Unmasked: Volume One (7 page)

“Oh, my.”

I can’t see him, but the soft sucking and humming noises he makes gives me a strong impression that he is enjoying himself. A lot. And, oh yes, so am I. So. Am. I.

He thrusts his tongue into my vagina and I let out a fragmented whimper. I grab the top of the black hood on his head, desperate to push it back, but he pushes my hand away.

“I want to see you,” I breathe.

He licks his way back up to my clit and begins sucking on it gently, the way I was sucking on his cock. Up and down. Then he flicks it softly and I want to crawl away from him. It feels so good it’s almost painful. He closes his lips around my clit, his tongue fluttering over it as he sucks gently. I thrust my hips upward and he maintains his position as he brings me to climax.

He licks me softly, as if he’s licking my wounds, until my body finally ceases spasming. Standing up, he kicks his shoes and pants aside.

“Take it off, please,” I beg.

He knows I’m referring to his hood, but he doesn’t oblige my request. He bends over me, wraps his arm around the small of my back, and scoots me further up the bed so he can position himself between my legs. Once he’s lying on top of me, I wrap my legs around his hips and he leans down to whisper in my ear.

“Come with me this weekend to an event. A masquerade ball. A benefit for a fallen comrade. After the ball, I will show you my face.”

A sharp pain twists inside my chest. This is not what I wanted. Then a small voice sounds inside my mind and a new plan begins to form.

“Yes.”

“You’ll come?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.

“Yes. I can wear a mask, too, can’t I?”

He slides his cock into me and I gasp. He plants a soft kiss on the tip of my nose as he rocks his hips back and forth.

“Of course,
ma chérie
. Anything you want.”

He kisses me tenderly as he pierces me slowly and steadily, the heat and weight of his body making me feel so intoxicated, I actually begin to wonder if I’m losing my mind and this isn’t really happening.

“Shh.” He kisses my temple and I can feel moisture on his lips. “Don’t cry,
chérie
. I’m here… I’m here and I’m not going to hurt you.”

That’s when I realize I’m crying again. Whimpering softly as he moves in and out of me, kissing me, soothing me. As always, he is at once my enemy and my protector.

T
he ritual of
applying my makeup to be seen in the light is much more drawn out than the application I use for nighttime activities. But if I’m going to be seen by a roomful of police officers and detectives, a simple Venetian mask is not enough of a disguise.

I’m actually quite excited about going out in public in a new costume. After all, according to Daimon, I
am
a woman now. And women love shopping for clothes and playing dress-up.

Daimon offered to buy my dress and shoes if I didn’t feel comfortable shopping in public, but I settled for letting him pick out my mask. I ordered my dress and shoes online and had them overnighted to me. I have to maintain a small shred of control over this public outing.

I use my industrial makeup when I go out in the light. The kind of face spackle used by Hollywood makeup artists. It’s sticky and uncomfortable, which is another reason why I haven’t been out in the daylight in years — except to investigate Detective Rousseau. Nevertheless, this makeup packs so much punch, you need a lot of experience to apply it properly. Which is why I have to apply it in the full light of day.

I yank the cord dangling below the window in the bathroom to raise the blinds. The room is flooded with light and my stomach clenches as I prepare myself to turn around and meet my reflection for the third time this week.

I slowly turn my feet and take a deep breath, then I look up into the mirror. I’m naked because I’ll have to apply the makeup all over my body. My hair is completely dry so the makeup on my neck and left shoulder doesn’t run when I apply it. My natural auburn color always appeared drab to me.

I once asked my mother if I could dye all my hair auburn to hide the white streak. My mother responded by asking me why I would want to dye my hair the color of dried blood streaks.

Running my fingers through my hair, I admire the new, more vibrant auburn hiding the white streak of hair. Then my gaze falls to my face and I grind my teeth against the memories. The children in kindergarten who called me a demon. My mother’s ridicule when I asked if she could take me to see the Christmas tree in the mall.

I used to stand in front of the mirror and drag my nails over the pale blotches of skin, as if they were a separate entity to blame for my misery. It wasn’t until I was ten years old that my father explained to me what a chimera is: a person with two sets of DNA. That was when I realized that I’m not just someone with a pigment discoloration of my skin, hair, and eyes. I am two persons in one body. I
am
a demon.

I apply my makeup slowly and methodically over all my skin from the top of my forehead and down to the tips of the fingers on my left hand. Then I put one brown contact on my left eye. When I’m done, I stand before the mirror and I realize this is the first time I have ever looked normal. Not a speck of discoloration showing. A warm sensation grows inside my belly and spreads through me as I think of my father. He would love to see me like this.

I look at the portable digital clock I set on the bathroom counter and see I have twenty minutes before Daimon arrives to pick me up at 8:30 p.m. I hastily put away my makeup and tools, then I rush into the bedroom to get dressed.

The dress I chose is simple and elegant with just a touch of mystique. A white strapless gown with a full skirt covered in a shimmering organza. The skirt stops about six inches above the ankle and the blood-red sash ties in a neat bow over my lower back. My silver, peep-toe pumps complete the outfit so I look very innocent and Dorothy-ish. Only, unlike Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I don’t want to go home. There’s nothing left for me there.

The knock on the door gets my blood pumping. Rushing into the bathroom, I take one last look at myself through the light of the outside street lamps. I close the blinds and stride confidently to the door. I unlock the deadbolt and take a deep breath. Then I open the door wide.

He looks like a dark angel sent to deliver me to a hell where all my darkest desires will come true. I swallow hard as I take in the tuxedo, tailored to fit his broad shoulders. The sharp haircut and the silver and black mask that covers his face from the middle of his forehead down to the tip of his nose. Even with the mask on, I can see that he is much more handsome than I gave him credit for when watching him from a distance.

But it’s his lips that are so absolutely inviting. Perfectly symmetrical, with the bottom lip just a bit fuller than the top lip. The left corner of his mouth turns upward in a cunning half-smile that triggers a pulsing ache between my legs.

His gaze wanders over my face, completely ignoring my body. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

I clench my jaw against the angry retort I’d like to spit at him. He thinks I’m beautiful because I dyed my hair and I’m wearing a pound of makeup. I swallow my bitterness and remind myself that if everything goes according to plan tonight, my days of hiding will finally be over.

“You look pretty mouthwatering yourself.”

He shakes his head at my obvious attempt to deflect the attention away from me. He steps forward and lays his hand on my waist, where I was stabbed almost four weeks ago. Then he plants a soft, sensual kiss on the corner of my mouth.

“I hope you’re ready to mingle with the worst this city has to offer.”

I close the door as he enters the apartment, then I turn around slowly. “The worst this city has to offer? Is that how you refer to your comrades at the police station?”

I can’t see him in the dark with this contact over my left eye. It’s not made for people with above average eyesight. But I can hear him as he steps toward me.

“Alex, there are some things you need to know about me. I’m not a good man. I wasn’t always a detective.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“I
want
you to know.”

“Then you can tell me after the ball.” I reach up to touch his face and my fingers bump against the mask he’s wearing. “I just spent four hours getting myself ready to leave the house. This is not something I would have ever done before I met you. You’ve
changed
me.”

I lean forward and place a lingering kiss on his lips. He steps backward and I think he just pulled something out from behind his back. Reaching forward, I find another mask in his hand. I feel around a bit and realize it’s secured with a ribbon.

I hold the mask over my face and turn around so he can tie it in place over the back of my head. He wraps his arms around my waist and I close my eyes as he pulls me into him. He nuzzles his face into the back of my hair.

“You’ve been hiding for so long.” He spins me around and his face is so close, I can feel his breath on my lips. “After tonight, I don’t want you to hide anymore. I want you to come away with me.”

This is so unexpected, it catches me off guard. “What? I don’t … I can’t. My life is here in L.A. It’s my home. It always has been. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You won’t even consider it?” He clasps his large hand around the back of my neck. “What do you have here? You live in the dark, Alex. This is no way to live.”

“Now you’re judging the way I live my life?” I shriek. “You have no right to judge me!”

He’s silent, probably calculating a response in that clever little mind of his. “You’re right. I have no right to judge you. And I have no reason to believe you’d want to run away with me. You hardly know me.”

“Can we leave now?”

I turn toward the door and he grabs my arm roughly. My instincts kick in and I throw my fist backward. But he’s quick. He blocks my fist before it hits his face.

He chuckles as he loosens his grip on my hand then brings his lips next to my ear. “Oh, Alex,” he whispers, and the sound sends a shiver straight to my core. “You should watch those killer instincts. They could get you into a lot of trouble.”

I smile at this subtle invitation. “Is that a promise?”

His hand slides over my abdomen and up to my breast as he takes my earlobe between his teeth. “As I said before, anything you want, you shall have.” He squeezes my breast and my heart races. “If it’s trouble you want, you’ll be in the right place, with the right man.”

We manage to get out of my apartment and into his black Mercedes hardtop convertible without tearing each other’s clothes off or tearing each other to pieces. The car looks and smells brand new. Is this the replacement for his gold Mercedes?

He’s quiet during the ride to the Bonaventure Hotel. Normally, I wouldn’t mind. But I’m so nervous, my palms are sweating. I need to fill this silence before I begin overthinking my plan.

“What is the benefit for again?”

He turns right onto Figueroa and glances at me before he answers. “An officer was gunned down during a routine traffic stop two weeks ago. Officer Kenneth Mulrooney. He was very young and his wife had recently passed away in a car accident. The benefit is to honor the officer’s memory and to raise money for his children, who have been placed under the care of the state.”

My eyes begin to water and I immediately regret asking the question. I discreetly dig my fingers into the sore wound in my side and remind myself to stop being such a woman. But, almost as if he can sense this inner struggle going on inside me, Daimon reaches across and grabs my hand.

“The world is full of cruel injustice,
ma chérie
. Injustice that will make you want to give up everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. But it’s also full of devastating beauty.” He brings my hand to his lips and I close my eyes to stop the tears from falling. “Don’t let the injustice distort your appreciation of the beauty in this world.”

Everything he learned about injustice he probably learned from his work as a detective. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Great
. Now my thoughts are beginning to sound like the thoughts of a petulant child. I need this night to be over with. I’ve had it with the sappy stories and life lessons from Detective Rousseau.

The benefit begins with a posthumous award ceremony for Officer Mulrooney where he is awarded the Medal of Valor by Police Chief Henry Needles. Then his poor children, two girls about six and four years old, are paraded onto the stage by a social worker and awarded scholarships, which were funded with the proceeds from the ticket sales to the gala.

No matter how many people clap and smile under those masks, this is not a happy occasion. Those children will hardly remember their parents. They’ll be forced to live with a family that chooses them, not a family they choose. And that’s only if they’re lucky and they’re adopted. If not, they’ll be tossed from one foster home to the next until they’re eighteen and they’re so weary of the system they’ll probably just set those scholarships on fire.

By the time the ball is moved outside to the lawn next to the pool deck, I’ve had it. I want to go home, throw away the mask he brought me, wash away the mask I put on myself, and disappear. But I have to be patient.

One thing I am grateful for is that Daimon seems to be as interested in this event as I am. He pulls me under the tent just south of the lawn and holds his hand out to me.

“Just one dance, then we can leave.”

It’s strange to see Daimon in public. No matter how many minutes and hours pass, I find myself wondering if the man sitting next to me, holding my hand, and, now, dancing with me, is truly the Daimon I’ve been investigating the past week. I mean, he looks and sounds just like him, but I find it hard to believe that this man who attends benefits for fallen police officers and speaks of the devastating beauty in the world is the same person I’ve come to know as the perpetrator of so much evil.

I clasp my left hand in his right, then I place my right hand on his shoulder as he places his on my waist. I’ve never danced with a man, or anyone for that matter. But, as I said before, Daimon has changed me. Forever.

He moves slowly, side to side, going easy on me. I only step on his feet twice, but that’s quite enough for me. It’s time to set my plan into motion.

I scrunch my eyebrows together and clutch my hand to my chest, my breath coming in shallow wheezes.

“I can’t be here,” I whisper. “Everyone’s looking at me.”

He looks confused. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“I don’t know. Please … get me out of here.”

He slides his arm around my waist and guides me back inside the hotel. He begins leading me toward the ballroom where the award ceremony took place, but I dig my heels into the carpet and shake my head.

“No, no. There are people in there.”

“Come this way.”

He leads me to another door labeled “International Lounge.” The door is locked when he tries it, but he pulls something out of his back pocket, looks around, and quickly picks the lock in less than sixty seconds. He closes the door behind us and the room is pitch black, but he doesn’t attempt to find a light switch. He just takes me into his arms and rubs my back.

“Is that better?”

The
hors d’oeurves
we ate outside swirl inside my belly as I try to block out the conflicting voice in my head telling me to stop. It’s not too late to back out. There has to be a method to his madness other than sheer cruelty.

I reach up and grab his face so I can kiss him.

He pulls back. “What are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing? I’m trying to fuck you.”

“I thought you were having a panic attack.”

“I just wanted to get you alone.”

“If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask.” His voice is heavy with suspicion. He knows I’m up to something.

Such a worthy adversary. I’d expect nothing less of him.

I drop to my knees and begin undoing his pants. “Can I
please
fuck you?”

“I think you should get up so we can talk.” This is what his mouth says, but the erection growing inside his pants is singing a different tune.

I slowly slide his zipper down and he grabs a chunk of my perfectly coifed hair. I’m certain he’s going to yank me up so we can talk, but he doesn’t. Men are so weak when a blow-job is being offered.

I place my hand on his boxer briefs, right over his thickening cock, and I massage his erection through the fabric until I know he must be bursting with frustration.