Out of the Dark (The Brethren Series)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



“You need to get in the back,” Naima told Aaron as they drove up the steep, winding road leading to the Morin compound’s gated entrance.

Aaron, who was driving at the moment, spared her a glance. “And how exactly is that going to work, considering the brakes still don’t work?”

Naima frowned. “I drove the truck by myself in the parking lot. I can handle it through the compound.”

“It’s a straight shot across the motel parking lot,” he said pointedly. “And on a flat, paved surface.”

Naima took a deep breath, because she could feel her temper flaring. She was already so anxious, she struggled to control the Escalade’s brakes sufficiently. She’d managed to get a hold of Mason before they’d left the Heavenly Motor Lodge, but even so, she didn’t feel very reassured.

For one thing, Mason had still sounded shitfaced. “Mon bijou,” he’d slurred upon answering his phone. “I’m fine, yes, and still at the clinic. I’ve been asleep, I’m afraid…”

“Just stay there,” Naima had urged him. “I’m on my way. Keep the door locked and wait for me—please, Mason. It’s important.”

He’d chuckled, but agreed. That he’d remember that promise five minutes after hanging up, however, seemed unlikely.

Closing her eyes, concentrating, Naima made the SUV start to slow. Surprised, Aaron managed to maneuver it over toward the shoulder of the road before they came to a complete stop.

“You want to give me a little warning next time?” he asked.

“Listen to me.” Naima turned in her seat to face him. “You can’t drive onto the compound. There will be people armed at the gate. They’ll see you.”

“And you’ll run over them if you try to walk and chew gum at the same time,” he replied. “Look, I’ll just crouch down on the floor. You sit in the driver’s seat, and I’ll reach up and steer.”

“You won’t be able to see.”

“Sure I will. Open your mind. I’ll look through your eyes.”

“I’m not—” she started, but then bit back the rest. I’m not going to let you inside my head, is what she meant to snap. But then she remembered that he’d spoken to her mentally, both in the bar and while they’d had sex. She hadn’t needed to ask—or read his mind—to know this had taken a tremendous amount of courage and trust on his part—trust in her; trust he had awarded few people in his entire life.

I don’t talk to anyone this way. There’s never been anyone around to listen…until now.

But there was a difference between trusting someone enough to use psionic speech with them, and opening your mind completely to another telepath. And she didn’t like the idea of Aaron—or anyone else—having such free and unrestricted access to her every thought, emotion and—most importantly—her memories. There were things there, dark moments from her past, like the night of her rape, that she didn’t want anyone to know.

“Hey,” Aaron said softly. “You can trust me.”

She had no reason to, she knew—this was the guy who’d shot Michel and had re-entered her life with the specific intention of killing Tristan—but at the same time, she felt she had every reason to. Because he’s Aaron, she thought. And because Augustus was wrong. The man I knew—the one who saved me—he is still inside of Aaron, a part of who he is. I know I can trust him. And…

“I know,” she said softly. “I do trust you, Aaron.”

He smiled, lifting his hand and brushing his knuckles against her cheek. His fingers unfurled, stroking her ear, and then he cupped the side of her head lightly in his hand as he leaned toward her. She closed her eyes, letting him draw her forward to meet him, and his lips touched hers. The kiss lingered, then grew deeper, their lips parting, their tongues brushing against one another.

As they drew apart, he smiled again; God, he could just about melt through the glacier that had crept over her heart in the preceding centuries every time he did that.

“You’re not going to rack me in the balls again for that, are you?” he asked.

Naima burst out laughing. “No. I didn’t mind that time.”

“Yeah?” His brow raised. “Maybe I could try it again, then.”

“Maybe,” Naima agreed with a nod and another laugh. “Sometime.”

***

As they neared the compound, Naima again brought the Escalade to a stop. Aaron put it in park, then hopped out of the driver’s seat as she walked around the front of the truck from the passenger side.

“You’re going to have to move the seat way back,” he said as she climbed in again.

She pulled the driver’s seat back as far as it would go on its mechanized track. Her legs were long enough that she could still reach the gas pedal. It didn’t leave Aaron much by way of room, and when he tried to climb in, he wound up pretty much sitting in her lap until he could fold his legs beneath him and squat on the floor.

“This isn’t going to work,” Naima growled.

“Sure it will,” he replied, then he hit his head hard enough on the steering column to make him wince.

“It would be much easier if you had telekinesis, too,” she told him.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see the benefits to that myself,” he replied.

She ended up grabbing a blanket from the back and throwing it over her lap, letting it hang down past her legs to the floor, and thus covering him as well. It was messy, but at least he wasn’t as obvious. Even so…

“This is never going to work,” she muttered as the Escalade rolled toward the gate. Now there were at least six armed men standing there. She recognized Elliott as he climbed over the gate stood in the middle of the drive.

“Sure, it will,” Aaron said again, muffled. She could feel him in her mind, a soft warmth, like a shot of whiskey settling into your belly after you’ve been outside on a winter’s day. He could be doing anything in my mind, a part of her worried—the anxious part that would seize control of her during her fugues.

Yes, he could, she told that part, her brows narrowed, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as Elliott tromped toward the driver’s side window. But he’s not. He’s seeing through my eyes. That’s all. I trust him.

She pushed a button and the window rolled down. “Hey, Elliott,” she said.

“Why are you driving Mason’s truck?” he asked, looking baffled.

“Mine wouldn’t start. Eleanor asked me to take Augustus to the airport.”

“I thought he went yesterday,” she heard Phillip say.

She hadn’t noticed him among the group at the gate, but saw him now as he strode toward the truck. He wore a heavily lined barn coat, with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a sock cap pulled low on his brow. His breath drifted from his mouth like cigarette smoke.

“He did,” she replied, and as he came to stand beside Elliott, looking in at her, she found she had a hard time maintaining a smile. “I stopped off last night, had a few drinks. I didn’t want to drive back in the hills after that, so I got a room in town.”

Aaron sat wedged by her feet and she’d had to sit with her legs spread wide to accommodate him at least somewhat comfortably. He’d positioned himself so that he could rest his shoulder by the gear shift and tuck his head against her thigh. He’d started stroking her other thigh lightly, almost idly, from the moment she’d rolled down her window. Trying to be nonchalant, Naima reached down and swatted him through the blanket to get him to stop.

“I didn’t know you took Mason’s truck,” said Phillip with a frown.

Aaron’s hand caressed higher along her thigh. She could just envision the wry little smirk on his face as he did this. When his fingers brushed between her legs, she managed to cut short a sharp gasp.

“I…like I was telling Elliott,” she said, stiffening in her seat and trying to clamp her legs together to discourage his hand. For his part, Aaron found her * with his thumb through her pants and began to rub gently, slowly, in small, circular sweeps that sent shivers through her. “Mine wouldn’t start.”

“Did you ask Mason first?” Phillip asked.

Naima reached down and, through the blanket, pulled Aaron’s hand away. He promptly put it back, his thumb rediscovering that deliciously sensitive spot at her core, and she nearly moaned aloud.

“I…of course I did,” she told Phillip. Aaron began to alternate—slow, grinding circles, then up and down sweeps against her. She could feel dampness and heat stoking between her legs, and instead of resisting him anymore, she spread her legs further.

“I…I mean, no.” Shaking her head, she tried to focus. Focus. “No, I didn’t ask him. He was asleep in the clinic office.”

“Asleep.” Phillip snorted once, derisively, his frown deepening. “You mean passed out, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” she replied, and oh, God, now Aaron had moved so that his mouth had taken the place of his hand. His breath was hot against her apex through the thin Lycra of her pants, and his tongue slid against her here, assuming those circling, sweeping duties his fingers had left unfinished.

“Anyway, he…he wouldn’t have minded,” she said clumsily. She felt Aaron hook his fingers beneath the waistband of her yoga pants, tugging at them. She knew this was crazy—it was damn likely to get them both killed—but all at once, she didn’t care. Again, she moved in her seat, enough so that he could slide her pants down her thighs, and this time, she had to clap her hand against her mouth to stifle a moan as he tasted her.

“Well, it would have been nice if you’d told somebody,” Phillip said. “I thought Mason had taken off somewhere. The office is locked and his truck was gone. Nobody’s seen him.”

“I saw him earlier,” Elliott. “On the way over here, about an hour ago, I saw him walking up the road from the clinic toward his house.”

“I did tell someone,” Naima said, as Aaron slid two of his fingers inside of her, moving achingly slow, then teasing her by drawing them out again. He did this over and over, and the whole time, his tongue played against her *, slipping between her hot, wet folds and working her into a nearly desperate frenzy. Through the blanket, she clutched at his head, trying not to squirm too much, even though she desperately wanted to lay back and grind her hips to match the quickening pace of his tongue.

“I told Eleanor about taking the truck,” she said. “Eleanor knew. She…she’s the one who…”

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” Naima said with a nod, even though she wasn’t. She was so damn close to exploding in orgasm, she thought she might scream. “I…I just…I really have to pee.”

“Oh.” Elliott had a wife. He knew the drill. He cut a glance at Phillip—who had probably never had a clue about women in his life, and likely never would—and said, “Can she open the gate now?”

“Yeah. We’re done here.” Phillip stepped back as Naima, her hand shaking, reached for the gate controller on the overhead sun visor. But just as Naima started to pull the Escalade forward, just as she’d rolled the window up and let out a breathless, shuddering moan, Phillip jogged up again and rapped his knuckles loudly against the tinted glass.

“I want to get Michel’s estate settled at some point,” he told her as she rolled the window down again half-way.

“This morning?” she asked, because that was what Eleanor had suggested in their phone conversation the night before.

“I don’t know. There’s still a lot going on.” Phillip gave a shrug. “Maybe tonight, after supper. I’ll send around a text.” With a stern glance as he turned, walking away again, he added, “Just don’t leave the compound again, okay? I want to get it taken care of, the sooner, the better.”

Yeah. You’re not going to like what that means, I bet, Naima thought, rolling the window up again. She forgot about Phillip almost as soon as she was past the gate. She had more important things to focus on—namely Aaron and the wondrous things he was doing to her body with his mouth.

She drove for a few minutes before no longer being able to stand it. Mason was okay, she told herself. Elliott had seen him less just a little while ago.

Mason’s okay, she thought again, as she stopped the car and yanked the blanket aside. Smiling wryly, then wincing as he bumped his head, he crawled up from the floorboard, pushing one of her legs up onto the center console to spread them wider. Lowering his head again, he drew the warm blade of his tongue between her slick folds, then resumed teasing her *. God, it felt amazing; she tangled her fingers in his hair, rocking her hips to match his pace as his tongue worked her into a renewed frenzy. Again, he slid his fingers into her sheath, first one, then two, then three, and with each, she’d stretch her legs apart more, desperate to have him fill her. His tongue whipped against her, rapid-fire circles over and around her *, making her clutch at him, clutch at the doorframe, anything she could hook her nails into.

You want me to stop? he asked in her mind.

“No,” she pleaded, as his fingers moved faster, in and out, and his tongue darted against her throbbing, desperate nub. With this, she came, her head thrown back, her chest heaving as she cried out breathlessly in release.

“My God, woman,” he said, his voice low and hoarse as he watched her climax. All the while, his fingers stroked her through it, prolonging the pleasure with every expert caress. “You’re amazing.”

She reached for him, grabbing him by the scruff of his T-shirt collar and pulling. “Come here.”

He straightened his legs, climbing up to lean over her in the driver’s seat. As he reached beside them, reclining the seat backwards, she grabbed his pants, wrestling them away from his hips. She hooked her fingers into the small of his back and drove him into her; with one thrust, he buried himself fully into her depths. Hooking his arms beneath her knees, he raised her legs so they rested on his shoulders. Cradling her ass in his hands, he continued to drive himself into her until he, too, found release. His fingers dug fiercely into her buttocks and every muscle in his body tensed; above the collar of his shirt, and from his sleeve cuffs down, she could see them strained and rigid.

“God…!” he gasped. He braced himself against the ceiling of the truck cab with one hand, the driver’s side door frame with the other. His arms shook momentarily, and she could see beads of sweat glistening on his brow.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” she said. She didn’t mean it and he knew it—she’d left her mind open to him. “You could have gotten us both caught.”

He laughed. “I have impulse control issues. Haven’t I ever mentioned that before?”

“No.” She laughed with him, and he leaned down to kiss her. “But I’m beginning to see the benefits to it.”

He dropped a wink. “Exactly.”.

***

“We need to make a pit stop,” Aaron said as they drove through the complex. He was no longer crouched on the floor, only hunkered down in the passenger seat, keeping his hand on the steering wheel to maneuver the truck.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Wherever they took my rental car.”

“Probably the medical clinic,” she said. “Why? What’s in your car?”

“My gun,” he replied.

They pulled the Escalade into the clinic parking lot, and found the Infiniti with California plates parked inconspicuously in a corner. The day before, the lot had been crammed with cars by the time Naima had arrived, but that morning, it was virtually empty. The family had spread out among the guest cottages and chateaus along the sloping hillsides overlooking Emerald Bay. Naima had seen more lights on, more tufts of smoke spiraling upward from chimneys, and more cars parked in front of the little houses than she’d seen in ages. Usually no more than a handful of people, no more than a dozen at most, shared the nearly seven hundred acres, and the nearly three dozen homes built among the wooded hills. Now the place literally looked like its own independent town.

Naima spied Karen’s car and for a moment, sat behind the wheel, struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu. It was so ordinary for her to see Karen’s car at the clinic, so expected, so normal, for a moment, she found herself expecting to see Michel’s black Mercedes C-350 sedan parked somewhere close by, maybe even Michel himself tromping up the front steps toward the clinic entrance.

And then it occurred to her that she’d never see those things again, that Michel was gone, and her eyes suddenly burned with the sharp sting of tears, and she felt a tremendous, visceral ache inside.

“Can you use your telekinesis to pop the trunk?” Aaron asked, snapping her from her mournful reverie.

“What?” She blinked at him, then gave her head a little shake. “Sure. Of course.”

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded once. “I’m fine.”

He glanced around to make sure no one was watching. She didn’t even have to ask if he’d telepathically scanned the area first, as well; already she knew him well enough to realize he likely never even walked into the grocery store without doing this as a precautionary measure, never mind walk through potentially hostile ground to retrieve a weapon from his confiscated vehicle.

Tristan had taught Naima how to imagine locks as a kind of puzzle in her mind, one in which she could lift and lower the individual tumblers inside until hitting upon the combination that popped the latch free. In less than a second, she’d solved the Infiniti’s combination, and watched as the trunk popped obligingly ajar.

If Tristan was awake, he’d give me a high five, she thought, and again, her corresponding smile was sorrowful.

Aaron had pulled his hood up, tugging the edge low over his brow to hide his face as best he could. He hurried from the Escalade to the rental car, using the breadth of the truck to keep him as shielded as possible from view inside the clinic. He pushed the trunk hatch up and leaned inside. Then paused. Then leaned over further, using both hands and digging around for a moment, pushing things aside, searching.

When he stood again, he paced around the outside of the sedan, cupping his hands to his face and trying to peer through the tinted windows on both the driver’s and passenger’s sides.

What in the world is he doing? Naima thought with a frown. She tried to distract herself by calling Mason again, but that only made things worse because he didn’t answer. Had he not reached his house yet? Had he passed out again? Or had something worse happened? She had no way of knowing.

Aaron, come on, she called to him mentally. This was taking too long, and they were too exposed with Aaron outside of the vehicle. Anyone could come upon them, see them—catch them.

He glanced toward the truck, toward her through the windshield. It’s not here.

What? she asked.

My gun. You guys took my pistol, but I had a rifle, too. I kept it in the trunk, but now it’s gone.

His brows crimped with frustration, he closed the trunk hatch and walked briskly back to the Escalade. He climbed into the cab, hunching his shoulders and scooting low in the seat. “I had an extra set of knives in there. Someone got them, too. Any idea what they might have done with them?”

“I don’t know,” Naima admitted. “Maybe locked them up in the clinic office?”

His frown deepened and he folded his arms across his chest. “Goddamn it.”

Naima didn’t understand why it mattered; she’d felt the first-hand effects of the man’s psionic abilities. Those were more potent—and probably lethal—than any firearm. “We need to get to Mason,” she reminded, and he nodded.

“I know,” he said. “But I think I’ve figured out who’s doing this.”

Surprised, she turned to him, and he nodded grimly. “I think it’s Julien.”

“Your brother?”

He nodded again. “I think my father sent him, sicced him on your grandfather and uncle.”

“Why would Lamar do that? You said he sent you to go after Tristan—he wanted to keep Michel alive, you said.”

“To f*ck with him, yeah.” Aaron nodded. “I don’t know why he’d send Julien and not tell me. But he’s done it before. And I can’t think of anyone else it could be, not even remotely. No one who’d have the balls to go after Michel and Mason. No one else who’d have any reason to.”

“I thought you said he was in Florida. You called him earlier from the payphone at the motel.”

“He could have been lying. I have no way of knowing—not until I physically see him here. He can use his telepathy, the same as me, and block anyone else from sensing him—including me. That’s why I want my gun. My telepathy’s pretty much useless against Julien. He trained along with me—hell, he taught me most of the shit I know.” He glanced at her. “He can block my psi bolts, but he can’t stop a bullet.”

She met his gaze. “You’d do that? Shoot your brother?”

Aaron looked away again. Julien had been one of the first people—and the only family member—Lamar had allowed him to know and interact with following his accident. Julien had always doted on Aaron, even to that day, and Aaron had never doubted or questioned the sincerity of his brother’s affection and kindness. He’d never questioned anything when the matter came to Julien, in fact, because he held his older brother in a nearly adulating regard. He thought of the botched hit in 1996, when Julien had personally—and without Lamar’s sanction—killed the would-be rapper. Not for his own personal gain or their father’s approval, but instead to protect Aaron, to rescue him from Lamar’s abuse.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

But God, I hope it doesn’t come to that, he thought. Because I sure as hell don’t want to find out.