I Dream of Spiders Page 5

  The pain didn’t register at first, giving me precious seconds to rush her and wrestle the gun away. She kicked and clawed. She even went for the gaping hole in my chest which blood was pouring from at an alarming rate. I knew I was close to passing out, which meant that Miranda needed to be subdued. I couldn’t risk her finishing me off while I was out cold. With the blunt end of the gun I knocked her unconscious. I then slumped to the ground. With the last of my energy, I withdrew my phone, dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator my location. I dropped the phone and tried to apply pressure to my wound, but I didn’t have the strength. The sound of sirens was the last thing I heard before I drifted off…next to the woman who had wanted me dead.

  “Can I help you find something, sir?” a tiny voice asks. I look over at the young girl. Her cheeks turn the color of her red Target shirt. She can’t be more than eighteen. Fucking great. I probably look like a pervert standing here and staring at boxes of condoms and tubes of lube. Like the pathetic bastard that I am, I shake my head, grab a box of condoms and rush out of that aisle.

  I need to get laid. It’s time. This morning’s explosive orgasm against my shower wall is evidence of that.

  Because of Miranda, what she did to me, I haven’t had the desire to be with a woman for over a year. Because of Miranda, I subjected myself to a round of blood tests just to ensure that I hadn’t contracted anything from her. My bloodwork came back clean, thank God, but my trust in women was broken and so was my libido…that was until one nameless woman came into my life.

  I don’t want to think of her. Maybe Trent can tell me where I can find a woman who also wants sex without strings. A sex-filled night with no emotions in play. Yep, that’s what I need. A random, safe fuck. Not the woman staying at my cabin. She’s off limits. She has a brain injury and is basically my patient. I also have no idea who she is or if she is even single.

  Frustrated, I pay for my things and start for home. I make one last impulsive stop at a wilderness store and pick up a couple fishing rods and some bait and tackle. Being cooped up with a beautiful woman is dangerous. Maybe if she is feeling up to it, she might want to try fishing off my dock. That would keep my mind off other things, like getting her naked and sucking on her taut nipples. I grip my cock through my jeans as I drive the last ten minutes home. I’m going to have to take care of this soon. Being around the woman in my cabin with a loaded cock is dangerous. Yes, another shower is in my immediate future.

  Chapter Six

  Chief Brady Sullivan

  “That cunt saw our faces! Not yours…ours! Is that why you’re not doing more to find her?”

  I feel my hand twitch, aching to take Raylyn by the throat and squeeze the life out of her. I won’t allow Raylyn to insult my girl. She will be punished, but first I need to assess the damage and act accordingly. “She did see your face,” I say, caressing her cheek with my fingertips. Her skin is so soft and smooth…deceptively angelic. When I reach her chin, I take it and force her to look at me. Her eyes grow wild, tempting me to inflict the punishment she deserves. “They have all seen your face, sweetheart.”

  Her head snaps to the side, out of my grasp. She stands, crosses her arms over her perky breasts and faces me. “They were as good as dead when we handed them over to their new owners,” she hisses.

  She’s right. The fifty-eight girls we took possession of, trained and sold would never talk about the time they spent with us. We broke them beyond repair and any residual fight left in them would have been beaten out of them by their new owners. And because we were so thorough, we never had to worry about being exposed.

  I walk over to the bar and grab a tumbler from the cabinet. I drop a few ice cubes into it while I eye the bottles Raylyn had lined up, though I already know what I favor today. As I pour the expensive amber liquid over ice, I think about my girl.

  Where could she be hiding? Who is helping her? And more importantly, why hasn’t she gone to the police yet?

  My internal monologue is interrupted by Steele. “She could be dead. You saw how much blood there was. Maybe it wasn’t all Mace’s. Maybe Mace got a piece of her before she took him out and ran.”

  The man I hired for his muscle and because Raylyn found him attractive walks into the kitchen and helps himself to a beer from the fridge. “Her wounds could have attracted a bear or something.”

  My beautiful girl isn’t dead. Fate wouldn’t allow it. I have finally found her. After all this time, she will be mine again.

  I stare at the leather-wearing, skin-headed shit for brains and wonder how I have restrained myself all this time.

  I will not miss him. Mace, on the other hand, I will be eternally grateful to. Because he found her.

  Mace was tech savvy, conducting risk assessments on every woman we targeted for abstraction, and keeping our lucrative operation running like a well-oiled machine. It was Mace who would tell me with confidence, after weeks of research, if a girl was too connected, too important, too diseased, too easy to miss. He was also the one I put on constant lookout. To scour college campuses, bars, malls, parks, everywhere…looking for her. There had been women who had resembled her, laughed and cried like her. Some even had the same patch of freckles on their noses. But they weren’t her. Until #59. Mace had been certain #59 would make me happy, that she was who I was searching for. I couldn’t wait to see her again…and ruin her.

  I set my tumbler on the counter, withdraw my revolver and shoot Steele between the eyes. He doesn’t fall right away, which I find interesting. Instead, he looks at me with that typical dumbass expression on his face, points to his head, and sways in Raylyn’s kitchen. A few seconds later, he drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  Raylyn doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even flinch. She simply goes to the bathroom where she retrieves a towel and begins soaking up the blood. I return to my drink. I’m sucking back the rest of it when I see her secure a plastic bag over Steele’s head. When she is finished, she walks to the sink, scrubs her hands, and dries them thoroughly. I pour her a glass of whisky for her trouble and hand it to her. She accepts it without hesitation and downs it in two gulps.

  “Her father is dead and her one and only friend moved back to Japan to take care of her sick mother. Which means she has no one. No one to miss her. No one for her to run to…except for the police…to you,” she says.

  I watch Raylyn lick a droplet of whisky from her bottom lip and I feel my cock move. I’m surprised that even after all this time she can still provoke that response. From the moment I met Raylyn in that club, I knew we had similar needs. Not an exact match, but enough to make it work. She likes the money, but what she craves, what she needs, is the pain and…the power.

  Raylyn is so close to perfection. She loves to watch the women break. She is a devil hidden in plain sight. Just like me. To the world we are ordinary. She lives in a tiny Cape Cod in even a smaller town than Quarry Hill about twenty miles north of our haven. Her offshore bank account, like Mace’s, Steele’s and mine, is impressive, but we have been careful not to showcase our wealth in fear of drawing attention. Before I met her she was a nurse in a residential mental health facility tending to patients, taking their vitals, administering the meds their psychiatrists prescribed and assisting the doctors during procedures.

  All skills that have come in handy.

  “Did Steele do what I instructed?” I ask.

  “Yes. Steele took care of Mace’s body and the cabin has been stripped, cleaned, and boarded up. Nothing can tie us to that place.”

  I set my gun next to my empty glass. “But that’s not exactly true, is it?” I cup her face. “My sister is missing and she needs to come home.”

  “We’ll find another,” Raylyn hisses. “We always do. It may have taken Mace four months to find this one, but I’m sure I can do better. Give me a few weeks. I’ll find you an exact replica of your precious…”

  My control snaps and I grab her by the neck. “I don’t want a replica. I want her. My angel,” I hiss.
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  Raylyn gasps and tears form in her eyes. My cock grows hard at the sight. “We wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t have had to silence Steele. Mace wouldn’t have bled out if you had been more careful. You underestimated my girl and now you’ll need to be punished.” I watch her eyes dart back and forth. Her pulse races beneath my thumb. Such a shame that this is going to be our last time together. “On your knees, Raylyn. You’re going to suck my cock until I’m convinced that you’re sorry for causing so much trouble.”

  She glares at me, which only gets me harder. I grip her shoulders and force her to her knees. “Now.” My zipper is down and my dick is in her mouth within seconds. But no matter how much she struggles in my grasp, that her eyes are filling with tears, I know she’s aroused, that if I dip my fingers into her cunt right now, she will be wet and ready for me. Such a dirty little whore. I grab my gun and hold it at her temple. She groans when I fist her hair. She moans even louder when I tell her that if she bites me she will join Steele, who is currently lying only inches from where she is kneeling. I fuck her mouth, never once lowering my gun. One, because I don’t trust her, and two, because I know she wants the blunt head of my revolver against that pretty little head of hers. She needs the fear. She craves it more than her next breath. Several hard thrusts and I come down her throat. She swallows it all and looks up at me.

  The moment is bittersweet. I started this venture to make money, fulfill my needs, but most importantly to find my precious angel. And I have succeeded. I now have more money than I know what to do with and I will soon be reunited with Bree. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she will turn up. I let out an easy sigh. I wonder what my uncle would have thought about my accomplishments. My mentor would probably have lectured me for involving outsiders, that I had brought Raylyn, Mace and Steele along for the ride. He would have told me I was foolish to rely on those outside the family. Because that is how you get caught.

  But I didn’t get caught, did I? I’m here, and he’s six feet under, which means the only family I have left is my sister.

  I picture my sweet girl. Her chocolate brown hair. Her deep blue eyes. I envision those eyes filling with tears and fear. I can almost hear her whimpers turn into screams. Feel her fragile body writhe beneath me.

  I stare down at Raylyn as she tucks my cock back into my pants and zips me back up. How I will miss those lips and deep throat of hers. I squeeze the trigger and watch my partner crumble before me. I take a few steps back, avoiding the puddle of blood that is making its way over to my shoes. I’m not looking forward to the hours of cleanup ahead of me, but then I think about my girl and I smile. She’s worth it.

  Chapter Seven

  ?

  After an hour of surfing the internet, looking at missing persons reports, anything that could trigger my memory, and coming up empty, I decide to make myself useful and cook dinner. I don’t think Griffin will mind, and really, he deserves a homecooked meal for helping me. I don’t have any money, nothing to offer him for allowing me to stay with him while I figure out who the hell I am, so making dinner is the least I can do. I find some leftover chicken from the day before in the fridge and all the ingredients I will need to make homemade chicken noodle soup and fresh baked biscuits.

  I’m feeling productive and happily chopping the last of the veggies when I realize that I know how to cook—soup, at least. Although I’m pleased about this, I am left with new worries. Is this how it’s going to be? My subconscious mind still intact and allowing me to remember how to do things like taking a shower and knowing I will have to shave my legs soon or I will be giving Griffin a run for his money in the leg hair department? When will my memories return? What do I have to do to make my brain work again?

  I throw the cooked chicken into the large pot on the stove and set the lid on top. I hope Griffin likes chicken noodle soup because I have made enough to feed a family of five. While the soup simmers, I go back to my internet search. My eyes are growing heavy and I am developing a serious case of computer head, which isn’t good for someone who has a concussion, when I hear a vehicle coming down the long dirt driveway. My spine goes ramrod straight and I retrieve the gun Griffin gave me. I walk over to the front window and see Griffin’s pickup truck.

  You’re okay. It’s just Griffin. Get it under control.

  I take a few deep and needed breaths, return to the kitchen and put the gun back down on the counter. I decide to give the soup a couple of stirs when in walks Griffin. He is carrying at least a dozen plastic bags in his hands and looking pleased with himself. I stare at the red emblem on one of the bags and immediately recognize it. Why do I know that the bullseye logo belongs to Target? Why do I know that and not something important like if I am allergic to certain foods, like peanuts, something that could cause me to go into anaphylactic shock? The human mind is fascinating, but it’s also frustrating as hell.

  “What smells amazing?” Griffin asks.

  “I hope you like soup.”

  “I do,” he says, giving me one of his rare smiles. “And I hope what I bought you fits.” I follow him into his bedroom, and he places the bags on the bed. “If they don’t fit or you don’t like something, I can always take them back.”

  I’m at a loss for words. I can’t believe this man, this stranger, can be so generous, this selfless to a woman he has just met. He gestures to the bags and I quickly regroup and dump the shirts, pants, toiletries, and an array of other things that he thought to get me on top of the comforter. I stare at the enormous pile and notice that he’s bought me pads and tampons, which makes me think that he has lived with a woman before.

  A sister? A girlfriend? A wife?

  The last two make my heart clench for some reason and jealousy brim to the surface. Does he have a girlfriend or wife? Is he seeing someone? There is no evidence in his cabin that he is dating someone, but then again, he did just move in. It’s also possible that he has a significant other living elsewhere. He did say this morning as he pitched a tent, fresh from sleep, that it has been a while. What did he really mean by that?

  I stop theorizing the moment my attention is snagged by a box of condoms lying amongst the toiletries. He must have noticed them at the same time because his face immediately turns red and he swipes that square box off the bed, opens his nightstand drawer and tosses them inside. “Um…it’s not what you think…I just…they’re not for you…I mean us…shit!”

  I have never seen a man blush so hard in my life. Or at least I don’t think I have. He looks so fucking sexy flustered. “Griffin, you don’t need to explain why you bought condoms.”

  But I so want him to. Is he planning on going out and getting laid? Does he have a girlfriend? Or did he buy them because he is hoping to have sex…with me? That last thought makes my own face heat up. I need to change the subject before my crimson cheeks tip him off.

  I clumsily pick up a pair of slippers and a bottle of body wash. “I can’t believe you got me all this. It’s too much, Griffin. I can’t repay you, at least not until I get my memory back and then hopefully, I have a bank account with some money in it.” I set the slippers down and then sniff the body wash. The coconut vanilla scent smells heavenly.

  “It’s no big deal,” he says, his tone abrupt. He no longer appears embarrassed and flustered but pissed. Griffin turns and leaves me with all my Target treasures. What the hell just happened? He seemed almost happy when he came home and saw me cooking in his kitchen and now he looks irritated, angry even. I shouldn’t want to figure this man out or attempt to even try to get into his brain, but I do. I want to know why this sexy ex-Navy medic is living in the middle of nowhere and helping me.

  It isn’t like he is trying to get into my pants. He hasn’t made a move on me and lord knows he’s had the opportunity. I slept next to him, naked from the waist down last night, and to my knowledge he didn’t even cop a feel. He either isn’t attracted to me, which wouldn’t be that surprising since I look like shit wearing baggy clothes, no makeup and
sporting a nice gash in my scalp, or he has a girlfriend, wife or a fuck buddy.

  That’s why he bought the condoms, you nimrod.

  I close the bedroom door and change into a pair of black yoga pants, a gray t-shirt and a blue hoodie. I slip on a pair of socks and then give myself a once-over in the mirror in the bathroom. Everything fits perfectly. I go back to the pile on the bed and fish through it only to discover that he bought me a pack of black hair ties.

  He bought me hair ties. He had to have had or has a woman in his life.

  I wrangle my hair into a ponytail and then go to the kitchen to check on dinner. Griffin is walking back into the cabin with more bags. He sets them on the couch and looks me up and down. For the briefest moment I think I see lust in his gaze, but then his annoyance swallows it up and again I feel like shit for intruding on his life.

  “I’ll be in the basement installing the new motor in the heater,” he says, walking to the door just off the kitchen.

  “Uh…okay. I…” He doesn’t wait for me to finish my thought, so I can apologize for being such a burden. He just slams the basement door behind him. A half hour later I hear him coming up the basement steps. I peer from my bed and see him tinkering with what I believe to be the thermostat in the hallway. Seconds pass and I hear a swoosh come from the vent at my feet and a gust of air penetrates my thin yoga pants.

  “The cabin’s small. Shouldn’t take too long to find out if the heater is working properly now,” he says, still eyeing the thermostat. He pushes a button and then walks toward the kitchen. I sit on my bed and resume my search on his phone to see if any missing persons in the area match my description. After a few minutes, Griffin strolls into the bedroom with a beer in hand. He doesn’t offer me one, not that I should accept a beer since I am still recuperating. In his other hand is a Verizon bag and he lays it on my lap before taking a seat at the foot of my bed.