“Why did you stop?” she asks through stuttered breaths. Even in the moonlit room I can see her swollen lips, her disheveled hair. She looks so fucking sexy. God. I want her. I want to strip her naked and take her bare. I want her to scream my name and writhe beneath me, think only of me as I claim her. But I am too scared, too chicken shit to find out if our kiss triggered her memories, that she saw someone else while she was kissing me. I stopped that kiss because I don’t want to know the answer and I don’t want her fucking me while she is thinking of another.
“Is it because of Corinne?”
I’m not sure why she is mentioning Corinne but hearing my sister’s name is exactly what I need. It makes my cock stand down, no matter how much I ache to be inside Clare. “I hope you got what you needed,” I say before I escape to my living room couch.
Chapter Eleven
?
I am a selfish bitch. Why did I need to know if there is someone in my life? If I really am a virgin? I lay in bed for hours after Griffin stormed out of my room and contemplated what to do. Should I have gone to him and apologized for kissing him, for making him so angry? It is pretty much a definite that he has a girlfriend. He didn’t deny it when I asked him about Corinne. I most likely made him feel guilty for betraying her, though I was the one who threw myself at him.
I take a quick shower and then head to the living room. I hear voices outside and I step closer. I peer out the window and see Trent’s massive frame. I’m just about to open the front door when I hear Trent say, “I know how you feel about the police, Griffin, but you need to report this. Trafficking? Murder? Shit!” My stomach drops as I listen to these two men through the thin pane of glass.
No police. No police.
My head starts to pound, and I’m hit with a wave of nausea that has me bending over and grabbing the wall.
“I can’t, Trent. Not yet. Not until I find out why she’s so scared. Just the mention of the police—well, you saw her at the hospital. How she reacted. Yes, she remembers killing someone, but that was self-defense. Any court of law would agree. Which means she shouldn’t fear the authorities.”
“But she does,” Trent says, sounding defeated.
“Her memories are coming back, these visions providing glimpses and more details.” A moment of silence passes. “We just need more time,” Griffin says.
Griffin’s not turning me in, though any sane individual would have done so the second he had heard that I had killed someone with a scalpel. I fight through the nausea and step away from the wall. I ball my shaking hands and go to the fridge. I pound a bottle of water and try to regroup. A few seconds later, the front door opens and Trent and Griffin enter.
“Morning, Clare. It’s nice to see you up and around,” Trent says, flashing me a smile. If I hadn’t overheard him talking to Griffin I would have thought his smile was genuine.
“Hi, Trent,” I say, twisting the cap back on my water bottle.
“Griffin says you’re recovering nicely, but he wanted me to come by and check on you anyway.”
And to tell you that I’m a murderer.
I look over at Griffin and am met with a steely gaze. There is no warmth there, nothing behind those piercing green eyes of his. “Why don’t you take a seat so I can see how my patient is doing?” Trent asks. I do as I’m told and make my way to the couch. Trent slips off his coat and is in the process of hanging it up on one of the hooks next to the front door when I notice his t-shirt. “Are you a Bob Dylan fan?” Trent asks. He follows my eyes to the words on his chest.
I have no idea who Bob Dylan is or why Trent is wearing a shirt with this man’s name on it. Fortunately, I am sitting down, because the room starts to spin and I am thrust into another vision...
“You came!”
“Of course, I would come. Nothing is going to stop me from seeing you walk across that stage this afternoon and receive your diploma.”
“But Dylan, the doctors said…”
“Shush. I don’t care what they said. I wouldn’t miss this day for the world.”
I attempted to stare him down and scold him with my eyes, but I didn’t have it in me. Instead, I ran over and hugged him. His arms instantly encircled me and I buried my face in his chest. “I love you, Dylan.”
“Clare, stay with me. You’re okay.”
Griffin’s voice brings me back to the present and out of Dylan’s warm embrace, away from a man I clearly love.
“Breathe. Thatta girl. Slow, steady breaths.” Trent’s voice is calm and soothing, but his eyes are worried. “Griffin said your memory is slowly coming back. Did you have another vision?”
“I’m so proud of you, honey. So very proud.”
I am back in that vision, hearing Dylan’s voice, the love and affection dripping off each word. He loves me and I love him. So why can’t I see his face? Why doesn’t my mind allow me to see a man I truly care for?
“Clare?” Griffin asks.
Again I trip back into the present, and I’m sitting on the couch with Trent. I take several deep breaths, but I’m struggling to hold it together. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” I chant, not believing a single word I’m uttering.
“Grif, can you grab my medical bag from my car?” Griffin nods and flies out the front door.
“I’m okay, Trent, really.”
“What do you think triggered your memory, Clare?” Trent asks.
I peer down at Trent’s Bob Dylan t-shirt and shake my head. How could a shirt unlock such a beautiful memory, such a beautiful man? Griffin returns just in time to hear me tell Trent, “I remembered a man. His name was…is Dylan.”
“And?” Griffin asks with medical bag in hand.
I swallow as I watch his jaw clench and the vein at his temple throb. “And I…love him.”
• • •
Griffin
Clare isn’t a pill popper. Hell, I have to basically command her to take pain meds when her head aches. So, when she threw back the two pills Trent gave her to calm her down without another thought and escaped to her bedroom, I knew that the vision she experienced fucked with her mind, like it is fucking with mine.
I love him.
That was what she said. She loves a man named Dylan. She is in love with someone.
And it’s not you.
I tell that voice in my head to shut the fuck up and I grab a beer from the fridge. I stare out at the living room and for the first time since I moved here I wish I had a television. What I wouldn’t give to get lost in reruns of my favorite television show and not think of the woman who is most likely asleep in my bedroom and dreaming of the man she has suddenly remembered is the love of her life. I down my beer in a few gulps and retreat to the couch. I listen to the noises of the house, the swoosh of the heater kicking on and adjusting to the changing temperature. The snow will be here soon. At least I can be comforted by the fact that we have enough food and firewood. We are prepared.
We.
What the fuck! I have to stop thinking like that. Clare doesn’t belong to me. She is with Dylan whatsafuck. My cock doesn’t seem to care, however. I’m hard as a rock. I can’t stop thinking about her, how her body felt molded against mine as she slept. God, I want to feel her again, to trail my fingers along her curves. I grip my cock and squeeze. It won’t take long. A few strokes and I’ll be unloading on my bare chest for the third time today. Which is sad. I feel like a teenager again, masturbating like a fucking mad man because I can’t get pussy. I close my eyes and envision Clare, her hand stroking me, palming my shaft. Beads of precum spill out and I increase my pace and then I hear my bedroom doorknob turn. I let go of my dick and tuck myself back into my lounge pants. Clare emerges from my bedroom wearing a t-shirt with no bra and thin cotton shorts, her bare toned legs exposed. I try not to stare at her, but it is impossible, mainly since her nipples are erect and pointing right at me. The loaded gun in my pants throbs at the sight.
“What is it, Clare?” She avoids my gaze and stares at my chest. And then a
little lower. There is no way I can conceal my raging hard-on without making it obvious. I don’t care. This is my house and if I want to jack off I will. Lord knows she does. I still can’t believe I found her masturbating in my bedroom the other night.
Stop thinking about her. About her touching herself.
“I…I don’t know if it was the medication Trent gave me…but…”
“What’s the problem?” I ask, my tone clipped.
“The dreams…nightmares I just had, that woke me up…Can I sleep in here? I’ll take the floor…I just don’t want to be alone.” She hugs her pillow to her chest and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
This is the absolute worst thing that can happen. Me. Her. And my cock ready to explode. Not good. But I can’t dismiss the fear in her eyes, the way her body trembles a little. This brave woman, a woman who learned less than twenty-four hours ago that she is most likely a victim of sex trafficking is scared. Whatever she dreamt of made her come to me because she doesn’t want to be alone.
Be an asshole and tell her to go back to her room. Go on. Tell her to leave.
“Okay,” I say.
So stupid, Griffin!
With a sheepish smile she tosses her pillow to the living room floor and attempts to make herself at home down there. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Sleeping on your floor,” she says, her eyes wide.
“No, you’re not.” I swipe the pillow from the floor, grab her hand and march her back into the bedroom. I fall into bed and turn my back to her. “Go to sleep.”
A few seconds pass and she still doesn’t move. I imagine that she’s reconsidering, probably wondering if getting into bed and just sleeping next to me equates cheating. But then I feel her slip in beside me and draw the covers around her. I can smell her coconut shampoo, how it blends with her own intoxicating scent. This is fucking torture. I can’t lie here a second longer with my cock so hard. “I’ll be right back.” I stalk to the hallway bathroom, ignoring her when she calls my name. I don’t bother to flick the light on. I pull out my cock and pump hard and fast, envisioning Clare the whole fucking time. It pisses me off that it is her hot mouth I imagine thrusting into, her pussy that clenches around me as I slide in and out. With my eyes shut, I am so far gone, so close. But not enough for me not to hear that sharp intake of breath from behind. With my cock in my hand, I turn and face her.
Chapter Twelve
?
I felt like a child running to Griffin, but the nightmare was so real that I couldn’t spend another second alone with my thoughts…and that woman’s sobs…
I woke to the sounds of whimpers and screams. Until now, I had no idea if she could even speak. I rushed over and peered at the woman in the cell across from mine. I clung to my cell bars and begged for them to stop.
“Let her go, you bastards!” The woman was suspended from the ceiling by chains, her wrists in cuffs. The man with the spider tattoo struck her with some type of flogger. Her bare back grew pink with nasty welts.
“She needs to be punished, sweetheart,” said a voice. Another man stepped into view, allowing me to only hear what was happening to her now.
“For what?” I gritted out. The man stepped aside, just in time for me to see the woman’s head slump to her chin. Barely audible moans escaped her cracked lips.
“You know what,” he said with a smirk.
Oh my God! I had caused this. This woman was being flogged because of me…because I had thrown half of my granola bar to her through the bars of our cells. I had been starving but this woman had looked so weak and frail…broken. “It’s not her fault. She didn’t ask for the food. I just gave it to her.”
“I know she didn’t ask for food, but she did give into temptation, even after she was warned that the only food she was ever allowed to eat had to come from her master’s hand.”
“No. I’ll take her punishment. Just don’t hurt her anymore!” I screamed.
Spider Tattoo’s arm froze mid-strike. “How I wish I could accommodate your request. But you know we can’t do that. You must remain untouched, princess.” He drew his hand back and hit the woman again and again. I cried into the metal bars that separated us. When he finally stopped, I saw the bulge in his pants and I knew what was going to happen next. Those two monsters lowered her limp body onto the floor and positioned her so her bare stomach pressed against the rough concrete. She didn’t move. She couldn’t even cry anymore. But that didn’t stop them. Each took a turn. After they finished, they left her there, lying naked and bleeding on the floor.
“I’ll be right back.” The mattress dips as Griffin gets out of bed. I hear him pad down the hallway.
I can’t keep doing this to him. He has a life and most likely a girlfriend. Tomorrow I will leave. I will ask to borrow some money and get far away from him. He has done enough. I will make it on my own. I get out of bed and creep down the hall to tell him my plan. I expect to find him in the kitchen, maybe needing a late-night snack, not the bathroom. Because why wouldn’t he have just used the master bath? The sound of heavy breathing snaps up my attention and I look toward the hall bathroom. The light isn’t on but I hear a barely audible groan on the other side of the cracked door. I push it open and watch the man I have fantasized about for the past few days working his cock with one hand while he steadies himself by holding onto the sink. I can’t stop staring. He is so big, so aroused…and so am I. I want him. I want to be the one making him groan and pant. Without warning, he turns and our eyes lock.
“Leave, Clare.” I can’t move. “Go back to bed,” he commands, his tone desperate. His hand stills and he releases his cock. “Please,” he utters, his voice gruff, as if he is in pain.
My feet unlock from the imaginary vise they have been in and I step toward him. We don’t break eye contact, even when I grip his cock and stroke him from root to tip. I’m not sure if I have ever done this before or if I am even doing it correctly, but the way his breathing hitches and his eyes flutter tell me that I am doing something right. I pump him harder, swirling the wet tip with the pad of my thumb. His hips sway and his pants become more erratic. I am seconds away from dropping to my knees when he suddenly grabs my wrist.
“We can’t,” he says, his eyes boring into mine.
“Why? Is it because of Corinne?” I ask. He blinks several times and shakes his head. “Your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“But I thought…”
“Corinne’s my sister.”
He doesn’t have a girlfriend. Which means...
He pries my fingers from his cock and tucks himself back into his pants. He moves past me and steps out of the bathroom. Like a fool, I follow him. “Oh. I get it now. You just don’t want me,” I say.
He stops and faces me. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you?”
“You stopped me…you said we can’t…”
“We can’t because you belong to someone else. You remembered him today, caught a glimpse of the man you admitted loving, and I’ll be damned if he is who you are thinking of as I sink into you. I won’t share you. I’m not built that way.”
I feel like complete shit. Griffin is doing the noble thing, protecting my virtue and his heart. I am such a bitch.
Dylan is important to me. I care for him. Love him. But in what way? If it is a romantic type of love, then why didn’t I feel guilty when I touched Griffin? Or when I think about him taking me, claiming me? Griffin turns and walks to the living room. I pathetically escape to the bedroom. I am no longer afraid of the nightmares that could plague me if I even manage to fall asleep tonight. No, what I fear are the dreams I may have of the man who has just protected me from myself.
Chapter Thirteen
Griffin
“Hey, nice of you to join us. Thought we lost you.”
It took me a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the light. My head was a bit cloudy, but I knew my brother-in-law’s voice instantly. “Mike, wher
e’s Miranda?” I tried to sit up in my hospital bed, but a stabbing pain in my chest froze me in place.
“She’s fine, Grif. Still asleep from that bump to her head, but the docs aren’t worried. It’s you who had us all bent out of shape. My wife hasn’t left your side since you were wheeled in here. I had to force Corinne to take a break and grab something to eat from the cafeteria.”
I needed to get out of this fucking bed. Mind-numbing pain or not, I had to get to Miranda. She tried to have me killed and when that didn’t work out for her, she had attempted to finish me off herself.
“Hold on there, Grif. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Mike, I have to talk to Miranda. Now!” Mike’s shocked expression said it all. I was losing it.
“Okay. You will. Let me call the nurse and see if we can have Miranda brought to you,” Mike said, reaching for the red call button.
“No. Mike, wait. I need you to listen to me. And not as my brother-in-law, not as family, but as a cop. Understand?”
“What’s up, Griffin?” Mike regained his composure and looked down at me. At six-foot- four and weighing over two hundred pounds, my brother-in-law could be an intimidating SOB. But he was a real softie when it came to my sister. She was his world. And Corinne loved and trusted him.
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