Snare (Delirious book 1) (34 page)

The book she’s reading has her engrossed for the last couple of days now. She’s been reading non-stop ever since she visited the kid’s playroom. I’m glad she has found a way to escape reality. Recovering from her past trauma has been difficult. For days, she’s been somber, unable to fight even the slightest bit. I have to admit that I take pleasure in her resistance, and there isn’t much to dominate right now. It’s selfish, so I try not to think about it. It saddens me to see her this way—the fiery woman has now been reduced to a pile of ashes. She seems restless and tired at the same time, yawning and sighing a lot. From the corner of her eye, she watches me, and the camisole she’s wearing is an irresistible distraction. My cock can’t help but respond to the way she crosses her silky legs and raises her eyebrow at me, almost as if to tempt me.

But when she diverts her eyes, the moment is gone again, and I’m left with straining pants and an unruly cock dying to bury itself into her.

I try to concentrate on my book again, typing away on my laptop to get this thing done. I’ve been working on this piece ever since I picked up the pen in the Genesis Meeting Room. It’s the only way to turn my dreams into reality. Writing out my fantasies on paper gives me a certain … power streak. Like I’m invincible and this little bit of text, however small, will turn into a magnificent piece of art. An artwork meant to predict Genesis’ downfall.

She clears her throat, distracting me yet again.

“Yes, Miss Carrigan?” I mutter.

She closes her book. “Well … I was thinking. You said you’d take me out sometime, right?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

“I…” She bites her lip in such a provocative way; it would be hard for me to say no to whatever comes next. “I want to visit my home.”

I close my eyes and ponder about it for a second. “Fine.”

“Wait … just like that? You’re saying yes?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Because you normally neve
r
―
”

“Shh,” I interrupt, holding up my finger. “Say no more, I’ve heard enough. I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

“Maybe you just haven’t shown it to me yet,” she retorts, lifting an eyebrow.

I smile and sigh, shaking my head. “Well, time to show it to you then.” I get up and close my laptop. “Let’s go then.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now,” I say, grabbing her arm and picking her up from her seat. I fetch her coat and stand behind her as she lets the sleeves slide over her arm.

“But I’m not dressed yet.”

“No matter. I prefer it this way. You won’t get cold … and if you do, I’ll know what to do to get you hot as burning fire again.” I wink, making her flush before locking the cuffs to both our wrists again.

“Is this really necessary? I’m not going to run. It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

“Don’t see it as a method of restraint, but as a way to keep you close to me. I’ll be there to offer protection and support as well,” I muse.

“You have a way with words, Mister Brand.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the compliment, but you and I both know you simply want to rile me up.”

“No, I do mean it.” She gives me a tentative smile, one I wasn’t expecting. “But yes, I do enjoy riling you up.”

I smirk. “Maybe in more ways than one.”

The blush on her face makes me want to grab her and fuck her right now, but we have other plans that need tending. Besides, I would rather not deliberately fall for her, and fucking her right now would do just that. Making her hate me is the primary objective, and I’ll stick to that. Fucking should be a tool for that purpose and nothing else.

Accompanying Song:
“We Are Us” by Omniflux

After she tells me where she used to live, I take her outside the building and let her step into the car before I slide in beside her. She fiddles with her red hair while I admire her during the ride. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her beauty is enigmatic, and I doubt she sees it herself. Pain has clouded her view of this world, and it wounds me to think about the fact that I will only make it worse. Once my chauffeur has arrived at the train station, I step out of the car and help her get out, too. She purses her lips and freezes in the middle of the street. Gazing over my shoulder as to why she has completely stopped moving, I notice a certain dread emanating from her.

Cocking an eyebrow, I say, “C’mon.”

“No…” she mumbles.

“What’s wrong?”

“I …I …” She stumbles over her words.

“I’m not waiting all day.” I jerk on the cuffs, pulling her with me. “Now c’mon.”

I push forward relentlessly, while she keeps digging her feet into the ground, reluctantly letting me haul her with me. When I occasionally look back, she glowers at me. As we make our way into the main hall, her resistance increases. She grimaces and her eyes darken the moment she spots a train.

“No …” I turn around and see her shake her head. Her entire body is quivering, her lips twitching, and her fingers huddled close to each other. She clutches my arm and pulls me back. “Don’t go in there.”

“Why not? I was going to take you to your home, remember.”

“Not in there.”

“What’s the matter?”

She winces as the train starts to move. “Please, don’t…”

“If we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss the train.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps. “Let’s get out of here.” She attempts to pull me with her, but I remain rigid.

“No,” I say, jerking on the cuffs between us to pull her closer to me. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t … that … thing …” She gulps. Tears start forming in her eyes.

I smash my lips together and think. Something is really bothering her. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

“I don’t want help. I want to get out of here.” With her eyes, she begs me. “Please, can we get out of here? Go with the car instead?”

“I wanted you to enjoy the outdoors a little, but if that’s really what you want …”

She shivers. “Yes … I can’t stand being here any longer.” She furrows her brows. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I squint. “You know you’ll have to confront this someday.”

Sighing, she lowers her head. I cup her chin, making her look up at me. “But it won’t be today.”

The small smile appearing on her face lightens my day a little. Anything to make her happy. Although I know this will eventually make her hate me even more. Realizing that, an overwhelming sadness pours through my veins.

I clear my throat to get rid of it. “Well, let’s go then.”

She hooks her arm around mine. “Thank you, Mister Brand.”

It surprises me that she is thankful, and it makes me gloat a little. I quickly push away the feeling. It’ll only make it harder to say goodbye.

Woodstock, Connecticut – May 16
th
, 2013

When we reach her house, she stops in front of the backyard. She doesn’t open the wooden fence gate. She just stares at it, shivering. Placing my hand on her shoulder makes her jump up.

“Jesus.”

“No, it’s just me.” I chuckle.

She sighs loudly, lowering her head to gaze at her feet. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here …”

“Yes, which is why you must push on.”

“I know, but … it’s hard.” She tucks a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear. Truth is within her reach, but she won’t take the plunge. I understand. It’s frightening to know the depths of evil.

“Go on,” I say gently, nudging her. “You can do it. I’m here,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry; you’re safe. Now go on.”

Her hand reaches for the fence and pushes against the door. The creaking sound it makes is unsettling as it’s the only noise we hear. This place is abandoned, completely void of any happiness. I smell the fear, the dread the moment we step into the garden, the grass breaking underneath my feet. Her steps are slow, calculated, as if she’s afraid to step on something important. I guide her through the garden, never taking my eyes off her. We’re alone, and I’m the only one standing between her and freedom. The cuffs are off. She could leave and run at any moment, but I know she won’t. She wants to see this, to feel the memories as they replay over in her head. It’s the only way to accept it and move on.

The way she touches the wall sends shivers down my spine. Like she’s painting her visions onto the stones. How she tiptoes through the grass, avoiding certain spots on purpose, makes me believe she is watching it all play out in front of her.

There is nothing left of the scenes that took place here. No blood. No fur. No humans. There is nothing that sets this garden apart from any other garden in this neighborhood. It would almost make me think it’s all been in her head.

“How …” she mutters. “There’s nothing.”

“Maybe they cleaned it all up,” I say, looking around for any evidence.

“No … how is that possible? Wouldn’t it have been in the newspapers? I mean, the police should know about this, right? This can’t go unchecked.” She looks at me for answers, but I have none to give her. “Please tell me someone knows. That they’re looking for who did it.”

“I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know.”

“But you saved me!” She grasps my coat tight, her eyes almost bulging out of her head. “How can you not know? Tell me they’re going after whoever did this. Tell me they’ll find them!” She shakes me, and I pry her fingers off.

“Stop.” I grab her wrists and pull them away from me. “Stop, now. I did not come here to argue with you. I cannot tell you what the authorities are doing. I’m a curator, not a police officer.”

Her lips quiver. “But I can’t handle not knowing if …”

“If what?” I lift her chin. “If there will be justice?”

She nods, and I lean in, letting my forehead rest against hers. “I will make sure justice is served. Trust me that I’ll make them pay.”

She nods again, and I plant a kiss on her skin, softly dragging my lips down her face, along her nose, to her lips. There, I place a soft kiss on her lips. It seems to renew her energy, and it doesn’t take her long to smile again. It only stays for a single second before disappearing again, but I saw it. I saw what my kiss did to her, and I also saw how much it frightens her.

She pulls away and walks to the walls again, tracing a line from left to right with her finger. It haunts her, that which happened to her. But can I truly fix it? Can I really bring her justice? Or is it all in vain?

“I saw her … lying there,” she mutters, pointing to the grass ahead. “My mother.” Her finger circles around her chest. “She was covered in bullet wounds.”

I listen but don’t respond. This is the time for her to heal herself. To talk herself through the events that play out in her head.

“And my bunny … he was ripped to shreds. All around the garden.” Her hand makes a circle around the yard. “And there …” She points to a corner now, near the entrance to her home. “There were men there.” She steps closer, hunching, as if they’re still there. “And they spoke to me …”