Smiling tightly, I wave at Silas before following him through the back door.
My stomach flutters with nerves, and every time I look at Cage, I increasingly realize that maybe he’s more than just a man I slept with once.
And that is utterly terrifying.
For the next hour, I watch him work. He’s designing a new driver’s license for a client who will now reside in Maine. Black Portal is just a front, but his real job is making people disappear and reappear with an entirely new identity. New name, social security card, birth certificate, and state of residence.
Just like he did for me.
It’s fascinating to see what he does to legitimize their new life and make it seem as real as any other person.
“Why is this client disappearing?” I ask finally, when he’s almost finished.
He flicks his eyes toward me. “He killed his daughter’s rapist and murderer. He’s out on bail, but his lawyer is confident he’ll still serve about twenty-five to life for his crime.”
I chew on my lip. “You’re saving his life.”
Cage shrugs. “I’m just ensuring he has one. That’s all.”
He shuts his computer down, then turns to me on the chair.
“Let’s go grab some food, yeah? I know a great pizza place. They brew the best beer I’ve ever had.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m allergic to beer.”
His eyes round, and he looks almost devastated, which draws a smile to my lips.
“I’m so fucking sorry for you. They offer a few different cocktails.”
I shrug. “I’m just here for the pizza. You can thank yourself for that fixation. ”
He grins, his eyes sparkling. “I’d like to think I’m responsible for a few fixations, but sure, we’ll start with pizza.”
My cheeks burn, his implication obvious. He’s implying his cock would be another, and fuck him for being right.
His wicked grin widens. “Come on, little ghost. Let’s go stuff that pretty little mouth.”
Said mouth drops, and he grabs my hand, pulling me after him as he laughs.
What a dick.
He’s lucky it’s a really fucking nice one.
Molly
Fourteen Years Ago
2008
Sweat soaks through my clothing, my curls matted to the back of my neck, as I stumble over another fallen branch. I gasp, scarcely catching myself on a nearby tree.
The sun rose, set, and rose for a second time. Over twenty-four hours have passed since I ran from Francesca's house. Too many hours to be subjected to the heat in the middle of June, though at least the shade from the trees offered some protection from direct sunlight.
I don't need a mirror to know that my face is sunburnt and tomato red. However, I’ve made it this far, I can go just a little longer.
Anything for Layla.
I’ll risk everything for her, as long as I’m with her.
In the distance, there’s a break in between the trees where a structure peeks through. My overworked heart stops in my chest, and for several moments, I can’t breathe. Can’t even blink.
I’m terrified that if I do, it’ll disappear, only a figment of my imagination.
If it's only an illusion—something my brain created to protect me from my harsh reality—I think I’ll let myself burn to death, only so when I do crumble to ash, there’ll be nothing left to put back together.
That same fear drives me forward, my feet tripping over the ground once more, though not from trees that have shed their bark, but from pure desperation.
My vision blurs with tears, and my nose burns from my effort to keep them at bay. I can’t lose it now. Not when I’m so close to being able to find Layla again.
The graveyard of crooked branches and green leaves gives way to a blue, sunny sky, showcasing a quiet suburb of homes beneath.
My lips part, and a choked gasp leaks past the chapped skin. Once again, I’m running, this time toward the closest house. It’s quaint and tan with freshly painted brown shutters. The type of home that burrows a happy, white-picket-fence type of family in its warm embrace.
In the front yard is a man mowing his lawn, muttering soundlessly beneath the loud buzz of the machine. He appears in his forties, with dark brown skin and a thick salt-and-pepper beard. Sweat glistens on his bald head and coats his t-shirt as he cuts the grass beneath the hot sun.
“Help!” I shout, though the single syllable shatters as it’s forced through a throat lined with sharp gravel.
His head snaps up, revealing a startled gaze, his eyes widening further when he sees me barreling toward him.
“Help!” I repeat. “I was kidnapped, I need help!”
He quickly switches the mower off, the sudden silence amplifying my desperate cries. I nearly slip, the worn soles of my shoes no longer gaining any traction on the loose grass like they did on the forest floor.
He holds up his hands—to stop or catch me, I’m not sure—but I throw myself into them anyway. He grabs ahold of my biceps, and though he’s taken aback, his grip is firm.
A sob bursts from my throat, and another choked plea for help follows suit.
“Please, help me. Please, please!”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. Let’s… shit, Latoya!” He trips over his words, ending it with a desperate call for who I assume is his wife.
“You’re safe now, it’s okay— Latoya! Latoya, get out here!”
A door creaks and a soft voice asks, “What’s going on? Who is that?” Urgency taints the last few notes of her second question, and I hear the rapid trek of her footsteps coming toward me.
“She—she just came running out of the woods calling for help,” he explains, his words jumbling together.
“I was kidnapped,” I squeak through another sob, my face planted firmly in the man’s chest. He smells of pine and leather, and it’s such a nice change from body odor and cigarettes that it only makes me burrow deeper into his embrace .
“Oh my God, honey, let’s get her inside. She looks dehydrated!” Soft, warm skin envelops my hand, stirring the shot nerves to life. “Hey, sweetie, you’re okay. Come inside,” she urges gently.
I let her pull me away from her husband, only to be greeted with the warmest, chocolate brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Short, silky black curls billow around her deep brown skin, and she stares at me like a mother concerned for a child.
“Oh, you're sunburnt, too! Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you cooled down.” Her gaze lifts above my head. “Baby, call the police. I’m sure she has a family who’s worried sick.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that the only family I have is too young to understand my disappearance.
The oxygen stutters from my lungs as she leads me inside, the cold air radiating from within almost a shock to my system. My teeth chatter as I'm led directly into a cute living room, though I feel nothing except relief.
“Sit here while we wait, honey. I'll get you some aloe and fresh lemonade,” Latoya instructs gently.
Woodenly, I plop onto a plush taupe couch. It complements the tan walls and pink and brown floral accents placed around the area. A soft yellow glow emits from a tall lamp tucked in the corner to my right, which stands next to a mahogany fireplace, a flat-screen TV mounted above.
Latoya returns a minute later with a bottle of aloe. Gently, she applies some to my cheeks and nose. The motherly affection radiating from her has tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
“There you go,” she whispers affectionately. “Now sit tight, I’ll be right back. ”
She scurries off toward where I assume the kitchen is, while her husband comes through the front door. He pauses when he sees me, and his brown eyes soften.
“You look worn out, my dear,” he comments. “Police are on their way. Do you need anything while we wait?”
I shake my head, feeling terrible for bursting into their lives in such a horrible way, yet so relieved that they let me.
“What's your name, sweetheart?” he asks, sitting on the matching couch across from me.
“Molly.”
“That's a pretty name, Molly. You can call me Devin. How old are you?”