Darker Minds E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 243

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Everyone seems to think Dr. Marcus Preston is nothing but an attractive, charming and helpful therapist. Why am I the only one who sees the pure darkness in him?   "The problem is that those women broke at some point and then they become boring to me. No more humor, no challenge or resistance. Tedious." Icy panic crept through my stomach. He was insane. Absolutely insane and I was helplessly at his mercy. Nobody knew where I was, and most certainly nobody would suspect the esteemed doctor or that he could have anything to do with my disappearance. Everyone would think that I had run away. My gaze slid back to the cuff tied around my ankle. The leather was thick and heavy, and had been secured with a padlock. It didn't surprise me that he was organized and methodical in everything he did. After all, I had not heard one rumor or even a single bad word about him. Nobody seemed to know about his little hobby.   This dark, depraved, and twisted romance is safe, with no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.

Leseprobe

DARKER MINDS

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Darker Minds

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author

DARKER MINDS

Everyone seems to think Dr. Marcus Preston is nothing but an attractive, charming and helpful therapist. Why am I the only one who sees the pure darkness in him?

"The problem is that those women broke at some point and then they become boring to me. No more humor, no challenge or resistance. Tedious."

Icy panic crept through my stomach. He was insane. Absolutely insane and I was helplessly at his mercy. Nobody knew where I was, and most certainly nobody would suspect the esteemed doctor or that he could have anything to do with my disappearance.

Everyone would think that I had run away.

My gaze slid back to the cuff tied around my ankle. The leather was thick and heavy, and had been secured with a padlock.

It didn't surprise me that he was organized and methodical in everything he did. After all, I had not heard one rumor or even a single bad word about him. Nobody seemed to know about his little hobby.

This dark, depraved, and twisted romance is safe, with no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.

1

MARCUS

Maria tugged a little too obviously at her blouse as she was leaning forward. The sparkle in her eyes left no doubt about the fact that she was very well aware of how deeply I was able to look inside her neckline.

"Dr. Preston, I cannot thank you enough. You truly do have an incredible talent."

I would have loved to release a tortured groan and to rub my hand over my face. Although Maria's transformation from the tormented woman with no self-esteem, who even considered suicide, to the lascivious vamp who now tried to seduce her psychiatrist, could be viewed as a success, I would have agreed with it, if she hadn't thrown herself at me.

Obviously, I had noticed how short her skirts had become over the course of the last few sessions, but I had not commented on it. It wasn't my job to judge.

"I am pleased to hear that. Will I see you again next week at the same time?" The polite smile was as if it had been carved into my face, and it didn't reveal anything about my thoughts. I had perfected this feature over many years. At the most, Maria would be able to read it as a friendly expression, which didn't go beyond mere professionalism.

Unfortunately, she was unable to notice the subtle nuances, and she obviously thought that I had not understood her offer. Once again she tugged at her blouse, before she fluttered her eyelashes at me and chirped, "Next week, same time. If there is anything I can do to show my appreciation, Dr. Preston, please do not hesitate to tell me." She paused for a moment and bit her lower lip. "No matter what it is."

I hated women who chirped and who would throw themselves randomly at any man. Maria still had a long road ahead of her, and I wrote down a quick note on my notepad about something I wanted to talk to her about in our next session.

The silence between us expanded, while I could not and did not want to react to her invitation. Finally, I watched her stand up and strut toward the door. The swinging of her hips would have been significantly more seductive if her butt hadn't been so bony.

Maria wasn't just out of the question for me because she was my patient, but also, because she wasn't at all my type.

Okay. I had to admit that the first part was a blatant lie. Until now, I had used every opportunity to fuck beautiful women in my office. But Maria bored me to tears. My life bored me to tears. The thought of having to go to the party I had to attend later, also bored me to tears.

With a sigh I got up, walked over to the door, and glanced into my waiting room. My assistant Beth still sat at her desk and looked up at me expectantly.

"Beth, I already told you that you could go home. Isn't your husband waiting for you?"

Her cheeks turned bright red, like always, when I mentioned her husband. Initially I had assumed that it would be a safe bet to hire a woman who was old enough to be my grandmother.

But only a few days after she had started working here, she had suddenly begun to wear more make-up and tried very hard to be extraordinarily nice.

As a man, I could completely and unpretentiously admit that I was obviously attractive, if even women over the age of sixty wanted to climb into bed with me. Maybe next time I should hire a guy.

"I thought you might still need me, Marcus."

"You may finish up for today. You have earned it." I dismissed her with a warm smile and disappeared once again into my office.

After I waited and listened to make sure that she was really leaving, I grabbed the phone.

I had to have a conversation which I didn't want Beth to know about. She had a high opinion of me—much like my patients—but if she knew the truth, her heart would most likely stop beating. Only very few people knew this side of me, which I kept under wraps so carefully. My dark side with even darker thoughts and desires.

"Hello Doc," Xavier answered immediately.

"Did everything go smoothly?"

Xavier grunted quietly and I could envision his satisfied face all too clearly. "Like a charm. The client is ecstatic and we could use the extra supplies."

In my large office chair, I turned toward the window, put my feet up on my desk and flicked through the files I had laying on my lap. "I haven't found a suitable candidate just yet."

What I didn't tell Xavier was that I hadn't put much effort into my search. Much like everything else, it had somehow lost its appeal to kidnap women and to break them, just to hand them over to him afterwards. It no longer posed a challenge.

"You want more money, Doc?" Xavier asked, and I could hear a hint of panic in his voice. I didn't exactly know how much money he sold those ladies for, but I could imagine that it was a lucrative source of income, which he didn't want to pass up on. At least he paid me handsomely for my services.

"No. That's not it."

It wasn't about the money. I had plenty myself. With my practice in Atlantic Beach which was aimed at rich patients, as well as my family's wealth, I didn't need more money—it had been the excitement and thrill which had enticed me in at first.

I had already known prior to my psychology studies that something wasn't quite right with me. But I had always been smart enough to hide it.

After graduation, I was even more aware of the fact that I would answer too many questions on the average "Are you a Psychopath?" Tests positively, hence the reason I needed an outlet to reduce the associated tensions.

It could not have been because of my childhood. My parents had been as loving as it had been possible for them. I had never been bullied, beaten or abused. I had never killed our neighbors' pets or drawn any kind of unwanted attention to myself. I was, after all, an outstanding actor.

I also didn't feel the need to kill. I would rather play with living prey.

"So, what is it?" Xavier's tension permeated through the phone.

"I think I need a break."

He protested. "But Doc…"

Without paying any more attention, I hung up. Contrary to him, I did not depend on his cooperation. I carelessly flipped through the files. Alexandra, 24 – boring. Emma, 23 – dull. Janine, 26 – undistinctive.

I got up, walked over to the shredder and pushed the three files all at once between its sharp teeth. With a satisfied noise they ripped up the paper and destroyed any incriminating evidence.

For the moment, there was nothing that could convict me of anything. Over the last decade, around two dozen women had disappeared in and around Atlantic Beach, but nobody could associate me with any of it.

There were no traces in my basement, and the last incriminating papers had fallen victim to the shredder just now. So, if I could now make sure that I wouldn't get too bored, and turn into a murderer, I would be able to live my life scot-free.

I grabbed my briefcase with the engraved initials next to its handle—a Christmas present from my mother—and finally called it a day. First, I would go home, take a shower and then briefly attend the party at the Raymond's.

Rebecca Raymond was one of my patients and had invited me, after I had assured her that it would be okay for her to party again.

She was the mother of three children, in her early fifties and her profession was being a rich wife. At the end of last year, her oldest son was killed and the family had succumbed to their grief. Now, the youngest daughter was engaged and Rebecca had asked me, if it would be deemed appropriate, if she threw a party seven months after the death of her child.

In my eyes, there was no reason not to do it, and Rebecca blossomed, regaining her old form. The elegant lady of the house, perfect hostess and vapidly empty shell. But she did feel better, and after all, she paid my horrendous hourly rate for this.

I knew the problems and secrets of every wealthy lady in Atlantic Beach and I prescribed more colorful pills than my Hippocratic oath would actually permit.

Ever since one of the highbred daughters on the island had dared to break out of her golden cage and run away with a stranger, I found a continuous stream of new worried mothers on my doorstep, who wanted me to have a look at their daughters. I was supposed to calm them down. They wanted to hear that this would not happen to them and that they would be able to marry off their daughters without any trouble.

Unfortunately, to keep the High Society happy, one had to mingle with them every now and again.

I left my office, locked it carefully, and then also secured the entrance before I walked over to my Jaguar, which was parked in the driveway of the old mansion where I had opened my practice. It gave my patients the feeling that they were visiting me at home if they walked through a normal front door rather than entering a sterile office building.

I had the nagging urge to forego the party and drive somewhere else instead, where I would be able to pick up a chick. But in my current mood this wouldn't be a good idea.

Or I could simply wait until after the party. It was only a question of time, until I would no longer be able to control my hunger—and until then I had to come up with something else.

2

KATIE

My mother's discountenance followed me with every step. Yes, I had returned from college and I had come back with a good degree—but without a man. I could have just as well branded my forehead with the word "failure."

On top of that I had gained weight. It was only around ten pounds, because those damned final exams had been extremely hard, but mom acted as if I had turned into Jabba The Hutt. I had always been a little too round for her taste. But I hadn't exactly applied for larger breasts and a bigger ass—both had just appeared one day.

My sister fit much better into her picture. Blonde curls, a small waist and long legs—no wonder that she had already managed to catch herself a man, even though she was younger than me. As far as I was concerned, she should get married, if she was so keen on it. However, this whole thing did not match my idea of a great life plan. I didn't exactly know what it was that I wanted—but to enter into matrimony and begin child production in my early twenties was definitely not it. Heavy weights were pushing on my eyelids and I would have preferred to go to my room to take a nap, instead of standing around in this corner unnoticed. But the truth was that I was not allowed to leave this party, just as much as I was unable to sleep.

At first, I had attributed my insomnia to the stress of the last semester and the final exams. Now the tests were over, but the sleepless nights had remained. I had been awake almost nonstop for five months and I felt as if I was only seconds away from losing my mind.

It had begun innocuously with the fact that I could not fall asleep, or I was waking up insanely early. By now, I was only able to sleep a maximum of half an hour at a time and it left me feeling exhausted.

I noticed the bustling around me through a thick fog. The champagne in my hand didn't exactly help with accelerating my reaction time. But I didn't know how else I was supposed to survive this party.

On the one hand I was happy that mom was finally able to leave Patrick's death behind, since we had spent months glossing over the reason why he had actually died, but on the other hand, I also hadn't missed these social highlights in the form of parties, dinners and gatherings.

I mainly hated all of these social obligations, because they highlighted so vividly the fact that I did not belong there. I suppose I could have found some connections if I had tried a little harder, but I was profoundly reluctant to do that. Even as a child I had felt out of place. Sometimes I had watched my life from the outside looking in and wondered why it felt so extremely wrong.

Everyone was smiling, only I stood discontented in my corner and tried to become invisible. Hence the reason I wore a black dress. I was hoping that this would help me to melt into the shadows.

After all, nobody was interested in me anyway. To my mother, I was a complete failure, and she most likely was even more pleased with my oh-so-presentable sister. My family didn't really hate me, but I did have the impression as if they felt indifferent toward me, since I had, at some point, given up wanting to fulfill their expectations. Although I had not rebelled against them or had fought with them over it, but to them it probably felt just like that. I didn't care whether I wore the right dress, said the correct meaningless phrase, or if I showed off the proper superficial smile. It had become too tedious for me to fail all the time.

I would not step into my brother's criminal footsteps just to run my father's business, nor was I planning on having a lucrative wedding like my sister.

It wasn't so much that I had ever contemplated emulating my brother, but since he had been murdered because of it, I would have been an idiot to take over his legacy. My parents had become the masters of deception of unpleasant facts, which is why everyone pretended not to know that my father earned his money with dodgy real estate business deals, and that he rarely shied away from sketchy persuasion methods to get what he wanted.

Much to my mother's annoyance, I had not only inherited my father's dark hair instead of her blonde locks, but I was also as pale as a corpse. The insomnia had now carved deep dark rings underneath my green eyes, which I wasn't even able to hide underneath make-up. She had once told me that I should count myself lucky for also not having any freckles, because then I would have truly been a disaster.

It was almost redundant to mention how pretty I thought freckles were and that I would have loved to have some.

On top of that, I was a rather silent type and didn't care much for small talk. It was highly likely that my mother had lain awake more than one night, while she was wondering what she was supposed to do with me. Just last summer she even wanted to force me to go and see a psychiatrist. However, in my opinion everything was fine with me.

With careful moves, because I was worried that I would bump into somebody due to being so overly fatigued, I walked over to the bar and had them give me another glass of champagne. It was my fourth one already and I not only felt the fine pearls on my tongue, but also in my head.

Usually I didn't drink alcohol, but at these kinds of events I was grateful for anything that would help me endure them. I felt lighter and even my tiredness was somewhat pushed into the background.

But I became all the more nervous, the more guests arrived. It was just a question of time before my mother would grab me by my arm and drag me like some award-winning dairy cow in front of every potential marriage candidate. A ritual, which was uncomfortable for everyone involved.

I also could not decide which version was worse: if no man would show any interest in me, or if someone actually would be interested. After all, most of them were after my family's wealth or some connection with my dad.

My mother was still in the entrance hall greeting all arrivals with my father standing beside her. His smile seemed to have been plastered on his face. He looked how I felt.

At least I was able to remember the names of most guests, and sometimes even their role: neighbor, golf partner, businessman, president of the museum, or cosmetic surgeon.

While sipping my champagne, a stranger came into view. He shook my parents' hands one after the other and I could not help but stare. I was almost certain that I hadn't seen him before. Although I wasn't sure if my tiredness was influencing my thinking, but he seemed broody to me.

Everything about him was dark. The suit, even the shirt, his hair and eyes.

A shiver ran down my spine and I looked around nervously to see whether anyone had noticed that I had shuddered upon his arrival.

Like magic, my gaze was drawn back to him again. At the same time, I pressed myself closer against the wall, just so I would melt into my surroundings even more.

This time, I allowed myself the time to watch him, the broad shoulders and the custom-tailored suit. The way he carried himself and how he acted told me that he was confident, rich, and that he had never known tribulations, financial distress or rejection. He had been born into wealth and grown up just as carefree as I had. Life could be astonishingly easy, when you were protected to such an extent and nobody dared to say "No" to you.

This was the exact attitude he portrayed on the outside, combined with an obviously unwavering self-confidence. A man who always got what he wanted. I didn't even know where my knowledge about him came from, but I instinctively felt that I was absolutely right.

His face seemed as if it had been chiseled in stone, with strong masculine contours and a five o'clock shadow, which stood out like a sore thumb amongst all these well-shaven men. I could tell that even my mother found him attractive.

He was around half a foot taller than my father, which meant that I would come up to his chin. Blood shot into my cheeks when I asked myself why I was even thinking about such a thing.

I wasn't necessarily averse toward men, and in college I did have one or two one-night stands, but I found it hard to attract attention and to signal a certain willingness. What would seem alluring in other women, I found silly. I had never been good at nibbling on my lower lip or curling a strand of my hair around my fingers. Even though I was able to observe him from a distance, I also knew that he was playing far outside of my league. He most likely would have been the perfect husband for my sister, if she hadn't already caught herself some other wealthy heir.

My mother put her hand on his lower arm and looked searchingly around the room. An uneasy feeling tingled in the pit of my stomach. I would not have been able to speak to a man like him if I had been sober and well rested, but overly tired and having drunk too much champagne, I would make an idiot of myself. I quickly pressed myself against the wall and searched for a suitable escape route.

3

MARCUS

I had barely walked through the front door and I was already bored. Rebecca beamed at me and introduced me to her equally vapid husband. The mentioning of his name rang a bell. Hadn't there been some scandal in the past, because there was a rumor circling around that he was supposedly linked to criminal practices?

I didn't care.

I looked into the big hall, where the high society of Atlantic Beach had gathered to celebrate their success that they had once again managed to bring together yet another couple.

Mrs. Peters – depression.

Mrs. Riddlesdale – addicted to pills with a narcissistic personality disorder.

Mrs. Quinn – simply a basket case, although not half as bad as her son Seth.

The town's mayor – slight schizophrenia, which we now had pretty much under control.

I could have imagined a much more pleasant activity for my spare time, but if I didn't want to attract any attention, I would have to bite the bullet.

The happy couple, whose engagement we were celebrating today, received their audience in the spacious garden. She wore a white dress and reminded me a lot of her mother. He had also chosen a white jacket, his arm draped around her waist, and he smiled as if he was auditioning for a role in a toothpaste commercial. Maybe I wasn't the only psychopath at this party after all.

I nodded absentmindedly while Rebecca was babbling to herself. The longer the conversation went on, the more I had to force myself to turn my attention back to her.

"Would this be possible?" the hostess asked and laid her hand on my arm.

Dammit! What was it that she wanted from me? I hadn't paid attention.

"Of course." I nodded and hoped that she hadn't suggested some kind of human sacrifice or something to that effect.

Relieved, Rebecca exhaled. "Good. I am so very sorry to bother you with this during your time off, Dr. Preston, but I am beginning to worry that Katie isn't sleeping."

I was searching within my memory and was just about able to suppress an annoyed groan. Katie was the middle child, who studied something meaningless, and who obviously had such a tough life that she suffered from insomnia.

While she was looking around, Rebecca led me through the large hall.

She snorted, obviously peeved. "This is just typical for Katie. Everybody is enjoying themselves and there is no sign of her anywhere. What am I supposed to do with her?"

I rested my hand on Rebecca's which she still had clamped on my arm and squeezed it encouragingly. She batted her eyelashes at me gratefully.

Then a jolt shot through her body, as if she were a bloodhound who had picked up a scent. "There she is. In the black dress." Rebecca's face turned bright red because she was upset about her daughter's faux pas.

I let my gaze wander over all of the guests, until it got caught on the only woman in a black dress. She looked like a nymph.

A nymph with large tits and dark rings underneath her eyes.

Katie Raymond pressed herself against the wall and obviously did not want to be seen. She had one arm pushed against her belly, and in her other hand she held a glass of champagne. The white knuckles on her fingers indicated that the glass would probably break any second now. Her black dress clung to every exquisite curve of her body. Compared to her younger sister, she was fortunate enough not to bear any resemblance to her mother, but instead she seemed more like a seductive nymph.

Had someone examined my brain, created the perfect woman for me, and then put her right here directly in front of my face?

Her dark hair fell openly over her shoulders and I played with the notion to let my fingers slide through it. Between all those elegant pinned-up hairdos and dresses in powdery shades, Katie was remarkably different.

She was so pale that it tempted me to find out how hard I would have to slap her to create a vigorous red mark on her thighs. How much pressure on her neck would be needed to see the imprints of my hands? I didn't let Katie out of my sight, as I followed her mother walking straight toward her. She stared back at me like a deer in headlights, as if she was able to read every single one of my perverted thoughts. Just briefly, an uninterpretable expression flashed across her face.

Maybe she sensed that something wasn't right about me. Maybe something wasn't quite right about her.

She was forbidden and definitely not suitable for me. But I'll be damned if I didn't admit to myself how much I wanted her.

I couldn't really put my finger on it, but there was something about her that confused me—and I was rarely confused. Actually never.

Her mother's voice poured into my ear and I realized that I had to pull myself together, because I was getting to the point where my dick was getting hard.

"Dr. Preston, this is my daughter Katie. Katie, this is Dr. Preston. I have told him about your insomnia."

Before she had a chance to say anything, I leaned forward, grabbed her wrist and carefully pried the glass from her fingers. To her mother, I most likely seemed nurturing, but the real reason was merely that I wanted to touch Katie. It was delicious how her pulse was racing upon my touch. I could hear, just very softly, how she gasped for air almost unnoticeably, and I was completely smitten with her.

She leaned her upper body backwards, as if to create some distance between us. I resisted the impulse to immediately pull her back to me to make her realize that she had nowhere to go. She was at my mercy, even though we were directly surrounded by other people.

"My pleasure Katie," I said without taking my eyes off of her. My voice was firm and at the same time mellifluous.

She blinked, irritated, before she looked down and freed her wrist from my grip. I allowed it since her mother was standing right beside us.

"Hello." Katie visibly struggled to acknowledge my greeting. At the same time she turned her head toward Rebecca, as if she wanted to silently tell her how much she despised this situation.

Katie didn't babble just to bridge the silence. She didn't try to appeal to me—I was fascinated.

At the same time it drove me insane. I always got what I wanted. Right now I wanted Katie. That one word she had uttered toward me wasn't sufficient enough to get a clear picture of her voice.

It wasn't just the dark hair and her black dress that made me sense a certain darkness about her. She wasn't smiling. Not even forced.

Her expression was absolutely neutral and didn't reveal what she was thinking. I was immediately obsessed with her and wanted to get a look behind her mask. "Your mother told me that you cannot sleep," I finally said beginning the conversation.

Mentally, I was already taking notes. One day—unfortunately not today—I would punish her for forcing me to start our conversation, instead of picking up on her mother's cue and tell me everything herself voluntarily.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch as I suppressed a grin. Too many suggestions whirled through my head. I had to have Katie. No matter how!

There was a glint in her green eyes as she reluctantly waved her hand at me. "It's nothing."

Her mother sighed. Probably because she was used to this kind of reaction from her daughter, but I made another mental note.

"Katie, Dr. Preston is not your enemy, much like I am not your enemy. We want to help you."