Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) Read online

  She made her way into the bathroom and ran herself the luxury of a half-filled, semi-warm bath. She looked into the mirror, into her painfully dry eyes. She leaned closer to look at the subtle rim around her irises that Eden had detected.

  Removing her brown contact lenses, she looked back at herself, at the vibrant orange-gold irises staring back at her, vivid against her dark hair. Sometimes they were navy-blue or forest green; other times they were claret, depending on the mood they were reflecting. Sometimes they were as black as her pupils themselves.

  She blinked her eyes, relished in the relief of it, before splashing cold water onto her face.

  She dared not leave them out for too long, Pummel insisting she removed them only when necessary. But right then she needed to see herself, to remind herself who she was, to renew her conviction in her own strength. To remind herself that no con, whatever Eden’s purpose was for her, was going to jeopardise the freedom she so desperately needed to retain. The freedom not to be watched twenty-four hours a day – now more than ever.

  She undressed and stepped into the water. Lying back, she immersed herself in three foot of water in a futile attempt to escape the reality around her.

  6

  Stopping in the archway, Eden glanced over his shoulder at the milling bodies before looking back towards the closed door of the lounge. He stepped past the foot of the stairs to check out the reassuringly empty kitchen. No one was going to take any notice, not if he was quick.

  He ascended the first flight of stairs, passing a room before seeing the dog-legged staircase. Unless she was sharing a room with Pummel or Homer, she occupied an attic room just like Tatum did.

  He checked back down the stairs, listening out in the darkness, before staring up into the shadows of those dog-legged stairs. Hand skimming the worn balustrade, he kept his boots quiet against bare wood.

  Stopping outside the only door on the tiny landing, he glanced over his shoulder once more before lowering to his knees. He listened for a few moments before picking the lock with swift ease.

  He scanned the room only to find it empty. The double bed lay central, its sheets as plain and basic as the curtains drawn back from the recess ahead that housed the only window – a window divided by metal bars.

  Hearing a splash of water from behind the closed door to his left, Eden quietly shut the door behind him.

  The only furniture aside from the bed and the small chest of drawers next to it was a scuffed mahogany wardrobe directly behind the door and a taller chest of drawers to the left of the window. But the room was anything but bare with the array of pictures Blu-Tacked to the walls – detailed pencil drawings that took on lifelike qualities: trees, flowers, landscapes, insects.

  He wandered left, over to what logic dictated was a partition wall between her room and Tatum’s. He could hear the heavy bass now echoing through, Tatum no doubt setting the mood as she awaited his return from the kitchen.

  He stepped closer to the drawings. What could have been mistaken as one giant piece of work was, in fact, a myriad of smaller pieces put together to create one single scene as lifelike as staring out a colourless window. Woodlands, waterfalls, mountains, rivers, clouds and birds, the tiniest detail in the grass down to every painstakingly drawn flower – each aspect depicted in meticulous detail, images that would never be seen in Blackthorn or the surrounding area, drawn with such a vividness as to have surely been experienced.

  He glanced to the right-hand corner of the room and stepped up to the easel. He pulled the blanket away to reveal a work in progress. Only these pages were filled with anything but the optimism of the others. He flicked through the sheets of images, each as dark and deeply disturbing as the next. The malevolent faces were as disproportionate as their features; the scenes depicted cruel, brutal, sordid – almost hard to imagine as coming out of the same mind that had drawn the beautiful pictures that donned the walls.

  It was the same in the piles of paper tucked against the skirting board and in the corners – picture after picture of some of the darkest scenes and creatures he had ever seen, and he’d heard of, not least seen, some disturbing shit over the years. It appeared that Jessie had seen her fair share too.

  Scanning the rest of the room, conscious of how long she might remain in the bathroom, he headed over to the large chest of drawers. He skimmed through her underwear, a few items of clothing and even more stacks of paper, before turning to face the rest of the room.

  He crouched down at the small chest of drawers by the bed. Pulling open each drawer he found little of interest as he riffled through. But knowing the oldest trick, one he himself used as a child, he pulled the bottom drawer out completely and felt around. Finding a collection of cold, hard tubes, he pulled one out. Holding it up, he stared at the contents of the glass vial. An iridescent liquid glinted back at him, sparkling in the moonlight as it wavered between shades of pink, then blue, then violet. A liquid that was familiar.

  Unease clenching his chest, distracted only by another splash of water beyond, he tucked the vial into his jeans pocket. He slid the drawer back into place, ready to head around the foot of the bed, more than aware he’d have to silence Jessie’s potential scream when she emerged.

  But the sketchpad on the covers caught his eye.

  Reaching for it as he stood, he flicked through a few more pleasant images not unlike the ones tacked to the wall, when his heart skipped a beat.

  She had drawn every intricate detail of him with lifelike accuracy, right down to the thickness of his eyelashes. And there wasn’t just one, but a collection of eight images of him, each slightly different.

  Seemingly Jessie had something of a crush.

  He raised his eyebrows, the flattery undeniable.

  Seemingly getting close to her wasn’t going to be as difficult as he first thought.

  * * *

  Jessie sat bolt upright.

  She didn’t know if she’d heard something or just sensed it, the latter often more overwhelming than any other sense. Head turned towards the door, she listened in the silence. In a slow, cautious move, she reached for the towel resting over the end of the slipper bath and stood carefully.

  Wrapping the towel around herself, she silently stepped out of the water to press her ear to the door.

  The only one who ever went in her room was Pummel and she could count those instances on two hands even in the five decades that had passed. Her heart pounded a little faster at what he might find, panic striking that she hadn’t properly concealed her drawings of Eden.

  Warily opening the door, she stared out into her moonlit room.

  As Eden looked up from her sketchpad, her stomach flipped.

  Eden – in her room, in her sanctuary.

  Her hand grasped the towel knotted at her chest.

  His eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected to see her there, but then she realised the cause behind his startled gaze, let alone his subsequent frown: her contact lenses. More to the point, her lack of them.

  She didn’t know which way to run first – whether to snatch the sketchbook from his hands or hightail it back into the bathroom. Knowing it was too late to hide either, she marched around the bed to him.

  ‘You can’t be in here,’ she whispered sternly. ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ She glanced anxiously at the wall where the music seeped through. ‘That’s Tatum’s room. If she hears you, if Pummel finds you– ’

  ‘No one’s going to find me. Not if you keep your voice down.’

  She reached out to snatch her book from him but he was quicker, extending his arm to keep it away from her.

  ‘You’ve got quite the talent,’ he whispered. His gaze lingered on hers. ‘As well as one or two other secrets, I see.’

  Breaking from his gaze, she tried to grab the sketchbook again. ‘Give that back.’

  But he pulled it just far enough from her grasp again. ‘Seriously, you’re very good. And those,’ he said, indicating towards the wall, ‘well, they�
��re just incredible. The ones on the easel are a little disturbing, but still impressive. Dark little thing, aren’t you? Dark little thing with very pretty eyes.’

  Keeping a firm grip on the towel, she padded across the room to shove the blanket back over the easel.

  ‘You’re taking a risk having these in your room, aren’t you?’ he added, flicking through a few more of himself.

  ‘No one comes in here,’ she whispered as she marched back across to him. ‘And you have no right to be in here.’ She finally snatched the sketchpad from him and clamped it to her chest.

  ‘You can’t blame me for making the most of the opportunity. Tatum’s in there waiting for me. Pummel thinks I’m with her whilst he’s occupied downstairs. Besides, should you decide to snap my neck like you did the others’, my dead body will be harder to get down those stairs unnoticed than leaving it in the lock-up, right?’

  ‘I’m tempted to give it a damn good try.’

  He smiled. ‘I bet you are. So,’ he said, catching her jaw, ‘what’s with the eyes?’

  She yanked her chin away and took a step back, surprised at the instant flush she felt from his touch. ‘You need to leave. Right now.’

  She grabbed her sweater from the foot of the bed, pulling it down over her head as her towel simultaneously pooled to the floor.

  But seemingly he took advice as well then as he had in the lock-up.

  He strolled back around the periphery of her room, examining the pictures once more before running his hand over the bars on the window.

  She chucked her sketchpad back under her bed amidst other papers as she glanced anxiously back over at the partition wall. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, dangerous games are my thing,’ he remarked, sauntering past the opposite side of the bed.

  ‘And I’m fine with that, as long as it doesn’t involve me. Unfortunately for you, it does.’

  He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘That sounded like a threat.’

  She marched around the foot of the bed to join him. ‘What the hell are you doing coming back here? I told you to leave. I asked you to leave. There are lots of rows in The Circus. You don’t need to be in this one.’

  ‘But I want to be in this one.’

  ‘To work for Pummel? You’re on borrowed time. He’ll play you like a puppet and then cut your strings when he’s ready. And Tatum’s trouble. You don’t want to get involved with her.’

  ‘Saving my life and now saving my reputation. You’re fulfilling this guardian angel role really well.’

  ‘I’m just telling you how it is. Pummel arranged for her to seduce you.’

  ‘And that should bother me because…?’

  His nonchalance grated somewhere deep. ‘She’s playing you.’

  ‘Depends how you view it.’

  ‘You might not have taken my advice earlier but take it now – get out of this place before it’s too late.’

  ‘Then sate my curiosity.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘What are you?’

  She folded her arms. ‘Someone you don’t want as an enemy around here.’

  ‘Now that definitely sounded like a threat,’ he said with a glint in his eyes.

  She glanced at the wall again before fixing her gaze squarely back on his, and lowered her voice even more. ‘This is not a game, Eden. I thought I’d made myself clear earlier. If Pummel finds out I helped you, we’re both in more trouble than you can imagine.’

  ‘Because I’m not allowed anywhere near you, right?’

  ‘At least something is sinking in.’

  ‘Still, you managed to keep your cool earlier. I was impressed.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ she said sternly and quietly. ‘You turning up again saw to that.’

  He flashed her a dark smile. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t find it just a little bit exciting.’

  ‘Exciting?’ She frowned, despite knowing that’s exactly what the pang in her chest had been when he’d cornered her, when he’d turned up again, when he’d rubbed his thumb across her spine – exciting, dangerous, and completely irrational. ‘You won’t find it so exciting when he’s gutting you alive.’

  ‘So if the risk is so great, why did you save me?’

  ‘Believe me, I haven’t stopped asking myself that since you turned up again.’

  ‘But you did save me. The same as you said nothing about our encounter, despite your threat in the lock-up.’

  ‘So now you think you can push your luck?’

  ‘I’m just saying I think we’ve both got a vested interest in keeping this between us.’

  She frowned. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  She stepped closer to him. ‘I’m not underplaying how much danger you’re in,’ she warned, her whisper low again.

  ‘I’m getting an idea,’ he whispered back. ‘After all, that’s quite some skill you’ve got. I’d be precious about it too. Especially in this place.’

  Her heart skipped a beat at the added complication she’d dreaded.

  He raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘You seriously think I hadn’t worked out what you did? Darling, I’ve had more scrapes than you can imagine. I know how quickly I heal and I know exactly how close I was to dying last night. You did something to me. What was it? Magic? Because with tricks like that, I can understand why Pummel would be protective of you. When it comes to surviving the most physically treacherous part of Blackthorn, you have one of the most useful abilities there is.’

  A cold chill swept over her. ‘If you’re back for more, if that’s why you’re here, it’s not going to happen. So listen to me – what I put in your system will be there for a few more hours yet. Another stunt like last night, only with Pummel nearby to see you don’t wound like others do, and he’s going to know I helped you. This will be over. He will slaughter you for pleasure. And he will make my life hell. And I don’t need any more hell in my life than I’ve already got. Please. Leave.’

  He frowned, his eyes penetrating too deeply for comfort, not helped by the depleted distance between them. ‘How long has this been your life, Jessie?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘These pictures – are they places you’ve been? Or places you dream of going?’

  ‘They’re just pictures.’

  ‘They’re more than that. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Long enough not to fall for charm like yours.’

  ‘Why here of all places?’

  ‘This is my home.’

  ‘Looks more like a prison to me,’ he declared, glancing at the window. His brown eyes rested on hers again. ‘Do you want to leave?’

  The very suggestion made her pulse race. She glanced down at the numbers on his arm then warily into his eyes again. ‘What if it’s my fortress?’ she asked, taking a cautious step back.

  ‘From what?’

  ‘From ones like you who think I’m a resource to be used at their convenience.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here? Does Pummel protect you?’ He tilted his head to the side slightly. ‘Or does he use you?’

  ‘This conversation is over.’

  ‘I’m not your enemy, Jessie.’

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning I’m curious – about you, about what was in those crates.’

  Her stomach wrenched. ‘What crates?’

  His eyes narrowed a little as he searched her gaze. ‘Something tells me you know exactly what crates.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘That was a big delivery, Jessie.’

  ‘And one I know nothing about. So do yourself a favour: if you want to set yourself on some suicide mission, fine, but please, get away from here long enough for what’s in your system to wear off. You’ll be clear by tomorrow. After that, I don’t care what you do. You owe me that much.’


  She stepped back into the bathroom, annoyed that her hands trembled as she reached for her contacts. Her eyes had already turned a dark blue to reflect her frustration – a change he had to have detected. She glanced over her shoulder to see he was stood in the doorway, his arms folded as he watched her. He was churning something in his mouth again.

  ‘Last night was a one-off. I’m not in the habit of getting stabbed.’

  She exhaled tersely. ‘Even if you do avoid any further scrapes in the next few hours,’ she said, replacing the first of her contacts, ‘Tatum’s going to leave you like a pincushion by the time she’s finished with you.’ She replaced her second lens. ‘She’s no idiot. She’s going to know when you heal by nightfall.’ She stepped back over to the door. ‘And then you’re dead. What part of that do you not get?’

  He braced his arm across the doorway, blocking her exit. ‘If it makes you feel better, I haven’t slept with her yet. I’ve been with enough women like her to know what it entails.’ He closed in on her so she was backed up against the doorframe. ‘Besides, we both know she’s not the one I’m interested in. I thought me being in here, instead of in there,’ he said, glancing at the partition wall, ‘made that clear enough.’

  It was there again – that look in his eyes. The same look in his eyes before he’d kissed her in the lock-up. The same look in his eyes as he’d leaned against the doorway in the lounge. The look that made her feel like she was the only one he could see.

  And it was intoxicating.

  Too intoxicating.

  The tiny hairs on her arms prickled. ‘Unless you want your balls replacing your Adam’s apple, I suggest you back off.’

  His eyes glinted even more darkly. ‘I’m a sucker for the playing-hard-to-get game.’

  ‘And those numbers aren’t to my taste,’ she said, her glare not flinching from his. ‘Fuck who you want, just don’t fuck with me. And do it as far away from here as possible.’

  ‘Hard words from such a delicate mouth.’

  ‘There is nothing delicate about me.’