a white, plastic bucket on its side. “Your bed,” he adds, nodding at a thin, dirty-looking mattress and pillow in the corner. With that, he jogs up the stairs, leaving me openmouthed and staring after him.

16

As a teenager, under my parents’ guidance and with unrivaled determination, I learned how to manipulate my temper to my benefit. In my line of work, it’s an asset, but one I continually work to control. Cataline aggravates it, and apparently it’s grown worse in its dormancy. My rising urges to punish her, fuck her, and make her submit are at odds with my duty to protect her.

I shut and lock the door to the study before returning to my chair. Norman hasn’t moved, still frozen with a towel in his hand.

“Master Parish—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snap.

“You’re scaring the girl.”

“She needs to learn. That behavior is unacceptable.”

“She’s not like the women you know,” he says with emphasis on the last word. “You must be more careful. She’s fragile.”

I steeple my fingers in front of my face and inhale deeply before looking up at him. “You think you know her?”

“I’ve spent the last two months with her. She’s strong-willed, but she’s a good girl. And she deserves the truth. I assure you she’ll understand—”

“You know I can’t.”

“You can trust her.”

I bolt up from the chair to pace the room. My hands are in my hair, pulling as if it will give me answers. “I’d rather she were terrified of me than know the truth, Norman. If the Cartel gets ahold of her, it will be far worse than her treatment here.” I pause at a wall and outstretch my arms against it. Sometimes at night I can still feel the burn of smoke in my lungs. Melting flesh is something nobody should ever have to smell. Because of me, she experienced those things too. My fist slams into the wall. “How am I supposed to tell her that her life is shit because of me? That I’m to blame for her parents’ death? And that I’m the reason the Cartel wants her in the first place?”

“None of that is your fault.” It’s Norman’s mantra, but it always falls on deaf ears.

“It is,” I say. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve saved them, but I was selfish.”

“You were so young. You learned more from it than you could have with years of preparation for this role.”

I drop my hands to my sides and look at Norman as though I’m seeing him for the first time. “It’s no excuse,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I was strong enough, even at seventeen. As long as the Cartel wants Hero, they’ll want her. I owe her parents her safety.”

“You owe it to them,” Norman says, raising his chin, “or yourself?”

“Meaning?”

“Atonement binds you to Cataline. Forgiveness can cut those ties, but only you can be the one to do it. The guilt you harbor is unhealthy.”

“Forgiveness?” My mouth warps with the word’s venom. “You think I deserve to be forgiven? You think I want it?”

“I know you deserve it. And I don’t think you want it, but I think you need it. Telling Cataline the truth will be a step toward moving on.”

“This discussion is over.”

“Forgive me for saying, Calvin, but if you keep this up, you’ll only do damage. To her and to yourself.”

“You’ve taken enough liberties tonight, Norman,” I warn. “With me and her. You’re too friendly. You’re not to let her out of the cell until I say so. And don’t forget that your conversations are purpose-driven only. Make sure she has what she needs. As long as she’s cooperative, she can have what she wants. But do not forget, information is a privilege.” I cross my arms. “And I want her window locked going forward.”

“In her room?” he asks. “Why in the world?”

“I don’t like that she sits there all day, nurturing whatever ridiculous fantasies she entertains. I’m not entirely sure she won’t try to escape and hurt herself in the process.”

“If I may—”

“You,” I cut him off, pausing for emphasis, “may not.”

He purses his lips, the wrinkles around his mouth exaggerating with disapproval. “Very well. Shall we see about that shoulder?”

I sit back in the chair. My hands curl around the arms as Norman’s scalpel tears into my skin.

“You heal too quickly,” Norman says. “A disadvantage only when there’s something under your skin that shouldn’t be. Does it hurt?”

“More than the shots themselves, but not much.”

He’s spent enough time as my personal doctor to see through my casual response. He knows, as my muscles lock up, that it hurts like a bitch.

Norman is the only person to visit Cataline for the next two days, and it’s just to bring her food or replace her bucket. I review security footage to ensure he isn’t indulging her attempts at conversation and am pleased with his restraint. On the third day, I determine her sentence served. After a late evening in the city, I loosen my tie as I cross the foyer toward the basement.

I smell the blood the moment I hit the doorway. In seconds I’m down the stairs and at the gate, fumbling with the lock, as Cataline lies unmoving. “Cataline,” I say, dropping the keys. “Get up.”

“Calvin?”

“What happened?” Finally, I give up and rip the lock open with a yank.

She sits up and rubs her eyes as I fixate on the small black stain underneath her. “Ah, shit.” I kneel next to the bed. “What’s hurt?”

Her chin quivers slightly, and she covers her face with her hands. “It’s nothing. C-can you get Rosa? Or Norman?”

Ignoring the sharp pang from her request, I pull her shoulder gently to inspect her back. “What is it? Where are you hurt?”

She seems to struggle with words behind her palms. “I’m not hurt.”

“This is not the time to be shy. You’re bleeding—”

“It’s my period,” she cries, shrugging me off. “I got it this morning but have nothing to st-stop it. Please, just leave me alone.”

Relief floods me, and my forehead falls into my palms as I exhale. “You’re not hurt?” I ask, standing. She sniffles and curls back into a ball, inching toward the wall to avoid the stain.

“Answer me, Cataline.”

“I’m not hurt.”

After a deep sigh, I hold out my hand. With her face buried in the pillow, she looks small and weak, more pathetic than I’ve ever seen her. “Come,” I say, beckoning once. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

After a moment, she swipes hair from her cheek. Her lashes flutter up at me, revealing frightened and innocent blue eyes. There’s tenderness in her voice when she asks, “Really?”

“Yes. Come on then. I haven’t got all night.”

She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. I’m tempted to tell her to quit it or to free it with my own fingers, but I inhale and refrain.

“No,” she says at last. “I don’t want your help.”

My outstretched hand drops to my side. “Excuse me?”

She flips away from me to face the wall. She doesn’t respond, but the yellowed pillow gnarls in her grip.

“You’d rather lie here in your own blood,” I state.

“Yes.”

My eyebrows are a thousand pounds as I stare at her, anger heating me from the inside out. I’ve never hit a woman like Cataline before, one who didn’t want it or deserve it, one who wasn’t expecting it. But my palm burns with the urge to put her over my knee, lift her nightgown, and spank the shit out of her. “Have it your way,” I say.

I spend the next twenty minutes in bed attempting to block out her whimpering, relieved when sleep finally begins its descent over me.