Gena Showalter - The Darkest Pleasure

She would never be helpless again.

Gilly sighed and faced her. Danika thought again that she looked too young and fresh to be leading such a life of drudgery. Dark, chin-length hair, as straight as a pin. Big brown eyes. Honey-kissed skin. Average height, curvy body. She was innocence mixed with haunted sensuality. Right now, she was the only friend Danika had.

"My feet will loathe me forever, but yeah. I'm going. You?"

"Absolutely." Friends weren't something she could afford these days, but Danika had taken one look at the sad, brave girl and felt an instant kinship with her.

"Maybe we'll overpower the instructor again. Now, that was fun."

A chuckle escaped her, the first in what seemed forever. "Maybe."

A bell rang, hacking through the cackle of voices that echoed across the diner. Another order was up. Neither of them moved, however.

"Gotta tell you," Gilly said, anchoring her hand on her hip. "When Charles told us to come at him, rage, like, took me over. I could have killed him and giggled about it later."

"Me, too." Sadly, those words were not a lie.

Picture me as your enemy and show me what you've learned so far. Attack me, Charles had said, and both of them had.

He'd needed fifty-nine stitches before the night had ended. Fortunately, he'd been a good sport about it.

Dark fury had consumed Danika as images of Aeron, Lucien and Reyes—she gulped. Reyes! —had fluttered through her mind. Her kidnappers, her tormentors. Men she should hate with every fiber of her being. Did hate. Except for one. Reyes. Stupid girl.

Him, she dreamed about constantly. Waking, sleeping, didn't matter. He was always on her mind, as if he'd been branded there.

Sometimes he even defeated the creatures in her nightmares. He would attack them, they would fight violently, and blood would flow in rivers. Always afterward, he would come to Danika, injured and hurting. Without hesitation, she would take him in her arms. He would kiss her everywhere—slow, so slow—laving his tongue over her hollows and planes, each lick another brand.

Every nighttime second spent with him caused her to crave more and more and more, until he was all she wanted, all she needed. He became more important to her than air. He was like a drug, the worst kind of addiction.

What's wrong with me? He'd kidnapped her for no reason, held her family hostage. He didn't deserve her desire! Why did she crave him so desperately? He was handsome, dangerously so, but other men were handsome, too. He was strong, but he would use that strength against her. He was intelligent, but he didn't exude any sort of humor. He never smiled. Yet she had never wanted a man the way she wanted Reyes.

Like Gilly, he had dark hair, dark eyes and honey-kissed skin. Honey mixed with melted chocolate. He also possessed that same haunted sensuality, as if he'd seen the most painful side of love and was marked forevermore.

The differences ended there, however. Reyes was tall and stacked with a warrior's muscle. He wore more knives than he did clothing, strapping them behind his head, on his wrists, ankles and thighs and hanging them at his waist. Every time she'd seen him, he'd been covered in combat wounds, cuts up and down his arms and legs, bruises on his face. He was a soldier to the bone.

They all were, those self-proclaimed "Lords of the Underworld."

Lords of Nightmares, she called them, for of all the frightening dreams she'd had in her life, none came close to the reality of these men.

Aeron had black gossamer wings and could fly like a bird—or a malevolent dragon of lore. Lucien had multicolored eyes that swirled hypnotically just before he disappeared as if he'd never existed. The scent of roses always drifted from him, insidiously sweet.

What magical ability Reyes possessed, she didn't know.

All she knew was that he'd saved her once. Had fought his fellow soldier for her. Why? she'd wondered so many times since. Why had he hurt his friend rather than her? Why had he looked at her as if she were his only reason for breathing? Why had he then set her free, again?

Does it matter? He's one of them. He's a monster. Don't forget.

Another ding sounded, slicing through her thoughts. "Girls!" Enrique shouted.

Gilly moaned.

Danika massaged the back of her neck. Reprieve over. She straightened. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of her customers wave his arm in a bid for her attention. To Gilly, she said, "I'll be at your place about…four-thirty tomorrow morning? Sound good?"

"Make it five. Yep, I'll be tired but ready." Gilly turned and gathered the drinks.

Danika moved off. Ten minutes of napkin and straw duty, coffee pouring and fetching for the Bird Brothers followed. Kept her mind off Reyes, at least.

Twice, Bird One dropped his fork and needed her to fetch him a new one. Once, Bird Two needed a refill. Once he needed a clean napkin. When she tried to leave after the last delivery, Two grabbed her wrist to stop her, his touch sharpening her nerves to razor points.

She didn't rebuke him— every penny counts, every damn penny counts —but politely asked what he needed and tugged free.

"We'd like to talk to you," he said, reaching for her once more.

She stepped backward. If he touched her again, she just might snap. No longer were strangers allowed to put their hands on her. Not for any reason. "About what?"

A mother and young son strolled inside, the bell above the door tinkling to announce their arrival.

"About what?" she repeated.

"About a job. Money."

Her eyes widened. Dear God. They thought she was a hooker? So that was what they'd meant by "someone like her." Funny that they looked at her with disdain and yet were willing to buy her services. "No, thank you. I'm happy where I am, doing what I do." Well, not really happy, but they didn't need to know that.

"Danika," Enrique called. "Got people waiting."

The men glanced at the entrance and frowned. "Later," Two said.

How about never? Seriously. A hooker? Closer to the door than Gilly, Danika gathered two menus and ushered the new arrivals to a table. They were a little unkempt, thin, clothing stained and wrinkled. They would not be good tippers, but the smile she gave them was genuine, if a bit envious.

She missed her mother like crazy.

"What can I get you to drink?"

"Water," they said in unison.

There was a wistful gaze in the boy's blue eyes as he stared at the soda resting on the table a few feet away from him, condensation running down the plastic. Danika's head tilted to the side, her artist's eye seeing the heart-wrenching possibilities of a portrait. Human desires were always simplified when all but the bare essentials were taken away.

You're not going to paint anymore, remember?

It was too much of a luxury in this die-any-moment world. Besides, she had to feel to paint. Not just happiness, either. For her, painting required a wide spectrum of emotion. Fury, sadness, bliss. Hate, love, sorrow. Without them, she simply mixed colors and splattered them on a canvas. But with them, she would lose the edge she needed to stay alive.

Tamping down the sadness she couldn't afford, she handed the pair their menus. "I'll be back in a moment with your drinks, and then I'll take your order."

"Thank you," the mother said.

On the way to the fountain, Bird Two grabbed her arm again, fingers locked in a tight grip. Danika stiffened, sparks of fury so hot under her skin she suddenly felt wrapped in flames. She couldn't fight the emotion, couldn't tamp it down as easily as she had the sadness. The ice she'd imagined coating her skin all these weeks melted.

"What time do you get off?"