“Miss, are you all right?”
I blink at the cashier, an older woman with tired eyes. Feet shuffle impatiently behind me.
“Yes, sorry.” I scrawl my signature on the little screen, press the green button, and grab my items. “Don’t need a receipt, thanks.”
When I push through the doors, hot, dense air pushes back. Wind whips my hair up and around my face.
The occupant of the sedan is now standing against the hood, arms crossed over his chest. My palms dampen with sweat as I realize that he isn’t pumping gas, just standing there.
Waiting.
You’d better hope I find you before Maddoc does.
Liam’s words ring in my ears like a prophecy. My heart races. He was right—this isn’t the movies. This is real. This is my life.
And I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it up without a fight.
I stalk toward the man, who turns his head as I approach. I don’t recognize him. Blond hair, classically handsome, wearing a navy polo and jeans that fit his muscled form like a glove. Colorful tattoos run the length of both arms.
“Are you following me?” I demand.
He doesn’t insult me by pretending surprise, merely uncrosses his arms and reaches up to remove dark sunglasses. His eyes are greenish brown and surprisingly warm.
That doesn’t mean anything.
“Hello, Eden,” he says, offering a hand. “My name is Chris Daley.”
His voice is like his eyes—warm and deep—but I barely notice. What I do notice is his accent, it’s lilting, musical cadence.
“Who are you? Who sent you?”
Chris lowers his hand. “Do you have a preference?”
“What?”
He shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “A preference, lass. Would you be more relieved if I was a messenger of your father or Liam?”
Staring at him, I come to a profound conclusion.
“I’m losing my mind.”
Chris merely nods. “I’m sure it feels that way. Been there once or twice myself. Why don’t you gather what you need from the car and come with me. I’ll answer your questions on our way home.”
I laugh. “L.A. isn’t my home, asshole.”
“Ach. You’ve got a tongue, haven’t ya?” He grins, but his eyes aren’t warm anymore. They’re dark and cold. “We can do this the hard way, if necessary.”
Tires squeal behind me and a car door slams. I recognize the measured pace of expensive shoes on the asphalt, and I’m not ashamed of the relief that cascades through me.
“Get gone, Christopher,” growls Liam.
“Allo, Liam. Been a while.”
Liam scoffs and takes my arm. I don’t resist as he pulls me to the passenger side of his car. When I’m inside, he hisses, “Don’t move,” and closes the door.
I watch him walk back toward Chris. Standing face-to-face, the two men are of equal height. Chris is a little bulkier. If I didn’t know Liam, I might bet on the wrong man in a fight.
But I know Liam.
Whatever he says makes Chris laugh and bring his hands up. He backs away, his grin opposed by Liam’s scowl, and gets into his car. Then, with a jaunty wave in my direction, he speeds out of the gas station.
Liam opens the driver’s door of my car and bends inside. When he stands, he has my cellphone and purse. Whatever emotion he displayed in his conversation with Chris is gone. The man who walks toward me is control personified.
He gets in the car, tosses me my belongings, and turns the key in the ignition. All without looking at or speaking to me. The part of me that still loves him—or loves what he gives me—wants to apologize, but the rest of me is disgusted by the thought.
“This isn’t fair,” I say through clenched teeth.
He says nothing.
It’s a long, silent drive back to Hollywood.
20
After several weeks in captivity, I stop caring about things like pissing myself or how long it’s been since I bathed. The smell doesn’t bother me. The pain in my raw wrists, my aching bones, and cramping stomach all cease to be a concern.
My humanity has been systematically stripped away. I am more animal than human now.
Drip. Drip… Rush.
Somewhere in the house above me, a toilet flushes or a faucet runs. Water churns through the pipes above my head. Taunting me with the sound of rivers and waves. I don’t care about the pain anymore, but I need water.
The average human, without extreme circumstances like hot sun or snow, can last about a hundred hours without water. That’s a little over four days.
I’m given water every three.
21
Three days have passed since Liam pulled my ass from the fire. I’m grateful, but he’ll never hear me say it.
I have yet to leave the guestroom on the opposite side of the house from the master. Holing myself up and refusing to speak might be juvenile of me, but what’s the alternative? Sauntering out naked to make the bastard breakfast?
Not a chance. As far as I’m concerned, those days are done and buried. The only thing Liam Rourke will receive from now on is my resentment.
At 9 a.m. exactly, the bedroom door opens. I don’t turn from the window where I’m watching a hired gardener mow the grass.
I hear him move across the room and put a plate and mug on the nightstand. When his footsteps don’t recede, I stiffen.
“I had no idea you were this stubborn.”
My answer is a glare over my shoulder. I shouldn’t have looked at all—Liam is shirtless, wearing gray cotton pants that I know are soft as butter. They’re also thin, and do little to conceal his substantial endowment. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. Not until I see him begin to swell and harden.
“Ah,” he says on a sigh. “I thought I’d lost you completely. But you’re still in there. Still mine.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I retort. “The only thing I miss about you is your cock.”
Liam laughs. “Not as much as he misses you.”
Aggravated at myself for breaking my silence, I turn back to the window. The gardener is gone, the lawn below cropped and iridescent in the sunlight.
When he speaks again, his voice is soft, threaded with rare emotion. Regret, maybe. If I thought him capable of it.
“When I came to your work that day, I came to seduce you. I won’t deny it. What I didn’t expect was how attracted I’d be to you.”
I can’t repress a flinch. “Sorry, no tan or fake tits here.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His footsteps cross the room, stopping somewhere behind me. “You weren’t as interesting as you looked—you were more interesting. I’ve often wondered if it wasn’t me that found you but the other way around.”
Romantic words. Too bad they’re lies.
He’s close now. Too close. I can feel the heat of him on my back, can smell his intoxicating skin. Unwanted desire blooms in my breasts and between my legs.
“I recognized the war inside you,” he murmurs. “The struggle between innocence and depravity, between aggression and submission. Sweet Jesus, it was impossible to resist. And when I tasted you for the first time, I was lost.”
Turning, I look into his stormy eyes. “How are you planning to finish this flowery little speech, Liam? With something even more trite, like I’m the first woman to reach your damaged heart? Spare me the bullshit. Like you said, this isn’t the fucking mov—”
His mouth slams onto mine, swallowing the rest of my words. Fingers on my jaw force my lips to part and his tongue invades. I bite down hard.
He reels back, releasing me with a curse. My freedom, however, is short-lived. I try to dart past him but his arm snakes out, catching me in the stomach. Breath whooshes out of me. I’m airborne, spinning, until I land facedown on the edge of the bed.
I scream in abject fury, bucking against him as he yanks my pajama pants and underwear to my knees. My hands are pulled behind my back, trapped in one of his.
&
nbsp; “Are you going to rape me, Liam?” I yell belligerently. “Are you?”
“Of course not,” he snaps. “I’m merely proving a point.”
Fingertips land on my tailbone, swirling up and down, teasing the swell of my ass. I renew my efforts to escape, but it’s no use. I’m drowning, beyond saving, my body betraying me further with each second that passes. With every millimeter those fingers move south. An agonized moan escapes me. My hips jerk up, seeking him.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly, reverently. “You’re absolutely perfect. And even though you lie to yourself and to me, spewing hateful words you don’t mean, we both know the truth. This isn’t about what my hands and cock can do. This is about us.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“Maybe a little. I did conceal the truth from you, and loyalty runs strong in your lineage. I’m sure you can’t help but feel angry and betrayed. But you also can’t help this.”
His fingers slip between my thighs. A heavy sigh whispers across my skin. “See?” he murmurs. “Made for me.”
He’s merciless with those fingers.
And then he’s merciful.
I come on his hand, crying out my love, my desire, my fear and confusion.
After, his knee hits the bed and he leans down beside me. Panting, mindless, I watch him lick me slowly from his fingers. The eroticism triggers aftershocks in my womb.
Those blue eyes flare with heat. “Mine,” he whispers, and gives me a gentle kiss on my cheek. When he draws back, his smile is radiant. “Get dressed, dove. I’m taking you to meet your sister.”
22
Of all the places I expected to meet my twin sister for the first time, Al’s Diner didn’t even make the list. As we walk toward the familiar entrance, I bite back questions. How did you know Karina and Raul wouldn’t be here? Did you know they only work nights?
I’m not avoiding punishment, I’m avoiding asking questions I already know the answer to. And I’m avoiding conversation in general. I don’t want his eyes on me, his proprietary stare that sees right through me. I don’t want his smile or his sonorous voice in my ears.
I don’t want him.
But mostly I don’t want him thinking that what happened this morning means anything. Because it doesn’t. It’s exactly like I told him—I don’t miss him, I miss what his body can do to mine.
“Here we are, dove.” Liam opens the door and gestures me to proceed.
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, stepping inside and scanning the familiar tables and booths. Eagerness tickles in my palms and the soles of my feet.
My sister.
Instead, I see the sole occupant of the last booth on the left. A blond man. Tattooed arms. A smile directed at me as he lowers a cup of coffee from his lips.
Liam curses beneath his breath.
Before I can respond, he grips my elbow and all but drags me to the booth. I slide into the vacant side, and Liam settles beside me, his body flush against mine, arm around my shoulders. I don’t throw it off for a simple reason. The man across from us scares me more than Liam does.
Chris nods. “Fine morning, isn’t it?”
Liam doesn’t respond. I take my cue from him and stay silent, my hands clenched together in my lap.
Eventually, Chris takes another sip of coffee, then lowers the cup with an air of finality. “I do commend you. Both of you. It takes some brass balls to defy Maddoc’s orders.” Hazel eyes swing to me. “Eden, you’re looking lovely today. And rather confused, if I might say. Our Liam does like his secrets, hmm?”
Liam’s hand clenches in warning on my shoulder. Don’t speak. I don’t.
“Ah, I see how it’s gonna be,” Chris says. He lifts up, removing something from his back pocket and tossing it onto the table. It’s a folded piece of lined paper. Watching me carefully, Chris says, “Maddoc isn’t without a heart. This here is for you, Eden.”
Chris slips from the booth and stands. With a mocking salute for Liam, he saunters toward the front door.
I unclench my hands and reach tentatively for the paper. Liam doesn’t stop me. With cold, tingling fingers, I unfold it. It’s a narrow sheet filled with glittery pink handwriting, one edge torn like it was pulled from a notebook or journal.
Eden -
I'm so bummed I didn't get to meet you today!! Can you believe how cool it is that we're twins? I'll let you in on a little secret—I always knew you were out there. I know, that sounds crazy, because Daddy didn't actually tell me about you until a few days ago, but I swear I've always known something was missing. Like a part of me. Like there was a hole, you know? Ugh. I'm not explaining myself well, am I? Sorry, I'm just so excited that you exist!! I can't wait to learn everything about you. Daddy says we can meet soon!! Here's my # in case you want to call or text me. 323-555-6831.
xoxo,
Alexis
“Eden? Are you all right?”
I fold the paper carefully on its creases. Looking at Liam, I shake my head. “I… don’t know. I guess I expected to feel something different.”
Or something at all.
Liam hears what I’m not saying. Expression grave, he says, “You’ve lived very different lives. Alexis is…” He mulls his thoughts. “Well, she’s basically your opposite.”
“How so?” I press. “Tell me, Liam.”
He sighs in concession. “Not here. Let’s go home.”
Numb from the inside out, I don’t correct his choice of words. Because right now, all I want is to feel safe, and deep down I know there’s nowhere safer than with the man beside me.
Liam deposits me on a padded teak lounge chair in the backyard. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my skin, wishing it could sink deeper and warm the cold core of me.
I’ve stepped into a parallel universe and no longer recognize the person I was before. Before my birthday. Before Liam. Before Alexis and Maddoc Donnelly and veiled threats and traps and the vast, terrifying unknown.
Who was I? Who was the woman before? Not a woman, really—a girl. Young and innocent. Not naive, not sheltered from struggle, and yet totally clueless of essential truths about my life.
My mother took me—stole me—and put me up for private adoption. My ex-boyfriend and warden is somehow associated with the Irish mob. My biological father is an underworld kingpin. My twin sister is a stranger who writes in pink pen.
The lounge beside mine creaks as Liam sits. I open my eyes, and he hands me a glass of iced tea. I hold it between my hands, feeling the cool condensation on my palms. As though the physical sensation can keep me anchored while my identity fluctuates.
“Tell me, Liam.”
He does.
And I learn how sometimes nurture wins over nature. How identical twins can grow in opposite worlds with opposite moral conditioning.
I thrived in school, the accumulation of knowledge symbolizing an escape from obscurity and boredom. Alexis barely graduated high school, more concerned with boys and nightlife than honing her intellect.
She grew up in a bubble of wealth. A princess who acquired anything she desired with a snap of her fingers. Cars. Clothes. Boys… men.
“How do you know so much about her?” I ask when Liam pauses.
“I’ve known her a long time.” His set jaw tells me that’s all I’m going to get out of him.
When I finally take a sip of my tea, the ice has melted, diluting the flavor. I likewise feel watered down, diluted by this new information. Less myself. More someone I don’t know—someone I’m not sure I want to know.
Our first date on the Santa Monica Pier seems like ages ago. As does the past two months I’ve spent with a man who I felt I’d known for years. With a man I didn’t know at all.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for nature, after all. I think of what kind of man Maddoc Donnelly must be. And I wonder what my mother was like, and why she ran from him.
Perhaps the part of me I’ve rejected and embraced in turn isn’t necessarily wron
g or sick. My craving for dominant men. Men who’d rather tie me up and fuck me than buy me flowers.
Maybe it’s in my DNA.
23
Liam makes dinner that night. For the first time in days, I’m actually hungry. No longer petulant enough to hide in my room, I occupy a stool at the island while he tosses linguine and vegetables with lemon and butter.
The muscles beneath his white t-shirt bunch and relax as he works. From discreet speakers croons the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone.
Almost, it feels like stepping back in time.
I watch him suck a bit of buttery sauce off his thumb. He’s not trying to seduce me, which makes the gesture all the more captivating.
My earlier thought floats hazily through my mind. Maybe it’s in my DNA.
“You don’t look hungry, dove. Not for food, at least.”
My gaze jerks up from his mouth, now curled in a smirk. “Nice try,” I quip, but my voice is breathy, giving away my arousal.
Liam cocks his head. “My lady doth protest too much,” he murmurs.
“Quoting Shakespeare isn’t going to get you into my pants, Liam.”
His gaze narrows, darkening to stormy indigo. My core clenches, knowing what’s coming, thrilling in it even as my mind recoils.
“And what if I told you that tonight you’ll eat dinner in the nude?”
That voice. So smooth. So controlled.
“Fuck off,” I bite out.
Liam grunts, chest expanding on a heavy breath. His hand skates down the front of his slacks. I can’t help but follow the movement, to see him thick and hard behind his zipper.
“Even your vitriol makes me hard, dove.”
I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Liam doesn’t move, watching me. Waiting. Electric want lifts the hair on my neck. A storm is coming—he is the storm.
“Take them off, Eden.”
Lightness over steel. Desire cloaked in discipline.
Double Vision Page 6
