Under His Influence

“You can’t hide from me,” he said, his voice reminding her of an amused cat watching a mouse scurry blindly before pouncing at leisure. “I don’t need to see you to find you. I will sense you, Mimi. I’m sensing you right now. I know exactly where you are.”

Kneeling beside the metal, pressed up to it as if for comfort, she spoke.

“Put the light on then.”

“I don’t need to.

Besides, I like having you at a disadvantage. That’s how I operate.”

She heard his footsteps, the discreet tap-tap of high quality soles crossing stone, no hesitations, pure confidence in his stride. Before she could struggle to her feet, he was upon her, dragging her up and pinning her arms behind her, standing over her shoulder and speaking into her ear.

“I knew you’d do this, Mimi. I set this up.”

“You…didn’t go to Russia,” she panted, her rib cage bursting with the effort of keeping her heart inside it. “You were here…all along.”

“I’ve been waiting for you. And now here you are. And here—” His tones switched from honeyed to snarling, “—you will stay.”

“But why?” she blurted, trying to kick back at his shin and succeeding only in making him tighten his painful grip on her.

“Why?” he crooned into her ear. “I’m not going to tell you that. Knowledge is power, isn’t it, Mimi? I don’t give power away. I like to keep it for myself.”

“I was right about you!”

“I hope that comforts you. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a chance. If you can find your way to the door without my catching you, I’ll let you go. What do you think? I can’t say fairer than that, can I? I’m not a complete bastard.”

“This is a game to you.”

“Yes. A lovely game. So much fun. Go on, then. Run along.” He jolted her forward, releasing her arms in the process so that she stumbled before finding her feet and trying to negotiate a path through the blinding black.

It was useless, though, a maze in a nightmare. Everywhere she turned, he was in front of her, his warmth and scent warning her away, but whatever direction she took, he seemed to know in advance. He knows what I’m doing before I do. He is reading my mind. Or is he controlling it? I’m sunk. I’m doomed. He’s got me.

“Bad luck, Miranda,” he tutted, reaching out a lazy arm to grasp her by the wrist. “You lose. Still, you were hardly a worthy opponent. Rather like playing Scrabble with a vole. Pitifully mismatched, but entertaining to watch.”

He led her across the flags and then she felt herself being sat down in a high but comfortable chair, leather cushioned and firm backed, her head resting with her neck lightly held back. His hands on hers, he placed them on an armrest, then he pressed something and cuffs flew around her wrists, ankles and throat, securing her to the chair without any hope of escape.

“What…are you doing?” she managed to ask. The collar was tight but padded; she could speak but excessive movement would not be easy.

“What does it feel like?”

“You’ve got me tied to this chair. What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me.”

“If I meant to kill you, I’d have done it long ago. Relax, Miranda. It’s going to be the story of your life. The story of the millennium. And you will get to tell it, in the end. But not for a long time yet, my sweet.”

“I’m not your sweet. Please tell me what the hell is going on! Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you keeping me in this…bondage device?”

“Alas, Miranda, so many questions, so little time to answer them. I have to get away. I do have Russian business deals to attend to—just in Park Lane rather than Moscow. I don’t want to be late for the oligarchs now, do I? Ta ta for now, sweet Mimi Leblanc. I’ll be back.”

She felt his intense presence dip towards her and, before she knew it, he had deposited a lingering kiss on her lips which, having no way of turning her head, she could not elude. “Oh, but before I go…” he said after surfacing with a deep, satisfied sigh. Mimi heard the tearing shriek of sticky tape being unrolled and then there was dense black latex over her mouth, covering John’s breath on her lips so that it mixed with hers inside her throat for as long as she was gagged. “Nobody would hear you scream anyway,” he told her helpfully. “I just like the look of you like that. Mmm. If only I could stay. The things I’m thinking we could… Oh. Well. Business first, pleasure later, eh? Ciao, bella.”

Chapter Eight

Anna thought the hammering and buzzing came from her dream at first, another of those crazy dreams in which she was tied and spread-eagle at the devil’s mercy while her newborn child lay screaming in a Moses basket. Somebody had come to save her, she thought groggily. Someone had come to fight the devil and free her soul, and her child.

But no, she realised, rubbing the blear from her eyes. It was somebody at the door. God, what time was it? She checked her watch, embedded in the skin of her wrist after sleeping awkwardly on it, and saw that it was after seven. Could she really have been asleep for five hours? Outside, it was still raining, and downstairs, standing on the porch steps, head half-sheltered by a pizza box, was Liam. She supposed Mimi would go and let him in, but after a further half minute, it seemed that this was not going to happen, so she smoothed down the clothes she had slept in, dragged a comb through her hair and made her sleepy way downstairs.

“Liam, hi. Where’s Mimi?”

“Why are you asking me?” Liam entered the hall gratefully, dripping all over the marble floor. “Isn’t she… Christ! This is some gaff you’ve got here.”