Molly gasped. She hadn’t meant to, but she heard the sound from her own lips. “Lydia? As in your ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes.” He nodded bleakly.
She gazed at up at him, utterly confused. “She’s here? But, how can that be?”
Molly knew there was no-one here but the two of them. She didn’t know how long she had been here, but one thing was for certain, she would have discovered another woman lurking in the house in that time. There was no way he could be hiding her. The place just wasn’t large enough.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But she was there, kitten. In the bathtub.”
In the bathtub? Is that what he had just said? Oh fuck, was he losing his mind? How could there be another woman in his tub at this time of night? His words didn’t sound rational, but then, neither were most of his ideas.
“If she’s there, then you should call those detectives,” she offered. “If they find her, then they’ll leave you alone.”
He smiled at that, his arms drawing her tighter to him. “Good thought, pet,” he mused, “but I don’t think so.”
“Then, let me talk to her,” she continued, determined to get the bottom of what the hell was going on here. “Perhaps I can persuade her to go to the police herself? She cared for you once. I’m sure she’d do that.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he snapped. “I don’t want you anywhere near her. I told her to stay away from now on. To go and leave us alone.”
“But, Master…”
He moved like lightning. The speed of his fingers shifting to her chin left her breathless, but there they were, forcing her gaze up to meet his eyes. “She will go,” he told her. “Lydia was a lot of things, but she was always obedient. She will do as she’s told.”
Molly blinked up at him. She was confused about the change of tact. Why was he talking about Lydia in the past tense? In fact, why was he talking about her at all? There was no way she was in this house. It just wasn’t possible.
“Don’t fret about it, kitten,” he told her in a much softer tone. “She’s gone and she won’t come back. I won’t allow it.”
“How did she get in – or out again?” Molly wondered out loud. She still didn’t believe Lydia had been here, but he was so insistent. Maybe she had missed something? Maybe she’d been asleep when Lydia had arrived, and…
“She called to me,” he replied, cutting her thought process dead. “She had no right to, but somehow she got in here.”
Connor’s right hand rose to the side of his head and he tapped hard against his hair.
A sense of dread washed over Molly, much more potent than any of the prior fear and trepidation she’d experienced at Connor’s hand. He clearly was losing his mind. It was something she hadn’t foreseen, but she feared it changed everything. If he was seeing imaginary people in the bathroom, then where did that leave her? There was already so much doubt and mistrust between them, but a mental health disease was not something she had factored in until now. Yet again, it made her wonder what had happened to the man. What had life thrown at him to leave him so apparently twisted and alone? No wonder this Lydia had left him. She’d gotten out while she could…
“It’s just you and me again now.” Connor’s voice was calm again, that edginess returning in the timbre. “Lydia will haunt me no longer.”
Chapter Thirty-Five:
He’d meant the words to be reassuring, an end to the questions in Molly’s eyes. The end of the discussion. As it turned out, they provided neither.
“Haunt you?” Her head tilted to the side, confusion clear in her expression. “How do you mean, Master?”
He stared down at her for a long moment, unsure how to respond. He hadn’t really meant to use the word, but there it was, on the tip of his tongue. And anyway, it was the truth. Lydia had come back to haunt him. A part of him had always known that she would. If you took another life, it was inevitable. He’d stolen her essence, her future; everything. Her resentment was to be expected.
Molly took another breath, the sound breaking his internal monologue. He offered her a smile, moving his right hand slowly to stroke her hair. As he towered over her, he took a moment to take in the look of his kitten again. She was so small, so fragile, and in many ways, so much like Lydia had been. But Molly was more. Exponentially more. She had challenged him, defied him, sought his wrath. And even though she had paid the price, something else had happened. Despite his best efforts to conquer her, it seemed he had been the one tamed. In some ways at least, he knew he was a softer man. A more thoughtful man. A lover as well as a monster.
The question remained though, was any of that enough to open up now and divulge the truth to Molly? Could any acknowledgement about himself save him from her inescapable reaction? Would even his softer side be enough to save him, to save them? There was only one way to find out. Connor had to take the leap, he had to tell her, and if she took the news badly, so what? What could she do? If she ran, he would follow her, he would find her, and cage her. He would not let her go, not now. Not ever.
“Sit with me,” he told her, gesturing toward the bed. “We can talk.”
He was calmer again now; back in control. The memory of Lydia’s dark eyes was almost entirely gone. He released Molly’s body, watching as she scurried back toward the green covers as instructed. Even now, on the edge of the abyss, the sight of her obedience made him hard.
He pushed the door closed, sliding the bolt back in place before he flicked on the dim bedroom light. His gaze was back to Molly immediately, watching how she absorbed the gesture.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” he sighed, wandering toward her nonchalantly.
“What is it?” Her words were barely a whisper.
“It’s personal,” he answered, “but I feel like we passed the point where that should be an issue.”
She snuggled into the green duvet, offering him a small smirk. “Yes, I think so, Master.”
“There are things about me you don’t know,” he began, taking a seat on the bed beside her. “Things I think you need to know.”
“You’re frightening me,” she breathed. “Or, is that the plan?”
Now it was his turn to smirk. Molly remembered his previous comments about how he used fear to control her, to arouse her, and the fact pleased him enormously.
“No, that’s not the plan,” he told her. “I actually want to be honest with you. I figure I owe you that much at least.”
“Okay.”
Her response was small, but she met his eye. His little kitten was as bold as ever.
“It’s about Lydia,” he began, waiting to assess her reaction.
She swallowed, but there was no verbal response until a moment later. “In the bathroom?”
“No.” His voice was firm. Whatever had happened to him back there, he was over it now. He felt much more like his old self, and he wasn’t going to let the ghost of Lydia control him. “Before the bathroom.”
That sparked her interest. Evidently, Molly was eager to know more about the life of her captor before he took her. He guessed that he couldn’t blame her for that.
“You told me about it already,” she started. “Last night before bed. You told me that you were together for a couple of years, and that you weren’t sure you really loved her?”
“I did, didn’t I?” he agreed, “but there’s more to tell.”
Connor’s gaze fell south to the dark blue sweatpants he was still wearing, the fingers of his right hand running over his knee. He could feel the intensity of her stare on him. She was literally hanging on his every word. Usually this would have made him ecstatic, but for the first time, he barely knew where to start.
“Master?” she sounded unsure. “Please, what is it?”
His head turned back toward those large, expectant blue eyes. “She was more than just my girlfriend. She was my submissive.”
He conceded the point with a sigh, but her gaze was knowing.
“I’d
assumed that much,” she replied.
“You did?” he answered, sardonically.
“Sure,” she chuckled. “A man like you isn’t going to have changed that dramatically.”
“A man like me?” he repeated, pointedly.
She gulped at his response, but her expression was coy, rather than fearful. “A man who likes to be in control,” she added.
“Right.” He nodded. He couldn’t argue with her logic. “So, yeah, Lydia was my submissive. She lived here full-time and basically agreed to my every depraved and fucked up whim.”
Her long, dark lashes fluttered closed at his words. Apparently, Molly could relate.
“I get it,” she whispered. “Thank you for sharing.”
“No, that’s not it. There’s more.”
She eyed him, and now he could see a flicker of fear in those blue orbs.
Smart girl, he mused. Your instinct will keep you alive.
“She didn’t leave, did she?” Molly’s voice was hoarse as she probed deeper.
Connor had the distinct impression that she already knew what was coming next. His stare drilled into her face, trying to decipher the apprehensive expression which blinked back at him.
“Not in the way I told it to the detectives.” His tone sounded matter-of-fact, because that’s how it felt. He was a killer. He had accepted that, he lived with it on a daily basis. He was aware though that Molly was not likely to see things the same way.
“Wh-what happened?” she murmured. “How did she leave, Master?”
In a bag, he brooded, and for a moment he contemplated presenting it that way to the trembling woman beside him. But, no. That wouldn’t help matters.
“She died.” There he said it. He’d told her. Or, he nearly had…
“Died?” Molly’s tone was a high-pitched squeak.
“Yes, kitten,” he replied, edging closer toward the place she hid beneath the covers. “She’s dead.”
She gasped at the announcement, although he sensed she had already guessed that much. “How?”
And there it was. The question he’d been anticipating since he first considered telling her.
“How did she die?”
He eyed her for a moment, all of the potential replies whizzing around his head. In the end, there was only one response which would work, and he knew it. He’d come this far. It was time for the truth.
“Lydia was killed,” he told her soothingly, as though he was whispering the words of a lullaby. “I killed her.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
It was like a bomb had exploded, a detonation which only Molly could feel. His declaration stole her breath, temporarily robbing her of all her senses as the dust from the fallout flew around her. She inhaled – or she tried to – but somehow there was no air. No air, no heat, no sound. Nothing. No, that was wrong. There was something, but it was nothing good. There was only the cold darkness which she imagined Lydia had felt as the life slipped out of her.
He had killed her? He had done that? And he was sitting there nonchalantly announcing the fact, as though he was proud of himself. Molly had always known he was fucked up. She’d called him a psycho herself, but this? An admission like this was something else. This made him a murderer.
She didn’t know how long she was silent. Maybe it was just a moment, perhaps it was much, much longer. All she knew was he didn’t push her. He didn’t speak, or try to move closer. All he did was sit and watch her, as though he was expecting her to keel over in front of him. Connor’s second victim.
“How?”
In the end the word slipped from her mouth, but Molly didn’t recognize the sound of her voice.
“How what, kitten?”
Her lips parted again, her mouth desperately seeking the oxygen she knew must be in the air somewhere. The room swayed a little, as though she’d been drinking, except, of course, not a drop had touched her lips for weeks now.
“How did you kill her, Master?”
It was a strange query really, because it shouldn’t matter one jot. The man had killed his girlfriend. He’d actually admitted that much to Molly. How he had achieved it was really not the burning question, except it was. Molly needed to know what had transpired. Had he turned his car over, inadvertently finishing her off, or had something more ominous happened? She had to know if he was really a cold-blooded murderer.
“I’m not sure knowing the sordid details will reassure you, pet,” he drawled with an ironic smirk.
Something about the look on his face – that look – made her blood run cold, and instinctively she already knew the answer. Connor had killed Lydia intentionally. Of that there was no doubt.
“Please,” she implored him. “You’ve told me this much. What happened?”
His eyes closed for a brief moment, and she got the distinct feeling he was reliving the moment of the murder all over again. “I strangled her.”
Only three words, but the center of Molly’s world shook at the sound of them.
“Strangled?” she gasped.
“Yes.” He nodded, leaning an inch in toward her. “I wrapped my fingers around her fragile little throat and squeezed. I squeezed until there was no air left in her. No air, and no fight. And no light behind her eyes.”
Molly’s throat dried at his words. He sounded neither proud, nor remorseful. It was like he was relaying the words of a script. He knew what to say, but there was no apparent emotion attached to it.
Now Molly knew genuine terror. Her limbs were cold, her heart racing so fast she felt sure it had risen to her throat, threatening to burst from her body at any moment. Any semblance of a normal life that she’d imagined for them splintered at that moment. This was it. There was no coming back from this bombshell. If he could kill another woman, and be so detached about the crime, then what did mean for her?
The answer punched her in the face like a super heavyweight fighter. It meant she was completely fucked.
“Wh… why?” She was panting now, unable to control her obvious shock at his declaration.
Connor lifted his chin, turning to glance at her again. “It’s complicated,” he said with a sigh.
“Complicated, how?” she snapped back.
It was like a ball of fury had exploded inside her, all the rage and angst of the last few days and weeks igniting at the same time. His expression darkened at her tone, and the rational part of her brain knew it should fear that disapproving look, but for some reason she didn’t give a shit. He had strangled that poor woman for no good reason. Not that there could be any good reasons for what he’d admitted.
“Watch your tone, kitten,” he growled in that deep, threatening timbre.
“Or what?” she countered. “You’ll strangle me, too? Is that how this works? You pick up women and force them into cages until you get bored of them?”
Molly was practically shaking with anger at this point, the accusations rolling from her tongue. One after the other, she threw them in Connor’s direction, and he took them all without even flinching. When she finally ran out of allegations to fling at him, she balled her hands into fists in an attempt to control her temper.
“I fucked up with Lydia,” he told her with a sigh. “I see that now, and I’m not proud of it, but I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to prison for this, pet.”
“So, why tell me?” came her retort. “What’s the point of all of this, Master?”
The emphasis on the final word made him pause, his eyes narrowing in that foreboding way. Her pussy clenched at the sight, despite the anger still resonating through her.
“You have got yourself into quite a state about this,” he mused out loud.
“What did you expect?” she could hear the tremble in her voice, and she hated it, but as usual, Molly had no control.
The corners of Connor’s lips curled up at the sound. “My expectations haven’t changed, kitten,” he assured her. “I still want the same things I always did. My rules are the same. My hopes are the same.”
“Hopes?” she squeaked. The idea that Connor had hopes at all perturbed her. He’d never seemed like a hopeful kind of guy. “What do you hope, Master?”
He smiled again, but this one seemed genuine. “I hope we can move past this,” he told her. “I hope we can carve out the future I always imagined with you. And oh, I really want you to finish writing our story.”
Molly snorted at the last point, her brain somehow unable to conceptualize the first two. “I haven’t written for a few days,” she conceded.
He nodded. “I know. I’ve rarely seen you happier than when you’re behind that keyboard, although making you climax has to be a close second, right?”
She eyed his sardonic look, and despite her best intentions, she had to smile. He had her there. The guy might be a murderer, but he was outstanding in bed. She paused, trying to get a hold of herself. Had she really just thought that? What the fuck was happening to her? Now, she was prizing his sexual capabilities over his morality. This was insane.
“Right,” she whispered.
“Then we agree on one thing at least.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she probed. “Why have you told me about this?”
“I don’t know.” His stare was soft, but something about it was meaningful. “There’s just something about you, pet. I want to be honest with you. I want you to know the real Connor Reilly.”
“Connor the killer, you mean?”
The quip rolled from her lips before she could even stop it. For a moment her heart stopped. What had she done? The guy had just admitted to strangling a woman, and now she was mocking him for it. What the actual fuck?
“Oh, I like that,” he teased. “Connor the killer. Can you get that in the book as well?”
As absurd as it was, the relief she felt was palpable.
“I’m certain I can get it in somewhere,” she murmured, with a coy smile. “I’m not sure though, Master.”
“Not sure about what?”
“If I can move past this,” she admitted.
Tamed: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 2) Page 18
