Double Vision

by L. M. Halloran

  “Say it,” he hisses.

  My eyes burning with unshed tears, I say it.

  My safe word.

  “Clover.”

  29

  I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. Not a good sign. My body is weak, my mind fracturing. I have no dreams, at least none that I remember. Unconsciousness is an endless, inky nothing.

  Three days ago, I woke to find a blanket draped over my legs and the ropes on my wrists gone. Fresh white bandages covered the raw skin, little dots of blood leaking through the white.

  My dawning excitement was momentary—when I tried to move, I discovered my ankles cuffed together and bound with chain to a sturdy pipe. Either I’d been so out of it that I hadn’t noticed the change happening, or the little red mark high on my arm is from a syringe.

  Since then I’ve seen no one, heard nothing. No footsteps, no water in the pipes. No cars outside.

  I’m going to die here.

  Alone and forgotten in the dusty basement of a tiny house in Mexico.

  Liam broke his promise.

  A car slows outside, kicking up gravel as it comes closer to the house. Shack? Bunker? I have no idea, having spent the trip here in a trunk blindfolded and gagged.

  Slam of a car door. Crunch of boots on wood. Keys jingling. The groan of the front door. With so few senses at my disposal, my hearing has become acute. I’m a superhero with an utterly useless power.

  At least my hands are free, though I doubt I have the strength to strangle a mouse, much less a person. Especially not this person.

  The basement door opens. Footsteps tromp downward. I don’t look up, not even when I hear a heavy sigh.

  “How are you feeling today, dove?”

  30

  At four in the morning, the front door slams. From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I watch Liam stumble and sway drunkenly into the dark kitchen. He’s singing softly, mostly humming, but every so often he belts out an accent-heavy verse.

  “…so I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl, and I lost my heart to a Galway Girl – Oh!”

  He fills a glass with water and chugs it, continuing to hum between swallows. When he’s done, he sets the glass on the counter but misses. It shatters on the floor.

  “Fecking hell,” he mumbles. He stares down at the mess for a moment, then shakes his head and walks right over it.

  Graceless steps carry him to the stairs and up them. His bleary eyes pass right over me, then snap back. I hear a click and see the glisten of a blade in the same moment he sighs heavily.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I almost stabbed you. What the fuck are you doing?”

  My heart drops like a weight from my throat to my gut. “Waiting for you.”

  He smirks, tucking the switchblade away. “Are you now? I don’t suppose you want to suck me off? Always helps me sleep.”

  “Classy,” I snarl, “but no, thanks. I don’t suck cock that’s been in another woman the same night.”

  He laughs, loud and astonished. “Oh, you little hoyden. You think I fucked that sub? Trussed her up and fucked her till she screamed?”

  Disgust and anger bring me to my feet. “Didn’t you? Wasn’t that the whole point? The punishment?”

  He leaps the three stairs between us. I move, but too slowly. Fingers sink into the hair at the back of my neck, and he yanks my face up.

  “You do not belong there,” he growls, each word enunciated with sharp precision.

  “Then where do I belong?” I yell.

  “With me,” he says furiously. “You belong with me.”

  I laugh hysterically, shoving him away. He releases my hair before his fingers risk ripping it out. Almost, I wish he hadn’t. The pain might have slowed my mental sprint off a cliff. But since there’s nothing to stop me, I plummet right into the storm of my emotions.

  “But you belong there! With them! They worship you at that place. And even you told me I’m the worst sub in the world. I don’t know why you keep pretending this will work! I can’t be like that, I can’t do all the public displays, or scenes, or whatever you call them—God, this is a nightmare! Why won’t you just leave me alone? Let Maddoc have me if I’m so… so… wrong!”

  Liam drags hands through his hair. “Look, Eden, ignoring the absolute horseshit of your last statement, I don’t fucking care about the club, about any of it. Sure, it’s a part of me—it will always be a part of me—but I don’t need it like some of the others do.”

  He sounds sincere, but he’s also drunk.

  “Then why have you been there the last three nights?” I demand.

  “Why do you even care?” he rasps.

  “Because I don’t want you sleeping with other women!” I holler. “Or even touching them!”

  He matches my volume, yelling, “Why, Eden!”

  “Because you’re mine!” I scream.

  Silence descends, swirling around our heavy breaths. My pronouncement rings in the air. I have no idea which of us is more startled by it, but he recovers first.

  “I didn’t touch her or anyone else. London belongs to Dominic. I didn’t touch her.”

  My chest deflates. “You lied.”

  He nods, unrepentant. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want you to be anyone other than who you are? The sexiest, smartest, mouthiest woman I’ve ever met?”

  I blink in surprise. “No.”

  “And apparently the most clueless, as well.”

  Groaning, I rub my face with my hands. “What the hell is happening to me?”

  “I don’t know,” he says evenly. “But since I’m sloshed and liable to throw my heart at your feet any second, I’m going to spare myself the inevitable splash-back of shit and head to bed.”

  My heart churns, spinning through fearful shadows and radiant light.

  I clear my throat. “Splash-back of shit?”

  He grunts and keeps walking.

  “Liam?”

  “What?” he snaps.

  “Did you drive home drunk?”

  “No, got a ride.”

  He’s almost at the threshold of his bedroom. “Liam?”

  “What?”

  The cliff before me this time is just as terrifying, but I jump off it willingly, hoping to land on my feet.

  “Want some company?”

  He stops, glances back. “I’m not fucking you, dove.” His lips curl wryly. “Too much whiskey in my veins.”

  I shake my head. “I just want to sleep. Next to you.” After a small hesitation, I admit, “You make me feel safe.”

  His expression softens. “You really are a pain in my ass. Come on, then.” Pivoting, he disappears into the dark bedroom, but I can still hear him muttering. “Madwoman… showing up at the club. Brave little dove… should paddle you till you can’t sit for a week. Pigtails. Sitting in the dark for me wearing pigtails. Conniving woman. Jesus H. Christ, I’m drunk.”

  There’s a thump, and he yelps in pain.

  “Feck! Stupid fecking bed!”

  Swallowing laughter, I follow him into the room.

  31

  I wake up with the sun warm on my back and open my eyes to find Liam’s side of the bed empty. Sighing, I pull the sheet over my head.

  True to his word, he didn’t touch me last night. Not even when I woke up just before dawn sprawled on his chest with his arousal caught between us. Looking up, I found him watching me, his hands locked behind his neck. With rejection stinging in my chest, I maneuvered away and curled around a pillow, finally falling back to sleep.

  The house is quiet. Without needing to look, I know he’s not here. I can’t explain it to myself, but some deep part of me feels when he’s here. In the same way a planet is bound by gravity to the sun, without Liam, I’m never more aware of being untethered and alone.

  Eventually I rouse myself and take a shower, then nibble halfheartedly on toast. I turn on the TV in the living room for background noise. I reheat yesterday’s coffee and scroll through Facebook. Around ten, when I kn
ow my parents are both at work, I call the house and leave a message on their ancient answering machine.

  “Hey, Mom and Dad, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I’m doing good. Working hard and saving money for school.” I almost choke on the lies. “I, uh, miss you. We’ll talk soon. Love you. Bye.”

  I throw my phone on the couch, where it rings a moment later. I see Karina’s face on the screen and hesitate—unlike my parents, she has a pretty impressive bullshit meter. The call goes to voicemail, but my phone rings again immediately. Having been down this road with her before, I know she won’t stop calling until I pick up.

  Sighing, I answer. “Hey, K.”

  “Where the fuck have you been?” she yells. “Some bimbo answered your door and said she lives there now! I thought you were fucking dead…” She transitions fluidly to Spanish, which she knows I don’t speak. But I get the gist easily enough.

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” I say when she finally winds down. “I haven’t called because, honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

  “Tell me what’s going on!”

  Wincing, I rip off the Band-Aid. “I’m postponing med school for a year. I moved in with Liam. He said I could quit my jobs, so I did.”

  She’s quiet for two seconds, then explodes. “WHAT! ¿Quién eres y qué has hecho con mi amiga? Has perdido la cabeza!”

  Pretty sure she just told me I’m crazy.

  “I know it seems… out of character for me, but uh, I’ve never been happier.”

  “Bitch, you sound like you’re sucking lemons!”

  In spite of myself, I laugh. “Because my inner feminist keeps trying to break out of her cage. And I don’t want you to think less of me.”

  Karina sighs. “I don’t care if you’re shacking up with Mr. Fancy. Shit, besides the choking and spanking he’s a regular Prince Charming.”

  I laugh again, a little wildly. If only she knew. My life isn’t Disney—it’s the Brothers Grimm.

  Karina continues, “But you’re still going to med school, right?”

  “Yes. I just deferred a year. Happens all the time.”

  Please don’t let that, too, be a lie.

  “Are you free for lunch?” She pauses. “Or wait, are you allowed to leave the dungeon?”

  I really shouldn’t have answered the phone.

  “I can leave whenever I want, but my car’s in the shop.”

  “I’ll pick you up,” she says quickly. “Give me the address.”

  I bite my lip, wracking my brain for a plausible lie, when my excuse strolls in the front door. “Sorry, K. Liam just walked in with lunch. Can I call you later?”

  “Put Mr. Fancy on the phone right now,” she snaps.

  I pull the device away from my ear. Liam stops on the threshold of the kitchen, head cocked in question.

  “Karina wants to talk to you.”

  He holds out his hand for the phone. For the next few minutes, Karina chews him out. Liam gives appropriate responses at the appropriate times, and finally hangs up with a tired smirk.

  “She’s a good friend,” he says, handing me back my phone. He walks to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. “Did you really tell her I had a nine-inch dick?”

  My face flames. “Uhh—maybe?”

  He laughs and takes a swig of water. “Nine and a half, actually.”

  I roll my eyes. “At a certain point it stops mattering. Besides, most women would rather have an eraser than a pencil.”

  Liam guffaws. “Good Lord, woman. Where do you come up with this shit?”

  I move past him, grabbing a bottle of water for myself. “Whatever. It’s not like you’re lacking in either department. Where’d you go so early, anyway?”

  Walking around the island, he takes a seat on a stool. “Had to get my car and run an errand.”

  I lower the bottle from my mouth. “What kind of errand?”

  “The illegal kind. I’m going to teach you how to shoot a gun.”

  Definitely not Disney.

  32

  When we return from the shooting range, Liam disappears to shower while I drag myself to my room. Facedown on the bed, I float in the echoes of muted gunshots, the tingle in my muscles from repeated recoils, and the lingering smells of oil and gunpowder.

  Somewhere within me, behind layers and layers of ice, is the old me. Braids and flannels, her nose always in a book. I’m sure she’s screaming down there, past the cold. Screaming and crying at what’s become of her.

  I liked firing a gun.

  No, I loved it. The first time I hit the target, I felt like a goddess. Like a Valkyrie of old with a sword in her hands, defending what was rightfully hers. I didn’t fully understand just how afraid I was until I wasn’t anymore.

  Liam was stoic throughout, barely responsive to my ecstatic shouts when I tore the target to shreds.

  “You’re a natural,” he said, unreadable eyes moving from the target to me. “I think we’re done for the day.”

  The drive home was another silent trip, each of us lost in thoughts. The thrill I’d felt soured by the time we arrived home. Now, with my face in a pillow, I acknowledge that the look in his eyes had been disappointment.

  Against his own logic, he’d been hoping I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

  That I wouldn’t be like my father.

  Liam finds me some time later. I don’t move, just rotate my head on the pillow to watch him walk toward me. He doesn’t turn on a light, sitting on the edge of my bed with his back to me.

  Elbows on his knees, he bows his head. “Can I tell you a little story, dove?”

  “Sure,” I whisper.

  “For my sixth birthday, my grandparents took me to Dublin for the weekend. They told my mother we were going to Cork because they knew she hated Dublin. She was working that weekend. I remember how glad she was that I was going to have a celebration, even if she couldn’t be there.

  “I don’t remember where we were, somewhere downtown browsing shops, when a man saw me. He looked at me and turned white as a ghost. As we walked back to our hotel, he followed us. My grandparents didn’t see him, and I thought I must be imagining things. Why would this man be following me?

  “We were almost to the hotel when he confronted my grandparents. He asked them a bunch of questions—my name, who my parents were, where we lived. They gave him nothing. Late that night, three men in ski masks broke into our hotel room. They shot my grandparents and took me.”

  I jerk upright. “What? Oh my God, Liam—”

  “It’s okay,” he says, “just let me get this out. I lied to you, about coming to the States when I was eight. I was twelve. From age six to twelve, I lived with a man I came to learn was my father. He… he’s to Dublin what Maddoc is to Los Angeles.

  “My mother, like yours, ran away. But she didn’t run far enough. He hadn’t known she was pregnant, so she thought we’d be safe with her parents.” He makes a harsh sound. “The man who saw me was one of my father’s. I looked uncannily like the bastard, even at six years old. For nearly seven years he kept me. Trained me. Tortured me when he had to…”

  He trails off, breathing heavily. When I touch his back, he flinches. I pull away, hugging my arms to my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I say helplessly.

  Liam shakes his head. “I never gave up my mother, and he eventually let it go. He didn’t have much to complain about, anyway, as I excelled in every challenge he presented. You asked me once if I killed people. I have, Eden. I killed for my father, and I killed when I escaped him at twelve.”

  I release the breath I’ve been holding. “Is that why Maddoc leaves you alone? He’s afraid of you?”

  Liam snorts. “Hardly. He leaves me alone because I’m a Rourke. A fucking prince of the old world. He’s not afraid of me. He’s afraid of my father. They’re both lunatics.”

  “You still talk to your father?” I ask hesitantly.

  He pivots to face me. “Aye. He found my mother. It’s the deal I made
to keep her alive. As long as I answer when he calls, she stays unharmed.”

  I swallow a spike of misplaced horror. “That’s terrible. I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugs. “A consequence of my blood. If Maddoc had his way, I’d already be married to his daughter and pumping out heirs.”

  My breath dies. “Already?” I whisper.

  His eyes meet mine. “The price of your freedom has been set. I’m to marry Alexis.”

  “What? No way! That’s—”

  “Medieval? Archaic?” He smiles grimly. “Welcome to the underworld, dove.”

  33

  No, no, no, no, no.

  I can’t formulate any coherent thought beyond that. Beyond a primal litany of denial.

  When I press Liam for details, he shakes his head and leaves the room. I don’t follow. There’s more to the story, more he’s not telling me. But I can’t even wrap my head around everything he did say.

  A mob prince who fled his father, but even an ocean between them wasn’t enough. What other sacrifices has he made to keep his mother safe? To keep me safe? He was so young… Six years old when he saw his grandparents murdered. I can’t fathom it. I just can’t.

  More than ever before, I want to run away.

  I’ve killed for my father.

  “He was a boy,” I whisper in the dark. “Just a boy.”

  I always knew Liam had a past, that he wasn’t exactly innocent. But for the first time, I wonder about his sadism. He’s never hurt me—not really—but nothing arouses him more than playing along the boundaries of pleasure and pain.

  Is it because of his childhood? The torture he mentioned? What did they do to him? His body is perfect, no scars that I’ve seen. But I know well that the deepest scars are the ones beneath the skin.

  The price of your freedom.

  Am I willing to pay it? To walk away from Liam, to let him marry my twin, to be sucked back into the life he ran from? Unbidden, a memory rises of the doorman at Crossroads and his words, “You look familiar.” He thought I was Alexis. Which means Alexis has been to the club at least once.