Entwined: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 3)

by Felicity Brandon

  Entwined

  Book Three in The Dark Necessities Trilogy

  By

  Felicity Brandon

  Copyright © 2019 by Felicity Brandon

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: felicitybrandonauthor@gmail.com

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The author does not condone, nor endorse any of the acts in this book.

  First edition February 2019

  Cover design by Eris Adderly

  Download your FREE Felicity book here.

  https://felicitybrandonwrites.com/

  For the lover in all of us.

  “Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.” Anais Nin

  Chapter One

  Tired blue eyes stared at the white screen, their gaze unblinking in the twilight. She’d been there, on the veranda, for a long time, and had barely noticed the light slipping away.

  “Are you going to call it a night soon?”

  The sound of Molly’s mom’s voice stirred her from her self-imposed stupor, and she turned to meet it.

  “I guess,” she replied, glancing back to the screen on her lap.

  She’d been there for over two hours, but she’d barely managed to write two hundred words. It seemed her muse was on a permanent break.

  “Come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  Molly sighed. Ever since she’d flown south to stay with her parents, all her mother wanted to do was feed her. She must have put on ten pounds in a fortnight.

  “I’m fine, thanks, Mom.” The reply barely disguised her weariness.

  The older woman stalked toward her, resting her arm against the back of the ancient rocking chair. The piece had been in the Clary family for at least three generations.

  “You are not fine, honey. That much has been clear to me and your dad since you came down here.”

  Molly gazed up at her mother, eyeing the concern that was etched into her face. For a moment, all other thoughts were abandoned apart from the angst she had inadvertently caused her parents. She recalled the way her mom had looked at her when she’d arrived in England before the trial. The way she had hugged her, and the way her dad had cried on the phone. She’d never known him to show any emotion before, but on that day in London he had sobbed like a baby, utterly unable to speak when Molly had taken the phone from her mom. Molly felt the weight of guilt tighten inside her. Her therapist had said those feelings were to be expected, but every time she looked into her mom’s eyes, she swore she could drown in the guilt.

  She closed the laptop, leaving it on the chair as she rose to give her mother a hug. “I’m okay,” she told her in the most convincing voice she could muster. “I’ll be okay. Just give me some time.”

  Her mom was nodding as she drew away, but Molly could see the tears in her eyes.

  “I just can’t help thinking about it.” Her voice was barely audible. “Everything you went through over there.”

  Molly turned away from the crying woman. She had become detached from the emotion, and found she hadn’t been able to cry since the trial collapsed. It was a shame it hadn’t fallen apart a little earlier. Then she could have saved her parents from hearing any of the details of what had transpired between Connor and herself, but apparently that wasn’t possible. Connor’s last act of torture had been to bestow that little gift upon her, and now every time she looked into her mother’s eyes she could see the hurt as the older woman imagined what the court had described. The details had sounded so cold in the London courtroom. The smallest gestures and sensations reduced to a clinical analysis by the state’s lawyer. Molly remembered how ill she’d felt in those days, despite the support of those who had flown all those miles to stand by her side.

  She also recalled Connor, his memory emblazoned into her mind for all time. It had been weeks since she’d seen him at that point, months even, and then suddenly there he was, sauntering into the courtroom. His gaze seemed to find her immediately, as though he was tuned into her body somehow, and then, once the connection had been reignited, it was impossible to ignore. Those dazzling green eyes had drilled into her, undressing and disabling her in the way only he could. Connor had seen her at her most fraught and vulnerable, he’d reduced her to a thing, there for his amusement, but he’d also set her world on fire in ways a lawyer could never understand, let alone describe in a courtroom.

  But Molly knew and Molly understood, and as she gazed into his face, she knew Connor was aware, too. Whatever happened in that courtroom, whatever the verdict, they couldn’t take that away from them. That connection would be there forever.

  No law could erase what had taken place; no authority could lessen its impact.

  Worse than all of that though, had been Molly’s anxiety about what other people thought. Could they tell when they looked into her eyes? Could they see Molly’s devotion to the man who had captured and held her? Was it obvious? Based on the way her parents had arranged therapy almost as soon as the plane had touched down on American soil, she had to assume that the answer was yes.

  “Molly?”

  Her mom’s croaky voice burst the bubble of Molly’s thoughts, and she forced a smile in response.

  “It’s over now,” Molly reassured her with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. Reaching for her laptop, she pulled her mom in close and directed her back inside the house. “It’s like the therapist has been telling me, we all have to put it behind us.”

  Her mother nodded as they reached the doorway. “You’re right, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I’m so proud of you, and how strong you’ve been, and you’re right. It is over, and it’s time to move forward.”

  Molly watched as her mom disappeared inside, hesitating for a moment against the door frame.

  “I’ll warm some milk for you.” The sound of her mother’s voice reverberated down the corridor. “You can take it to bed with some cookies.”

  “Great, thanks,” Molly sighed as she gazed out into the evening sky.

  The darkness had come abruptly, as it always seemed to now, seizing the light and casting it away. It was at times like this that she missed Connor the most. It seemed like his calling card was everywhere; the beauty of the night, and the sudden chill in the air. She imagined his arms around her, the touch of his hand against her skin. Whether he was punishing or caressing, there had been an odd reassurance about the contact. Molly closed her eyes, focusing on the memory of that feeling. She would probably never have that again, and each day it seemed like the recollection slipped a little further away from her.

  “Come inside, Molly!” It was her father this time. “Tell me about your day.”

  Molly blinked into the darkness, unsure how to respond. Now that she was back, it seemed her parents wanted to treat her like a little girl again, in some desperate attempt to protect her. But it was too late.

  “I’m coming,” she cried back without turning her head.

  The last thing she wanted to do was tell him about her day. There was absolutely nothing to say anyway. Writer’s block had hit her like a freight train since she’d come back to America, and since th
e majority of her friends were based up in Pennsylvania, most days now consisted of walking her hometown and staring at the damn laptop. If life in England with Connor had been a prison, then this was fast turning into one, too. She might be able to dress, and walk on two feet and leave the house here, but it was becoming obvious that was where the autonomy ended. There was no liberation in this freedom, only a vacuum where her life had once been.

  Where Connor had been.

  “Your milk is ready,” her mom called.

  Molly drew in a deep breath, steeling herself to go and feign some resemblance of normality with her parents. She knew what she had to do to get through, minute by minute, and hour by hour. Breathe, wash, dress, eat; she observed the functionality of life like it was her new religion, but beyond that, there was nothing. Her heart no longer picked up its pace when her favorite songs came on the radio; she no longer saw the beauty in the local countryside. Everything was bland, boring and lacking in meaning without Connor, and there was no getting past it. Her therapist, Mrs. Rosen had told her to be patient; to give herself time, but it had been nearly seven months already. How long did it take to move on with what was left of her life? How long could she expect to look in the mirror and see his face smiling back at her?

  She couldn’t write without him either, that much was obvious and completely debilitating. Either she’d lost her mind completely or Connor had sucked every ounce of color from her life. Whichever fate was true, Molly was fucked.

  Her words to her mother echoed through her mind at that moment.

  “We have to put it all behind us…”

  She snorted at the thought, shaking her head into the dark street beyond her parents’ porch. Mrs. Rosen knew nothing, and sadly neither did her mom and dad. There was no putting Connor Reilly behind her, and Molly knew it. He had made sure of that the day he’d absconded from custody. There was to be no justice for her, no closure, no end to the memories that haunted her, and in her heart, she knew the truth. No quantity of time could erase them. Nothing would make a difference.

  “He haunts me still,” she whispered, unaware that she had said the words out loud until their resonance stirred her from her private musings.

  She shivered at the sound, and Molly knew it wasn’t just the evening air which had caused the response. Connor did haunt her. He was still out there somewhere, and this would never be over.

  Chapter Two

  The sun rose over the city, lighting the dirty river Thames until it almost seemed beautiful. Almost. Connor was rather like the river himself. He could appear to be dazzling and flawless, but beneath the façade lurked a dark monster few knew, and even fewer understood.

  Molly had understood. The tiny taunting voice in his mind sounded almost depressed as it goaded him, and he sighed at the reality of its words.

  “Problem, Connor?”

  Connor turned to find his brother, Dalton, leaning against the expensive doorframe. Everything here was overpriced, as though spending too much money was a guarantee of quality. Connor scoffed at the idea, missing the simplicity of his little house in Essex. He’d never understood the notion of grandeur. Just because you had money didn’t mean you had to flaunt it; it was classless and unnecessary.

  “I’m just thinking,” he replied as Dalton sauntered into the empty boardroom.

  “Better late than never,” quipped his brother.

  Connor threw him a glare, but it softened as Dalton’s face came into view at the window.

  “Did you miss this place?” he asked, sensing that his joke hadn’t gone down too well.

  “Not especially,” sighed Connor. “I liked it where I was. I liked the solitude.”

  Now it was Dalton’s turn to snort. “Solitude?” he repeated. “More like, you liked the naked American sex slave you had leashed in your bedroom.”

  Connor smiled at the mental image he painted. “Yeah, that too,” he agreed. “I definitely miss that.”

  “We know where she ended up.” Dalton’s tone was casual, but one look at his face told Connor that this was the reason he’d joined him here. This was the information he wanted to relay. “If you’re interested?”

  Connor eyed him for a moment longer. He’d known Dalton forever, and after their parents had died, they’d been almost inseparable. He had been the first person he’d called after the life had slipped from Lydia, and the one he’d called again after her sister had come digging around. Connor couldn’t remember for the life of him why he hadn’t called Dalton when the detectives had first shown up at his door all those months ago. He should have done, but that was the Molly effect. She had come along and changed everything.

  “I know where she is,” he answered after a lengthy pause. “She’s living with her parents. She flew back there after a period in Pennsylvania, and before that she was hauled up in so-called protective custody, not so far away from here actually.”

  Dalton laughed. “I knew you’d been paying attention, brother.”

  “Of course,” replied Connor with a shrug. “I was in trouble, but I didn’t lose it completely.”

  “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  The question caught him off-guard. They were members of The Syndicate, one of the highest level criminal organizations in the world. Talking wasn’t usually top on their list of priorities.

  “There’s not much to say,” he lied. “I did my homework, but I never counted on the feelings that would develop. It was unsettling.”

  “I bet,” came the reply, but it didn’t carry the cocky overtone Connor had expected. “Do you miss her?” Dalton asked, turning to glance out at the river. “I mean, if you could, would you have her back?”

  In a heartbeat, answered the voice in his head.

  “Perhaps.” He heard the word coming from his lips and wondered whether Dalton had believed him. “But she’s out of the country now, and I’m stuck here in my own fucking protective custody. Fat chance of hopping on a plane to Louisiana anytime soon.”

  That part was the truth at least, and they both knew it. The Syndicate had acted as it always did when one of their own was in trouble. It had worked to get him out as soon as possible. They had members in every powerful structure of society. They infiltrated politics, commerce, the police and the military. It was easy enough to bribe and manipulate the right people into lubricating the wheels, and if for some reason that didn’t work, The Syndicate had no qualms about force and coercion. The London division had sprung into life quickly after Connor’s arrest, and after a hellish period in prison, they had finally broken him out en-route from the courthouse. He still wasn’t sure why it had taken so long to free him, but Connor had the distinct impression it was all part of Morrison’s plan.

  To teach him a lesson.

  Helping him escape had been the good news, the easy part. The bad news was that, in the short-term, Connor was effectively under house arrest. His face and name were emblazoned at the top of every security watch list, and he needed to lay low for a while until things cooled off. And just because this new prison was six-star luxury, it didn’t make it any less of a jail.

  “Morrison could make it happen.” Dalton’s words interrupted his thoughts, drawing Connor’s attention back to his face,

  “Sure,” he concurred, “but so what? He’s still pissed at me. He’s not going to be doing me any favors.”

  “He’ll come around,” countered his brother. “He just doesn’t understand your attraction to the girl. You know what Morrison prefers. He likes variety.”

  “A different escort every night, you mean?” Connor snorted in response.

  Dalton smirked at his comment, but chose not to argue. “Each to his own, mate,” he chuckled. “He’s not into all the same shit as us, but you know, he respects it.”

  Connor nodded. He understood everyone had their own tastes, and he also knew that Dalton’s were scarily in line with his own kinks.

  “What was she like?” Dalton’s question took Connor by surprise. “I mean, I kn
ow she writes all that kinky shit, but was she into it, too? Would she have lived with you that way if the fuzz hadn’t caught up with you?”

  Connor closed his eyes as the queries washed over him. He had tried not to dwell on the memories in the last few months. He knew there was no benefit to them, but boy, it was hard to get past the memory of Molly Clary, and the image of her plugged, bare behind just kept flooding back to him.

  “She was really something.” His voice sounded croaky and almost emotional as he relayed his feelings on the subject. “As close to perfection as I dared to hope for.”

  “Fuck,” Dalton replied, pressing his palm outstretched against the glass. “No wonder you’re down about letting her slip through your fingers then. I mean, I saw her picture in the papers; she was pretty gorgeous.”

  Fucking gorgeous, corrected the voice in his mind, although he didn’t allow the words to reach his lips.

  “Yeah,” agreed Connor. “Molly was something, but I fucked up, and I let her get away. And now I have to spend the next year of my life hauled up here with you lot.”

  Dalton burst into rounds of spontaneous laughter. “Oh, come on,” he replied playfully. “It’s not so bad, is it? I can get you something to fill the hours if you’re bored. Alicia is back in London this week. Shall I have her brought to you?”

  Connor’s mind flitted to the memory of the last time he’d laid eyes on Alicia. Leggy and tanned, she was quite the picture, especially when she was on the end of your cock, but even the thought of her tight pussy wasn’t enough to expel the memories of Molly. “Nah, I’m good, thanks,” he responded. “Why don’t you play with her instead? I always thought she was more your type.”

  Dalton smiled, turning his attention back to Connor again. “Yeah, she is,” he mumbled in agreement. “Hell, maybe I will, especially while Amy’s away. Abstinence has never really been my style.”

  “Mine neither,” sighed Connor.