“That’s funny,” he replied at once. “I was just thinking something similar about you.”
She smiled, in spite of herself. “Really?”
“Lie down,” he ordered her sensually. “And yes, really.”
Molly complied at once, lying flat on her back as his arm rose to prop up her neck.
“Ask me then.”
There was no escape now. Connor’s face loomed directly over hers, and she knew he was watching her every response.
“Ask me what you want to know, kitten.”
She swallowed, a direct response to the nerves which pulsed around her body. Was he really giving her permission to speak freely? It was so unlike the man she had come to know.
“Did you love her?” The question came to her all of a sudden, cutting through the myriad of other queries. It was, after all, what she really wanted to know. Connor seemed so incapable of love a lot of the time, yet he had told her once that he had been in love before. Was that with this Lydia?
He blinked down at her, his expression unmoving. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
She could tell from his eyes that he was telling her the truth. He meant it. “Did she love you?”
This time he nodded slowly. “Yes,” he replied. “She loved me once.”
Molly had no idea why but it was like a revelation. He was being honest with her, and they were actually talking. Yes, she was still naked and there was a metal chain lying between her breasts, but still, they were talking. And about things which really mattered. It seemed incredible.
“Why did the relationship end?”
His brow arched, as though he couldn’t believe her audacity. The tiny gesture sent a shot of panic coursing through her body.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Master,” she added.
“Maybe I should mind,” he sighed, “but apparently, you’ve caught me at a good time. It seems I’m up for sharing today.”
Connor shifted over her body, his strong arms landing either side of her head. The move was so sudden, it took her breath away.
“In the end, I think Lydia just had enough of me.” His gaze bore into her with its usual intensity. Molly had never met anyone with eyes like his. They were so large and striking. Sometimes they were utterly fierce and at other times, they conveyed the most profound emotion. “It was her choice to leave, and she never looked back.”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
“Don’t be. It had run its course.”
There was a pause, and in that time, all she could do was gaze up at him. A monster he could be, but he was certainly one of the most complex men she had ever encountered.
“Were you together a long time?” she probed, wondering if she should have stopped while the going was good.
He shook his head, evidently amused at her continued line of questioning. “A couple of years. So, is that it? Is the inquisition over?”
Apparently yes, the inquisition was now ended. “Yes, Master.” She smiled meekly in response. “It’s over.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
He’d been awake watching her for hours. Just watching her sleeping. Molly seemed so peaceful when she was asleep, and for some reason, he found it compelling. Several hours had passed since the Q and A. They’d fucked for a lot of that time, both of them climaxing at least twice, and she was spent. He was too, but apparently not enough to find any rest.
Sighing deeply, he rolled over onto his back. The police visit earlier had shaken him up, perhaps more than he wanted to admit, but it was more than that. Once Molly had crashed out, he’d taken the opportunity to creep downstairs and call Carson. The guy had seemed genuine enough on the phone, claiming to know nothing about Jones or Finley. He said he’d follow it up and go and see them. Try and redirect their attention, or if need be, put some pressure on them to close the case. Connor had listened, but he didn’t know if he believed Carson. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. It had been a long time since he’d liaised with anyone at The Syndicate. He hadn’t even spoken to his brother for well over a year, ignoring all the incoming communication, but now he had the urge to get in touch. Perhaps one of them would know more, know something, because Connor had the distinct feeling that his time as a free man could be about to end. There could be uniformed officers arriving at any moment. He should be running. He knew he should be running, so why had he been watching Molly sleep?
Of course, the question was purely rhetorical. Connor already knew the reason why. He was falling for her, and each day he fell a little deeper. His eyes squeezed closed at the realization. What a fucking idiot. What sort of captor falls in love with his fucking captive? He’d been so close to telling her the truth earlier. He’d wanted to tell her about Lydia, but how could he? As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d taken her against her will, degraded her for fun, and paddled the hell out of her, he’d also caged her. How the hell could he possibly tell her he was also a murderer? What would she say to that? What could she say?
She’ll think you’re the sick fuck you are. She’ll know it. And she’ll be right. Won’t she, Connor?
The words of the helpful little voice in his head were taunting, but he couldn’t help but agree. He was a sick fuck. How could Molly think otherwise? He gazed over at her, rolling the issues through his mind. This was dangerous. More than dangerous. Of all the women in all the world, why did he have to fall for this one? He knew he’d been fixated with her, the hours online chatting and reading had made that clear, but now it was more than that. Now he needed her in the most fundamental way. He needed to be close to her, to smell her, taste her and feel her body heat. It was fucking maddening.
How could he tell the woman he was crazy about that he’d killed his last girlfriend? Was there any rational woman on earth who could accept that?
But she’s not rational is she, the little voice goaded? She likes to be tied, and used and caged. She’s almost as fucked up as you. Almost.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, sitting bolt upright in bed. He drew his hands through his long hair, the strands lank and sweaty.
This was crazy. Why was he even considering telling her the truth? His confession would destroy any chance of staying out of prison, and almost certainly it would destroy any chance of a relationship with Molly.
“A relationship?” he snorted out loud. “Is that what this is?”
Connor shook his head again, sliding out of the bed. He could feel his heart racing as he stalked toward the door. He’d never felt this way before, so out of control. It was scary.
Is this what it feels like to be afraid, he wondered, pressing his palm against the door. “Christ,” he murmured to himself, “I’m afraid.”
It was like a revelation to him. A totally new experience.
Fear.
What was it that he was afraid of? Did he fear getting arrested? Was it losing Molly?
“Or are you just losing your fucking mind?” he growled into his chest.
Glancing up at the door, he noticed it was still unbolted from when he’d come back to his room earlier and found Molly on the floor. That in itself worried him. He never left doors unbolted with Molly around, so what the hell had he been thinking? He checked on his kitten, finding her fast asleep. At least she seemed relaxed.
Slipping into the hallway, he bolted the door from the outside before he wandered into the bathroom. Connor had to get a grip, and he had to get it fast. He flicked on the light, splashing cold water on his face, before staring blankly at his reflection in the wall mirror. He saw the face of the man there, but frankly, he barely recognized himself. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he badly needed a shower, but it was more than that. He was wrecked.
Everything he had planned and fought for was crumbling around him, slipping away right in front of his eyes. He blinked at his own sorry reflection.
What was he going to do?
He always knew what to do. He was always in control. Until now. Now, he felt like a pebble on a beach, kicked around and dis
placed. This feeling was unbearable.
“Unbearable?”
The sound of a woman’s voice made his heart leap, and he stared into the mirror, expecting to see Molly. Except it couldn’t be Molly. Molly was fast asleep in his bedroom, behind the bolted door. His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. There was no-one else in the room.
“Who’s there?” he snapped, bringing his fist down hard against the porcelain.
“You know me, Master.”
There was the voice again, its timbre soft and inquiring. Connor startled. He did know that voice. “Lydia?”
“Master.”
He actually felt the blood draining from his face as he turned to stare at where the voice had come from. Still, there was no-one there.
No-one.
“Where are you?” he asked, searching the corners of the room in case she was somehow hiding there.
“Where I always am, Master,” came the ethereal reply. “Right by your side.”
Connor’s mind was reeling. What the fuck was happening? Had he lost his mind already?
“No, Master,” Lydia replied as though he’d asked the question out loud. “You’re not crazy. I am here. I’m always here.”
“So, why can’t I see you?” he demanded.
“Look again in the mirror,” she told him. “I’m right there, Master.”
He twisted, returning to the mirror as though he was in a trance. He knew this was insane, but he couldn’t help it. Lydia’s voice was commanding, its resonance making the small hairs on his arms stand up. He stared into the glass, willing her waif-like form to come into view.
“Relax, Master. I’m right here, in the tub.”
His gaze traveled to the reflection of the bathtub, and what he found there took his breath away. Lydia was there. Right there in the tub, except it wasn’t her. It was like she was a silhouette, a shell of her former self. Connor’s eyes shifted to her face. The outline of her pretty little features was there. That delicious mouth, and the dainty little nose were all there, but her eyes were dark. Much darker than he remembered.
“Lydia?” he panted. His heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest, and for some reason, he could barely take another breath. “Is it really you?”
“Of course, Master,” she smiled, revealing a dark vacuum in the place her teeth should be.
Fuck, what had happened to his Lydia?
“I am what you made me, Master,” came the reply to his unspoken question.
Dead. She was dead.
“Yes, dead.” The sprite laughed, tossing back her translucent hair. “I am dead. Just as you wanted me.”
“That’s not what I wanted,” he argued, gripping onto the edge of the basin.
He lowered his gaze, noticing how his knuckles had turned white under the pressure.
“But, Master?”
Her voice was louder now, and he jumped at the sound of it, spinning on bare feet to find her just a few inches behind the place he stood.
“It must have been what you wanted,” she taunted. “You did this. You made me this way.”
Her tone was more goading than accusatory, but still the words jarred. “I…” He hesitated, all of a sudden unsure how to respond. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, Master,” she chortled. “Come on. It’s me, Lydia. I know you, Connor. I know what makes your dark mind tick. Of course, you meant it. It’s my fault really, I suppose. I mean, people tried to warn me, but I never believed you could do it. Not until that day. Not until your hands were around my neck.”
“Stop,” he commanded, but the order was weak and raspy.
He was more than off-balanced now, he was in total free-fall. He was having a conversation with Lydia for fuck sake. A dead woman! Either he was insane or this was some sort of spiritual visitation, and he didn’t give that paranormal shit any credence.
“You didn’t stop.”
That was an accusation.
“Even when you knew I couldn’t take another breath, when I was hoarse and choking. It never stopped you, Master.”
Connor’s hand rose to his temples. This wasn’t happening, he decided. It couldn’t be.
“Stop this!” he demanded. “Just stop. You’re dead. I don’t have to put up with your shit anymore.”
The black mouth at her face widened into a hollow grin. “Don’t blame me, Master,” she told him. “This is your show. You killed me and you created my ghost.”
“Ghost?” he barely recognized the sound of his own voice.
“This haunting is all yours, Connor Reilly.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Molly awoke with a start. A wave of panic washed over her body, although she couldn’t say why. She sat bolt upright in Connor’s bed, feeling for the usual chain which held her in place. Her fingers found the collar, and the metal leading down between her breasts, but to her astonishment, she realized it wasn’t actually attached to the bed.
She was free.
She blinked into the darkness, her hands scanning the empty portion of the bed where her captor should be. She should probably stop calling him that now. Now that he allowed her to sleep in his bed and apparently didn’t follow through with his threats of punishment, was he really her captor at all? She wasn’t sure, but her head ached just thinking about the notion.
Her feet slid from the warmth of the covers to the carpet below. She recalled the time he had kept her chained down there in a dog bed, her pussy clenching at the humiliating thought. She had been petrified then, but also horny. As horny as hell. When push had come to shove, that was the reason why she couldn’t walk away from Connor. That’s why she hadn’t called out last night. That’s why she had to stay. Connor brought her to life in a way no-one else had ever done. Yes, he was dark and she had no doubt he could be dangerous. Clearly, he had no problem breaking the law when it suited him, but there was more to Connor than met the eye. She had witnessed the other side of him, the softer side, and she liked it. But then, she also liked the dark side. The part of the man who relished her denigration almost as much as she did.
Wandering toward the door, she paused. Molly fully expected it to be bolted shut this time, but she tried the handle anyway. Finding it was locked, she sighed, heading toward the window behind his desk. The dim illumination of a LED light caught her attention, and her fingers trailed over the top of something smooth and sleek.
A laptop. She knew that surface anywhere.
A second sigh leaked from her lips as she acknowledged the device under her fingers. She hadn’t written properly for an age. Connor would intermittently permit her to write, sometimes commanding she was there for hours and at other times, luring her away. Molly missed it. She missed the discipline of her daily writing schedule, she missed the catharsis of it.
“Maybe he’ll let me write tomorrow,” she whispered into the darkness.
Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. There were few consistencies with Connor, and even those she had come to despise were rarely regular anymore. Being caged, the severe punishments, his withering glares, those were increasingly things of the past. Was it sane to admit that she missed those things, too? Was any of this sane, at all?
The sound of the bolt slamming back against metal broke through her thoughts, and she turned just as the door crashed open.
“Master?” she gasped, genuinely shocked at the sight that befell her.
The dim light of the bathroom half lit the entrance way to his bedroom, illuminating the shell-shocked look on Connor’s face.
“Connor?” Her voice was firmer now. Harder. “What is it? What’s happened?”
His green gaze fell over her, the orbs wide like saucers. He seemed aghast about something, like he’d just seen a ghost. His lips parted, as though he was about to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he drew one of those large hands through his dank hair and just stared at her.
Molly’s feet were moving toward him even though she couldn’t remember ordering them to do so. But t
here was something, an urgency in his demeanor, which made her want to comfort him. To reassure him.
“Please,” she tried again, raising one hand tentatively to touch his forearm. “Tell me what the matter is?”
His expression softened at the contact, but still his chest was rising and falling as though he’d just run a marathon. It was clear that something had just freaked the hell out of him, and Molly wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know what could do that to a man like Connor Reilly. A man who snatched women for fun was not likely to scare easy.
“I’m okay,” he told her in a rush.
She glanced up at him. “You are not okay,” she hissed. “Look at you, Master. Look at the state of you. What has happened?”
He gazed down, meeting her eye, and for a moment Molly held her breath. Had she done it this time and overstepped the mark between them? Slowly he inched forward, wrapping those strong, protective arms around her cool shoulders. His flesh felt clammy and cold, but she didn’t try to push him away.
“Something happened to me,” he conceded in a low whisper. “In the bathroom.”
Her eyes flitted past his bicep to the doorway. Eerie, pale light was still flooding the area from the room he’d left. “What happened, Master?” she asked again, reducing her tone to the same volume his had been. “What happened to you?”
He inhaled, his ribs splaying against her head. “I saw her,” he hissed. “I spoke to her.”
“What?” Something about his words scared her. They sounded disjointed and a little bit crazy. Once again Molly’s eyes scanned the bedroom door. She half expected to see someone standing there, but of course, there was no-one. “Who did you see?” she demanded softly. “Who’s here with us?”
Connor’s head shifted and the full weight of his gaze fell upon her face. Though she didn’t raise her face to meet his eye, she could tell his expression was intense. She could actually feel the weight of it on her flesh, and the insistent pounding of his heartbeat was like a drum against her ear.
“She is here,” he told her again as though that was supposed to mean something. “Lydia is here.”
Tamed: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 2) Page 17