Читать книгу Possessed hearts - Анна Морион - Страница 5

Of all the people who come to the club, I always pick the prettiest. By human standards. When it comes to female visitors, no one compares to me, and I rule the ball. I just walk up to my victim and say, "Hi. "I'm bored. Would you like to walk with me to my hotel?" Works like a charm. It works most of the time, but sometimes I like to act out a whole story, a tragicomedy, for fun. But not tonight. I don't have time for that. All I want is to get through the next night without thinking about Brandon.

We're going to the hotel. Me and Adam. Adam is a young vet, I think he said he was 26. His eyes shine with admiration for my beauty. My short black dress proves to be a wonderful lure. Tall, slim, handsome, dark-haired Adam. Loves dogs. Excellent quality. Even though I don't like dogs. Or cats. I'm indifferent to animals in general.

– Do you like being a vet? Sewing on tails and whiskers, putting the sick and old to sleep, sewing up wounds? – I asked, looking into my victim's face.

My heels distinctly ticking off my every step. In five minutes, we'll be in my hotel room.

– Yeah. I love saving lives. – Adam smiled modestly and shifted his gaze to his boots.

'And I love taking away,' I thought with a grim chuckle.

– Are you afraid of blood? – He asked suddenly.

– Hmm, let me think about it. – I put my finger to my lips and furrowed my brow, hesitating – should I tell him the truth? Or stay in the game?

– Most girls are afraid of blood. That's why it's so hard for me to find an assistant. – Suddenly Adam didn't wait for my answer. – One of them quit right during surgery. Bad case. The cat was torn up by a pack of dogs, they were picking it up piece by piece. And the owner was sobbing in the corridor. And then Nancy ran out of the O.R. and never came back. I had to do it all myself. Terrible day.

– Idiot. And she didn't feel sorry for the cat? – I muttered thoughtfully, turning my face away from him.

Great conversation. I'm taking this jackass to a hotel to have fun with him, and he's telling me about the cat and its sobbing owner! That's nice.

– I know, it's not the best story, is it? – Adam grinned as if he'd read my thoughts. – I'm sorry.

I looked at him with interest. It suddenly struck me that Adam wasn't the kind of guy I liked to use. Was he really a nice guy? Shit.

– Yeah," I answered honestly.

– I don't go to clubs much either. I don't like all that noise. But I had a very complicated operation today. I had to stitch it up. I'm sorry, I'm going back in there again.

– Shit," I mumbled.

Yeah. That's right. He's a good bloke. That's unfortunate.

– I needed to forget that picture. At least for a little while. I love my job, but sometimes I wish it would go away," Adam said quietly.

– I understand. – I stared into his tired face. – That's why you're going to walk me back to the hotel and go home to bed.

I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't use him. He was so unlike me. Too good. Too much.

– Yeah, whatever you want. But you… Will you leave me your number? – He asked with hope in his voice.

Didn't even ask why. Why I invited him to my hotel room and now I'm saying no. Dandelion. Dove. For the first time in all my years of debauchery with mortals.

– I'm sorry. No. I just wanted to fuck you," I answered honestly. Adam grinned. I ran my index finger along his cheek. – But I can't do that to you, boy. You're a miracle. And I'm a dirty sinner.

– I don't think you are. But even if you are, it doesn't matter. I like you. I like you a lot. That's why I followed you.

His honesty only hurt me: with every word he said, he became purer, lighter, almost as pure and innocent as Misha. And I was drowning in my debauchery. The abyss of my lust. Covered in the stigmata of blasphemy.

– I'm a simple whore, Adam. And you're probably the only bright spot in my shitty life. I'll take it from here. Go home.

– No, I'll take you to the hotel. For your own safety. Don't say no.

I smiled. For my safety! He's so sweet after all!

– You're so cute. All right, then. Let's go.

We walked in silence to my hotel.

– Goodbye, Adam. Good luck with your good work. – I reached up and kissed his cheek. Lamb of God. Adam.

– Thank you for a lovely evening, Maria. If you'll allow me, I'd like to kiss your hand. – He smiled modestly and held out his hand to me. I gave him mine. His lips touched my icy skin.

– Go to the hotel. You're freezing," Adam said.

– Good night," I smiled sweetly. – And what a beautiful name you have.

– Biblical. Like yours.

We parted ways. Strangely enough, I felt good. Even though my plan had gone wrong, Adam had turned the evening into something sublime.

That said, there was only one thing I wanted to do – sink headfirst into a tub full of water and not breathe. Just lie at the bottom like a corpse. It wasn't me. It was someone else.

***

Eight zero seven. Evening.

I knew Brandon was here: the windows of my suite faced the road. His black Bentley was parked in the guest car park. As ravenous and lustrous as its owner. Brandon's a Bentley nut.

He was waiting for me at the restaurant. But I was in no hurry to show up. Let him wait like kids wait for Christmas. If Grayson wants his purchase, he'll wait as long as I deign not to show up. It's my whim. Oh, damn it. Who am I kidding? Myself? No, it's not wanting to see Brandon, talk to him, sit at the same table with him. My fear. I was scared. Being alone with him. Trying to remain cold and ironic while a fire burned in my soul, burning everything around me.

I looked in the mirror: big, perfect, even. My reflection. Perfect, too.

But no. I am not embraced by the flames burning inside me. I am calm. My lips are tighter than usual. I adjust the pearl bracelet on my left hand, run my fingers over the contours of my face. My hair lay in perfect order. So beautiful, well-groomed, shiny. Curling like sea waves. It was a waterfall, covering my narrow back with its luxury. A tight black skirt, a palm above the knee. A translucent white shirt with tapered sleeves. Three-quarter. You can see my beautiful white bra through the fabric. New, bought today, white shoes with a high thick heel. I look like a secretary. An angelic, devilishly seductive, cunningly beautiful secretary.

No. I will never be a submissive. My role is to command. Always. Life. Death. Peace. Feelings. But, alas, not my own. Alien. With my own, I fought a bloody, exhausting war. And so far, for so many years now, they've been winning.

It's time.

Grabbing my blue leather clutch, I slowly headed for the door. Then the walk to the lift. A minute in the lift that felt like an eternity. And then, I appeared in the huge bright foyer, like an angel of the lord before sinners. I am as cold as a fallen angel carved from snow-white marble, guarding the grave of a beautiful princess. I am a princess myself. A Madonna.

But with each step that brought me closer to the distant table where Brandon sat, an unpleasant, creepy, uncomfortable feeling enveloped me more and more. Hate. Fear. Contempt. My blood is full of this poison. But I walked firmly, beautifully, slowly forward. I will stop at nothing. No one. Especially him.

I, and only I, rule the ball. And he's just a guest.

"Give him the flash drive and leave," it suddenly popped into my head. The voice of reason. Or fear. Or my insanity.

Brandon looks at me with a white-toothed smile. And it's so disarming. He doesn't often show up in public without his jacket. The jacket is him. He's the eternal stern, elegant jacket. But tonight, this Englishman is wearing white shirt. Classic. No tie. Dark blue trousers. Black shiny shoes. Dark hair laid back one to one. Wide, beautiful eyebrows. And icy, piercing blue eyes.

One of our mutual friends once referred to Grayson as "Mr. Elegant Pervert", of course, after Brandon had slept so openly with mortal women. Yeah. Always elegant. Attractive. Pervert. Like me.

– As always beautiful and deadly deceitful. – Those were his first words. Instead of a greeting. – But I'm surprised. I expected to see you with almost no clothes on.

I grinned derisively. But…

His words pierced my mind. My pride.

Brandon, that sneak had just rubbed my nose in my 'shit'. My blatant style of dressing. My "blatantly cheap taste," as my sister Mariszka used to say. If she'd said that phrase, I wouldn't have cared. But it was his words. He thinks I'm trashy. Cheap.

I don't care. Him and his opinion.

– I know how to surprise. As you can see," I said ironically, taking a seat at the table across from Brandon. – But I'm no match for you, Mr. 'I never take my jacket off'."

He chuckled.

– 'You're gorgeous. – He gestured to the waiter, and he hurried to our table.

– You too," I smiled sweetly. – But let's get right to business.

– Take your time. I want to have dinner with you.

I squinted my eyes.

Does Brandon want to have dinner with me? Or is my hearing deceiving me?

Why would he do that? For what purpose? What does he want from me?

These and a thousand other questions whirled through my mind.

– Why the sudden honour? – I let out a laugh, which, thankfully, sounded believable.

– I like to spend time with beautiful women. – Brandon smiled predatorily. – And you, Maria, are the most beautiful woman I've ever met.

I rolled my eyes theatrically. And my heart shuddered.

– So many compliments in just a few minutes. You're on fire today! – I said mockingly, and then turned to the waiter. – Crystal, please.

– Excellent choice, miss. A fine champagne for a fine lady," the waiter smiled. He's wearing a strict black uniform. Good.

– A bottle of Dalmore 50," Brandon said.

– Cheap," I smiled.

– Maybe," he smiled back.

Suddenly I was struck by the realisation of how relaxed and at ease I was being with him. As if it wasn't him, but someone else. A close friend. Everything I'd felt on the way to the restaurant was suddenly gone.

But a moment later, when my gaze met his, I was pierced by a sharp sense of hatred. I was unarmed in front of him. My soul howled with the desire to hurt him.

The waiter left.

– Speaking of beautiful women. Tell me, admirer of the mortal girl's body: how many have you tried? – As if casually, I threw my clutch on the round table, covered with snow-white, perfectly even, without a single crease tablecloth.

– I just fuck them. And then they're gone. – Brandon said it as if he were talking about something unimportant, completely mundane. – Why the sudden interest in my personal life, Maria?

– The whole world is talking about it. But you don't care, do you? – A mocking smile lit up my face.

– You know, there's only one person's opinion is authoritative for me. And that's me. – He smiled charmingly. – And I'm not the only one who finds mortals attractive, am I?

My lips stretched into a fake smile.

The waiter brought us our drinks, which, of course, we didn't even get a taste of.

– That's great," I squeezed out as the waiter left, but the direct stare of my companion's icy eyes made me glance down at my clutch. – So, about the case. – I took the clutch in my hands, unzipped it, pulled out a small red flash drive and held it out to Brandon, and he took it.

Brandon looked at me intently.

– Where was this picture taken and when? – He asked.

– Ten years ago. In Prague. The girl seemed picturesque, so I decided to take a snap of her. I didn't think you'd be so attracted to a photograph of a mortal," I told him in a sweet tone.

– I don't want that picture. I need something else.

I grinned wryly. I thought there was something odd about his phrasing. Like a confession.

"Something else." If he didn't want the photograph as a work of art, did that mean he bought it back just because I made it?

No. No way.

– Frankly, I have little interest in your motives, Brandon. But now that we're done, I'll leave you to it. – I rose from my chair, tossed my hair carelessly over my shoulder, and picked up my clutch.

– 'And it was because of your indifference that you called me with this question?

– Oh, you intrigue me terribly. But not today.

– I wouldn't be so sure.

– Or maybe you just like to question my indifference? – I said sweetly.

– Is this the only copy? – Brandon suddenly asked in a cold tone.

– Yes.

– Where's the picture you showed to Attick?

– He has it. As agreed. Bye, Brandon. You're a pleasure to do business with. – I winked playfully at him and walked slowly, beautifully and smoothly out of the restaurant.

It wasn't until I left the hotel that I allowed myself to squeeze my eyes shut. For a few seconds. Banish this conversation. This meeting.

He knows. About me. Knows my secret.

But he reacted with complete indifference. I can breathe a sigh of relief.

And yet. The fact that I was seen with mortals by two witnesses is disturbing. Two? Maybe more? Shit. We have to be careful.

Five minutes. Five minutes, but it was an eternity.

Get out! Get out of here!

"I need Adam," I thought.

But this time, if I do find him… I'll kill him. I'll kill his light form.

I needed to kill.

Kill. Something pure. A light.

Adam.

But I didn't find him that night.

Back at the hotel, devastated, angry and nervous, I called the airport to buy tickets.

To escape. Out of this city where Brandon Avery Grayson reigns supreme.

But as I clutched my phone, sitting in the chair in my expensive suite, I realised. The truth had hit me: I had no one to fly to.

Misha is with Fredrik, and he won't be happy to see me.

My parents. No. They have their own lives.

Mariszka and Markus… Yes, ha ha ha! You bet!

Mscislav… I don't even know where he is or what he's doing.

Martin.

I dialled my older brother's number. He answered after four seconds. I counted.

– I'm coming to see you. On tonight's flight. Where are you? Meet me at the airport.

A minute later, a night flight to Gdansk was bought. One way.