He added emphasis to the final word, and the dark expression on Morrison’s face told him he had gotten the point across.
“It sounds like it was pretty bloody serious,” he replied. “I mean, the prosecution had you on all the normal shit, but from what I understand, they’d have been hard-pressed to prove you held her against her will. She seemed shaky on the stand, when you let her talk, that is…”
He was right. Molly had seemed shaky on the day she’d taken the stand. Smaller and more fragile than he had ever seen her, with waves of that dark delicious mane covering her face. She sat trembling in front of the judge, and as Connor listened to her answering her lawyer’s questions, all he had wanted was to go to her. He wanted to hold her, to run his fingers through that mane, to capture her sweet mouth with his lips. Connor felt his cock stir at just the thought.
“We’ll never know for sure,” he told Morrison as he glanced up to meet his eye. “Her testimony was never concluded.”
“True,” Morrison sighed, “but what’s your gut instinct? Do you think she’d have put you away?”
“She’d have been tempted,” he answered. “I was a sadistic son of a bitch to her at times.”
“Oh, you do surprise me.” Morrison’s tone was sardonic, and they both chuckled at his reasoning.
“In the end though, I don’t think she would have. I don’t even think she wanted to be in that courtroom, let alone testify against me.”
The words were falling from him now like rain from the guttering of his house, and somehow Connor just couldn’t seem to stop the torrent.
“Why do say that?” Morrison’s voice was soft but direct.
He knew that tone was luring him into divulging more information, and Connor knew he should stop, but he didn’t want to. For some fucking reason, he found he wanted to tell Saul about Molly. He wanted to make him understand, to appeal to a side of him which was more than just about money, power and loyalty.
“The way she was with me,” he continued, allowing his mind to wander back to the naked little pet who was once chained to his bed.
“She liked the kinky shit, too?”
“Yeah, she fucking loved it,” he replied, “but I think it was more than that, Saul.”
“More?” The question hung between them like a cloud. “More, how?”
I think she was in love with me. His mind allowed the admission to rattle around his head, although thankfully, his mouth did not free it. Men like Morrison had no time for sentiments like love. Men like Morrison were true bona fide monsters. But then, so was Connor. Or at least, that’s what he used to think.
“I think she understood me,” he admitted. “At least partially.”
Saul sat and blinked at him, as though Connor’s last words had been delivered in a foreign language. “Sounds like you had her exactly where you wanted her. Why didn’t you call us when the police came sniffing around? Why put her in a car and drive away?”
Good question, Connor mused internally. Now that Morrison put it that way, he couldn’t remember why himself. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he mumbled.
“Fuck me, Connor,” snorted Morrison. “This girl wasn’t the only one who had it bad, was she?”
His tone was mocking, the sound making Connor’s palms ball into fists instinctively. “You don’t know shit about it,” he snarled in response.
The atmosphere was on a knife-edge, having shifted from friendly to hostile in a matter of moments.
“I know what I’m hearing,” hissed Morrison. “That you took ridiculous, naive and unnecessary risks. Taking a girl you didn’t need, driving her around the country in pursuit of your twisted fantasies, and then getting fucking caught. You could have exposed us in the middle of this shit, did you ever think about that, Connor? Do you ever think about anything besides your cock?”
“Fuck you, Saul.”
Connor’s response was cutting, his gaze narrowing at the accusations.
“Yeah, that’s right,” taunted the older man. “Fuck me. Fuck The Syndicate. Fuck the only family you’ve ever had.”
“Family?” snorted Connor indignantly. “You call this a family? A family so good that I shut myself away from it for all those years?”
“That was your call.”
“Could you fucking blame me?” Connor demanded. “I just wanted to be left alone.”
“Just you and one woman you could cage, huh?” Morrison’s tone was patronizing, raising Connor’s irritation levels ten-fold.
“Can I help it if I’m the monogamous sort?” he snapped. “Not everyone wants a different hooker every night.”
A heavy silence fell over the room, threatening to suffocate Connor. He had no idea if he’d gone too far, but he was so angry that he honestly didn’t care. He knew that what had transpired between he and Molly had been real. Connor had been there. He had felt it in a way he’d never experienced before.
“Touché.”
The word helped to evaporate some of the tension in the air, and Connor looked up to find Morrison smiling at him.
“You’ve got me there, brother,” he smirked. “I do like a different woman every night, and you like yours caged and leashed. I guess it’s the variety that keeps us interesting, eh?”
“Right,” agreed Connor, aware of relief flooding his body.
“I don’t know what went on between the two of you, but I know you well enough to know it must have been something big. The Connor Reilly I knew didn’t make concessions for women. Particularly the ones he chained up.”
Connor blew out a large breath. “That does sound like me,” he admitted. “I’m a sick fuck. You know it, I know it and, Saul, she knew it, too.”
Morrison eyed him thoughtfully. “And she didn’t resist?”
“Well, of course she did, at first,” he conceded. “But in truth, she never fought me off. She loved the way I treated her, and as the days went on, she wrote for me, she listened to me, and I swear, she heard me.”
“She wrote for you?” If he didn’t know better, Connor would have thought Morrison sounded genuinely surprised at that idea.
“Yes,” he smiled. “That’s what it was all about. I devoured her books, and I wanted to help her write one of her own.”
Morrison laughed. “You really are a sick fuck, Reilly.”
“Guilty,” he agreed.
“And so, what?” Morrison probed, leaning forward on his elbows. “You thought the two of you could just stay there in your run-down shit-hole of a house, living out your twisted love affair?”
The words made Connor start, his conviction faltering for just a moment.
A love affair.
Was that what they’d started? Was that what had grown between he and his pet? Was that the reason the empty shell of his heart was nothing more than a vacuum now?
“I don’t know,” Connor confessed, and it was the truth.
He really didn’t know what he’d been thinking during those long, torrid days with Molly. All he knew was what he’d wanted, how she’d responded, and what he’d felt.
Morrison sighed. “You’re starting to freak me out, Connor. I’ve never seen you this way.”
Connor raised his hand to his temple, drawing those long digits back through the dark strands of his hair. “Tell me about it.”
“Could it be that Connor Reilly finally found the woman of his dreams?” Morrison’s question was playful, but the words nearly robbed Connor of his breath. “There was obviously something about this Molly?”
Connor gazed out of the window behind Morrison’s head. The backdrop to his office was like most of the other rooms in the place, one long panoramic view of the cityscape—distracting to say the least—yet all he could think about was Molly. “Yeah,” he mused out loud. “There was definitely something. I’d never tell anyone else this, Saul, but I’ve royally fucked up.”
Morrison’s expression softened. “It’s okay, Connor,” he soothed. “The worst is over now. You’re back with friends, and we can put
this whole business to bed.”
“You don’t understand,” interrupted Connor. “I think I fell for her, Saul. I was mesmerized with the girl, even though I was the one who took her, and I told her…”
There was a pause as the weight of his confession landed over Connor.
“You told her what?”
“About Lydia.” Connor’s voice was barely a whisper as he forced the words out. A part of him still didn’t want to be honest, but he knew that was stupid. If the worst happened and she spilled her guts to someone in the States, then The Syndicate had to know. They had to be prepared. “I told Molly I was a murderer.”
Chapter Five
Hannah’s smiling face greeted her as she entered the coffee shop. Spring was well on its way, and the place was crammed with customers all looking for their daily caffeine-fix.
“Molly!” she squealed, running over to give her a hug. “How are you doing?”
Molly smiled, embracing the woman who’d become more like a sister to her in recent years, and who had traveled all the way from Pennsylvania to be with her. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“That’s clearly a lie,” Hannah retorted, throwing her a scornful expression as she held Molly at arm’s length. “Look at you. Have you slept at all since we last met?”
Molly blinked at her assistant, trying to recall if she had indeed gotten any rest since last week. It certainly didn’t feel like it.
“Not much,” she admitted as they wandered over to the small table Hannah had already occupied.
“Sit down,” Hannah suggested. “I’ll order you a drink.”
“Just water, please,” Molly replied. “The caffeine doesn’t help. It’s just one long, viscous cycle.”
Hannah nodded, disappearing to the queue at the front of the shop as Molly sank into the wooden chair.
The wooden chair.
Something about it seemed eerily familiar, and she cast her eyes down to examine the seat, it didn’t take long for the realization to hit her. The furniture in the coffee shop bore a striking resemblance to the chairs that Connor had used in his house. The ones he’d sat at while she was forced to eat from the floor. The ones she was chained to when she was forced to write for him. Forced? She wanted to laugh at the word. Perhaps it was an accurate description of her initial treatment at his hands, but in her heart, she knew it barely elaborated what had gone on between them in the end. She hadn’t been forced to do anything then, not really. Connor had kept the chains on her, but she knew they’d been mainly for show, and deep down they’d both known she’d love it. For a woman who’d fantasized about subjugation for so many years, being kept permanently naked and leashed had been unreal. Molly had been caught somewhere between her biggest dream and her darkest nightmare.
“Here you go.” Hannah’s bright tone broke her intense musing, and Molly looked up to find her back with a large bottle of spring water.
“Thank you, hon,” she replied, reaching out to take the bottle from her hands.
Unscrewing the lid, she poured herself a large glass, eyeing the liquid as Hannah took her seat.
“So, why aren’t you sleeping?” Hannah flicked her blonde curls away from her fresh face as she pressed Molly on the point. “Isn’t the therapist helping? Should I find you another one?”
Here we go, thought Molly as she smiled at her friend. Here comes the barrage of concerned questions. She didn’t mind answering them. Not really; not for Hannah, but there was only so much she could say.
“Actually, I’m not sure it is helping,” Molly admitted. “I mean, I’ll keep going, but I’m not sure it’s going to alleviate the anxiety.”
Molly fingered the glass awkwardly at the admission, pulling it toward her as though it could somehow offer protection from the truth. Staring at it, she smiled. She’d never have even been permitted a glass in Connor’s world. Pets didn’t drink from glasses. They drank from pet bowls.
“What’s so funny?”
Molly lifted her chin to look at Hannah. “What? Nothing’s funny.”
“Then why are you smiling?” Hannah asked.
Smiling? Molly had forgotten she’d been smiling at all. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she lied. “Just a memory.”
“Share!” squealed Hannah as she beamed, clapping her hands together like a small child. “I love seeing you so happy again.”
“Thanks,” replied Molly, “but honestly, it’s nothing. Tell me about you; tell me about the whole world of erotic romance that I’ve missed for the better part of a year.”
Hannah blinked at her for a moment. Her disappointment in Molly’s response was clear from her furrowed brow, but to her credit, she didn’t press the point. “Well, not much has changed,” she began, cradling her latte between her palms. “Pretty much the same authors out there. I’ve been keeping in touch with a few to try and gauge what’s hot right now, and which tropes are still selling tons of books.”
Selling books. The notion seemed so foreign to Molly now. Could it be that less than a year ago, that had been one of the most pivotal considerations in her day? And now she barely considered it at all.
“Thanks,” Molly mumbled in response. “I haven’t even given that any thought. I’m still working my way through the manuscripts I had before…” She hesitated, tripping over the right words in her head.
Hannah’s hand left her cup and slid across the small table to Molly’s. “I know, sweetie,” she cooed, squeezing her digits. “I know what you were going to say, don’t worry. It’s going to take time to get past this, but you will. You will get past this, and then you’ll knock out another bestseller. Just you wait and see!”
Molly nodded at her, not knowing what else to do. Hannah’s enthusiasm was usually infectious, but on this point, she was wrong. There was no new bestseller in Molly. Right now, she couldn’t write at all.
“How is it going?” Hannah probed.
“What?” Molly mumbled as she raised the glass to her lips.
“The writing, Molly,” exclaimed her friend. “How is the writing going? I bet you’re so happy to be back at it?”
Molly’s mind flitted to all the long hours she had spent in front of the screen since she’d arrived at her parents’ house. The truth was it wasn’t going. It wasn’t going at all, but she didn’t want to tell Hannah that. She couldn’t. That would just make her worry more, and right now, she looked concerned enough.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she replied, feigning a confidence she certainly did not feel as she drained most of the water from the glass.
Hannah smiled. “Great! Anything new? Anything I can read yet?”
A knot of tension furled inside Molly’s belly. She hated lying to Hannah, but she couldn’t see any way out of it at the moment. The truth wouldn’t help either of them.
“Not yet,” she admitted. “I’m working on it.”
“Hey, no pressure,” laughed Hannah. “You’ve been through so much. It’s a wonder you still have the stories in you.”
It was supposed to be a joke. Molly could tell that from Hannah’s tone, but somehow her words resonated. Molly didn’t have the stories in her anymore – that was exactly the point. Connor had stolen them from her. The day he had taken her from that London street, it wasn’t just her body he’d snatched away, but her muse, too. And now it was gone. Stuck in a laptop in England, along with the half-finished story she’d been writing for him.
“For us.” For a moment she swore she heard Connor’s voice in her head, correcting her mistake. “The story is for us, kitten.”
Molly gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand instinctively to disguise the sound, but it was too late.
“Molly?” Hannah’s voice was worried. “What’s wrong? Did you remember something?”
Molly steeled herself, making her lips curl as she addressed her friend. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just a new idea for a story.”
“Ohhh, exciting!” cried Hannah as she took a sip of her drink. “I do love your stories. I hated the
thought that you might not have any new ones.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Han,” Molly said with a chuckle. “You know me. Always full of stories.”
Molly threw her a wink for good measure, and Hannah burst into spontaneous laughter.
“It’s why we love you, remember?” she replied from behind her coffee cup. “You gotta keep writing those stories.”
Chapter Six
A whole day had passed since Connor’s chat with Morrison. An entire day of lounging around in the sophisticated conference rooms, high-tech gyms and restaurants during daylight hours, and then indulging in the in-house clubs when night came again. Except there was no indulgence. Not now that Molly was out of his life. All the fine-looking women in the world couldn’t seem to rouse him, not even the ones in fishnet stockings on their hands and knees.
When daylight had bled into the night’s sky again, Connor had retired to his bed, alone. His head was heavy with unspent emotion as he recalled the look of shock on Morrison’s face after his startling admission. The meeting had concluded immediately after that, with Saul promising to see him again soon, once he’d made a few calls to discuss damage limitation. The look in the older man’s eyes though had told Connor everything he needed to know.
Connor had fucked up again, and now Saul had to tidy up the mess.
Morrison looked weary with the responsibility, and in that moment, Connor experienced something he rarely ever felt; guilt.
The vibration of his phone shook Connor from his memories, and he reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve the device. It was now nearly eleven in the morning, and though he was dressed, Connor still hadn’t emerged from his suite. Saul’s extension lit up the screen before him, and as he answered the call, Connor braced himself for whatever was about to come next.
“I need to see you.”
His tone was soft, but the order was abrupt nonetheless.
“Now?” Connor replied, aware of the anxiety knotting in his stomach.
“Yes,” Saul told him. “Now.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
The call ended with another swipe, and Connor stared at the screen for a long moment. He didn’t know what he was so nervous about. This was hardly the first time Saul had tidied up after him, but somehow, this time was different. Molly was that difference, and Connor knew it. He didn’t think she’d speak out now, not after she’d resisted the temptation of both the police, and the courtroom, but even so, Saul would want to be sure. Connor should want to be certain, too. But he didn’t want anything to happen to Molly. She must be protected. Unless, of course, you counted the things he wanted to do to her, in which case there was nothing that could protect her.
Entwined: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 3) Page 3