Chapter Seventeen - Molly
I stand absolutely still, listening to his fading footsteps as he walks away. He’s crazy. Insane. What to do?
- Run. Any man who would drug a woman, take her home, wash her off in the shower and then dress her up like some doll—well, I don’t have a strong enough word for how goddamned creepy that is.
- Go meet him. Because any man who does all those things just to keep a secret… yeah. That’s some secret he has.
- That fucking cave.
It’s all coming back to me. The gate in the side of the mountain. The dark tunnel with the red running lights. The… lab? Holographic woman? Guns.
I swallow hard. I’m not new to danger. Hell, I cut my teeth on things far more dangerous than standing in a hedge maze at night with a creep. But… he’s so very, very creepy. Serial killer kind of creepy.
I shudder and look down at my gun. I do have this. And if I don’t go meet him then I’ll have to try to backtrack my way out of this damn maze. I can still hear voices—people might be in the maze. But will they find me and let me follow them out? It’s a lot larger than I originally thought. I counted the longest path and it was forty-two steps. And that wasn’t even the entire length of one side.
I could scream and someone would come rescue me. But how the hell would I show my face at work tomorrow?
So… I walk forward and take the first right, go past the second alcove, and then turn right again.
And simple as you please, there I am. Standing in the center of the maze.
“What a letdown, huh?” bike boy says from the other side of a huge statue of a satellite dish. It’s fifteen feet in diameter and mounted on a pedestal ten feet high. Spotlights on the ground point up at it, highlighting the greenish copper patina.
“I expected more from Thomas. A Greek god or something. A fucking minotaur, maybe. But this piece of shit?” He stops looking at the disappointing sculpture and drags his gaze to meet mine. “He’s let me down before, though. So what’s new?”
“You know Mr. Brooks?” Brooks doesn’t look like the kind of guy who hangs around serial killers. But then again… I have no idea. God, I wish I knew the people of this town better. Having no history sucks.
“Damn,” bike boy says. “I didn’t get a chance to look at you inside.” And then he looks me up and down like he’s a wolf and wants to eat me up.
I swallow down the apprehension I have about being alone with this man in the middle of a giant puzzle and start with the basics. “What’s your name? And why did you… do all those terrible things to me?”
He gives me half a smile. And when I say half a smile, I mean only half there. Like he’s at war with himself and good and evil are the same thing. “How much do you remember?”
“Most of it leading up to the…” I was just about to say kiss. I grunt and shake my head. “Drugs. What were they? Memory inhibitors, obviously. But what exactly? So I know whether you’ve damaged me permanently in some way.”
“Well, obviously”—he laughs, repeating my own word—“I’m not telling you that. I’m not telling you anything, in fact. If you want to know, well, Detective, you’re gonna have to put in a little more effort. Come find me. You made me that promise and I’m gonna hold you to it.”
“I did find you,” I remind him, spreading my arms wide. “And what makes you think you’re going anywhere but jail tonight?”
“Jail for what? You have evidence?” He takes a step forward and I have to force myself not to instinctively step back at his approach.
“I’m sure I could muster some up.”
“Aha,” he says, tsking his tongue and pointing a black-gloved finger at me. “I see you’re catching on already. If the CCPD doesn’t have any evidence that’s what they generally do. Just muster some up. Well, I’ve got a pretty good lawyer, gun girl. So take your best shot.”
Gun girl. “In this case it would be true. I don’t need to fake it.”
All this time he’s still inching closer and everything in my body says to run. Run, run, run. As far away from this man as I can get. But the fight in me doesn’t give up so easy. The fight in me likes to stand and give it my best. The fight in me can be stupid at times.
“So arrest me, gun girl. Is that who you are? Their gun girl?” He winks. “Or mine?”
“I’m no one’s girl.”
He smiles a charming smile, his eyes bright with possibilities. “You sure about that?”
“Why come here tonight? Feeling guilty? You’re some kind of psycho who wants to play a game? Am I your opponent? Do you really want to play with me? Because I assure you—”
And then here he is. Right in front of me. Standing so tall and ominous, I have to look up and take a gulp of air.
“Who says I’m playing?” His face is shadowed, but I can picture his features. That unruly dark hair, wet from the rain. The cold wind whipping it up around his face. His equally dark eyes with that spark of amber in them. His lips, brushing against my neck in that cave. His breath, tickling me and fooling me into thinking he wasn’t going to hurt me.
Scary, creepy fucking guy. Yeah, he’s got serial killer written all over him. So why are you still standing here talking to him?
He’s tall, and I feel so small looking up at him, so I lower my eyes. His suit is tailored to perfection so that the white shirt under his jacket pulls across his chest, revealing hard muscles underneath.
He reaches up and I flinch, look back up at his face. This makes him smile. I force myself to stand absolutely still as he rests the back of his gloved knuckles against my cheek and then sweeps them downward. “I love the dress, Molly.”
Jesus Christ. He’s coming on to me. “Why did you come here?”
“And I love what’s underneath it too.”
I grab his wrist and twist my body, ready to throw him over my shoulder, but he grabs me by the waist and twirls me around—pressing his chest into my back, holding me close as he whispers in my ear. I freeze. The memory of that kiss back in his cave is the only thing on my mind.
“I’ve missed you more than you will ever know.”
“Let go of me,” I snarl, turning my body. But he grabs both of my wrists and pins them to my stomach.
“Tell me what happened that night.”
“You drugged me!”
“No, gun girl. That other night.”
“What other night?” Jesus. Has he done this to me before?
He lets go of my hands, twirls me around again, and then pushes me up against the cold stone pedestal, repositioning his hands on either side of my head and boxing me in. I can smell the leather from his gloves. I can feel the beat of his heart as he presses his chest against mine. I can hear the soft in-and-out breath of air as he maintains control.
I could get away right now if I wanted. I could knee him in the balls, grab his head and bang it down on my knee, and run back into the maze, screaming for help.
The problem is, I stay right where he puts me.
His hand glides down the curve of my neck and then he plays with a wisp of hair that fell down. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“I didn’t fuck you last weekend, but I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.”
I push him back with a two-handed shove to his chest and slap his face. Hard. The crack of my hand against his cheek echoes, and a girl laughs from somewhere in the maze. “Don’t talk to me that way, asshole.”
He just smiles, even as a red handprint forms on his face. “Never say never.”
“And if you call me gun girl one more time—”
“You’ll what?” he challenges, staring down into my eyes with such a glare, I have to look away.
“Just tell me what you want,” I say. My heart is beating so fast now.
“I just did,” he whispers, leaning down into my neck and tickling me with his breath as his words travel across my skin. “I want to fuck you. And I want to do it right now. Before we go any further. Before I tell you anything else. Before you have a chance to change your mind.”
“You are some piece of work,” I say, dragging my eyes back to meet his. His gaze is so intense, it makes me want to hide. “You’re crazy if you think I’m even considering it.”
“You’re right. You’re not considering it. You’ve already agreed or you’d be out of here. You’d be running away as fast as your pretty feet could take you. You’d be screaming for those people in the maze to help you. You’d be gone, Molly Masters.”
He tugs the skirts of my dress up my thigh.
I swallow hard again, and a moan comes out of my mouth.
“Give in tonight, Molly. And I’ll give in tomorrow.”
“What’s that mean? Why do you have to talk in riddles? Just tell me what the fuck is going on.” My words come out as a hoarse whisper and I look at the ground. And I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t turning me on. This alpha shit. I should hate it. I should rail against it. Slap him again and walk off. Walk straight the fuck out of here with my head up.
But I can’t say that’s how I feel, because I don’t.
“Hold your skirts up and find out.”
I force myself to look up. His eyes are not bright with mischief. They are dark, and cold, and commanding. And his lips aren’t curled up in some playful smile. They are straight, slightly parted. And I can see his tongue doing a little dance inside his mouth, like he’s thinking very hard about something. His hand leaves the wall and he drops the soft fabric of my silk skirts so he can place both leather-clad palms on my cheeks. Gently. And this is the only gentle thing about him right now. Because he scares the fuck out of me.
“Do it,” he says, his mouth finding mine. His lips pressing into an unbreakable kiss. His hands caressing my skin. His body moving forward, his knee taking position between my legs. “Lift those skirts, Molly,” he says, his words tumbling against my tongue. “Let me slip my hand between your legs and play a little. Let’s have a good time tonight and forget that it’s all gonna come crashing down tomorrow.”
“I don’t—”
“Please,” he says. The word is so soft. So filled with longing, and regret, and emotion. It reminds me of that friend of his while we were dancing. His plea makes me want to obey. Against my will, I try to convince myself. But it’s a lie. There is something on the tip of my tongue. Like my brain has been keeping secrets and they’re about to explode out of me. So I reach down, grab a fistful of silk tulle and I give him what he needs.
Permission.
His mouth is suddenly hungry and crushing. His tongue dances inside me. One hand leaves my face and goes to his belt and I hike my skirts up even more, exposing the bare skin of my leg. The brisk air flows upward, making my pussy tingle with anticipation. His belt buckle drops away, and he tugs on his zipper just before he presses his hard cock against my hip.
I push forward, making him groan with the pressure against his hard-on. “Do it, then,” I whisper. “Just do it. Before someone comes.” The voices of other couples in the maze are louder, but there’s no way for me to tell how close they are to finding the center. Or finding me here, doing this with him.
He grabs my skirts, the sudden force enough to make me gasp with surprise, and then he reaches between my legs and pulls my panties aside, just enough to slip a gloved finger inside me. “Open your legs wider, Molly.”
Just hearing his gruff voice say my name sends my mind spinning. Why? Why is he making me feel this way?
But that thought disappears as soon as the pressure inside me turns to pleasure. I obey his last command like I’m that computer thing in his cave. Forced to do his bidding. At his beck and call and under his spell.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, his cock—full, and hard, and throbbing just like my pussy—replaces his finger and I moan. Loudly. “Oh, God.”
“Shhh.” He laughs. And that laugh twists the whole thing around from forbidden and terrifying to reckless and tantalizing.
“I want to fuck you in the open,” he says. “Right here under these spotlights. With all those high-society fucks two hundred feet away, oblivious to what’s coming. All paranoid and pathetic, wondering what we’re going to do next. And if you make noise, Molly, I’ll have to drag your trembling and aching body over into the shadows and that would ruin everything.”
“Oh, God,” I say again.
“You don’t want me to ruin everything, do you?”
I shake my head as I stare up into his eyes. He grips my waist like he never wants to let go. He rocks against me, pressing me so hard up against the cold pedestal, I can feel the roughness of the stones embedded in the concrete.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he says, fisting my hair with one hand until my head jerks up. “And look at me when I fuck you.”
I lift my leg and his other hand is there helping. I wrap myself up against the hard, defined muscles of his stomach and around his hips just as he thrusts inside me.
“Fuck,” he growls, biting my earlobe. “They’re getting closer. Two more right turns and they’re gonna find us. And if you think I’ll stop, you don’t know me very well. So come for me, Molly. Come for me and say my name in my ear as you do it.”
“What—”
“Lincoln,” he whispers. “My name is Lincoln. Say it. I need to hear you say it.”
He pounds against me. A hand finds my breast, squeezing it like we are on the verge of something. His mouth finds my neck, and he takes the soft skin between his teeth and gives it a sharp nip. I gasp and he releases, sucking replacing the bite, until I have to give in and just let it happen.
I moan his name in his ear. “Lincoln,” I say.
“Again,” he commands. “Say it again.”
“Lincoln,” I breathe. “I’m coming.”
“Again,” he says, over and over. “I want to do this again.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like a tsunami. My back arches, my head pushing against the hard concrete behind me, his hands roaming all over my body, like he’s desperate for more.
He pulls out, just as I realize he never got off.
“But—”
“They’re here. Ten steps away,” he says, dropping my skirts and backing off. I want to cling to him now. Cling and never let go.
But he tucks his cock away and buckles his belt as he makes a hasty backwards retreat. “Go that way,” he says, pointing to an opening in the hedge. “Right, left, two rights, and then two lefts. Find me, gun girl. I have a lot to tell you.” He turns, then turns back, grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his chest. “And Molly,” he says, his soft words and his intense stare doing amazing things to my still trembling body. “When you find me, Molly”—he hesitates and draws in a breath—“when you really find me, I’ll dress you up in pretty lingerie every night and fuck you senseless until the end comes and takes you away.”
I feel like I might faint.
He releases me and takes off into the shadows.
The laughing couples make it into the center, but they are on the other side of the statue, so I slip into the hedge the way he pointed.
I run on the stone pavers, lifting my skirts, my lungs desperate for air as my heart pounds with each footfall. After a few minutes I find myself on the far side of the maze.
I gulp down air, wondering what the fuck just happened. And then I make myself walk slowly so I can catch my breath. Try to process. Come to terms with what I did.
I look for him out in the courtyard in front of the maze, but he’s nowhere to be found. Not inside either, after I climb the stairs and rejoin the party. I’m just about to go find Seville and tell him to take over so I can go home, because I feel like I might collapse, when I spy Atticus Montgomery. He’s been looking for me, I can tell by his expression. He smiles and walks over, his hand outstretched.
Pull yourself together, Molly.
“Detective Masters. For a while there I thought you ditched me.”
“No, sorry,” I say, placing my hand over my still pounding heart. “I was out in the maze and got turned around.”
“Ah,” he says, eyeing me for a moment. “Well, let me calm you down with a drink. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me over to the bar where there are tables set up. “I have something to show you.”
It seems to be a recurring theme. But I let him lead me. The alpha males of Cathedral City have definitely overpowered me tonight. And I don’t have a speck of fight left in me at the moment.
Once we’re settled with drinks, Atticus leans in and says, “There’s another clue I didn’t give you.”
“What?” I look around to see if anyone is listening. “What do you mean?”
“I found something on the desk of the first suicide and I didn’t want the wrong people to see it.”
“Define the wrong people,” I say, weary of riddles and unable to think straight.
He doesn’t answer that question, just pulls out a slip of paper and places it on the table between us.
“What is it?”
“A red letter A?” he says, as if unsure.
“Right. I can see that.” I look up at him. “But what’s it mean? Do you think it’s an unfinished anarchy sign? Like the symbol carved on the last body?”
Atticus smiles at me and it comes off a little sad. Like he’s disappointed in me for some reason. “I’m not sure,” he replies. “I didn’t think it meant anything when I took it. But I thought you should know.”