“It’s not. What can you tell me about the last time you saw Ivy Sinclair?”
Perry smiled to himself again, pretending to mull the question over as he looked at the photo. Well, Mister Taylor, the last time I saw her she was writhing around with a vibrator inside her, begging for me. He cleared his throat, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and smiling as the live feed. Yes, look, here she is, so pretty, her skin glistening with sweat, her eyes pressed together tightly.
“Well,” he cleared his throat again, hiding his amusement and putting his phone screen back on hibernation, “it was a while ago. I bumped into her at the bar on holiday here.” He tapped the print off. “It was a pleasant surprise really, we were both staying at the same hotel and happened to cross paths.
“I hadn’t seen her since school, so we spent the evening talking. She looked lonely, so I asked her to join me for lunch the next day. We ate and danced. She told me about her father’s death, her job, and her apartment.
“You know, it surprised me to learn she was planning on heading back to England after her holiday. I assumed it was because of your fiancé, you know I always expected you and Ivy would get together at one point, she was infatuated with you in school. She mentioned you still spent a lot of time together, you must miss her.” Watching Miles’ face drop had been worth the journey. He was hurting. Badly.
“Anything else?”
“I’m afraid to admit it, but I believe I offended her.” Perry scratched his chin, attempting to look embarrassed. “We’d shared such a lovely dance, and she’d been so open and honest, talking about how she was hurting, but knew now you were engaged she needed to move on, that I’m afraid I mistook her intentions. I got a little carried away, swept up in the moment if you will, and she stormed off.
“I tried to apologise that evening, but she’d already checked out. I hope she didn’t do that on my account, I really was sorry. I think we’d both had a little too much to drink, not that it excuses my behaviour of course, I’m a married man after all. Maybe you can pass on my apologies when next see her?”
“She’s missing, and actually, you were the last person to see her so I was hoping you could give me some insight into her state of mind, maybe shed some light on where she might be.” Perry placed his phone down on the table, stroking it as if in thought. State of mind, you say? Aroused, definitely aroused.
“Missing? Or did she just leave? Like I said, she was hurting, and mentioned plans to return to England, and as I understand it she wasn’t meant to be alone on her holiday. She told me all about your fiancé and asking you to come with her.” The last part, at least, was true, and he was relieved at whatever had intervened to stop him from being there. If Miles had been on that flight, his entire plan would have been ruined. “Congratulations by the way.”
“It’s not like that.” Was Miles Taylor blushing, or was the flush in his cheeks from the slight scent of alcohol he’d just detected on his breath as he’d sighed? My, my, he was a mess. “It was just a misunderstanding. She wouldn’t have left.”
“Are you sure? She’s always been sweet on you, maybe she needed a clean break.” Oh, and he was breaking her alright, into a pliable little fuck toy who just wanted to please him. “Perhaps she couldn’t stomach seeing you with someone else. I know if the person I loved wanted someone else I’d do anything in my power to keep them, and if I couldn’t then I wouldn’t want to watch them be happy with someone who wasn’t me.”
“She’s definitely missing. We found those pictures on her laptop when her case was returned from the airport. It was lost in transit. She’d had it shipped back to her friend’s apartment. Also, she lost her passport in the Bahamas. She was waiting on a replacement from the embassy, but never collected it.
“We did find a flight under her name, but without a passport there isn’t any chance she could have been aboard. You were the last person to see her who we can locate. I was hoping you could give me something.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He shrugged. “The last time I touched her”—I shoved my cock so far down her throat she choked—“she slapped me and stormed off. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to go chasing after her and, like I said, I tried to apologise later, but she’d already left.
“Maybe she decided to join a pleasure cruise or something.” Oh, she’s on a pleasure cruise alright. You should hear her screaming for me, and the look in her eyes when she comes—he shuddered. Lifting his phone from the table, he caressed it gently. “I hear they’re quite popular.” He glanced at the screen, smiling as he pulled up her image.
If only Miles knew what he was looking at. He was getting aroused just thinking about it. “Now, if that was all, I should be off. Business to attend to”—he waved his phone—“I’m trying for a child and boy is her sexual appetite is insatiable. She’s such a greedy girl in the bedroom. If I don’t get back soon I think she’ll be clawing the walls.” He grinned, watching Miles blush. His little incubator was crawling the walls alright, and after he’d fucked her senseless, he’d be sure to punish her.
He had gone to so much effort to make it look like she’d returned to England, and she’d undone it all by leaving a trail. How did he not know about the case and the passport? But still, there was no way he could be suspected. He made sure he was caught on camera leaving the island, alone.
“Oh, congratulations.” Miles’ voice seemed a little strained. “I better not keep you then. Good luck.”
“Good luck finding your friend. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.” He paused as he reached the door, casting one last look back towards Miles before leaving.
After that performance it was time for one of his own. Today was the day he’d rip the placebo plaster off his little toy. It was about time she got used to the idea of bearing his children. Why pretend any longer? Maybe he’d even see that final shred of her resolve slip away when she realised how hopeless things were.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three months. She had been missing for three months now and the trail wasn’t just cold; it was barren and invisible. Lost.
Unable to stomach being near anyone, Miles had isolated himself in his apartment, which by some strange coincidence had been quite close to where Becca had opened her shop.
They hadn’t spoken much since he had returned from the Bahamas. She had met him at the airport, but when she had realised he was alone she had looked at him like he’d betrayed her, like he’d failed. And he had.
He had put everything he had into finding Ivy, and nothing. He’d exhausted every lead, chased every ghost. He’d even tried to track the letter back to whoever had sent it from England, but there wasn’t even a way to determine which area it had been posted in.
With the passing of each day, he found himself eating less and drinking more. He knew he was spiralling. He’d ridden this roller coaster before, and the only person who’d managed to pull him back was the very one he couldn’t find.
So many times when he’d been on leave she had held him as he zoned out, reliving battles, and witnessing so much death. Her touch had grounded him, reminded him of the good things in life without her ever needing to say a word.
She’d stop him doing exactly what he was doing now, she’d listen as he spoke, she’d find a way to make him smile. And if she thought he needed it, she would have called Devon. The same Devon whose calls he had been avoiding, who he had made sure didn’t have his new address.
All soldiers who have seen war were damaged in one way or another. You couldn’t survive a battleground without scars, be them physical or mental, but Ivy always made him feel like a god. To her his scars were something to be honoured and respected, a canvass of his own making, a testament to his bravery.
He wasn’t being brave now; he was being a coward. He was a protector. He kept people safe. He was meant to keep people safe. How could he have failed to protect the most important person in his world? He never felt unworthy or wretched when he was with her, but without he
r he felt like nothing.
He kept thinking back to his conversation with Perry. The man had openly admitted trying to sleep with Ivy, while in the next sentence saying he and his wife were trying for a child. He disapproved of open relationships, but something had been sitting uneasily with him. He swore for a moment as their hands had first met he had caught the slightest hint of Ivy’s preferred shampoo. But he was being ridiculous. Millions of people used that brand.
He drained the bottle of whisky, his mind tormenting him with memories and failure, heartache and loss. He needed to drink more, to sink into oblivion where, for a few moments at least, he could forget how he had failed her.
It was just a waiting game now, waiting to find out if her body would ever surface or if he’d join the ranks of so many others who would never know what became of their loved ones. Each second pierced his heart like a knife, its scalding burn only dulled by the poison passing his lips.
He pulled her comforter around him. Her scent had long faded, but it was still a piece of her, the only piece he had left. He held it around himself, trying to ignore the persistent pounding of his head as he took another deep drink from the bottle, before discarding the empty carcass with the rest that littered the floor.
Becca had thrown herself into her work. Her shop was doing well, and with each sale she sent an invoice. In its corner was Ivy’s picture, the one taken in the Bahamas, with a single word beneath it. Missing. She’d tried to speak with him too, but he couldn’t bring himself to see her, to look in her eyes and admit that he had failed.
For all the people he had saved, all the lives he had protected, he hadn't kept the most important person in his world safe. She should have been wrapped in his arms, not lying in a ditch somewhere, forgotten. She deserved better than that. She had deserved better than him. He sniffed, wiping the dampness from his face across his filthy shirt.
Instead of moving on like his father insisted, he sought solace in the bottom of a bottle, hearing a small voice at the back of his mind saying Ivy would never have let him drown himself this way. But she wasn’t here. What right did her voice have to haunt him? If she had a problem with how he was coping, then she should just tell him herself.
He’d do anything to hear her tell him. He’d give everything just to hear her voice, even if it was on his dying breath.
When he returned from the meeting with Perry he’d been distraught. It was the last lead, the final dead end. His father had put him on indefinite leave and he didn’t blame him. These days he was more interested in a bottle than protecting someone else or checking reports.
He was mourning her. One day, maybe he would be able to wake up without reaching for a drink. One day his heart wouldn’t need to drown in spirits to stop the haunting pain of its every beat, but that day wasn’t today. It wouldn’t be tomorrow either. There would be a whole lot of tomorrows before he could even think about waking without missing her.
He was fed up of hearing his father say it was time to let go. He already had. There was nothing left to hold on to, and that was the fucking problem. There was nothing left to do but reflect on how he couldn’t find her and drink until he passed out. Wake, wallow, drink, pass out. Rinse and repeat. That was what his life had become.
“Tails!” He recognised the voice that accompanied the persistent banging on the door he’d convinced himself was just his headache. It was harder to ignore now someone was calling him. Not someone, Becca. “I'm not leaving till you open this fucking door.”
Fine, whatever.
Staggering to the door, he fumbled with the lock, making several attempts before his fingers managed to twist it open. He had barely released the catch when she pushed her way inside. “Jesus, Tails, when did you last shower? You stink.” Becca waved her hand in front of her face. She gave an exasperated sigh as she looked at the state of his apartment. “The fuck you doing?” she snapped, her gaze passing over the discarded empty bottles he’d had to wade through to get to the door.
“Help yourself.” Miles wasn’t sure when he’d cracked a new bottle of whisky or drank half of it. But there it was, in his hand. He raised it towards her only to receive an angry glare. With a shrug, he tipped it to his own lips, downing the sweet fluids of Lethe until Becca snatched it from him, strutting across his sticky floor to dump its contents in the sink before standing at the door to the kitchen, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.
She was wearing black and red again. Always black since Ivy had gone missing. Black boots with red roses. Black tights with patterns and designs his blurred vision and drunk mind couldn’t comprehend. Her steampunk, ruffled skirt had red stitches, her corset, red lace. Ivy would have loved this look. She adored seeing Becca in steam punk.
Becca’s short jacket finished just below her shoulder blades and was fastened with belt straps, the same style that were fastened just above the elbow of her flowing sleeves. Belts, like the ones Ivy would tighten around herself when she agitated. Today hair was long and blonde with the ends dipped red.
He snorted out a laugh. He knew they were wigs. She had an entire room dedicated to them, but he still thought of it as her hair.
She’d started wearing wigs in school when her parents had refused to let her dye her hair. In rebellion she’d shaved her head, all her beautiful black locks, gone. Her parents had been so mortified, because of their need to make an appearance in an upcoming charity gala, they’d brought her a wig.
He was pretty sure she’d grown her own hair out again, but he’d never seen her without one of her perfectly styled, personalised designs on. She always cut and dyed them herself. She’d even made a few from scratch, although she complained nonstop that it had been more effort than it was worth.
With a bin bag in hand she began to collect the waste before her steely gaze snapped to him.
“You. Shower. Now.” He would have argued, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead, he just sauntered off. Anything for a moment’s peace, anything so she would stop looking at him like that. As he shut the bathroom door, he heard her on the phone to someone. Her no nonsense tone made him pity whoever she was bossing around now.
He took a long time in the shower, half the time just watching the water swirl around the plug hole as it sank into oblivion. But after a while the water felt nice. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel nice, but he surrendered, soaping himself up, washing away the dried vomit from the matted beard.
Stepping from the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and glared at his reflection. Ivy hated beards. Well, if she wanted him to get rid of it, she’d just have to tell him to cut it. He tugged at it with a despairing sigh. He hated them too.
“If I shave it, will you come home?” he whispered to the hollow sunken eyes staring back at him. The bathroom door opened and Becca stepped inside, dragging a chair behind her. For a moment he thought he saw movement behind her, but the door closed too quickly for him to be sure.
“Let’s shave that shit off your face.” It was like she had read his thoughts. “You look like a fucking hobo.” He looked at himself again, he’d lost weight since the last time he’d glimpsed his reflection. His hair was overgrown, dark circles ringed sunken, blood-shot eyes. He looked, as Becca had so astutely pointed out, like shit. She was right.
He was only wearing a towel, but he didn’t care. He was pretty sure he didn’t have many clean clothes left anyway. He couldn’t even remember when he’d last changed. What was the point?
She pushed him to the seat, taking the scissors to his beard until it was short enough to shave.
Despite the odd tug, she was surprisingly gentle and worked in a silence he was grateful for. She stood before him, running her polished nails across his smooth cheeks before cupping his face, emotion dancing in her eyes. “There you are,” she whispered softly as she studied his face for a moment before moving behind him to tackle his mane.
By the time she was finished, the reflection in the mirror was familiar again. He could see
it clearly, the face of the one who had let his best friend down. Unable to look at himself a moment longer, he glanced away, tears stinging his eyes. Becca’s arms were suddenly around him. She was kneeling in his shed hair as she held him tightly.
“Tails, please. I can’t lose you too,” she whispered. Her voice was filled with a vulnerability he’d never heard before. Becca was strong. She’d dealt with so much shit growing up and fought for everything she had, for her right to choose her future, for her right to express herself, for her right to live how she wanted.
Her grip tightened as she began to tremble, and he realised that Becca, the iron maiden who could never be beaten down, was holding him in her arms, crying.
The indomitable force that was Rebecca Gabrielle was clinging to him for dear life as she broke down. Her sobs reached all the way down into his core, waking something within him he thought had died.
“Shit,” he cursed softly, slowly wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, Bex,” he whispered. Fuck, what had he been doing? He wasn’t the only one hurting. “I’m here now. I’m here. I got you.” He held her tightly, letting her cry until her tears finally ran dry.
“About time you showed up.” She sniffed, finally pulling away before giving him a soft shove. Her once perfect makeup had run, leaving dark smears down her cheeks. “Where’d you go? I needed you.” She grabbed a flannel, wiping the stains from his chest before tackling her face in the mirror.
“Bex, I—” he gave a sigh, his chest hurting and not just for Ivy, but at the realisation he’d left Becca to deal with everything alone.
“I know.” She kissed his forehead before clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders. “Now put some clothes on. I don’t want to see your naked ass.” She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and straightened her posture, and just like that her vulnerability was shielded. It was easy to forget the strong sometimes felt weak too.
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 20
