With a choked cry, she left.
He stayed there for a long time, unable to accept that Mary was indeed gone. He looked down at the papers he had asked her to sign. Had he been so wrong about her? Was he different from his mother? Was he truly the pedophile and not his father, and he had just been conned by a gold-digging Lolita of his own making?
He took the papers and read it, needing to know what had made Mary change her mind and reveal her true self.
The first few lines were standard, followed by---
Bloody fuck.
How could his mother have signed something this vile? And how the bloody hell could he have been so stupid to make Mary sign a contract that demanded she proudly call herself not as a mistress but a whore?
****
With nowhere to go, Mary found herself going back to her dorm room, where her piranha still resided while its custom-designed aquarium was being built.
She always had a spare key hidden in the hallway and she took it, hoping to God that she would not chance upon Camille using it as a spare room for playing with her boyfriends.
She stumbled inside and locked the door. Her room was dark and vacant, with a slightly musty scent to it. She supposed the caretaker for her piranha didn't consider cleaning the room a part of his job. Her piranha was still awake.
"Hey."
It chomped its jaws.
At least some things didn't change. She really should have played it safe and stuck to her piranha.
A few miles away, the computer that the spy cam was attached to started to beat, indicating that its motion sensors had detected movement. The sound woke Bartholomew up, who had been holed up all this time in the basement of an old friend who owed him money. His wife, the prostitute-turned-junkie, was upstairs, snoring next to her latest client.
He hurried to his computer, typing furiously to access the camera. He had recently paid someone to break into the room to replace the camera's battery, knowing there was a chance Mary would come back to it.
Now that she had, it was his time to make a move … for good.
He drove beyond the speed limits and parked a good distance away from the school. Security had gotten lax with him never making an appearance, although Bartholomew knew that the manhunt for him still continued.
It took almost half an hour before he was able to cross the yard and break into the dorm, smashing the pane of glass of the door to reach its knob. Inside, the startled resident head dropped the glass of milk she was holding. He moved fast, knocking her out with one hit to her head. She fell to the floor.
This time, he would not be denied saving his stepdaughter. This time, whatever happened he would save her from herself, like a good father would.
Using his duplicate, he unlocked the door as quietly as he could and locked it behind him. He must have made a sound because Mary rose from the bed. "Who is it?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to. A second later, she started to scream but again she was too late, Bartholomew lunging for her.
Something flashed in the dark.
A knife.
And he pressed it to her throat. "You know what you shouldn't do, don't you?"
She almost nodded and if she had, the blade would have cut through her skin. She choked out, "Yes."
"Now, be a good girl and take off your clothes." His teeth gleamed in the dark as he grinned. "I'll enjoy the show and after that, I'll save your soul as any good father would."
****
He called her but she didn't answer. He even called Camille, but she too was unavailable. Where would she go? She had no family. Saffi wasn't around. She only had---
Her piranha.
Knowing Mary, she probably considered that her family and would have gone to it if she felt … alone. He drove to her university, feeling like something was about to go wrong. On his way, he called for the police. He didn't give a fuck if it was a false alarm. He would gladly pay the penalty. But if it wasn't a false alarm---
His heart nearly exploded at the fear that tried to strangle it.
Please God, let her be all right.
Rathe drove his car to a screeching stop in front of her dorm and jumped out of his car, not bothering to switch the engine off. The sight of the shattered glass and the unconscious resident head had him sprinting up the stairs. Please God, let her be all right---
He burst through the door.
There was blood everywhere.
No.
"Rathe?"
The tiniest sound.
He looked up, unable to breathe, wondering what he would do if it was an apparition. If it was, it didn't matter. He realized now that he needed her too much and that without her – he might as well have existed in the dark.
It was her, and she was shaking so badly.
He switched the light on.
Bloody hell.
The corpse of Bartholomew Grenville was on the ground, his head half torn off and with chunks of flesh missing. Inside the aquarium floated a half-chewed ear.
"God, Mary." He stepped towards her but she stepped back, her eyes wide with fear.
"I'm not going to hurt you---"
"I don't want you involved," she sobbed.
He started breathing again, knowing now that it wasn't because she hated or feared him that she wanted to be away from Rathe. "The fuck I'm not going to be involved." In one stride, he was next to her and she was in his arms, sobbing against his chest.
Soon, the sirens of police cars reached them but they stayed together.
"My piranha isn't a vegetarian."
Bloody hell.
She was the only girl who could say something like that at this moment.
He looked down at her, intending to make a joke but instead he turned white because he realized that she was too pale and obviously in shock. "Mary?"
Her dazed eyes went to him. "And I'm not your mistress, am I?"
His heart broke. "Mary, I---"
"I'm your whore, right?"
Chapter Fifteen
She woke up screaming from her nightmares, in a room that was not hers, and with Rathe next to her. It was the worst sense of déjà vu and it made her cry when she realized that what she was hoping did not happen did happen.
Rathe rocked her in his arms. "It's all right. I'm here."
"We killed him."
He knew she was talking about herself and her piranha. "No. Your pet saved you."
"He made me dance and I t-told him I wanted the light of the aquarium to be behind me. I stood … I was on a stool as I danced … he kept coming closer and I wanted him to come closer. He had a knife … it was my only chance … "
"You don't have to tell me."
"I have to, I have to … " She covered her face, sobbing, the memories so painstakingly clear it was as if she was reliving every horrible second of it. "The moment I had the chance, I dunked his head in the water. He stabbed me here---" She touched her side. "It hurt so bad, but I didn't let go. I dug my nails in his flesh until I drew blood … "
She looked at him with glassy eyes. "I killed him."
"You didn't kill him," he said harshly. "And if you did, then he deserved it. He would have killed you if he didn't."
He wanted to say more, wanted to have the chance to tell her he loved her, but she was crying and after her tears dried, she was drifting off to sleep.
****
The next day she was more stable, enough to talk to the investigators. He stayed at her side, making sure that the interrogation did not overly tax her. By now, the media was in a frenzy, having been tipped off regarding the Duke of Flanders' involvement in the case.
"You should leave. I won't tell anyone about you," she said when he turned away from the window after checking if the crowd of reporters were still camped outside, circling for news like vultures. They seemed to grow in number every day and he knew there would come a time when he would have to make a statement.
Ignoring what she said, he came to her side and said roughly, "I'm so bloody sorry I failed to protect you again, Mary."
Her tone was paper thin as she said, "It wasn't your fault."
He could feel her coldness seeping through him and knew that she no longer trusted him. "I'm sorry, too," he said hoarsely, "---for lying to you. I never even read the contract. All I knew was that they were the same papers my mother signed for my father---"
Mary gasped, unable to believe what he was saying but knowing instinctively that he was not the type to lie.
"---and that was why I thought it would be all right." He swallowed thickly. "I didn't know … I wouldn't ever have thought he could make her sign something so viciously crude."
"Why would she sign something like that?"
"It's something I'd like to ask them … with you."
Her eyes flew to him, incomprehension in her gaze. "With … me?"
"I fucked up badly with you, Mary. I wish I could tell you that I love you now, but I don't want to lie. All I know is that you are not just a mistress to me. You're the girl that makes me … " He closed his eyes. "You're the girl that makes me forget I'm the Duke of Flanders." He exhaled sharply. "You make me human, and you make me want to believe that when it comes to the two of us, people don't see that you're too young and that I'm too old---"