Night Fury: First Act

His body stills. He stops breathing.

  I breathe in deeply, and then out slowly. I add the slightest pressure to the handle of the blade; it enters the back of Marcel’s neck, and a moment later, exits through the front of his throat.

  His body quakes and jerks uncontrollably, and at this moment, I realise I am thankful for one thing:

  I can’t see his face.

  Holding up the quaking body of Marcel Dupont by a blade through his neck, I lift my gaze to Ari. Her eyes sad, she smiles gently. “Come, Cat. Release him. There is still much to do.”

  With a small jerk back, the blade is free, and Marcel’s body falls motionless to the floor with a dull thud.

  My heart jumps.

  I did it. I killed him. I didn’t need help. I did it on my own.

  I don’t even feel bad about it.

  Ari pulls her leg back and kicks the lifeless body, “Cochon sale!”

  The night has officially become overwhelming.

  A small giggle bubbles up my throat. The more I try to hold it back, the worse it becomes. I start to chuckle. My chuckle becomes full-blown laughter, bordering hysterical.

  Tears stream down my face as I laugh, letting out my anxiety, anger and worry.

  Ari watches me, a cautious smile playing at her mouth. When I get myself under control, she asks, “Okay?”

  Tears trail my cheeks for another reason altogether as I begin to cry uncontrollably. Ari comes forward, wiping them away. She tuts, “Why do you cry, chéri?”

  It all comes out. “I just killed a man—a man who had his back to me praying. He didn’t even see it coming.” I sniff. “He didn’t know it was coming, and...” I look up in her face and whisper “...and I don’t even care.” My body shakes with silent sobs. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

  I’m pulled into a warm hug. Ari chuckles in my ear. “Oh, ma colombe. Be still.”

  My tears begin to wilt away. Detachment takes over. I like it when my heart numbs. Numbness is good. It’s feeling that hurts.

  Ari kisses my temple. “You were born for this. You have one of the toughest jobs in the world, and you have just proven you can do it with ease.” She pulls away and smiles. “That is a gift.”

  I don’t say a thing.

  I’m not sure I should be congratulated for that.

  She holds out her palm and I hand her Koneko. She wipes off the blade with her discarded habit and kneels by the body. Her hand motions me over, and I help her move Marcel onto his side.

  Confusion sweeps through me as she takes my blade and begins adding small cuts to his face, fingers and neck.

  Sensing my uncertainty, Ari explains, “I should have explained beforehand. We need this to look like a robbery gone wrong.”

  Oh.

  Crap.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She scoffs, waving a dismissive hand my way. “It is nothing. Next time, we will go into details how we want the kill to look. It was my fault.” Reaching into her pants pocket, she pulls out a pair of gloves and hands them to me. “Now, make a mess of this place, please.”

  The gloves feel strange on my hands, as though they are suffocating my fingers.

  I walk from room to room, throwing things around, breaking ornaments and frames, and moving things around.

  Ari calls me over to her as she puts on another pair of gloves. “We need to pick up the television, take it into the main hall and drop it, so it looks as though something interrupted a robbery.”

  Brows rising, I look at her in disbelief. “You know a lot about this stuff, Ari. I’m impressed.”

  Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “My life before Bob found me was not a good one.”

  The television drops to the ground with a boom. We collect our gear, and before we leave, I watch as Ari walks over to Marcel. Looking up to the ceiling, she mutters a few words under her breath before reaching down and coating her fingers in his blood. Her eyes close as she runs her blood-coated fingers from her forehead, down the side of her face to slide down her chin.

  My eyes glued to her in shock, she stands and walks over to me wearing her victory on her face. Suddenly, I get it.

  Arianne. Codename: War Paint.

  She reaches into her pack and pulls out two black hoodies. I waste no time shrugging into mine, pulling the hood up. Ari follows suit.

  We exit through the backdoor and stroll to the back gate as though nothing is wrong, as if we are meant to be here. Once on the street, we jump into the waiting Mercedes Kompressor, and Clark drives us back to Mirage.

  Satisfaction flows throughout my body. Hearing, but not listening to Clark and Ari converse, I melt into my car seat, suddenly feeling the pull of exhaustion.

  My eyes flitter, flutter and then close as I drift into a peaceful sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  The car doors creak and I jerk awake. My heart pounds in my chest. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings and figure out my setting. We’re back in the barn.

  Clark holds out a hand to me, smiling. He wears no judgement on his handsome face. He understands me. He is the type of person everyone needs in their life. His common view of all things life is ‘It is what it is.’

  By God. I love that.

  I think I may have adapted that saying to my life not two hours ago.

  A sense of freedom does wonders for the soul.

  I place my hand in his. He gently pulls me out of the car and towards him. I’m encased in a firm hug. He whispers by my ear, “You did it, Cat.”

  Still holding my hand, he leads me as Ari follows close behind. He keys in his code, and as soon as the security door opens, a cheer breaks out. The loud yells frighten me, and my body jolts. I look down to the ground floor of Mirage, and what I see makes me beam.

  A laughing Frankie, a grinning Bob and a smiling Marco wait for me, Ari and Clark to join them. Bottles of communion wine are uncorked, and written on one of the whiteboards in black is ‘Congratulations, Cat!’ with balloons around it drawn in red marker.

  Smiling like a fool, flushing bright red and shaking my head in disbelief, I make a slow descent down the steps to join them. It’s a nice gesture, but it’s close to four a.m. and I’m too tired for this shit.

  Bob is the first to approach me. His arms come around me as he chuckles. His grip on me is tight, and I squeak as he lifts me in an excited embrace. “I knew you could do it, girl. I’m so proud of you. So very proud.”

  Okay, maybe not that tired.

  Frankie kisses my cheek, squeezes my shoulder and places a coffee mug of wine into my hand. Clark winks at me from across the room. I watch as Ari acts out the kill scene to Bob, who follows every move in wide-eyed awe. And Marco...

  Marco watches me with little more than a small smile.

  And that smile...

  It’s sad. And almost disappointed.

  My eyes hold his.

  I don’t understand it.

  Suddenly, Ari—still wearing her war paint proudly—clears her throat loud enough for her to gain immediate silence. Holding her coffee mug of wine, she begins to speak. “Tonight was a very important night for our Catarina.” Bob nods in agreement. Ari adds, “Tonight, Cat was initiated into Mirage and is now a full-fledged member. She took initiative, and what she achieved tonight, no one can take away from her.”

  The way she says this is not prideful, but menacing. And my chest aches. This is her way of warning the others to let what happened in the past stay in the past. It makes me want to simultaneously kiss her and burst into tears.

  Stepping forward, she holds out her hand to me. I take it with a small smile. She pulls me to sit in an office chair, and by the secret grins on the others’ faces, nervousness washes over me.

  I stumble over my words and laugh uneasily, “Wh-what’s going on, guys?”

  Bob’s soft smile soothes me. “It’s tradition. Just go with it.”

  Frankie steps forward with a dagger, and when Ari holds out her hand for it, Frankie scowls, “I’m the best friend, so I ge
t to go first!”

  My eyes widen as Frankie steps closer to me, dagger in-hand.

  When she takes the tip of the dagger and pierces her own fingertip with it, my brain stops trying to understand and shuts off for the night.

  Holding the dagger by her side, she takes her bloodied fingertip and puts it to my forehead. I feel her press a pattern in her own blood onto my skin, and it’s almost alarming how at peace I feel at this very moment.

  My breathing steadies and I close my eyes a moment, just wanting to feel.

  Suddenly, I’m surrounded. Bob is next and paints one cheek. Ari decorates the other cheek with her blood, while a sweetly smiling Clark presses a single dot of his blood between my brows. Finally, Marco approaches, and without looking away from me, he holds out a hand for the dagger.

  When he pierces the tip of his finger for much longer than necessary, my face flushes and my heart rate elevates.

  He steps forward, lifts his finger and does a slow swipe from the bridge of my nose, down to my lips and chin, marking me with his blood.

  Pulling back, he watches me a moment, taking in his handiwork. Having lost control of my body for a split second, my tongue darts out to taste it.

  As soon as I taste the metallic tang of his blood, I squeeze my legs together tightly and fight tooth-and-nail to stop myself from tasting him a second time.

  The reactions this man pulls from me...

  It’s frightening.

  Marco steps back and Bob takes his place, putting his hands on my shoulders. He explains, “You have to sleep with the war paint. You can wash it off in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  Bob steps by my side and announces, “I’m pleased to accept Night Fury into our family—not that she wasn’t before. Only now, she’ll be working with us.”

  More cheers break out, cups are refilled and before I know it, I fall asleep in an office chair, head resting on a filing cabinet.

  And I fall asleep smiling.

  ***

  My eyes remain shut, but I hear the sound of hard footfalls.

  Strong arms hold my limp body. I quickly realise I’m being carried back to my room.

  Caught somewhere between asleep and awake, I bury my nose into the unknown male and sigh.

  This male is not Clark. I can’t smell the familiar zesty citrus scent of him. This scent is woodsy and fresh. And this body is larger than Clark’s.

  A lot larger.

  Bob.

  This is Bob.

  I whisper against the bare skin of his neck, “I did it, Father.”

  He shushes me and continues to carry me along in silence.

  Finally, we stop and he opens the door to my room. Placing me down on the soft bed, I exhale and bury myself in the covers. But I don’t have a double bed. I have a cot.

  My eyes snap open to find Marco eyeing me from the edge of his bed. In his room. Or at least, I assume we’re in his room. It looks like it would be his room. Dark bed covers, bare walls, a small closet, mirror, an open laptop and a television, complete with game station.

  I sit up, crossing my legs in the middle of his bed. Sleep has made my voice croaky. “Hey.”

  He tips his chin at me.

  “Why...” I’m stuck on my question, already knowing the answer. I try again. “Why am I here, Marco?”

  “You told me to take you to bed.”

  A fog settles over my already-unclear mind. That doesn’t sound like me.

  He smirks. “You didn’t say which bed.”

  I remain silent, feeling the need for something I dare not ask for. He watches me closely, his eyes searching me for a sign.

  Something.

  Anything.

  “I know what it feels like,” he utters. “The rush. The bloodlust.” His knee settles on the bed, and he adds quietly, “The need for release after a mission.” The second knee joins the first. He creeps over to me, much like a cougar stalking its prey. “You feel it, don’t you?”

  My head jerks fitfully. I swallow hard.

  I do feel it.

  “How do I make it stop?” I breathe.

  Crawling over to me, forcing me further up the bed, he whispers, “You fuck it out, Cat.”

  My breathing quickens and shallows.

  “You want that, don’t you?”

  Yes.

  Yes, I do.

  His fingers graze my hip and I gasp at the contact. “My skin is crawling.”

  His warm lips gently kiss my cheek. “Let me help you. I’ll make the itch stop.”

  My hand reaches out to grip his head, his buzzed hair prickling my palms. My cheeks heat in shame as I answer on a whisper, “Okay.”

  My logic on this is simple. After tonight, after what I did, I don’t feel as if I have a right to remain pure. I want to be tainted, to be as imperfect as my job. I need to be dirtied, and Marco can do that for me.

  In fact, I need Marco to be the one to do this for me.

  His face hovers above mine, waiting for me to make the first move. I lift my face an inch and brush my lips across his in a weak and extremely nervous kiss.

  The first and last man I kissed was James. And that didn’t turn out so great.

  Marco scoffs, his breath warming me. “You gotta do better than that, kitty Cat.”

  Placing a hand on my shoulder, he pushes me down gently. My back meets the soft covers of the bed. Framing my face with his strong arms, he looks down at me, face unyielding. “What do you want, Cat? We can stop, but you need to tell me to stop now, because my cock—hard as it is—will not be happy about stopping later on.”

  Oh, shit.

  Those nasty words fuel me and cement my decision. I reach up with a shaking hand, curving it at the back of his neck. I pull his mouth down to mine and say against his warm lips, “Make it stop.”

  His eyes flash and his kiss—oh, my—so hard and harsh; it’s exactly what I need right now. I need this act to be as violent as the one I committed myself. His tongue brushes mine, and instinctively, my legs tighten, as if the arousal will escape me in a heavy whoosh if I don’t.

  Marco doesn’t like this.

  Sliding his hand down my neck and over my chest, his thumb counts my ribs before the palm of his hand heats my thigh through my tights. Gripping the back of my knee, he hoists my leg up and over his hip in a violent jerk.

  My moan sounds into his mouth.

  He answers with a low growl.

  We waste no time undressing each other.

  I reach down to the hem of his tee, lifting it over his head. As he does the same to me, I work on loosening his belt. His belt unbuckled, I reach further down to unzip his jeans and come into contact with his hot, covered erection.

  Uncertainty has my hand rearing away.

  Marco snarls, takes hold of my hand and places it directly over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck. Don’t do that. Touch me.”

  Eyes lowered, I whisper, “Okay.”

  My hands begin a firm rubbing motion over the seam of his pants. He hisses, “Oh, yeah, just like that.”

  Courage blooms inside of me. With the sounds of heavy breathing bouncing off the walls, my pupils dilate with pleasure as his hands knead my hips. His mouth presses firm, wet kisses to my mouth as he runs his fingers along the underside of my bra. “I want to touch you too.”

  Not thinking at all, I reach behind me and unfasten my bra, pulling it up my arms.

  Silent permission.

  His eyes flare with heat as they rake over my naked torso.

  This is the farthest I’ve ever been sexually. It’s remarkable how good it feels.

  He covers my left breast with a warm palm and begins to knead gently. I feel that motion all the way to my soaking wet mound. It pulses in time with every movement of Marco’s hand.

  It’s wonderful.

  Why would God forbid such pleasure?

  It doesn’t seem right to me at this very moment.

  My eyes flutter and I tilt my head back, exposing my neck. When wet warmth
covers my nipple, my back jerks and contorts, curving off the bed. Marco’s mouth flicks and sucks at the taut bud, while his other hand works off my pants. I don’t remember to feel disgrace when I lift my hips, giving him better access to my most private area.

  Now dressed in only my white, girlish panties, I groan when his hand plays with the seam. My hand darts out to his, and I place it where I crave it most.

  He cups me, rubbing softly, slowly, as if he savours the feel of me. Pleasure floods my hot, needy body.

  His mouth releases my nipple with a pop as he grunts, “You’re soaked.”

  Wasting no time, he tears my panties down my legs. He quickly kicks his jeans off, his boxers following. “You want this sweet?”

  My eyes snap open, and I look up to meet his heated stare. “Fuck, no.”

  The smile that appears on his face is glorious. Beauty defined.

  “Get on your hands and knees. Face the end of the bed.”

  Breathing shakily, I quickly turn over onto my hands and knees. I crawl to face the foot of the bed. And my heart skips a beat.

  I can see myself. I can see a very naked, very built, very aroused Marco.

  A wall-length mirror faces us. My war-painted face and stunned gaze meets Marco’s in the mirror.

  We look feral. We look like a pair of animals. Barely human.

  He smirks.

  I bite my lip to contain my whimper. My head spins. The room goes fuzzy. A sudden flashback of Ari confronting Marcel greets me. My chest seizes.

  Marco positions himself behind me. Reaching down, his fingers lightly graze my slit.

  My vision swirls. Another flashback. Marcel on his knees praying for mercy.

  The reflection in the mirror shows Marco fisting himself. The tip of his cock kisses my entrance. He runs himself up and down slowly, coating himself in my arousal.

  Pleasure assaults me.

  My heart stops.

  Pressure builds in my ears as a final flashback appears right before my eyes. Marcel’s shuddering body being held up by the neck. Koneko piercing his throat.

  Without warning, Marco thrusts into me harshly. As my maidenhead tears, I lift my head to the ceiling and let out a miserable cry, pain throbbing violently between my legs.

  Marco stills.

  Panting, I lower my head and open my eyes to look beneath my body where we are joined.