Double Vision

by L. M. Halloran

  “Don, let me introduce my girlfriend, Lizzy.”

  Solórzano gives me a thorough once-over. My skin crawls like it’s covered in ants, but I manage to keep smiling.

  “How do you do,” I drawl. “Gosh, your plane is just beautiful. So massive and shiny. Thanks a million for letting us borrow it.”

  Liam gives my fingers a warning squeeze, but Solórzano only laughs again and tells Liam, “Ella es una muchacha magnífica. ¿Cuánto quieres?”

  How much? I blink innocently while I imagine stabbing a six-inch heel through Solórzano’s neck.

  Liam replies smoothly, “No he terminado con ella todavía, pero cuando estoy, te lo haré saber.”

  Solórzano merely smiles. “Please do.” He turns away. “Julio, please take our guests’ luggage onboard.”

  The bodyguard does as he’s told, lumbering up the narrow metal stairs to the shadowed portal. Not until he returns, two pilots behind him, do Liam’s fingers relax.

  “Enjoy, Mr. Rourke,” says Solórzano graciously, waving a hand toward the stairs.

  “Thank you, Carlos,” he murmurs, and shakes Solórzano’s hand a final time before tugging me toward the stairs.

  I’m so relieved, I blow Solórzano a kiss. “Thanks again!” I say cheerily.

  Liam’s firm hand on my back saves me from embarrassment as we ascend to the plane. The two smiling pilots step back for us to enter. Liam effortlessly maneuvers me behind him so he enters first. Whatever he sees releases the last strain of tension from his shoulders.

  “Welcome señor, señorita,” says a pilot warmly. “Our flight duration to Cook Islands is just over twelve hours. Please make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the amenities.”

  I look past Liam at the luxury jet’s interior, which includes fully reclinable seats and a stocked bar, atop which rests platters of fresh fruit, sandwiches, and an ice bucket housing a thick, dark bottle.

  The door seals behind me, triggering mellow lighting on the ceiling and floor. The pilots disappear into the cockpit.

  Liam crosses the cabin. Ice rustles as he lifts the bottle to read the label. With a smile bordering on smug, he glances my way.

  “Champagne?”

  I kick off my heels. “Yes, please. Did Solórzano really ask how much I cost?” He nods, peeling the wrapper off the bottle’s opening. “What did you say?”

  “That I wasn’t done with you yet, but that when I was, I’d let him know.”

  I gape, caught between amusement and annoyance. “What the fuck, Liam?”

  His eyes lift to mine, his smile belying the gravity in his eyes. “It’s a moot point. I’ll never be done with you.”

  62

  I drink two glasses of champagne. My body is so unused to alcohol that it’s more than enough to get me drunk. Thankfully, it’s not an obnoxious, do-something-I’ll-regret drunk. An hour into the flight, I pass out in one of the massive leather recliners while in the chair opposite mine, Liam does whatever on his fancy tablet.

  I have weird, vivid dreams about game pieces and giant hands moving them. Then I wake up in my old apartment in Los Angeles, only my hair is bright blonde and my skin tan. Scrambling from beneath the sheets, I run into the bathroom and see Alexis in the mirror. I’m her. I scream, and the woman in the mirror smiles and waves.

  “It’s just a dream, Eden. Wake up now.”

  Humming engine. Recycled air. A cramp in my left calf muscle.

  “Ugh.” I wipe at my eyes, then stare at my black fingers. Stupid mascara.

  Liam is crouched beside my chair, smirking. “Not the best look for you, I’ll admit. Though I’m growing fond of the dress.”

  I glance down to see most of the dress bunched toward my middle. The top hem rides precariously close to my bare nipples. With jerky movements, I tuck the fabric up and down respectively, then focus on him.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Two hours.”

  The shades beside my chair are down, but behind Liam I see hazy sunlight through the oval windows.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  I make a face. “Meh. Head hurts. Thirsty. God, I hate champagne.” He hands me a bottle of water. My brows lift as I take it from him. “Are you my genie now?”

  Mischief sparkles in his too-blue eyes. “Do you want me to be?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Kind of.

  I take a few swigs of water and cap the bottle. Then I clear my throat. “I need to pee.”

  I scoot off the chair, skirt around Liam, and head for my bag. I do need to pee, and I am a little hungry, but at the top of my priority list is getting out of my bimbo get-up. It makes me feel things I’m not ready to feel, like feminine and sensuous. Nor am I ready to deal with Liam’s lingering looks, the desire I’d seen in his eyes.

  Not bothering to wait for a response from him, I take my bag toward the back of the plane to the bathroom. Inside, I hurriedly strip off the dress and trade it for soft linen drawstring pants, a sports bra, and a white tank top. Lastly, I make use of the little soap dispenser to wash the caked makeup from my face. My eyes sting as I scrub off mascara, and they’re red by the time I’m done.

  Staring at my bare face in the mirror, I don’t see anyone desirable. I see a tired, jaded woman whose concept of living has been reduced to putting one foot in front of the other.

  Will I ever feel joy again?

  Will the nightmares ever fade?

  Will I ever be able to stand the touch of a man?

  The last thought brings an unwanted vision of red rope and tattooed arms. I will serve. A flush blooms in my cheeks. Desire flutters in my blood.

  Strangely, I feel no revulsion with the arousal. Not like I do when I think of being tied. Controlled.

  And I wonder.

  When I reenter the cabin, Liam is reclining in his chair, the shades beside him closed. His eyes are closed as well, but I know he’s not sleeping.

  “Liam?”

  He grunts.

  I sit on the edge of my chair, my knees facing him. “What favor did you do for the Solórzano Cartel?”

  He frowns, eyes still closed. “Guess.”

  “You found someone?”

  “Bullseye.”

  “Who?”

  Turning his head toward me, his eyes crack open. “Carlos’s second daughter. She’d been kidnapped by a rival cartel.”

  I clasp my hands between my knees. “And she was okay?”

  “Define ‘okay.’” He tucks his arms beneath his head and stares at the dimly lit ceiling. “I don’t mean to be flippant. No, she wasn’t okay. But she was alive. Married with kids now, I hear.”

  “Did you—do you do a lot of that?” I ask haltingly. “Find missing people and bring them home?”

  “Don’t make a saint out of me, Eden. I found people for bad reasons, too, and I willingly brought them to their executioners. And before you ask—no, I never asked or cared whether they deserved to be caught.”

  I mull over the words, recognizing his effort to shock me. But I’m more interested in his use of the past tense. “You don’t, um, work, anymore?”

  “Not since Dublin. You could say I took early retirement.” His head swivels, his sudden stare piercing. “Your turn. How many?”

  I frown. “Huh?”

  “Six years is a long time for a submissive to go without a dom. How many did you have in Seattle?”

  I’m so shocked by the question, for several moments I stare blankly at him. Maybe it’s the lack of judgement in his eyes, or the forced intimacy of being locked in a tube hurtling through the sky… but I tell him the truth.

  “None.”

  Liam’s expression is so locked down I can’t tell if he’s surprised.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He stares and stares until I feel my face warm with embarrassment. Finally, he murmurs, “Forgive me, but I’m trying to decide whether to be horrified or pleased.”

  I pick at the edge of my tank top. “Why would yo
u be horrified?”

  His feet drop to the floor as he swivels and sits up. Elbows on his knees, he gives me a level look. “Because that’s a long time to sacrifice what you need. Why did you?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Those azure eyes narrow appraisingly. “Not even once?”

  I shake my head again. “Really, Liam—”

  “You’re blushing, siren.” He drags in an audible breath; it trembles through him. “Was it because of me?”

  I stand up fast. “I’m hungry.”

  I make it halfway to the bar before he grabs my arm and spins me around. I aim an uppercut to his neck, but he blocks it with ease. His hips pivot to avoid my knee smashing his balls, and he seizes my other hand before my nails reach his face.

  It takes him a total of ten seconds to immobilize me with my wrists locked behind my back. By his widened eyes, I know he’s surprised that I gave up so easily.

  I’m surprised, too. By more than my unwillingness to defend myself. I don’t know if he can sense it—the wetness between my legs—but it both thrills and terrifies me.

  “You want to know if it was because of you?” I seethe to disguise my confusion. “Of course it was. I tried… once. I couldn’t do it. You were my dom. My master. And you were irreplaceable.”

  His gaze dips to my lips. “Ask me.”

  I bite out the question, “How many subs?”

  “None,” he breathes.

  I can’t prevent my jerk of disbelief. Liam releases me, his fingers stroking up my arms as he guides them to my sides.

  “But you’ve…” I trail off.

  A brow lifts. “Yes. As have you.”

  Something in his eyes tell me he knows I was living with someone. He knows. With rising discomfort, I think of Grant—how worried and sad he must be. I’ve been gone nearly four months. Does he think I’m dead?

  I turn back toward the bar. Liam doesn’t stop me this time.

  His voice low with unnamed emotion, he asks, “Will you go back to him, when you have the money?”

  Will I?

  “I don’t know.”

  I have to, if only to say goodbye. I already know I can’t be the woman I was. More walls have arisen between my past and present. Unassailable boundaries between who I used to be and who I am now.

  You’re not broken. You’re breaking free.

  I grab a cluster of grapes and turn. “I need you to do something for me.”

  His gaze lifts from the floor. “What, siren?”

  “Teach me to tie knots.”

  63

  If Liam isn’t exactly a patient teacher, he’s at least an extremely good one. He has rope in his bag—of course he does—but it’s not the usual brand. Not for pleasure. This rope isn’t a toy but a weapon.

  By the second hour of my training, my fingertips are tender from the abrasive material. But I have four basic knots down. Overhand. Square. Lark’s Head. Half-Hitch.

  I recognize each of them, but have a new appreciation for how easy he’s always made them look. Liam ties rope like it’s his instrument and he a virtuoso. I fumble like an infant on piano; more often than not, when I actually succeed, it feels like it’s by mistake.

  “That’s enough for today,” he says finally, wincing as he shifts his arms. “You need practice. A lot more practice.”

  I grimace in sympathy at the red skin beneath the rope on his wrists. “Can you get yourself out of them, or do I have to untie everything?” I’m hoping he has a magician’s trick up his sleeve, because my fingers freaking hurt.

  He snorts. “With what, my teeth?”

  I sigh, dropping onto my seat for a break. We’re facing each other, his knees spread. They now rest flush against my outer thighs, my pants and his slacks doing little to block the heat of his body. I stood between his legs for at least thirty minutes as I tested out my new skills on his wrists and forearms. Until this moment, though, I hadn’t considered how close we’d been. Or what he might have been thinking as I bound him.

  “Any day, Eden.”

  Tired and sore from using unexpected muscles and concentrating so hard for so long, I don’t reply. I keep staring at his bound arms, settled above his groin. It’s not my fantasy, but it’s close enough. Need slowly unfurls inside me. It’s different—I’m different—but it’s also the same. There’s only one man who can make me wet just by breathing, tied up or not.

  “What if I don’t want to free you?”

  He inhales sharply, muscles bunching. “Don’t tease unless you plan to follow through.”

  Follow through.

  Like I’ve been doused with cold water, I come to my senses. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe…” I drop my head into my hands. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay,” he says gently. “The way you looked at me, even if it was just for a moment… It means more to me than you can possibly know.”

  I nod helplessly; there’s no use denying it.

  The familiar sound of rope sliding brings my head up. My eyes widen as Liam unravels the last knot from his wrist.

  I gawk. “What the hell?”

  He smiles slightly, eyes warm and crinkled at the edges. “Now you’ll always know that when the knots are yours, I’m choosing to be bound.”

  I have no idea how to respond, so I don’t.

  Liam coils the rope and walks across the cabin to pack it away in his duffel. He then rummages behind the bar and returns with a sandwich and a cold bottle of sparkling water. He hands them both to me.

  “Eat, then sleep.”

  I smirk tiredly. “Sounds familiar.” But I take the offering and thank him when he brings me a blanket and pillow.

  The window shades are now all pulled, the sky black with night. Our destination, Rarotonga on Cook Islands, is six hours ahead of Los Mochis. We’re chasing the future. Strangely apropos.

  Despite it being only 5 p.m. in Los Mochis, I’m tired. So freaking tired. My eyelids are dragging south, my consciousness unraveling. Maybe it’s the hours of working knots, or the champagne nap, or the last two months of brutal training finally catching up.

  Maybe it’s all catching up.

  I finish my sandwich—which is surprisingly good for airplane food—and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I come out, the cabin is mostly dark, only a reading light on over Liam’s head.

  I drag my feet to my seat and push the little button until it’s fully reclined. Crawling on top takes the last of my strength. I’m out before my head hits the pillow.

  “Bullshit.”

  At first, Liam’s voice slides at the edges of my dreams. As he continues speaking, however, I shift swiftly from sleep to alertness. His voice is low and tense, his words chilling.

  “This isn’t a bloody joke. Why would I fucking joke about this? She has to be stopped. If you won’t do it, I will.” A ten-second pause. “This is a courtesy call, nothing more or less. I’m coming for Christopher and Alexis. If you stand with them, then I’m coming for you, too.”

  There’s a long silence. I think he’s hung up, but then he explodes, “What! You motherfucking—” There’s another pause, then a violent thud as the phone is thrown to the floor.

  I open my eyes and sit up. It takes me a few seconds to find Liam in the darkness. He’s standing at the back of the plane, arms braced above him on the wall opposite the bathroom.

  “Who was that?” I ask, even though I have a good idea.

  “Maddoc. He said he had no knowledge of your capture and captivity. Says he didn’t order it. He also doesn’t believe it happened.”

  The last tendrils of sleep clear from my mind. “How did you even—never mind, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care how or why you called him. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything’s changed.” His tone is soft, almost gentle.

  Foreboding tickles my spine. I brace myself. “What is it, Liam?”

  “He has Elizabeth.”

  No. No. No.
<
br />   I lurch to my feet, adrenaline flooding my limbs. “Oh my God. If she tells them…” I can’t even finish, the prospect too horrible.

  Liam nods. “Then we’re in a race to the money.”

  I square my shoulders with confidence I don’t feel. “She won’t break. She won’t.”

  His eyes lift, find mine. “Everyone breaks.”

  “You didn’t. You never told your father where your mother was.”

  He laughs, low and mirthless. “How do you think he eventually found her? Luck? Oh no, little siren, before I fled Ireland, I broke. It took an axe over my wrists. I saved my hands instead of my mother.”

  The truth stuns me, but also propels me across the cabin. I curl my fingers around his shoulder. He shudders but I don’t let go.

  “You still kept her safe all those years. Even if he knew where she was, you kept her safe.”

  His arms lower, dislodging my touch as he steps back from the wall. Where we stand, there’s little light. I can’t read his expression.

  “You didn’t break,” he whispers.

  My heart flutters in my throat. “No, I didn’t. But like you said, I would have.”

  “You would have confessed where the money is, maybe, but not the other.”

  Him. Would I have given him up to Chris? Confessed that he found witnesses to incriminate Alexis and Chris, gave the USB stick to the FBI? That he dealt with the diamonds and set up the bank account? Would I have risked putting him at the top of the Donnelly hit-list to save myself pain?

  His knuckles graze my jaw. “You don’t have to speak. I know. I feel it,” he lifts his other hand to his chest, “here.”

  I breathe in. I breathe out. Yes. Yes, I would have died for him. And God help me, I still would.

  “Will this ever be over?” I ask, and my voice is small and lost.

  Liam steps forward, wrapping me in his arms. I melt against him, giving myself fully to the strength and safety he offers.

  “Yes.”

  I believe him.

  One way or another, this is ending.

  64

  Never have I seen anything as breathtaking and serene as the view now before me. Beyond the wooden railing of the deck, a white-tiled lap pool sparkles, framed by palms and walkways bordered by spongey grass. Past the pool and a low stone wall lies a placid turquoise lagoon, hugged by dense foliage and white-sand beaches until it meets the deep-blue expanse of the open sea.