The hidden flames

Sunrise warmed the kitchen, the light spilling in through the window as Trina stirred eggs in a yellow dress that clung to her body. Her sigh was deep and soft as she bent to the oven, curves outlined in the glow. The sound made Nickey pause in the doorway, heart stirring with a mix of revenge and a pull he couldn't deny.

She glanced at him, eyes inviting, and he stepped closer, the air thick with the scent of breakfast and her perfume. "You're up early," she said, her voice a gentle lure, handing him a plate with a brush of her fingers. The touch lingered, warm and soft, sending a shiver up his arm.

Michael came in, tie loose, smiling. "Smells good, Trina. You always know how to start the day right," he said, sitting with a cup of coffee. Nickey nodded, taking his seat, her touch still fresh on his skin. "Thanks for the meal," he said, voice low, watching her move. She smiled back, her sigh a sweet note as she sat near him. "I like making you feel at home," she replied, eyes holding his, a promise in her gaze.

At Eagles that day, the office buzzed with whispers, people muttering about embezzlement tied to Michael. Nickey overheard a clerk near the printer say, "The books are off, something big," which made him pause, the USB’s words echoing. He nodded at the clerk. "Good to know, I’ll watch for it," he said, tucking the hint away, mind sharp.

Trina’s hum from that morning admitted she’d overheard Michael’s debt call, her eyes flickering with fear when she confessed later. The file also showed a photo of Michael at the explosion site, posing oddly with a tool, making Nickey’s blood run cold. A third twist: the file listed Trina’s maiden name in a side note, linking her to the scandal too. His heart raced with the revelations, revenge mixing with the pull of her touch.

Back home, the afternoon light faded as Nickey entered the living room. Trina lounged on the couch, dress riding up slightly. "How was work?" she asked, patting the seat next to her. He sat, her fingers brushing his thigh, sending a shiver through him. "Busy, but good," he said, leaning in slightly, her touch warm. "You look tense. Let me help," she whispered, hand staying there, eyes inviting. "Maybe you can," he replied, voice low, feeling heat build.

In his room later, he paced, the file spread on the bed. The photo of Michael stunned him, the tool in his hand a clear sign. "He did this," he muttered, clenching his fists. The name in the file, Trina’s, puzzled him. "What’s her part?" he wondered, heart thumping. The scandal grew in his mind, her role unclear. He sat, file in hand, planning his next step.

Twilight deepened, sky turning dark as Trina’s hum rose from downstairs, growing louder. A window shattered nearby with a loud crash, making him jump. He peered out, seeing a figure retreating into the shadows. "Who’s that?" he whispered, hand on the curtain, heart racing. Was it Michael checking? Raven’s men? Or his twin, close? He didn’t know, torn between revenge and rescue.

"Nickey, you okay?" Michael called from below. "Just a window broke," he shouted back, keeping calm. Trina’s moan softened. "I’ll check it out," Michael said, steps fading. Nickey pressed his ear to the glass, listening. The rustle came again, eyes blinking. "Twin?" he muttered. No answer, hum starting faint.

He stepped back, sweat on his brow, file heavy. "Stay smart," he said, pacing. Moonlight showed dust, past faces in mind. "I’ll get him back," he promised. Trina’s hum softened. "What’s her secret?" he wondered. Eyes flashed again. He grabbed the file. "Act fast," he said.

A creak from the hall, soft but close, froze him. "Who’s there?" he called. Silence answered. Hum stopped, and he frowned. "Trina?" he said, hand shaking. No response, creak sharper. He opened the window wider, peering. The garden was still, rustle came once more, eyes glowing brighter near the fountain. "What’s going on out there?" he whispered, mind spinning.

Midnight came, clock ticking past twelve. Nickey couldn’t sleep, garden calling. He heard a sound, soft at first, then louder, and crept to the window. There was Trina, near the fountain, lace dress pulled high, fabric bunched around her waist. Hand between legs, fingers moving slow, sensual rhythm, sliding in and out as head tilted back, lips parting, moans loud, wild, filling night air. Other hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently, body arching with each touch, moonlight catching sweat on skin. Nickey’s breath caught, heart pounding, drawn to her.

He stepped onto the grass, moving closer, moans guiding him through rose lined paths. Michael didn’t stir, house silent behind, leaving Nickey alone with sound of her pleasure, wondering what it meant.

"Nickey, did you hear that?" Michael called inside. "Just wind, I think," he replied, voice steady, pulse racing. Trina’s moans softened, lingering. "I’ll look if it persists," Michael said, footsteps fading. Nickey paused on path, ears straining. Rustle returned, eyes blinked again, silent watch. "Trina, that you making noise?" he murmured. He thought of the twin, USB, symbol—each clue a thread to follow.

He edged the fountain, map pocket guide. "Must stay steady," he said to himself, watching her. Moonlight sharpened, drew past, power clear. "He’ll face deeds," vowed, voice low. Trina’s moans rose, pulling form, touch memory. "Driving her out here?" he pondered, heart beating intent. Figure stepped closer, blade raised. "Nickey, don’t run," Trina’s voice purred, low, drawing, form emerging. He froze, steps faltering, caught mission and pull.

"Just end night together," she added, tone warm, inviting. "I’m here," he replied, voice firm, waves surged. "I’ve planned you," she whispered, laugh chilling the air. Figure loomed, silent threat. "Planned?" he echoed, mind spinning. Her lure, Michael’s endgame? Weighed twin’s voice, map’s lines, cult’s mark. Night grew cold, tension peaking. "Need face truth," he said, standing tall. Figure lunged, dodged, heart pounding survival.

"Who are you?" he called, voice strong across garden. Silence broke with shout, figure’s blade swinging. Eyes vanished, rustle faded, sudden retreat. "Trina? Michael? Answer!" he demanded, chasing shadow, hand steady. No reply, hum returning, soft, far song. Reached fountain, blade dropped in grass, looked around. Garden empty, long note fluttered down, blood stained, hinting at new danger.

Nickey bent, picked note, heart racing. He read quickly. Cryptic words, warning and threat mingled, a puzzle leading somewhere—somewhere he had to find out. Every rose, every shadow, every moan and echo of Trina’s earlier seduction replayed in his mind. His pulse hammered, the night thick with tension, danger, and desire.

"Nickey, come inside now!" Michael called, voice urgent. "On my way," he shouted back, gripping note. Trina’s hum repeated, fading, lost echo. "Hurry, something’s wrong," Michael said, steps approaching. Nickey held the note, blood stark, knowing the next move could change everything. The garden held its breath, every secret, every risk, every pulse of desire and danger converging in the dark.

He moved toward the house, map guiding him. "I must stay strong," he said to himself, eyeing the hedge. Moonlight dimmed, past whispered in his mind, a force steady. "He’ll face his fate," he vowed. Trina’s hum ceased, leaving silence. "What’s her endgame?" he wondered, heart beating with intent. Shadow vanished, note crinkled in his hand. "Nickey, now!" Michael’s voice cut through, urgent. He ran, heart pounding, resolve blazing.