‘You took a risk.’
‘And it paid off. I found out what we needed to know.’
She shook her head. That wasn’t what she had meant, and he knew it.
The man who had called himself Stuart Milton sat down beside her on the bed. She had been waiting for him, dressed up as he liked her. All seams, heels, spikes, straps and sheer black see-through. The bed had been prepared with restraints of leather and rope. Tight knots and heavy buckles. Blindfolds and toys. The house slave had been banished to her room. They had been planning a celebration, just the two of them. Now everything had been put on hold.
She knew he was looking at her. Out of the corner of his eye. Taking her in, running his glance up and down, his tongue at the side of his lips, subconsciously licking. She felt stirrings inside her. Despite everything that was going on, she still felt stirrings. And he would be too. Because he could never resist her. She made sure of it.
She didn’t move, just concentrated on her breathing. Looked at herself in the strategically positioned full-length mirror. She still had it. Her hair was still dark, her face unlined. Her skin smooth, tanned to a rich shade of coffee. Her legs looked good, tits firm. She loved to look at herself. It affirmed who she was.
The affirmation and maintenance cost – and not just financially. But it was worth it. All of it.
Her nipples hardened slightly just at the sight of herself.
‘I gave them a false name,’ he said, also looking at her in the mirror.
‘What?’
He paused. A smile curled the corners of his lips. ‘Stuart Milton.’
‘You idiot! What if they—’
‘They won’t. They can’t trace me. Or make a connection. Don’t worry. I acted.’ The smile opened his mouth. It was all sharp teeth. ‘You’d have been proud of me.’
She said nothing. Just kept looking at herself. If she ignored him, that might make him angry. She hoped so.
‘They took her to the hospital,’ he said, voice rising slightly. ‘They haven’t got her. I know that.’
She kept her eyes on the mirror. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because the police told me. They haven’t got her.’
She turned her face towards his. Eyes on his, locked, unblinking. Mouth full and red, like a bruise waiting to flower. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’ His cheeks were starting to redden. ‘I grabbed her first. Stopped her from going back in. And then … ’ She watched him. Knew he was remembering the explosion. Could almost see the memory reflected on his irises. The flames, the heat … ‘They took her away. Said I’d saved her life.’
‘That wasn’t the plan.’
‘No,’ he said, voice rising once again. ‘I know. But the plan changed. It had to, because … you know. They were there. I had to improvise.’ He placed his hand on her bare arm. Stroked his fingers towards the crook of her elbow. Goosebumps raised themselves where his touch passed. ‘We have to be flexible. Stay with what’s happening. Move with it. It’s quite exciting, really.’
She made no attempt to stop him. Or encourage him. But then she didn’t need to.
‘You should have stuck to the plan.’
He took his hand away, angry now. Stood up, walked away from her. She watched him go, her breath catching in her throat.
‘It’s gone. Everything’s gone. I even lost the car.’
‘You lost—’
‘It went up in the explosion. Don’t worry, it’s not traceable. But everyone else went up too. They must all be dead.’
‘Apart from her.’
He nodded. Conceding a point. ‘Yes. Apart from her.’
‘And the child.’
He turned to her. ‘Yes,’ he said, voice rising once more. But not in anger this time. In triumph. ‘Exactly. The child. And I know where she is.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘Oh yes I do. You know who I saw there. Before the explosion.’ It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. ‘And you know what they were doing. Now they’ve got the kid.’
‘Well if they’ve got the kid,’ she said, speaking slowly as though she was explaining a simple point to a particularly backward child, ‘then the mother will have it back soon. And we’ll be no further forward.’
‘Wrong.’ He stood over her. Placed his hand on her chin. Forced her face upwards, made her look up at him. She put up token resistance, but they both knew she would submit eventually. ‘Wrong. Because I dissembled. I seeded.’
‘Tell.’ She licked her lips.
‘I said I’d heard her. Saying it was her fault.’
Something flashed across her eyes. ‘That was risky.’
‘I know. But it worked. Because then I overheard the police talking. They took her to hospital, but she left. They think she’s running.’
‘So she’s on her way to meet them. To get the child back.’
He smiled. ‘D’you think it would be that simple? They’ve got a job for her.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘Obvious. Follow the police. They’ll lead us to her.’
‘And them? How do we take care of them?’
Another smile. All teeth and reflected, glinting, razor light. ‘Send in the Golem.’
Her eyes widened as his words sank in. He took her lack of response as an answer in itself.
‘Exactly. What d’you think of that?’
Her breathing grew heavier.
He continued. ‘If we can’t trace the kid and the police don’t lead us to them through her, the Golem will. So it’s one way or another. And then … ’ he squeezed her jaw in his hand, ‘we’ve got them.’
She felt her stomach start to tighten. Her body temperature to rise. Especially in her groin. Like coiled electric eels, swimming and sparking, trying to find a way out. She kept her eyes on his, opened her mouth slightly. The bruise flowering. He looked down at her, smiled.
There was nothing of the Guardian-reading, middle class aesthete in his features now. The veneer of civility was falling away, leaving something feral, carnal in its place. A primal lust. He let her face drop roughly from his hand. Hurriedly took off his suede jacket. Pulled at the buttons of his shirt.
She lay back on the bed, propped up on her elbows, watching him, her legs slowly opening, breasts rising and falling with her breathing. Wanting him. Wanting what he could give her.
He was soon stripped off and joining her on the bed. She saw straight away how hard he was. She smiled. He moved right in next to her. Pushed against her. Towered over her. She could feel the heat coming off his body.
‘Do you love me?’ Her voice was low, urgent. ‘Do you love me?’
‘Yes … ’ The word was a hiss through clenched teeth.
Her eyes widened, voice dropped lower. ‘Do you hate me?’
He gave a reply that was almost a growl. He grabbed her. Hard.
She needed to hear it. ‘Do you hate me?’
‘Yes … ’ His voice a snarl now.
She smiled. Good. ‘Then show me. Show me. Show me what I mean to you … ’
He straddled her, his thick, muscled legs either side of her, balancing his weight. He drew his right hand back and, eyes locked on eyes, let it go.
The slap caught her firmly on the side of her cheek. Her head whiplashed sharply to the right. She quickly recovered, looked back at him. A face full of pain, eyes full of lust.
‘Again … hurt me … ’
He hit her again. Her cheek reddened, began to swell.
‘Again … ’
He did it again.
And again. Rage and lust driving him on.
She loved him. Like she had never loved anyone or anything before.
He kept at her. Both hands now. Her face, then her body.
She closed her eyes. Lost in pain.
Lost in rapture.
Lost in a special, private love.