Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “What a second,” she says, before the banging. “Dammit!” she cries.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I’m making Fenny some fish broth to add to her food, and it boiled over. When I moved the pan off the stove, I burned my finger. Nothing serious.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine. Startled me, that’s all.”

  “The cat’s getting homemade fish broth?”

  “She’s pregnant. She deserves a few treats, and Dr. Long said the extra nutrition and fluids are good for her.”

  Kate is ridiculous about the cat, and I give her a ton of shit about it, but the truth is I love that side of her. She is going to flip out when those kittens are born. I’m kind of looking forward to it, myself. The question is, what are we going to do with all those kittens when they’re weaned?

  “That cat gets treated better than I do. Just make sure she stays off my couch.”

  She clicks her tongue. “Poor baby. Speaking of the couch. Did it occur to you to ask my preferences?”

  “I’m working on finding out every one of your preferences, princess. It’s a job for a special operative, because you’re not very forthcoming. But I’m working on that, too.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “The bed is the bed. I picked out a decent mattress. As far as the sofa—I don’t know a paisley print from a blooming hydrangea, so I chose something safe. Besides, leather is easy to wipe down. I plan on making that sofa real dirty.”

  “I’m not going to be in Charleston much longer. Even with both of us chasing down clues, the information has pretty much dried up. My lease expires in August, and by then the Boston Police Commissioner’s job will be set. It’s wasteful to buy furniture.” I hear the regret in her voice as it trails off. Or maybe that’s just what I want to hear.

  “I’m getting tired of that excuse. Almost as tired as I am of sleeping on the floor.” I’m short with her. The truth is, I don’t want to hear it. Every time she says she’s leaving soon—every fucking time—my stomach balls into a tight fist. I’m not ready for her to go. Although, it’s still a month away. Maybe I’ll be ready by the time the summer ends. Maybe more than ready. Right. Even I’m starting to have trouble swallowing the bullshit.

  “Do you want to come over tonight?” she asks. “I’ll make that crab dip you like.”

  “Let’s go out for drinks and then grab some supper.”

  “I don’t know about leaving Fenny alone. She’s close.”

  “She’s not that close. Besides, she’s a cat, not a pregnant teenager. She’ll be fine alone for a few hours. We haven’t been out since you got her.” Not that I’m complaining, because I’ve enjoyed every second that we’ve spent holed up with you naked and needy, begging for my cock. “You’re due for a night out.”

  “Alright,” she says hesitantly. “But let’s not go too far.”

  “I’ll come by about seven—make that six-thirty—in case we want to take that mattress for a spin before we head out.”

  “You’re impossible.” She sighs. “Thank you for the bed and the sofa. You’re right about sleeping on the floor.” She pauses for a second. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’d feel better if I paid for the furniture. At least for some portion of it.”

  “I don’t want your money.” I hear her getting ready to fuss on the other end of the call. “But if you’re dead set on paying me back—you can work it off. But I warn you. I’m demanding and difficult to please.”

  She’s smiling. I know she is, while she’s coming up with some smart-ass thing to put me in my place. But instead, she surprises me, like she often does. “I’d like the opportunity to work off my debt, sir. Anything you’d like. I’m told I follow instructions well.”

  Her voice is low and sultry, and my dick is pushing against my zipper. Fuck six-thirty. “I’m on my way over now. When I get there, I want you naked on that bed, with your gorgeous ass in the air.”

  It’s late by the time we get back to Kate’s for the night. The bed was well broken in before we left, which I’m not griping about. But then it took forever before I was able to drag her away from the cat.

  Kate insisted on feeding it a dollop of whipped cream, freshly whipped cream, from her finger before we left. When I begged for a taste, she shut me down. That, of course, led to christening the sofa. By the time we made it out the door, the sun was dipping into the horizon.

  I see it the minute we pull up in front of the house. My gut twists into a knot. I hope to hell I’m wrong. Kate doesn’t notice because she’s too busy telling me about an email she got from a former colleague at the Sun. Apparently, Warren King might not actually be sick. Big surprise.

  It’s dark, and I can’t be certain, so I ask her to stay in the car. I don’t want to alarm her, and I sure as hell don’t want her to see— “Wait here for a minute. I need to check something.”

  “What? Why can’t I come with you?”

  “Please don’t argue. Just wait in the car until I get back.”

  As I make my way closer to the stairs, I see Fenny sprawled on the sidewalk, not moving. You have got to be fucking kidding me. My first instinct is to pull off my shirt and cover the cat so that Kate doesn’t see it like this, but I pause to make sure it’s dead, and then it’s too late.

  “What is it?” Kate says, opening the Jeep door.

  “Stay back. Get back in the Jeep, Kate. I’m not dicking around.” I try to block her view of Fenway, but the piercing scream and the mournful wail that follows tells me I’m unsuccessful. My heart breaks for her as she fights me, kicking and scratching as I carry her back to the Jeep.

  I’ve seen death up close. Some of it grisly. I’ve comforted soldiers under my command, and friends who have witnessed the horrors of war. In their grief, they don’t want promises that can’t be kept. They need someone to stand strong beside them. I’ve also lost pets, and it can be every bit as heartbreaking. It never occurs to me to tell Kate it’s going to be okay as I force her into the Jeep. “I’ve got you,” is what I promise. “I’ve got you.”

  Once she’s situated, I grab a towel from the back of the car and place it over Fenny so that she doesn’t have to see the damage. Someone sliced her down the middle. That’s what it looks like, anyway. Jesus Christ! How am I ever going to explain this to Kate?

  The cat got out of a closed house. It’s not Houdini—someone let it out. There were no open windows when we left. I checked myself. This was King’s people. I know it was.

  I move Fenny a bit so I can take a better look at the wound. This is bad. A fucking nightmare kind of bad.

  Kate is sobbing when I get back to the Jeep. I hold her while she cries in my arms. When I find the sonofabitch who did this, I will show them no mercy.

  I don’t want to leave her out here alone, but I’m not letting her go inside until I know it’s safe. “Someone might have broken into the house and let Fenny out. I want to take a look around before you go in.”

  “No.” She grabs my arm, clenching tight. “Let’s call the police. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “No one’s going to hurt me. I want you to lay on the horn if anyone approaches the vehicle—actually, lay on it if you see another human being on the street. I don’t care whether you recognize them. Lay on the horn until I get here. Do you understand?”

  She nods. “Please call the police.”

  Kate has more faith in the police than I do. “I’ll call them if you promise not to get out of the car until I get back.”

  She nods.

  “Give me your keys.” Her hands are shaky. I kiss her right above her ear. “I’ll be right back. Doors locked. Stay in the car.”

  I call my office and have them contact the police while I search the perimeter. There’s a blood-stained towel behind the bushes in the front yard, not far from where the cat was lying, and a screen in the back of the house is on the ground. It’s been cut.

  I dread what else I’m going t
o find inside, but it’s not too bad. Some drawers are open and appear to be ransacked, and her laptop is gone from the dresser, but the backup and the television are still here. This was not a robbery. More reason to believe that the King camp is behind this.

  When I get back outside, Kate’s kneeling on the sidewalk with Fenny in her lap, stroking her bloody fur and sobbing. “Kate. Come here. Let me take Fenny.” I wrap the cat in the towel and place her on the grass. “I told you to stay in the car.” It’s a stupid, unhelpful thing to say, but Kate doesn’t even notice.

  “I didn’t take good care of her. She was counting on me. I let her down. And her babies. I let everyone down.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders. The guilt this woman is going to carry about this is already gnawing at me. She wanted to stay home. I was the one who pushed to go out. "There’s not a single person—not a single thing that you’ve ever let down in your life. Let’s go inside and clean up. Then I want you to pack a bag. I’ll take care of Fenway.”

  “Pack a bag? Where are we going?”

  Good question. I can’t take her back to my house at Sweetgrass, because—I can’t. When a grown man can’t bring women back to his house, it’s time to find somewhere else to live. But that’s for another day.

  I glance at the time. By the time the police get here, take a statement and a look around, things will be winding down at Wildflower, and it’s closed tomorrow. It’ll buy me some time. “Someone cut the screen and broke into the house. It’s not safe to stay here tonight. I think your laptop was taken, but not the backup. I need you to look around and see if they took anything else.”

  We go inside through the front door, and I follow her as she wanders around the house. When she gets to Fenny’s carrier, she picks up a small toy mouse. “She loved this. We should bury it with her.” I lead her away from the room with Fenny’s things as quickly as possible.

  “I don’t see the laptop,” she mumbles. Her voice is hollow, and I want to take on her pain and carry it for her. “But it’s all backed up and saved to the cloud. Some jewelry is missing. Costume jewelry. It’s not important. Not like Fenny.” She holds up her hand and touches the Claddagh ring on her finger that belonged to her mother. “Should we call the police?”

  “Already done.” I open her bottom drawer where she keeps a small gun safe. It’s empty. “What about your gun?”

  “I didn’t take it out of my bag before we went to the restaurant.”

  “We’re going to the range tomorrow. I want to see if you can actually shoot that thing.”

  “I already told you I can.”

  More than once. But I want to see it with my own two eyes. Whatever sick motherfucker killed the cat was inside this house. “When’s the last time you shot it?”

  “Boston.”

  “Then you need practice.”

  “Her belly looked like it had been cut. Fenway. Could a car have done that?”

  I shrug.

  “If a predator—I would have expected her to be—did she get caught on the screen?” Tears are falling again.

  She doesn’t need to hear the truth tonight. “I don’t know.” I swipe a tear from her face with my finger. But I’m going to find out. That’s a goddamn promise.

  30

  Kate

  I open my eyes and look around the room. It takes me several seconds to remember I’m at Smith’s apartment at Wildflower. I fell asleep in his arms sometime late last night, but he’s not here now.

  Once I’m fully awake, it all comes flooding back. Fenny’s dead. Someone broke into the house while I was enjoying dinner, laughing, flirting, and basking in Smith’s light. They let her out. She must have been terrified. I pull up the covers.

  Leaving her alone was a mistake. If I had been there, she would still be alive. Her kittens would still be alive. I’m cried out from last night. Now, I’m just numb. And I’m cursed. Everything I love dies.

  I reach for my phone. It’s almost noon. I want to talk to Fi, but she’s either at church or on her way to one of the Nanas’ for Sunday dinner. Maybe I should call my father? No. It would only worry him—and he’ll find a way to blame you. I already blame myself. I don’t need him to pile on. But I do need to get up and find Smith. I want to make sure that Fenny is buried. But first, I need to pee.

  I take care of business and use the toothbrush he gave me last night. I start to finger comb my rat’s nest, but right now, I don’t care about my hair.

  My clothes are not where I left them last night. Maybe he hung them in the closet. I open the closet door, but I don’t find any clothes there. Not a single stitch.

  What I do find is a large room, even larger than the bedroom, with the same high ceilings and wood floor. There are hooks on the ceiling in the corners of the room, and an array of items hanging on the wall. One is definitely a flogger, but I don’t recognize the rest. The room is otherwise empty except for a chest, a couple chairs, and two large items I don’t recognize, although one resembles a hammock, and the other—

  “Good morning,” Smith says hesitantly from the doorway. “I brought you coffee.”

  I don’t take the coffee. “What’s all this?” I ask, cupping my elbows. I know what these things are used for, but I’m not sure what to call them.

  “Toys.”

  Toys. Of course. I might not know much about kink, but it’s pretty obvious. What else would they be? “Are—are they yours?”

  “They’re on loan.”

  On loan? Where exactly does one borrow this sort of thing? “From whom?”

  “A friend.” He’s terse, like he’s already getting impatient with the questions. Well, I have a lot more.

  “What’s that?” I ask pointing to the hammock contraption.

  “Just a swing.”

  “Just a swing. Really? The kind you would put your nieces in?”

  I glance at him. His face is hard. “That’s a low blow, Kate. I get that this might be unfamiliar to you. And surprising. That’s all well and good, but leave those little girls out of it.”

  I feel a bit of remorse. I shouldn’t have mentioned his nieces, but I’m not ready to apologize. “What about this thing?”

  “It’s a saddle.”

  “A saddle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  He cracks his knuckles. It’s not to intimidate me. He’s uncomfortable. “It’s a saddle. Pretty self-explanatory.”

  “Really? Because I don’t understand it. But clearly, I’m stupid.”

  “You want to know what it’s used for?” He slaps the seat of the leather saddle. “You really want to know? Because you’re pale and you look pretty damn horrified. You should have never come in here.”

  I curl my lips over my teeth, and press my mouth together, weighing my words carefully. “Pale is my natural coloring, and I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for my clothes. I thought it was a closet. And don’t change the subject. What is this used for?”

  “There are phallus shaped accessories you attach here.” He points to an area in the center of the saddle. “You pick the one that suits you. And here is where you connect an attachment that stimulates the clit.” He’s dispassionate and clinical. If I didn’t know better, I would say there was no pleasure for him in these toys. But that would be stupid.

  “What do you do?”

  “Watch.”

  We’re back to one-word responses. Soon it’ll be grunts. This is what he does when he doesn’t want to talk about it. Well, Sinclair, I wish I hadn’t walked in here too. But now that I have, you are going to talk. “Watch? With your cock in hand?”

  He lifts his chin. “Sometimes. But other times, I stand behind the saddle and slide my dick into her ass.” I swallow hard. “Bite her neck. Play with her tits. I might even grab that riding crop off the wall,” he says, pointing to the item near the flogger. “It doesn’t matter where I’m standing, I can see her pleasure reflected in the mirrors on the wall.”

  That wa
s a big fuck you to me. And it takes me a long moment to regain my equilibrium.

  “So this—this is what—you’re into? That wasn’t some off-handed remark at the Blackberry Inn about floggers and hot wax. What we’ve been doing has just been a warm-up for what you really like.”

  “Kate.”

  I put up my hand to stop him. “Have you been using these with another woman—with other women since we’ve been—having sex?”

  “I haven’t been with anyone else besides you.”

  “When was the last time you played with someone?” I’m defensive and confused, and I don’t give a shit.

  “I think that would be yesterday early evening.”

  “Don’t be a smartass. When is the last time you were with a woman that wasn’t me?”

  “I already told you, a few nights before your birthday.”

  “Here.”

  He nods.

  “That was weeks ago,” I mutter, under my breath. “Why do you still have this on loan?”

  Smith scratches his head but doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m not exactly sure.” He shrugs.

  I walk over to the swing, and finger the mesh, imagining a faceless, naked woman reclining in the thing. I give it a push. It twirls, almost innocently. But there’s nothing innocent about it. “You wanted me to know.”

  “No.” He shakes his head.

  “Yes, you did. Otherwise you would have returned it to your friend.”

  “It’s not like we ever come here. If it hadn’t been—”

  “Stop lying. Stop.”

  “I’m not sure.” He closes his eyes, squeezing the back of his neck a few times. “If you gave me truth serum—I would probably tell you I keep it here to remind me that this is an important part of my life. Something I shouldn’t forget about—just because—I like you.”

  I gIance at him before going over to the saddle and staring mindlessly at the groove where the phallus attaches. I don’t think about the devices hanging on the wall, or what might be in the chest of drawers. All I can think about is that what we do is not enough. That I’m not enough. Of course, I’m not enough for someone like him. God, I’m an idiot.