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“And you never felt this way with MacNiall?”
“Never.” I shake my head. “He scared me at times, but it wasn’t… It’s hard to explain. He never made me feel less because I’m submissive, let alone a woman. What I gave to him, he treasured, every word and gesture and action. I gave him more than he asked for, because I liked it, and he tolerated it for me. He never took anything from me without my consent, and I never doubted that I could refuse and he’d immediately stop. I had safety with him that I’ve never known with anyone else.”
“But not with Rusk,” Matheson says quietly.
“No.”
“Duly noted. So how can you tell that note didn’t come from MacNiall? Other than the pet name?”
“We had two major scenes. The biting scene and—”
“Hold on a sec. You only had sex two times with MacNiall?”
I snort. “Yeah, no, we had lots of sex. But we only did two hardcore BDSM scenes. We didn’t play like that every single time he touched me.” I have a feeling that Matheson’s blushing. Evidently she’s learning way more about BDSM than she expected. “The first time, he bit me. The second time, he was upset, even angry, when he looked at the bite marks on me. He said they weren’t his. That he hated them, even though he loved how they looked on me.”
“The bites weren’t his,” Matheson says slowly. “His mark? His signature?”
“Exactly. I asked what he’d rather do.” I take a deep breath and gather my courage. “He wanted to cut me.”
“You didn’t let him.”
“I did. He cut his mark into me. Did any of your other victims have any cut marks on them?”
“No, none. Why the hell didn’t you say any of this last night?”
“Rusk.” I shiver again, wrapping my arms around myself. “I didn’t want him to know that about me. That I’d be willing to go that far.”
“What did he cut on you and where?”
Closing my eyes, I trace the shape on my thigh, though I can’t feel it beneath my jeans. My body remembers exactly where those healing cuts are. “The number two, on my thigh.”
“A two? Why?”
“It’s a poem. ‘The Second Coming’ by Yeats.”
“That’s different. I’ll have to look it up and see if it gives us any more clues.” Matheson pauses a moment, as if her mind is racing a mile a minute. “You really don’t think MacNiall is our guy.”
“No. I don’t. He’s scary. He’s dangerous. When I told him that Tasker grabbed my arm…” I bite my lip, afraid I’ve said too much. I have to remember she’s here to put Charlie behind bars. She isn’t my friend or confidante.
“He got angry, huh?”
“He said he’d kill anyone who hurt me.”
“So who wants to hurt you, Miss Killian? Why would he bite you, leaving that telltale mark for us to find, and then abandon you?”
I shrug, then stand up so I can pace. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t think he’d hurt you.”
“Not likethat. He did hurt me. He cut me. He bit me. I’ve still got bruises. But it was consensual, all the way. He never did anything to me until I fully understood what he wanted and gave my consent. He would never kill me.”
“So you’re telling me in those dark scenes, with a knife, blood and pain, that you never thought you were going to die?”
“Not exactly. I was afraid. That’s part of the scene. He’s dangerous enough he could kill me. I know that. But he trusted me and I trusted him.”
“Why would he have to trust you? He was the one with the knife.”
Looking in the mirror over my delicate white dresser, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Two years ago, I moved home a broken shell of myself. I’d been listless and so severely depressed I hadn’t been able to get out of bed without constant nagging and considerable pharmaceutical assistance. Yet here I am, day one at my parents’ house yet again, but I’m upright, pacing and working to keep Charlie out of trouble. I’m sharing things about myself that I never dared tell anyone before. I understand myself more than ever before.
