Page 28 of Deceive Me
He’d possessed her until she escaped him, and then he’d killed her. But not her daughter.
He drew the photograph closer. Kivuli must’ve been right out of her sight; the close-up contained more detail than some of the others, as if he was standing next to her, seeing the tension in her body as she pointed to the fence in front of her, the intelligence and challenge in her seemingly fragile face. The chin, the cheekbones, the eyes—all confirmed his suspicions. There was no mistaking that face. He’d watched it for too many years crying beneath him to not be certain.
“Who is this?” he demanded without lifting his eyes.
Kivuli stepped forward. “Elliot Smith. Second in command of the team JCL assigned.”
Elliot Smith? Mansa doubted that was the name she’d been born with. What had his rebellious cherry called the babe she’d clung to for the three years before she escaped? He’d only tracked its growth as a commodity; she’d been number fifty-seven, not a name.
“She’s not Elliot Smith.” He gave his enforcer a smile that made most men soil their pants. “Find out everything there is to know about her. She comes first. Everything, Ghost. Do you understand me?”
Kivuli nodded sharply. Without permission he turned to exit the room.
“Kivuli.”
The man stopped, turned, gaze still unreadable.
“What of our other plans?”
“On schedule.”
Mansa dismissed him with a jerk of his chin. Long moments passed after the door closed, filled with the faint ticking of the clock and Mansa’s breaths as he stared at the close-up of the blonde he held in his fist, memories of years past spilling from the vault of his mind.
His Nora.
His property. And now Elliot Smith was also his property.
The slave stirring between his legs brought him back to reality. Grip tightening on the picture, he pushed his free hand into her tangled hair and shoved down, forcing himself deeper and deeper.
Smith looked so like her mother.
He remembered the first time he’d shoved himself inside the tiny woman, claiming her virgin cunt for himself. His hips surged of their own accord, mimicking the act he pictured so vividly, and just like that the need to release made itself known. He pulled forward on the woman’s head as he forced his way in, spilling hard to the chorus of her gagging shrieks and the memory of a long-ago slave’s screams filling his ears.
12
When Deacon entered the library, it was warm, a small fire crackling in the grate to push away the afternoon chill—a haven of peace in the frustration that had filled the day. Dain sat, his big frame sprawled on the couch closest to the fireplace, a phone to his ear.
“No, you’re not going by the office. They don’t need you that bad. You’re going straight home.” A pause, then Dain growled low in his throat, obviously not pleased with whatever response he was getting. “Carla can damn well wait!”
Deacon turned to the chair across from Dain, taking his time settling in, hiding the smirk he knew would piss the man off. Some things about marriage you never forgot, and one of those was exactly how well barking orders at your wife worked. He wasn’t surprised when the sound of an equally loud yet feminine tone came through the phone. The working of Dain’s jaw proved Livie wasn’t the lie-down-and-obey type.
“No. You are going home and taking care of our baby—and no conference calls either, you hear me? Rest. That’s it.”
After a pause, Dain leaned forward, elbows on knees, and rubbed at his forehead. “Livie, wife…” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Please go home. I know everything’s behind with so many people out sick, but work will still be there tomorrow. Take my wife and baby home.”
Man, he’s good.
“I’ll have Lori drop by tonight with some of that chicken soup from that hole-in-the-wall you like. Yes, there. Now get some rest. Okay. Love you too.” Dain clicked the call off and zeroed in on Deacon’s smirk. “What the hell are you grinning at?”
“Your masterful play.”
Dain had the grace to look chagrined. “Hey, when your wife is sick, you do whatever it takes to get her well, even if you can’t be with her.”
Yes, you did. Deacon knew that all too well. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
“The flu, but she’s pregnant, and…”
And Dain had almost lost her recently. Deacon remembered that from a conversation with King their first day here. No wonder the man was beating his chest like King Kong. Me, boss. You, go home. Deacon certainly remembered that feeling. “How far along is she?”
