Meanwhile, at Lord Manor...
---

Lukewarm rapids cascade to rinse away the feverish burn from another solo reenactment of last night's delirious endeavors. Plump handfuls of molten nectar bounce on my cock, grinding frantically as I stroke myself into a mind-numbing daze. Clenched sweeps coax a gratifying shudder from the swollen virility clutched in my fist, "Oo-ooh," and my forehead drops to rest against glossy tiling, grateful for the soothing chill.

"There ya go, Angel," I murmur to the flaxen-haired hallucination squeezing my dick. Honeyed walls slather my shaft in sunshine and I pump, "Ride me like you did last night."

'Ronan, please,' Jus mews. Slowing to grind in fluid figure eights, my phantasmic dream girl whimpers, 'I need it.'

"I know, baby. I felt how bad you needed it." Plumes of citrusy steam coil around my naked body, enveloping me in her refreshing aroma. Inhaling, I groan, "God, you were so wet."

So real.

...and when her tectonic rapture ripped me apart, a fragment that lay dormant was shaken awake by a seismic jolt to the empty void in my chest. Embedded in the permanent pockmarks on my skin, her intoxicating fragrance ignited an insatiable hunger which has plagued me since sun-up.

Consequently, my thoughts have tangled into lurid loops of last night's freakish fantasy. Over and over until I'm scrambling for the frigid sympathy of a cold deluge and a soundtrack of throaty moans. Cooking, cleaning... drumming a ten-k into my treadmill. Whenever I think of - anything really... Hell, whenever, I think it invariably ends with me balls deep in the love of my life...

'C'mon, Big Boy,'

...and tongue deep in the love of Kole's.

'Ooh, help yourself.'

"Don't mind if I do," I chortle at the memory of Eden's whipped pudding wiggling on my tongue and for the fourth time today, I succumb to the dizzying sensation of being dragged under, tossed to a mattress that isn't there as the gentle flow from the overhead nozzle turns to marshmallow nougat in my mouth.

It isn't that I relish the notion of betraying Kole. I don't and I wouldn't actually fuck his woman. Physical appeal aside, Eden's continued presence has less to do with Eden per se, and everything to do with a voice inside. One I was told to trust mere seconds before she departed our bizarre tryst.

'Trust what's inside you. It's the only voice that matters.'

However cryptic, Eden's words opened my heart. They removed the nebulous doubt long enough to listen and that tiny, persistent murmur is convinced whatever the real Eden wants to tell me has to do with Justice... and the more I dwell on it, the more I trust that's the case. The more I trust, the more I hope.

Jus is alive.

Somehow. Someway, she's out there.

'You just have to believe it.'

"I'm trying, Angel. If you would only answer." Maybe, it's vain fantasy. Maybe, it's dangerous to place my faith in a figment but for so long I begged the cosmos for a touch or a kiss, beyond the glancing breeze. Instead, I was afforded an experience filled with unexpected delights culminating in the whisper of a bond I haven't felt in a decade.

It's all I've ever wanted and I'd give anything to have Jus' jittery pulse race in my veins or her happiness erupt in my chest just once while I'm awake... the way it used to.

Lamentably, I haven't encountered it a single time since and it's driving me up a shower wall. Thus far, every touch, every sound - every frenetic beat has lacked that otherworldly connection, abandoning me to the nothingness of my intangible imagination.

Buoyed by Eden's earnest missive, I cling for life to the flimsy vestiges of a lingering tether. If she's the key to reuniting with my Angel, then fuck it, "Gimme that sugary shit, Gorgeous." I'll eat Eden's pussy like it's a goddamn damn cherry sundae as long as it brings Jus back... "Oooh, God that's good."

...but I didn't say I wouldn't enjoy it.

As such, I'm wholly content devoting the rest of my day to mischievous nymphs and their wicked games. Fuck meeting with Kole. Fuck the fleet and the pier... Tomorrow, I'll play king. I'll be a good friend. Today, fuck it all and leave me to my guilty pleasures.

'Oooh, Roooo...'

At least, it's a better distraction than the bottom of a bottle...

'What the fuck?'

...or it would be, if this smug asshole would quit intruding on my 'me' time.

Up until recently, the morning passed in the aforementioned carnal bliss - just me, my chimeric beauties and my desperate attempts to reestablish a tenuous link with a ghost. When Parker's unwelcome avatar materialized to shriek in my face... mid-orgasm.

For anyone who's been fortunate enough to avoid this unpleasant experience, consider yourselves lucky. There's nothing quite as harrowing as being cockblocked by your childhood nemesis while you're busting a nut. Since then, Parker's loathsome company has become an increasingly frequent annoyance peppered with inane commentary and an inexplicable craving for Snickers.

One second, I'm slurping Eden's vanilla cream while I fuck syrupy tremors from Jus' delicious honeypot... and the next Parker's planted beside me, murmuring, 'This isn't real.'

One second... "Mmmm... That's it, Gorgeous."

The next... 'I'm fucking losing it.''

Carnal bliss... "Come for me, Angel."

Intrusive boy scout... 'You're supposed to be dead.'

"Yeah, well they fucking tried, asshole." His maddening narration played on repeat for my endless torment.

Focused on the tantric glow simmering in my loins, my grip tightens and fluid figure eights become agitated bursts for relief. "Gah-shit," I huff, frustrated. Quickening, crushed velour constricts, seducing that heady warmth to combust into a magmic euphoria - the kind that singes your earlobes and makes your toes pop in all directions. Another highlight of the evening's escapades and the primary reason for my obsessive self-care.

To put it bluntly, I miss making my Angel vibrate. I miss the way her pussy quakes, her thighs tense... I miss the breathtaking burst of liquid satin as it fucks me dry and drowns me in her perfect essence. "I miss it so much, Angel. Please, baby... answer-"

'What the fuck?'

"Rrrah! Fuck! Go away, goddammit!" Tepid sprinkles splatter my cheeks from the aggravated slap ringing off the enclosed, ceramic confines. Below, the glimmering surge dissipates, gradually slipping through my fingers.

"Trust me," Merc interjects from the opposite end of the en suite, "I don't enjoy it anymore than you do, but we got a problem out here."

Of course, we do. What's a day without a fucking fire to put out?

'You're supposed to be dead.'

"Fuck it," I grunt, pouting at the flaccid disappointment dangling between my legs, "This prick's ruined it anyway," and glacial spray shuts off, "I'll be out in a sec!"

---

Twenty minutes later, cotton victims drape in splashes of black and blue across open drawers and countertops. Socks, t-shirts and several pairs of faded denim lay strewn about in haphazard heaps. Collateral damage from my intermittent bouts with jealousy.

Unfortunately, my final moments of solitude were wasted waffling between flashes of lusty reminiscence and tearing my closet into a pile of furiously discarded casualwear. Whenever Jus' throaty purr would hum its husky chorus, Boy Scout's grating tenor would swoop in to wreck the mood.

By the time I join Merc in the parlor, Parker's constant drone has supplanted Jus' rhapsodic overture, and my blood has bubbled to a suffocating boil.

"What is it?" I hiss, kneading the migraine from my temples.

"Hello precious," Perched on his usual stool at the bar, Merc snickers, "You look refreshed." Amber elixir swirls around the base of the whiskey snifter grasped firmly in the crook of his scarred fist. Barely two and he's hitting the hard stuff. Not a promising sign for what's ahead.

Crossing to pour my own hefty serving, I grumble, "This shit with Parker has me spinning and I can't shut it off."

"I wish I had better news, but I'm afraid this isn't going to help," he reluctantly announces. "Your cousin called."

"Dade?"

"Mmm... Yep," Merc nods - a slow, thoughtful dip of his chin. "He wanted to let you know that Kole turned up," followed by more pensive swirls and a small sip.

Hopeful, I prompt, "Is Eden with him?" Now that my former plans have been spectacularly foiled, perhaps I'll pay Kole a visit, after all.

"Sorry, Ro, he was alone."

"Ah," ...or not. Dejected, I slump onto a neighboring seat. "I take it he's okay, though."

"Mmm... " Again, Merc's sandy shag bobs in deliberate confirmation, "Not a scratch," and frowning, he mutters, "but Rhys Parker was there."

"For her?"

"I'm not sure Parker knows about their relationship. He may simply be questioning people close to you. That being said, Dade indicated Kole tore out of there as soon as it ended so... probably."

"Shhhit."

...and there goes whatever hopes I had of getting to Kole before Parker kicked the hornet's nest.

Fucking Boy Scout.

He would fuck this up with his White Knight routine. I swear if that big idiot scares Eden off before I can talk to her, I'll wring Parker's scrawny fucking neck just for the fun of it.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to go over there today. If Parker brought your name into it-"

"I'm the last person Kole wants to see. I know..." Presently, it's a sentiment with which I can relate.

"There's more..." Downing his drink in a single gulp, Merc adds, "and I'm afraid this is where I'm at a loss."

Wonderful.

Sighing, "Alright," I gesture, "Let's hear it."

"It seems our Ms. Elliott is a ghost."

"Wha-" I balk, "Like a spy?" Oddly titillated by this development, I flounder in amused disbelief, "Isn't she a little young?"

"Not really. The Agency recruits at eighteen."

"Okay, so... What? Now you think she's the one behind the hits?"

"No," he winces, "Fuck, I dunno." Rising to pace, he tromps for his customary track around the coffee table. "She just doesn't... fit." Baffled, his muffled footsteps trample the synthetic fibers squashed beneath their rubber treads, cutting a deep groove in the worn area rug as he barrels through his first lap. "You said she's from Chicago?"

"According to Kole," I shrug, scowling at my glass, "I suppose she could've lied about it."

"...and her family? Does she have any relatives?"

"I dunno. He never said one way, but I got the impression she's on her own. At least, she wasn't with family when he found her in New York."

"Yeah, see..." Wagging his pointer at me, he speeds into his second run, "That's another thing. Their whole... chase. Who hires someone to distract her mafia ex-boyfriend for seven months when she could simply vanish?" Visibly impressed, crystal irises twinkle with approval. "No, I'm sorry, " he corrects, "Who has the balls to do that... and come back?"

At the same time my father was executed.

Personally, that's the piece I can't reconcile. Why him? Dad was about as nice a kingpin as they come. What did a terminally ill bingo addict do to piss off a pretty waitress from nowhere? ...or anyone else for that matter?

...and how the fuck does Jus fit into all this?

She loved my dad and he loved her. He'd arranged to file for her and her brother's emancipation from that abusive snake; she would never hurt him. If she is alive...

If she's a part of this.

...then, why would they kill my dad?

'Cause she's dead, she isn't a part of this... and you're stuck in a fantasy.

It's a bitter pill, I refuse to swallow and pushing to a stand, I argue, "Nah, doesn't add up," Sluggish limbs skirt the edge of the mahogany counter where I crouch to rummage through our cache of candy bars. "I met this girl, Merc. She isn't a hardened killer and I sincerely doubt Dad was entangled in some sordid affair."

Hmm... No Snickers.

Opting for Twix, I straighten, "Why would she murder him? ...and as you said, reveal herself right after?"

"I know. It's a fucking riddle," Merc concedes, "Nevertheless, if she's from the States, there should be medical records, report cards... a birth certificate, but Twitch can't find anything on her. It's like her entire existence was erased. Either she's a figment of mass delusion or Eden Elliott is protected by some very powerful people."

"You sure this isn't Twitch being a dumbass? He isn't exactly a pro at tracking people down." In fact, his continued employment as our resident Geek Squad is the one business decision I intend to rectify as soon as this bullshit with my crown is resolved. "That boy is criminally inept... literally."

"I thought the same," Paused at the edge of his oval trackway, Merc petitions, "Which is why I want to bring in a ringer."

"Oooh, fresh blood." Intrigued, I perk, "You got someone in mind?"

"Yeeeah," he hems, "but-ummm... I'm warning you, he can be a little eccentric."

"Eccentric or high-maintenance?"

"We should probably hide the ferns and stock up on pancake batter."

"Why?" I snort, "Is he gonna hump the house plants while he eats breakfast?"

"Mmmm..." Cringing, Merc grudgingly admits, "It's a definite possibility... if he likes you, that is."

"Huh, and if he doesn't like me?"

"You don't wanna know," Insistent, Merc rushes, "but I wouldn't worry about it, it takes a lot to get on Uri's shit list."

"That's comforting," I chomp. Chocolate cookie bar and caramel fastens to the roof of my mouth. Sweet, rich... but missing the peanut-y crunch. Chucking the rest of my dissatisfying snack, I grant. "Mmm-Frankly, I don't care if he farts rainbows. I just wanna know if he can track down Gabriel."

"He could find Jesus in a brothel if you asked him to. The guy basically runs the dark web. Makes Kevin Mitnick look like a toddler with a 'Speak N Spell'.

"Who?"

"He hacked NORAD when he was seventeen... allegedly."

"Your guy did?"

"No, Mitnick," Merc flippantly imparts, "Uri did it at twelve. If he takes the job, he'll find us everything we need to know about Gabriel, Eden... and anyone else for that matter."

Justice.
He can tell me what happened to Justice.

"...and you trust him?"

"With my life... multiple times."

"Great." Swayed, I urge, "call him up."

"Yeeeeah..." Again, he hems with a pained grimace, "That's the other thing. Uri doesn't have a phone."

"Okay..." I laugh, "Email?"

"No, it's more like a smoke signal on the internet. I posted a message to a chat forum. If he feels like answering, he'll get in touch."

"Does he have your number?"

"If he decides he wants to talk, he'll find me... or he'll just show up on your front door step with an edible arrangement. He does that."

Eccentric or not, at least he comes bearing gifts. "Do you think he'll take the job?"

"S'a fair chance," Merc tuts, "He loves a challenge and last I heard he was looking for a way out of Siberia."

"Siberia?"

"On our last job, Uri found something he shouldn't have. The kind of thing governments don't want found." Quieting, he softly confides, "He's been there a long time."

Despite his moniker, Merc seldom discusses his brief stint as a mercenary. During the rare instance when he's drunk enough to share, he manages a few remorseful sobs and passes out before he can finish. I know he did it for the money and I know it ended badly... but beyond that, he refuses to acknowledge those twelve months before we met.

Merc is a man of character. Helping powerful tyrants achieve world domination is antithetical to his beliefs and I often wonder why he agreed to be my second-in-command.

"He's good people, Ro. Odd, but if I can help him-"

"Say no more," I assure, "House Monarch is at your disposal. Who knows? If Uri likes me, maybe I can cut Twitch loose sooner rather than later."

"Thanks," Merc bashfully mumbles, "Uhem..." and gathering to his full height, proudly chirps, "On a positive note, I have a line with some sellers. If all goes well, the fleet should be fully recovered in a week or two."

"Excellent!" Finally, a win. "We should celebrate. I'll order a couple pies..."

"Sorry, pal." Cheering, the gloating gleam returns to his vibrant aquamarines, "You have a charity event to attend."

"Nooo..." I whine, deflating, "Not that stupid auction."

"It's for Miami PD and we kinda need them on our side. Besides," Bushy blonde brows waggle in excited intimation, "Parker's gonna be there. He's receiving an award."

"Bleh. Nevermind."

"I want you to keep an eye on him while I sweep his place."

"Ooh, how clandestine. Y'after anything in particular?"

"Hopefully, a look at the case file," Sobering, Merc counsels, "You and Parker are too close on this. Your judgment's clouded and that leads to mistakes - oversight. Rhys may have missed something and I got a hunch I'll know it when I see it."

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