Twenty-one. Shunned by her family. Physically unkempt, and mentally unstable. Anyone of Caera's age group would label her with the weird tag. No friends. No ties to the world. Nothing to live for.
Well, fuck.
“Virgin?” Connie asked in a light tone, careful not to sound judgmental.
Caera huffed derogatorily. Her hand lifted, swept down her body from crown to feet in one long gesture. “Would you want to sleep with this?”
“No, but then, I'm not gay. I know a few guys who would love to make your acquaintance,” she mused, thinking of Loki and Liam. Maybe even Saul. He seemed like a decent guy—if someone was into kink. “You're a beautiful young woman, Caera. Circumstances haven't been kind to you, but that doesn't mean what's beneath isn't strong. You should go home and pamper yourself, sweetheart. Take a long, hot bath and get something to eat.”
“What's the point? The days roll into one, and I forget things. I forget if I've paid the bills, I forget if I've taken a shower. My cupboards are empty because I can't remember if I went to the grocery store or when. It would be easier just to fall asleep and never wake up, but knowing my luck, I'd spend forever stuck in a night terror for my sins.”
The Domme was fully prepared to scoop Caera up and usher her home where Connie could keep an eye on her. The idea was certainly appealing—against the practice’s rules, of course, but appealing, nonetheless. She'd be company for Alicia, and it wouldn't take much to alter Connie's home office into a second guestroom. The girl needed company and tending to before she fell off the ledge completely.
Connie decided to think it over, maybe talk with Alicia, and go from there. If Caera had shown an ounce of submissive tendencies, she'd have been tempted to drag one of the guys into the fray as a guardian. Atticus would've been perfect—his Daddy Dom proclivities would make him extra attentive. But alas, the girl didn't know which way was up right now, let alone whether big, dominant men were her type.
“Drink your juice,” Connie muttered absently, scribbling down ideas and notations for future reference. She'd type them all up for Caera's file once her patient left, but for now, she wanted everything jotted down so she wouldn't forget anything. “I've got some research to do on a few things, but I think for the moment, the best thing I can prescribe for you is a bath, some food, and rehydration. No more coffee, no more energy drinks. Water or juice. Start a journal, and I'd like to see you again on Wednesday. Do you have a work schedule we need to cooperate with?”
Caera shook her head. “I've lost every job I've ever had. Employers don't like their staff to be hyped up on caffeine, turning into hormonal bitches every five minutes. I got by for a while, kept a roof over my head.” She looked at Connie with a forlorn expression. “Thought about selling my virginity, prostituting myself for rent money. Luckily, I didn't have to test my courage with that—somehow I don't think I'd have been able to go through with it, not even for my shitty apartment.”
Oh, dangerous territory. Traveling that route could send a woman slipping down the wrong incline into the gully of drugs, sexual assault, and a rather nasty case of death. “You found a source of income you could live with?”
“If you mean I didn't have to sell my body or feel my soul slowly die, yeah. My grandmother on my father's side was a really nice lady. She looked after me a few times, then my mother said that she was a bad influence, always sticking her nose into my parents' business, so that stopped. When she died, I was really young, like five? My parents thought they'd be the beneficiaries of the will, so when it came to light that my grandmother had left all her money to me…”
“They weren't happy.”
Caera laughed, and the sound was so bitter, Connie could taste it. “Not happy would be the world's biggest understatement. My mother, the woman who birthed me, threw me down the stairs in a rage, breaking my right arm. After they took me to the hospital and I had a cast put on it, I was locked in my room for…I can't remember how long.” Her eyes blurred, and she disappeared somewhere Connie couldn't see. “There's a lot I can't remember after that.”
Child abuse was at the top of Connie's loathed human crimes list, jockeying for position with rape, murder, and animal cruelty. Anyone who could abuse a child, a child they had conceived and raised, didn't deserve to live, in her opinion. She wrote delve into childhood abuse in capital letters, then underscored it three times for emphasis. “Does that night resurface as part of the terrors, Caera?”
But it didn't matter what Connie said or how she phrased her questions, the girl had shut down. Eyes distant, face almost slack, Caera's responses were slow and disjointed. They'd taken one step too far, too fast, and whatever time she'd gone back to was a place loaded with triggers.
Concerned, Connie rose and crouched in front of the girl's chair, gently setting her fingers on a bony wrist. She found a strong, slow pulse beneath the chilled skin. “All right, sweetheart. You've done really well today, we've covered a lot of ground.” And still haven't come close to touching the heart of the matter. “You're in a safe place here, Caera. It's safe to come back. Come on back to me now.”
Those green eyes had grown a few shades darker, but as Connie murmured to the girl, drawing her out of the minefield, the irises lightened, and the pupils began to focus on her surroundings. On Connie. With a jerk, Caera returned to reality with a baffled frown.
“D-Did something happen?” she asked quietly.
Balanced on the balls of her feet, Connie smiled softly. “No, sweetheart. You just went away for a few minutes. Do you do that a lot?”
“I don't…I don't know.”
“That's okay. Why don't you drink the rest of this,” Connie murmured, tapping her finger on the bottle clutched in slim hands, “while I finish up outlining our plan of action? I think we've got a few directions we can travel in, and hopefully between us, we can work towards getting you a night of undisturbed sleep.”
Caera burst into noisy tears.
*
It had been the longest week.
Thane limped into Avalon on Friday night, his leg killing him. The movers he'd hired to ship the rest of his furniture from Chicago had been worse than useless, and several pieces were damaged. The items themselves held no monetary or emotional value—it was goddamn furniture—but it was the principle of the matter that had worked its way under Thane's skin and festered.
He'd spent the last five days hauling his own goddamn furniture where he wanted it, wrestling everything into position and—aside from the minor accident where he'd dropped a bookcase on his foot on the way into his home office—all had gone as smoothly as he could make it. But he resented the hours he'd had to waste emailing the company, phoning the company, arguing with the company receptionist until he'd finally snapped and demanded to speak to the owner.
He'd learned a long time ago that if he needed a matter settled quickly, it was better to hit the authority ladder at the topmost rungs. He'd finally got a full refund and been compensated for his damaged furniture this afternoon, after dogging the owner's heels for the past two days.
Now, Thane was ready to put his feet up, stake out the club, and see if he could introduce himself to the woman who'd held his thoughts captive since the first time he'd seen her. Through process of elimination, he'd identified her as Connie, the woman Atticus had taken into the private room the weekend before, but that didn't fit with the image she apparently presented to the club.
In everyone's eyes, she was Mistress Connie, an accomplished Domme.
That wasn't the impression he'd gotten from the conversation he'd overheard between Atticus and Saul. No, the impression he had was one of a woman with a dual identity. One of the rarities of the lifestyle, someone who could dominate on one hand and submit with the other. A most fascinating kind of person.
Liam greeted him with a welcoming smile as Thane approached the bar, and he finally felt a sense of acceptance from the blond Master. “Hey there, stranger. Rough week?”
Thane chuckled and slid ont
o a stool with a pained wince. “Shows, huh?”
“Yeah, it's kind of etched into your face. Is there something I can get you to ease the pain?” Liam just lifted a brow when Thane frowned. “Your limp's more pronounced than it was last week. You just moved to the area, right? Have you got a physical therapist? I can get you a few reputable names if you're looking. Saul mentioned you'd gotten tangled up in a wreck,” he continued unapologetically. “Never needed PT myself, but Jasper had an accident not long since, and I know he had to go through some serious recovery time.”
Chatty bunch, Thane thought without rancor. He didn't mind, it wasn't a secret, and he couldn't exactly hide his limp. If he had to divulge some information to make himself less of a stranger in a place he wanted to feel like home, so be it. “Three years ago, I was driving on the I-90 near Englewood, coming home from a business trip. A semi veered over the lanes when its front tire blew, causing one hell of a pile-up involving eight cars. Two people dead, seven injured. The side panel off one of the other vehicles punched through my door on impact, jammed into my thigh and ripped me up pretty bad, but I'm still here,” he added before Liam could ask. “Jasper's the sadist, right? Did he whip the wrong masochist?”
“I’m sorry, Thane, that must have been rough.” Liam's face hardened with an expression Thane hadn't expected those kind features to be capable of, but he pulled off cold rage perfectly. Gray eyes were dark with a memory Thane had no right to access. “Someone tried to fuck with his sub. Big mistake.” He whipped the cloth off his shoulder and wiped down one of the brass beer pumps. “We don't take kindly to people messing with our family.”
Interesting. “He won?”
“The good guys won the day. Jasper got knocked around in the process, but all's good now.” Wiggling his eyebrows, Liam grinned. “Enough of the doom and gloom. You've been here a few times and not played with any of our lovely members. Looking for anyone in particular or just getting the lay of the land?”
Thane glanced around at the almost empty club. He'd made sure to come early again, hoping to catch his woman before she was stolen away. It wouldn't take long for more people to file through the doors, and the odds were he'd miss his chance if he wasn't careful. “Just getting to know faces and names, but there is one woman who appeals.”
“Yeah? If she comes in, point her out. I can introduce you if you're worried you’ll step on toes.”
He tried to imagine stomping all over the massive feet of Atticus, and decided that would be really bad for his health. He liked his head precisely where it was, at the correct angle and still attached to his neck. “Thanks, but I think she might be taken.”
“Well, hell. That sucks.” Liam glanced over as a group of females entered the room, then lifted his hand in acknowledgement as several women gave him little finger waggles as a hello. “The beauty of Avalon is that we have a wide range of submissives looking for a partner to play with. No one's going to give you a black eye if you talk to a sub who's taken, so long as you're polite and back off when asked.”
“Good to know.” Thane's eyes locked onto a curvy woman parting company from the group of subs, his cock and his hopes rising quickly as she strode over to the bar. “Very good to know.”
The Domme wore a low-cut black corset that pushed her breasts into plump mounds lifting above the delicate red lace trim. It highlighted the curve of her ribcage and waist while tight leather pants accentuated the lushness of her hips and thighs. He was certain she'd lost weight since the last time he'd seen her, which made him wonder if it was deliberate or something out of her control. Her boots came to just below her knees, the heels a good six inches.
She was dressed to kill, he thought in appreciation. Who was in her crosshairs?
Her doe-hide hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders in subtle waves. While Thane didn't know much about makeup, one look at her shadowed eyes and crimson-slicked mouth told him she'd donned war paint. He caught a whiff of something deliciously smoky that kicked his cock straight to aching point as she stepped up to the bar beside him.
He wanted her. Badly. Now. Ten minutes ago.
“Connie, darling, you look like you're about to mount a horse and ride into battle.” Liam gave her a once-over that was part approval and part resignation.
She snorted. “In these pants? No, thanks.”
Although Liam's mouth twitched, he gave her a somber look. “Your meeting is about to commence,” he told her pointedly. “I've been asked to inform you not to be late. I'm not sure you're wearing the appropriate meeting attire.”
Thane watched with avid curiosity as her back straightened as though Liam had shoved a steel rod up her ass. Her temper flickered to life beneath that permanent cloak of fatigue, but she kept it tightly reined in. For now. He imagined she was a goddess come to life when she let loose.
“No meetings tonight, Liam,” she replied easily, sliding her eyes toward Thane. “Just an incredibly large glass of white wine, if you please. Goldfish bowl size. I've had a really bad fucking week,” she snapped when the bartender folded his arms across his chest. “Don't make it worse by making me hurt one of the few people in my life I actually still like. Barely, after the stunt you pulled last week.”
“The meeting is important, Con. I can't let you blow it off and get drunk.” Liam's voice carried a wealth of apology.
“Well, fuck off and go serve someone else then. Go,” she repeated with what was almost a snarl, then turned her back to the bar and sighed as though her heart had just fallen onto the floor with a splat. And not in a good way.
“Goddamn it, Connie, don't put me in the middle of this.”
“You put yourself there,” she shot back angrily without looking at Liam. “You and the other jackasses, deciding things you have no right to interfere with. Just fuck off and leave me alone.”
Thane's heart ached at the expression on Liam's face. He'd seen kids who'd had their puppies kicked who weren't as devastated as the blond Master. Liam opened his mouth to speak, then tightened his lips and walked away, leaving Thane sitting next to a tangled, twisted riot of emotions contained in a lovely female package.
For a long minute, he let the silence vibrate uncomfortably, then asked, “Are you okay?”
Gray eyes roiling with violence landed on him, and it was a relief to see her try and calm herself before she spoke. That tongue of hers carried quite the sharp edge, and he'd rather not bleed tonight. “I'll be fine, thanks.”
“Are you sure? This is a lot of upset for the sake of one little meeting.”
Her lip curled. “The meeting isn't the problem, or not all of it. It's the manner in which it's been set up.” She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “Doesn't matter now anyway. I won't be attending, so they'll just have to deal with it. I'm sorry, you haven't come here to watch the drama unfold. I'll get out of your way. Have a good night.”
“Wait!” Thane lifted his hand as she pushed away from the bar. If this was his chance to get his foot through the door of, at the very least, a speaking relationship, he wasn't throwing away the opportunity. He offered his hand when she paused. “Thane Isaacson. I'm sort of new here. If you have a few minutes to spare, it would be nice to get to know another member. I don't have much in the way of the friend department just yet.”
Suspiciously, she reached out and shook his hand. Slim, strong fingers with neatly trimmed nails daubed in clear polish, he noted. It had been an excellent manicure at one stage, but there were little signs telling him that beauty enhancement had been left to lapse for a while. “Connie Monroe. Are you new to Phoenix, or have you just stumbled across our tiny patch of kink heaven?”
“A mixture of both. I've just gotten the last of my furniture from Chicago, so I guess I'm technically all moved in now. I’ve sampled a couple of clubs, but Avalon…well, let's just say Avalon ticked all my boxes for what I'm looking for in a BDSM club.” He enjoyed the tingle in his hand where their palms pressed together.
Connie took hers back. “That's f
antastic news. Braun, the owner, created the club with friendliness and enjoyment in mind. I know some of the city-based clubs don't have what Avalon offers in terms of bringing their members together as a community.” Her gaze slid to Liam as he came toward them, his face grim. “Even when we're on the verge of kicking each other's asses.”
A small square of paper slapped down on the wood, then Liam slid it over to Connie with a fingertip.
Thane didn't know whether to be concerned or amused as Connie sniffed and picked the paper up, unfolding it with a sneer of disdain. The note fluttered in her shaking hands as color leeched from her face, then erupted in her cheeks as she crunched it into a ball and threw it at Liam's head. With, Thane noticed, excellent aim.
She slammed her palms down on the polished wood and leaned over the bar. “Tell his lordship to go screw himself, Liam. This stupid game he's playing is over. I'm done.” Shoving away from the bar, she turned to Thane, her mouth open to speak.
Thane didn't have time to warn her before the beast stepped up behind her—seemingly from nowhere, quiet as a shadow—and powerful fingers clamped down on her nape. Connie's furious expression deflated instantly, taking on a mask of submission that confirmed Thane's suspicions.
Connie Monroe was a Switch.
“Gave you fair warning, sweetheart.” Hard green eyes met Thane's over the top of Connie's head, sparking with recognition and something that might have been speculation. There was a sharp brain behind those eyes, and it was working on overtime. “Maybe you should introduce me to your friend, Constance. I didn't catch his name last week.”
Shit, had the guy picked up on Thane's interest in Connie? By the look in those displeased eyes, Atticus had his own theory on why Thane had been loitering in the walkway, and it wasn't far from the truth. Hoping to beat him to the literal punch, Thane thrust his hand out with a brief smile. “Thane Isaacson. We haven't been introduced, but I'm guessing you're Atticus. I've heard a lot about you.”
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 8
