Double Vision

by L. M. Halloran

  His dove. Innocent, according to him. A symbol of peace in his life. He’s never disguised his need for me. Not once since the moment we met. It scares me, the look in his eyes that I’m seeing with increasing frequency.

  What I feel in return.

  I turn, pressing my camisole-clad chest to his. Muscled arms move around me, hands flowing confidently down my back to my ass. He gives me a light squeeze.

  I press my mouth to the pulse at his throat. “Just getting a glass of water,” I lie.

  “Mmm,” he replies, dipping his head to drag his lips across my cheekbone. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

  I shrug, allowing him to provide a reason. An answer to a question he doesn’t know to ask. Cuddled against him, blanketed in his heat, I can almost forget what I just discovered.

  What business do you have with Maddoc Donnelly?

  I don’t speak. Can’t.

  And when he spins me around, grabbing my hands and pressing my palms to the cold glass, I do forget. I forget everything but him. The scrape of bristle on my neck as his lips find purchase. The rough tug on my hips as my panties disappear.

  I gasp as he yanks up my camisole and pushes me forward, forcing my breasts against the glass. My nipples harden at the contact. At his contact.

  “Liam,” I breathe.

  Fingers dip between my legs, and he growls approvingly when he finds me soaking wet.

  “Spread your legs, dove,” he says.

  I do.

  He kicks them out further, but gently, murmuring appreciation as I bare myself to him.

  “Arch your back. Ass up.”

  I obey, and am deeply pleased by his muttered expletive. The hint of his childhood accent, which only appears when he’s tired or aroused.

  A warm hand smooths down my spine. That’s all the warning I have before he pushes inside me. Bare, because he paid for blood tests for both of us and a birth control shot for me.

  My eyes flutter closed, my teeth catching a whimper before it releases. It doesn’t hurt—not truly. In fact this is one of my favorite ways. No foreplay. Just his insatiable desire to claim me. Mark me as his.

  I feel his need. I revel in it. I match it with mine by surrendering.

  I always surrender to him.

  13

  “He’s not coming,” says a voice in the dark.

  I keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure I could speak if I tried, my throat painfully raw from screaming and lack of moisture. I haven’t had water in… hours? Days?

  I have no idea how long I’ve been here. In the musty, damp darkness, time is measured in the drips of a leaky ceiling pipe.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  On and on for eternity.

  I’ve been here forever.

  “Just tell me where they are.”

  I close my eyes, wishing I could close my ears, too.

  “If you tell me, I’ll give you some water.”

  Not set me free, but give me water. There’s a difference, I know. Still, the temptation is so strong it burns, a pain both psychological and physical.

  Every cell in my body roars, visions of oceans and rivers and waterfalls taunting me. I bite my tongue until I taste the coppery tang of blood.

  My parents believe there are some things—some people—worth dying for. I really hope this is one of those things. One of those people.

  A sigh punctures the silence, not so much impatient as disappointed. It’s unnerving, how easily I can differentiate between their sighs.

  Then again, they sigh a fucking lot.

  “Your loyalty is misplaced,” says the voice softly. “And it always has been. What a shame.”

  Footsteps move up wooden stairs. I count seven creaks, then two softer steps across what I assume is a landing. More steps follow, maybe ten, before the groan of a distant door opening and closing. Then silence again.

  Darkness.

  14

  On the eve of June 14th, my twenty-third birthday, Karina and I stand on the curb outside my apartment building. We’re dressed to the nines but have no idea what the night has in store. I’d been told to dress for a party and bring a friend. That was it. Every time I’d pressed Liam for details, I’d received a slap on the ass. And not the teasing variety, either.

  A few minutes till eight, a limo rounds the corner and pulls to a stop before us. I gawk at the sleek giant, and Karina gives a soft whistle.

  “I’m so glad I took the night off work,” she says fervently. Her heavily made-up eyes glisten with excitement. “Are we going to Vegas or something?”

  I shake my head. “No clue.”

  When the back door opens and Liam emerges, I suck in a breath. Not since the day he came to my work have I seen him in a suit. Slacks and freshly pressed shirts, yes, but this is different.

  He looks like a different man. Sharper. Older. Sophisticated beyond my understanding. The trappings of wealth magnify his natural power. Make it dizzying. This is the version of him that intimidates me the most. The one who seems so far out of my league.

  “Happy birthday, Eden,” he says with a secretive smile, bending to kiss my cheek. “You look incredible.”

  “Thank you.” This close, his familiar scent invades my nose. Liam. Still Liam. As my nerves settle, I run the tips of my fingers along his smooth jaw. “You shaved. Is this my present?”

  “Not even close, dove.” His eyes flicker away from me for the first time since he exited the limo. “Hello, Karina.”

  “Hey, Mr. Fancy. Nice ride.”

  Though they’ve met several times, Karina has yet to call him by his name. Mr. Fancy is new. It’s normally Mr. Hollywood, Mr. Moneybags, or Liam the Dom (though the last she only uses in my company).

  Liam laughs good-naturedly and takes my arm, guiding me into the limo. Once Karina and I are settled, he slips in beside me and nods at the driver. As the limo pulls away from the curb, he pours Karina and me glasses of champagne.

  “I could get used to this,” Karina says, smirking as she sips her drink.

  I’ve never been a fan of champagne—it gives me a nasty hangover—but one sip tells me this isn’t a grocery-store purchase. It’s light and dry, with the barest hint of fruit.

  “Do you like it?” Liam murmurs.

  I nod and force a smile, taking another sip. Liam has never flaunted his wealth; for all his material comforts, he doesn’t live lavishly. The reminder is making my head spin. I feel ill at ease, my skin too tight. Out of my element and out of touch.

  Maybe it’s as simple as the flashy silver mini-dress Karina cajoled me into wearing. But I think it has more to do with the man beside me in a tailored suit, his eyes simmering with easy confidence and worldliness.

  This doesn’t feel like us. Not the us I’m used to, anyway. The us that fights over the bedcovers, that eats sushi out of takeout containers on the beach. That laughs at reruns of Seinfeld at three in the morning because I can’t sleep and sex didn’t help.

  Liam leans close to me, his mouth near my ear. “Stop it,” he whispers.

  I stiffen. “Stop what?”

  He draws back, eyes intent on mine. “Stop thinking that because our surroundings have changed, we’re different people.”

  His thumb slides across the back of my neck, caressing a pressure point. A sycophant for his touch, I feel my anxiety melting away.

  “You’re mine, Eden. And I’m yours. Limos don’t change that.”

  Yes, but for how long?

  He takes us to Providence on Melrose, a Michelin star-rated restaurant I’d never heard of until this past Sunday. There was a review for the restaurant in the morning paper—Liam refuses to cancel the subscription even though he can just as easily read the contents online.

  Over Belgian waffles, coffee, and fresh fruit, I’d read the review aloud. Now, staring at the sign over the restaurant’s door, I also distinctly remember sighing over the fact that we could never eat there, as reservations had to be booked at least three months in advance. We have just under a month
left together.

  When the host greets Liam as Mr. Rourke with an air of recognition if not familiarity, I have part of my answer. The rest, I’m not sure I want to know. Call me willfully ignorant, but I haven’t found the motivation yet to ask him about Maddoc Donnelly.

  Our meal is exquisite. We don’t actually order food; instead, a seemingly endless array of tasting dishes and paired wines come and go on the white linen surface. By the third serving, I’ve forgotten my earlier stress. And it’s not the copious alcohol.

  It’s Liam.

  Knowing that neither Karina nor I could ever afford to eat at a place like this, he keeps us from feeling like lambs among wolves by laughing louder than we do, stabbing food off both of our plates, and generally being himself.

  Men glare from surrounding tables, disguising their envy with disapproval, while women watch Liam surreptitiously with hunger in their eyes. I can’t blame them. In the mellow lighting, he looks every inch a leader among men. His hair gleams darkly with auburn accents, perfectly tousled. I happen to know he never brushes it. Broad shoulders at ease, their angle and strength apparent. The long legs, the trim, fit build. He’s the definition of eye-candy.

  Apparently our table makes an impression, because after dinner the chef comes out of the kitchen and sits with us for a while. He and Liam trade fishing stories from their youth—the chef’s in the Northeast and Liam’s in Galway, Ireland. With a handshake and an invitation to return whenever we wish, the chef leaves us to finish our desserts.

  Karina and I trade a wide-eyed glance, then hide laughter behind our hands.

  Liam leans back in his chair, smug and amused. “Finish your desserts, ladies. The night has just begun.”

  Around a mouthful of truffle, Karina asks, “What? You’re going to have to roll me out of here.”

  “Oh no,” he chides, “you’re not getting off that easily. We have places to go, parties to crash.”

  I almost choke on my chocolate. “As long as there are no Ferris Wheels involved.”

  He smirks. “Would I do that do you?”

  “Yes. Yes, you would.”

  He laughs and signals for the check.

  The limo appears like magic when we walk outside. It’s not quite ten o’clock and the sidewalks are still bustling with people—tourists, hipsters, and dinner-goers blending together.

  A young woman squeals and aims her cellphone at us, snapping pictures, while her friend hisses furiously in her ear. Locals look us over, then roll their eyes at the antics of out-of-towners. Across the street, two men scream at each other outside a store, and an old homeless woman is weaving her shopping cart through traffic.

  Just another night in Los Angeles.

  15

  The limo stops outside a mansion in Malibu. Knowing that if I ask where we are I’ll be spanked later, I hold my tongue. It takes some effort, especially when Liam releases the driver from his duties.

  As he guides us toward the front doors, we pass cars stacked tightly together in the curved driveway. A Lamborghini. A Bentley. BMWs and Mercedes. Four Teslas.

  Screw the spankings.

  I grab Liam’s hand. “What is this?”

  With a wicked glint in his eye that promises a sting, he replies, “You keep asking to meet my friends, so here we are.”

  My anxiety returns in a rush. I plant my feet, yanking him to a stop. Karina pauses nearby, staring at the mansion with a mixture of eagerness and envy.

  Liam touches my face. “Little dove, why are you nervous?”

  “Because… fuck, I don’t know. Tell me I’m being stupid.”

  Because it’s my birthday, you ass, and you know I’d rather spend it naked with you than at a party of strangers.

  He tugs on my hand until I’m in his arms. Smiling softly down at me, he murmurs, “Don’t ever call yourself stupid. If you do it again, I’ll add it to your punishments.”

  The word ignites the usual need, but it simmers beneath the thick border of my fear. “You know I’m no good at shit like this. Remember? We met at a party like this one.”

  Like this one…

  The party had revolved around drugs, that much I knew. My palms grow clammy as I wonder if the answer to my question has been staring me in the face all along, only I’ve been too scared to face it.

  Liam knows Maddoc Donnelly because he works for him as a drug dealer.

  I don’t know what Liam sees in my eyes as I have the thought, but his own darken. “Not quite like this one. Besides, I dropped my car off earlier. We can leave at any time.”

  He sounds completely normal. At ease and in his element. I want so badly to believe him.

  And I want so badly to know.

  A small voice inside me whispers, What will you do? Will you leave him?

  Yes.

  I don’t know.

  “Come on, live a little,” cajoles Karina.

  I look between them and finally nod, bolstering myself with the knowledge that I can leave whenever I want.

  Liam kisses me swiftly and we resume our trek to the front doors. They’re unlocked, and open onto a scene I’ll never forget as long as I live.

  At least twenty people scream, “SURPRISE!”

  Familiar faces fill the spacious entryway and adjoining rooms. Raul, wearing a rainbow party hat above a shit-eating grin. More coworkers from both Al’s and Veritas. Jen Campbell and Lucy Yang, my roommates for the first two years at UCLA, and a host of other friends from college who I’ve been horrible at keeping in touch with.

  When I see my parents grinning and waving in the front row, I almost pass out.

  Soft lips press against my temple. “Happy birthday, dove.”

  Liam rented all the cars in the driveway as party favors for the guests. Over the next few hours, I hear numerous stories from awed coworkers and friends about cruising town in the luxury automobiles.

  The gesture was completely over-the-top, and I see my own discomfort reflected in my parents’ faces. Driving a Benz in an unfamiliar city was more intimidating than enjoyable for them.

  “I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong.” My fingers clench on the sleeve of his white dress shirt. He discarded his jacket and now looks more like himself, top button undone and hair an absolute mess.

  “But?” he murmurs.

  We’re alone in one of the bedrooms. Music filters to our ears from the party, and I hear Raul and Karina’s loud laughter. My parents left twenty minutes ago for their hotel. They were by far the oldest people at the party, and I know the late hour was taxing for them.

  I force myself to meet his eyes, almost indigo in the low light. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

  His brows lift. “That I’m wealthy?”

  “No.” I pause, looking down. “Maybe.”

  His fingers on my chin lift my face. “Look at me.”

  The command is spoken in a tone I have no willpower to resist. When my gaze meets his, he gently palms my face. His soft expression, and the adoration in his eyes, make his next words all the more shocking.

  “I won’t spout the usual drivel about how money is useless unless I can spend it on the ones I care about. The truth is much more simple and not nearly as self-flattering.” His fingers move into my hair, releasing several pins to the floor. “I want to keep you, Eden. I want to own you. And if that makes me a brute, so be it.”

  Desire and satisfaction shimmer in my veins. That primal, unstoppable, fucked-up core of me rises and twists and blooms.

  I don’t pretend to misunderstand him. He wants me to give up medical school. He wants me to stay. To be his. And Liam knows exactly what he’s asking. He knows how much my future means to me. That, before him, it was my primary focus in life.

  I’m sickened by how tempting his offer is. Sickened by myself.

  Anger straightens my spine even as tears well in my eyes. “You had to do this—to say this—today? On my birthday?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “Would you rather I’d done it the night before you left me
?” His fingertip catches a tear. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Do you want me to pay off the mortgage on your parents’ house? Set them up so they can retire?”

  The words stab and slice, leaving bloody pieces behind. My adoration—and dare I admit, love—for him suffers what feels like a death-wound. In this moment, I hate him. His power over me. His unfailing equability. His conceit.

  With an intelligible yell of fury, I put both palms on his chest and shove as hard as I can. He barely moves, but we both freeze. Him in surprise. Me in dismay.

  Liam’s eyes soften with worry. He reaches for me, but I turn and flee. I don’t glance at the bed, where just ten minutes ago his mouth brought me hard and fast to climax.

  I tear open the bedroom door and run into the living room. I ignore everyone except my two real friends. They see me at the same time and jump to their feet.

  “Get me out of here.”

  And like real friends, Karina and Raul don’t question. They get me out of there.

  16

  My parents’ flight is mid-afternoon the following day. I spend the morning with them, putting on a brave front and studiously ignoring their concerned looks. They know I’ll tell them the reason for my puffy eyes when I’m ready. They won’t push me for details or judge. And they love me enough that they don’t once mention him, the party, or the Mercedes we returned this morning.

  Instead, we talk about my plans for the future. The room near campus I’m subletting until I can find a job and get a place of my own. The long drive from Los Angeles to Oregon and where I’ll stop halfway for the night. Things I want to do while I’m at home before my final move date of August 15th.

  By the time I drop them off at the airport, I’m exhausted, and by the time I get home, I can barely keep my eyes open. Stumbling into my bedroom, I fall onto my bed and bury my face in a pillow with lumps that only remind me of the perfect pillows in Liam’s bed. And Liam.

  He hasn’t tried to contact me since the party. A few texts from people who were there informed me of what happened after I left.