Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

Grayson strokes my neck, inspecting the marks he’s surely left behind. “I see you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He kisses me, his lips soft and claiming, in complete contrast to the rawness we just experienced.

Raw. My skin and mind feel over sensitized. Scraped raw by his abrasive touch.

I allow our tongues to tangle, my palm pressed to his chest, counting his thunderous heartbeats. He tastes hypnotic. Like a drug. Like freedom. I feel his erection as he thrusts his hardness between my legs, igniting my arousal all over again… And I turn away, breaking the kiss.

I shove him back. Pushing my skirt down my legs, I say, “You have to go.”

I slide to the edge of the desk, but his hands pin either side of my thighs. “I know how scared you are,” he says. “That moment when you first say it out loud…there’s no going back, London. You’ve already kept it buried too long. Once it’s unleashed, you can’t lock the monster back up.”

Despite Sadie having warned of this very frightening inevitability, I stare into his eyes, defiant. “Watch me.”

I push him aside and hurry to the bathroom, grabbing my tattered underwear on the way. I splash cool water on my face, avoiding the mirror. If I look, then I’ll see those haunted memories, and I’m still too weak, too vulnerable in this state to face them.

When I’m composed, I fix my blouse and wander into the therapy room, where Grayson is shackled to the floor manacle once again. Everything feels so…undisturbed. As if the past half hour only existed in a fantasy.

He looks my way. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

A hollowness takes up residency where I was just so fulfilled, so assured. I leave the room to summon the officer.

12

Tomb

Grayson

Gen pop, otherwise known to the unaware public as general population, has its benefits in prison. It’s less restricted, and therefore a con can acquire certain hard-to-get items if the price is right.

It’s a bit trickier to take advantage of this currency when sanctioned in enhanced security confinement, but not impossible. It all boils down to supply and demand. In prison, things we take for granted in the outside world hold m

uch more value on the inside. Out there, if you need a prescription, you go to the pharmacy. Here, you have to pay off the right guard.

With less than forty-eight hours until my transfer, time is my enemy. Locked in this cell is like being sealed inside a tomb. I’m already dead to the outside world.

And just as a dead man has no need for possessions, I’ve made arrangements. My cell is an empty, blank slate, ready for a new occupant. Everything has been thrown out in preparation for the transition to New Castle—all except for London’s puzzle.

The photos, the research, the evidence of my obsession…all gone. It’s locked inside me. Locked, locked. Only one other holds the key.

I stare down at the completed portrait of London, every curved jigsaw piece fitted together flawlessly, the seams of her face a delicate maze I’ve mapped over and over.

I touch the beveled edges, recalling her taste, like sweet lilac. The feel of her in my hands. Her soft body molding to mine, coming undone under my touch. When the pieces snap together, it’s an intoxicating satisfaction like nothing else in this world.

We’re a perfect match.

Once you’ve sampled that perfection, that utterly seductive gratification, you cannot live without it. She’s becoming a necessity, part of my addiction, and just as I can’t quiet the compulsions, the absence of her stirs a restlessness, the fear of not having her a madness squirming inside my mind.

I pace my cell. A caged animal awaiting the gate to open.

We’re being tested. She can’t bottle what’s been unleashed, and I can’t return to the man I once was. That man only knew one way to survive: alone. Isolation is a survival instinct. But I no longer crave solitude to suffer my penance—I’ve found the one thing that can set me free, and I’ll kill for it.

Footsteps near my cell. The heavy footfall of boots hitting cement spikes my adrenaline. I want this too badly.

“Delivery from gen pop,” the guard says as he shoves a package into the slot. He holds it there on his side, his gaze narrowed on me. “This wasn’t cheap, con.”

I stand a distance away from the door. “I’ll double the payment and wire it to your account.”

He laughs. “Guess you’re not going to spend it when you’re dead.” He sends the package through.

I grab the package and hold it behind my back. I can feel the contents.