Eluding Nirvana (The Dark Evoke Series Book 2) (17 page)

A
sliver of control spawned as I weighed up the scenarios of either getting attacked and possibly raped, or having the wrath of Liam on my case for accepting a lift from his employee.

Regardless of
any looming ramifications, I made my decision.

I got in the car.

Most of the journey was made in silence. Every now and then I would feel a heated caress from the Irishman’s eyes fall onto my flesh. I chanced a glance when we pulled to a stop and saw his focus flitting from the lights ahead, down to my thighs. It wasn’t until I peeked down myself and noticed that the lights were shinning on the area of marred flesh from yesterday’s incident, that I detected what he was regarding.

In the bench seat
I shifted, and attempted to cover the mark as good as I could with a cross of my legs and knitted fingers hanging down.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked
, breaking that ear-piercing silence.

I nodded, “Sure.”

His hair was combed back by a swift motion of his hand, before tumbling to his throat, and slowly pulled and loosened at the silver necktie. Studying him as he licked his lips, his attention settled on me quickly before rapidly turning back to the road, as we pulled off at the turn of the green light. “The first day I met Liam, I walked into his office and he was all King of The World, or Doctor Evil minus the cat, whichever one. Either way he was sitting behind his desk, back facing towards to the door. When he spun around to face me, do you know what my first thought was?”

I shook my head, my perplexed scowl fixed firmly in place.

“I thought,” he craned his focus toward me again. I was sure we were going to end up in some accident if he didn’t keep his eyes on the road. “’Fuck me, it’s Elmer Fudd.’”

“
Elmer Fudd?” Again my head swung, totally missing the punch line.

“
Oh, Kady, don’t tell me you don’t know Elmer Fudd. Give him a shot gun…let him hunt a rabbit…”

The
scowl loosened at the same time as I dropped my head. “Oh, my God. Yes, I remember him now. I used to watch it when I was a kid; Walker, that’s not nice.” I tried to sound firm, but at that moment, my mind was holding up two profile shots side by side, and I couldn’t disguise my amusement at the contrast, regardless of how bad it felt. A smile stole across my face as faint giggle vibrated from my throat.

“And there it is.”

“There what is?” I asked dubiously, my gaze lifted up at Walker, his attention drawing from the road to me and back again.

“That
amazing smile I knew you could crack.” Feeling my cheeks flush, I hung my head again. “Just promise me one thing, darlin’.”

“Depends what it is.”

He chanced a glance at me again. “Don’t tell the boss man. I really need this job.”

By the time I
muttered my compliance, he was holding his hand out to me. I eyed it cynically, as though one touch would be poisonous and near fatal. But I decided to take it anyway.

“Deal.”

The house lights were out, but Liam’s car was safely in the driveway when Walker dropped me off. I said thank you and wished him the best of luck on his first day at work, which happened to be the following day.

The slamming of the pick-up’
s door echoed through the night as I dropped onto the sidewalk, and made my way up the steps while rummaging through my purse to find my keys. The warmth of Walker’s stare on my back, even when I was stood at the summit of the front steps, was ongoing. It was only when I pushed open the door and stepped inside out of the rain, that I heard him pull off.

Carefully, o
n the sideboard in the hallway along the balustrade, my clutch purse was set down. Braced by a steady hand, I slipped off my peep-toe heels before I began to advance the stairs.

“Who gave you the lift?” I start
ed as the darkness spoke. Turning my head, I saw the silhouette of Liam’s body, his arms crossed over his chest as he rested his shoulder against the right entranceway.

“
Liam, you scared me,” I rasped, my hand flying up to the center of my chest.

“Who gave you the lift?” he repeated himself
, deadpan.

Taking a deep
gulp of air, I readied myself for his reaction. “Walker did.” When he didn’t respond, I simply told him that I was going to go up to bed. It was well after midnight, and I was beyond shattered.

“Wait,” my wrist
was snared by a surprisingly tender hand, and before I could list what was ensuing, the darkness of the hallway was digressed as I was guided through the lower house and into the brightly lit kitchen. We stood on opposite sides of the island. “I know you’re the one who made it, but,”––he lifted the covering off the platter, displaying three-quarters of the coconut cake I’d made yesterday––“Peace offering?” he suggested, brandishing a pout and puppy dog eyes. Still, all I could think of was that damned cartoon character. Walker was going to pay.

You didn’t have to be
an expert to realize that cake, past midnight, was a terrible idea. Even so, this was a peace offering. An olive branch. An apology. So I nodded. “Okay.”

He went about the kitchen, opening
cupboards and pulling out drawers before setting two plates, two forks and a knife in front of me on the island. He told me to cut us a slice while he fetched some glasses. I did as I was told.

As we were digging into the midnight treat, Liam muttered around his sponge, “You really did a good job on this, baby. What did you use?”

What did I use? It appeared I wasn’t the only one who was clueless when it came to cakes. “Umm…” I swallowed before continuing. “Flour, sugar, coconut…”

Liam set his fork on the plate and
strayed from the island, into the fridge.

“Eggs––”

“Eggs? I didn’t know we had enough to make something of that size.”

The fork lingered on my tongue for a moment longer than necessary before it was gradually
pulled from my mouth. “They were large ones, so I only needed three. Why do you ask? Planning on returning the gesture?” I teased through a faint grin. His muscular form had shielded an object which laid in the possession of his left hand. As his body rotated away from the refrigerator and pushed shut one of the huge double doors, my grin was slowly morphing from one of amusement, to one of query.

Liam set
out to retrieve another glass from the upper cupboard near the range in an eerie silence. When he assembled all three empty glasses in a line on the island, along with a glass bottle, a glass jar, and the cardboard carton, my heart rate began to pick up a staccato rhythm.

“Liam,”
his name was shakily drawn out. “What are you doing?”

His
large, manicured hand dove into the cardboard carton and he removed a single egg, lifting it up between his fingers. “About this size?” he probed.

With
a parched mouth, all I could do was stand there stock-still and nod my head while my guard was lifted.

The
white casing was parted by his fingers as soon as a tiny crack appeared after being tapped against the rim of one of the waiting glasses. The gooey, transparent contents slithered its way into the tumbler while I whined his name again. Still, my blatant nerve-wracked tone was falling on deaf ears as he repeated cracking two more eggs, releasing the slimy substances into the remaining glasses.

“Everything in life begins with an experiment, Kady.” The look of pure concentration veiling his features as he opened
the large glass jar was terrifying. So chilling in fact, that it caused my body to be overridden by each jagged breath and pressing, suppliant words daren’t pass my lips. “Here in this jar, we have my favorite. What is my favorite, Kady?”

I forced a swallow. And although I had
lowered my head to evade the unhinged glazed coating of his hardened eyes, I could see in my peripheral vision that he was pouring the clear liquid into one of the egg filled glasses. This was too familiar. Immobilized by dread, it felt as though I was choking on my heart. I knew what was going to happen. I just hoped with everything I had, that my theory of what was about to transpire was in fact wrong.

“Favorite, Kady, now. What is it?” he raised his voiced
, snapping his fingers impatiently in the air.

“Deviled eggs,” I
gasped in terror, the corners of my mouth trembled in sheer revulsion.

To combat
my body’s natural reaction of lifting my head as he applauded me with his ‘good girl’ praise was unviable. His jaw was set, his mouth curved more so, as terror carved its way deeper into my profile.

“Here we have
one of your favorites,”––he pointed a cautionary finger at me and cocked his head––“So don’t tell me that I don’t think of you.”

Think of me? How was th
at thinking of me? I should be thankful that something I enjoyed was going to end up with the same fate as Liam’s remnants of deviled eggs? My stomach flipped and knotted, my face contorted as I studied him tipping, not a few drops of Tabasco sauce in the glass, but near enough a quarter of the bottle.

“Liam, please; you’ve made your point. Please, don’t do this.” Tears of
horror, alarm and distress accumulated in my eyes, testing the boundaries of the dam which I’d set in place. Blinking, the dam burst and the evidence of my panic were left to liberate themselves by tumbling over my lids and wetting my lashes.

“Don’t do this?”
Those three words were spoken mercifully, his eyes soft. Through his arms he braced his weight while grasping the edge of the island and dropping his weight through his hip. “Kady, you leave me no choice. Why should I listen to you when you don’t listen to me? You never learn.” And just like that, the demonic mask was shifted back into place, and that bloodcurdling smirk spread like wildfire across his shaven face. “Now, what could we use for experiment three?”

How could h
e be enjoying this? The upbeat tone in his voice, the expression of indifference on his face, it was like he was manic. I was his girlfriend, his partner, not some disobedient dog that needed punishing. The way his eyes had thawed along with his voice made me feel a shard of hope that he would relent and see what he was doing more clearly. But my hopes were shattered along with my heart as he continued with his torturous mind games.

Back facing me, h
e was rummaging inside one of the cupboards again when he called out ‘yes’ like he just stumbled upon some victorious notion. The entire contents of my queasy stomach rose as my body was inundated with dry heaves. “This will work perfectly…just as well you’re not on a diet, right, Kady?” he stated, digging a dessert spoon into the tub of Crisco. With the pad of his thumb and an upturn of his lip, he glided down the surface of the metal, causing the fat to drop and push its way through the substance in the glass, like a baseball through slime. “I think we better mix this one up a little,” with his words, he used his fork to whisk the egg and fat together before pushing all three occupied glasses in front of me.

Convulsions to a degree of which my body was unable to suppress, were prompted by the
demented smirk he was exhibiting. Studying his torturous, vile creations ahead of me, horror, remorse and dry heaves were spawning each second. “Liam, please…”

He lifted his finger in the air to halt my words. “You have a choice.”

Choice? I have a choice? He was going to let me choose? For a brief moment I found myself thanking the heavens. I couldn’t withstand that scale of oppression. I’d do anything else, anything other than
that
. Dread, fear, revulsion, it was all pushed aside to make way for hope and gratitude.

A
broadened smile and menacing eyes bore into me and took pleasure from my begging. His hand dug into his suit pants pocket. When he pulled it out, his large hand was masking, what I guessed, was my alternative. Setting it on the wooden surface of the island, I simply stared, silently willing his hand to move. A pack of Marlboro Red was uncovered with the removal of his hand.

What the fuck was
this?

My
hopeful expression faded into oblivion, and at that moment in time, I would have been more than willing to jump feet first into that void to reclaim it. My gaze scoured up to meet his face––his irrational, deranged face.

Unspoken
optimism defeated, I shook my head as my brow knitted in sheer disbelief. He knew how I felt about smoking. Watching my granddad coughing and spluttering, while he fought for breath with an oxygen mask as he battled the final months of lung cancer because of those poisonous sticks, still haunted me.

“Liam––” I
besought.

“Choose.”

Salted droplets of misery and distress rolled down my cheeks and over my dried, cracked lips as I stood powerless with my head hanging low.

“CHOOSE!” he
shouted, his enraged body physically shaking as he took possession and hurled the platter with the cake I delighted in creating, across the room. I jumped, drawing back from his formidable demand.