2 Brooklyn James (25 page)

“Ah Em,” he growls, the wetness from his mouth against her ear sends a shiver running down her spine. She presses her back into the bed beneath, her hair disheveled against the pillow. He studies her face, her proud eyes maintaining bold contact with his, her cheeks flushed, her lips pink and puffy from his devoted attention. “Now, having sex with you,” he begins, “I can’t imagine not having sex with you.”

“Well, then don’t imagine,” she expels, her tongue wetting her parted lips as another moan escapes.

Captivated by her courage, her willingness to trust him with something so precious, and her image lying beneath him, his pace subconsciously enhances, wanting to take her there. One hand gripped around her back and one wrapped around the headboard, the wave-like motion of their bodies fully consumes him. Her brows furrow, giving great intensity to her violet eyes as she concentrates on the unfamiliar ache in the middle of her abdomen. It hurts so good. Looking up at Max, her eyes sensually questioning his, her breathing seriously labored, her breasts crash against his lean chest. Max hangs his head to hers. “You almost there, baby?”

“I don’t know,” she pants, her face pressing into the pillow from side to side. “I feel like my head is about to spin off my shoulders.” She sucks in a deep breath, exhaling a libidinous moan.

Max smiles, his pace steady and strong. “You’re beautiful, Em.” Pulling his hand from the headboard, he strokes it through her hair and down the side of her face. “Seeing you like this. Priceless.”

“Max,” she pleads bowing her form into his. “What do I do? It feels so freaking incredible. But, I don’t know what to do to get there. Surely there’s some release?”

He lays her back down against the pillow in complete understanding of her dire predicament. Taking her hand with his, he runs it down her abdomen until it meets that sweet little spot directly above the melding of their bodies. He places his middle finger over hers coaxing it into a tight, circular pattern.

“Oh God,” she murmurs with the sensation, biting down on her lip.

“You like that, baby?” Max releases her hand of his allowing her to establish an acquaintance with herself, fully at the wheel of her own arrival.

“I like you.” She smiles, her eyes fluttering from open to closed with the intensity of his strokes accompanied by her own. He teases her neck and her breasts with his mouth aiding in her delivery. “Max.” She tightens her grip on him.

“Almost there,” he coaches as she contracts around him. Dipping his head to her ear, he whispers coaxing her on, “You feel it, Em? Come for me, baby. Just let it go.” Talking himself into the same state, he growls feeling her baring down on him with her release, causing him to do the same. Their eyes lighting up with the barrage of emotions slamming their systems, a glorious, golden hue returning between them. With one last thrust, his body collapses atop hers. She wraps her arms and legs around him, cocooning his frame. Max rolls onto his side taking his weight off of her, pulling her with him. His muscled bicep provides a fitting pillow for her head, his other arm and leg lying protectively over her. She turns toward him, one solitary kiss softly placed on his full lips. “How we doing?”

“Reborn,” she affirms sleepily, nestling herself against him. “Think I’ll sleep like a baby.” She giggles. The sound foreign to her, unable to remember the last time she actually emitted the lighthearted nuance.

He chuckles, now fully content. “Goodnight my sweet Emily.” From his view, the moon shines up above through his bedroom window. “Goodnight moon.”

Her eyes closed, nearly asleep, she whispers, “Why do you always say that?”

“I think my mom used to say that.” The memory foggy. “Goodnight moon, goodnight stars.” The words autonomic.

Emily opens her eyes, inhaling, the truth plaguing her yet again. Refraining from spoiling Gina’s moment, “Goodnight my valiant Maxim,” she exhales.

“Wow.” He huffs, their bodies expanding in tandem with the movement of his chest. “A bird’s eye view, huh? That must be pretty intense. Does she experience the emotions connected to the actions?”

“Kind of. It’s not like reliving it, but it can be disturbing. Definitely triggers an emotional reaction. Sometimes deadly.”

“A true avenger,” he concludes.

“An eye for an eye,” she confirms, indulging in her coffee. “She’s the divine Vigilare...the true meaning of the term...to guard, to look out, to keep an eye on.”

“Seems as though you’re the divine Vigilare now.” He pulls the blanket tighter around them welcoming the softness of her skin against his. “Vigilares can share their gifts?” he questions her display of Gina’s powers.

“Not exactly.” Emily clears her throat. “She transfused her blood to me. In its entirety.”

“Why would she do that?” He pivots, his body facing her, his curiosity spinning.

“She didn’t have a choice, really.” Emily sets her coffee cup down, adjusting the open blanket around her shoulders. “Lon...”

“My father?” he interrupts, his eyes darting back and forth between hers, apprehensive with what’s to follow.

Emily nods. “He took her pedigree...her blood. Siphoned it from her body.”

His chest rises and falls arduously. “Why would he do that? What’s the connection between the two of them? What the hell is he up to?”

Emily lays her hands against his torso attempting to calm him, contemplating how much she should divulge. “He’s hurting, Max. Your father. He’s deeply disturbed. He wants me to take you to him. I think you need to go. See for yourself.” She shrugs. “Make your own decision.”

“Does he still have Gina? What’s he going to do with her? And if he wants so desperately to see me, he’s had plenty of time to find me.” Max hops up from the ledge. “I gotta call Tony. He’ll know what to do.” He heads for the open window.

“Um...I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

He stops, turning back to Emily. “If you were there...wherever he’s keeping her. Wouldn’t you want someone to come for you?”

“He’s not going to hurt her. He loves her, Max.” Emily stands, the truth itching at the end of her tongue.

“He loves her? My father loves Gina? What?” Max paces the roof. “I thought she and Tony were an item. You’re not making any sense, Em.”

Empathizing with Gina, knowing she will tell Max the truth about his lineage in her own time, Emily refrains from blurting it out. “I think it’s best you see for yourself. I’ll take you to him. Besides, if I don’t return, he will come looking for me.”

“The pedigree,” Max concludes.

Emily nods. “Quite ironic, really,” she reflects. “All this time, I wanted it. Now that I have it, it’s really not that glamorous.” She returns her gaze to the sunrise, continuing, “Guess it’s true what they say...be careful what you wish for.” Max’s silence propelling her to turn back around. He scans her affectionately, standing there wrapped in his grandmother’s quilt. The sun accentuates her olive skin and violet eyes in contrast to her silky jet-black hair. “Pretty, huh?” her eyes fall to the blanket.

“Breathtaking.” He smiles. “I think Mee-Maw would highly approve.” He backs in through the window holding his hand out to her.

That afternoon, after
several aborted trips to Lon’s warehouse, Max finally decides to face his father. Hanging his and Emily’s helmets on the handlebars of his powder black Suzuki Hayabusa, he steps off his mount, taking in the massive metal structure nearly covering a city block.

“My father lives in a warehouse?” He stands before the building in his usual black t-shirt, jeans, riding boots and leather jacket. Emily watches him, her outfit quite suitably matching his. She ponders how he actually looks the part—superhero—his steel blue eyes piercing amongst the darkness of his dress, his hair and his thick five o’clock shadow.

“It’s pretty high-tech,” Emily attests to a much different interior décor.

Max looks around for a normal door, maybe a doorbell, something. “Just wagering here that he doesn’t have much company. How the hell do we knock?”

“Oh, he knows you’re here.” Emily nods her head in the direction of a multitude of surveillance cameras monitoring the perimeter.

“Geez-us!” Max grumbles. “Paranoid much?”

Lon watches from inside, pleased to see that Max actually stayed this time rather than riding off, like all the other times this morning and this afternoon. He watches his son nervously pace the concrete in front of the building, Emily patiently standing in front of him understanding his apprehensive energy. “Good girl,” he says.

They hear the sound of a large metal door rolling upward on its hinges inviting them inside. Emily holds out her hand. Max shakes his head, ultimately accompanying her. Lon now grows nervous, wringing his hands at his station in the monitor room, milling over what he will say to his son. He hears the elevator arriving down the hallway.
Ding!
The sound propels him out of his chair. He stands upright, neatly tucking his pearl-snap shirt into his cargos.
Thud Thud Thud,
boots click off the tiled floor approaching him. Emily enters first, Max following behind her.

“Ms. Truly,” Lon welcomes her with a nod in her direction, a discrete thank you. His face softens as he looks at Max who stands at the door. Unable to contain himself, Lon steps to him wrapping his arms around his son. Max does not return the gesture, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Lon pulls away scanning him from limb to limb, grateful that he appears to be in good health.

“Where is she?” Max inquires.

Lon looks to Emily unaware of whom Max speaks.

“Gina,” she explains.

“Gina?” Lon questions, attempting to reason such an informal mention of his mother.

“He doesn’t know,” Emily interjects.

“What?” Max’s suspicion grows. “What don’t I know?”

“Ah, Gina,” Lon quickly diverts, powering off the monitor to her whereabouts. “She’s safe and sound, son. No need for you to worry.”

“What’s that?” Max questions the monitor displaying an empty room where row upon row of tables are equipped with microscopes, centrifuges and other high-tech laboratory gadgets.

Emily narrows her eyes at the barren room, just yesterday filled with the hustle and bustle of the ETNA crew. “Where are they?”

“On assignment,” Lon answers, powering down all of the distracting screens.

“Assignment?” Emily pushes, remembering the Gambini family was first on his hit list.

“Nothing for you to worry with, Ms. Truly,” Lon’s voice is heavy with warning, reminding her to refrain from stepping on his toes. “You did well in bringing Maxim to me. Now, you may be excused.”

“She goes. I go,” Max clearly defines his loyalty.

Lon grins, nodding. “I see.” He takes a seat, offering the same to them. “By all means, Emily, do stay.”

She sits down, urging Max to do the same. He does not. He stands, leaning against the door casing, his arms crossed over his chest. “Why have you called for me, now?” he inquires, his inflection wounded.

“The time is right, Maxim.” Lon locks eyes intently, the same make and model—steel blue—with his son. “Make no mistake about it, I wanted you with me, always. Regardless of what you may think of me, my son,” his inflection proud to call him such. “I have loved you all of your life. It nearly crushed me to turn you over to your Pee-Paw’s care. But you were safest with him. Away from all of this. He took good care of you, did he not?” Lon motions at him adoringly, a man, strong and tall.

“Yes, he did.” Max’s chin drops to his chest, he looks down at his boots refraining from telling his father about the heinous death of his own beloved father, figuring it would only add to Lon’s grief, and anger.

“Do you remember anything? Of your past? ETNA? Your transformation? Anything?” Lon pries, hopeful he does not, for his own sanity.

“Some.” Max raises his head, his eyes once again level with his father’s. “I get bits and pieces.”

“Your mother?” Lon questions softly.

Max shakes his head. “Not really. Sometimes I can hear her voice. Things she used to say to me. I remember she had auburn hair…and green eyes,” his tone dropping, suddenly recalling Gina’s traits.
Nah,
he quiets his own curiosity.
He’s not going to hurt her. He loves her, Max,
he hears Emily’s words in reference to his father’s safeguarding Gina.

Aware of the thoughts running through his mind, Emily interrupts wanting Gina to be the one to tell him, on her own terms. “What about ETNA? The things they did to you? I saw it yesterday. The eye thing. Do you remember that your father came for you? Sacrificed himself to save you? He had no choice, Max. If he would’ve let them keep you, there’s no telling who or what you would be right now.”

“Like him,” he states, flinging his hand out in Lon’s direction. “Taking from people what is not his to take. Holding women against their will.”