Fearless Read online

  Sometimes I think there must have been some fuck up in the uterus where we got one person’s allowance of everything between us. So Cole got all the feelings, while I got nothing.

  I should be angry. Annoyed. Instead I’m just numb.

  Drugs used to make me feel things. It’s impossible not to feel anything when you’re as high as a kite on ecstasy. But I don’t do that anymore. Booze? Just makes me depressed. I’d rather have no feelings than suicidal ones.

  I’m not doing either of those things.

  The third poison of choice—fucking.

  I pull out my phone and open up Snapchat, but I close it down as soon as I see all the blue speech bubbles. That’s never made me feel anything either, because it’s never about me. I bet every single one of them sent a photo of their tits to my brother at the same time. You could stand us both side by side, and they’d flip a coin. They’d sing, “eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” Or the ones that wanted more than just a fuck would choose Cole, because at least he knows how to have a good time.

  What good is fucking when the second it’s over you go back to feeling nothing again?

  It took me a long time to learn that all three of life’s poisons only make you feel worse in the end.

  I wish I could go back and tell myself that, and spend more time trying to work out what the fuck actually makes me feel something.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MEISIE

  It feels like an eternity passes before Cillian returns. It’s been a good few hours at least.

  As soon as I hear the metal door’s handle turn, I flop onto my side on the bed and close my eyes. My back’s turned to the closet, and I twist my legs just enough so that (a) it looks like a natural sleeping position and (b) my sleeping shirt is showing off the curve of my ass to the room at large.

  Honestly, he’s only got himself to blame. He’s the one who didn’t provide underwear with the outfit. And judging from how he reacted the last time he was in the room, my ass is something he wouldn’t mind seeing more of.

  I force my breath to become slow and deep.

  Nothing to see here. Just a helpless, innocent girl fast asleep on your cum-encrusted play bed. Okay, the sheets are actually fucking pristine, but I wouldn’t run a UV light over this mattress if you paid me good money.

  He thumps down the stairs and it’s weird because, with my eyes closed, it sounds ten times louder than the last time he came down here.

  His shoes hit the concrete, then he stops.

  Slow and deep, Meisie. You’re dreaming about kitties and rainbows. Maybe I should twitch a little. Move my eyelids. REM and all that shit.

  No, just slow and deep breaths. Ball’s in his court now.

  He stands at the far side of the room for a few seconds, and then thumps over to the bed like he’s about to belt out, “Fee, fi, fo, fum,” and hit me over the head with a tree trunk.

  Pretty damn difficult to pretend to be sleeping through all of that, but this little girl’s all tuckered out, okay?

  I feel him standing over me, looking at me, and when he stays quiet, when he just keeps looking, I start doubting myself like nobody’s fucking business.

  Why doesn’t he do something? Say something?

  Fabric rustles.

  That same giant rams his hand through my chest and squeezes my heart.

  Forget slow and deep. I can’t even breathe right now.

  This wasn’t the plan. If he’s busy taking off his fucking pants or unleashing that fucking cock of his—

  There’s the metallic flick of a lighter, the pop-sizzle of a cigarette being lit, then another rustle of fabric.

  “Feel free to quit pretending you’re asleep anytime, princess.” There’s a clank—so loud and so close to the side of the bed that I can’t help but flinch.

  I pretend that’s what woke me. I mean, what have I got to lose, right?

  I flutter open my eyes and slowly roll onto my back, swiping a hand over my face as I blink up at him with a frown. “Did I fall asl—?”

  But I cut off the instant I spot the source of the noise.

  He’s standing behind a tripod, not even looking at me as he messes around with the camera slotted into its frame.

  This can’t be good.

  I scramble into a sit, tugging down my sleeping shirt. When he straightens and plucks his cigarette from his lips, the sullen set of his mouth is unmistakable. He runs cold eyes over me and then flicks his hand in my direction.

  “I’m gonna need you to take off your clothes.”

  The coldness in his eyes turns my stomach into a brick of ice. “W-what?” I manage breathlessly, dragging a pillow over my tummy like a useless shield. Or a silencer, I guess, if he decides to off me. I’m so fucking considerate.

  “Clothes.” He makes a point of looking at my shirt. “Off.”

  Just my luck. Of course I’ll decide to seduce my kidnapper on the day his fucking cat dies or something.

  No…I reckon he’s more of a dog person.

  He ducks behind the camera and swivels the lens toward me. Then he picks up the tripod, moves it to the foot of the bed, and repeats the process.

  I jump at the glare he throws me when he pops up again a minute later. “Want me to come over there and do it myself?”

  Dread rears its ugly head.

  Naked.

  No.

  I can’t.

  I can’t let him see. Can’t let anyone see. Ever!

  Why do you think you are so self-conscious about your body, Meisie? asks Trish. Do you think it has to do with what Alex—?

  I cut her off, but she’s right. I’m not in a position to reject him. Not again. And this after I purposefully flashed him my butt like a white-tailed deer trying to court a buck with antlers bigger than me?

  But I’m not in control when fear takes over. My hands fly up in surrender. “No, please.”

  He growls at me as he charges around the side of the bed.

  “Cillian, please!” I yell, scrambling away from him. “I’ll do whatever you want, but not that!”

  I don’t know if he doesn’t hear, or if he doesn’t care, but he comes over to the bed to get me anyway. When he grabs my ankle, panic shoots through me like a syringe of adrenaline someone’s just gone and stabbed right through my fucking chest.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I lash out with my foot. I get him right on his cheek, but I’m too short to do much more than turn his head a little.

  If he felt a thing, he doesn’t show it. “So I can fuck you up the arse dry, but only if you get to keep your clothes on? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”

  I can’t even begin to explain. But the fact that he hasn’t ripped my clothes off like he threatened to might mean I have a millisecond to sway him.

  “I’m—” My brain scurries for something to finish the sentence with and my gaze happens to flicker to the tripod. “Camera shy.”

  He drops his head and lets out a bark of a laugh. But when he looks up at me again, there’s a strange light in his eyes. He looks disgusted—not at me, not at himself…fuck knows who.

  “I promise I’m not putting you on the internet for hundreds of sick fucks to wank off to,” he says, using his grip on my ankle to drag me over the bed to him.

  I quickly grab the hem of my shirt to keep it down as it threatens to hike up and expose everything anyway, rendering my whole struggle moot.

  “And I appreciate that,” I manage weakly, stalling while my brain works overtime to think up something usable.

  You could just tell him, Meisie. Would it be the worst thing in the world?

  Blood drains from my face at the thought and the world takes a long, slow spin around me.

  Fuck no. Not another panic attack.

  Something must show on my face—perhaps my blood vessels literally draining themselves?—because Cillian stops pulling me and instead studies me with narrowed eyes. There’s a long pause where we just stare at each other, but then finally his face seems to soften
just a fraction.

  “Alright,” he says, nodding as if he’s still convincing himself. “Alright. You can keep your clothes on.”

  Surprise battles shock for a moment. But before I can even thank him, he releases me and turns away. “But not these ones. I’ll need to be a fuck load more creative if you’re giving me nothing to work with.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m—”

  “When exactly did this turn into a negotiation?” Cillian asks, his voice right above my head.

  I’m in the small bathroom again. He’d dragged me up here, saying he’d left my “outfit” inside.

  There’s only a small vanity mirror to cast back my reflection, but even that’s too big.

  I’m wearing a short, candy-pink satin dress with a lace bodice. It’s the kind of thing a flower girl would wear. The stockings are too much, even without the pink bow sown to the lacy tops.

  The hair ribbons are where I’m drawing the line.

  Cillian holds them up high on my head as he stares at my reflection.

  “Right there, and not a ball-hair lower,” he says.

  Is he… smiling?

  I snatch them from his hand and hurriedly divide my hair into two ponytails on either side of my head. I ram the hair ribbons into place and twirl around to face him.

  “Happy, Daddy?”

  “Now your outfit matches your attitude, brat.” He reaches behind me and jerks down the dress’s zipper. I barely catch the bodice before it falls down my chest.

  “Okay, okay!” I fumble with the fabric, bundling it against my breast and turning around. “I’m sorry. Please… just zip me up.”

  I don’t like the calculating look he gets in his eyes when I plead with him, like he’s trying to work out why I’m so averse to being naked in front of him. I guess it’s a bit much for him to believe that I’m self-conscious.

  He zips me up and then grabs the back of my neck and steers me out of the bathroom.

  Why is it that the weirdest part of my day is that I’ve just realized I don’t mind his hand there, guiding me. Well, shoving me pretty much. But he’s not hurting me. Not choking me.

  Yet.

  Downstairs, he makes me pose on the bed. Thankfully, this outrageous outfit includes a pair of white lace panties, so even when he tells me to hike up my knees and spread my legs, there’s nothing but underwear for him to see.

  “Who are you sending this to?” I ask, when he tells me to get on my hands and knees, look at him over my shoulder, and pout.

  “I said pout, not frown,” he says. “You’re ruining my shot.”

  So, of course, I frown harder. “Who?”

  He sighs as he straightens, and lights himself a cigarette. We’ve been at this for at least an hour, so I guess I can’t blame him.

  “Let’s just say, they have a special place in their heart for you.”

  Revulsion twists my face, and a puff of smoke escapes his lips as he lets out a short chuckle. He smokes his cigarette while I stretch my legs and drink some of the water he brought me.

  There was a moment where I almost refused it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he could have drugged it or something. But posing is thirsty work, and if I’m ever going to get out of here I’ll have to stay hydrated. Who knows how long my flight to freedom will be?

  I look down at the water bottle, tasting my mouth.

  A memory blooms in my mind.

  That’s because of the drugs I put in it.

  I was in his apartment. I remember the glass of booze he poured me. Said he’d drugged it.

  I quickly lift the bottle to my mouth and take another swallow. Better than Cillian happening to look up and see my hand trembling, right?

  “On your back.”

  A tremor chases through me. He moves silent as a cat when he wants to. I never heard him coming up behind me. I set the bottle down on the nightstand and climb on the bed without looking at him.

  Who the hell knows what he would see in my eyes if he did?

  I’ve barely laid down before he snatches my wrist. I bite back a protest when he hauls my arm toward the leather restraint, and suppress a shiver when he leans over me and grabs my other wrist to repeat the process.

  This close, the smell of him is everywhere. Cigarettes and mints and his own masculinity. No sweat, but with the air-conditioner running down here, the air is chilled.

  I expect him to move away, but instead he takes a seat beside me and reaches behind him.

  “Now open that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, fighting a smirk and facing me as he lifts a hand. A silver ball gag dangles from his fingers.

  Crap.

  I know I’m past the point of rejecting anything he wants to put anywhere right now, but a fucking ball gag?

  “If I can weigh in here,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low rumble. “I’d open my pretty little mouth and let the nice man put in whatever he wants.”

  My mouth opens, but he stops about an inch from my mouth. Instead of putting in the gag, he runs a thumb over my bottom lip. I stop myself from biting his fucking finger off, and instead close my eyes as he slips his thumb between my lips.

  When he rubs it against my tongue, that sensation is mirrored deep inside my core.

  My body goes rigid.

  Oh my God. How am I enjoying this?

  But before I have a chance to analyze that shit, he pulls out his thumb and uses it to wet my lips.

  He could have just asked.

  Instead of being angry, a slow fascination builds in my mind.

  He could have asked.

  Maybe I’m not as far off script with my original plan as I thought. If there’s even a chance he’s attracted to me, then why the hell am I hesitating? And this time he’s the one coming onto me—

  The metal bit clicks against my teeth as he wedges it between my lips.

  Yeah, should’ve realized all of that before I lost my ability to speak

  There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Comfy?”

  “Mmmffmmmm,” I reply. And rather diplomatically, all considered.

  “Hmm,” he says, exhaling his warm, sweet breath over my face as he stares at my mouth. “It suits you.”

  But before I can even try and flutter my eyelashes at him, he’s gone.

  Only when it’s time for another cigarette does he bring the photoshoot to an end. Somehow it’s too soon, because I’ve only just been able to convince myself that I’m going to seduce Cillian.

  He comes over with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and sits next to me as he unbuckles the gag from the back of my head.

  I work my jaw as he leans to the side to put it on the nightstand.

  “Huh,” I murmur, as if to myself.

  He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he’s squinting through a coil of smoke, cigarette dangling from his lips as he uses both hands to start unbuckling the first restraint.

  “Huh!” I say, a little louder.

  “Just spit it out,” he mutters.

  Not a man for subtleties, I guess. “It’s just weird, is all.”

  He sighs, abandoning my restraint and leaning back to look at me. “What is?”

  “How…empty…my mouth feels right now?” I attempt a coy little shoulder shrug, which is easier said than done with your wrists restrained.

  Cillian studies me with slitted eyes. Then he leans across and crushes his cigarette out on the nightstand. “Is that so?” he says, as if he’s entirely uninterested in my answer.

  He pulls a packet of mints out of his pocket and puts one in his mouth. Then, he takes another one and holds it in front of my lips.

  I open for him, and he pops it in.

  “Better?”

  There’s the smallest fragment of a hint in his suggestion, but Christ. Is he being difficult on purpose? Does he know what I’m trying to do and willfully ignoring it, or is he really just blissfully ignorant?

  I’m trying to think on my feet. I want to back out, because if I make it even more o
bvious and he rejects me again... I think I’ll lose my mind.

  I shake my head, and heighten my voice a few notches. “It’s still missing something…”

  Straight for the jugular. Surely?

  His eyes search my face. Fuck knows what he’s looking for, but he leans across my body and pulls in closer to me as he tries to find it.

  Sea green eyes focus on my mouth, so I bite down on my lower lip and look at his.

  The closer he gets, the more I lower my lashes. His breath falls warm across my cheeks. He presses a firm kiss on my lips, and then pulls away just an inch.

  “Better?”

  When he speaks, I feel the rumble of his voice across my belly.

  I nod my head, still holding my breath.

  He moves so suddenly I don’t even have time to yell. Grabbing my face between his two big hands, he slams our lips together and demands entry.

  Which is exactly what I wanted, obviously. Which is why I don’t fight him. But that doesn’t explain why my entire body suddenly feels like someone just threw a toaster into my bathwater.

  With me still inside.

  His hand slides down my face until his fingers wrap around my throat. He pushes me into the bed, but somehow doesn’t strangle me.

  Yes! I did it! I’m seducing him!

  But victory pales in comparison to the feel of his rough stubble and his smooth lips. His kiss deepens, becomes even more demanding.

  I moan into his mouth, and fuck knows why. Theatrics, I guess.

  Explain to me why you consider this an act, Meisie? Can you not feel how your body reacts to him?

  Oh my God, Doctor Patricia fucking Lundy, PH. D. Get the hell out of my head!

  The mattress sinks down beside my hip as Cillian climbs onto the bed, our lips not breaking contact for even a second.

  He straddles me, grabs the hem of my dress, and slowly pulls it up my legs. That should have terrified me, but instead I kiss him even harder than before.

  Cillian lets out a surprised sound and rears back from me.

  When I try to follow, my restraints jerk me back with a soft clink.

  Fuck. I forgot about them.

  We stare at each, both breathing hard. Before I can make a sound, he grabs the front of my dress and tugs it down to my ribs, baring my breasts. He ducks down, working hungry kisses down my breastbone until he reaches one of my nipples.