Obsessed Page 21

  The new flood of emotion lowered his timbre as his deep tone reverberated off the wooden interior. Fire framed his handsome face as he slowly and painstakingly undressed me until I was lying bare on the rug with his green eyes scanning me slowly. Like flames from the fire, his gaze sent heat over my skin and tightened my core.

  Pushing my knees upward, Kader covered me with his body as he unbuttoned his jeans, releasing his cock. As I waited in wanton anticipation, his deep voice directed my next move.

  “Laurel, use my real name.”

  I shook my head as tears flooded my eyes. “You haven’t told me.”

  “You know. I fucking need you to know.”

  I did.

  I didn’t believe it.

  This wasn’t dissociative identity disorder.

  Though my mind argued that it couldn’t be real, my heart knew it was the truth.

  “You’ve been mine since we were kids,” he said as anguish clouded his handsome face. “I’d forgotten. It all had gone away—everything. Now I understand why you’ve been fucking with my mind.” He lowered his torso over me. “You did this. Tell me you remember.”

  I swallowed.

  Oh God. It was real.

  How else would he know about the letter writing and about being his?

  My eyes closed as childhood memories bombarded my thoughts. I’d loved him too. We’d kissed and made plans. We’d petted and made promises we never kept. I’d wanted to give myself to him before we separated. He wouldn’t do it. He said we’d wait until he could make it special.

  “It can’t be you,” I said, my voice cracking. “You died.”

  My tears blurred his stoic features.

  “I did. I was dead. It’s you.”

  I started to say his name, but his finger came to my lips.

  “Laurel, you’re the only one. The person I’d become had given up hope.”

  My lips opened as my back arched and we became one.

  A small whimper escaped as I reached for his broad shoulder and buried my face in the cotton. My one word was muffled, yet we both heard it.

  “Mason.”

  Laurel

  I woke with a gasp, my mind suddenly awake with my body twisted in the sheets of Mason’s bed. Even in my thoughts, it was difficult to rationalize that Kader and Mason were one and the same. I sat upward, peering about the room. The sky beyond the window told me it was still nighttime though the clock’s numbers let me know a new day had begun. My eyes adjusted as the soft glow of moonlight bathed the room in an eerie silver hue, not bright enough to chase away the shadows lurking in the corners. And yet I knew I was alone.

  The bed beside me was empty, and as I ran my palm over the sheet, the coolness told me that I’d been alone for a while. Mason had been with me when I fell asleep; now he was gone.

  To where?

  My mind resumed reeling with the revelations of the night.

  Kader.

  Mason.

  With the exception of his eyes, the man looked nothing like the boy I remembered. Nevertheless, I knew in my heart it was him.

  While he’d talked, I tried not to push or to lead. And with every word he spoke, it was painful to watch the man he’d thought had died—who we all thought had died—come to terms with the man he was today.

  Unwinding the sheets, I climbed out of bed.

  Instead of dressing in my clothes, I went into Mason’s closet and found one of his button-down shirts. The lingering scent of rich birch cologne brought back memories of the man with one name.

  Would I be able to fuse the two?

  Would he?

  In a way, it was as if a dam had been placed inside Mason’s mind and last night it broke, unleashing a flood of overpowering images and memories. As a scientist and expert in memories, I feared what he’d find. As the girl who’d fallen in love with a boy from South Chicago, I was also scared of how his two worlds would come together, if they could unite.

  There was a true battle waging inside his mind, one that wasn’t visible to the outside world. It was one with two participants on a singular battlefield. The epiphany of his true identity had been sudden and overwhelming, leaving Mason to press through beliefs, preconceptions, and walls Kader had established. It could take him years to come to terms with what was real and what had been planted.

  In reality, both identities were real.

  That was a lot to comprehend.

  While Mason talked last night about our childhood, I cautioned him against learning too much too fast. He had a life to recall and doing it too quickly could be detrimental. Now with his absence from the bedroom, I was afraid of what he may be doing, using his invisibility online to search for information about himself.

  Descending the stairs into the dark entry, my fingers worked to fasten the buttons on his shirt. Once on the ground floor, I began rolling the sleeves. My bare feet barely made a sound as I walked past and through the darkened rooms, following the literal light at the end of the dark tunnel—the light coming from Mason’s office.

  I slowed as I came closer.

  Never had I seen the door left open.

  My heartbeat rang in my ears as I listened for activity, the sound of a keyboard or the click of a mouse. At the doorway, I stopped and searched the gray industrial room. “Mason?” I turned toward the hallway, swallowed, and tried again, “Kader?”

  No answer.

  The chairs before the computers sat empty. From my vantage point, the entire room was visible, and yet he wasn’t present.

  Where did he go?

  Looking up, one of the screens displayed the hallway where I’d just been. Another showed what I recognized as the kitchen though it was difficult to see anything other than the moonlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, I stared, wondering if that was where he’d gone. And then on the screen, the light from the moon’s rays lessened.

  Clouds.

  That made sense.

  The motion detection was picking up the changing light.

  Stepping around the long desk, my curiosity piqued.

  What had he been researching?

  How much did he recall?

  Reaching toward the desk, I lowered myself, sitting on the edge of his large chair. As I did, my movement stirred the mouse, bringing one of the smaller screens to life. My pulse increased as I recognized what was on display. It was the screen with the message he’d received this afternoon.

  My gaze searched again around the screens to the doorway as I contemplated my next move. With the doorway still clear, I rubbed my clammy, trembling palms over his shirttails covering my thighs.

  Where was he?

  I knew better than to look further, and yet I couldn’t stop.

  The header read: image attached.

  He’d warned me about viewing files on his computer.

  Would this be another gruesome image, one I couldn’t unsee?

  Moving the mouse, I clicked the attachment as an image took over the screen.

  My lip disappeared behind my front teeth and my head tilted as I tried to make out the grainy attachment. I leaned closer, doing my best to decipher what was before me. The black and white image was overly pixilated as if it had been enlarged too many times. And then such as with an optical illusion photo, I saw behind the film, reminding me of what it was like to look into a steam-covered mirror. The subjects were present, yet masked by smoke, steam, or fog.

  My eyes squinted as I made out a large hooded figure with a woman in his arms. I sat back, knowing the location. It was the elevator at the university. My circulation redirected, racing to my limbs, leaving me uneasy as more and more of the picture made sense.

  I clicked the upper box, decreasing the size of the image and read the short message.

  If I wasn’t already sitting, I had the feeling I may faint.

  * * *

  This troubling information has been brought to light. Advise that measures will be taken if you do not reply and comply. Keep in mind that you have
been paid for services rendered.

  Identify this man as yourself. If he is not, we have reason to believe Dr. Carlson’s death was contrived. The ambiguity of her missing status must end. This man must be identified and dealt with.

  No loose ends. That was our deal.

  Produce Dr. Carlson’s body or notify us of its location.

  Verify receipt of message and reply with acceptable timetable.

  Our only alternative is to make this photo public. If it is you, your career will be over.

  * * *

  Reply sent this afternoon:

  Evidence will be produced within forty-eight hours.

  * * *

  “Following rules isn’t your thing, is it?”

  Startled, I jumped as the sound of his voice echoed within the office. Looking up, I took him in, the way he was standing, unmoving within the door’s frame. His arm was raised to the doorjamb, similar to the way Kader had done back in the basement.

  “U-uh, Mason,” I stammered.

  “I told you not to come in here without me.”

  “I-I was looking for you.”

  He let go of the doorjamb and took a step inside the office. “Did you think you’d find me on the computer? Come now, Doc, you’re smarter than that.”

  The combination of what I’d just read and the chilly timbre of his voice set my nerves on edge. The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. With each second his green eyes bore my direction, their gaze grew cooler and cooler until their icy chill continued the uneasy sensation, snaking its way down my spine, lifting the small hairs on my arms and legs, and curling my toes.

  He took another step my direction, stopping as he scanned my attire—his shirt. The cool green of his eyes darkened as the muscles in his cheeks pulled tight. “Does this attire mean that you’ve embraced your new profession?”

  “I thought...”

  “If I open my shirt, will I find you wet and ready for me?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Nipples hard?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  His head shook. “Just making sure you’re fulfilling your job requirements.”

  My heart beat in double time as my stomach twisted.

  This wasn’t Mason.

  He wasn’t even Kader, not the one whose company I enjoyed.

  The man before me was personality number four.

  Standing, I took a step back. Attempting to reach the man from earlier tonight, the one who protected me from the fireplace, I softened my tone. “Mason, it’s me, Laurel.”

  “I know your name, Doc. Remember, I know everything about you.”

  My hands trembled as I pointed to the screen. “Tell me what that means.”

  His neck straightened, the cords pulling taut, yet his words were eerily calm. “Always so curious. You have heard what they say about curiosity and the cat.” His lips formed a sinister grin. “Of course, you have. You’re a fucking genius.”

  I shuffled my feet backward until my backside collided with another of his tables. The contents rattled, bringing my attention to an array of handguns, ones I hadn’t seen before.

  Mason was in front of me, reaching for my hand. “Don’t think about it. They’re not loaded.”

  Think about it?

  My head shook. “I-I wouldn’t ever think of...” The content of his reply to the message came back to me. “You replied to that email before...before the plane. You seemed excited to show me your land. And you had already sent that message. I don’t understand.”

  His large fingers toyed with the buttons on the shirt I wore as his head tilted. “What don’t you understand?” He unbuttoned the highest button. “I couldn’t let Jack find you.” He reached for the next button.

  I pushed his hand away. “Tell me what that message means.”

  “It’s quite simple. The entity that paid me for your death wants proof.”

  “Proof. It said they want my body.”

  His lips curled upward as he scanned me from head to toe. “Can’t blame them. I want it too.”

  “Stop this. You’re trying to frighten me.”

  His long finger trailed over my cheek, to my neck, and lower to the valley between my breasts before moving upward and lifting my chin. “Dr. Carlson, you’ve fucked with my mind, making me think and act...” He stood taller, his shoulders straightening as his broad chest filled with air.

  It was then I noticed his sleeves. They were no longer exposing his kaleidoscope of colors.

  “Mason.” I reached for his arm. “We’ll figure this out together. I’ll help you.”

  “I’ve told you what I think of you analyzing me. Besides, Doc, you read the message. You’re smart enough to decipher the meaning: time’s up. And just to be clear, remember what I said: my story doesn’t get a happy ending. Despite what you may think or may try to convince me to believe with your bag of psychological tricks, Mason Pierce died in that explosion nearly seven years ago. Kader was hired for a job and he doesn’t fail.”

  Mason and Laurel’s story concludes in BOUND. You’re not going to want to miss a moment of TANGLED WEB as the mysteries and secrets continue to be unraveled.

  Preorder BOUND now by tapping on the title.

  * * *

  If you’re enjoying TANGLED WEB, don’t miss WEB OF SIN, the trilogy is complete. Turn to the next page for a peek at SECRETS, book #1, WEB OF SIN.

  A peek at SECRETS, book #1 Web of Sin

  Araneae

  PROLOGUE

  My mother’s fingers blanched as she gripped the steering wheel tighter with each turn. The traffic on the interstate seemed to barely move, yet we continued to swerve in, out, and around other cars. From my angle I couldn’t read the speedometer, though I knew we were bordering on reckless driving. I jumped, holding my breath as we pulled in front of the monstrous semi, the blare of a truck’s horn filling our ears. Tons of metal and sixteen wheels screeched as brakes locked behind us, yet my mother’s erratic driving continued.

  “Listen very carefully,” she said, her words muffled by the quagmire of whatever she was about to say, the weight pulling them down as she fluttered her gaze between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.

  “Mom, you’re scaring me.”

  I reached for the handle of the car door and held on as if the seat belt couldn’t keep me safe while she continued to weave from lane to lane.

  “Your father,” she began, “made mistakes, deadly mistakes.”

  My head shook side to side. “No, Dad was a good man. Why would you say that?”

  My father, the man I called Dad for as long as I could remember, was the epitome of everything good: honest and hardworking, a faithful husband, and an omnipresent father.

  He was.

  He died less than a week ago.

  “Listen, child. Don’t interrupt me.” She reached into her purse with one hand while the other gripped tighter to the wheel. Removing an envelope from the depths of the bag, she handed it my direction. “Take this. Inside are your plane tickets. God knows if I could afford to send you away farther than Colorado, I would.”

  My fingers began to tremble as I looked down at the envelope in my grasp. “You’re sending me away?” The words were barely audible as my throat tightened and heaviness weighed down upon my chest. “Mom—”

  Her chin lifted in the way it did when her mind was set. I had a million visions of the times I’d seen her stand up for what she believed. At only five feet three, she was a pit bull in a toy poodle body. That didn’t mean her bark was worse than her bite. No, my mother always followed through. In all things she was a great example of survival and fortitude.

  “When I say your father,” she went on, “I don’t mean my husband—may the Lord rest his soul. Byron was a good man who gave his...everything...for you, for us. He and I have always been honest with you. We wanted you to know that we loved you as our own. God knows that I wanted to give birth. I tried to get pregnant for years. When you were presented to us, we
knew you were a gift from heaven.” Her bloodshot eyes—those from crying through the past week since the death of my dad—briefly turned my direction and then back to the highway. “Renee, never doubt that you’re our angel. However, the reality is somewhere darker. The devil has been searching for you. And my greatest fear has always been that he’d find you.”

  The devil?

  My skin peppered with goose bumps as I imagined the biblical creature: male-like with red skin, pointed teeth, and a pitchfork. Surely that wasn’t what she meant?

  Her next words brought me back to reality.

  “I used to wake in a cold sweat, fearing the day had arrived. It’s no longer a nightmare. You’ve been found.”

  “Found? I don’t understand.”

  “Your biological father made a deal against the devil. He thought if he did what was right, he could... well, he could survive. The woman who gave birth to you was my best friend—a long time ago. We hadn’t been in contact for years. She hoped that would secure your safety and keep you hidden. That deal...it didn’t work the way he hoped. Saving themselves was a long shot. Their hope was to save you. That’s how you became our child.”

  It was more information than I’d ever been told. I have always known I was adopted but nothing more. There was a promise of one day. I used to hope for that time to come. With the lead weight in the pit of my stomach, I knew that now that one day had arrived, and I wasn’t ready. I wanted more time.

  The only woman I knew as my mother shook her head just before wiping a tear from her cheek. “I prayed you’d be older before we had this talk, that you would be able to comprehend the gravity of this information. But as I said, things have changed.”

  The writing on the envelope blurred as tears filled my sixteen-year-old eyes. The man I knew as my dad was gone, and now the woman who had raised me was sending me away. “Where are you sending me?”

  “Colorado. There’s a boarding school in the mountains, St. Mary of the Forest. It’s private and elite. They’ll protect you.”