“If Clayton trusted them, it’s a safe bet you can trust them.”
Of course. Her Master had been an excellent judge of character. He would have surrounded himself with the most trustworthy business partners. And her Master had told her outright, many times, that he didn’t trust his family, so Molly wouldn’t trust them either. Her Master trusted Mephisto...so she would have to trust him.
“I think I’ll get dressed,” she said. “I’m sure you have to go. The club...”
“Club Mephisto will be fine. But if you feel okay at the moment, I’ll go and take care of a few things.” He came to her and squeezed her hand. Molly couldn’t look at his face, so she didn’t know what his expression was. Sad, probably. Pitying. As soon as he was gone, she allowed herself to fall apart yet again, collapsing where she stood, sobbing until her eyes and head ached so much she had to stop. This is too hard. This is too hard, Master. Please, come back. I’ll be good, so good if you do.
But no matter how good she was, or how perfect, this was all she had left at the end of it. Nothing.
Nothing at all.
*** *** ***
Mephisto sat in the back of the sprawling city church at Clayton’s funeral, feeling uncomfortable in his suit and tie. He’d said his goodbyes to Clayton beside the hospital bed, but he wouldn’t have missed this. Clayton would have been happy with the grand, polished service, even though he was never a religious man. Clayton had always been very much about appearances and decorum, even though he accepted Mephisto’s scruffy goth image. Clayton, man, you should see me in this suit.
Mephisto didn’t know how Molly was coping. He hadn’t done any more than talk on the phone with Mrs. Jernigan the last few days. Molly didn’t have a phone. No email address, no nothing. He could barely see the back of her bowed head where she sat in the front row.
Later, at the graveside service, Mephisto was able to study her more closely. Beneath her smart black suit, her widow’s hat, she looked like a shell of the Molly he knew. An imposter. Clayton’s family, at least, seemed to be tending to her. She stood between two of his sisters, looking for all the world as wealthy and brittle as they were. He understood that Molly was in a tunnel now, in the dark. She had gone into the tunnel from Clayton’s light, and would come out of it some day, blinking and confused. For now, the tunnel probably felt like a safe place.
Molly raised her head, looked up at him. Their eyes locked. She must have felt him staring.
If I die tomorrow, tell her you love her.
Clayton had known he might die. For two years, he had kept that secret. As for the other secret...that Mephisto loved his wife... Clay had sensed that too, and been okay with it. But Molly...she hadn’t known anything.
There was no way she could know. Mephisto wasn’t sure of his feelings himself. He always insisted to Clay it was only because of their long history that he took such an interest in her. Mephisto had known Molly in her pre-slave years, when she’d been a wild, tormented young woman. He flattered himself into believing he’d saved her from that. Mephisto liked feeling powerful, liked the idea that he’d somehow had a hand in making her a new person. But the truth was, he had very little to do with creating the complex person who was Molly.
As quickly as their eyes met, Molly looked away. Mephisto couldn’t read her face. He only knew there was grief there, and emptiness. What do I do, Clay?
Mephisto could go for it. Wait a few weeks, until the worst of her grief had passed, and lay it all on the line, tell Molly his true feelings. I would like to be your next Master. I want you under my hand. I want that incredible submission you gave to Clayton, all for myself now. He did desperately want her to serve him. He loved her beauty, her calmness. Her deep feelings of worship and fidelity to her Master. But could he earn those feelings? She couldn’t just summon them up from nothing. Clayton Copeland had earned every iota of Molly’s admiration and love. Mephisto understood it wouldn’t be easy to fill Clay’s shoes.
Then there was his own life to think about. He had Club Mephisto to run, and a lot of s-types who counted on him as an occasional play partner. What did it look like, if Molly came into his life? She could be his alpha-slave, sure, ranking above the others, but would that be enough for her? Could Mephisto participate in playful scene-type slavery relationships with his other partners and still demand the depth of Molly’s service? Molly’s...love? Mephisto had never been in a romantic-love relationship that wasn’t connected to power exchange or sex. What made him think he could fulfill Molly, with a history like that?
It all came down to worthiness, something he’d never questioned in himself. Well, no, he’d questioned it before, during the one week Molly had stayed with him two years ago. That week had forced him to face many truths about himself, not all of them pleasant.
That was the week he’d fallen for her like a boulder off a cliff.
But boulders could smash people. He’d tried very hard, in a way, to smash her that week, and she remembered. Of course she remembered. Her Master’s wishes aside, it was very possible she dreaded nothing more than ending up in Mephisto’s hands.
After the graveside service, everyone drifted away from the yawning hole in the ground, but Molly lingered, and so did Mephisto. For a while he kept his distance, watching her, trying to gauge if he was welcome. She stared down into the earth, thinking about God knew what. The man she loved, probably, cold now in the ground.
“Molly.” Mephisto approached her, feeling very much like a supplicant. Her eyes traveled over him, over his suit and wool overcoat.
“Hello. Thanks for coming today.” She bit her lip. “Thank you for the flowers. Tulips were his favorite.”
“I know.” She was trying too hard to sound cheerful. It unsettled him. “How are you?”
“Oh....” She shrugged, still in that fake-cheerful tone. “I’ve been better. I was actually going to call you after the funeral. I’ve been thinking.”
Mephisto stepped closer, feeling nervousness snake up his spine at her unfamiliar briskness, her closed expression. “Thinking about what?”
She let out a long, shuddery sigh. “About my life.”
“Molly!” One of Clayton’s sisters called out to her. “Are you okay? Shall we hold the car?”
Mephisto looked at the woman, then back at Molly. “I’ll drive you back if you like. If you want to stay and talk.”
“Well... Okay.”
“I mean, if you’ve been thinking about your life, this might be a long conversation.”
Molly turned to Clayton’s sister and waved. “I’m going to stay a little while longer.”
The woman looked between him and Molly. Sure, his clothes were spiffy, but he still had dreadlocks and a stud in his nose. He smiled and walked over. “I’m Jay Tennant. An old friend of Clayton’s.”
“Oh?” Her oh? was clearly a request for more information.
Mephisto gave a short glance at Molly. “I used to do security for one of Clay’s properties.” The woman wouldn’t understand the real meaning of that, but it was more or less the truth. Security work would also explain his build and appearance. She offered him a lackluster handshake.
“I’m Margaret Kearney. One of Clayton’s sisters.”
“I see the resemblance,” Mephisto said.
Margaret Kearney looked like she had plenty more questions, but she didn’t ask them. Instead she turned to Molly, wearing a tight smile. “Don’t be too long. We’ll be receiving visitors back at the house.”
Molly didn’t answer, only stared down into Clayton’s grave. With one last look at Mephisto, the woman turned and stalked across the grass to a waiting car. Mephisto swallowed down unkind cracks about Mrs. Kearney, in deference to Molly’s pensive mood. “We can stay here as long as you like,” he said. “As long as it takes to say goodbye.”
“To you?” She looked confused.
“No. To Clayton. To your Master.”
“I’ve already said goodbye.” She frowned and gave another little shr
ug. “He’s not there anyway. I know that. All of this is just for show.”
Mephisto waited. He knew there was more. Molly brushed aside the black tulle shielding her face and held her forehead like she had an ache there.
“Okay, listen,” she said. “I know you and my...Mr. Copeland had an agreement. That, you know, after he died I would go to you.”
Mephisto shook his head. “That wasn’t the agreement. I only promised to look after you. What you do with your life now is up to you, fully and completely.”
“So...that’s what I’ve been thinking about.”
“Good.”
“And I see now what you were trying to show me that week we spent together. That day in the kitchen, that last day when you asked me all those questions. I get it now. I understand how stupid I’ve been, how all of this has been so bad and wrong.”
Mephisto stiffened. Those words were the last words he’d expected to fall from Molly’s lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That day when I asked you those questions, I was only trying to make sure you were happy.”