The Rush (The Siren #1)

The Rush (The Siren #1) Page 5

“Hi, Ivy,” his perfect lips spread into a gorgeous smile that even I couldn’t be totally unaffected by. But it was part of his charm, part of what made him who he was and even if physically I couldn’t stop myself from being attracted to his sexy-as-sin mouth, I could at least mentally remind myself of the price it came with. “Happy to be home?”

“Of course,” I shrugged one shoulder and then walked over to the couch just for something to do.

“Ava, why don’t you go check the account we were just talking about,” Nix addressed my mother. She paused for a moment too long, as if waiting for a better reason to leave the room. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re finished.” Nix turned his reassuring smile on my mother and lifted his dark eyebrows expectantly.

“Of course,” she agreed, obeying him. There had never been any doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t do exactly as she was told. She lived a complete subservient life, in the utter will and command of Nix. The same life I was supposed to embrace and walk willingly into as well.

Not happening.

Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen.

Once she was gone, Nix walked over to the couch. I fought the defensive surge to pull my knees to my chest, knowing it would give away the physical signs of needing to protect myself and crossed my legs instead. Nix let his dark eyes float over my exposed limbs appreciatively; he cleared his throat letting his gaze linger way too long on my thighs. I resisted the urge to fidget when his eyes moved to my hands. He couldn’t see the tattoo; I had checked it out enough to know that it was perfectly hidden. Still there was a part of me that believed he could see through anything.

He was just a man. Nothing more. Nothing more than a man.

Ok, maybe something more.

“How was your first day back?” he asked, his deep, gravelly voice caressed each word and floated in the air around me like music. He looked god-like in his immaculately tailored navy blue suit, with starched white oxford and red charcoal tie. His tan skin was the exact color of caramel and because I was crazy I stopped to notice how delicious his large hands looked hanging casually at his sides.

“Same as it always is,” I answered, not fooled at all by the cocoon of safety he was trying to wrap me in.

He was not safe. He was not anything but absolutely dangerous.

He sat down on the chic, mustard colored coffee table in front of me and rested his elbows on his knees so that he could lean forward and meet my eyes at an even level. He let his fingers trail up my bare calf before he reached for one of my hands and took it gently in his. I couldn’t hide the goose bumps that covered my skin, all I could do was hope that he thought they were good goose bumps and not the result of the paralyzing fear pumping desperately inside of me.

“Ivy, I am happy you’re home,” he admitted. He ducked his head as if with sincerity before looking up at me through his thick, black eyelashes. It was a practiced move, a move meant to make any girl puddle at his every word. I was not fooled, but I had to be somewhat sneaky about it. “I was so worried about you. You can’t do that to me again, alright? I need to know that you will be Ok, here. If you don’t think this is a good environment for you, or if you feel even a little bit like you could relapse I need you to tell me.”

“Thank you, Nix,” I answered in a barely controlled voice. “But, I’m fine, really. I’m happy to be home with my mom again. She needs me.”

He sat there pensively for a few moments, drinking in my answer. His eyes darkened suddenly and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it was from lust or anger. I hoped anger, but flipping a coin would have given me more insight than trying to read his expression.

“But what about what I need?” Nix asked playfully. His full lips tipped up into a smile and small creases appeared near his eyes, making it seem like he was a regularly happy person, that a smile was part of his constant facial expressions.

I swallowed quickly, my throat working overtime to keep from puking. I buried whatever thoughts sounded like What about what I need?

“Nix, I’m only sixteen,” I chastised playfully. Where was my mother?

“Now, now, that’s not what I meant,” he backtracked when we both knew that was exactly what he meant. But I wasn’t his property. Not yet. “I only meant that I’m very concerned about your well-being. I understand that your mother can’t leave Omaha, but you aren’t under the same obligations. I need to know that you’re safe, that you’re well taken care of and that you’re protected.”

“I am,” I assured him.

“I know that you think you are, but let’s not forget what happened just six months ago. I could have lost you Ivy. Do you know what that has done to me?” His expression seemed so sincere and if I were a weaker woman I would have melted in the intensity of his feelings for me. It didn’t matter how old he really was, he looked like he was maybe mid-thirties.

“I can’t apologize enough for my stupidity,” I threw myself into this moment as a character in a tragic play. I had to convince Nix, my mother…. I had to convince everyone. And I would do whatever it took to get out of here. If Nix took me to live with him, I would never see freedom, never see my trust fund. I had to push through the fear and vile hatred coiling inside of me and just pretend. I scooted to the edge of the couch and slipped my other hand in his. I rubbed my thumb nail across the inside of his wrist slowly and gently, a move that usually got me anything I wanted with men. “I was confused and not thinking right. I won’t ever let that happen again…. I won’t ever behave like that again.” I shrugged one of my shoulders, hopefully drawing attention to the curve of my neck and collarbone and then used his own trick against him by looking up through my lashes.

“Promise me, Ivy,” Nix whispered through a thick voice. “Promise me you won’t ever get like that again and if you even think you might be slipping you’ll come to me immediately.”

“I promise,” I responded with enough sincerity that even I almost believed I was telling the truth.

“Mmmm, good girl,” Nix murmured, his gaze settling on my lips. He leaned forward and I sucked in a quiet gasp, preparing for his touch. One of his hands lifted to cup my chin and he tilted my mouth upwards to meet his sensual lips. He kissed me lightly, gently, his lips never opening but lingering a little longer than I could stand.

When my thumb slipped out of nervousness and grazed over his wrist one more time he groaned against me. His hand gripped my neck firmer and even though he pulled away instead of deepening the kiss I knew it took all of his will power.

“You’re exquisite,” he whispered. “And if I didn’t love your mother as much as I do, I would demand you come live with me right now.”

Well, at least I could thank my mother for something.

He laughed gruffly as if he were trying to gain his composure and then stood up and moved away from me. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying anything that would get me into trouble and slid back into the deep recesses of the couch.

My mother came out of her bedroom wearing a designer coat over her designer dress and a beaded clutch in hand. She gave me an excited smile after glancing at Nix as if I had just won some kind of championship game.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

“I’ll be in town for a while,” Nix told me, his eyes still smoldering. “Do you already have a date for this weekend or will I be able to take you out one night?”

“I, uh, I,” I stammered, loathing the idea of a night out with him. “I met a guy today; he gave me a ride home from school. We don’t have anything set up, but I’m positive he’ll ask me out this weekend.”

“Good,” Nix murmured and I could see the confliction in his eyes. He was happy there was a boy but disappointed all the same. “Maybe Sunday, then?”

“Maybe,” I answered noncommittally. “Will you be back tonight?” I turned to my mom.

She looked to Nix for the answer, he shook his head negatively. “I guess not,” she giggled. “Will you be Ok?”

“I’ll be fine, have a great time,” I gushed, so ready for them to be gone.

“Alright, bye sweetheart,” my mom walked over and kissed me on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Ivy,” Nix’s eyes swept over me appreciatively one more time and then he winked at me.

I waved from the couch and then held my breath until they door clicked shut behind them. As soon as they were gone I leapt from the couch and rushed to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I started vomiting up every single thing I ate today, which wasn’t all that much. I shuddered even against the violent heaving as I emptied my stomach.

When I was finished I sunk to the floor, leaning my back against the bathroom wall.

Two years might as well have been an eternity. If I had to put up with too much more of this I would never make it. I would crumble…. shatter….. I would explode into the million broken pieces I already felt like composed me. I was already wrecked. Completely fragmented and I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that freedom would fix me.

But it would let me breathe.

And that’s all I needed. I just needed to breathe.

Chapter Five

They were gone for ten minutes before I let myself move. I had to be sure they were gone. I had to know they weren’t coming back and I was free to do as I pleased.

So when I was sure, I tore from the bathroom floor and ran to my room. It was still early in the evening, but Wednesdays were a bit of a ritual night for me and since I would be taking the bus I needed to get my ass moving.

In my room, I changed again. I was in what I called my “Mom-approved-skanky-casual.” This included nice, expensive clothes that were at the same time subtly revealing and not at all age appropriate. I was a sixteen year old girl that rarely got to act sixteen except on Wednesday nights when I was in Omaha. And this was my first Wednesday back in over six months.

I ripped of my cami and shorts and shot to the very depths of my closet, the depths on the opposite side of my tattoo cover up, because both secrets were very closely tied to my heart and I couldn’t have one giving away the other, just in case of worst-case-scenario-secret-exposing-Armageddon.

Which was obviously the worst kind of Armageddon.

And could happen at any time, day or night.

People get ready.

I pulled from the bowels of my clothing sanctuary the most depressing, most soul-baring, most emo clothes I had been able to stash away over time and grinned like an idiot. I peeled, tugged, yanked and scooched my tightest black, faded skinny jeans on and paired them with depressingly worn out Chucks.

They were worn out because in my entire short-lived life I had only ever had one opportunity to sneak a pair of black and white Chuck Taylors into my wardrobe. And I knew, without a doubt, if something ever happened to them I would never get that opportunity again.

I pulled on a faded to gray Johnny Cash t-shirt and inhaled the musty smell that came with being tucked into a hole in my closet for too long. And then to finish my glorious ensemble, I zipped up my plain black hoodie. I almost squealed with delight. A hoodie. A freaking hoodie!

It had been six months since I’d been able to wear something as comfortable as a hoodie.

I always carried one around with me in my backpack, but I never wore it. It was like a security blanket for me. And maybe something more, something like the Promised Land.

I pulled a hair-tie off my vanity and wrapped my hair into a knot on the top of my head. I darkened my eye-liner to Goth-gorgeous and painted on some bright red lipstick. I stepped back so I could approve of my look in the full-length mirror.

Then I really did squeal.

If I had complete freedom, as in the ability to choose small aspects of my life without having to answer to anyone other than myself, this would not be the wardrobe I would choose. I wasn’t some closet monochromatic safe dresser or even someone that belonged in a Goth sub-culture, but I also wasn’t the glamorous uber skank I usually dressed up as either. I was somewhere in between.

And in my daydreams and all the thoughts I had that centered around two years from now, I pictured myself one day having the opportunity to discover and explore what my real tastes and opinions were. I could not wait to try something on in a dressing room, decide I looked great only to hate it the minute I got home. Then, in these pipe dreams, I would complain about having to return it, go to the store anyway and purchase something as equally unflattering. Rinse and repeat.

As it stood now I didn’t get to choose my wardrobe. I barely got a say in what I wore on a day to day basis. And then I very secretly rebelled by going in the exact opposite way I lived my everyday life just because it was rebellion. I had no attachment to these clothes other than memories of concerts made of horrible music and boys not giving me even a second glance. I didn’t care for the way the pants clung to me and when I got sweaty they really clung to me, the shoes were well beyond their good years, hell they were way beyond retirement and my t-shirt and hoodie were just meh. But they were something my mother and Nix would disgust and even possibly not even recognize me in. And even better they made me feel, even if it was just for one night…. they made me feel alive.

And I desperately needed to feel alive.

Because if I didn’t feel alive, then I would feel…. dead.

And dead was unacceptable, because dead would mean giving up hope.

I shook my head to free myself of those thoughts and grabbed my ID, my regular, real school ID, not the fake ID from Nix, and a wad of cash and stuffed it all into my pocket. Yep, not even a purse. And then I took off for the long journey across downtown Omaha to NoDo, North downtown, via bus for my Wednesday night ritual.

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The sleek, trendy concert hall was packed with bodies, both underage and of-age. Partly because Wednesday nights were huge at the Slowdown with the under twenty-one crowd and also because the main stage was curtained off and the band was positioned at the back of the room on a mini-stage.