We Were One Once Book 1 (22 page)

“Not going to happen, Red.”
My voice is still flat, but I’m getting excited. I’m getting used
to seeing her quick change in behavior, but it’s still startling in
its extremes. “I told you that you’re not leaving here, and
you
said you wanted to
stay anyway.”

I took a psychology class
in college and became pretty fascinated with abnormal behavior for
a while. Maybe it was from being forced to see a shrink when I was
a teenager. I liked finding out how little is known about the human
psyche. The shrinks want to all act like they have everything
figured out, but the reality is they don’t know shit
either.

I continued long after the
class to research on my own. I learned many useful tips on
conditioning. I learned even more useful tips about selecting the
right girls for myself and others.

Grace’s behavior is
textbook abnormal, but I’m still not sure I believe what I’m
seeing. Or what I think I’m seeing anyway. It would explain a few
things. I started speculating last night while I watched her sleep.
My crazy ass theory has solidified this morning, talking to
her.

“Well, I’m not going to
stay if this is how you’re going to treat me.” She rises to stand,
glaring at me. Her hands are firmly planted on the table
though.

“Sit down, Red. Or I’ll
take my belt to you right here.” I lower my hand to the top of my
shorts. I watch for her reaction, making a bet with myself about
it.

Her smile twitches, and her
fingers tap against the table. “All right, but only because you
asked so nicely.” She slowly sits back down, pushing her chair back
and crossing her legs dramatically. I can’t help but notice that
her hands run up and down her legs, over her thighs and hips. She’s
teasing and tempting again.

I’m starting to think of
this version as Red and the other version as Grace. Versions? Fuck.
I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. I’m excited, though, and
oddly aroused again.

San Francisco: Miles
Vanderson

“I’ll go in alone.” I don’t
glance at Spencer standing behind me as I turn the knob to the
unlocked front door. He’s already determined that Gillian isn’t
here.

“Of course, Sir.” He backs
off and turns to walk down the hall. “I’ll keep an eye out
downstairs, just in case she returns.”

I tersely nod in agreement,
frustrated. I enter Gillian’s apartment and close the door quietly,
taking a moment to breathe in the scent before looking around. The
place is bright with a view of the city down the steep hill out of
the large windows. It’s all white with primary colors punching the
eyes in accents everywhere. She favors red still in the pillows and
curtains, and it’s practically a forest with plants strewn all
around.

Spencer said she hasn’t
been here in weeks, but she obviously has a service to take care of
everything. Gillian was obsessively neat unless she was on one of
her rampages, but those were always brief.

I smile with this thought.
I was always able to get her out of those fairly quickly. She
usually calmed fast enough when I strapped her down to her
bed.

I walk to the frames
hanging over the white sectional sofa. The childish drawing of a
park and houses draws my attention. After her mother died, I
allowed her to put up a few of these in her bedroom, but not
anywhere that could be seen by anyone else.

Seeing the evidence of her
here only adds to my frustration. Spencer said that he hasn’t seen
her in person yet. He doesn’t technically know where she is at the
moment. She had some sort of falling out with the boyfriend and
hasn’t returned to his apartment or here. He’s assured me that
he’ll find her quickly.

I worry, though, that she’s
lost in another personification of herself. These never last very
long, but I’m still concerned that it will delay finding her. I
haven’t shared this information with any of the investigators
before, fearing it would tarnish our future happiness once she was
found, but now may be the time to clue Spencer in on her unusual
state of mind. I won’t lose her again, not when I’m so close to
finding her. If I have to reveal a few family secrets, so be
it.

I turn to the door of her
bedroom. All is perfect here too. I frown at the clothes hanging in
her closet, all too tight and revealing for her. They’re borderline
indecent, reminding me of her horrifying job as a model. No matter.
She won’t need any of this once she’s back where she
belongs.

I sit on her bed and make a
mental checklist of all that needs to be done. I can feel her
close, and this excites me but also steadies my mind again. I’ve
been in a fugue of misery since she ran. Now, I can think clearly
again.

On her nightstand is a
large, hardbound book of astrology signs for lovers. She hasn’t
changed much at least. I turn to the page for
Taurus Woman/Aries Man
and rip it out,
scrawling across the top

“Gillian – Our stars align
again at last, my love. – Miles”

I smile imagining the panic
this little note will create for her. I leave the page propped
against her pillow. She’ll try to run, but she won’t escape. Not
this time.

I head out of the
apartment, closing the door quietly after one last look. I won’t
return here. Gillian will be brought to me at my hotel suite.
Hopefully, soon.

Downstairs, Spencer is
pacing the sidewalk across the street. The large bouldered wall of
rock behind him rises to a jagged peak with a house perched on top.
This part of the city is safer than most when it comes to
earthquakes, but the homes all still look precariously hanging onto
the hills to me, leaning against each other for support. I hope not
to be staying long enough to feel a quake myself.

“Hire whatever staff you
need to keep an eye on this place and the boyfriend’s apartment, as
well as any other locations you know she frequents.” Spencer nods.
I turn to the open car door; the driver waits silently. “And when
she shows up, I want her detained. She is not to be left alone. Tie
her up, cuff her, strap her down, drug her, whatever is necessary,”
I turn to Spencer to finish my statement. His brows are raised, but
he doesn’t say anything. “Just do not let her get away.” I don’t
wait for his response, only get in the backseat. “Ride along with
me, Spencer. I have a few other things to discuss with you as
well.”

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

I silently congratulate
myself on being right. Red responds to the rough shit. She’s pure
sex—rough, hot sex. This is the version I saw downtown, the version
of her that fucked me without even stopping to get my name, the
version that got so excited when I whipped her last night. This
version matches my darker desires perfectly.

I grin and she grins back,
reaching across the table to grab my arm. Her hand’s still a little
sticky, but we both ignore this. “Why don’t we go back to bed,
Trust?”

“All right.” I stand and
pull her up to press her body against mine. I have a fleeting
insane thought. Is this considered cheating? I laugh and she looks
up at me, touching my lips with her fingertip. She tastes like
fruit and syrup. I turn around and grab the syrup from the table.
She cocks an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say a word as I lead her
back to my room.

I lock the door behind me
but put the key back in the same spot on the dresser. Turning
around, I see her standing in the middle of the floor. She’s
watching me, waiting.

I walk around her to the
bed, putting the syrup on the nightstand. I frown looking at the
sheets, remembering the sweet smile she had for me this morning,
but this is different. This time isn’t about sweetness. Red isn’t
about sweetness. This is insane! I should stop right now and get
her to a doctor.

“Take your clothes off,
Red.” I can hear her following my order behind me. I’m a bad, bad
man.

I turn around. She’s still
just standing and watching, but she’s beautifully naked now. I’m
shocked by how dramatically different she is from the girl this
morning. Grace was sweet, tentative, gentle, soft. She seemed
smaller and everything about her was tender. She wasn’t weak, but
she was submissive. That version pried me open with her softness
and forced me to accept the craving to feel more with her than I’ve
ever felt with anyone. She was the version I’m afraid will wade
with me into unfamiliar waters of deeper emotions.

Now she’s all angles and
hard lines. She stands with her hands on her hips, jutting out her
body to show off. Her lips are wet and slightly apart, not quite
shaped into a smile. And her eyes move over my body slowly. This is
a woman who knows what she wants and just how to get it, a polar
opposite from this morning. This is the version I want to take
deeper into the darkness I’ve always known and craved. She’s the
version I know will all too willingly force me into more familiar
waters of sadistic desires.

I’m almost kicking myself
for not seeing it sooner. I imagined all sorts of crazy stories to
explain Grace, but multiple personalities was too crazy to even be
on my radar. Now, it seems so obvious.

“Grace?”

She smiles.
“Simon?”

“No, I mean…” Fuck. This is
going to sound insane if I’m wrong. “Should I call you Red or
Grace?”

She only smiles more,
cocking her eyebrow and hip at me. “Call me whatever the fuck you
like, Trust.”

This is getting me nowhere.
I have to know if my theory is right. I can’t just keep going on
like this with her. My cock doesn’t agree. I’m hard just looking at
her, and her frank desire and bold words only make me want her
more.

But I’m not a monster. I’ve
had women under my control for as long as I can remember, but I
have rules. I don’t take advantage of girls too young or too weak.
I suppose I should add “no crazies” to my list now.

What I felt for her last
night and this morning was real. I wanted to comfort her, to
protect her. I move my eyes over her whipped body and bruised face.
Okay. So I don’t mean protect her in the traditional sense. I laugh
at my whirling thoughts.

She frowns. “Wanna let me
in on the joke?”

I move into my bathroom and
come back with my robe. “Put this on.” She frowns more but takes it
from me, holding it against herself. “I don’t know exactly how this
works, but I need to talk to you. To Grace.” She continues to frown
at me, not putting the robe on, not moving.

“So talk.”

“No.” Here goes nothing. “I
don’t think you’re the right one to have this conversation with.” I
sound like the nutjob here.

She looks around the room,
laughing. “Well, I’m all ya got, so shoot.”

“I think I know what’s
wrong with you, Grace. I want to help.”

She drops the robe. “I
think the only thing wrong here is that I’m naked and you’re not,
Trust.”

“I know about your
apartments in Chinatown and Potrero and your job in the Castro,
Grace.” This does it.

She blanches like I hit her
again. Her eyes become completely impassive; her body stiffens. I
can only stare, fascinated with the quick and subtle change to her.
I think for a second that she’s fainting as she collapses onto the
floor, but she steadies herself. She stands back up with the robe
in her hand, putting it on without looking at me.