Tied: A Dark Possession Novel

by Linnea May

  TIED

  By Linnea May

  Copyright © 2019 by Linnea May

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Arijana, CoverItDesigns

  Editing: Sara, Write Way Creative

  Proofreading: Kaylin, Happy Ever Author

  For all enquiries please email linnea@linneamay.com

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  Linnea’s little Mayhem – Reader’s Group

  Content

  TIED

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Linnea May

  THE PUPPETMASTER

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Also by Linnea May

  Connect with Linnea

  Chapter 1

  Riley

  The erratic rhythm of my heart reminds me of a locked up animal attempting to escape its cage. The spring breeze is brisk this evening, whirling the few leaves that survived the winter along the damp ground. A sudden gust whips around my collar and a shiver travels through me as I pull the door to the coffeehouse closed behind me.

  I'm not dressed for this weather. I am not wearing a coat, but a black blazer over the only white blouse I own, with black dress pants and ballerina shoes. Even my stockings are too thin for this type of weather. The only thing providing any sort of protection from the chilly temperatures is the generously plush scarf wrapped around my neck.

  It's not just the cold that's making my body shiver and my teeth chatter as I scan the room nervously, my heart still beating loudly in my ears. If anyone is watching me close enough, they would notice that my knuckles are white from clutching my messenger bag like it’s a lifeline.

  I'm on a mission, a secret mission that could change my life for the better—if I don't mess this up, that is.

  “Take any seat you like,” the young waitress pipes out as she hurries past me to deliver an order to a table of waiting customers. I jump in surprise. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “Thanks,” I utter, but I’m sure my voice is too low for her to hear it.

  Any seat I like.

  Oh, girl, it’s not as simple as that.

  I know exactly where I want to sit. Where I have to sit.

  My instructions were clear—I am to sit by the window on one of those high chairs, my back to the patrons, facing the street outside. I head there straight away. A subtle twinge of anxiety sweeps through my chest when I realize that none of the seats along the window are taken.

  Did they keep the seats open for me? Is the staff in on whatever it is that’s happening?

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Riley.”

  I whisper the words to myself, but a man sitting at a table to my right hears me when I pass him. He looks up from his newspaper. The tilt of his graying eyebrows implies that for a brief moment, he wondered if I was talking to him, but as soon as the look appears on his face, it disappears and he returns to his reading. I notice that he didn't take off his black bomber jacket and dark wool beanie after sitting down for his coffee, and I think to myself that he embodies the perfect stereotype of a spy or gangster in a mystery novel.

  Is he one of them? Is he here to watch me?

  Oh my God, Riley, get a grip!

  It’s not like my life is in danger. After all, this is just a simple task to prove that I am qualified.

  It’s a goddamn job interview.

  I take my seat on a high chair at the slim wooden bar that stretches along the large display window, turning my back to the room and trying to block out whatever might be happening behind me. If I’m being watched, so be it. It’s not like I’d ever find out for sure—and it’s also not what should concern me, because I’m working under time constraints and I don’t have time to—

  “What can I get you?”

  I’m so startled that I almost fall from my chair. I suck in a sharp breath of air as I jerk away from the waitress, who is suddenly right next to me. Holy shit, I’ve never been this jumpy in my life before.

  She giggles, obviously amused by my reaction, but she apologizes. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Dear? She’s about my age. Why does she talk to me like I am a middle-aged lady?

  Is she working for them?

  Pull it together, Riley. Your imagination is running crazy.

  “I err… it’s fine,” I stammer taking deep breaths to calm down. “Just a tea, please.”

  Her head bobs to the side.

  “Tea?” she repeats. “What kind? We have Earl Grey, peppermint, green, chamomile, orange and cinna—”

  “Tea!” I snap impatiently, cutting her off a little too brusquely, and the expression on her face freezes.

  “I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize. “Green tea would be fine.”

  “Green tea. Got it.” The girl forces a smile at me before she turns on her heels and walks away.

  I let out a deep sigh. “Okay, Riley, calm the fuck down and get to work.”

  The words come out as little more than a low hiss. I produce my laptop from the messenger bag and flip it open. I manage to redirect my attention from worrying about my surroundings to focusing on the task at hand. Hacking a protected Wi-Fi access is child’s play for someone like me—or it should be. I’m sure there’s going to be a hitch somewhere. There must be a reason why they asked me to do this here, at this specific coffeehouse located way out in the suburbs. I’ve never been in this area before and it took me more than an hour to get here. It would have been a lot faster if I could drive, but since I don’t have either a license or a car, or even the money for a long cab ride, my only choice was public transportation. I hate being poor, and I seriously hope this job will get me out of this shitty situation for good.

  I take a quick glance over my shoulder just in time to see the waitress approaching. She is carrying a tiny tray with a mug of hot water and a massive tea bag on a small plate next to it. She places both items on the counter next to my laptop.

  “Honey or sugar?”

  Her voice is so high that it almost hurts my ears.

  I shake my head, adopting a polite smile and willing her to disappear. I can’t start as long as she—or anyone else—is in my vicinity. She senses my aversion to company and turns away without another word. Thank God.

  My pulse speeds with excitement, a delicious rush of adrenaline that’s been fueling me all the way here. I received the e-mail with my instructions this morning, including a clearly set time schedule. I was given exactly one hour to hack into the Wi-Fi access called INSOMNIACAFE and make a
follow-up video Skype call to an account shared in that same e-mail. I don’t know what to expect with this call, but since I’m assuming that it will be the next step of the actual job interview process, I made sure to wear my most business-like outfit.

  I’m confident that I won’t need the full hour to hack into the Wi-Fi, but I hurry nonetheless. This is my chance to shine if I manage to break their security wall in record time.

  I’m almost disappointed to discover that there appear to be no catches: no extra security, no hidden wall, no hoops to jump through.

  Nothing. It's just a regular, password-protected Wi-Fi with a WPS 2 security set-up that is so easy to circumvent that it's downright appalling.

  It only takes me a few minutes to gain access, and while it gives me a shallow wave of satisfaction to know that I'm the only unauthorized person in here who's now logged into the coffeehouse's Wi-Fi, I am confused and can't help but wonder what this was all about.

  Was this it? Are their expectations of me really that low?

  Would I even want to work for an agency with such low standards and expectations?

  I shake my head and take a sip from my tea, pushing these thoughts aside. I shouldn't make rash assumptions and let my arrogance be the judge. It's just a first step, after all. Who knows what comes next?

  I have to take a deep breath before I'm ready for the next step.

  The call.

  My eyes trail back over my shoulder, though I still don't know what–or who–I'm looking for. Anyone in here could be working for them. Anyone in here could be watching me and just diverting their gaze as soon as I turn around. I would never know.

  In the end, all I can do is make sure that there's no one standing right behind me, peering over my shoulder and breathing down my neck. I wouldn’t be able to tolerate that.

  My back is clear. Of course.

  “No more excuses,” I whisper to myself as I turn back to my screen.

  I fix my hair. I adjust the collar of my shirt for the umpteenth time.

  I fix everything there is to fix about myself before I take one last deep breath.

  Then I hit the little camera icon to make the call.

  Chapter 2

  Cain

  She looks so different than the last time I saw her. Her hair is a bit longer, the chocolate strands of her long bob now rest on her shoulders, and she’s wearing a lot more make-up, as evidenced by the thick black lines framing her gray-green eyes. She’s even wearing lipstick, but the color is too bold and too red for my taste.

  The expression on her face derails for a split second when she first sees my covered face pop up on her screen. I’m wearing a black mask that reveals nothing but my eyes to her, and I expected her to flinch at the sight. After all, she thinks this is a job interview, one that includes some hurdles for her to clear to prove herself to a potential employer—nothing more and nothing less.

  She’s not completely wrong about that. But I’m sure that the appearance of someone hidden behind a mask raises some questions for her.

  As it should.

  “Good job, Miss Prey,” I greet her with praise. “I didn’t expect to receive your call this early.”

  She smiles but it closely resembles a smirk, and she is obviously trying to appear confident when it’s apparent that she’s nervous as fuck.

  “It wasn’t my first time,” she says, the octave of her voice higher than I remember it. “To be honest, I was expecting a little bit more of a challenge, Mr…”

  She stops abruptly, biting at her bottom lip as her eyebrows fly up.

  Don’t know the name of your interviewer, little Riley? Oh, that can’t be good.

  “Stanford,” I tell her.

  She nods eagerly. “Yes, Mr. Stanford! I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay, I understand,” I cut her off. “Nervous tension can get to the best of us.”

  Riley swallows dryly and shifts uncomfortably on her seat. The coffeehouse I sent her to is packed with customers, but I made sure there would be room for her to sit exactly where I needed her to. By the window, with her back to the room so she doesn’t notice the eyes I have on her. Two of our guys are sitting at opposite ends of the coffeehouse undisturbed, watching Riley’s every move. The staff received clear instructions, and from the looks of it, they adhered to every single one—even though they have no idea what this is really about.

  Riley’s expectant eyes rest on me as she waits for me to speak. I can see the questions written across her pretty face.

  What does he want from me next?

  Why is he not asking me anything?

  Why is he wearing a mask?

  I’m sure that last question is the most pressing one, and I wonder if she’ll have the courage to give voice to it.

  “Are you scared, Miss Prey?”

  A thin furrow emerges between her brows.

  “Um, no,” she says.

  Liar.

  “I’m just a little confused at the…”

  She coaxes me to finish her sentence, urging me wordlessly by arching her brows, but I’m not doing her that favor.

  “Yes?”

  “The… the mask,” she says, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “If I may ask, Mr. Stanford, why the mask?”

  “Don’t you think I should be the one asking you questions?”

  She straightens her posture immediately and hurries to nod. “Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Stanford.”

  Good girl.

  Her wide eyes blaze with curiosity as she leans forward, eagerly awaiting whatever comes next. She’s a prying creature, but cautious nonetheless. I know that about her, which is exactly why we’re playing this game. Drawing her attention was easy enough, but I need to make sure that she stays. She got away from me once, and I can’t let that happen again.

  “Like I said, well done on this first task. But this was just the first step.”

  “Of course,” she interjects, effectively interrupting me.

  I throw her a warning look, even though I know that she can’t see it through my mask.

  “As we’ve already told you, this job entails a few tasks and projects that may be a bit… out of the ordinary,” I continue, and she nods along to my words. “Your main task will be providing us with information, sometimes utilizing methods that stretch the boundaries of traditional legal definitions.”

  “Like hacking into a secure Wi-Fi system,” she says, completing my thought. Her face is stoic and unreadable now, making it impossible for me to know whether she bestows any moral judgment on such tasks.

  Then again, if she did, she wouldn’t be here—and she wouldn’t be the perfect person for the job.

  But she is. She is everything I have been looking for. That is why I have invested the last several months looking for her.

  That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Six months have passed since she disappeared from my life without a trace. It didn’t take me that long to track her down—we have known her whereabouts and been watching her for a while—but it took that amount of time to come up with the perfect plan.

  A plan that only she can execute.

  “Yes, hacking,” I confirm, a mocking tone lacing my words. “That’s where it starts, and that’s where we’ll need your expertise. But your job will not consist solely of accessing simple coffeehouse Wi-Fi spots, so—”

  “I understand,” she interjects. “Hence imagine my surprise at this first task. I know you will need more from me, and I’m ready to prove to you that my skills don’t end here.”

  She straightens her back, pulling her shoulders back as her gaze rests on the screen. I sense a hint of impatience that I don’t quite like.

  “You asked about my mask,” I go on, reveling in the way her expression changes, her eyes widening attentively.

  “It’s simply a precaution,” I tell her. “Precautions like this come with the job. Is that something you feel comfortable with?”

  She tilts her head to the side, her lips moving a
s if she were tasting the words.

  “I wouldn’t say comfortable,” she responds eventually. “That seems too big a word. But I can promise you that I won’t betray your trust if you—”

  “This is not about trust,” I interrupt her. “You can’t rely on trust in this world, Riley. People can’t be trusted; no one—and that includes you and me. That’s why we work with nondisclosure agreements in our business.”

  “Yes, I understand,” she agrees, nodding fiercely.

  “I just need you to be comfortable with our proceedings, Riley,” I clarify. “And to understand that some questions are better left unanswered—or not even raised in the first place.”

  She continues nodding, her face stern and attentive. “I understand, sir.”

  Sir, huh? It’s been a while since I’ve heard that word leave her lips, but it still tastes as delicious as it did back then.

  “Good. Let’s go on then. You passed the first test with flying colors, but I expected no less.”

  A coy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes seek a spot to latch onto as she processes my praise.

  “Now, let’s see how you’ll do with the next assignment,” I go on, and she pricks up her ears.

  “I will send you a location. It’s not far from where you are now, a ten-minute walk maybe. Go there and check for Wi-Fi spots on your phone. Once you’re in range of a Wi-Fi called XTOWN, you’re in the right vicinity,” I explain. “I want you to hack into that one, but without the help of your laptop this time.”

  “Okay.” She nods, and for a moment it looks as if she is disappointed. I don’t blame her because I know this first task was too easy for someone like her. Riley is capable of some extraordinary shit, a girl who is too smart for her own good and whose wits just call out to be abused by the wrong kind of people.

  People like me.

  “Is there a time limit?” she asks, successfully hiding how unimpressed she must be by this second task.

  “Forty-five minutes, starting from the moment we end our call.”

  Riley nods, not showing even the slightest hint of concern at being able to accomplish this second task. And why should she? I know she won’t need forty-five minutes. She won’t even have forty-five minutes.