by Gemma James
“Gage?” Silence greeted me—an unsettling void that raised the hair at my nape. The urge to flee was strong. I was stupid for coming, especially after what he’d done the night before, but I wanted to shove what Ian had found down his throat and see him cower for a change.
A quick scan of the dining room revealed empty space. After finding the same in his bedroom, I moved on from the sight of his bed—from the memory of the night we’d spent there—and stopped at the basement’s entrance. The door stood wide open, like a cavernous mouth inviting me into the bowls of hell. I flicked on the light to chase the darkness away, and then questioned my sanity as I descended the stairs. The basement didn’t fair much better than the rest of his house. His collection of whips and paddles were scattered across the floor, and the St. Andrew’s cross had been torn from the wall.
“Go home, Kayla.”
I clenched my jaw and closed the distance between us. Looking down, I realized two things: he was still wearing the same clothes from the previous evening, and this was the first time Gage Channing had ever sat at my feet. He kept his head bowed toward the bottle of rum clutched between his hands.
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve said this.” I threw the folder at his feet. “You’ll find enough evidence in there to send you to jail for a long time.”
“What evidence?”
“Proof of your embezzlement. How ironic that you blackmailed me for doing what you’re guilty of yourself.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t this a tidy little circle we’ve got here? You steal from your clients, I steal from you. He blackmails you, you blackmail me.” I gritted my teeth. “If I didn’t have Eve to think about, I might find some humor in it all.”
“Why are you here, Kayla?”
“The rules have changed.” I paced a few steps before stopping in front of him again. “I’m here to call a truce. End our contract, pay for Eve’s care, and I’ll consider us even.”
“Fine. You can go now.” He tipped the bottle back and took a swig.
“That’s all you have to say?” A tremor laced my voice. Dammit, I’d wanted so much to remain calm, just as cold and detached as him. He was more of a master at cold and calculating than he was a “Master” in anything else. “Look at me, Gage.”
He raised his eyes, and I reached up and unhooked the buttons of my jacket. I stood before him without makeup, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt because anything else hurt too much. My fingers disappeared under the hem, and I inched it up, removing my clothes and watching his reaction as I revealed the welts and bruises he’d left behind.
He took another swig, and something in his expression shifted from indifferent to pained as his gaze wandered over my body. My breasts and bottom had taken the brunt of his rage, but every inch of me showed evidence of his cruelty.
“Is this why you’re hiding in that bottle? Did your conscience finally claw its way out of the grave?” I wouldn’t look away or back down. I wanted…no, I needed him to acknowledge the line he’d crossed. I tapped my foot and waited. “Dammit, say something!”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
“Are you?”
He sprung to his feet, so unexpectedly that I jerked back. “I’ll never be sorry for fucking you in front of him.” He hurtled the bottle against the wall, and the sound of shattering glass competed with the warning going off in my head. I shrank away as he advanced, but he grabbed me anyway. His hands dug into the bruises and welts. “I’d do it again and again until he gouged his fucking eyes out.”
“Let go, you’re hurting me!”
“Then stop me.” He caught me in his vise-like embrace, and his mouth crashed onto mine, his tongue infusing my taste buds with the bitterness of rum. I struggled until every ounce of strength seeped from my bones. Finally giving in, I sagged against him and submitted my mouth.
He tangled his hands in my hair and tilted my head back, and I was helpless against the lure of him, split down the middle between logic and need.
With a groan, he pushed me away and staggered back a few feet. “Go home, before I fuck you again, and no amount of crying or begging will stop me.”
“Why are you holding back now?” My voice cracked. “What’s so different?”
He collapsed to the floor and buried his head in his hands, and he said nothing. I told myself I hadn’t glimpsed a seed of remorse in his expression, that he was an ice cube underneath all that anger, incapable of feeling anything real. Problem was…I didn’t believe it. I’d been ready to let his actions shatter whatever I might have felt for him, but then I’d walked into his disaster zone and seen the image of a broken man.
“If there’s a speck of humanity in you, Gage”—I reached up and removed the collar—“you’ll do the right thing.”
The thin strip of leather drifted to the floor, and still, he said nothing. I dressed, and his silence followed me up the stairs and out the door.
2. Drowning
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten drunk, but that’s exactly what I was, and the culprit was a continuous supply of some fruity drink I found too easy to consume. It was like drinking Kool-Aid, only better. Kool-Aid didn’t give me this amazing floaty sensation; weightless and free. I didn’t have to think or feel.
Who was Gage Channing? Who was Ian? Who the fuck was I?
A persistent hand landed on my thigh, and I had to stop and think about who it belonged to. Oh, right…the guy who’d bought me the last round of drinks. What was his name?
Kyle?
Kevin?
I settled for calling him “Guy.” Did it matter if I remembered his name? Likely not. Nothing mattered, which was how I wanted it. Guy’s hand inched upward, and I was thankful for the ugly sweatpants I wore. He leaned in, and his beer breath overwhelmed my senses.
“Wanna get outta here, baby?”
I shook my head and stumbled to my feet, experiencing a sudden and urgent need to use the restroom.
“Hey, darlin’, where’re you goin’?” he protested.
I broke into laughter and had no clue why. “The lil girls’ room. You can’t come.”
“Aw, that’s not fair…”
His voice faded as I hobbled toward the bathroom. I pushed the door open and stalled at the sight of my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a zombie from a horror flick with bloodshot eyes and traces of mascara on my cheeks…right…I’d given in to a crying jag earlier. I should’ve stuck with bawling; drinking only made me look like hell, and in the end it was a temporary fix anyway. Tomorrow morning I’d feel just as miserable, if not more so. But I didn’t indulge in alcohol often, and if Gage Channing could drown his demons in a bottle, why couldn’t I?
Why do I let him get to me?
I squatted over the toilet and considered the question. I’d been prepared for all kinds of scenarios upon walking into his house. Rage, disbelief after seeing the evidence, and even his usual smugness followed by his demands, because even though I held power in my hands, surely something like the threat of jail wouldn’t cause him to back down.
I’d expected a fight, only I’d gotten my first real glimpse of remorse, and it reminded me that underneath all his complexity, Gage was still a man. I finished taking care of business and crashed through the door of the restroom. I’d hit cab status long ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret this foolish indulgence.
“There you are.” Guy pulled my body flush with his, and we fell against the wall outside the restrooms. His mouth and hands were everywhere, and my first instinct was to push him away…until I realized that I needed to know. I needed to know if someone else could spark the same all-consuming feelings in me as Gage. I pulled him closer and gripped his hair, wrapped my leg around his calf, and rubbed against the bulge in his pants. His mouth plundered mine, slick and wet and all wrong, and his body moved against me, too rough and too fast.
I shoved him away. “I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can.”
I je
rked my face away as he descended again, and he slobbered on my cheek. Lifting my knee, I blindly aimed for where I knew it’d hurt most. I must have found my target, because he struggled for air. I slipped from his grasp, and his voice sounded odd as he called after me. I ignored him. In fact, I ignored everyone. Keeping my head bowed, I headed for the exit. He didn’t follow. Maybe he figured I wasn’t worth the trouble. And I wasn’t. I wasn’t worth anything. Not after what Gage had turned me into.
His whore.
Icy air hit me as I stumbled from the bar, though it was exquisite relief to my flushed cheeks. The sidewalk spun, and the brick wall of the bar blurred in my peripheral vision, as if I’d entered a funhouse…except the word “fun” didn’t exist in this carnival. I fell into the wall and pounded my fists against the rough texture of the brick. Who was Gage, that he could propel me to hit bottom like this? The pain in my knuckles failed to register, and that was my problem; I was attracted to things that hurt me, even now in the way I chose to unleash my anger. Finally spent, I slumped to the ass-numbing concrete and pulled out my cell. He was the last person I wanted to face…and the one I needed to.
He’d come; I knew he would.
Ian pulled up twenty minutes later and hurried to where I sat on the deserted sidewalk. “Are you okay?” He helped me to my feet, and his gaze fell to my hands. “What happened?”
“I’m drunk.”
“I can see that.”
“The wall pissed me off.”
“You really did a number on your hands.” He put his arm around me. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
I tripped over my feet and grasped his jacket. “I don’t wanna go home.” My empty apartment was the last place I wanted to go. “Take me home with you.”
“Kayla…” His voice dropped in warning. “You need to sleep it off.” He opened the passenger door of his SUV and helped me inside.
“I need you.” He moved to shut the door, but I grabbed his hand and laced our fingers together. “Make me feel something.”
“Not while you’re drunk.” He extracted his fingers from mine, and the door slammed with an echo of finality. I settled into the seat with a sigh as he rounded the vehicle.
“I went to see him,” I said as he slid in beside me.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go alone.”
“No, you told me not to go alone.”
“How did he take it?”
“He was drunk.”
“That seems to be a theme tonight.” He ran a hand through his short, brown hair. “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“He kissed me.” Why was I telling him this?
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He turned onto the road and stomped on the gas. “What did he tell you?”
I laughed. “Absolutely nothing.”
We fell silent, and I stewed the whole way to my apartment. He deposited me on the doorstep and straightened my jacket collar, as if I was a wayward ribbon on a present that needed fixing. Too drunk to unlock my own door, he did it for me. Nothing but loneliness and despair awaited me on the other side.
“I’ll come back in the morning and take you to get your car.”
“Don’t leave.” I gripped the front of his jacket, willing him to come inside, though I hadn’t thought much on what we’d do once we got past the door. “Please, don’t go.” I collapsed into his arms and sobbed, body shaking violently as I let it all pour out of me. “I’m such a mess. He fucked me up, Ian.” Gage was still in my system, a parasitic itch I still wanted to scratch. He’d wanted to own me, and now he did. Underneath the fear, the hatred and rage, lurked a sense of gratitude. He’d saved my daughter’s life…how could I hate anyone who’d done that?
I gulped in mouthfuls of air, but it wasn’t enough to calm me. Hesitantly, he tightened his arms around me, and I sensed him battling with himself. He closed and locked the door, decision made. My heart skipped as he picked me up, but then he set me on my feet next to the couch.
“No, take me to bed.”
“Kayla—”
“Just hold me,” I interrupted. “Please. I want to wake up with you tomorrow morning.” I wanted the warmth of his body next to mine, then maybe Gage wouldn’t haunt my dreams while I slept.
He cursed under his breath and lifted me again, and the last thing I recalled as my head sank into the pillow was the safety of his arms surrounding me.
3. Dream
The gentle way he touched me bespoke of reassurance. His fingers glided along my skin, igniting want and need in their wake. He pushed a little deeper, past the resistance of my innocence and into the center of my heat, and I knew I was dreaming…dreaming of the night Ian made love to me for the first time. The one and only time.
I cried out, overcome by him filling me, pressing into me, devouring me. Never before had I dreamed so vividly in life-like detail. His skin slid against mine, hot and damp, and something beyond the physical touched me. Maybe it was the way he trembled as he grasped my hands and held them to the mattress, as if he needed to hold on to something to keep from coming apart. We hadn’t needed words. The brush of our lips, the tender union of tongues, the claiming sensation of his thrusts—the way we came together said more than words ever could.
The dream evaporated, and as the light of day seeped behind my lids, I recalled how the morning after—so many years ago—I’d ended up puking. I’d puked every morning after that for a few weeks. My eyelids fluttered open, the dream still a tickle at my conscious mind, and he was looking straight at me. The previous evening came flooding back. Oh my God…had I really begged him to take me to his place? Or even worse…had I let some random stranger stick his tongue down my throat?
“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have called you.” I should have called a cab and fallen into bed alone, but now here we were, seven years later.
“Don’t apologize for calling me. I’m glad I was there. You weren’t exactly in the best part of town.”
I avoided his eyes and inspected the nasty scrapes covering my knuckles. “I was in a bad place, and I’m not talking about the area of town.”
“You don’t deserve what he’s done.” He rolled to his back and sighed. “I wish I knew what to say or do, but I don’t. I don’t know how to handle this…”
The memory of what Gage had put us through hit me square in the chest, and I wondered if the impact would ever lessen with time. If I could withstand the humiliation of that, then last night shouldn’t bother me. “We should talk about it.”
“I know.”
I didn’t know what to say either. He’d basically been raped—if not by force, then by threat—and I couldn’t help but obsess over the fact that he’d managed to reach orgasm with Katherine. That alone was messed up on so many levels, as I’d learned firsthand how someone could coax pleasure from an unwilling participant if they put some effort into it. I closed my eyes, but the memory of them together still burned like a scorching brand on my mind and heart. His torment had shone from his gaze, but then he’d shuttered his expression and had moaned right along with her, if only for a moment.
“I don’t want you to feel ashamed about it, Kayla.”
Had he pretended it was me? Maybe that was the one question I wanted answered, only I didn’t know how to ask, so I remained silent.
“I hate that you paid the price for saying my name, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to…do what he demanded if you hadn’t.” He rolled over and faced me, close enough to breathe the same air. “I thought of you and that was enough to send me over the edge. I want you to know I wasn’t with her—every part of me was with you.”
I couldn’t resist kissing him. To hell with the consequences, to what was right and wrong. Getting involved with him was cruel and irresponsible, but I couldn’t fight the draw of him. He was my safety net, and I was falling headfirst toward concrete.
I hoped he was strong enough to catch me, because in that moment I was fresh out o
f strength.
For a few stolen moments, we lost ourselves in each other, our mutual moans the only sounds louder than my thumping heartbeat. Trapped underneath his body, I found freedom. We finally came up for air, and he dropped his forehead against mine.
“Kayla…” His breath caressed my lips, and I parted them, wanting more of him. “I want you so badly right now.”
“I want you too. That hasn’t changed from last night.”
He closed his eyes. “But sobriety has brought back reason.”
Sobriety had brought back a lot of things. “Yeah.” If we gave into our desire now, I might never know for certain, and I couldn’t move on with him until I knew it was for the right reasons.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and one glance told me it was Gage. I questioned why I didn’t just ignore the call—I had called in sick for a few days, after all. But the reasons were complicated, a mess of convoluted truth I didn’t want to deal with. Power still tipped in his favor; in the way I submitted to him, in the way I was compelled to answer simply because he called. And with four terse words that formed a demand, he had me sliding out of bed.
“Come into the office.”
4. Checkmate
Ian wanted me to quit my job. He had driven me to get my car, but then he’d had to go to work. I still recalled the apprehension on his face, even now as I approached the fifth floor of Channing Enterprises. He had pleaded with me not to go.
Gage Channing is a monster.
He’ll only hurt you again.
At least let me go with you.
I’d agreed with the first two statements, but I wouldn’t let him take time off from his job to deal with my problems. He’d been dragged into my life enough already.
