The Iris Collective - Chapter 37

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Isolate The Weakness

Barron pushed her into the back of the car. There was room for ten more people, but he pulled the door shut as he slid in after her, and the car began to move. It was the first time she had been completely alone with him since he had caught her in the hallway of the Senate office building nearly three weeks earlier.

“I almost didn’t expect you to show up.” He was staring at her with a half-lidded expression.

She shifted in her seat, putting another inch of distance between them. “It’s not as if I had a choice.”

“Ha, yes,” he smiled, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it across the interior of the limousine. His suspenders followed, hanging from his waistband after he slipped the straps from his wide shoulders. “Your promise to me.”

“I didn’t make it for you.” Her chest was tight, whether from anger or fear, she wasn’t sure.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, reaching out to run the back of his fingers down her arm.

She flinched, shrinking away from his touch. “Um… How long is the drive to the estate?”

To her horror, he reached down to undue the clip and button at his crotch, his eyes never straying from hers.

“Long enough.”

She tried to run, as much as one could in the back of a limousine, but he grabbed her arm. Stumbling onto the floorboard, he pushed her back, the fibers of the black carpet burning her elbows as she caught herself. He was straddling her legs before she had a chance to recover, his hands pulling at her skirts, pulling them up.

“No, Barron!” She pushed his hands away, shoving her skirts back down. He had said tonight. It was too early. She wasn’t ready.

He wrenched her arms up and away, wrapping one of his hands around her wrists to stop her from fighting him. The bones ground against each other beneath the vice of his grip, but she could hardly feel the pain in her panic, more concerned with what his other hand was doing. Pulling her skirts to her waist, he pushed her legs apart so he could settle his body between them.

If the driver heard her screams, they chose to ignore them.

Barron paid her no attention as the car pulled into the circular drive of his family’s estate, instead focusing on refastening his pants and pulling his suspenders back over his shoulders. He didn’t bother to grab his jacket from the seat across from them.

She couldn’t think. It was like her mind had forgotten how.

When Barron stepped out of the car, she didn’t move to follow him. She didn’t want to do anything anymore. He leaned back in when she failed to appear, hand wrapping around her forearm in a tight grip, and dragged her from the backseat. She stumbled, but managed to stay standing, partly because of the hold he still had on her arm. Outside of the car were various people in uniforms that must have been waiting for their arrival, and he shoved her at a pair of women. They caught her arms to steady her.

“Get her cleaned up before the guests arrive,” Barron said as he pulled his white bowtie loose from its knot. He walked away toward one of the buildings on the property, and the women led her in the opposite direction to another.

She was hurried into an expansive guest house, and to a plush bench in front of an antique walnut vanity. Catching herself in the mirror, there were black streaks from her mascara trailed over her cheeks, her hair was falling out of its careful pile of curls in various places, and the lipstick was smeared onto her cheek and chin. One of the feathered sleeves of her dress was hanging loose by a few threads, and the other was missing entirely. Over her collarbone, there was a bruise forming that was in the shape of Barron’s perfect teeth. She turned away from the mirror.

The women busied themselves with removing the pins from her hair, and pulling out the satin ribbon at the back of the bodice of her dress. She did nothing to stop them from undressing her, and stood without protest to step out of the voluminous skirts at their urging. A small spot of blood marred the innermost layer of fabric, and her underwear was missing. A prickle of embarrassment flashed through her mind that they would be found on the floorboard of the limousine, probably by the driver. The women ushered her into a bathroom, holding her hands to help her step into a hot bath that had already been drawn before she arrived.

A sponge moved over her skin as her mind wandered away from the tiled room. Was this what life was like for the women she had helped to escape their husbands? She had expected to have until the end of the night, until the moment after all the guests had gone home for the evening, to prepare herself. She thought she could do it.

“Don’t cry, Miss. The first time is always the hardest, but it will get easier.”

A damp washcloth was pressed to her cheek, wiping away the lines of mascara and the tears that had created them.

Had she been crying? She hadn’t noticed.

Once the women had finished washing and drying her off, they sat her back at the vanity and reapplied makeup onto her face. Then they helped her into new undergarments of red lace, and a new dress that had a high collar to cover Barron’s mark. It was similar to her wedding dress, but far more casual. Instead of sleevelets, it had real sleeves that ended past her wrists in a similar feathered embroidery. There was no cumbersome train to drag as she walked, and it included the same beaded detailing down the front. It was clearly made by the same designer to match the splendor of her wedding gown.

The party was in full swing by the time Vanessa was led to the expansive back gardens of the property. Hundreds of people mingled among the flowers and trees, flutes of champagne in hand. The evening was lit by thousands of golden fairy lights that stretched out above the crowd, twinkling in the canopies of the trees like so many fireflies.

“That’s better.” Barron stepped up beside her and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. He had also changed clothes, and now wore a black suit and high collar black shirt without a tie, much like Dixon had worn the night Mrs. Ross had died.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Chance Barron!”

The voice came as if from nowhere, and the crowd in the garden cheered as Barron led her into the party. Things were a blur after that. They met so many people that she had trouble keeping track. The only encounter that truly stuck with her was when they were approached by President Wilkins, who stood alone in a circle of his security among the crowd.

His company of secret service provided a barrier of ten feet in every direction as he walked up to them, the nearby guests scrambling to get out of the way as if his very presence forced them back like an invisible forcefield.

He was as casual as she had ever seen him, in a gray dress shirt, black pants, shiny black shoes, and a black double breasted vest which overlapped at the base of his throat. The shirt was severe, with a long collar that was tucked into the top of the vest. In lieu of his usual silk cravat, there was an ornate white broach attached to the vest over his heart. He smiled as he approached, and despite the numerous heaters that warmed the large outdoor space, he brought with him a chill that settled into her bones. He greeted Barron first.

“Chance, it’s lovely to see you’ve finally settled. I’m eager to never hear your mother complaining of your permanent bachelorhood again.”

Barron laughed and shook the President’s hand as if they were old friends. “Yes sir, she was very pleased to hear that I had finally settled on a wife.”

“And what a match you have chosen.”

President Wilkins offered her his hand, and she hesitated, only placing her hand in his after Barron cleared his throat. Wilkins brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed her. She couldn’t imagine that there would be enough soap in the world to wash away the feeling of his cold lips, nor the scratch of his goatee, from her skin. He looked at her over her hand that he still held.

“What beauty. I’m certain that you will make young Chance very happy.”

His whispered words were like a slap to her subconscious. What was she doing here, in the company of the country’s most deplorable, holding the hand of their fearsome leader? She wanted to run, but urged herself to stay still as the man in front of her lowered, and finally released, her hand. She pulled it back quickly, and his smile widened.

“I’ll not monopolize your time any longer.”

Wilkins turned his attention back to Barron, and she allowed herself to inhale a shaking breath. Barron shook the President’s hand a second time before the man, and his guard, left them. She watched him go, happy to see that he was leaving the party instead of staying to linger with the other guests.

“You’re free to mingle, and to eat,” Barron said, turning to face her once President Wilkins was out of sight, “but don’t fill up too much. I expect to take you again after the party.” With that, he walked away into the crowd, smiling his bright smile and shaking hands with several of the guests that he passed.

Vanessa turned and walked away from the party, the noise and lights fading into the background as she struggled across a large expanse of grass, her heels sinking into the earth. She was stupid. Eddie and Liam could find a way to disappear. They could hide themselves from Barron, all three of them. They were in over their heads with the Collective, ignorant of the real dangers they would be faced with. They had thought death was the worst thing they could encounter. So stupid. Heading for the hedges, she was intent on finding a way through the branches, when someone stepped out of the shadow of the towering greenery.

She stopped dead at the sight of Detective Reid standing before her. He walked forward until he was standing so close that their bodies almost touched in the little space he left between them. Heat radiated from him, and his eyes looked dead.

“What are you doing here?” If she didn’t know better, she would think she had hallucinated his appearance.

“I had to see you.”

He looked down at her lips and she took a step back from him.

“What do you want?”

“You’ve been avoiding my calls.” His voice was quiet, and he made no move to close the distance between them.

She shook her head. “Why would I answer?”

“Why not? You always answered before.”

She didn’t respond, and the longer the silence stretched on, the more cracks appeared in his facade. His blinking was too rapid, breath shallow and jaw clenched, and he was tapping a steady rhythm against his thigh with his fingers.

“Did something happen to you, Detective Reid?”

Fury broke out on his features, and he took a quick step forward.

She put her arms up, stumbling in her hurry to back away from him.

He stopped, squinting as he looked her up and down. “Something worse happened to you. Your husband certainly wasted no time.”

Her mouth fell open, the blood draining from her face. “How could you know that?”

He gave her an annoyed look. “I’m a detective.”

Seeing an opportunity, she took it, grabbing one of his hands in both of hers. “You’re more than that. You’re a good man.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Operator.” His voice was hard as he glared at her.

“But I do. I do. You hate what you’ve had to do in the service of protecting your family. We can protect them for you. We can get them out of this country, and you as well. Please.”

He laughed in her face, a cold and bitter sound. “In exchange for what? I ferret you away from the nightmare that is your new husband? Do you think murderers deserve to be saved?”

“I’m no more a murderer than you are.”

His smile was cruel as he grabbed onto one of her wrists with his free hand, the bruises from Barron tender underneath his fingers. He pulled his hand out from her grip, letting go of her wrist once he was free of her. “Unlike you, I can admit to what I’ve become.” He stepped back, eyes roving over her one last time. “I’ll leave you to suffer the punishment of your actions.”

Silent shock tingled in her chest as he walked away from her, disappearing into the darkness at the edge of the yard. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. Barron would be angry to see that she had messed up the makeup that the women had reapplied on her before the party. Grass crunched behind her, and she whirled around to face whoever was coming to drag her back to the devil.

Senator Ross was standing ten feet behind her, dressed in a simple black suit.

“Oh, my dear,” he whispered, closing the distance between them and pulling her into his arms.

“Dixon?” Maybe she really was hallucinating.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I couldn’t bear to watch the ceremony.”

He pulled away from her, removing his pocket square from his jacket. Holding her chin with warm fingers, he dabbed at her eyes with the cloth.

“Why show up now?” she asked, looking up at him as he cleaned away the tracks left in her makeup by her tears. She still couldn’t believe that he was here.

He grimaced, letting go of her chin, his hands falling to his side. “I cannot save you, Vanessa. I can see the request written all over your face, and I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Her head fell, her strength falling with it, but he lifted her chin to look at him again.

“I’m not finished.”

“What?”

“I cannot save you, but you can.”

Her brows lifted and her breath hitched. “I don’t understand.”

An intensity lit up his eyes as he looked down at her. “After the party is over, Barron will take you back to the guest house that he sent you to when you arrived.”

“How do you—”

He shushed her questions. “We don’t have much time. On the counter in the kitchen there will be a bottle of champagne. Give him a glass, but do not drink from it. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I—I think so, but I can’t. I can’t ki—”

He placed a hand over her mouth to stop her from saying it. “The choice is yours, my dear. You can live the life he has planned for you, and I won’t judge you for it, but the means to your freedom is there if you should want it.” He let go of her and began to walk away.

“Dixon, wait!”

He stopped and turned halfway toward her, not looking at her.

“Why would you take this risk?”

She never got to hear his response, as Barron’s voice sounded from behind the Senator’s tall form.

“I seem to recall rescinding your invitation, Ross.”

Dixon faced the other man, giving her his back. “Don’t worry, Barron. I was just leaving.”

Senator Ross walked away without another look in her direction, passing Barron, and exiting the party.

Barron looked at her with a cold gaze. “What are you doing over here?”

“I just needed a moment alone.”

She walked back through the grass to return to the party, stopping when his arm blocked her.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to congratulate us.” The lie came easily.

His brow furrowed in suspicion for another moment, and then he lowered his arm, following her back into the light of the party.

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I am sorry about the events of this chapter. It’s why the last chapters are being posted all at once. I couldn’t leave you guys with that for another week.