Cold Sight (23 page)

When he finished lashing the man’s hands together, Aidan finally looked over at her. Their eyes met and locked. His were slate-gray and livid, fury etched on his handsome face. Remote and cold, he looked more than capable of ripping apart the man who’d attacked her, or anyone else who happened to get a little too close.

She would not have imagined it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, given his usual calmness and intellect. But right now, Aidan looked utterly primal, as capable of brutal violence as any embattled soldier.

As their long stare continued, the bloodlust began to leave him. She saw the movements of his chest slow as he took a few deep, calming breaths. Then he slowly rose to his feet. Not sparing a single disdainful glance at the man on the ground, he walked toward her. With each long stride, his anger seemed to further melt away. As his gaze moved over her—the tangled hair, the probably bruised throat—his rage was replaced by almost tangible tenderness. Protectiveness. As if they were much closer than either of them would have believed possible.

The dreams
.

He was treating her like a lover, enraged for her, fighting for her. Now wanting only to see for himself that she was really all right.

When he reached her, he didn’t pause, didn’t slow in his steps. He merely walked right into her, putting his strong arms around her shoulders and drawing her tightly against his chest.

“You’re okay,” he whispered as he tenderly stroked her back. “You’re fine. You’re safe, Lex. I’ve got you.”

She slid her arms around his waist, burrowing tighter against him, certain she had never felt more secure in her entire adult life. They had barely touched before now—except in her dreams. But stepping into this man’s embrace was like trying on something new and discovering it was exactly what you most needed and had been seeking your whole life. They just fit.

His heart thudded against her chest, and they were so close her lips brushed against his warm neck. Aidan’s spicy scent filled each breath and their bodies molded together, softness melting into hardness, until they were like one person standing in the alleyway.

Lexie let it happen, took the silent comfort he was offering and lost herself in it. It had been a long time, so very long, since she’d leaned on anyone, or felt anything other than completely and totally on her own. For years, she had relied on only herself. She’d been proud and determined, certain she was up to any challenge and while it was nice to have other people around, she hadn’t let herself need them.

That was all well and good, and she’d done a fine job of living that way. Until today. When she’d been shown that things could get really ugly, really fast, and she wasn’t always able to take care of them all on her own. Sometimes, she really did need someone else.

Funny, though. It suddenly felt it wasn’t him hauling that beast off her that she’d so needed. It was this: this moment, this embrace, this connection. Having a welcoming pair of arms to step into and a strong hand on her back, a powerful heart beating against her and his voice whispering tender reassurances.

This was what she’d most needed.

She knew Aidan was every bit as affected. There was no reserve, no stiffness. He held nothing back. Gone was the strong sense of self-protection that usually kept him from getting too close to anyone. He’d thrown off all restraints. Inviting all the trouble and anxiety that touching anyone could cause, he’d not only touched her, he’d imprinted himself on every inch of her and didn’t seem to care one damn bit that he might suffer for it later.

“It’s all right, angel,” he murmured.

The truth washed over her and rather than sucking in a shocked breath, she could only sigh as she acknowledged it was true. This mysterious man had shared her dreams. Because in them, while making the most erotic, intense love to her, he’d called her that. Angel.

She tilted her head back to look up at him, getting a little lost in the blue-gray channels to his soul, and whispered, “It was real.”

He shook his head once. “No. It was just a dream, Lexie.”

“But you were there? You were part of it?”

He hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I was there. Not intentionally, I promise you, but yeah. I experienced it, too.”

Mortification should have flooded her. She should have at least looked away to try to collect her thoughts and figure out how to deal with something so blatantly embarrassing. Or maybe she should have gotten indignant, worried about her loss of privacy. She could have made a joke, slapped his face, run away, anything.

She did none of those. Instead, she rose up on her tip-toes and lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck, twining her fingers in his hair. His eyes widened, as if he had been expecting some other reaction. Maybe an hour ago, he would have gotten one. But not now, not when she’d had a brush with danger that had reminded her of just how alone—and how lonely—she had been for so long. Embarrassment and privacy were one thing, but needing physical connection, and wanting it from a man who’d excited her beyond belief from the moment they’d met, meant a hell of a lot more.

“Aidan?” Lexie smiled at him. “I’m glad you were there.”

Without saying another word, she lightly brushed her lips across his, a first kiss that wasn’t their first—one that was much more demure than those they’d shared in the richness of her heated imagination.

She didn’t intend for it to be more and would have let herself drop back down after that brief meeting of their mouths. But she couldn’t. Aidan’s arms tightened around her and he held her up.

They shared a breath. Then he kissed her back.

Lexie closed her eyes and savored the connection. This wasn’t a quick brush of lips. Yet they didn’t engage in a kiss of deep, hungry passion like they’d shared in her dreams. Instead, it was a sweet joining that asked questions and made promises, a kiss of familiarity and longing. His mouth tasted familiar—warm and welcoming. And his tenderness revealed far more than words ever could have about how glad he was that she hadn’t been hurt.

In another place, at another time, without an audience, it would have deepened. Feeling a low, insistent hunger rising inside her, Lexie knew how much she wanted it to. But they were not alone and the circumstances were less than ideal. So they finally ended the encounter on a mutual sigh.

Aidan let her down, but he didn’t step away immediately. Rubbing a thumb across her cheek he whispered, “I’m glad, too.”

A sharp trill of a siren suddenly echoed down the alley and they both realized this was over, for now. It was time to get serious again, time to deal with what had happened to her, and to utilize the information she’d gained this morning.

And time to focus on all the realities she’d totally ignored while indulging in a first real embrace with the man of her dreams.

Saturday, 12:25 p.m.

“Do you feel better now, dearest?”

Vonnie didn’t answer right away, not wanting him to realize how alert and aware she was of what was going on around her. After having left her alone since last night, the monster had returned an hour ago—she’d heard a car pull up outside. Now that he wasn’t drugging her, she was much more aware of what was going on, and was able to prepare herself for his arrival.

He’d come in, offering her another energy drink through a straw. Then, apparently convinced by her apathy and listlessness that she wasn’t much of a threat, he’d gone a step farther. He’d actually cut the tape away from her entire mouth, ripping it off her cheeks. Judging by the pain, he’d taken some skin along with it. But she hadn’t cared. She could breathe—really breathe—at last. The air was dank and stale, reeking, but she drew in deep mouthfuls of it, absolutely delighted, though careful not to show just how panicked the taped mouth had made her. Because then he’d just put it back on.

“Ahh, feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, a smile in his high-pitched voice to match the one on his awful, cheerful mask.

“Yeah, thanks,” she muttered, knowing he expected gratitude.

He patted her head, like she was some kind of dog. “You should have told me yesterday was your birthday,” he said, reproaching her. “I might have taken it off then, as a special gift from me to you.”

Her birthday. Her last one, she had no doubt.

He reached for a bowl of water and a rag and began wiping the blood off her cheeks. Working carefully, he acted like he actually gave a damn whether he hurt her or not, which was funny since he’d caused every one of her injuries.

“Poor little girl,” he cooed.

The man was insane. One minute murderous, the next nurturing. But always underneath the surface was utter insanity.

His mood seemed good—as good as a psychotic killer’s mood could be, she supposed. Since his return, he’d been chuckling and muttering about how grand a time he’d had at the football game. How much fun it had been, how entertaining. And how much she’d been missed.

Yeah, sure. Her own mother probably wouldn’t notice she was gone until the first of the month when she came scratching for Vonnie’s paycheck so she could pay the rent.

She couldn’t contain the bitterness, thinking that her eighteenth birthday had arrived, and she wouldn’t be able to finally flip her mother the finger and move into a place of her own.

“I think I’ll sit with you awhile,” he said once he’d finished cleaning the blood off her cheeks. “If you’re good, I might let you get up and use the potty. You must really need it.”

If she had anything left in her that could feel embarrassment, maybe she would have, since he knew she’d been chained flat on her back for days and was just taunting her. Funny, though, embarrassment was long gone. Survival was the only thing that remained.

She didn’t reveal those thoughts. The fact that he wasn’t leaving the small cell right away didn’t terrify her, it gave her hope. Having had a couple of days to heal, to clear her mind, Vonnie knew the only way to escape death was to trick him into making some kind of mistake.

If he unchained her so she could use the makeshift toilet, maybe she could find some kind of a weapon. He couldn’t do that from the other side of the door. And he
wouldn’t
do it if he thought she didn’t appreciate it, so she mustered up a weak smile and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, shall we talk a little?”

She tensed. Talk could be dangerous. Since figuring out what he’d meant about her “pleasing” him, she hadn’t been sure if she should let him know she remembered. Would that heighten his concerns, make him worry she might be able to identify him? She doubted she’d be able to, not unless she heard that hateful, squeaky voice he used around her, and she knew it wasn’t his regular one.

Hell, maybe if he pulled down his pants she’d have a clue. Then again, one disgusting prick looked just like any other, and the night he was referring to, she’d been forced to endure the sight of a whole lot of them. Just like now, the faces of the monsters had been hidden; the vile men had worn black hoods. And nothing else.

“Have you ever heard of Snow White and Rose Red?”

She almost sighed in relief. Fairy tales. Okay, she could deal with his damned fairy tales. He could invent a story about Santa Claus cannibalizing his elves and it would be a whole lot better than thinking about that other night—the night she’d become a member of the club.

“Well, have you heard about those evil girls, Vonnie?”

Hearing the tone that said he was growing irritated, she cleared her throat. “No.”

He
tsk
ed. “Well, it’s not as popular a story as some. Though I’ve always liked it.”

Probably because he was about to tell her his version of the tale, in which two girls got gang raped and gutted at a biker bar.

“My mother used to read it to me sometimes when I was lying right there in that spot and my stepfather was raping me. Oh, she did like to read bedtime stories, especially when she was drunk.”

Vonnie hated this man. She loathed him with every fiber of her being. But something inside her twisted a little, a purely instinctive, human reaction to whatever must have happened to him as a boy to turn him into the adult monster he had become.

“Do you know what made me think of it?”

“What?”

His dark brown eyes sparkled behind the mask and she had the feeling if he removed it, she’d see a smile as wide as the phony plastic one. “I’m going to have my own version of it!” He clapped his hands together. “Right here in my secret hideaway. My own Rose Red”—he playfully pointed a finger at her—“and a Snow White who will be joining us very shortly.”

Oh God
. She didn’t have to think about it, she knew exactly what he meant. He was going to kidnap another girl, bring somebody else into the pit with her. She gagged, unable to help it, and almost lost the liquid she’d been so happy to get a short time ago.

“Yes, I can see you’ve already figured it out. You’re going to have company, sweetie.” He rose from the chair, folding it and putting it against the wall. “I’ve never had two guests at once, so it might take a little getting used to for all of us. We’ll have to muddle through together.”

Vonnie couldn’t deny it—part of her felt a sudden rush of relief that soon she would no longer be alone in this awful nightmare. She’d have an ally. But a much bigger part wanted to scream in terror, to beg that unknown, faceless girl to run and hide while she still could.

“Won’t that be fun?”

Hot tears rose in her eyes. Though she blinked rapidly, she couldn’t stop them. They slid from the corners and streamed down her cheeks, wetting the rough pillow on which she lay.

“Oh, dear!” he said, rushing back over. “You’re crying! What is it? Are you jealous, pretty girl? Afraid you won’t get as much attention?”

Jealous?
Jealous?
The man was completely delusional.

Vonnie shook her head, asking him questions she hadn’t asked for several days. “Why? Why are you doing this? Why me? Why her?”

He stood above her, motionless, and she almost bit her tongue for speaking so coherently. Vonnie held her breath, counting the seconds, wondering if he was going to storm out and return with handfuls of white capsules, blue tablets, and little yellow pills. All of which would land in her empty stomach and send her flying, rendering her as useless as a butterfly riding a breeze.