Tamed: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 2)
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“What crime?”
Molly tried to remain impassive as she asked, but she had no idea whether she’d succeeded. Her gut had already told her the answer, and the instinctive furling in her belly reinforced the point. This new detective was going to ask her about Lydia. He was going to quiz her about the death of Connor’s ex-girlfriend. A wave of nausea washed over her.
“It’s a different line of inquiry,” murmured Miller softly. “I’ll let my colleague give you the details. He’ll be here shortly.”
Molly sat dumbfounded, forcing her gaze out of the window. The skies outside had darkened, matching the internal hue of the building to perfection. “He’s coming here?”
She didn’t know why she asked. It’s not like it mattered. She’d been questioned here, and at the local London station countless times, but somehow the knot of anxiety in her stomach compelled her to know. Somehow, she didn’t want this man who knew about Connor’s sins in what remained of her personal space.
“Yes,” replied Miller. “We thought it would be more comfortable for you.”
Molly huffed ungratefully, rising from her seat and crossing the short distance to the large window. They thought it would be more comfortable? How touching. Molly was fast becoming fed up of people making choices for her. It had been bad enough Connor doing that, but at least there were some twisted benefits to that arrangement.
“Is there a problem?” Miller sounded genuinely concerned, as though she knew they were pushing Molly too hard.
“No problem.” Molly’s response was curt, but she glanced back to the woman to reinforce the point. “I’m just tired of so many questions. I’m tired of it all.”
Miller’s expression softened. “I bet,” she said. “But listen, you’re doing great. We already have enough to take to the Crown Prosecution Service. That bastard Reilly isn’t going to get away with what he did to you, Molly. You know that, don’t you?”
She blinked at Molly, her eyes portraying the evident feeling in her tone. Clearly, Detective Miller was passionate about bringing Molly justice. She supposed she should be glad.
So, why wasn’t she?
Molly nodded. “Thanks.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I just… I’ve had enough. I want to go home. I need to be away from this shitty city.”
The detective chuckled. “Now that I can understand,” she replied. “But I think you’re going to have to stick around for a while yet, Molly. He’s been remanded in custody until the trial, and you’ll be the prosecution’s key witness.”
Key witness. Molly swore she felt the blood draining from her face as those words reverberated around her head. Of course, she had always known they would want her to give evidence at Connor’s trial. Yet somehow hearing the words out loud like that made the trepidation inside her tighten.
“Are you okay, Molly?”
Molly inhaled sharply. Fuck. She had to get herself together. “Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. “I just hadn’t thought about that part yet. Having to see him in court. I…”
Her voice trailed away, because there was no way she could vocalize where her thoughts were going. How could she stand there in a packed courtroom and divulge the details of what had happened between them? How could she be in the same room and not run to him, touch him, kneel in front of him? How could she bear it?
Miller rose from her seat, walking to where Molly stood. “It’s okay,” she reassured her. “I have officers who can support you through that. Lots of victims find the process quite cathartic in the end.”
Molly turned to stare at her. She knew she was gawping at the woman, barely able to comprehend what she’d just told her. Cathartic. How could the process ever be cathartic? Either the court would find him guilty, and he’d be bundled straight back to jail, or he’d get off on some technicality and be freed. Molly didn’t know which outcome was worse. Sure, he deserved to be imprisoned. He deserved to do time for Lydia, even if not for her, yet her heart ached every time she imagined him there. She didn’t really know what British prisons were like, but how could a man like Connor survive there? Connor was always in charge, always in control. How would he cope with a hierarchy which offered him neither privilege? But if he was freed – what then? Could she really just take a flight back to Pennsylvania and forget all about this sordid chapter in her life? Molly wanted to laugh at the prospect. Of course, she couldn’t. There was no forgetting Connor. He had made sure of that.
A loud knock at the door broke Molly’s train of thoughts, and they both turned to face the entrance.
“That’ll be Finley,” Miller told Molly as she darted toward the door.
Pulling in a deep breath, Molly’s eyes followed her journey. She had a good idea that whatever was coming next was going to be even more difficult.
Chapter Forty-Three
His fingers traced a delicate line over the perfect curve of her arse. As it always did, the act made Connor’s cock spring to life immediately, his organ swelling instinctively as his digits dipped down between her moist folds...
“Hey, Reilly!”
Connor’s eyes opened at the gruff sound of his cellmate’s voice. Callum Brown was a run of the mill kind of thug, good with his fists, but not with his brain. He was here on a string of assault charges, and somehow Connor had been the lucky sod to end up sharing a cell with him.
“What?” Connor hissed in reply, cursing the man on the lower bunk for popping the perfect bubble of Molly he’d created in his head.
“What you in for?” came the hoarse reply.
Connor rolled his eyes into the darkness. It was light’s out on what was only his second night in this hell-hole. The first few had been spent in one of the local stations, locked in the overnight cells with a few drunks and hookers, but yesterday the Magistrates court had inevitably remanded him in custody. Now this place looked set to be his home until he could arrange a way out.
“Reilly!”
Brown’s voice penetrated his thought-process again, making his hands curl into fists. Callum might think he was a tough guy, but he’d never dealt with anyone like Connor before. Connor knew moves which could physically disable the guy in a matter of moments.
“None of your fucking business,” he growled into the dirty mattress.
“Touchy!” snorted the idiot below him. “But that ain’t what Greaves is saying. Greaves is saying you took a woman, and you fucked her, after you’d done all sorts of kinky shit in the process.” There was a pause, and Connor could hear the tremble in his voice. The dirty fucker was actually excited at the prospect. “Is it true, Reilly? Did you do it?”
Connor smirked at the query, shaking his head into the darkness. “Go to sleep, Brown,” he told him. “Find your own fantasy to jerk off to.”
“I fucking knew it.” The reply was immediate. “I told Greaves it was all bull. You ain’t got it in you to master a woman that way.”
Connor stared into the black overhead, inhaling deeply as Brown’s taunts washed over him. Ignore the little prick, he reminded himself. He’s not worth the stint in isolation he’d have to bear if he pounded the shit out of him the way Brown deserved.
Day after day passed, each as arduous as the one before. This wasn’t the first time Connor had ever served time, but it was the first occurrence for a long while, and he’d forgotten how painful the experience could be. Prison was all about routines. Waking up, meals (if you could call them that), work, yard time and then lights out, and he resented every aspect of all of them. Of course, he realized that was the point. Jail wasn’t supposed to be enjoyed, more endured, but Connor had more hope than most. He knew that his stint wouldn’t be a long one. He knew that any day now, his friends at The Syndicate would call, and his stretch would be over. The old mantra of the secret club flashed back to his mind.
You bleed for us; we bleed for you.
Funny, Connor had always found the notion so irritating before, as though the powerful alliance was slowly suffocating him, but now, in the darkness of custo
dy, he yearned for it again. For their protection. And he knew they’d come. They always came. The Syndicate would step up and help their own, just like they always did.
The first sign was a nod from Stine, the senior guard who worked days on D wing. Connor hadn’t been sure who’d infiltrated the prison, but he knew there’d be a member of The Syndicate present somewhere. He’d been surprised it was Stine but it didn’t matter. The point was his old friends were here, and he was not forgotten.
“Had any visitors yet, Reilly?” Stine’s tone had been casual, but his stare was knowing.
“Not yet, Mr. Stine,” Connor replied as he stretched his legs around the exercise yard. “But I’m expecting someone soon.”
Stine glanced at him, his lips curling into a half-smile. “We don’t usually permit visitors when a defendant goes to trial, but I think in your case, Reilly, we might have to make an exception.”
Connor’s left brow arched at the assessment. So, he would have to wait here until the case went to trial. But that could be bloody weeks. Months even. “I was hoping to see someone sooner than that,” he admitted.
“Patience, Mr. Reilly,” came the reply. “These things take time.”
Connor sighed. Stine was right, but the knowledge didn’t make the reality any easier to tolerate. Time here meant days and hours of his life he’d never get back, and more fucking nights with morons like Brown.
Glancing around the yard, his eyes took in the small collection of men scattered around the place. They would have to wrap this conversation up soon. It wouldn’t do to be seen chatting to a screw for too long. While he didn’t have any desire to make friends here, he equally wasn’t looking for enemies. The best way to do prison time was a day at a time, and as quietly as possible.
“I’ll look forward to the visit,” he conceded in a low voice.
“I’m sure there’ll be news soon,” answered Stine as he sauntered off in the opposite direction.
Connor kicked a stray stone across the concrete, his mind racing at the unexpected turn of events. Of all the prison officers here, the last one he would have suspected of being involved in The Syndicate was Stine, but then he supposed that was the point. Stine was the last one anyone would suspect, and that’s why he was the perfect candidate.
“I didn’t know you were mates with Stine?” It was Brown’s dulcet tone which shot past Connor’s shoulder as he contemplated recent developments.
Connor turned to see his fat, ugly smirk already in his line of sight. His fingers balled into fists out of instinct. “We’re not,” he sneered in reply.
“So why the cozy chat?” This time it was one of Brown’s idiotic friends, Durston.
“Why are so you interested?” Connor quipped, throwing the latest interrogator a meaningful glare.
“We don’t like snitches.” Durston’s tone was little more than a growl.
Connor’s heart raced at the words. Durston’s threats were thinly veiled. “Is that what you think I am? A snitch?” he demanded as he squared off against the older man. “Just goes to show how much you fuckers know.”
“What the fuck did you say?” snapped Durston, his large frame lurching toward him. “Do you want me to rearrange that pretty face of yours?”
Connor laughed. He just couldn’t help it. “I’d like to see you try,” he sneered. “Being fat doesn’t make you special, you know.”
“Can it, Reilly,” Brown told him from behind Durston’s shoulder. “You don’t want to fuck with Durston. He pretty much runs this place.”
Connor paused, taking in the lined face of the man looming before him. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about the guy, and he had no idea what Durston was in here for, but he really couldn’t believe a man of his portly stature could be a significant threat. Still, he reminded himself as he inhaled deeply, he wasn’t here to cause trouble.
“I didn’t come here demanding answers,” he reminded Brown. “That was you. If you don’t want me in your face, then stay the hell out of mine.”
Durston pushed past him, shoving Connor’s right shoulder backwards in the process. “Your time will come, pretty boy,” he growled. “Make no mistake about it.”
“Forget it, Durston,” he countered at once. “You’re just not my type.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Molly remembered a time not so long ago when days were marked with Connor’s daily routines. She’d be washed, shaved, fed and set to work, but usually only after she’d pleasured her Master in some dark and delicious way. As she sat in the pale gray office waiting for Detective Inspector Finley, the memory made her body tingle, and she longed for those days again. For the beauty of the sequences he set for her, the order, and the regularity, and for the sublime exchange of power. There was such wonderful simplicity in it. All she had to worry about then was understanding the order, and obeying it. Now things were much murkier. Now her days were just endless gray filled with meetings and interviews, and the long drawn out voids in between. Worse, there really seemed to be no end to it.
She’d met with Finley and his colleague Jones on more than one occasion. Each time both men had probed Molly about her knowledge of Connor’s life before he’d taken her, about what he’d said and what she knew. Molly, of course, knew nothing, or at least, that’s what she told them time after time, but she had an idea they knew better. Perhaps there was something in her eyes when she answered them. Some glint which told them she was hiding a body of critical information with her curt, and tired replies. She suspected they knew it, but they had no way of proving it.
Molly had spent many hours musing on why she had lied for Connor, why she wanted to, and why she had no doubt she would continue to do so. Why did she have some ridiculous loyalty to a man who had drugged and snatched her? A man who had made her cower, and one who had reveled in his utter dominance of her body. It was like a game she had to play. A new masochistic fetish, because in her heart, Molly already knew why. She had the answers all along. She was lying for Connor because she had feelings for him. Her loyalty wasn’t based on fear, or even lust, but those deeper sentiments which had begun to cement during her final days of captivity. She cared about him, and she wanted to protect him. Even now. Even as he sat rotting in a cell somewhere for the offenses he’d committed against her.
In her head, it all made sense, although she was perfectly aware how absurd it would seem from the outside. Stockholm Syndrome would be what they would call it, and as a writer of dark eroticism, Molly was well-informed about what that meant. It indicated she had created a psychological alliance with her captor as a means to manage captivity. Developing an attachment to him – or more specifically, enticing him to develop those feelings for her – had enabled her to survive, but that wasn’t what had happened to her, was it? Their origins may have been bizarre, insidious even, but they had found something beautiful together in the darkness. Molly knew it, and she also knew she hadn’t imagined it. Connor had felt it, too. She’d seen it in his delicious eyes, and she’d felt it in his touch. Something had been happening between them, and even if their castle had been built on sand the whole time, she couldn’t be the one who tore it down. She just couldn’t.
A sound at the doorway disturbed her train of thought, and she glanced around to see the detectives’ arrival.
“Miss Clary.” Detective Jones breezed into the office, followed shortly afterwards by his senior officer. “We’re so sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I’m getting used to it,” she mumbled in response as they took their places in the seats across the wooden desk from her. “I always seem to be here these days.”
This was both the truth, and a lie. There had been a couple of days when she hadn’t been questioned since her mother and Hannah had arrived in England, but honestly, they were few and far between. Today’s session was to be played out at the local police station.
“We promise not to keep you long,” Jones assured her, taking a sip from the plastic coffee cup already waiting for him. �
��We do appreciate you giving us your time, Miss Clary.”
Molly badly wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she shifted her weight in the uncomfortable chair, swilling the remains of her own watered-down coffee around the plastic cup. “It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I’m glad to be of help, although I can’t think of anything new to tell you about.”
“Now that you’ve had some more time to think about our questions, we thought you might have remembered something new.” It was Jones speaking, his gaze narrowing as though he already doubted Molly’s sincerity.
“I’m afraid not,” she told him with a sigh. “He didn’t exactly talk to me. It wasn’t like that.” Molly screwed her face up as she explained, a gesture she hoped would reinforce her disgust about the way Connor had treated her.
“What about when we were at the house?” It was Finley’s soften spoken tone questioning her now. “We know you were there at the same time, Miss Clary, hauled up in Reilly’s bedroom.”
“Apparently so,” replied Molly.
It had taken her a few days to realize these were the same men who had interrupted the sensual solitude which had been growing between her and Connor, and now that she did, it made her even more wary.
“Did you hear us?” asked Jones. “Why didn’t you call out for help?”
Anger sparked in Molly’s chest. Even though Jones’ accusations were based on the truth, his question made her furious and defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We just want to clarify what was happening to you during that time,” explained Finley.
“Let me tell you what was happening.” Molly was almost trembling as she struggled to contain the rage welling inside of her. “I was gagged and chained to his damn bed. Yes, I heard you, Detective, but with a plastic ball shoved in my mouth, there wasn’t much opportunity to scream or shout out.”