Chapter 59
He was a liar. He was the king of liars. He would say anything to hurt her. Anything to make her give up hope. Nothing he said could be believed. Marlena knew all that and more. It still didn’t ease the tight knot of dread that made her stomach cramp and her mind to go numb with fear.
Her thoughts raced, flitting from memory to memory in a desperate attempt to avoid the possibility of John’s death.
Mikos had been angry. Murderously angry. And Mikos had wanted John brought to him alive. He would have been angered by John’s death. It could be true, if it wasn’t impossible.
John gone. It ‘was’ impossible and her thoughts shifted back to Mikos. How he had nearly salivated over the thought of having John brought before him on his knees, as if somehow it would prove that he was the better man. Marlena had no idea the cause of the rivalry, but it had become painfully clear to her that Mikos wanted to humble John almost as badly as he wanted to posses her. And he did want to posses her, of that she was now certain.
Her hand rose to scrub at her tender lips, as if she could rub hard enough to erase the memory of his flesh pressed against hers. God, she had sensed it from the moment she had seen him. The way his eyes had followed her every move, hungry for the sight of her. She had ignored it. Pushed it from her mind. But the scene at breakfast had left no doubt. The man had wanted her. Wanted her in a way that made her skin crawl. She had thought herself a tool in the sick game Alamain insisted on playing with John. Now she recognized that she had become the prize.
Mikos would not win. She would not let him. John would not let him. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the man’s anger. The psychotic rage she had watched him display could easily have been the result of losing his chance to show his brother who was the better man. The chance to show her who was better. Again her mind shied from the thought of John, his body lying cold and lifeless in some dark alley, some abandoned building. Life without him was unthinkable and she refused to acknowledge even the chance that it could be true.
Wrapping her hands around her stomach, she rose and paced the room. Her posture was hunched, her step, faltering. Yet her body was a mere reflection of the agony that flickered through her mind. A dark serpent, worming its way into her every train of thought. A serpent whose whispered lies she tried desperately to avoid.
Her thoughts fled down the long corridors of her mind.
Eric. Eric was hurt. She should be with him, yet Mikos would not allow it. An added torture, as if the loss of the man she loved was not enough.
The loss of the man she loved. John’s death. John was dead. The words screamed from within the deepest recess of her mind. Unavoidable. Unalterable.
Doubling over, she ran awkwardly to the bathroom. The cramps seemed to come from the core of her soul, forcing the breath from her body. She shook uncontrollably as she retched up the meager remains of the breakfast that she had managed to force down. For long moments it was all she could do to hold herself upright as she gasped for air between the bouts of violent cramps. Finally, tears streaming down her face, she allowed her body to collapse.
Spent and aching, she dropped her head to the cool tiles of the floor. Curling into a small tight ball, she tried to make herself numb. Shut herself down. Shut herself off. Mikos’ voice would not be denied. The look in his eyes as he watched her. The touch of his lips that still burned against her flesh. And above it all, his voice. His voice telling her that John was dead. His voice haunted her, even now that she was alone. Especially now that she was alone.
Alone. John had promised her she would never be alone. He had promised to always be with her. To always protect her. With a raw sob, she turned to him. Held him to his promise. Begged for him to take her away from this place. And as he always had been, he was there for her.
“Mmm..." his deep voice whispers seductively in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her waist. “What is the most beautiful woman in the world doing in front of a stove?”
She arches reflexively at his touch, leaning back to let his unshaven face scratch against her own smooth cheek. The loud ‘splat’ of the egg shattering against the kitchen floor brings her back to the present and she stares down in dismay. “John, I was ‘trying’ to make scrambled eggs for breakfast! It’s the first day of school!”
Running a light hand through her golden hair, he leans forward to plant a satisfied kiss on her lips before walking over to retrieve the paper towels. “Well, you got the scrambled part right anyway!”
Scraping distractedly with the towel, he’s unnerved by the sudden realization that he was now eye level with the most fantastic pair of legs he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. With the lightest of touches, he runs his fingers up the back of her right calf, eliciting a gentle sigh and the ‘splat’ of yet another egg. Cackling, he brushes his lips against her kneecap, irritated that the nylons keep him from the taste of her creamy skin.
“Jeesh, why don’t you two get a room!” Eric interrupts, loping into the room to straddle one of the chairs at the table. Flashing his parents a cocky smile, he grabs the Frosted Flakes and lets loose a chuckle as his Mom gives John a none to gentle shove that results with him sitting on his backside in the middle of the floor.
“Hey, kid! Have a little respect! I just saved you from a breakfast feast prepared by your Mother. She seems to think that a steady diet of sugar and processed foods will somehow stunt your development. Here, want some of her eggs?” Holding out the gooey paper towel, John flashed Eric an encouraging smile.
Snorting, Eric merely shakes his head and downs a glass of orange juice with a single swig. “If this stuff hasn’t killed me yet, I doubt it ever will. Save Mom’s cooking for my little sister,” he replies, looking up as the object of his discussion walks into the room.
A grin of delight lights his face, and with one long arm he scoops his sister up to perch in his arms. “You ready for your first day of kindergarten kiddo?”
“I’m ready for anything!” Nodding emphatically, the dark-haired toddler parrots the words her big brother has taught her, the challenging tone startling in such a tiny slip of a girl.
With a proud smile Marlena turns from the stove, giving up on the idea of cooking, at least for the time being. What confronts her causes the smile to drop. “What in the world are you wearing? Honey, where is the pretty dress Mommy laid out for you? Who helped you dress this morning?”
Innocently, her daughter looks up at her from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “Daddy did!”
With only the vaguest hint of guilt in his pose, John shrugs and lifts himself from the floor. Knowing he is in the doghouse, he mutters, “Hey! She picked it out. I just helped her put it on!”
Joining Eric at the table, he gathers his daughter into his arms. Snuggling contentedly against his chest, the little girl peers up at her Mother. Trapped by two pairs of the bluest eyes she has ever seen, it is all Marlena can do to remain steadfast. “You are not going to your first day of school wearing blue jeans and a Yankees cap!”
One of those pairs of eyes narrowed slightly, and with a slight pout of her lower lip her daughter replies, “Am to!”
Irritated now, Marlena shoots John an accusing look.
“Don’t look at me! She gets that stubborn streak from you!”
“John Black! She does not!” Her hands on her hips, Marlena dared him to contradict her.
“Does to!” he shot back, rising to the challenge.
“Does. Not!”
Looking at Eric, John gives an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “See what I mean?!”
The two men break into laughter, and with a roll of her eyes Marlena joins in. Grinning, she sinks into the chair next to her husband and fondly ruffles his hair. “You are incorrigible,” she says, half compliment and half accusation.
With a slight smirk, John reached for the juice. “I know. You really should punish me.”
Beneath the table, their hands find their way to each other. She settles back in her chair, watching in total contentment as her youngest attacks a bowl of Cocco Puffs. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she whispers in his ear. “What would I do without you?”
Pulling her close, he presses a gentle kiss to her lips. “You’ll never have to find out. I’m here to stay, pretty lady. That’s a fact!”
Laying on the cold floor of the bathroom, Marlena gave a low moan, her hands wrapping protectively around her abdomen. Tears stained her face as she softly called his name. Knowing that he would hear. Knowing that he would come. Knowing that none of this was over yet.
The gelding reared as the quirt bit deeply into its flank. Mikos sawed hard on the reins, forcing the big animal over the four-foot jump despite its reluctance. He rode the beast hard, foam lathering the horse’s neck as he took his irritation out on the dumb brute.
It had not been a good day. Dimera alone was enough to deal with. The man was deadly, his organization a power to rival Mikos’ own. The threat of assassination was not one Mikos held lightly. He’d employed such tactics enough himself to know their value. As much as he would like to, he could not simply dispose of the impertinent criminal as he deserved. Tomorrow, he would have to arrange for the man to be set free, whether the Alexander’s body was found by then or not. The risk of doing otherwise was simply too great.
Dimera he would have to let go, at least for now. Accounts with that man could be settled sometime in the future. With a small grin, Mikos allowed himself to briefly consider the wide variety of ‘accidents’ that could befall even the most cautious of men. In the end, Dimera would pay for his insolence.
Feeling slightly better, he pulled the heaving animal to an abrupt halt and slipped from the saddle. Tossing the reins to the trainer who was instantly at his side, he walked toward the main house, quirt tapping against his leather riding boots. Yes, Dimera would be released. It was decided. The woman.... The woman was something else entirely.
A sadistic smile curved his lips at the thought of her. He would swear that he could still taste her on his lips. Sweeter than the finest wine, she was incomparable. He’d had more than enough women to know. Sweet and soft, but with a core of steel. He had thought to break her with the news of her lover’s death. And lovers they had been. It was undeniable. He could see it in the way her eyes shot fire at the very mention of his brother’s name.
Oh, how he had wanted her to watch as he had taken Alexi apart, piece by piece. Taken him apart and then put him back together, a humble willing servant as he had always been meant to be. In the end, Mikos would have broken his brother just as surely as he had broken that horse. There would have been no doubts in anyone’s mind who the heir to the empire was. Even the woman would have been forced to recognize that she belonged to Mikos, not Alexander. That moment would have been so very sweet.
The recognition of the loss of that moment brought his irritation back full force. Growling deep in his throat, he slammed the whip against his boot. Damnation, it had been a bad day! Not only did he have to deal with Dimera and his arrogance, his own men appeared incapable of performing the simple act of retrieving a prisoner. Now, not only was Alexi dead, Mikos might be deprived of the opportunity to view the body. To lay it to rest, and with it, all possible challenges to his throne. He was surrounded by arrogance and incompetence, and on top of it all, he had to deal with that stubborn woman and her blasted pride!
Her lover lay dead. Her only hope of freedom, of rescue, eliminated. Yet did she crumble at his feet? Did she come to him on her knees, full of fear and anguish? Did she beg for her freedom? Plead for her life, the lives of her children? No! She had virtually spat in his face! Would have spat in his face if she had been close enough. He would bet on it. God, how he wanted her!
What he wanted, he would have. The woman might not break at the loss of her lover. She might not break, even at a threat against her own life. But she was not without weakness. Her children were her Achilles’ heel. While he controlled them, he controlled her. He needed no greater demonstration than the one she had given him at the breakfast table. Her whelp of a son had actually done Mikos a favor with his show of insolence. She would have done anything to stop the well-deserved beating. Anything at all.
A tremor ran through him at the thought of her lying beneath him, moaning out his name, begging for his touch. His hands clenched tightly at the memory of golden hair wrapped around his fingers, the scent of flowers as he held her close. He would have her. He would have her and he would never let her go.
Stefano looked up at the sharp rap on the door only to discover that his visitor was wasting no time waiting for an invitation to enter.
“Mr. Dimera. Stefano, isn’t it? I thought you might enjoy some company at dinner for a change?” The woman didn’t even pretend it was a question, pulling the wide so that the servant had plenty of rom for the dining cart..
Stefano sat in stunned silence as she bustled about the room, the blond servant trailing in her wake like a well trained hound. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she swept the newspaper from the table in the corner of the room and stood back to supervise as two covered plates were arranged on the now bare surface.
“I do hope you enjoy goose,” she commented over her shoulder, scooping up the corkscrew that Ivan had placed in the center of the table.
Turning to the tall slim blond who now stood behind her observing everything with a watchful eye, Vivian stood on tiptoe to buzz a light kiss against the side of his face. “You are a dear, Ivan. But you may run along now. Mr. Dimera and I require some privacy.” When Ivan seemed to hesitate, she reached out and grabbed his shoulder, leading him toward the still open door. With a pat on the butt that was almost a shove, she pushed him into the hall. Calling a cheery “Ta ta!” she slammed the door firmly behind her.
Finally regaining his composure, Stefano rose from his seat beside the window. She faced him from across the room, red lips curved in a smile that was almost a challenge. The tight black dress clung to her curves as if it had been painted on, the dark material lending a pale glow to the flesh revealed by the plunging neckline. “Um… Ms. D’Pau, is it?” he managed to grate out as she stalked toward him, her hips swaying with each stride of her long legs.
“Oh, why the formality, Stefano? Call me Vivian. Please?” she said, a smile in her eyes as she approached him.
She carried the bottle of wine before her in outstretched arms and for a moment he wondered if she planned to impale him with it. She stopped only when the cool glass made contact with his chest.
She looked up at him, catching his eyes in a direct stare. Her large green eyes twinkled mischievously as she said softly, “You wouldn’t mind opening this for me, would you? I’m just a helpless woman when it comes to such things.”
Clearing his throat, Stefano snatched the corkscrew which dangled from her fingers. “I have difficulty imagining you incapable of anything.”
Her high heels rang out sharply against the floor as she followed him to the table. “My third husband used to say the same thing!”
“Your third husband?” he noted with distraction, searching for some way to establish his control over the conversation.
“Yes, a dear man. It was tragic when he died so soon after the marriage. A heart attack, would you believe. He was only 52, and he dies of heart attack while in bed.”
Once again thrown off guard, Stefano sat down and reached for the bottle. “I am sorry for your loss. At least you can take comfort in how he passed on. There are worse fates than dying in one’s sleep.”
Nodding her thanks, Vivian raised the now full glass to her lips. Over the rim of her glass she studied him, a lazy grin making her eyes sparkle. “Who said he was asleep?”
Stefano choked as the wine went down the wrong way. Red-faced, he gasped for air, the fumes from the alcohol burning in his nose.
“My goodness! Are you all right?” Vivian asked with amused concern, her hand catching his in a surprisingly strong grip.
Nodding almost frantically he pulled away and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I am just fine. Thank you.”
Picked up her knife and fork, Vivian turned her attention to the meal. “Well, don’t you worry. If you have any trouble, I do know CPR.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Stefano muttered to himself as he took another sip of wine and tried to relax. He realized that she had heard him by the tight grin that flashed across her face.
“Ahem. Uh, Ms. D’Pau...”
“Vivian, please!” .
“Vivian.... While I am grateful for the pleasure of your company, I am curious as to the reason for this sudden visit. Is there something I can help you with?”
Leaning back in her chair, Vivian chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Hmmm. I believe the better question is, ‘Is there something I can do for you?’.”
Raising a brow, Stefano replied, “And what might that be?”
“Well, Mikos is my nephew. A sweet boy, but sometimes he tends to act before he thinks. Thus your rather reluctant visit to our home. Perhaps it would be possible for me to intervene with him on your behalf.”
Stefano could recognize a player when he saw one, and this lady was definitely a player. Feeling a bit more at ease as he immersed himself in this new game, he nodded thoughtfully. “That would be very kind of you, Vivian. Certainly there must be something I could do to repay your act of kindness?”
“Oh, I am sure that we could work something out,” she answered smoothly.
With a sardonic grin, he said, “I am sure that we could. However, I don’t believe your intervention will be necessary. Your nephew and I have come to an understanding. He recognizes the inappropriateness of his actions. The risk involved. We will be leaving you tomorrow.”
The news startled her, her eyes narrowing in consternation. “Mikos plans to release you?”
“Within 24 hours. I was very specific regarding my expectations. But it is almost a shame you and I will not be doing business together. I find the idea rather intriguing,” he said, enjoying having the little spitfire on the defensive.
With a casual shrug, Vivian reached out to run her fingers along the rim of the wine glass. “Yes, that is rather a pity, isn’t it? But I must say, I am surprised that you would leave Dr. Evans all alone in the tender care of my nephew.”
“Dr. Evans and her children will be accompanying me,” he answered sharply, a hint of danger in his tone. “I will not be leaving without them.”
Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. “Then perhaps you will not be leaving us after all. You do not know Mikos very well if you think he will relinquish the woman to you. He is very jealous of his toys.”
“So am I,” Dimera stated flatly.
The smile came back to her face and she rose abruptly from her chair. “Perhaps it would be best if we continue this conversation tomorrow, Stefano. I believe that I may be seeing you again for dinner after all.”
With a barely discernable wink, she turned and strode confidently to the door, leaving Stefano to his own thoughts.
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