Page 83 of The Chief
He stepped closer, and I could now smell the whiskey on his breath. “You will. I’ve waited far too long to have her back. She’s mine. I saw her first.”
There was more to the story than I knew. Molly shifted beside me, and I stiffened as she stepped out from the protection of my body and turned toward Owen. His greedy eyes darted to her.
“Finally come to your senses, kitten?”
I bristled at the use of the nickname. Molly peered back at me, the moonlight catching on the tears sitting in her eyes. She mouthed something that looked a hell of a lot like ‘trust me’, but I wasn’t in the habit of being rescued.
“I’ll give you what you want, Owen. But onlyifyou let him walk out of here unharmed.”
Chapter 25
Molly
One Hour Earlier…
The Rover’s taillights had barely disappeared when Owen wrapped his hand around my waist, pulling me toward him. I stumbled back a step, trying to move away when his other hand came to rest on my hip, pinning me to his front. Thank god I’d slipped my phone from the front pocket of my hoodie into the Rover before Owen, or his lackey, could find it. I’d known about the tracking app that Keir had tried to hide. That he would use it to find me. My safety didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was keeping Orla safe, and I had done that.
Now, I was left with the devil.
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time together, kitten, but I can’t wait.” He brushed the loose tendrils of my hair away from my face, nuzzling the side of my neck. “I need to claim you. Need to taste what I’ve been dreaming about for the last nine years.”
He spun me, pressing his mouth to mine in a claiming kiss. My stomach clenched, and I resisted the urge to claw at his face. I had to be smart. I had to bide my time. Neither man had found my phone, nor the knife at my ankle. I wanted it to stay that way, because that blade was my only advantage.
So, I took the assault on my mouth like I did most things. Enduring it. Tolerating it with the knowledge it would soon be over. Owen gripped my jaw, squeezing the joint near my ear, forcing my mouth to open wider. Pain speared through me as his fingers dug in, and I relented, opening to him. His tongue licked inside, coercing me to join in, but I resisted.
With a dissatisfied grunt, he pulled back, glaring at me. “Come now, kitten. At least try.”
He kissed me again, and this time, I relaxed into the kiss a little more. There was nothing wrong with how he kissed, but I’d grown accustomed to Keir’s mouth on mine. To his possessive grip. I could hardly believe I’d only been in his orbit for less than a week, but when you’d experienced the things we had, it felt fitting. It felt right.
“That’s more like it, kitten. How about we go inside, and I can experience your mouth on my cock first-hand, rather than watching it on a screen.” His mouth slipped up into a slimy smile. “Keir put on quite a show in my father’s receiving room. Got me fucking hard watching you submit to him. All I could think while he was pumping into your mouth was how I wished it was my cock you were choking on. That it wasmycum you were swallowing.”
Bile burned up the back of my throat as shame colored my cheeks. He’d seen us. He’d watched. Humiliation was a point-blank shot through my chest.
Owen tugged on my arm, dragging me inside the farmhouse. As expected, it was dark, but it wasn’t falling down around us and the rooms I caught a glimpse of were barren and dark. He pushed me ahead of him up the stairs, and when I reached the landing on the top floor, I could see a bathroom with a separate toilet directly in front of me, and two bedrooms to my left. Owen placed his hand between my shoulder blades and directed me to the first bedroom.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, my heart pounding against my ribcage when I saw what was inside.
“Do you like it?” he asked, curling his fingers around my hip and resting his chin on my shoulder like we were lovers, and he’d set up a romantic picnic for us to share.
But it wasn’t a picnic I was seeing. Before me stood a replica of my childhood bedroom. The same one where Brian came for me. The same room where he took my innocence away. Every minute detail was captured, from the pale pink bedspread with white flowers to the dresser with my hairbrush and hair ties. The metallic damask wallpaper and orange shag carpet had the same worn patches as my old bedroom. He had a small desk with a notebook and colored markers, and the same straight-backed chair my mother had picked off the street one garbage collection day. It had blue flowers painted on it; she’d said they’d reminded her of my eyes. It had been, perhaps, the only thoughtful thing she’d done for me after my father had died.
My muscles froze as I took it all in, my gaze finally stopping on the bloody baseball bat propped against my nightstand. Owen’s fingers tightened and his erection prodded my ass as we stared at the eerie memento. He let out a soft moan, flexing his hips against me.
“Look familiar, kitten? I got it back for you.”
“The bat?” I asked in a barely audible whisper.
He hummed. “My dad has the Garda Commissioner in his pocket, and I had some dirt about his affair with a hooker.”
Blood pounded in my ears, the frenetic pulse making it hard to focus. “You stole it from evidence?”
He smirked. “I removed all record of your crime. For you, kitten.” He rounded my body, and my eyes dipped to his obscene erection before jumping back to his face. “I’ve fantasized about fucking you in here, but there’s another room I want you to see first.”
He left, almost giddily high, while I stayed behind, unable to believe what I saw. The detail with which he managed to replicate my life was beyond what I thought was possible. Had he studied the photos from the investigation? I had no doubt the Garda had cataloged everything in the house. But I had a feeling I knew what else he had replicated, and the more I fawned over it, the longer it would be before he finally did something with his raging hard on for me and my murderous past.
I found Owen in the other bedroom, and just as I suspected, he’d reconstructed Orla’s room from nine years ago. Her room had mirrored mine, except there was no desk and chair. In its place was a toy chest overflowing with stuffed animals and dolls. All second-hand from the charity shop, of course, but overflowing all the same. The same shag carpeting. The same style of bed and lamp on her nightstand.
Owen truly was a psychopath.
