9. The Rescue #2
She looks up at me, and for a second, her eyes go wide: that limpid, innocent blue that makes my heart twinge, even in these sordid circumstances.
I nod at Sanders. “Give us a minute, please.”
The woman leaves, the door hissing shut behind her. We’re alone.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Kayleigh bites her lower lip. Her hands twist in her lap.
I break the silence.
“Get up,” I say, voice low and even.
She stands. She’s shivering.
“Let’s go,” I add. She follows, head down, trailing just behind me as I lead her out. She’s so obedient I almost laugh.
In the hallway, I pause and look at her.
“You okay?” I say, not really asking.
She nods, but her lips quiver. I see a fleck of mascara at the corner of her eye. I reach out and wipe it away, and she flinches, but doesn’t pull back.
After some paperwork, we walk to the car in silence. The world is awake now, the streets lined with traffic and joggers and moms pushing strollers. The morning is ordinary, but I feel like a criminal. Like we’ve committed a murder and are just waiting for the knock at the door.
I unlock the Mercedes and hold the passenger side open for her. She climbs in, careful not to flash her panties to the neighborhood, but I see anyway: pale lace, wispy and feminine.
I circle to the driver’s side and get in, the leather cold against my skin. For a long time, neither of us speaks.
Then I look over, and Kayleigh’s crying. Not sobbing, just tears leaking down her cheeks, silent and relentless. She looks beautiful, like the Virgin Mary, but of course, this is no virgin. This woman is a horny slut, and I intend to avail myself of the pleasure her curves will bring.
But not right now. I should say something. I should comfort her. But I’m an asshole, so I don’t.
We drive two blocks before I say, flatly: “What the fuck happened last night?”
Kayleigh keeps her eyes straight ahead. Her hands are a twist of knuckles on her lap.
“I don’t know. It was a party. There was a fight. Someone called the cops. I didn’t do anything.”
I nod. “You didn’t do anything,” I echo, as if it might sound truer the second time.
She shakes her head. “It was Stella, not me. She fought this girl, I didn’t even know that woman! I tried to break it up. That’s all, I swear, and somehow, I got caught in the middle. Before I knew it, we were being dragged off to jail.”
I let the silence come back. We cross the river, the arches white in the sunlight, and I can see the city glinting ahead, all glass and money and ambition.
After a minute I say, “So let me get this straight. You were busy in some cat fight with a strange woman, but you had the time to send me nude photos of yourself. Or was that when you were in jail? This entire story is so fucking preposterous, I don’t know what to believe.
But I got your photos, sweetheart. I saw every inch of you.
On the inside, as well as out,” I rasp with a gleam in my blue eyes.
Kayleigh’s head immediately whips around, eyes huge. There’s a perfect second where she’s caught, mid-gasp, every thought on her face at once.
She opens her mouth, nothing comes out. Then she tries again, and her voice is high, a little hoarse. “Oh my god. I— That wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”
I cut her off: “Didn’t mean to send them? Or didn’t mean for me to see them? Or did jail do a number on you and you have no memory of how it happened? It was because you were punched, right?”
The tips of her ears are going red. She tries to hide behind her hair, but it doesn’t work.
“I don’t know— There was no signal, and the guard— He wanted me to—”
I raise my hand, palm out. “Spare me. I don’t give a shit about the guard. Or about your lies.”
She bites her lip, and a tear tracks through the mascara at her cheekbone, but she swipes it away with the back of her hand, leaving a streak.
“I’m not lying, I swear,” she mumbles in a whisper. “It was never supposed to happen!”
We’re stopped at a light, and I look at her, really look at her. The pink dress is halfway up her thighs, and I can see a smear of bruise on one knee. Her breasts rise and fall in big, ragged breaths, pressing against the stretched fabric. Her mouth is raw from biting, swollen and shiny.
“What do you mean, it was never supposed to happen? The photos? Sending them to me? Or are we still talking about the fight?”
Kayleigh gasps again, her mouth opening and closing with no words.
“Oh um, oh …”
Damn, she’s so beautiful that I could fuck her right here in the car. I imagine her big tits bobbling in my face as I fuck up into that tight vag. The urge is so sharp it makes my teeth hurt.
The light turns green. I floor it, just to burn off the feeling.
I don’t talk again until we’re in the underground garage, the door closing behind us with a hydraulic whine. I kill the engine and turn to face her.
“You want to tell me the real story?”
She stares down at her knees, hands still bunched.
“Stella dared me. She said I should— She said you’d want—” Kayleigh’s voice breaks, but she rallies, swallowing hard. “I just wanted to get out, I swear. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I swear—”
She can’t finish. The silence fills in the gaps: not just the stepsister, not just the afterthought, not just the thing you look past to get to something better.
I watch her for a while. I want her to squirm. I want her to own her actions.
Finally I say, “Did you enjoy taking those photos?”
Kayleigh blinks. She looks up, and her eyes are wet and embarrassed and, beneath it all, desperate.
She nods, so tiny I almost miss it.
I nod back, once, like we’re making a deal.
“Good,” I growl.
We take the elevator up, the tension between us a third person in the mirrored box. I can smell the young woman’s sweat, her perfume, and under that, something sweeter, like fragrant nectar. My cock jerks immediately. Fuck, this girl’s going to be the death of me.
At my floor, the doors slide open. I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her to my place.
Inside, she stops just inside the door, heels sinking into the carpet, and looks around like she’s waiting for instructions.
I drop my keys on the counter, take off my coat, and turn to face her.
“You look like shit,” I say, but my voice is softer than I mean it to be.
Kayleigh smiles, a crooked shadow of a smile. “I feel like it, too.”
She stands in the entryway, arms folded over her chest, trembling, needy, and goddamned beautiful.
I step closer, until we’re breathing the same air.
“You sent me those photos,” I say, slow and deliberate, “and now you’re going to stand here and act like you don’t know what I want from you?”
She shakes her head, but it’s a lie.
I lift her chin with two fingers, gentle but insistent.
“What do you think I want?” I ask.
She shudders. “To punish me?”
I smile, slow and predatory.
“No,” I say. “To see if you’re as good in real life as you are in the pictures.”
She’s trembling, but she doesn’t look away.
I let go of her chin and step back, giving her space to decide.
“Go take a shower,” I say. “Get the makeup off. I’ll make coffee.”
Kayleigh nods, grateful for the order. She slips out of her shoes and walks down the hall, bare feet silent on the hardwood.
When I hear the water running, I exhale, slow and deep, and pour myself a scotch.
I sit at the counter, glass in hand, and watch the entry to the hallway.
Part of me wants to go in there, rip the dress off her, and bend her over the sink. But part of me wants to wait, to let her come out clean and exposed and knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
Either way, the game has already started.
And this time, I’m not going to play nice.