Where's Molly(29)

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.”