The Rush (The Siren Series)

CHAPTER Ten



“Ivy,” Nix called out from the other side of my door. I stood frozen in front of my closet in only a lace bra and matching underwear, undecided on what to wear. “Can I come in?”

Fear, cold and shrill, chased my blood through my veins. He could come in, if he wanted to and there wasn’t anything I could say. I was not really wearing any clothes, but that wasn’t even the most frightening part of this. Nix had seen me like this before, hell Nix had seen all of us like this before. My terror originated in the fact that my tattoos were completely exposed and I would be so dead if Nix found them.

“Uh, I’m still getting dressed,” I called back in a quivering voice. I walked over to the door on my tip toes, making as little sound as I could. My breath felt hurried and deafening as I tried to be as quiet as humanly possible. I desperately wanted to disappear, blend into the carpet or dematerialize into the stagnant air of the apartment. I placed two shaky hands against the solid wood of the door and held them there as if I could stop Nix from entering, as if I could stop Nix from doing anything that he wanted.

There were several beats of silence and I wondered if Nix was processing the real reason I was keeping him out. “Do you need help?” he asked in an almost exasperated voice. There was no perverse anxiousness or even inappropriate curiosity. My mother would be waiting and Nix hated to be late, even for her. My stalling was costing him time and money, that was all.

I exhaled a small breath of relief. A small, tiny one, almost insignificant. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t trivial. Just a little bit of release, that was all I needed, that was all I wanted.

“No, I’m just finishing up. I’ll be ready in five minutes,” I answered more confidently than before. I slid one hand down the smooth wood, enjoying the cool, flat feel under my fingers and as quietly and slowly as I could manage I double checked that the door was locked and secured. Another miniscule breath of relief.

Not that a locked door had ever stopped Nix from getting what he wanted, but tonight I had the desperate hope that what he wanted was not me.

“Five minutes,” he echoed in a surely command.

I moved back to my closet and slipped inside, digging out the tattoo cover up from my secret hiding place. I rubbed it generously on my ribs and wrist and then took thirty seconds to stare at myself in the mirror and make sure everything was hidden. Even though I hoped these parts of my body would always stay hidden, there was no denying the fear I lived with daily of being found out for these small acts of rebellion. I didn’t even want to think about the price I would have to pay. Thank God for Kat Von D and her miraculous cover up products.

Once the cover up had dried and done its job, I moved back to my closet and selected a nude long sleeved, off the shoulder mini dress with a pretty lace overlay. There was no cleavage exposure, which I preferred, but the dress was short enough and tight enough Nix would be pleased.

I shuddered involuntarily at my appraisal.

My red waves were swept over one shoulder in a fishtail braid that seemed complex, but wasn’t and my makeup was fresh and clean. I slipped into some nude, studded pumps and added a long, dangly necklace. I stared at myself for two more minutes, giving myself the pep talk, pumping myself into handling the next four hours and then grabbed my phone before meeting Nix in the living room.

He was staring out the window, taking in the city skyline. His reflection was mirrored in the clear pane, his expression intense and serious. He didn’t turn automatically to greet me and so I stood awkwardly leaning against my doorframe, waiting for him to notice me. His broad shoulders were covered by a perfectly fitted navy blue suit, and his hair was expertly styled. I studied his profile more from raw hypnosis than conscious desire. His jaw line was chiseled and strong, his nose the perfect accent to his striking face, his dark eyes penetrating and always passionate. He was gorgeous, that much was undeniable. He screamed masculinity, testosterone and dominance. A shaky breath and nerves that felt like tiny grenades setting off inside my blood reminded me that evil could easily be deceptively and blindingly beautiful.

That was Nix.

Dazzling.

And wicked.

The worst kind of wicked.

He finally turned to face me, fiddling with one of the four buttons on his cuff. He wasn’t wearing a tie and had left the button open at the collar of his crisp white oxford. My nerves calmed some at the sight of his perfection and the feeling of how he commanded every room he stood in, how he stood out from the rest of humanity like a god sent from Olympus. That kind of outwardly perfection was inherently flawed on the inside.

He had to be.

Or I would never survive.

My hand instinctively flew to my ribs and where the scrawled words I had picked so carefully were etched into my skin. His eyes bore into mine from across the room, the intensity of his entire aura stealing my breath, hazing my vision.

“I’m ready,” I announced. I met his gaze and defied logic by holding it.

“I see that,” he murmured, stepping towards me. He took the room in four confident strides and was only two inches in front of me before I could even regret the bravado I tried to pull off. “You’re lovely tonight.” His voice floated around my ears with a deep, rich sound, one that demanded melting and fawning. But I couldn’t give in, not even a little bit. His voice was dangerous.

“Thank you,” I replied because that was what I was taught to say.

“Your mother is waiting,” he whispered regretfully. What he was regretting I didn’t even want to speculate, so I took the arm he had offered me and let him lead me out the door and down the elevator.

His sleek Jaguar C-X75 was waiting for us in front of the building. He opened the door for me and helped me slide onto the luxurious leather seat. I hadn’t bothered with a coat and I had forgotten my purse, so I fiddled with my cellphone idly while I waited for Nix to climb into the driver’s seat.

Nix put the car into drive and eased out of the circular driveway in front of our building. We headed north, away from downtown and toward Dundee, a quaint section of Omaha with expensive bistros that served unique, but world class food. It wasn’t that long of a drive, and silence filled the space between us. Nix was intense while he drove. Nix was always intense and never tolerated idle conversation unless he absolutely needed to. I was intimidated and anxious, so silence was fine with me.

My phone buzzed in my lap, but I ignored it. If Exie or Sloane were texting about Nix or really anything right now, I didn’t want him to get curious. I was more afraid that it was Chase though. We exchanged numbers yesterday and I didn’t want to have to explain too much about him to Nix. There would be too many questions, too much investigation and if Nix asked me to do anything in regards to the relationship I would have to say yes. And I wasn’t ready for that.

Nix found a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant, which I thought was lucky, but probably normal for someone like him. The very best of life just fell into his lap, he was used to it, expected it even. I stayed put in the car while he climbed out and walked around to open the door for me. Years of training had taught me how to behave properly; I was a prisoner to manners and tradition.

And the curse.

Just like Nix was.

My mother was already seated at a table inside the dimly lit French restaurant. She stood when we walked in the door, greeting us each with a gentle hug and a kiss on both cheeks. Her eyes flitted over me from head to toe and I forced myself not to cringe from her scrutiny. She was of course, above reproach in stylishly cut, high waisted black tailored pants and a soft pink silk shirt. She looked more like a movie star than a mother. That was always my thought about her. She was stunning, completely elegant, poised and absolutely untouchable and distant.

Eventually the beauty would fade, she would develop wrinkles, and her hair would thin and gray and her body would begin to sag. It happened to every woman, we were without exception. But my mother would never lose her allure; men would always be drawn to her.

And to me. No matter how I detested this outward beauty, men would always worship it.

“How’s Honor?” Nix asked first while we settled behind our menus, and they sipped their wine.

My mother paused for too long. She made a show of drinking her wine and looking around the restaurant impatiently for our waiter. I clenched at the napkin in my lap, dreading whatever had my mother so nervous. Her eyes flickered everywhere in the room, except to Nix and this only made me more anxious.

“She’s very devoted to her father,” she finally admitted.

A rush of air expelled through my mouth and I felt myself visibly relax into my seat. Nix shot me an intolerant glance but I smiled brightly, hoping to avoid an explanation. I loved that my sister had a father and they were so close. I loved that she had been saved from our world, from my mother…. From Nix. But obviously I couldn’t explain that to them.

Nix slid his wine glass between his thumb and middle finger slowly. He didn’t have very many tells, his ability to mask every emotion was one of his greatest skills. But his fingers were white with the effort to stop himself from crushing the glass between his fingers.

I wiped at the corners of my mouth to keep from smiling at his frustration. “So she isn’t willing to go back to trial?” I asked in a meek voice.

My mother’s sharp green eyes found mine with such intensity that it felt like she slapped me. “No, she doesn’t want to dispute custody. She says she’s happy with the way things are.” My mother’s words fell off her tongue like malicious drops of acid. How dare one of her children be happy…

Nix’s gaze bore into my mother like he could change the finality of her tone with a powerful look. His lips had formed a tight frown and I watched, practically mesmerized, by the pulsing, angry vein in his neck. When he finally spoke, his words were carefully controlled and measured. This was Nix with barely concealed anger management issues; this was Nix just at the verge of losing control. Terrifying. Captivating. Deadly.

“She doesn’t know better, Ava,” he finally relented. “She’s been with that man for as long as she can remember, she doesn’t know life differently. Continue how things are, we’ll work on the details together.”

My mother nodded curtly, as if she were in complete agreement. It was only the tremble of her fingers when she reached for her glass that gave away her internal fears. I found her quiet terror comforting, even though it meant that if my plans failed in the future I would be imprisoned to a life of fear.

“But I will not tolerate this for much longer,” Nix continued, “Your failure to possess your own offspring is not acceptable. Her father is an anomaly, I understand that, and I’d rather not risk exposure by pressing him too hard. But there cannot be loose ends, there cannot be….” Nix cleared his throat, pulling himself back from the hateful monster he was becoming.

“So you don’t think that could ever happen again?” I asked before I could stop myself. Ryder had felt like this giant impossibility ever since I met him, but I had forgotten Honor’s father was also completely resistant to my mother’s spell. Maybe there were men alive that could resist us. Maybe there was hope!

“Ivy you have nothing to worry about,” Nix answered, misreading my curiosity. “What happened with Smith was a fluke. It won’t happen again, especially not to you.” His eyes settled on me appreciatively and I could almost feel my mother’s bitterness radiating between us.

What he didn’t know was that I thought it had already happened to me.

My mother wasn’t alone. And I could solve this new gap between us caused by Nix’s implications if I was honest with her about Ryder.

But I never would be. Never ever.

“Smith and Honor are extenuating circumstances,” my mother defended herself. “Who knows what those chemo drugs did to his mind, to his brain. Nobody expected him to survive those treatments or his disease, not even his expensive team of experts.” We sat in silence as my mother’s unnecessary argument settled around us. I didn’t have an opinion that could be said out loud about her situation and no matter what my mother said, Nix had his own ideas that would not be dissuaded. “Maybe I should talk to my lawyer about that. Maybe it just wasn’t his relationship with me that was affected. Nobody knows the long term effects those drugs could have on his mental capacity.”

Nix made a noncommittal sound and gestured for the waiter to come over and take our order. Nix proceeded to order for all three of us without asking our opinion, and then dismissed the waiter just as abruptly. I was used to this. It was annoying, but I was used to it. And at least I wouldn’t have to eat dry lettuce, my mother’s favorite food.

We sat in silence for a few more moments, lost to our own thoughts. Nix’s concentration never softened, and if anything he grew more agitated with each passing moment. He was wound tight with powerful energy, his eyes burning holes into the table as his fingers worked his wine glass in small twists back and forth. My mother seemed to shrink under the force of his intensity and I could only watch with sick fascination, hardly knowing what to expect.

“Ava,” Nix looked at my mother over the small candle in the middle of the table, the dark lighting of the restaurant casting a shadow over half of his face. He pinned my mother to her seat, leveling her with the concentration of his dark eyes. Before he said anything else I knew she would agree to whatever he was about to say, she couldn’t help herself. When faced with a force of nature like Nix, one did not say “no,” one simply shook their head and quivered in promises to carry out his wishes. “It’s important that Honor is put in your custody soon.”

“I know that, Nix,” my mother crooned confidently, but I saw the way she pressed her lips together to hide her nerves. Her attempt at hiding her anxiety was slipping quickly. She needed more wine.

“Honor needs to be your legacy, not Ivy,” Nix continued and I choked on a piece of ice I had been crunching on. Literally, I choked. I flailed my arms, chugged my water and made an entirely unattractive spectacle of myself. My mother and Nix waited for me to gain control of my motor functions and breathing with disapproving glares.

“Sorry,” I squeaked, looking intently down at the beige table cloth and wishing I could crawl underneath the table and hide or find a gun. A gun could solve a couple problems right now.

“Why not Ivy?” my mother asked defensively, showing the first sign of backbone I had ever witnessed. And the first sign of possessive connection to me. “She’s grown into a stunning young woman. She’s everything you want in your legacies and more.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Nix was quick to respond, waving his hand in the air for effect. “You’ve done a fantastic job with her; she’s everything I could ever hope for.”

Except for my mental instability, I thought dryly.

“Then-“ my mother started to ask, but Nix interrupted her.

“I want her for me. I want her in my collection,” Nix explained as if this were typical dinner conversation, as if my world hadn’t come crashing down around me at his words, as if I could still breathe.

My mother looked over the table at me, beaming with pride. Her green eyes sparkled and her shoulders bounced a little relishing the news. I realized too late that she was never defensive of Nix’s opinion of me, her pride had been wounded. She was soaring now, what with a daughter handpicked for Nix’s personal collection, how could she not be? This was what every mother wanted, what every mother dreamed of her daughter becoming….

But what about the daughters? What about what they wanted?

And my heart stopped beating. I stopped living. I stopped existing.

“Nix, I had no idea Ivy had made such an impression on you,” my mother gloated.

“When?” I croaked. The word tumbled from my lips in a hoarse, desperate plea for time.

“When you would have come to me anyway,” Nix explained, his eyes drinking me in with calculating indifference. He wasn’t happy with my reaction, with how my face had paled, and my hands gripped the table to keep myself from falling out of my seat. But this was the best I could give him; this was my last desperate attempt from falling apart. “I won’t ask you to leave your mother just yet. But you will be mine, Ivy.”

His words sunk into my skin like deathly sharp daggers, cutting and slicing open every vestige of hope I held. I bled despair and anguish from every pore, and cried invisible tears of defeat. Eighteen was more important now than ever, but never more unattainable.

The dinner continued on without me present, at least intellectually. Nix and my mother moved onto different, less life-changing topics. But I remained in the soul-wrenching limbo of suffocating hopelessness.

There was no point to breathing anymore. There was no need for air.