Текст книги "Lovers and Reprisals"

Автор книги: Lori Turner

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

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

Caleb stared at the city from the north end of the floating commune.  His concerns were threefold; his parents, Ona and Rachel; in every case a form of pandemonium had cumulated in upheaval.  His parents had been greeted by Terra and Edward Dougherty, Geff’s parents.  As minutes passed, Ona’s absence had sparked reason for concern.  Everyone had taken their places at the table, patiently waiting for her anticipated appearance.  When Aldeara had suggested to Terra that perhaps they should begin by serving the first course of the meal; at that moment, Caleb had noticed the crack in his mother’s calm exterior.  He’d not been privy to the conversation between mother and daughter, and as such he didn’t know how Ona had responded to their mother’s wise counsel.  When Geff’s mother returned to the table, spooning out her first dish, Caleb had stood while excusing himself, telling his parents that he would go speed his sister along.  Several eyes turned his way, but out of respect they didn’t bother to stop him.  Caleb wasn’t a Samaritan by birth, and even though he’d spent most of his life, learning and living surrounded by their cultural norms; in most cases, gut instincts dictated his actions.  Due to the size of the barge, it didn’t take long to cover the distance from the Dougherty home, back to his parent’s place.  Caleb had called out to his sister, and when his call had not been met with a response; he ran out of the house, then headed for the ferry launch.  He’d stood there, and from that point he’d been able to see that the ferry had docked, and had already begun boarding the last of its returning passengers.  Caleb had remained there, watching and waiting, even though his gut had already told him that Ona would not be on the last ferry for that day.  He knew this because he’d seen his sister and Lucien, when they had not known that they were being watched.  He didn’t have to hear the words to know that theirs was not a casual romance.  He knew this because from the moment that he’d parted ways with Rachel, he’d not been able to free her from his thoughts.  That’s what he’d planned to tell her when he and Noah had gone in search of their sister.  Caleb wouldn’t ask her to take on a religion that he’d been adopted to, because he had decided that he would leave the Sect.  He’d never met anyone quite like her, and he’d known that he never would.  He’d been prepared to share this news with his parents mainly because he’d counted on Ona and Noah’s good news softening the blow of his decision.  Now, he wasn’t even sure if his parents would recover from the humiliation over what Ona had so publicly done.

He pushed the nights events to the rear of his brain.

“No more”  He said, because he didn’t know how much one man could endure.  Caleb had reached his limits. He'd tried and for eighteen years he'd mirrored the lifestyle to near perfection. He'd studied the Creed and he could recite each passage verbatim. According to the Creed, every Samaritan had the life that they wanted; this included those they loved.  The Creed teaches that people map their destinies.  He believed that.  He truly did.  Yet in all that time living as a Samaritan, following the Creed hadn't protected his heart.  He grunted because his efforts had been a joke. A ruse.  He'd chided his sister, accusing her when the same emotions had tempted him, yet he'd never possessed the guts to express his adoration.  All along he'd been in love with Rachel and he'd never tested the limits, telling her how he truly felt.  He'd been a coward of gargantuan proportions.  And what did he have to show for his love?  Had guarding his belief been worth the tears that stained her unbelievably beautiful face?  Would she forgive him if he crawled on his knees begging her to take him back?  Possibly.  Maybe.  Take him back.... That was a joke because he'd never been hers to have.  But he'd wanted to be hers...and he still did.  He thought back to the Children's Center and the pleading in her eyes.  Had it been worth it?  When he glared at her, then yelled; telling her to mind her own business...  What had he been thinking!  Pushing her to her limits..... Him glaring at her; had it been worth her confused expression?  He doubted it.  He'd been a weasel and he hated himself for that.  He couldn't begin to imagine Rachel's thoughts.  He'd placed her on a pedestal and she didn't even know it.  At the end of the day, nothing was worth losing her.  Even if she didn't know how much he truly cared for her.  He accepted, that it wasn't over for him.  He would fight for her, if need be.  And he'd never tasted the flavor of her sweet full lips.  He knew that the time had finally come.  His heart didn't belong to him anymore.

Caleb eased out of his suit coat, he looked at its handmade stitching.  He held it over the railing, then he thought of Rachel and in that same second he felt the release, and the jacket fell in the water.  He stared at the lighted buildings all the while knowing that Rachel didn't live anywhere near the harbor.  Then he thought about his sister.  He was certain that Lucien's apartment had a view of the harbor.  He wondered if Ona was standing near a window, snubbing her nose at her old life.  He considered this, and he envied her.

Come tomorrow he would do right by his parents. Then he would do right by Rachel; whatever that meant.

The End

Of

Book One

Sneak peek

Excerpt

Book Two

Lovers Series

Lovers

Hope and Dream

Book Two

Excerpt

Rachel slapped the hell out of him, sending his body in a backward spin.  She screamed until the veins in her neck swelled like a protruding water hose.

"Get the hell out!!!!"

Judd and Sahara stood in the rear for Rachel’s sake, yet she appeared more in control than Caleb.  His face was a roadmap of ‘what the fuck’, and even still, he’d missed the offramp.

Caleb tried again, but this time he cautiously edged closer.

"Rachel...please listen to me.  We can move pass this.  I know that you’re angry and upset but...I don’t understand why you won’t listen to me."

"Upset?  Upset!  You don’t know upset mister.”

“Rachel...honey...”

“Don’t call me honey.”

He didn’t realize that he was trying to near her again, until her voice raised in anger.

‘Step back Caleb...and I mean it."

Caleb ignored her warning, he moved forward, closing the distance when he said....

"We're talking...whether you like it or not."

He stood stern and this was a side of him that she’d never seen.  Rachel perched one hand on her hip when she said....

"Five-minutes.  That's what I'm giving you. Five-minutes...after that, your ass had better be gone."

“Wait!”  Sahara jumped like she’d just experienced an electrical shock.  She’d been primed to ask him this question from the moment he’d arrived.

“Where is Ona?  What happened to her?”

Caleb frowned and in his confusion, he mentally considered her question.  He stared at Sahara, and when he looked into her eyes, it became clear to him, that they didn’t know.  These people had been his sister’s friends, and he questioned if it was his place to tell them.  He had the words teetering on the tip of his tongue, when Judd placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder.

Judd said...

“Not now Sahara.  I think we should leave because Caleb and your roommate need some private time.”

Judd was pushing his sister out the door, with her sputtering ‘but, but, but’...until finally, the door opened, then closed.  Caleb felt a rush of emotions and with each breath, he wanted to throw caution to the wind.  But he didn’t.  Rachel’s glaring gaze kept him in check–for good reason.  His treatment of her had been abhorrent, and he wouldn’t blame her if she never forgave him.  He closed the distance, all the while hoping and praying that his deepest regrets wouldn’t be realized today.

“Talk”  she barked.

On an exhale, he said...

"Okay.  I’ll talk.  How about this....  I love you and I was a fool."

He wouldn’t run from the truth anymore.  He couldn’t.  Caleb had lied to himself, but that time was over and he wanted her to know the lengths he would willingly trod, if only to get her back.  He’d jumped off the Samaritan hamster wheel and he had the emotional cuts and bruises to prove it.  He had deep cleaned his life and he was ready for whatever stood to face him.  He had prepared himself to hear whatever Rachel dished out; good or bad, he would take it.  Seconds ticked yet, she didn’t respond to his declaration; she just stared at him.  When she pursed her lips, he felt his fingers twitch because all night he’d dreamed of what it would feel like, holding her in his arms.  Dear Lord, he wanted to kiss her.  She was so close to him, he could smell the alluring aroma of her perfume.  He wanted to linger there, inhaling her scent.  What a fool he’d been.  What an ignorant, idiotic fool.  He was experiencing a repeating loop when her words smacked him back to a state of reality.

She said...

“I don’t love you.  Now go.”

Caleb would have preferred another slap over rejection, and when she repeated her phrase, he felt like the ground had opened wide, swallowed him up, then spit him out, because not even the earth could abide his taste.

“Caleb...I do not love you...now go!  Leave....and don’t come back.  I mean it.”

He stepped so close, Rachel nearly stumbled backwards, until he steadied her, clasping hold to her forearm.  He raised his hand, then with his thumb, he stroked the length of her face, while saying...

“This isn’t over.”

Her comeback had been so fast, he almost needed her to repeat it.

“It’s over, if I say that it’s over.”

His lips curled with a sly grin, when he said...

“Then, I guess it’ll be up to me to prove to you that you’re wrong, because Rachel, it isn’t over.  We are not over, by a long shot.”

When he released her, she rocked unsteady but her stumble had been less unnerving than the fact that she couldn’t contrive not even one snotty retort.  She just couldn’t.  She stood gawking at him, dumbfounded, because in truth, his assertion had lit a flame.  Rachel’s heart drummed a pounding beat and the thrumming hummed up and down her thighs, threatening to weaken her knees.  What had he done to illicit this kind of a response from her.  She didn’t know, but whatever it was, she had to get away from him before she did something that she would later regret.  Something stupid like–giving him the opportunity to talk longer or forgiving his stubborn ass.

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