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“It’s better this way,” I cut into her words. “I promise.”
“What? Marcus, you’re scar—”
“Moon.”
A fraction of a second later, she’s putty in my arms. “I know I promised I wouldn’t do it. But I have to take precautions. It’s for your own good.”
She doesn’t answer. Her eyes twinkle with accusations.
I deserve those. I’ll grovel later, when it’s safe. She’ll see reason.
My Leighton always does.
“Our more thorough hypnosis session will have to wait for tomorrow,” I whisper into her hair while carrying her limbless body to our bedroom. “Tomorrow, there’ll be no distractions.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marcus
Leighton’s confused eyes track my movements the whole time I arrange her on the bed.
I pull the gag around her head. Tell her she’s such a good girl. Stroke her temple once the cloth gag is in place. Tuck her under the blankets.
There’s no need to bind her to the bed. She might scream, but she won’t move a muscle.
“My little doll.” I kiss her forehead, inhaling the scent of our sex seeping from her pores. “You’re going to be a good girl and wait for me here, won’t you?”
A tear trickles out when she blinks once. Good enough.
“Good girl,” I repeat. “This is for your own good. I’ll reward you for it later. Try to rest.”
Assured that she isn’t going anywhere, I lock the door behind me and head to the kitchen. Dr. Hatchett, Miranda, wouldn’t have called unless it was urgent.
And by urgent, I mean a catastrophe in epic proportions with one of my patients.
About a year ago, I gave her this number in case I drop off the face of the earth. In case I don’t answer my other phone. I reassured her, said I’d probably go for a much-needed vacation. I also urged her to check in on me.
So far, Rylan hasn’t hurt me or Leighton. Emphasis on so far.
What if she’s gotten to Dr. Hatchett?
When I reach the burner phone on the kitchen counter, I suck in a deep breath.
My therapist’s phone rings three times before she picks up. “Marcus.”
“Dr. Hatchett,” I answer, my voice sounding like an order.
Rylan might be there, listening in. She should be made aware I’m still her father and I’m not to be fucked with.
“This’ll be quick. I know this number is for SOS cases, and I’d hate to waste your time…should this be a misunderstanding.”
My psychiatrist sounds concerned, not scared. She doesn’t have my blue-eyed daughter there pressing a knife to her throat. Can’t be.
Relief washes over me. One less life endangered.
“You never waste my time.” I stick to my icy tone. “What’s going on?”
“I received a rather disturbing call from your daughter about an hour ago.” She pauses.
