Where’s Molly

Nine Years Ago
2013

“Do you have a computer I can use to find a hotel?” I ask, tapping my fingers against the counter nervously. Cage just returned from the back, and anxiety is gnawing at my stomach.

This entire situation is so far out of my depth, and I feel a little sick if I analyze it too deeply.

So easily, I could be walking into another wolf’s den. I’m not sure if escaping human trafficking has made me cautious or reckless at this point. Everything I do feels like my life is on the line, and I’m not sure if I’ll live long enough to know peace.

“Silas will book the room for you and get it taken care of,” Cage offers.

His employee doesn’t waste another second and pulls out his phone, googling nearby hotels.

“Right. Thanks,” I mumble.

“Do you need anything in the meantime? Water? Food?”

I blink. Food has been more of a luxury than a necessity, and I’ve gotten good at ignoring the hunger pangs. For as long as I can remember, it’s always been a fight to fuel my body. And I don’t know if I’ve ever been offered food and water in all my twenty-five years of life.

“Uh, I guess water would be nice,” I say, my cheeks burning.

“Sure, thanks,” Silas mutters on the phone before hanging up, his brow pinched. “That’s the second hotel I’ve called that is completely booked.”

Cage glances at him. “Keep trying. I’m sure there’s at least one that has an available room.” Then, his stare returns to mine. “It’s about dinnertime for us anyway. We’re open for another hour, and I suppose it’s not smart to take you out in public, so I can order a pizza if you’d like?”

My lips part, but I have no words. I’m not sure why, but it’s embarrassing that he wants to feed me. I know I’m malnourished—but I guess I don’t like that it’s so obvious.

However, I’m too hungry to turn it down.

“Sure. That’d be nice. Thank you.”

“What toppings do you like on your pizza?”

I flush hotter and avoid eye contact, deciding to settle my gaze on my chipped nails. “I’ve never had pizza before, so I don’t really know. I guess just cheese is fine.”

When I do find the courage to flick a glance in his direction, I’m almost impressed by how easily he schools his expression. He doesn’t gape at me like I’d expected. Instead, a sly grin curls his lips.

“Then let me be the one to introduce you to the best thing you’ll ever eat in your life. I’ll get a supreme, maybe a Hawaiian if you’re the type to like pineapple on your pizza—huge debate in the world, by the way—and of course, a plain cheese and a pepperoni just in case.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my skull as he goes on. “Oh my God, no. That is so much food! You really don’t have to do th—”

He leans heavily on the counter across from me, cutting off whatever the hell I was going to say. He peers up at me with a challenging expression, but what has me tongue-tied is the raw animalistic energy that radiates from him. I don’t know if he’s even aware of it, yet it sets me on fucking fire anyway.

“I know I don’t have to. But I like to eat,” he drawls lazily.

My chest tightens, and a swarm of butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t sound like he’s declaring his affection for consuming food at this moment.

It feels as if a sharp, pointed claw is poised against the inside of my throat, and it slowly drags down my chest, into my stomach, and between my thighs, leaving a hot trail in its wake.

I’m tempted to make some corny joke about being out of practice with eating, though I know how to swallow. Except I don’t have the confidence to say something like that. Nor am I sure if I’d even want to.

Sex isn’t something I’m interested in. Not after going through everything that I have. In fact, I’m perfectly content if I never have to see another penis for the rest of my life.

Yet, the way Cage stares up at me now—I wonder if that’s really true.

I hadn’t considered what sex would be like if I chose it, and if it’s something that would feel good.

“Goddamn it!” Silas shouts, startling me damn near out of my skin. Cage cranes his head over his shoulder, glaring at his employee.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve called every fucking hotel nearby, and all of them are booked. How is that even possible?”

My heart drops, and immediately, my thoughts begin to spiral. I have Legion’s car and could probably sleep in it for the night. It’s not safe, but if I find a parking lot with other cars, maybe no one will notice.

“Th-that’s okay. I can find somewhere else to st—”

“Absolutely not,” Cage interrupts, straightening his spine. “I have a spare bedroom. You can stay with me tonight.”

My mouth flops for a few moments before I raise my hands, finally scrounging up the voice to protest. “N-no. That’s so not necessary. I’ll find—”

“If you’re even considering sleeping somewhere outside, I’m going to have to stop you there. That’s too dangerous.”

A crease forms between my brows. “And staying with a complete stranger isn’t?”

His features relax slightly, and he offers a soft grin.

“Call Legion. He’ll put guards outside my house. The second you scream for help, they’ll come running, and I’ll have a bullet through my brain before I can blink.”

“A bullet? That… that also seems unnecessary.”

He cocks a brow. “Is it?”

An image of my father being ripped apart by pigs flashes through my brain, and I relent, “I guess not.”

“For what it’s worth, I would never hurt you. I promise not to lay a finger on you.” There’s a pause, and I hear the unspoken words he won’t give voice to.

Unless you ask me to.

A large part of me is glad he didn’t say it. But another part of me is a little disappointed. Maybe because I don’t know that I’ll ever gather the courage to say that I do want him to.

He nods toward me. “Call Legion.”

The black flip phone burns in my back pocket, and I’m tempted to pull it out and do just that. But what if Legion is no better of a man than Cage? If he led me to someone willing to hurt me, then I doubt he’s an upstanding guy, either.

And I’d rather fight one man in a place where I have access to a knife than a man when I’m alone in a car.

Do I feel safe with Cage? No. But not because I think he’ll hurt me.

Only that it’ll hurt when I need to leave.

I don’t know why I feel safe with him, just that I do. And if there’s one thing I’ve gotten really good at over the years, it’s trusting my gut.

“It’s fine,” I force out. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“How old are you?” I ask, though my voice is breathless with awe as my stare bounces around his home.

“Twenty-seven,” he answers instantly.

I’ve never seen a twenty-seven-year-old own a house like this. It’s beautiful.

The interior is a combination of black stone, veneer wooden panels, and cream walls. Plant life is scattered throughout the open floor plan, complementing the earthy-toned furniture.

The living room is sunken in from the kitchen, two rounded steps leading down to where a massive, circular black couch sits in front of a fireplace, a huge TV mounted above it.

To my left is a sleek kitchen with a huge island in the middle. There, Cage lays the cardboard stack of pizza boxes, left over from a few hours ago. The supreme was my favorite, and I found the cheese too boring. To Silas’s dismay, I didn’t mind the pineapple on the pizza, though it wouldn’t be something I’d order for myself.

“You can have more if you’re still hungry,” Cage offers, nodding toward the food.

“I’m full,” I protest. I’ve never eaten so much in my life, even if it was only four slices.

I grew up eating ketchup sandwiches on stale bread and soup when I was with Francesca. Greasy, fried foods were a luxury I never knew.

His stare slides down my form slowly before returning to mine. By the time he’s finished, I’m on fire and shifting on my feet, my thighs clenching from the pulse between them.

“You’ll be hungry again soon enough.”

I don’t know what that means. But the way his voice roughened has me shifting once again.

“We’ll see,” I retort, feeling as if I just issued a challenge. His darkening eyes seem to confirm that.

I almost expect him to shatter the pretense that this is an innocent sleepover and strip me down where I stand. Instead, he turns away and gestures for me to follow him.

I can’t decipher why I feel disappointed by that, just that I do.

“The guest bedroom is this way,” he calls. It takes an extra second to unglue my feet from the wooden floor and follow him. “Do you need to shower?”

That question nearly stops me in my tracks again. I had a shower at the motel I stayed in last night, but the water pressure was comparable to a yard sprinkler, the drain was clogged, and the tub held more rust and grime than soap.

A shower in a place like this just might be the closest to heaven I’ll ever get.

“Y-yeah, if you don’t mind,” I manage. However, the second the words leave my mouth, I wonder if I’m being incredibly stupid. Or rather, stupid-er. Showering in a stranger’s home, naked and vulnerable. Not that I’m much more protected with a scrappy t-shirt and torn jeans, but at least I’d die with a bit of dignity.

“I have a towel and washcloth for you. A spare toothbrush, too, if you need it. Even razors.”

I chew my bottom lip, feeling a small burst of excitement. Admittedly, it’s been a long time since I’ve had the luxury of shaving my legs.

“All of it,” I rush out, then instantly flush with embarrassment over my clear desperation for a decent shower. Clearing my throat, I tack on, “Please.”

I can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning.

He leads me into a spacious hallway, where an ornate gothic stone bench is placed on the left side, an array of different plants covering it, and beautiful artwork surrounding it. We veer off to the left and enter through double doors that open into a massive bedroom.

“This is the guest bedroom?” I ask incredulously, taking in the biggest bed I’ve ever seen covered in soft black sheets, the crackling fireplace on the opposite wall, and the white ceiling with beautiful black wooden beams lining across it.

“One of them, yeah.”

“I can’t imagine what the master looks like then,” I mumble, a funny look passing over my face.

He turns, a devilish look on his face as he asks, “Would you like to see it?”

“Nope. Bigger isn’t always better,” I quip, noting the open door to my left where I can see a black stone vanity. I head toward it without waiting for his response, and his burning stare doesn’t abate as it follows me. “I assume the bathroom is already stocked with what I need?”

“Sure is,” he drawls deeply.

My stomach flutters as I hurry into the bathroom, too much of a chicken to spare him a glance. By the time I get the door shut and lean heavily against it, my heart is pounding.

He’ll be waiting for me to finish, and what comes after will be something I’ve never done before.

I’m going to fuck him.

And for the first time, it’ll be my choice.

I’m so fucking nervous, but it doesn’t feel… bad. In fact, it’s exhilarating. It’s a foreign emotion, but I can understand why people get addicted to it.

Because at this moment, I’ve never felt more alive.