Chiromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 8) Read online

  “Not always. Granny doesn’t force me.”

  “Good.” She took his hand, and he didn’t pull away. “I wouldn’t want her to. How’s the football practice?”

  “I stopped going. I prefer playing the piano.”

  “That’s all right, liefje. We’re all different. You have to do what makes you happy.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Of course, I am.” She patted his hand. “I only wish I could spend more time with you.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “It’s my job. I don’t have a choice, but not a moment goes by that I wish it weren’t different. Some things in life we can’t change, but I’ll always have this,” she squeezed his hand, “these moments with you. They’re all I live for. You’re all I live for, and you must never forget that.”

  “I wish you could be around, like other moms.”

  “Me too.”

  “The kids in my class, they say I’m different. Maybe if you’re around we’ll be like other families.”

  “Do you feel different?” she asked with caution.

  “Some. I’m not fast or strong like them.”

  “Do you sometimes feel like you’re stuck in a different time, like going backward, or forward?”

  “No.”

  “Someday, you may, and when that happens, I need you not to be scared. You must keep it a secret, and never tell a soul, except for me.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Nothing to worry about. I just want it to be our secret.”

  “Did you feel like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Very, but I got used to it.”

  “Are you different?”

  “I guess.”

  “How old were you?”

  “It started when I was about your age.” She pinched his cheek. “If it happens, don’t tell granny or daddy. Just me. Can you do that for me?”

  Doumar got up and started walking toward them. With every step he came closer, her heart squeezed tighter, knowing she had as many seconds left as the steps between them.

  Turning Niels’s little body to her, she hugged him tight. “Listen to me, baby,” she whispered in his hair, inhaling his sweet, child scent. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’re always in my heart, and I’m in yours.” She held him at arm’s length. “Tell me how much I love you, so I’ll know you haven’t forgotten.”

  “More than all the sand on the beach—” he started.

  “Time to go,” Doumar said, cutting into the moment with his brusque voice and hateful smile.

  “Carry on, liefje.” She held Niels’s gaze, urging him on with a smile. “Like all the stars in the sky—”

  Doumar grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him from the bench. “Now. We have a birthday party to go to, remember?”

  Tears obstructed her throat, making it hard to speak. She stared up at Doumar with a plea in her eyes. “Five more minutes?”

  His mouth lifted in one corner, transforming his face into the cruel mask of someone who derived pleasure from another’s pain. Without a word, he turned Niels toward the exit.

  “Wait! Let me say goodbye.” She jumped up and folded her arms around Niels from behind, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “See you soon.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  “Come now,” Doumar said, pulling her son from her embrace, “or there’ll be no party.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  She stood rooted to the spot, watching them go while her soul tore apart. Too short. Not enough time. She hadn’t asked him how the cat he’d adopted was doing, or how he’d liked his first visit to the circus. Halfway to the park exit, Niels glanced back at her, his expression a mixture of anger and longing. There was so much he blamed her for and didn’t understand, maybe never would.

  When they cleared the gate, she kept on watching. Long after they’d disappeared from view, she remained in the same place, feeling her world and heart come undone. It took all of her willpower to stay in the present and not go back in the past so she could see Niels for another fifteen minutes. The risk of her never returning was too high. Every time she revisited her moments with Niels, it became more difficult to pull herself back, and she wouldn’t do her son any good if she was stuck in a mental limbo and turned into a vegetable. The only thing that kept her alive was earning Doumar more money with fortune telling than all the prostitutes he pimped together. If she were no longer a source of income, Doumar would kill her. Then what would happen to Niels?

  Mechanically, she walked home. Only in the privacy of her caravan did she give in to the unbearable torment. With a cry of rage, she swiped her arm over the shelf with her kitchen utensils, sending picnic cups and bowls flying. She jerked the drapes from the windows and ripped the sheets off the bed. She expressed her suffering in the only way she could, not stopping until the interior of her home was a wreckage of anger. With nothing left to break, tear, or throw, she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach while sobs wracked her shoulders. Exhausted from her maddened exertion, she rolled onto her side, curling into a fetal position. She cried until she had no more tears or fight left, not even the energy to get back up on her feet.

  A sliver of sunlight cut across the floor from the gap under the door. She watched it move, inch by inch, until it crawled over her face and warmed her cheek where dried, salty tears pulled her skin tight. If not for Niels, she would’ve provoked Doumar until he killed her. Maybe she would’ve tried her hand at suicide. She would’ve gladly given her soul to the devil to escape this hell she was trapped in on earth.

  Her existence was reduced to fifteen minutes a month. Doumar’s cruelty was too great to keep their son from her completely. That would’ve been kinder. Instead, he gave her fleeting glimpses of what could’ve been, of what she’d lost. The lesson was a constant reminder of how much more there was to lose. Doumar’s most precious bargaining chip was the life of their child. There was no doubt in her mind Doumar wasn’t bluffing with his threat. He was incapable of loving anyone but himself. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her baby—his own flesh and blood—should she try to run or defy him. In his way, Doumar was a genius. These invisible chains he’d put on her when he’d fucked her until she’d fallen pregnant were much more effective than any brick and mortar prison cell.

  The shard of light had moved to the bed. It had to have been hours. The first Friday of the month, after he’d let her see Niels, was the only day Doumar didn’t make her work. Maybe, he knew she’d freak out and scare away the customers. Maybe, he feared she’d snap one fine first Friday and kill him. She would, if she knew where he kept Niels. If Doumar would let her, she’d read his palm, but she could only enter his past or future with his consent, which he’d never give, knowing how easy it would be for her to trace Niels that way. She secretly made a bit of money with fortunetelling on the side, money hidden in her horribly clichéd cookie jar. Whenever she had enough, she paid a private investigator to follow Doumar and track her son, but her owner was clever. Niels didn’t live on his property, and he moved the boy frequently, never leaving him in the same school for more than a few months. She’d probed before, but Niels knew he wasn’t to tell anyone anything. He said his daddy had said it was for his own protection. Doumar had him registered under a different name, one he wouldn’t give her, and he probably used a false birth certificate, because there was no child listed in the Dutch system with Niels’s name and date of birth.

  Her neighbors’s laughter and fights reached her, making her aware of life outside her bubble on the floor. The light was gone. Only shadows stretched over the surface. Shivering with cold, exertion, and hunger, she hugged her knees to her stomach. She needed to eat, to keep her strength. The bark of a dog and shuffling on her step warned her of someone’s presence. The door opened in the dusk to reveal a lanky figure with a box-style haircut.

  Doumar.

  He kicked the door shut, flicked on the torch lamp, and
crouched down next to her, studying first her face and then the destruction around her. With a sigh, he sat down on the floor, hooked his hands under her arms, and pulled her upper body against his chest.

  “Shh.” Doumar stroked her hair. “It’s over, now. A month is a long time. You’ll recover before your next visit.”

  “I hate you.”

  His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Careful. Don’t test my patience with you.”

  Wiggling from his touch, she pushed to her feet. “Why are you here?”

  Doumar never came to her private domain. It was an unwritten understanding between them. This space, a place she could call her own, was the only thing keeping her from falling off the brink of insanity.

  He got up, kicking at the sheets that got tangled around his Docs. “Fix your face. Godfrey’s waiting at the club.”

  Alarm bells chimed in her head. “Why?”

  “I have a feeling he’s about to tell us.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “He saved your life. If not for him—”

  “I would’ve rather been dead.”

  He closed the distance between them and gripped her hair so hard her eyes watered. “You’re a piece of property I’m not willing to let go. Not just yet. Until the day I don’t need you any longer, you’ll live. You’ll only die when I say so.” He let her go with a shove.

  She wobbled on her feet, gripping the table to regain her balance. “You signed away your freedom when you accepted Godfrey’s help. He’s not a man who does anything without a reason or agenda. He doesn’t save lives for nothing. The day of reckoning is coming, and when it does, I fear to know what he’ll ask of us.”

  He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his shoulders tense. “I have a feeling it’s today, so put on your fucking whore make-up and let’s go.”

  Taking a deep breath, she walked outside to wash her face in the metal bowl filled with water that stood on the garden table. When she got back inside, Doumar was going through her closet, selecting an outfit. She gathered her cosmetics from the floor and applied black eye shadow and pale lipstick. Doumar threw a pair of skinny jeans and a red wool sweater at her. Those were the most figure-hugging items she kept here. Her slutty clothes were at the club.

  “Move your ass.” His lip curled up. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  After dressing, she drew a brush through her hair and hurried to where Doumar’s car was parked in the street. She stopped dead when she noticed the Doberman in the back.

  Doumar winded down his window. “Get in. She won’t bite.”

  The bitch snarled.

  “You know I’m scared of her,” she said.

  “She’s well trained. She won’t go for you unless I tell her to. Now get the fuck in. We’re late as it is.”

  Sky slid into the passenger seat, keeping an eye on Diamond. Her leash was tied to one of the coat rails above the window, the collar cutting into her neck.

  The poor dog. It had to be agony to breathe. “She’s tied too tightly.”

  Diamond growled and snapped her teeth at Sky.

  Reaching around, Doumar slapped the dog against the side of her head. “Shut up, you stupid animal.”

  Sky flinched. “You’re hurting her.”

  He grinned. “That’s the point. It’s the only way she’ll learn to obey.”

  With her cropped ears and amputated tail, she looked both vicious and damaged. Fresh flesh wounds marred her sides and rump.

  “You made her fight again.”

  “She won.” Doumar started the engine and steered into the traffic.

  “That’s cruel.”

  Strung up, Diamond couldn’t lay down. She had no choice but to keep her chin lifted if she wanted to breathe. It didn’t stop her from growling.

  “Shut up, both of you.” He slapped the dog on the snout, inviting a yelp. “I can’t drive with you two bitches yapping in my ear.”

  At that, both Diamond and Sky remained silent. Thirty minutes later, they pulled up at the club. Doumar left the dog in the car, but he did loosen the leash so she could lie down on the seat.

  The doorman gave them a nervous nod. “He’s in your office, Doumar.”

  “Who the fuck let him into my office?”

  “He was insistent, if you know what I mean.”

  “Go on.” Doumar cocked his head, motioning for her to lead the way.

  Godfrey sat in Doumar’s chair, his fingers steepled together, and Doumar’s thousand euro bottle of whiskey and an empty glass in front of him.

  From the way Doumar clenched his fists as his eyes landed on the liquor, he wasn’t happy, but he plastered a smile on his face and extended a hand. “Sorry we kept you waiting.”

  The South African leaned back in the chair. “Do you think I have time to waste?”

  “I had to fetch Sky.” He dropped his arm when Godfrey made no attempt to shake his hand. “You said you needed us both, didn’t you?”

  “You need me to repeat everything? Do you have a problem with English, or are you a dimwitted cheese head?”

  Doumar stiffened. “Of course I understand. It’s a manner of speaking.”

  Godfrey wheeled the chair back and stretched out his legs. “I used the time to go through the books.” He motioned at the laptop on Doumar’s desk. “Wasn’t hard to crack your password.”

  Doumar’s eyes widened fractionally. He licked his lips. It was a gesture Sky knew well. She’d studied every single one of Doumar’s non-verbal reactions. She’d learned to read him like the palms she read for a living. Right now, he was both annoyed and worried that Godfrey had discovered the money he was taking from clients under the table, hiding it in an offshore account.

  “Our profit is diminishing,” Godfrey continued.

  “It was a slow month.”

  Godfrey’s drawl was lazy. “Was it now?”

  “It’ll pick up.”

  “She’s been reading palms every day.” Godfrey’s gaze moved to her.

  She chilled under the heat in his stare.

  “Not at full price,” Doumar replied. “We’ve been running specials.”

  “Mm.” Godfrey’s smile was slow to come. “Never mind. I have a different mission for her.”

  She held her breath, certain she wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  Godfrey refilled his glass with Doumar’s display whiskey. “Sit, Miss Val, and tell me about Mr. Black.”

  Her palms turned clammy. She moved to the visitor’s chair and sat down on the edge. “Aren’t you rather interested in Joss? He’s the boss.”

  Godfrey twirled the liquor in his glass, watching the amber liquid as if it held all the answers to his questions. “He’s not the one who’s eye you’ve caught. From the photos Doumar supplied, Mr. Black seemed rather taken.”

  That was why Doumar had pictures taken. She glanced at her keeper. Backstabbing coward. Doumar treated her like dirt, but he’d always been open about his actions and the reasons for them, however deprived they might be. From the way his jaw flexed, he didn’t like that Godfrey had betrayed him. Let him swallow some of his own medicine.

  “Not as taken as you think,” she said. “He hasn’t been back.”

  “You need to lure him.”

  “What?” Doumar said. “You said she only had to test the waters, to see if that one-eyed pirate would spill the beans or not.”

  “Joss and his team are here, in Amsterdam.” Godfrey addressed her, ignoring Doumar. “I need you to find out where, Miss Val, and what they’re up to. I want to know their plan of action.”

  “You want me to spy on them?”

  “Yes.” Godfrey took a sip of the alcohol. “Get close to the pilot and find out everything.”

  This wasn’t good. “Why will he tell me anything?”

  “For the same reason all men tell women their secrets. You’re going to make him fall in love with you.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. Next to her, Doumar bristled, probably battling to keep his j
ealousy in check.

  “Isn’t that what you women are good at?” Godfrey asked with a sinister sneer. “Isn’t your cunt your most dangerous, secret weapon?”

  “He’ll never love someone like me.”

  “She can read his palm again,” Doumar offered.

  “I’m not sure her gift is as valuable as I’d thought. You said she didn’t see much, except for their deaths.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to see after death,” she said.

  “I need more. I want a location, their strategy, and most of all, Cain Jones. I want the information delivered in a neat, tangible package with proof. No more of this hocus pocus stuff. Save that for lesser targets.”

  “How am I supposed to get that? Surely, Mr. Black will get suspicious if I start asking questions.”

  “Use seduction. Be whoever he wants you to be. Make him foolish in love. Fuck his brains out. I don’t care how, but you will deliver.”

  “No,” Doumar said. “I own her. She’s a whore, but she’s my whore. No one else puts his dick in her.”

  A vein ticked under Godfrey’s eye, the only warning sign that his calm demeanor was an act. “Yes, you own her, but I own you. I guess that makes you my whore.” He got to his feet. “You forgot your place. You need a reminder.”

  Doumar regarded Godfrey like a mistrusting dog. “I don’t get it.”

  “Oh, you will.” Godfrey snickered. “You know how this business works.” The smile disappeared from his face. “Take off your pants and bend over the desk.”

  Doumar turned white. He stared at Godfrey as if the man was a ghost.

  “If you have questions, Miss Val,” Godfrey said, “now is the time to ask them, before I fuck my whore to remind him who owns him and this whole goddamn operation.”

  She dug her nails into the armrests of the chair. “I don’t have questions.”

  “Do you understand what I need of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you don’t deliver, the price of your failure will be that sweet little boy of yours. How old is he now?” He drummed his fingers on the desk as he rounded it. “Five? Five and a half? Let’s just say he won’t live to see six. Do you get the picture?”