Текст книги "Lovers and Reprisals"
Автор книги: Lori Turner
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Lovers
and
Reprisals
Book One
In the
Lovers Series
Lori Turner
Copyright © 2013 Lori Turner
Copyright
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2013 Lori Turner
Lovers and Reprisals
Three families with seemingly nothing in common find themselves intertwined after a series of events test their limits and these incidents are too close to be mere coincidences. A murder, an accident, and a budding romance that is viewed as a taboo subject. Some relationships blossom, while others tread disallowed limits. Decorum is set aside for the savoring of forbidden fruit. Past wounds are healed, and all is forgiven. Some probe the perimeters of love, even when the lover just so happens to be the boss. Where are these relationships heading? Who will live and which relationship stands the chance of dying. The Lovers Series is an exciting seductive story that follows three central families and the web of intrigue that challenges their decisions as lovers. Take the plunge. The Lovers Series is bound to be a collection of riveting stories. Edgy, breaking the rules, bordering on the forbidden.
Part One
Vengeance; a moral judgement.
Also known as, an eye for an eye.
Chapter 1
9:49 PM
Two hours and eleven minutes before midnight
A red balloon bounced from hood to hood, crossing the street on a lift of wind. Tollin was fixated on the thing. There was nothing spectacular about this one particular object, but he gaped in awe, glued to the sidewalk. When a gush sent the balloon climbing skyward, Tollin sensed a searing burn, because he’d inadvertently followed its trajectory, gazing directly into the sun. A rapid flow of tears filled his eyes, briefly blinding him. The pain had been so immense, a cry slipped pass clinched teeth. Even though he’d been momentarily blinded, his other senses heightened. The sound of moving traffic seemed to amplify–and there were other things. His nose twitched, unexpectedly offended by the smells. He’d been standing near an alley, and if he didn’t know better, he would swear that the smells had sprouted legs, jumped out of the garbage cans, then settled directly beneath his feet.
“Ugh...shit” he muttered; shit indeed. The offensive smell was a combination of raw, rank and rotten. He couldn’t imagine anything more vile–then images filled his brain–decomposing meat caked with squirming ravenous maggots.
“Tollin...stop stalling...”
Hearing his name prompted an instinctual reaction. Tollin’s eyes popped wide. He strained, staring in the direction of the voice. In the distance a curvaceous form swayed sultrily like the ooze of silvery mercury. She stopped a few feet from the opened limo door. His eyes locked on the image.
“Eliza” He sang her name. It had been a lifetime since he’d seen her, yet there she was; flowing raven black hair curtaining the length of her back.
“Tollin...” again, he heard her calling him, but where had she gone?
Ah–yes, he thought. She’s waiting for him in the limo. Tollin shook off his confusion, and he didn’t bother himself over Eliza’s unexpected presence. She’d always been his lucky charm and it was high time that she’d returned, giving him the opportunity to undo all that had gone wrong. He strode in the direction of the limo, readjusting his suit lapels, then his primping was cut short by movement along the side of his eye.
It all happened so fast. Too fast to wail out a warning. It had been that balloon. That mother-fucking red balloon. Locking brakes screeched, metal depressed between pads, gripping the pavement. The smell of burning rubber filled the air and he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten here, but in truth, the when and why really didn’t matter. In this situation, the harsh reality was that he’d found himself witnessing an impossible event, and he wanted a way out.
Bolting passed him, little legs had dashed between parked cars chasing the red balloon, and in an instant–all time stopped–for him and that little girl. Tollin’s throat bellowed a sound that horrified him. He had not been sure if the noise came from him or perhaps he’d imagined the sound.
“Nooooo...” He’d sang this word, but he couldn’t stop what had already happened.
“Tollin...” there it was again–her voice–but he didn’t see Eliza anywhere. And he needed her–he wanted her here, by his side because he blamed himself for this accident. This was his fault–his and his alone. A host of people crowded him and the little girl. Tollin had raced to her unmoving body, lifted her, then cradled her in his arms. When he moved her, he did it because he knew no one could have survived that kind of impact. Not an adult–and definitely not a little girl. A throng of people came from every direction like a flock of birds. He was unnerved by their presence because when they formed a circle, their gazes landed on him, then they murmured accusations. Do they know, he thought to himself? Do they know about his involvement? Heat rose up Tollin’s neck warming him throughout his body. What was this emotion that overtook him–was it this dead child lying in his arms or was it something else? Possibly fear–or a natural desire to survive incriminations that would blame him for the cause of these events.
Willed on by an insane desire to distance himself from this accident, Tollin rose, then he began pressing through the sea of people; but this sea would not part. His ears filled with their anger. Their cries accused him of wrongdoing and when he turned, he couldn’t see the little girl anymore. Instead, multiple sets of angry eyes encircled him, forming a panoramic view of hostility. The girl was obviously dead–and she couldn’t be save; now, their attention was solely on him. Tollin lifted his head, and there it was; that red balloon, floating away from the crowd. He wanted to blame the accident on that balloon–then an inner voice had told him, that he had. Insanity–the word sprung in his head, because that’s what the little girl’s parent’s had said. Tollin had assigned fault to an inanimate object. The memory urged him into action, even though in this context the recollection was out of place; but with no memory of how these events began, he pressed onward. With no thought for his safety, he forcibly wedged a narrow path, and when he was no longer surrounded by pedestrians, he took off sprinting. In his rear, he could hear approaching voices. A mother’s sob overtook him, practically bringing his knees to the ground. Her cry sounded like a banshee, warning that soon, someone else would die. An alarm rang in his head, because Tollin believed that he would be the Grim Reapers next target. He tried to breathe but he seized, because with each intake, it felt like his efforts were in vain. His body jerked experiencing an all consuming spasm. He was terror-struck by the prospect of impending death.
A fleshy prominence nudged his ribcage, then Tollin felt a hand shaking, then pushing his shoulder. Something was rousing him. Someone was trying to rip him from his nightmarish dream.
His rapid breaths matched the impossible gallop of his heart.
“Tollin...Tollin.”
“Ow!” he shouted. “What the hell...?” he groggily said, because he was still confused. Tollin’s lids fluttered open. He felt a warmth, laying close by his side. Orienting himself, Tollin rose up on one elbow. It was a dream, he told himself. The room was varying shades of black, gray and shadows, but he could see her. There was just enough light for him to look at her but for all intense and purposes; this was a strangers face. She’d been a last minute decision but he didn’t believe in doing anything half-assed. If he was going to have a woman–he would have one of the best and Holly was a sight for sore eyes. Built to perfection–every curvaceous slope that formed her body. On first sight, he had to agree–she was everything her madame had claimed her to be.
“Are you all right love?” she’d asked.
Love–he thought to himself. Who did she think she was kidding. The only thing she loved was the depth of his pockets. She'd been dealt a bad hand but he couldn’t be blamed for that. Their’s was a society driven by class and once upon a time, Holly had been like him–until her parent’s experienced a run of bad luck. He’d heard the stories about Ivy League young girls, using sex to fund their pricy educations. When mommy and daddy went broke, divorced or some other catastrophe occurred, drying up the monetary resources; these girls did what came next–they entered the high priced sex trade. Some of the girls went out on their own; taking their chances because they believed in this way they can guard this part of their life and keep it a secret. Then their are the girls who go with madams; they want money, rich men and the protection that comes with the fifty-fifty split. Tollin didn’t know all the specific’s concerning Holly, and he didn’t really want to know–because the only thing that concerned him was how she looked and what she would do for him in bed–or any other place in his penthouse. Tollin heaved a heavy sigh, then he threw back the blankets.
“Tollin–it’s late. Come back to bed. Don’t you want another go-round? I’m game, if you are.” She tried to seduce him back to bed.
Tollin coughed, clearing his throat. He questioned the wisdom in drinking so much. His mouth was as dry as a desert and his tongue felt like the buds had sprouted hair. He palmed his limp sex, then the nights events came tumbling back to him. Holly had been his New Year’s Eve party favor. The horn he’d tooted and the present he’d unwrapped. She had arrived dressed to kill, bringing everything she needed, and then some. She’d walked in–did her little striptease, leaving a trail of clothes from the foyer to his bar. From the moment she arrived, the drinking began. Wine at first, followed by fruity cocktail drinks; then they got busy with the hard stuff–single and double shots. His minds eye filled with recollections and a horny smile flirted with his lips. The brassy broad had screwed him in more ways than one, but that’s exactly what he’d paid for.
Holly stroked his nipple, twirling her finger to coil his chest hairs. He wondered where she got her stamina from.
“Tollin...” she sang his name.
He sounded gruff when he said...
“Not in the mood.”
Holly didn’t take his hint. Like a fool, she rushed in where angels fear to tread; this saying scrolled in his head because he’d thought he’d made himself clear. He’d had enough–but in spite of his tone, Holly didn’t get the message. Tollin felt long nails teasing his skin; trailing a swirling path down the length of his back. Her touch was anything but tempting, because currently, sex was the last thing on his mind. He rolled over, moving outside of her reach. He’d been spooked by his nightmare and he didn’t want to chance a repeat. Tollin sat up feeling for his silk pajama bottoms. He stepped into his pants, tying the waistband while crossing the room in his bare-feet. Behind him, he heard the rustling of sheets, suggesting that Holly was making herself comfortable without him.
“Are you coming back? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel like it. I can hold you in my arms–that might help you fall back to sleep.”
"Give me an hour to think about it."
He did need the rest but it wasn't Holly’s place to question him or offer unsolicited suggestions. There was something about her offer that pricked a nerve. Eliza. Eliza would hold him in her arms, finger combing his hair, whenever he was unsettled by a dream. But Holly was no Eliza; not even a close second. In fact, Holly wasn’t even in the same league.
“Oh well. Since you’re up–could you bring me a cucumber water?” She was pouting. Fat lot of good that'll do her, he thought to himself. He was feeling cross because Holly had sparked memories from his past. Before Eliza had left him, he’d never used a call-girl, and this fact fueled his annoyance. Bothered by Holly’s request, Tollin asserted in his mind that he was nobodies servant and he sure as shit wasn’t going to play servant to a whore. He didn’t know where these girls got off, thinking that a madame made them better than the whores walking the streets. Sure, she was a call-girl–free to choose her dates–but in his book, taking money for sex made you a whore. A clean whore–but a whore all the same.
Tollin left his bedroom, leaving the door open. The penthouse was a glow of low lighting.
“Shutters–lower, thirty percent.”
The smart house obeyed the handsfree command, lowering the shutters. When he moved into the penthouse, a team of tech’s had completely rewired the place, making this convenience worth every penny and he’d never regretted the expense. The walls in the great room, were floor to ceiling glass. He crossed the oakwood floor, until he was standing on a Persian Rug. He stood in front of the partially unshielded window. A full moon lit the sky, giving the city an etherial glow. The view was impressive from this height. He could see the park, Samaritan Conclave Square and the harbor. He could even see the man made barge, the Samaritans called their floating colony.
"Fucking eyesore " he swore. "Philanthropist. Religious fanatics"
Tollin spat the words as if each syllable held a foul taste. He had an intense dislike for a group of people that called themselves Samaritans. He didn’t know any Samaritan’s personally, he just didn't understand their Creed; a set of beliefs that form their religious doctrine. In some respects, Samaritan’s are somewhat like the Amish, but many of their practices are extremely dissimilar. Even though the Samaritan’s separated themselves, by living in communes, their doctrine required that they seek out and help those most in need. Tollin always wondered, where was the profit in handouts. He believed that people should be required to help themselves. Give a man a pole–teach the man to fish–so on, and so forth. However, making money–now, that’s something he did understand. He stared at the barge, while considering the three story buildings. Samaritan’s lived in closed communities, forbidding anyone outside of their Sect to set foot in their communes. He wondered what did they have to hide–not that he would ever accept an invitation, if one was offered. He just had a healthy curiosity, and from his penthouse he’d noticed that the buildings were all unimpressive well maintained structures. Simply made–just like their owners. Tollin tapped his chin, while considering another thought. By rights the Samaritan colony should be on land like all the other colonies inhabited by members of their Sect, but in this part of the country land was in short supply and this explained the floating commune. If he had his way, he would band them from his city altogether. Tollin’s musing was cut short when he noticed a flash of movement to his right. His eyes were drawn to the building on the opposite side of the street. While people partied on the streets below, on the rooftop across the street, two men paced its length, holstering semiautomatic weapons. Recently, the country had seen a spike in unexplained murders. The end result had been a chorus of knee jerk reactions. People began beefing up their homes, or arming themselves with handguns that could easily be hidden. For those who could afford it, they encircled themselves with bodyguards with military experience. On a night like this, the city was teaming with armed protection for hire. He may not have hired armed guards–to him, this type of protection was too extreme; but he had employed one of the countries most renown security experts to install a state of the art Panic Room.
“Close shutters.” He said, bored by the view.
Tollin's life was what it was. Ambivalent at best. As an industrialist of cutting edge technology, he lived to make money–at all cost. He never aimed to hurt others–but in his line of work; venturing into the unknown, and testing untested limits–this is where he’d been his most successful; and it made sense that politics would become his next aim. Tollin had approached his political ambitions similarly to the way he’d earned his millions. Head on–no distractions–ignoring all the naysayers. That’s what Eliza had said on the eve of their last night together. She had reminded him about her objections and the cost of his over zealous nature; then without uttering another word, she’d left him, when he’d needed her the most. Without Eliza, Tollin had become a broken man. During this past year, the chaos of his life had reached a deadly peak. There had been an accident and the memory tormented him practically every waking hour. So much had gone wrong and when the dust had settled, and the shit ultimately hit the fan; as it often does in cases like this–Tollin had been jerked by a dull familiarity. A jolt swept throughout him, like a bolt of lightning; leaving him confused and uncertain of the outcome. At the time, he’d clearly heard Eliza’s words; “leave it alone Tollin, or else you’ll regret it and they’ll be no turning back”. She’d begged him, saying that there would be consequences. He couldn’t imagine his life being any worse than it had been and still, he didn’t fully understand what she’d meant. Maybe she’d been talking about heaven and hell; because as he saw it, those had been his only choices. Over the past six months his life had been hell on earth and he’d doubted if he’d ever experience a sense of peace, making him feel like he’d reached a heavenly plain. Tollin never believed in much. Not a god or the divine devotions that struck so many other people, causing them to fall on their knees, seeking enlightenment, and a higher sense of consciousness. He didn’t see the wisdom in placing one’s hope outside of himself. This explained his current predicament and his nightmares. Self preservation explained the Panic Room–but the itch in his pants explained Holly. At the last minute, he’d decided that he didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve alone. He’d needed the company to ease unsettled nerves. He’d needed a woman to help him forget Eliza. What a fucking joke. No woman could ever replace Eliza.
Tollin advanced into the outer room but he froze seconds after hearing a sound. He needed a reason to escape from his dreams and when he saw her; for a moment he forgot about his worries.
“Tollin.” Holly stood there in all her beautiful nakedness; backlit by the low lights running along the base of the wall.
“If you won’t come to me–” she crossed the room, swaying her hips sultrily to tempt him.
“...then I’ll come to you.” She finished her sentence.
Holly stopped by the bar, filled two flutes with champagne, then she came to join him in the middle of the room.
“Toast.” she said.
“Holly–the holiday isn’t for another two hours.”
“I know but...” she lifted up on tiptoes. “You haven’t asked me to stay for your New Year’s Day party. And if I’m not being invited to your party–I’d like to be the first to wish you a happy New Year.”
Holly handed Tollin the glass. He watched her sip the bubbly, while her eyes remained trained on him. She’d been fishing when she’d mentioned his party. And, yes, she was correct when she said that he’d not invited her. Tollin never invited the help. He suspected tomorrow he would be busy as most wealthy people like him would be. New Year’s Day parties had become the in thing to do, and these events were as fashionable as couturier designer outfits are essential to the rich. And by default, he refused to host the hordes who sought to regain level prestige. A rye grin twitched his lips because he wondered if she’d ever crossed paths with any of the Samaritans. In his mind, girls like her were down on their luck and could use some help. He imagined the dreary faces belonging to the religious Samaritan’s–this group of people did not celebrate New Year’s Day by observing fixed practices and traditions. Every year, at first daylight, the moral consciences of society would orderly file onto their ferry, arriving in the city like a bloody horde of do-gooders, determined to fix the ills of the world.
Long red colored nails snapped inches from his nose. Tollin twitched. His head jerked unsteadily, angling him off balanced.
He glared at her angrily saying...
“Fuck...don’t do that.” he spat.
He was a pint short three sheets to the wind, and he didn’t need her to remind him that he’d drank to much. If it weren’t against her Madame’s rules, he had a good mind to toss Holly out onto the street. But he couldn’t. From the second he’d called her, he’d known exactly what he’d been in for. Holly was his to deal with until daylight and not one second earlier. If she left his home before sunrise, on a day like this; she could easily be killed by a rowdy partier, or some other foolish drunk shooting the New Year in. He’d heard tell of things like that happening–people finding themselves out on the street, then unintentionally getting caught up in jubilant crossfire. Then he considered that perhaps he was being overly paranoid.
Tollin forced the glass back, causing her to reflexively grasp hold. Fluid splashed, wetting her hand and toes.
“What’s wrong with you? I just thought...”
He abruptly cut her off.
“With all due respect honey–I didn’t pay you to think.”
“Well...” she replied, “If you didn’t want the champagne, a simple no would have sufficed. I know how to take a hint”
A push of changing pressure jostled his inner ear, resulting in an involuntary jerk. He turned his head, as if he were expecting someone to join them. Holly placed her finger on his chin, directing his attention back on her. She whispered saying...
“Honey...it’s nothing. This place is tighter than Fort Knox.”
He stared at her, refusing to shield his annoyance. He’d grown tired her mock terms of endearment. Honey this...love that. He recoiled at her touch, so he slapped her hand away. His reaction had been as autonomic as his breathing, and he supposed that her experience had been the same. Rejection; that’s what she looked like and at an moment the tears would follow; there was no doubt in his mind. Dear lord, he thought to himself. What else would this woman demand of him. Tollin raised a brow, then he eased one hand along the small of her back. With a gentle tug, he pulled her close, until their bodies pressed firmly one on the other. It didn’t take much to entice her. Tollin lowered his head, beguiling her with his light brown eyes. She returned the favor, arching her shoulders until her breast practically acknowledged him with a pointed salute. Holly lifted up on the ball of her feet, then she teased his lips to part with one stroke of her wet tongue. Tollin opened his mouth, then hungrily, he caressed the inner softness of her cheeks. He kissed her passionately, coaxing an array of moans and whimpers from her. He got a sadistic thrill, listening to the turnabout of play. He could have kept this up longer–strung her along, until they ended up back in bed; but that wasn’t what he wanted. Actually–the lower half of his body didn’t stir one iota. With his mind made up, he stopped kissing her; just as abruptly as their foreplay had begun. When Tollin broke free, his sudden change startled Holly. Her forehead creased in question, then she stared at him curiously, taking in every facet of his handsomeness. When she’d agreed to spend the evening with Tollin, she would have done so, free of cost. She didn’t want his money–she’d come because it was the man that had interested her. She’d wanted to meet the infamous Tollin Pettier. In spite of her fascination; if space was what he wanted–she would give it to him; after all, she was the guest and this was his home. Without fanfare, she did an about-face, giving Tollin a full view of her backside. She walked with a natural erotic sway and she knew that he would enjoy the view. And she’d been right. If sex had been something that he wanted, watching her might have aroused him. As it was, he was doing his best to remain civil and he couldn’t wholly blame her for his foul mood. Tollin stared at her until she was out of sight. She’d gone in the direction of the kitchen. Maybe to pour herself some of that cucumber water she’d mentioned earlier. Good, he’d thought because he’d decided that he wanted to pass the remaining hours alone. He’d had his full of sex–and Holly for that matter.
“Shutters down, fifty percent.” He spoke to the smart-house computer.
Tollin crossed the floor, taking up his old position. He started by looking at the park. His eyes scanned the area but immediately something appeared out of place. He squinted, but straining his eyes didn’t change the view and he didn’t see any evident movement. Everything looked all right but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He couldn’t explain this nondescript sensation, but it was there all the same. Tollin started again, convinced that he could solve this conundrum. He knew this view and all its details. He pressed his hands against the glass, leaning into the window, then without warning, a noise in his penthouse captured his attention.
Tollin turned abruptly, not fully understanding his skittishness. His eyes scanned left, then right, then straight ahead. His penthouse took up two levels and there were three entrances; all of which had been locked after Holly arrived. His forehead wrinkled–he was certain he’d heard the sound of a closing door.
“Shutters close.”
Tollin moved away from the window, looking in the area where Holly had gone. He wanted to believe that she’d made the noise; telling himself this would assuage his fear but he couldn’t kid himself. The entry doors to his penthouse were all constructed of heavy impenetrable metal and when these doors were opened or closed they each made a distinct sound–and he was certain he’d heard that sound. But had he?
Tollin slowed his pace and he was amazed how sobering fear could be. He was thinking clearly and methodically. He approached the long hallway that led to the rear of his home. He edged to the turn, inching along while intently listening. He took a step or two back, until he finally decided to step into the open area. His eyes traced up then down both halls. He didn’t see or hear anything and he wanted to persuade himself that he’d been wrong, but at that very instant, Tollin heard another sound. He froze, listening, then he thought about his most recent investment. The Panic Room. Tollin’s thought was interrupted when he heard a clack, however due to the high ceilings, he couldn’t rightly discern exactly where the sound had originated. In spite of this he was certain that the noise was metal hitting metal and this caused him to worry. Now he heard a repeating noise–and the pattern sounded like footsteps. Tollin stood still, willing his body not to move. He had to be sure that the noise wasn't coming from Holly in the kitchen. On the inside, his eardrums boomed from the sound of his pounding heartbeat. The room was silent, except for the padding of feet–and this time, he was certain that the noise had come from the rear entryway. The sound moved across the marble floor. The rear entry was the only foyer where the walls and floor were constructed with imported marble. Without thinking Tollin knew exactly what to do. He moved swiftly crossing the open hallway, and that's when he saw him. A tall man dressed in head to toe black. He was carrying heavy weapons strapped across his chest. When their eyes momentarily met, the man aimed a weapon at Tollin. Heavy pounding bounded down the hall, in pursuit of him. On the other side of him Tollin heard a scream then a glass hit the floor shattering into hundreds of pieces. He didn't waste time looking because he already knew who the screamer was. Poor Holly.
“Tollin...wait...” she wailed with pleading in her voice. Tollin crossed a threshold, entering a seemingly inconspicuous alcove. A sensor switched on, detecting his presence. Tollin turned, facing the outer hallway. He could see Holly, racing to follow him. Her stride was like a graceful gazelle and her breast bounced in sync with her rhythm. She was fluid in motion–but it really didn’t matter. No amount of effort would help her now. Tollin heard the door closing, then the computer said...
“System engaged. Locking mechanism set in place.”
Holly’s voice had been silenced the second the door sealed him into the Panic Room. If only the door would have closed a few seconds earlier but it hadn’t and Tollin had witnessed it. The man that had pursued him–he’d turned his gun on Holly. He heard the muffled pops and Holly jerked with every hit. Blood squirted out of the holes, and he’d watched as she fell to the floor. She didn’t deserve to die but it was either him or her.
Tollin lowered his head, grateful to be alive. He stumbled back but he paused when he heard a ‘click’. Then everything made sense. He understood what had puzzled him earlier. It wasn’t that his view of the park had changed–it was the absence of the two men, pacing on the roof across the street. These men were currently inside of his penthouse. And one of those men had been out in the hall and was responsible for killing Holly. Then there had been that pop in his ears; the pressure had been caused by the opening and closing of his front door. While he’d been kissing Holly, trying not to hurt her feelings...that action had diverted his attention and he had not investigated the cause for the shift in pressure. Tollin turned, and as he suspected, a large gun was aimed directly at his head.
