Page 81 of He Should Be Mine
It’s odd. Almost as if he wanted to close his door but didn’t want the click of the latch to sound out. As if he was trying to be quiet.
I frown. We are long past the days when I used to get up in the middle of the night to check he hadn’t run away. He understands now. He knows that while Riccardo giveshim money and we all pretend Molly is a sugar baby, he really is a prisoner. A captive. A possession.
He is not free to leave. There would be very serious consequences. Molly learned his lesson. I locked him in the dark and taught it to him well.
I swallow thickly. I step towards Molly’s door. There is no harm in checking. It will put my mind at rest and then I will laugh at myself and feel like an idiot.
Molly wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave me. He feels this thing between us every bit as much as I do. Doesn’t he?
I haven’t told him how I feel, because I can’t. Not yet. I’m going to burn the world for him, and then I will tell him everything he means to me.
But he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know a thing. The only thing he is aware of is that he belongs to Riccardo and that Riccardo is going to be furious about having a limp dick.
Fuck.
I jog down the hallway and shove Molly’s door open. It swings silently until it hits the wall with a thud. I stare at the sight before me with growing horror.
Molly’s room looks like a whirlwind hit it. Clothes are strewn everywhere. Make up is scattered across the floor.
His bed is a rumpled mess. In the middle of the sheets, the black sheen stark against the white, is his phone. The dark screen staring blindly up at the ceiling. The clearest message I have ever seen. Molly knows I can track his phone, so he has left it behind. Just like he has left me.
My lungs hurt. My ribs protest as I force in a gulp of air.
Then I am running. I’m grabbing my keys and hurrying out of the door. I’m flying down the stairs because there isno time to wait for the elevator. Thank heavens my knee is deciding to behave.
I jump into my car and dive for the glove box. The phone takes an eternity to switch on. The app takes even longer to load. Then I’m scrolling and scrolling. Refreshing and refreshing.
Fuck. Every single one of the tags is showing as being upstairs. Molly found them all.
I slam my head back against the headrest. My heart is hammering so fast it feels like it is about to explode. My hands are trembling.
Now what?
How do I find him? How do I find him before Riccardo knows he is gone and issues a death warrant? How do I find Molly before I lose him forever?
In a city of nine million people. When I can’t use any of my normal resources?
My hands slam against the steering wheel. There has to be a way. I need to think. He can’t have had that much of a head start on me. We went to bed late and I got up early.
Where would he go?
To that club he was pole dancing in? Presumably he has friends there? No, Molly wouldn’t risk his friends. He wouldn’t drag them into his drama. Besides, he is wicked smart. He’d know I would look in all the obvious places. So he won’t be in any of them. He’ll be somewhere new.
I know he doesn’t have a passport. He mentioned that once. Said it was an expense he couldn’t afford. Eighty-fucking-measly pounds, and it was beyond his reach. I hate that he was ever in such a situation. I’m pretty sure he never got around to it once he becameRiccardo’s. Molly knew the man was never going to take him anywhere.
So, Molly can’t leave the country. That narrows it down a little. He is going to go somewhere new. Or at least, somewhere I don’t know to look. So maybe somewhere old?
The sound of his voice rings in my ears. The slight roll of his R’s. My heart hammers even more.
Where do people go when they are scared? They go home.
Molly may hate where he grew up, but it probably still calls to him. It’s familiar. He will have connections.
It makes sense. Molly is heading west. Out of the capital.
I suck in a breath. That’s Paddington train station, I think? That’s where west bound trains leave from.
My car purrs to life. As I back out of the parking space, a fragment of memory floats across my mind. Vague and hazy. A snippet of one of the thousands of conversations we have had while being stuck in the apartment together over the last… seven months? Or is it eight now? Not that it matters right now.
