London
IfHellexisted,Iwas pretty sure I’d just bought myself a one-way ticket straight to the gates. There was no coming back from what I’d just done—no coming back from the look Otto had given me when he’d watched me fall apart in front of him.
There was no coming back from the fact that I wasn’t even sure the body on the ground was cold when the killer in the room made me harder than I had been in weeks.
It didn’t make sense—it reallywassome fucked up kind of Stockholm Syndrome. Either that, or there was truth in what Otto kept telling me… because I wasn’t sure if I had another explanation for the way I wanted him, even when I knew exactly what he was. I didn’t know how to explain the way my body burned when his fingers were rough, or the excitement that pulsed through me when I’d realized he was actuallyhere. That he was real. That I hadn’t been crazy and imagined everything that had happened.
I didn’t know how to explain how much I’d nearly lost it and come all over myself when his tongue traced the path my tears tracked down my cheeks.
It wasn’t right.
It was so messed up. Maybe my entire life had been horrible, but that wasn’t an excuse for the way I reacted to him.
So maybe he wasn’t a liar. Maybe I really had been some fucked-up piece of shit in my past life, and this was my penance now.
Or maybe it was just that my body already knew his touch—his cruelty, and the heat that blossomed beneath my skin at the threat of it.
I didn’t know.
I just knew he left me trembling where I stood with a dark, heated look, and a dead body that was staring at me with wide, glassy eyes full of accusation.
Look what you did, London. Look what you caused.
Because Ihadcaused it. I’d led Mr. Caulson into the room, even though I knew Otto was in the building. Even though he’d warned me.
I’d done it anyway because I half believed I was imagining him and I wanted to prove that he was really here… because I was afraid if I didn’t, he’d disappear again.
I’d turned on a song about ache andwant, and some part of me had hoped he’d hear it.
I was just as responsible for the dead man in the room as Otto had been, even though I’d never actually done anything to him. My body might as well have been stained with a dozen red handprints, everywhere I’d let the poor man touch me, because each one had been another letter signing his death warrant.
“Fuck.” My knees felt weak as I slipped to the floor.
That was how Til found me ten minutes later when I hadn’t come out of the room… and at least he had the decency to wrapme up in a fluffy robe before he helped me into a chair. I started shivering—not because of the dead body, but because it was where Otto had been sitting.
“Did he try to hurt you, London?” Til’s eyes were sharp and hard, his handsome face full of a quiet anger. It took me a second to reconcile the expression with the implication, and I shook my head.
“No… no. He didn’t. I—I didn’t mean…” My voice caught on a sob, and Til carefully brushed damp strands of blond hair from my face.
“London, you wouldn’t hurt anyone. You couldn’t.”
He was wrong, though. Fuck, he was wrong.
I was still crying and shivering when the police arrived, and maybe it was that more than anything that stopped them from putting me in cuffs right away. Instead, they let Til stay in the room with me while they asked questions.
I couldn’t answer for a few seconds, because the confession was there on the back of my tongue.
The man who kidnapped me came back. He thinks I’m his brother, but apparently no one is allowed to touch me but him. And I let him do this. I let him because I haven’t slept since he let me go.
I let this happen, I—
“London, you need to take a breath.” Til’s voice was still soft, calm. Solid. It didn’t help that the officer in front of me—I think he’d said his name was Renn—was looking at me like I was some kind of nightmare come to life. It made sense that at least one person in the room could see right through the bullshit and realize that I was at fault here.
I was the reason…
“I didn’t mean to…” Til’s hand squeezed my shoulder tight enough that it hurt, and my breath came in a sharp gasp that cut the words off before they managed to leave my mouth. I realizedwhy—he either thought I was in shock and saying shit I didn’t mean, or he thought I’d been hurt and I was going to confess to a crime that was deserved. The fact that he was willing to encourage me to lie to protect me said more than I’d realized about Til… He really did care about us.
I’d have to remember that later, once I was over blaming myself for the death of the man who they’d at least covered up with a sheet. It didn’t help. Something wet made the fabric stick to his throat, suction to his collarbones. Someone had messed up. His hand was still sticking out, and his wedding ring was on full display.
