Lucien brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb. He leaned in, kissing the places he'd just touched. He recounted countless days filled with uncertainty dreading the return of her parents. He'd willed himself to believe that love would conquer all; and it would--but not this way. Lucien wanted a relationship based on love, not desperation. He’d waited this long, hoping to find the right girl, and when he had, he'd been prepared to do whatever it would take to marry her. He was willing to take a leap of faith, flying by the seat of his pants. But he wasn't prepared to disgrace the woman that he loved; even if it meant not losing her.
He held her close, and flinched when he said...
“Ona...we can’t. I just can’t do what you’re asking.”
He felt her bodies rapid jerks. She was crying, and he rocked her while saying...
“Honey...do you trust me.”
He’d asked her this before and in the past, she’d acquiesced, giving him her assurance that she did. He felt the slow rise and fall of her head as she nodded her response. He said...
“You’ll stay here with me tonight. But before you go to sleep, I want you to call your parents. They’ll rest better knowing that you’re not out on the streets, or held up at the Children’s Center.”
She sniffled when she said...
“I’ll call them...and I know what they’re going to say.”
He waited, then she said...
“I will be instructed to meet them at the dock.”
“Fine...that’s exactly what we’ll do. I’ll go with you to the dock, and we’ll force your parent’s to see reason.”
“You don’t understand Lucien.”
By now, he had a pretty decent picture and he had accepted that the odds wouldn’t be in his favor. More than likely, her parent’s would treat him the way Sahara had described. They would pity him, therefore their exchange would be nothing more than Samaritan politeness. He was pretty sure that Ona’s parents would urge her to return to their commune, and as she’d explained to him, out of devotion, she would fall in line, dutifully following their instructions. But he had an ace up his sleeve. The one thing that her parent’s wouldn’t count on. Lucien had something far stronger than allegiances, or a lifetime governed by Creeds.
He said...
“Ona...will you marry me?”
Ona jerked back, then her eyes lowered, taking in the band that encircled her wrist. Her lids raised, and she felt a rapid flow of hot tears. Her lips spread wide in a smile that warmed her cheeks. She nodded, while saying...
“Yes...I accept your intentions. I will be betrothed to you.”
Ona reached up, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, then she drew him into a passionate kiss. Lucien pulled her head close, weaving his fingers between strands of her hair. What more could he ask for; nothing he supposed. He couldn’t imagine his life without Ona; he’d be a broken man. When Ona moaned, in her whimper he heard so many things. Fulfillment. Yearning desire. Promises kept, and chances worth taking. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he was certain of one thing. Making love would have been easy--but being in love had complicated things. And love was the reason that he damn well wouldn’t allow anyone to stand in their way. Not Geff, not her brothers or her parents. He would have Ona as his wife, come hell or high water. He would have her, and no one could prevent that from happening.
**********
Chapter 21
Little ducks in a row. Pow, pow--bang.
Joplin blew out a breath of chilled air. He steadied his hand, refocusing his field of view. The night vision goggles illuminated the room making the objects glow like green lava. He’d sat watching, deciding how best to kill his mark. He still hadn’t recovered from the bombshell hoisted on him by of all people, Morpheus Gustafson. He’d arrived at his apartment with an ultimatum concerning a topic that would follow him to his grave. The subject had concern Tollin Pettier and the way he’d died. Morpheus had done all the talking, telling him what a mess he’d made of things. Then Morpheus had insisted to know the connection between Joplin and Andrew. In other words, how did Andrew know to contact him. Years ago, Joplin had crossed paths with Andrew before he’d been a governor. Their’s had been a chance meeting of sort. Andrew had gotten involved with an underage prostitute, and she’d tricked him by stealing his wallet. For a small exchange of cash, he’d caught the girl and retrieved Andrew’s wallet. He’d given Andrew his number, and over the years their paths had crossed several times, but Tollin had been the first person Andrew had asked him to deal with. Morpheus had sat silent, in disbelief. When he composed himself, he started by telling Joplin that he didn’t know where his mother got the name Paddox; and it really didn’t matter. He’d told him that he was a Gustafson, and as such, he would have to do better. They took a quick trip down memory lane, with Morpheus doing most of the talking. Joplin had never met his father, and his mother had lied, telling him that she had not known who had fathered him. Then when his mother had died, Joplin had been nine years old, and he’d been raised by his maternal grandmother. He’d been a piss ass, wise ass, and every other ass, a shitty little snot nosed kid could be. He’d been too much for his grandmother to handle and when he’d been old enough, one of his counselors had suggested a career in the military. The day after graduation he’d been shipped off to basic training, where he’d excelled in every area. Then after serving two tours of duty, when his hitch had been up, he’d decided that enough was enough, and that he’d wanted a civilian life. When he’d been offered a job working for a security firm, at the time he didn’t know that the company was a subsidiary of Gustafson’s securities. The money had been good, but Joplin loved to kill. Not hunting animals; he loved to set his sites, watching the way the body shook, then fell after the kill. It didn’t take much to get his name out, and in no time, he’d begun his career as a part time paid assassin. The irony had been that Morpheus had known about him all along and he’d used his connections to employ him. He’d also known about Joplin’s part time job; and he’d stood silent, because when he’d heard about this, his informants had reported that Joplin was a natural born killer. In many ways, Morpheus had admired this trait, mainly because, he viewed death much differently than most.