Page 9 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)

Mourningkill

Teri

“Mourningkill” was his only answer, and a command, “We’re going to dinner in one hour. Our daughter is waiting.”

“Dinner?” I’d asked. “What time is it?”

“You were asleep for most of the day, sweetheart. Almost twenty-four hours, now.”

A whole day? I had been in a dreamless sleep for a whole day?

He tapped the armoire of clothes, and said, “get dressed, Princess.”

Then he stepped out of the room.

My heart skipped a beat. I tried to keep my fluttering feelings from showing on my face.

I hadn’t seen my daughter in over two years.

I’d begged to see her, even just for a coffee.

I’d drive the hours for just a glimpse of her.

But over time, she picked up fewer of my calls.

My desperation, and I’m sure my temper, pushed her away.

I put on jeans, a cerulean halter shirt, and a matching thick, knit sweater that had a wide neck that slid off one of my shoulders.

I finger-combed what I could of my hair, feeling clumps of it fall out.

Age had done that. I shed like an Afghan Wolfhound.

It wouldn’t be long before I was completely bald.

The house was grander than that one room implied. It was a mansion. A villa. A fucking resort chateau! I was afraid I’d get lost when Baroque-style molding followed the large hallway outside of the room, and led me to the top of a large staircase.

I looked down to find Cobra in the foyer, keys in hand.

“Where are we?” I asked as I walked down the marble steps, my hand on the grand railing made of carved stone.

“Mourningkill,” Cobra said, impatiently. “I told you that.”

His jaw was tense, the muscle moving beneath his silver beard.

It was uncanny, looking at him after all of this time. He’d changed so much.

I averted my gaze when he lifted his head, amber and emerald colored irises meeting my eyes before I averted my gaze to the ground.

It was a habit. Anytime I looked Ray in the eye, he thought I was judging him. I’d learned to see through my peripheral vision, to dodge the hits, my arms ready to cover my head, my chest, my stomach at any moment.

Cobra tilted his head, perplexed, before he opened the grand, stained glass double door, spinning keys on a ring around his index finger.

“Come on,” he grunted.

He led me to a sleek, silver Audi S8, with an all-black interior. The car was worth more than my life.

I swallowed, trying not to be overwhelmed by the wealth I had only ever seen in real life while doing photoshoots in Paris. He’d done well for himself, while I had scraped the dregs of life.

“Does Trinity know I’m coming?” I asked, my voice weak.

I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I walked down the steps of the grand wraparound porch that was so large, every room of my Philadelphia apartment would have fit on it, and still had room to spare.

Cobra was already at the passenger side door, holding it open. He looked at me like I was an oddity at a zoo, then shook his head.

He pressed a button on his keys, popping the trunk. He walked to it and pulled out a plain, black leather jacket. He tossed it at me without a word before moving to the driver’s side and letting himself in. The engine rumbled to life. The passenger door still hung open.

He wasn’t worried that I’d run away. Then again, where would I go? No license, no wallet, no phone, and no friends to speak of in the vicinity. This property was enormous. I’d be exhausted before I ever got off their land. It was more effective than handcuffing me to him.

“Let’s go!” he called from inside the car, and I jumped.

I trotted to the passenger side, holding his leather jacket in my hands. I sat down, slammed the door closed and tugged at the seatbelt, before he growled, “You’re cold.”

I let go of the belt, and it retracted with a snap.

I froze. “Uhm, yes.”

I was always cold. At fifty years old, the cold hit me exceptionally hard.

Cobra turned his head, his eyes dark with frustration. What could I have done to warrant such fury?

“You’re cold,” he said with condescending enunciation. “Put the jacket on.”

“Oh,” I said, looking down at the garment in my hands.

I put it around my shoulders, pushing my arms through the large sleeves. I had to pull the long arms up to get my hands out. Was this Cobra’s? It must have been. It smelled familiar.

The scent of amber wafted from the lining, taking me back to a very different time.

I also smelled coffee and motor oil. I pulled the collar up to my nose, shutting my eyes to take it all in.

I ran my thumbs over the soft, worn leather at the end of the sleeves, looking at the faint white lines of wear and tear at the folds of the elbows.

“Princess?” I felt the soft graze of a warm hand on my skin, gently tracing along my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

I quickly wiped at my face, trying to save my dignity. “I didn’t realize that I was.”

I grabbed the seatbelt, tugging on it so quickly that it locked. I had to let it go and pull it three more times, before Cobra reached over, took the belt from my hands, and patiently pulled it over me, clicking it into place.

I waited, looking out the window, expecting the scenery to move as he drove. When it didn’t, I turned to Cobra. He was staring at me, his face somber. His hair was streaked with white, his beard trim. More like a few days of stubble than a full beard. It looked good on him.

He lifted his brow, as if waiting for me to respond to something.

“What?” I asked, wiping my cheeks, wondering if there were other tears I hadn’t caught.

“I asked you a question.” His hand came off the gear shift and rested on my thigh. His sharp piercing, observant gaze bounced from my eyes, to my lips, and back.

“I’m sorry.” My voice wavered, flustered. “I don’t remember the question.”

“Why are you crying?”

I swallowed. What could I tell him?

How could I explain the misery of my existence?

I moved through life in a fog, drowning in loneliness.

Other times, I would be determined, sure that I could defend myself from Ray, who I knew would come for me, striking at the moment when I thought I could find happiness.

When my hope was at its highest was when he would crush me beneath his boot. So I'd learned to stop hoping.

But in all of that darkness, there was a glimmer of a memory that kept me alive. Living in the past, in Paris, with his interesting colored eyes, staring at me like I was something that could be loved. As though I was someone worth treasuring.

It was that memory that kept me breathing through my worst days. It was in his arms that my mind retreated.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. A non-answer answer. One I hoped he’d take at face value.

His brows furrowed. His hand squeezed my thigh before he leaned away, his eyes facing forward. I missed the warmth of his eyes, and the way they traced my features. I liked it. I liked his attention. I always had.

He took the car from park to drive. The wheels turned, crushing over gravel as he took us down the long drive flanked by an immaculately manicured lawn. A gate opened automatically at the end, and we turned into a narrow, winding street.

My eyes darted around when other cars merged into traffic in front and behind us. My heartbeat was in my ears as I searched every driver’s face for a familiar blond head and ice blue eyes. He could be anywhere at any time.

“What are you looking for?” Cobra asked, his question taking me by surprise. “Or is it a ‘who’?”

I didn’t answer, pulling his jacket tighter around me. The heater was blasting, but the cold outside still stiffened my joints.

“Should I be worried about a boyfriend on my tail?” The muscle in Cobra’s cheek ticked.

When he had been a clean-shaven youth, I had relied on that little muscle to tell me how he felt. He wore his joy on his sleeve, but all other emotions he kept in the tension of his jaw. It warmed my heart to see the familiar expression on his face.

“Joaquin Guerro,” I purred, surprised at how lighthearted I could feel. “If you keep grinding your molars like that, you’ll end up with no teeth.”

He smiled a sweet, lopsided grin that lifted one side of his shadow of a beard.

I let out a long sigh, bringing the sleeves of his jacket to my nose, taking another deep inhale of his amber and leather scent. The whole time, I didn’t have that prickling sensation. I didn’t feel as though someone was breathing down my neck.

He took his hand off the gear shift, and casually lay it on my leg, his body relaxing as though he and I were on nothing but a leisurely drive. Like we were going on a date. I bit my lip, smiling as the warmth of his hand went through my jeans, seeped into my skin. I loved the feel of him. Of this.

I smiled as I watched the red barns and small farm houses rush by the window. We turned at a mountain crossroads, where a blue barn, tilted, broken, and neglected, came into view. The paint looked new, but the building was old.

“That barn’s the same color as your eyes,” he casually mentioned, lifting his free hand to run his knuckle under my eye.

“A faded, old, neglected shade of blue?” I wasn’t fishing for compliments. Self-deprecation was how I dealt with aging.

“Neglected, maybe,” Cobra chuckled. “Old? You’re still younger than me.” He gave me a wink. “But faded? No. Right now, your eyes are as vibrant as ever.”

My eyes had been the thing that got me into modeling. Asian features from my mother, mixed with my father’s striking Nordic eyes, and had translated well in photographs. I blushed at his compliment. When he put his hand back down on my leg, my hand instinctively covered his.

I was lost in the feeling of him, and me; two parents, going to have dinner with our daughter. It was so bucolic, until an insipid thought crossed my mind.

Was this where Trinity rode her motorcycle?

I saw a million ways that she could die on the side of the road—none of which would be her fault.

She could skid on ice, the wind could blow too harshly, or a million other things that would leave her in a ditch.

Or she could be strewn across the asphalt, and might die before anyone came down the road, saw her, and called for an ambulance.

Trinity, my little girl, my baby with the sweet green and brown eyes, could be snuffed out in an instant.

My fingers trembled as my nostrils flared. Did Trinity even wear a helmet?

Without my daughter, I had nothing. Without my daughter, I was nothing.

“Stop it.” Cobra’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, as his hand clamped down on my bouncing knee. I had not noticed that I was even doing that. “What’s in your head, Princess?”

I clamped my mouth shut.

“Come on, I can feel your mood from here. I don’t like it. What’s eating you?”

That was enough to break the dam, and the words spilled out of me.

“If Trinity insists on riding that silly bike of hers…” Worry, masked as frustration, spilled from my mouth. “She could end up in a ditch, or in the river. No one would see her. Even if they saw her, there’s probably no cell service out here. She couldn’t call for help, even if she was able to!”

Each word got harsher, and meaner. What a ridiculous God could give you the gift of a child, only to place them in danger at every turn!

Cobra squeezed my leg again. He turned his eyes from the road, just for a moment, flashing me the most dashing half-smile that I had ever seen.

He calmly said, “Trinity will be fine. She’s good on her bike. We ride together all the time, and she’s a defensive rider. She’s smart as a whip. I’d put my money on her over any other schmuck on the road.”

“I know that!” How dare he talk to me about the competence of my child? “Of course, I know she’s smart. She’s my daughter. I do not care about some… some… random asshole!”

I gasped, trying to regain my breath.

“You ride with her? Are you fucking insane? Do you know how dangerous those things are?”

He laughed out loud. “I never thought I’d hear you say that word. You never used to swear.”

“I’ve changed.” That was the truth. I was nothing like the girl I had once been.