Return to Me (Storm Lords) (2 page)

“Shit.” He read the rest of the report quickly, but there was nothing else of importance, and he threw it down on the table. “Do we know any more?”

Cade shook his head. “Nothing, but I’ve sent out feelers. We should hear something soon.”

Torr ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to ask the question, but he knew he had no choice. “Do we know where Bryce is?”

Cade’s expression made it clear Torr wasn’t going to like the answer. “Yeah. Last report we had of him, he was in Mexico City. That was a week ago. Look, it might not have anything to do with Bryce.”

And it could have everything to do with
him
. “Shit,” he repeated and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s wait and see what we hear. We’ll make a decision after that.” He pushed the worry aside; he needed to concentrate on Soraya. He was going to see her again, after so long, hold her in his arms. A wild excitement churned in his veins. He opened the door.

“And Tor—”

Jesus.
“What else?”

“You need to tidy up,” Cade said.

What the hell did it matter what he looked like? Soraya was an empath; she would see him and know him. How could she fail to love him?

“She’ll take one look at you and probably faint. Seriously, you look scary.”

“Scary?”

Cade nodded. “Phoebe says you’re the scariest thing she’s ever seen.”

Torr stopped in his tracks. Last time Soraya had seen him, he’d been an angel, but there was nothing left of the angel anymore. What would she see when she looked at him? Would she be shocked? Would she be able to read his black deeds on his face?

He hurried through the door at the back of his office into his private quarters. Staring into the mirror, shock hit him in the gut. How long had it been since he’d bothered to really look at himself?

One thing was certain; no one would ever take him for an angel again. His black hair hung in a tangled mess to his shoulders. The scar was a livid line from his eyebrow to his lip, pulling his face into a perpetual sneer. His eyes looked…

He turned away and found Cade leaning in the open doorway, watching him.

“Okay,” Torr growled. “Maybe you have a point. But she’ll see past this.” He gestured to the mirror. “She’s an empath, so she’ll know how I feel. She always knew how I felt.”

All the same, he
was
going to a police station, and while there was no way anyone was going to stop him from taking Soraya, perhaps things might go a little smoother if he didn’t look quite so—what was the word Cade had used—scary.

Day 1

The cell door opened.

Bella dragged herself upright. Dazed and confused, she shook her head to clear her mind. The nightmare had replayed itself over and over through the night until she was unsure what was dream and what was reality.

A uniformed policewoman stood in the open doorway, and Bella forced her face into blankness.

“Your lawyer’s here to see you.”

Bella frowned and opened her mouth to say she didn’t have a lawyer. Then she closed it again. Maybe Justin had organized something, though she doubted it. But anything that got her out of this cell couldn’t be bad. She’d go along with it until she knew what was going on.

She’d taken off her jacket and boots, but otherwise she’d slept in her clothes. It wasn’t the first time. She was wearing a little black suit, which befitted her role as a businesswoman looking for investors. The skirt was short and beneath it, she wore black stockings to take the punters minds off business. She pulled on her knee-high boots with the four-inch heels, flicked her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, and stood up.

“Lead the way,” she said, surprised at the steadiness of her voice, and the fact that it wasn’t harsh from screaming. Then she remembered that had been a dream; nothing but a nightmare shadowing her from her crappy childhood. She’d read a lot of psychology books since she’d left home, and it was unsurprising she had recurring nightmares.

As she stepped out of the cell, a wave of relief washed over her, almost bringing her to her knees, and she swayed, reaching out to the wall for support. The policewoman led the way down the corridor, up some stairs, and into a small room painted the same disgusting beige as her cell. It contained a wooden table with a chair on either side, facing each other.

“Wait here,” the woman said. “Your lawyer will be here in a moment.”

Bella’s stomach groaned. She’d missed supper the previous night. She’d vaguely heard someone come to the cell, but she’d ignored them and they’d left again, taking the food with them. Going hungry was nothing new, but she’d commit murder for a cup of coffee.

She forced a smile onto her face. “Any chance of a coffee?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And the officer left the room.

Bella plonked down on the worn plastic chair and chewed at her fingernails. At least this room was slightly bigger than her cell. Plus, one of the walls was mirrored, so it appeared even larger, and her inner tension eased a little. She peered again at the mirror.

Was it actually one-way glass? Was somebody watching her?

As she stared at her reflection, a trickle of unease ran down her spine. The more she thought about it, the more she sensed someone on the other side. She got up and sat in the other chair so her back was to the glass. The sensation refused to go away and she moved back—it was better to face your fears than have them creep up behind you.

The policewoman came back and put a mug of coffee down on the table.

“So, where’s this lawyer?” Bella asked.

The woman shrugged and left.

Bella sipped on her coffee. It was surprisingly good, and she’d almost finished when the door opened again. This time, a man stood in the open doorway, and Bella almost dropped her coffee mug. She did choke on the mouthful going down, spluttering and coughing. When she looked back up, it was to find him standing inside the room with the door shut behind him.

He was huge. Six-foot-four at least, broad at the shoulder, but very lean everywhere else. His perfect figure was shown off in an elegant black Italian designer suit, the real thing. She’d trained herself to recognize money when she saw it. Justin would have been so jealous of that suit.

She raised her gaze to his face, and her breath caught in her throat. He was
beautiful
, albeit in a dark harsh way that somehow drew her. His skin was pale; his eyes a strange almost yellow and heavy-lidded, his nose big, and his cheekbones sharp with hollows beneath. A vicious scar ran down the side of one cheek from his thick dark brow to the corner of his lip. His mouth was the sweetest she had ever seen, with a full lower lip that promised all kinds of sin.

The thought brought her up short. Since when had she thought of men in terms of sin?

Never—that’s when.

He stared at her out of those yellow eyes, his expression hopeful, expectant…hungry, and a strange heat uncoiled low down in her belly. Tension filled the room, the air became thin, and Bella struggled to breathe. Her brain hovered on the edge of something, as though a door was about to swing open, and she would remember…

No way!

Her childhood had been haunted by other people’s emotions, other people’s hatred and pain. She’d had no choice but to absorb them all and it had nearly destroyed her. Not anymore.

In some ways, living on the streets had been easier. She had kept to herself, but still the stronger emotions had filtered through. Always negative, always full of hate and fear, never love, and she’d come to believe the world was an evil place.

By the time she was fifteen, she’d been on her own for a year. The pain of all those lost souls had driven her to the brink of insanity, where taking her own life had seemed like the only option left to her. Then she’d met Justin, with his insatiable appetite for all things. Justin had saved her. He knew the strangest people and introduced her to a woman—a clairsentient, she called herself. She taught Bella how to build an impenetrable wall around her mind, to keep the feelings of others at bay. It had changed her life, eventually becoming second nature, and since that time, she’d felt no one’s emotions but her own.

But right then, someone was testing that wall, pushing at the door.

She hadn’t even known there
was
a door. She slammed it closed and glared at the man in front of her. Who the hell was he? Why was he here?

And why is he staring at me as though he expects something from me?

Finally, the silence snapped her already-taut nerves. “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell me who the hell you are? Because I’m damn sure you’re not my lawyer.”

Shock flared in his face. “You don’t know me?”

Why the hell should she know him? She hardly moved in the same circles as men who wore expensive Italian designer suits.

“No, I
don’t
know you, so you’d better introduce yourself damn fast, or I’m getting the cops to throw you out.”

His dark brows drew together. He opened his mouth; closed it again. Finally, he sank down in the chair opposite and studied her. “My name is Torrin Stormlord.”

“And what is it you want,
Mr.
Stormlord?”

“To get you out of here.”

She could feel a frown forming on her face, wrinkling the skin between her eyes, and her headache was back with a vengeance. “Why would you want to do that?”

He tilted his head to one side and examined her. “Don’t you want to get out?”

“No,” she snapped. “I like it here so much, I want to stay forever.”

He frowned at her sarcasm, but remained silent.

“Look, why don’t you stop dicking around and tell me what you really want from me?”

“Can’t you just accept that I want to help you?”

“Frankly, no.”

He had the most amazing eyes. This close, she could see the rings of black circling his yellow irises. And the most amazing mouth. And a little dent in his chin. She’d thought his hair was short, but it was actually at least shoulder-length and pulled back into a tight ponytail, glossy and midnight black. A slight matching stubble shadowed his sharp cheekbones.

She was staring.

Forcing her gaze away, she shook her head. “I’ve met a lot of do-gooders in my time, and you do not fit the bill.”

“Do-gooders?”

“Social workers, Christians, interfering busybodies. Then, of course, there are the ones who
pretend
they want to help, but they really want something from you. And I’m asking myself, what could you possibly want from me?”

“Could I not want you for yourself?”

She thought about that one. And no, she wasn’t buying it. She was not the type men lusted after. Oh, she looked quite good in her sexy get-up, but it was all for show. Look a little closer, and she was actually small and skinny and didn’t give out the right vibes. Had she been younger, she might have thought him some sort of pervert, but she was twenty-six, not pervert material anymore—
thank God.

All the same, she’d had her share of men coming on to her for sex. Some men would do it with anyone, but he didn’t strike her as the type. He was gorgeous and wealthy, unless he was pulling some sort of scam, but that didn’t ring true, either.

“Highly unlikely,” she said. “So, what do you want in return for getting me out of here?”

At her answer, he rubbed at the spot between his eyes. Without responding, he stood up and walked to the door, banging on the metal to be let out before turning back to look at her. “I need to confer with a colleague.”

The door opened and he disappeared.

And straight away, she wanted him back. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle the need to shout out, to tell him she’d do anything not to be locked in that cell again. Alone, with only her nightmares to keep her company.

***

Torr ran a hand through his hair, dragging it free in an attempt to ease the tension pulsating through his brain. He paced the room, trying to fight down the panic, which threatened to overwhelm him.

What had gone wrong?

Earlier, he’d stood in the observation room, watching her. He’d never had any doubts that Soraya would know him. But at the last minute, he’d been struck by nerves. It was laughable, the Destroyer ‘nervous’. Except he didn’t feel like laughing.

She was definitely his Soraya, but different. Not so much in looks, though there were differences there, as well. Soraya’s hair had been long, dark red, highlighted with copper tones from the sun; her skin tinted golden; her blue eyes guileless.

The woman sitting in the interview room had blonde hair and pale skin, as though she didn’t see much sun. Her body language was hostile, her eyes guarded and devoid of recognition; and love.

He’d gone in there not doubting that she would take one look at him and remember. He’d been so wrong. Somehow, she had cut herself off from her empathic powers. She didn’t know him, and panic flared again deep inside.

He had no clue what to do. He knew nothing about this woman; she’d lived a life he hadn’t shared. Many lives. But he had to find a way to get through to her quickly. She needed to leave with him—anything else wasn’t an option. His five days had started from the moment he’d walked into that room. Suddenly, five days seemed like no time at all.

He pulled out his cell phone and punched in Cade’s number. “Find out everything you can on Belladonna Dixon.”

“It’s already done. I had the information before you left, but you were in too much of a hurry. I take it she doesn’t know you?”

“No, she doesn’t fucking know me. I don’t know what’s gone wrong.”

“I’m sorry. She’s the same woman, Torr, but this life she’s living now—maybe all the lives she’s endured—has changed her. I’m learning that with Phoebe. But underneath, she’s the woman you fell in love with.”

“And what sort of life has Belladonna Dixon lived,” he asked.

Cade was silent for a moment. “It’s not good. I’ll send the file through to your cell. It will be with you in a second. And Torr? Be cool.”

Cool?
He wasn’t sure ‘cool’ was an option. He forced himself to sit down, but his gaze kept flashing to the one-way viewing screen. She sat with an elbow on the table, her chin resting on one hand as she chewed on the nails of the other. Her expression was, at first glance, blank, but when he looked closer, he could see the worry and fear in her eyes. He wanted to hold her, tell her everything was going to be all right and that he loved her.

But by the rules of the Covenant, that was one thing he couldn’t tell her.

Instead, he started to scan the information Cade had sent him. Belladonna Dixon, Bella, 26…

As he read, he began to understand what Cade had meant. Bella’s life had not been good. Father, unknown; mother, a drug addict and a prostitute. Bella had run away from home when she was fourteen, disappearing under the radar of Social Services. It was presumed she’d lived on the streets.

What would that sort of environment do to a sensitive empath? He wasn’t surprised she had cut herself off from her powers. She’d probably had to, or risk drowning under the weight of all those negative emotions.

He studied her again. She appeared bored, sullen. Was it a mask she wore to protect herself from the world? As though sensing his gaze, she glanced up. He knew she couldn’t see through the mirror, but she seemed to stare straight at him.

How do I get through to her?

He finished reading the file, his disbelief growing with each word.

His Soraya, who had been incapable of deceit, was a
con artist
. It didn’t seem possible, but the evidence was irrefutable. And she was a good one. She’d been presumably carrying out her increasingly sophisticated scams for over ten years, and this was the first time she’d been caught. And that was down to bad luck. One of her previous ‘victims’ had come across her by chance, recognized her, and contacted the police.