AllFreeNovel
Share Us
With nothing better to do, I move from the bed to fix myself another drink. I can’t leave before my time is up—it’ll look suspicious—and I have to fake this another few times. I must look ridiculous, but it’s not as if anyone is here to see. Fears mounting, I walk around the room, peering into the corners all over again, but there’s nothing concerning.
Relieved, I flop back on the bed.
When I check the time again, twelve meagre minutes have passed.
“Come on now, time to work that mouth,” I say to the ceiling. “Kiss me, kiss me here,” I instruct, undoing my belt and then redoing it. “Get it wet. Yeah, like that. Suck it hard. Harder.”
When I feign my release a few minutes later, I begin to cry. Not loudly, just a silent kind of weeping born from months of hopeless searching. For eleven weeks I’ve harangued the Belgium police, the Dutch, Interpol, using my name and influence to broker conversations with people who should be able to help.
Naturally, there was nothing, and so with Jeremy’s help I’ve entered hell, ready to search devils' lairs and seedy basements and online sales under an alias.
But there are no grey-eyed girls. None but this one.
I had pinned so much hope on this one breakthrough but now all I feel is crushing despair.
Where is she?
Of course, I fear the worst. Who wouldn’t? People go missing all the time, and the pretty ones, the rare ones go missing the longest.
I swipe at my cheeks, removing every trace of my short breakdown.
When I glance at the young woman she’s looking right at me. The colour of her eyes pierces my soul as she stares at me, taking in my face. Either she hasn’t learnt to cower properly yet, or she’s still drugged. Either way, she’s witnessed my tears and looks baffled by it.
I eye the door. “Hello?” I offer softly. I was told she was British. It’s why I’m here, pretending to be a sick fuck.
The young woman looks away and licks her lips.
“Are you thirsty? There’s water.”
Standing, I grab the bottle of water and pass it to her. Then, I offer her the bed. “Sit, please. I’ll stand, or take the floor.”
She shakes her head, shrinking into the wall at her back.
“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m not here to hurt you,” I whisper. “I’m looking for someone; I thought it might be you.”
After breaking the seal on the bottle, the woman drinks greedily. It allows me a moment to reflect on my words. To hear the dejection and frustration. And sorrow, God, how fucking sorry I am not to have found the most important person in my life.
“My name is M . . . Yves. What’s yours?”
Studying her painfully red wrist, she remains silent, though she’s looking more and more alert as the seconds tick by. When an uncontrollable shiver runs through her, I eye the thin navy dress. A dirty sheet sits on top of the mattress so I offer it to her. “Stay warm.”
Warily, she takes it, wrapping it around her exposed legs.
As much as I need her awake, I’m not sure how to engage with her. Buying time, I grab another drink, water this time. All the while she remains huddled in the corner, watching with terrified eyes as she presses her hurt wrist to her chest.
The need to ask her pertinent questions wars with the worry that it’ll open the floodgates of her desperation. I can’t have her begging for help—that would spell disaster. But I need to know if she’s seen or heard anything that would help me.
Softly, I ask, “Who took you?”
Her eyes are mesmerising even when narrowed in suspicion.
“I don’t know who,” I assure her, “I’m trying to find my person, remember? It might help me. Do you think you could help me?”
Shifting position, I can see the olive colour of her skin more clearly, the silver sparkle of her almond eyes. She has a wide, full-lipped mouth that I bet would look great with a happy smile on it, and a cutely pointy nose. Her angular features are off-set by her sensual mouth, creating a magical combination of features I’ve never seen before.
Despite the shadows under her eyes, she’s spectacularly striking and my heart squeezes.
What a fucked-up situation. What fucking awful fate. And not just for her but for me, because this is exactly the type of woman I go for. And then I remember where I am, and the ghostly-girl who suffers at the hands of greedy, lustful, despicable men. Men who might only be separated from me by the narrowest, shallowest of margins. By the thinnest layers of morality.
