Fallen Death (The Trihune Series Book 3) (22 page)

Chapter 37

Wayne pulled back the curtain and stared out. It was pouring, the sky dark, and the view nothing like the one from his high rise in New York. Lips curled, he turned and gazed at the woman’s apartment. Furniture that might be expensive if one shopped at department stores and decorations that boldly stated she had no class. Though the room was better than his one at the hotel. A bedroom closet was bigger than that shithole.

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

She walked toward him, two glasses in hand. The height of her heels put them at eye level. Her dress was clingy, red, low-cut, and ended mid-thigh. Her lipstick matched. God, she looked like a whore. Definitely not wife or mistress material. Though certainly fuckable. His cock tightened as he watched her hips sway from side to side.

He smiled. Relieved her of both glasses, twisting to set them on the coffee table. She raised an eyebrow. “I wanted one of those.”

“Not yet. I want something else in your mouth right now.”

Her eyes widened as she sucked in a breath. Heat flamed her cheeks.

He thought she was going to refuse then noticed the hardened points of her nipples. “I want to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Mouth opened. Closed. She swallowed.

He pushed on her shoulders until she kneeled in front of him. Not taking his eyes from her, he unzipped, pulled out his cock and with a hand on the back of her head, guided her to his erection.

At first he let her set the pace. Get used to his length and thickness. Then ran a finger down her cheek. “Relax your jaw, baby. Let me help you.” He held her head, began to pump. Slow and shallow. Then faster, deeper. Until he was hitting the back of her throat. “Fuck, yeah. God, your mouth. It’s perfect.” Just before he was about to come, he withdrew, grasped her shoulders and lifted her. “Already soaking wet for me?”

She moaned her answer, rubbed against him like a cat.

“Take off your dress.”

The woman wasted no time. Slim thighs. Small piece of fabric between her legs. Toned stomach. Small, disappointing breasts. But altogether the package wasn’t bad and he was still hard, so . . . He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled until her chin thrust into the air. With his other hand, pushed two fingers inside her.

She groaned. Widened her stance.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” Her answer was breathy, pleading.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

On all fours, she thrust her red-thonged ass in his direction. He kneeled behind her. Slid a condom on, grabbed the base of his cock, and rubbed the tip against her wet entrance.

She moaned greedily, pushed against him.

He moved out of reach, tightened his hold on her hips. “Stay still.” She obeyed. He stroked himself, from ball to head, listening to her breaths increase with excitement the longer she went without touch. When the whimpering started, he pulled the string of her panties to the side and shoved inside. Her groan was loud.

His strokes were long, slow, and smooth. When she began making animal noises, he tuned her out. It was either that or lose his erection. An image of the one he came here for sprang into his head.

Without meaning to, he thrust faster. Harder. Clutched her hips. Dug fingers into her skin. Too soon he was coming. He stayed inside the woman until his own heartbeat quieted and his hearing returned.

The woman’s head hung between her shoulders and she moaned when he pulled out, twisting to glance at him over her shoulder, ass still in the air. “You’re amazing.”

On his feet, he slipped off the condom, then buckled his pants. “Where can I clean up?”

She pointed toward the hallway. “Second door on the left.”

He could feel her gaze on him and threw a grin over his shoulder, winking. When he stepped out of the bathroom, she had her dress on and heels off, which he was slightly disappointed about. He handed her one of the glasses of wine from the coffee table, sat on the couch, patting the seat next to him. “How was work today?”

“You’re so good to me.”

He slid a finger down her cheek. “You make it easy for me, baby.”

She beamed then rested her head on his chest and prattled on about patients as he sipped. Eventually she moved to her co-workers. He waited, threading his fingers through her long, straight hair.

“Did that one woman you work with ever thank you for taking her to your salon?”

She gazed at him, nose scrunched. “You mean Asjhone?”

“Yes, I think that’s her name.”

She scoffed. “She went back to natural a few days later. Total waste of money. I can’t believe it. She looked so much better with it long.” She shrugged. “I guess her new man didn’t like it.”

He froze. “New man?”

“Yeah. At least now with regular sex she’ll get the stick out of her ass. Maybe act a bit less prudish. Hey, what’s the matter?”

Wayne had grabbed her arm, whirled her to face him, ignoring the glass that dropped out of her hand and to the floor. “Tell me about him. Everything you know. Name. Where he lives. How long he’s been seeing her. Everything.”

Her eyes were wide. “I don’t know much.” Her voice rose on the end. “You’re hurting me.”

He tightened his grip. Shook her.

“What’s your problem?” She jerked, tried to get loose.

The slap across her face was so hard she fell back against the couch and rolled off it. “Tell me!”

She stared at him from her spot on the floor. Hand over her cheek. Eyes filling with tears and fright. “I . . . I don’t know a lot. Just that she met him at work. He was a patient. And that he’s been over her house almost every night.” Her voice shook.

Breath sawed in and out of his mouth. Anger rose so intense, so fast, he was dizzy with it. How dare she see someone else. How dare she spread her legs for anyone else. Oh, she’d pay. He’d make her sorry she ever thought about leaving him.

“You need to leave. Now.” The woman was on her feet.

His hands wrapped around her neck. He brought her closer. “I won’t be going anywhere until she’s back with me.” He squeezed. The woman struggled. Her nails dug into the back of his hand. “I’ll make her sorry she ever left me.”

Chapter 38

ONE DAY LEFT

“So.” The pastor drew out the word. “Tomorrow, is it?”

“Yes.” Sarid scanned the
choghen’s
face before lowering his eyes to the table.

“And you’re still determined to go through with it?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing else I can say to change your mind?”

“No.”

Silence. “Have you thought about how you’ll do it?”

“A blade to the heart,” Sarid answered.

“Hmm.”

His gaze flashed to the
choghen
then away. “Death will be almost instantaneous. And within ten minutes, blood will be unable to revive me.” He reached into the mid-length pocket of his cargo pants. “Could you hand these out? Once I’m gone.” Sarid slid the stack of letters across the table to the pastor.

“What are they?”

“My goodbyes.”

The
choghen
leafed through them. His lips pursed. With a shake of his head, he passed the letters back to Sarid. “No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“I don’t agree with your decision to quit on life, Sarid. The Creator knows I tried my best to sway you, but as of this moment, I’m giving it to Him. In His infinite wisdom, He will decide what’s right. So, although I’m finished arguing with you, I won’t make it easy for you. I won’t say your goodbyes for you.” He paused. “Doesn’t your family, your brothers, deserve more than words on paper?”

“I was only thinking of their safety.”

The
choghen
pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Were you?”

“Yes. They’ll try to change my mind. Perhaps try to stop me. This could anger the demon. They could get hurt.”

“Hmm.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “What does that mean?”

“What about Asjhone?”

He shifted in his seat. “What about her?”

“You’re not going to say anything? No goodbye? No explanation? You’re just going to disappear on her and Keandre?”

“What could I possibly tell her? I don’t want to lie.”

“Then don’t. Tell her the truth.”

He jerked back. “The truth?”

“Yes. If she means as much as you say, then tell her about your demon. Tell her the truth.”

Chapter 39

Wayne unlocked the door with a set of keys the landlord had given him. How easy it’d been. To tell the landlord he was Asjhone’s brother. Hoping to surprise her and his nephew by making dinner. It helped that the landlord was a woman. And that he had a paper bag from the local grocery store with him. From what the woman said Asjhone always left early and didn’t come back until late afternoon during the week.

In the small entrance hallway, he eyed the walls and carpet. A vein pulsed in his temple. The kitchen was no better with its outdated appliances and cheap yellow-flowered linoleum floor. His wife lived in a shithole. Heart starting to pound, he set the bag on the cracked tiled counter top, unpacked the two items. One was a tall bottle of bourbon.

He opened three different cupboards before finding the one he wanted. But froze when his gaze landed on a collection of child-size cups. His nostrils flared. After selecting a glass from the shelf above, he poured a quarter of the amber liquid. Swirled the glass. Sniffed the drink. Then swallowed it in one gulp. The burn was welcome. It hadn’t completely settled before he poured another glass. This one he carried. Along with the other smaller bottle he’d brought with him.

The rest of the house was no better than what he’d walked in to. He’d seen better furniture on the curb waiting for the garbage men. The table had deep scratches.

When his hand began to shake, he curled it tighter around the glass before bringing it to his lips. He had to hold himself back from draining it. If he used his three hundred dollars a bottle bourbon like it was a well drink he might as well kick off his shoes, plop on the awful couch, and make himself at home.

After a brief pause in front of the couch to make use of the small bottle, he made his way to the pictures on the wall. One was a traditional school picture of a boy. A quick inhale. Long, slow sip. He leaned closer. Stared at the child’s features. Eyes and smile belonged to his mother. But his nose, that was his father’s nose, as well as his grandfather’s.

Second picture was a candid. His wife was smiling, happy. The child—teeth clenched, his son—sat on her lap, laughing. With careful measured steps, he set the bottle he carried on the TV stand, drink right next to it. Then slammed his fist into the picture. Glass broke. It made a tinkling sound as it fell to the floor. The cheap frame cracked in half and dangled from its nail on the wall.

Wayne picked up his belongings and started down the hall. Peeling paint on the walls. Water stains on the ceiling. He did not belong here. And neither did his wife. After a pause in the bathroom to rinse off his bleeding knuckles, he stopped in the first doorway on the left.

Twin size bed with dark blue comforter. Small white socks on the floor. Fish tank that housed a brightly colored fish. Spider man pajamas on the end of the half-made bed. He ran his tongue over his top teeth. Continued on to the room at the end of the hallway.

This space was smaller than the child’s room. His child. Whose name he didn’t even know.

“Fuck!” He heaved the glass across the bedroom. It crashed into the wall, broke into tiny pieces, half-falling behind a chair in the corner. Fists tightened, he inhaled. Exhaled.

Once calm, he moved to the foot of her bed. After another pause with the bottle, reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a photograph.

“Soon, Asjhone. Very soon.”

Chapter 40

“Hello?” Asjhone answered her phone.

“Hi.”

Sarid’s voice coming through the line brought a smile to her face. She paused, leaned against the wall. “Hi. I’m on my way up.” It was then that she realized exactly where she was. In the stairwell of her apartment complex, almost to the second floor. Sarid didn’t like the elevator. Touch of claustrophobia, he’d told her. So wherever they went together, they took the stairs. Even when she was by herself, he was subconsciously with her.

How quickly he’d changed her life. How happy he made her.

She should tell him.

Her smile fell.

It must be done.

Her muscles tightened. Stomach swirled.

And she would tell him.

Just not tonight. When she was so tired.

“. . . not there.”

Asjhone blinked back into focus. “What was that?”

“Keandre and I aren’t there. We’re picking up dinner. I figured with working late, you wouldn’t want to cook.”

She sighed. “You’re a saint.”

He was silent for a moment. “No. I’m not.” There was something in his tone, but she didn’t have time to figure it out before he was talking again. “Did Dr. Behall give you trouble again?”

“No. She’s been okay. Certainly not friendly, but not so abrupt either. It was Monique. She didn’t show up for her shift. And her replacement hadn’t been able to come in until now. My feet are killing me.” Probably because she needed new shoes.

“Change your clothes, pour a glass of wine, and sit with your feet up. We’ll be home soon.”

Home. She liked that coming from him. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Yes, but can you tell me again?”

“How about I show you? Tonight. When Keandre’s in bed.”

His inhale was quick. “That sounds . . . actually, there’s something—”

She heard a muffled voice, then, “Keandre wants to talk to you.”

“Hi, Momma!”

“Hey, lil’ man.”

“We got a surprise for you.”

“Have,” she corrected. “We have.”

“Yeah. We have a surprise for you. I’m not going to tell you.”

“You’re not?” She let out a breath. Loudly. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until you get home. Or maybe you can give me a hint?”

He giggled. “Nope. Mr. Sarid said I can’t.”

“Not even a little one? That doesn’t seem fair.”

His laugh was louder.

She smiled and started up the stairs. “How was school?”

“Good. I got an A on my spelling test.”

“Great!”

“Yeah, and—”

Asjhone heard Sarid’s deep tone in the background, then Keandre came back on.

“Mr. Sarid said I got to go. We’re here. At your surprise.”

“Okay. Be good. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She paused at the door leading to the third floor, then walked through it. Energy conservation was important. Especially if she’d be getting to bed—well, sleep—late. Her smile was less tired when she entered the elevator and hit the button for the fifth floor.

Outside her apartment, she unlocked the door, dropped her keys back into her purse, stepped inside, and froze. Nothing looked wrong, but something was different. She crept further in on tiptoe, held her breath because it was coming so fast she couldn’t hear anything else. Her palms were sweaty when she peaked inside the kitchen. From far away she heard her purse thud to the floor. The room swayed.

Her hand shot out to catch herself against the door jam, gaze never wavering from the half-empty bottle of Old Rip Van Wrinkle bourbon on the counter. She started breathing again at some point. Raspy, quick, gasps. Panic was her air and it spun her into a frenzy.

She whirled, tripped on her purse. The fall was short. Her hands slapped against the hard floor, knees stinging. The pain was ignored as she scrambled to her feet. Only to skid to a stop moments later by the glass on the ground in the front room.

The picture of her and Keandre was broken, hanging upside down by a corner of its frame. Noises came from the back of her throat as she backed away from the sight. Continued to Keandre’s room. The door was open. Was anything different? Touched?

She was dizzy. Close to fainting. But she couldn’t stop. Not yet.

Not yet.

Her ears rang. She headed to her room. Made herself take a deep inhale. Hold it in. Then instantly realized what alerted her in the hallway outside her apartment. What warned her.

The peppery scent was stronger near her bedroom. A smell she’d never forget. It was on him every morning when he kissed her goodbye. Still there, though fainter, when he came home from work. Viktor and Rolf’s Spicebomb. Her stomach rolled. She clapped a hand to her mouth. In her room the scent was over powering as if he dumped the whole bottle.

Her gaze landed on the bed, body starting to tremble. There was a picture. She didn’t recall walking to the bed or picking up the five by seven. It was the one from his work party. The one that was on his nightstand in their bedroom.

The photo dropped from her hands and floated back to the mattress, face down. On the back, written in his unmistakable clear precise handwriting was one word.

Soon.

The urge to crumple was strong. To scream. Cry. Cover her face with her hands so she wouldn’t have to see it anymore. So it wouldn’t confirm the inevitable coming pain.

Wayne was here.

And he wanted her back.

The photo was his message. She was his. She had broken her promise.

He wouldn’t leave without her.