Hero

49 Calvin

It’s the click of Cataline’s closing door that jars me from staring at the floor where she just was. Anger riots through me for allowing her to drive me to the edge. I wanted to be better. But I’m still her own personal brand of fear, the creator of the demons inside her, the shadow blocking any light. I lost control, and she got the confirmation she was looking for: I can’t be anything other than this. Do I love her? I don’t know what else to call this way she’s consumed me.

Before I know it, my fist is through the wall, my face burning as I overturn the table. Food, pitchers, dishes clatter to the ground. Fuck all of this. Fuck my parents for putting this life on me. Fuck Cataline for not being able to protect herself from me. Fuck me for not being good enough.

Nerves are unfamiliar to me. After staring hard at Cataline’s door for some minutes, I inhale deeply and rap twice. She makes me wait.

“Come in,” she says eventually.

The room is orange from the flood of late afternoon sunlight. Under the comforter, she’s in bed, curled onto her side. Her heavy lids and dull, red-rimmed eyes tell me she’s been sleeping. She looks at me expectantly, so I clear my throat and close the door behind me.

“You’ve been up here a while,” I say, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Thought I’d check on you.”

She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking.”

“This whole time?”

“I also took a catnap.”

“Catnap?” I repeat.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “You’ve never heard of a catnap?”

I shake my head.

“It’s just a nap but quicker, I guess.”

“I see. A nap for pussycat.”

“No,” she says, smiling wider. “It’s just catnap. No pussy.”

“Is there such a thing as a pussynap?”

She giggles and hides her face under the covers.

“I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” I say.

She peers over the blanket, and I can see by her eyes that she’s still smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

I take the comforter from her hands and slide it over her bare shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, are these catnaps done naked?” I run my fingers over her skin, watching the trail of bumps they leave behind.

“Sometimes,” she says.

“And this time? Do I have your permission to find out?”

“Do you need it?”

“No. I’d like it, though.”

She swallows and nods, so I slip my hand just under the covers and take her soft breast in my hand. It fits perfectly into my palm, and when I squeeze, she moans softly.

“Just one touch, and I’m hard. Nobody else does what you do to me.”

“Calvin,” she whispers. I pinch her nipple, and she bites her lip. “You can move it lower.”

I want to. But this morning is fresh in my mind, so I release her reluctantly. “I didn’t come in here to feel you up. I actually came to invite you somewhere tonight.”

She pulls the cover back over her shoulder. “Oh. Where?”

“I’m on the Board of Directors for an organization that focuses on fighting poverty in the city. We implement programs in the East Side to develop services for families in need.”

“The East Side is in such bad shape.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. That’s why they need us.”

She sits up against the headboard, clutching the comforter to her.

“It’s formal attire,” I tell her, “but you should have plenty to choose from.”

She looks down at a spot between us and tucks hair behind her ear. “Are you ordering me to go?”

“What?”

“Do I have to?”

“No. I meant what I said. You’re not my prisoner anymore.”

“Why would I go?”

“Because I want you there.”

The hair falls back into her eyes when she nods. “Okay.”

I reach out and run my finger under her jaw. “We leave in two hours. I’ll send Rosa in to help you get ready.”

I’m thankful that she’s willingly agreed to accompany me. Cataline will be the first guest I’ve ever brought to a function, although she won’t be the first I leave with. I’ve found that the graver the charity these functions benefit, the easier it is to find women. Somehow, that seems inconsequential now, as though it were a lifetime ago.

That evening, I wait for her downstairs, pulling at the bowtie that strangles me. When she reaches the top of the staircase, I’m certain I’ve never felt anything like this. For so long I’ve watched her, but I have yet to see her this way. She’s dressed to perfection with no trace of the little girl I met sixteen years ago. She’s an adult, striking and confident. Her dark crimson dress is the color of ripe blood and that she chose it isn’t lost on me. It reminds me of holding Riviera’s still-beating heart in my fist, his life dripping over my knuckles in red rivulets. For her, I pulled that heart out, and just to know she’s safe, I’d do it again.

Her bare shoulders and chest beg for my hands, but I shove them in my pockets. Her breasts are pushed up and plump. I want to slide my dick between them and come all over her long, slender neck. I blow out a breath as she descends the stairs and try to find a spot where I don’t see the slit traveling up her thigh or the slight bouncing of her tits. She’s incredibly stunning. I think about how nothing will stop me from getting my hands on her later until I reach her steely eyes.

“Calvin?”

I blink slowly. “Yeah?”

She’s standing a foot from me now, her head inclined toward her shoulder. “Are you just going to stare at me, or should we go?”

“You look . . .”

Her cheeks tint pink as I grasp for the right word. “Beautiful” doesn’t begin to describe the creature in front of me with a pound of dark hair piled on her head and eyes rimmed in charcoal.

“You look nice too,” she says. She leans in, and I’m sure my cock will break right through my pants if she touches me, but she reaches behind me to take something from the foyer’s table. “You forgot your glasses.”

I’m rigidly still as she takes two tiny steps into my body, infiltrating my space with a fresh scent that seems to scrub away everything bad inside me. She lifts both hands and slides the glasses on my face. After adjusting them, she steps back again, leaving me in her dissipating cloud. “There. Now you’re ready.”

Ready. What she means is that I’m back in one of my disguises, a person she can catalogue in her mind as good or bad. I still haven’t figured out which version she thinks I am now, though. I’m not sure I know myself.

When we walk through the doors of the event, Cataline can’t hear the low whistle of one man or see the way he nudges his friend and nods in her direction. But I can. What he doesn’t know is that her date can snap his neck without batting an eye. “Stay close to me tonight,” I say.

“You’d tell me if there were danger, right?” she asks. “Please, Calvin, don’t keep me in the dark anymore.”

“There’s no danger,” I reassure her. “But I want you close anyway.”

“Are you afraid I’ll say something I shouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if that were the case. However, I’d advise you to be careful. I’m trusting you.” Her fingers compress around my bicep as she nods. “What’s your poison?” I ask.

She scans the room up to the second floor balcony and over the crown molding along the ceiling. “They’re even richer than you.”

“Helpful when it comes to charity functions.”

She looks back at me while biting the inside of her bottom lip. “I was never much of a drinker. Can you order for me?”

“Gladly.” I get her a glass of red wine and keep her close as I roam the party and make my presence known. In the wake of this week’s headlines, it’s important as ever to maintain a sense of normalcy. Cataline’s Hero fell days ago, so I haven’t bothered sharing the news with her. When the story broke, not even my own publications could skirt publishing the photos.

Cataline shows me someone new at the party. She’s the woman in the crimson dress: sophisticated, sexy, restrained. Hardly the same girl I kidnapped months ago. I don’t know how to feel about it. Mostly she’s composed, smiling and nodding at the right times, but I note how her fingers curl in and out of little fists. Finally, mid-conversation with two other couples, I still her hand with mine. She blinks up at me as I lace our fingers together. Her mouth opens slightly, and she squeezes my hand. I wonder how it would be to kiss her here, claiming her in front of all these people.

I only break our gaze when the mention of Hero draws me back into the conversation. The mayor and his wife have joined the group, so I bend my mouth to Cataline’s ear. “Will you refresh our drinks?”

She nods and leaves with my glass.

The mayor shakes his head, talking to the man next to me. “I know as much as you do. Nobody suspected he was anything more than a vigilante—trained fighter or soldier, something like that. Chief Strong’s been working around the clock, looking for an answer.”

“We were shocked,” says one of the women. “Brian insists it’s something extraterrestrial, but I told him that’s absurd.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” says the mayor. “We’ve been fielding phone calls all week from concerned citizens. I don’t even want to know what the force is dealing with, what with the FBI all over them.”

His wife shudders. “What if one day he suddenly turns on us? Can you imagine that, a man who can’t be killed? I do hope he’ll just go away, and leave us alone. What’s your take, Calvin?”

I’m struggling for an answer when something across the room catches my eye. “I think Brian’s onto something,” I tell her. “It was only a matter of time before the aliens found us. If you’ll excuse me.”

I step away from the group and just out of Cataline’s sight as she accepts two drinks from the bartender. A man I don’t recognize won’t stop smiling at her. I’m not in the habit of listening in on people’s conversations, mostly because there’s nothing worth hearing. Now, though, I’m rapt as he leans in and speaks.

“You look familiar,” he says, “but I can’t put my finger on it. Have I seen you at one of these before?”

She glances around the room so quickly that it’s almost imperceptible. “It’s my first time. I’m a guest.”

“Of?”

“Calvin Parish.”

“Aha. I wasn’t aware he had guests.”

“Meaning?”

“He never brings anyone to these things.” The man grins and whispers loudly, “He’s a bit uptight if you haven’t noticed.”

She smiles at the floor but answers clearly and loudly, probably for my benefit. “Oh, I definitely have.”

“Rob,” he says, sticking out his hand.

She hesitates a moment, unmistakable fear in her eyes. I can see her newfound wariness fighting with her innate politeness. That a strange man scares her doesn’t surprise me. “I should really get this to Calvin.”

“Oh, come on, chat with me for a minute. You’re the only other person in the room under thirty. What’s your name?”

“Cataline.”

“Nice to meet you, Cataline.” He cocks his head. “You do seem a little young for such a stuffy event. And much too pretty.”

Her forehead bows to the ground again as she smiles a little. I can see that it radiates warmth, even though it’s not directed at me. Suddenly I’m too far from her, and this man is too close.

“Thank you,” she says.

An unusually long silence stretches between them as her eyes travel up to meet his again. His eyebrows lower, joining in the middle as he studies her. Something about the way he’s looking at her propels me out of the shadows and briskly forward.

“Hang on. I think I do recognize you,” he says. “Aren’t you the girl who was kidnapped?”

Her eyes widen instantly. “What?”

“I’ve seen flyers downtown with your picture.”

“My picture?”

“Are you?” he asks. “Are you the girl who was kidnapped?”

My heart is racing as I approach her from behind, restraining myself from clamping my hand over her mouth.

“No,” she says, and I almost stop in my tracks. “It must’ve been someone else.”

“Shit, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He touches her arm. If I react how I want, I’ll draw unwanted attention. “Should I call someone?”

“Cataline.”

She whirls around at my voice and immediately huddles into my chest. My arms instinctively surround her trembling shoulders. “Is there a problem here?” I ask the man.

“I’m sorry, no—”

“What’d you say to her?”

“I thought—I’m sorry. Nothing.”

“You’ve clearly upset my girlfriend. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t level you.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parish. I was mistaken.”

I lean over her head and glare at him. “Stay the fuck away. She’s with me, got that?”

Cataline’s fingers curl into my shirt as I watch him leave.

“Shh,” I say into her hair. “It’s okay, Sparrow. I’m here.”

“Flyers?” she whispers.

“Frida, I think. She’s the only person I know of who’s never given up looking for you.”

“Oh, God,” she says into my chest. “Poor Frida.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. Poor Frida.”

Her hands still clutch me, and I fucking love it. I love that for once she needs me. In this moment, I am her solace; I’m good Calvin to her. I take a chance and stroke her back, running my hand up her neck. I kiss the top of her head, careful not to disturb her nest of hair.

She doesn’t respond at first. We stand that way until she says, “You called me your girlfriend.”

“I know.”

She looks up at me finally, our eyes locking together. “I’m sorry for this morning,” she says. “I know you were trying.”

“You pushed me. You wanted me to lose control.”

“Ever since I found out about Hero—about you . . . I feel numb. Different. Everything is turned inside out.”

As she’s talking, her eyes grow warm and alive again. The eyes she used to stare at me with in the office, like she might love me in some weird way. Eyes I’ve seen here and there over the past few months, but not since the night she learned the truth.

I can’t help myself. She’s a magnetic force field, and I’m a man without a chance. I lower my head, hungry to gobble up that bottom lip of hers that’s quivering, begging for me. Doing what I do, being who I am, I’m never unprepared. But that’s exactly what I am when she shoves me away.

“I can’t,” she says, and I’m left open-mouthed with empty arms. “This isn’t what we are. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. And whatever this is, I can’t do it.”