Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3

by Kay Elle Parker

  She bristled, the Domme battling against the submissive. “Thane—”

  “I said, sit that ass down before I drag it over my lap and spank it red, Constance. I’m tired and I want this conversation out of the fucking way.” Stand your ground, Thane. Don’t let a pair of turbulent gray eyes throw you off track. “We’ve dodged this for ten days. Ten days of you sheltering in place, using the Domme as a deflector. No more.”

  Connie sat on the opposite end of the couch, her eyes direct on his. She challenged him silently, pitting her dominance against his, but she didn’t understand how vehemently he felt about this. “It’s done, Thane. We’re both alive, we can move on and put it behind us.”

  “No. Not once since Guthrie broke into the house have you asked me about him, about what in my past led us to that moment. You haven’t demanded to know what the fuck went on, or why it happened.” He sighed and shook his head. “The weeks we’ve been together have been short, Connie. It’s a blink of time, and we filled it full. But I kept a lot of my history from you, because I had to. You know I was military, that’s all I gave you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you were. I love the man you are now.”

  Thane rubbed his forehead. “The man I am now is a better man than the one he came from. I enlisted when I was eighteen, sugar. Young, dumb, full of piss and vinegar, and determined to follow in my father’s footsteps. That changed, after a few months. I buckled down, I made friends, and the fluffy little dream of being like my father stopped being a dream. He died protecting lives—I made a career out of taking them.”

  Connie’s expression grew wary. “I suppose that’s part of the job description.”

  “My job description was handling an M107, picking off terrorists and bad guys one by one. I excelled in firearms training, and the army capitalized on those skills, training me to be one of the best in my field. It paid off, and I rose through the ranks. I was selected for greatness, a special project off the books.” God, he felt old. “My commander at that time—unbeknownst to me—was dealing drugs to soldiers, as was someone I considered to be my best friend.”

  “Guthrie.”

  “Yeah. We were tight, which makes it hurt more now I know what he was doing. He was the one who shot me the first time, and it turns out it wasn’t an accident. Commander Stevens wanted him off his dealing turf, and threw down an ultimatum of stop cashing in on Stevens’ territory or I’d pay the price in blood. For whatever reason, Guthrie decided to kill me himself, and did a shit job of it.”

  Connie’s spine lost some of its rigidity. “He chose profit over his best friend.”

  “Yeah. I’m struggling with the timeline of things, but Atticus has the files for me to look at so I can put it together. Guthrie served time in jail after he was dishonorably discharged—and false information from Stevens convinced him that I’d ratted him out. He served his time, and when he got out, he was gunning for me. I had no idea,” Thane murmured. “No fucking idea I had crosshairs on my back for so long. The accident that almost took my leg wasn’t an accident at all—Guthrie orchestrated it to take me out, and missed his mark. Asshole was smarter than I gave him credit for.”

  He still couldn’t believe Guthrie had almost pulled it off. It was the kind of mission Thane would have planned for months—stalking his target, finding out what vehicle he drove, what flight he was taking, the roads he’d take home. Everything came down to timing, and it involved an extraordinary amount of patience—something Guthrie had lacked.

  It also involved a lot of risks. Weather conditions, wind speed and direction, could knock a bullet a fraction of an inch off course. Unsteady hands, a poor quality sight, the slightest lapse in concentration could bring devastation raining down on everyone’s head, and essentially, that’s what Guthrie had done.

  Two dead, Thane thought bitterly. Two innocents dead for a feud neither he nor they had been involved with.

  “Guthrie shot the tire out on the semi. Maybe he just nicked the damn thing, I don’t know, because the cops put the accident down to a simple blowout. Maybe they just assumed the tire picked up a nail. Whatever the reason, their investigation was substandard.”

  “Good God,” Connie whispered. “He really wanted you dead, didn’t he?”

  “Looks like. I’m assuming he got locked up again, because there were no more attempts—that I know of—until that Sunday morning. The phone call at Avalon was Stevens, wanting me to take a job. Turns out, Guthrie had intel on him, and Stevens wanted him dead before he could spill it. Stevens told me about Guthrie because he needed leverage—I either killed Guthrie, or Guthrie killed me.”

  “But it was only the next morning that he broke into the house.”

  “I think Guthrie’s schedule was way ahead of anything Stevens anticipated. Hell, even once I was aware of the threat that morning, I didn’t think he’d already be in position, and that…” Grimacing, he leaned forward and snagged her hand, squeezing the chilled fingers gently. “I was unprepared, Connie. That’s on me. You wouldn’t be battered and bruised, if not for me bringing this shit to your doorstep.”

  She lifted her free hand to her cheek, feathering it over the remnants of the swelling, the miscolored bruises she’d tried to conceal beneath a layer of makeup. “How can you blame yourself for something you knew nothing about?”

  Oh, quite easily, he thought in disgust. “Because I didn’t know, Connie. Until that morning, I had no fucking idea Guthrie was gunning for—had been gunning—for me for years. If I’d had any wits about me—”

  She snorted. Started to laugh, much to his consternation. “Jesus, Thane, you’re former military, not a psychic. From what you’ve told me, this started between one asshole and another over drugs of all things. They dragged you into it without you having any knowledge of the circumstances. It’s no more your fault than it is mine for—” She clammed herself up quickly, her lips pressing together until they turned white.

  Here we go. “For what, sugar?”

  She averted her eyes, and the mask slipped. For a long, devastating moment, the scared, traumatized submissive was clearly visible, and she broke the first link in his chain of control. “It doesn’t matter. There are other things to worry about, Thane. Bodie, Alicia, Jasp—”

  “Stop. None of those things are in your control, Connie, and I’m sick of you crushing yourself under the weight of them. You are my priority, just as Bodie is Braun’s. Alicia is spreading her wings away from a life that reminds her of her past, which is what you need to do now. But you can’t do that until you’ve shed the extra pounds that don’t belong to you.” When she tried to yank her hand away, he gripped it tighter. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

  “Jasper—”

  Thane gave her his best stare. “Don’t play games with me, sugar.”

  “I froze, okay? When that gun was aiming at me, I froze. There was blood all over me, your blood, and my brain was trying to process everything. But it couldn’t. It couldn’t understand what had just happened. Guthrie was talking to me, and I didn’t understand the words.” She inhaled shakily, her throat working as she tried to swallow. “Then all I could think was how you were on the floor, blood spreading around you, and no one would be coming, because they didn’t know they were needed. They didn’t know you were bleeding all over the floor, just like I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

  Thane closed his eyes, wanting to kill Guthrie all over again. “Oh, Connie. I’m sorry.”

  “When he hit me, I didn’t fight back. When he stripped me, I didn’t fight back.” Her voice grew in volume, strengthened with a loathing he understood all too well. “I didn’t fight back. I’m a fucking Domme, and I didn’t stand up for myself. I took the hits, I took his taunts, and I can’t even tell you if I’d have tried to defend myself if he’d raped me. I was blank, Thane. I was nothing, just like I was when Evan tortured me.”

  Another link snapped. “What do you think would have happened if you’d hit him, Connie? No, no
t the outcome you’ve replayed over and over in your head, the one where you kicked his ass into shreds and stood with your heel planted on his throat. The real outcome.”

  Those damned gray eyes of hers fired with fury. “We’ll never know, will we?”

  The last link pinged free. Mindless of his shoulder, Thane lunged forward, exchanging his grip on her hand to hooking his arm around her waist. As his wound bellowed in protest, he hauled her onto his lap, pressing her back against the padding of the couch so he could keep her pinned. “Oh yeah, we both know exactly how things would’ve played out. You’re not stupid, Connie, you’re in denial.”

  “Don’t tell me what I am, asshole!”

  Oh, that was a sore spot, right there. Ruthlessly, he dug his fingers into the tender wound and proceeded to lance the emotional abscess beneath it. “So far in denial, you can’t even admit the truth.”

  “Shut up!”

  “He’d have hit you back.”

  She struck him, her fist bouncing off his uninjured shoulder with force. “Thane!”

  “He’d have broken bones,” he continued, unfazed by the violence. “He’d have shattered you into pieces, and that would’ve only been the start.”

  Connie hit him again, lower this time. “Stop it!”

  “A prison-fit, military-trained man who outweighed you by fifty pounds or more. It would have been child’s play to crush you, and he was the type of guy to enjoy your pain. He wouldn’t have stopped there. Why would anyone stop there if they have a vulnerable, broken woman spread out naked on the floor?”

  She screamed, battering at him now.

  Thane gentled his voice. “Guthrie would have retaliated in ways you can’t imagine, Connie. He’d have broken you, raped you, taken everything from you before he put a bullet in your head, and I would have lost you. Losing you means losing myself.” He waited until her fists began to slow, the hard hits becoming sluggish. “I know you’re hurting, Connie. I feel how scared you are. How angry you are for not doing more to protect yourself. But you did the only thing you could, the smart thing.”

  “I didn’t help you,” she whispered mournfully.

  “Connie.” He sighed her name, pulling her in close. “If things had gone south and I’d died, trust me, the only thing I’d have been concerned about was you. I expect you to do everything and anything in your power to stay alive, and if that means you leave me to bleed out, you damn well do it, because if you’re not here to keep me on my toes, I don’t want to be here at all.”

  Her fingers clutched at his shirt. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Bullshit. We deserve each other, and we’ve gone through enough shit to prove it.” He grasped her nape with enough pressure for his fingertips to bite into the soft flesh. “This is beyond what either of us can deal with alone. I think, even working together, we’ll struggle. So, you and me, we’re going to be brave, and we’re going to ask for help.”

  “Therapy.”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I say no?”

  Thane smiled sadly and gave her neck a gentle squeeze. “You’re a psychologist, sugar. Deny it all you want, but you know this is the way forward. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, and that was fine by him. He took the time to just hold her, ignoring his throbbing shoulder, and thank God he had the opportunity to do so. Every word he’d told her about Guthrie was true—things could have been drastically worse.

  With her fingers kneading his chest, he closed his eyes and began to plan.

  *

  When her parents died, Connie was only twenty. The news of their demise, caused by a carbon monoxide leak from a faulty heater, had shaken her down to the roots. She’d been lost and alone, fighting with her grief as she struggled to balance her world. It had taken a long time before she stood tall again, ready to tackle an existence where she couldn’t just pick up the phone and call her mom for advice.

  She’d taught herself how to do the jobs her father had taken care of, and found pride in being self-sufficient.

  While she adapted, she’d finally become happy with who she was growing to be.

  And then, she’d been lured into Evan’s trap. Following his charms like they were little candy treats scattered in a line toward his deadly gingerbread house, ready to devour unsuspecting visitors.

  She hadn’t been this ruined since her ex-dom decided torture was an excellent breakup technique. Only this time, she wasn’t alone to handle the fallout.

  Thane was right. She couldn’t lock away the pain anymore—she’d spent a week trying, and failing, to shove the whole sordid mess away where she couldn’t relive it every damn day. She’d reached a critical point, and she had a choice to make—get help or suffer the consequences.

  His hand was hard on her neck, his touch comforting.

  His love hadn’t wavered, not once, no matter how tightly she’d strapped herself down.

  The Domme was no longer her protection, her shield against what hurt her, and she realized it was because of him. When he took control, he gave her respite. He made it easy to submit, to set her worries and doubts into his hands, so she could breathe.

  She snuggled closer into him, pressing her cheek to his chest as best she could. His sling was cumbersome, but with any luck, he wouldn’t need it for long…well, if she stopped using him as a punching bag when he hit a nerve that resonated too deep. “I’m sorry, Thane.”

  “Hmm?”

  God, this was all wrong. Here she was, sprawled all over him and no doubt hurting him, when he had a gunshot wound in his shoulder. Simply because he gave her what she craved so desperately—the warmth of human comfort. Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself from his arms, ignoring his warning rumble of displeasure, and rose to stand beside the couch.

  Leaning down to cup his cheek, she stifled a whimper. Her body was still various shades of disgusting colors skin should never be, and a large percentage of her bones still ached with bruising she couldn’t see. At least that, she could hide. “I’m sorry I hit you. It’s completely unacceptable.”

  He blinked open dazed amber eyes. “All part of my plan, sugar. Don’t worry about it.”

  But she would. She was already feeling guilt for taking out her emotional problems on him, and it would deepen the more she thought about it. For that reason, more than anything, she knew she would agree to go to therapy—her experience with trauma victims, herself included, told her that exhibiting signs of violence toward loved ones meant she was heading down a slippery slope, plunging toward self-destruction if not stopped.

  It was a scary thought.

  Connie tucked the blanket around Thane as his eyes fluttered closed again. He tired so easily at the moment, which worried her. He needed to rest while he healed, but the stubborn ass had adamantly rolled out of bed that morning and resumed his usual routine. He was bound and fucking determined to set aside his own recovery to ensure she survived hers.

  As she slipped out of the room, she thought about what he had and hadn’t told her. His career was only a fraction of the man she loved. She understood confidentiality, the need to keep things flying under a certain radar. If he’d been part of classified projects, there was no way she expected him to break his silence for her.

  Honestly, if he hadn’t told her he’d been military, she wouldn’t have known. He held a proud stance when his leg didn’t fail him, but the crisp edge of movement she imagined a soldier would have had softened in him. His hair was a little on the long side for an army haircut, and his skin was unmarred by ink. Even the way he spoke didn’t offer a clue.

  Had he learned to conceal that part of him? Hide it away from the civilians he associated with so he didn’t raise suspicions and entice the obvious questions? Or had he simply shed years of training and indoctrination to become the man he wanted to be?

  Connie headed down the hallway without thinking, turning left to go to Alicia’s room. What had been Alicia’s room, she
corrected. Her unease at discovering Thane had closed out his career with a stint as a professional gun for hire dissipated as she opened the door and stared.

  It was like Lisha had simply gone to the bathroom and would be back any minute.

  The bed was rumpled, the way it was when the girl spent hours on her back, staring at the ceiling instead of out the window, as death metal rattled the glass and shook the damn walls. The sound system was eerily quiet—Connie found she actually missed the noise.

  There were papers on the desk, finely covered in dust. The house had been alone and empty for too long, and Connie realized it didn’t feel like home anymore. It hadn’t for a long time.

  She stepped inside, running her fingers along the dresser.

  Thane’s house had become home. All her possessions might be here, but she’d rooted herself in his heart and his home. How would she cope, stepping foot back in that beautiful space, being pelted by memories? Not well, she imagined. Not well at all.

  She bumped her fingertips over the books lined up on Alicia’s desk. The ones she’d bought her, the ones Alicia had pretended to read. Tucked between them, Connie discovered, were children’s books. The kind that taught young kids how to break words down so they could be learned with ease.

  Her throat strained as tears threatened.

  In the middle of the desk, a piece of paper was folded beside a pen.

  Connie picked it up and spread it open, pressing her hand to her mouth as she read the words written in handwriting no more advanced than a five-year-old’s.

  Connie,

  You saved me from myself. Let me do the same for you.

  I don’t have words, not good ones I can spell.

  I love you should cover it.

  Alicia

  Goddamn it. God-fucking-damn it.

  The note crumpled in her hands as she fisted them, pressing them against her eyes. It didn’t stop the tears, nothing could at this point, but the pressure kept them from bursting free like a broken water pipe.

  Connie couldn’t help herself, so why would Alicia believe she’d saved her? They’d struggled for the last year, and nothing Connie had done or said had gotten through the girl’s defenses. There had been no saving, only complete and utter failure professionally…and personally.