Where’s Molly

Present
2022

“If I would’ve known that you were going to throw yourself all over me in the shower, I would’ve directed you to the guest bathroom,” I mutter, pulling a clean white tank top over my head.

He cocks a brow, unimpressed. “At which point did I give the indication that I’d keep my hands to myself? We’ll play it back, and I’ll redo that part so you’re not confused anymore.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m not confused,” I deny vehemently, shooting him an annoyed look.

Yet, I am.

I’m confused and a fucking liar.

He wears only his boxers—pretty much the only article of clothing that didn’t get dirty. His shirt is a lost cause, leaving him with his black jeans and leather jacket, but regardless, he’ll likely go home smelling like a pigpen. It takes a special kind of soap to get it out, but I won’t divulge that information, purely because I’m irritated with him.

Even more, I’m angry he’s not a sensible person who carries extra clothes on hand. His body is downright distracting, making it extremely hard to remember why I’m annoyed.

Right. Because he fucked me in the shower again and reminded me that sex can actually be… so good. It took years to forget that after the first time we met. And now I’ve relapsed and become addicted all over again.

Fucker.

Keeping my back to him, I pump a few dollops of lotion into my hand and start slathering it over my hands, arms, and chest. His eyes are like two little lasers burning into me, but I do my best to ignore him.

It was just sex.

That’s it.

“You’re about to kick me out,” he surmises from behind me. I jump, not expecting his voice to be right at my goddamn back.

“What else would we do? Play ponies and have a pillow fight?” I snap.

I sound defensive. I am defensive.

Tension is clustered in my muscles like it has nowhere else to go.

Gritting my teeth, I sit on the edge of the bed and force myself to meet his probing stare. It’s not angry like I had expected. Or annoyed, even. No. He looks fucking amused.

He bends at the knees, lowering himself until I’m peering down at him with an incredulous stare.

“I’ve been dying to know who you are, Molly. Is that so wrong?”

Is he fucking with me? It’s incredibly wrong. It’s literally the worst thing he could ask me for. To know me? That would be willingly inviting him into my life, and I’ve made damn sure to turn my insides into a crowded room, with no space for anyone.

“Yes,” I bite. “You know what my pussy feels like wrapped around you. That’s more than most could say. At least, those who are still alive.”

He hums, and a darkness passes over his green eyes, turning them into a shadowy, dreary forest. “So, you’re telling me that there are others out there who have this knowledge and are still breathing?”

A few months ago, after finally feeling ready to face them after all these years, I had asked Legion to investigate the men in that house and see if any were still alive. After researching, he’d said all of them were dead. Except one.

Kenny Mathers.

He’s very rich and well-protected. Unlike most buyers who came around only for the Culling, he frequented the house often.

I overheard Francesca telling Rocco that Kenny was interested in buying me specifically, which is why he couldn’t seem to stay away. From the house, and from me.

His money and elitism have kept him safe all these years, allowing him to go off-grid altogether. He hasn’t been seen in the public eye since not long after I escaped.

Admittedly, I hadn’t been ready to face him, though I did make Legion aware of who he was and what he did. If my boss has done anything about it, I’m not sure. I’ve been too chickenshit to ask.

“Only one that I know of, but who even knows if that’s still the case. Regardless, don’t kill anyone on my behalf. Fucking me a few times doesn’t make you my hero.”

He cocks his head, appearing unfazed by my demand. “What’s his name?”

I sigh. “Why does it matter?”

His expression is serious, not an iota of amusement remaining in his stare.

“I want to be the only man on this entire fucking planet that knows what you feel like. And if I’m sharing this knowledge with a single soul still walking this earth, then I will be removing them from it.”

I can only blink at him, speechless for a few beats. Despite that, my stomach is a cesspool of restless butterflies, and I feel my heart beginning to soften.

His words aren’t terrifying—but my reaction is.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I could be.”

“You’re not killing anyone on my behalf.”

“I will.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this, Cage.”

“Then don’t.”

I sigh again, my shoulders slumping. I’m emotionally spent for the night, and I have no energy to convince him to keep his murdering hands to himself.

The prospect of him killing the remaining man from Francesca’s house doesn’t bother me—but his reasoning does. I don’t want him to do it for me. Because he harbors any type of emotion for me. I’d rather he just snuff him out from the planet for being a monster and leave it at that.

“What is it you want from me?” I groan, sliding my hand down my face in exasperation.

“As many pieces as you’re willing to give for the night.”

I drop my hand and gape at him blankly, but he only waits patiently, gazing up at me.

“I just want to know about you. That’s all. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, too.”

I twist my lips, feeling myself relent. Mostly because I’m undeniably curious about Cage, too. I spent many lone nights in Alaska wondering about the man who completely obliterated my world with so much ease. What bothered me most was that I missed him. How could I miss someone I don’t even know?

I’m hoping that if I give him what he wants, he’ll find something entirely unlikable and want to go home. Then, I can finally go to bed. Alone.

I can’t afford my world being decimated again, and this time, I won’t have to miss him.

“My favorite name in the world is Layla.”

My throat tightens, and I curse myself for saying her name. It’s impossible to think about her without feeling like my heart is being pushed through a woodchipper. I should’ve given him something impersonal. Like my favorite color.

He nods slowly, and the tiniest of grins curls one side of his lips upward. God, that look is lethal. I hate it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yep,” I croak, then clear my throat, a pathetic attempt to cover the emotion clogging my windpipe.

“My favorite flower is a tiger lily,” he tells me. Hesitantly, I meet his gaze again, but this time, I see shadows within them. “My mother was a single mom, and my father died before I was born. Growing up, she would buy herself tiger lilies every Saturday at the farmers’ market. She said she didn’t need a man because she could get herself anything she wanted. When I got my first paycheck, that was the first thing I bought her. I told her she may not need a man to buy them for her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Let me guess—you never stopped buying them for her,” I say, a smile involuntarily curling my lips.

He grins, and my heart turns into putty. “Still do.”

Goddamn him.

He was supposed to tell me something that made me find him abhorrent. Absolutely vile.

But then, his smile drops, and his features rearrange into an expression that instantly feels daunting. I already know what he’s thinking. I can see it written all over his face.

“Let me guess,” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. “You want to talk about my kidnapping.”

“I knew who you were before you walked into my store. The whole world did. And, like most people, I was obsessed with your case. The security footage…”

“Made me look crazy,” I supply, my stomach filling with acid.

“I know technology well, and it was clear that it was manipulated. You weren’t crazy, and I understood that not only was the worst moment of your life broadcasted to the entire world, but that they altered it to make you look a certain way. Even back then, I was angry for you.”

“Thanks,” I mutter bitterly. “Is that why you fucked me? Wanted to play with the famous missing girl and have bragging rights?”

His face slackens, and he appears disappointed.

“No, Molly. The only person I ever told was Silas, and only because I was fucking hammered. And I fucked you because I was attracted to you in a way I’ve never felt for anyone else. I think I became obsessed with your case because my soul recognized yours. And I had so many questions about you.”

“Did you get your answers?” I ask, my tone hardening. I’m looking for reasons to be mad, but truthfully, I can’t blame him for knowing about my kidnapping or being intrigued by it. The video footage is… it’s something that most couldn’t ignore.

The girl who seemed to disappear out of thin air.

And the girl who was chased by ghosts. Little did they know, I am the ghost.

“Not the ones that matter, which is why I want to know you, Molly. I want to know the girl that the world still thinks is dead.”

“I like it that way,” I clip. “Everyone is too involved in their own lives to recognize a missing girl from fifteen years ago. This means I don’t become a pony for the media circus, and I’m left alone. There’s a reason I haven’t let anyone get to know me.”

He nods, and the gentle look in his eyes is what makes me realize I’m beginning to freak out a little. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he assures. “I’m too selfish to share you with anyone, let alone fucking vultures that would risk your safety. I would never put you in danger.”

I exhale a heavy breath, attempting to release the anxiety that has begun to poison my bloodstream.

“There’s a possibility that I’d be a suspect in a murder if the media learned I did escape.” He stays quiet, letting me gather the courage to confess something I’ve never told a single soul. “When I escaped, I went back to my parents’ house. I have a sister, and she was only a year old at the time. I couldn’t leave her with the people who had sold me for drug money.”

His upper lip twitches, fury settling in his gaze. I don’t know why, but that invigorates me to keep going.

“My mom had already died of an overdose, so it was just my father. When he saw that I was back, he talked about selling me again, but this time, Layla, too. And I just… snapped. I couldn’t handle the thought of him selling my baby sister. The things I had gone through—all I could think about was those same things happening to Layla—” I cut myself off, too overwhelmed with the thought. That residual fury resurfaces, and my cheeks grow hot as my words turn flustered.

His hand grabs mine, and I focus on it, if only to distract me from my spiraling thoughts.

While I had seen they were covered in tattoos, it’s the first time I’ve actually gotten to study them closely. He tattooed flames on the knuckles of his fingers, the background behind them blacked out to give the illusion that they’re melting candles. The artwork is some of the best I’ve seen, and for the first time, I consider getting my scars covered up with something beautiful.

“So you killed him,” he states, bringing me back to the conversation.

“I killed him,” I confirm quietly. “And I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he says. “He deserved that and so much worse.”

I nod. He did, and there’s some satisfaction in knowing that I had been the one to end his life.

“I had heard about a large pig farm a couple hours from where I used to live. The owner was a local source of meat for many people, and there had been talk that he would be retiring soon. So, I cleaned everything up, rolled my dad in garbage bags, and put him in the trunk of his car.”

He cocks a brow. “Would I happen to have just fucked you at the same farm?”

A blush immediately blooms across my cheeks. Damn it.

Clearing my throat, I mutter, “Yes.”

He grins, and I narrow my eyes at the satisfaction emanating from him.

“Anyway,” I continue, shooting him a pointed shut up look. “Once I got Layla and I showered, dressed, and packed, I drove to the farm. I waited until the owner went to bed, snuck into his barn, and fed my father to his pigs. It wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t do everything right. That was how I learned pigs avoided teeth and hair, which made the cleanup process awful. I’m still surprised I managed to get away with it.”

It’s a grossly oversimplified version of that night, but it’s the crux of it. The details don’t really matter now, except that I’ve learned a lot about feeding people to pigs since then. Most importantly, I had successfully gotten Layla and me away from that house, and no one has identified who we truly are since.

“Where’s Layla now?”

I twist my lips in an attempt to keep my chin from trembling. That question feels like a sucker punch to the chest. My heart squeezes painfully, and a deep sadness consumes me.

“Emma,” I correct. “Her name is Emma now. Four years is how long I tried to take care of her. Since my dad was under investigation for my disappearance, it didn’t take long for the feds to notice him and Layla missing. She was broadcast all over the news, just as I was, and there were so many conspiracies about what happened to the three of us. Some people speculated that I escaped and took her, but there was never enough evidence to support it.

“So, I renamed her Emma, and I tried so hard to take care of her. It was almost impossible to get a job because I couldn’t get an ID and expose myself. I managed to find a few under-the-table jobs, though they were typically underpaid, and my bosses somehow managed to be a shit person every time. It wasn’t sustainable, and I wasn’t providing a safe, healthy life for her.”

A rock forms in my throat and for a moment, I can’t breathe, let alone speak. Ten years isn’t nearly long enough to smooth away the pain and devastation. A lifetime wouldn’t even be enough.

Cage flexes his hand around mine again, reminding me he’s here.

“I found a nice family in a wealthy town, and I stalked the fuck out of them. I watched them for months, ensuring they were good—truly good people with happy kids. And then… once I was positive they’d be able to give her the life she deserved… I waited until she fell asleep, then left her on their doorstep with a name tag and her birthdate like she was a goddamn dog.”

My eyes flood with tears, and even as my chest heaves and my lungs expand, it still feels like I can’t fucking breathe.

“I continued to watch them for several months afterward to make sure they actually took her in and didn’t give her to some foster home. It took a little while, but eventually, they were able to adopt her. Since she was older than when I first took her and several hours away from our hometown, no one suspected who she was. Plus, I made sure she only ever knew me by Marie. It was chalked up to a druggie mother who just left their kid on a stranger’s doorstep. And I was okay with that. It meant she was safe and could finally live in some goddamn peace.”

Everything burns—my wet eyes, nose, cheeks, and throat.

“When Legion found me, it had been a year since I dropped her off. I never saw him, but he must’ve seen me when my boss was getting aggressive with me. He sent me to you, and the rest is history.”

I bounce my leg anxiously, the urge to cry becoming harder to contain. “Fuck, it still sucks that I couldn’t provide for her,” I choke out, my voice broken with tears.

“But you did provide,” he insists, catching ahold of my wandering gaze. “That option was stolen from you, baby. It’s not because you weren’t capable, but because you were in danger just as much as her. You were young. And I know it’s not your home she’s sleeping in. However, you did provide her with the life she deserves. You gave her that.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, a few tears wiggling free anyway.

“I’m selfish and want her to remember me like I do her. But I know that I’ll never be able to be in her life. Not with my lifestyle. I want her to stay far away from this shit. But I missed her so much when I was in Alaska. I was a fucking zombie, no matter how hard I tried to live.”

My lungs are still tight, yet I force myself to keep going, even though it feels like each word is made of fiberglass.

“So, four years ago, I broke down and moved back. The previous owner had passed, and the farm had been up for sale for a while. I had a decent job in Alaska and used all my savings to buy it. I feel better being in the same state as Layla, even if I can’t be in her life.”

I end my explanation with a sigh, feeling exhausted suddenly. Emotionally and physically. I hadn’t planned on telling him that much, though admittedly, it felt good. But now, I just want to sleep.

“Do you still watch her?” Cage asks boldly. My eyes drop to my lap, where I fidget with my fingers. A flush crawls up my throat, embarrassment taking root.

“Yes,” I admit, forcing volume into my voice. Maybe it’s wrong or creepy, but she’s my sister and I care too much not to check up on her. And while it’s a tad embarrassing, I also don’t feel guilty about it, either.

He chuckles. “I’d do the same if the roles were reversed.”

I smile tiredly, on the verge of resting my head on the pillow and passing out, even if he doesn’t leave. Letting him stay one night doesn’t have to be a big deal.

Once more, he squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back down to him.

“You saved her life, Molly. Remember that. Always remember that.”