by Joey W. Hill
“Don, it’s me. It’s Ella. Veronica. Veronica Mars.”
Maybe it was a kneejerk safeword reaction, but she’d blurted out whatever short combination of words would seem familiar, sane, as far as possible from this moment. His knee was planted in her stomach, hurting like hell, but adrenaline compensated.
Then she realized, with a surge of relief, the deadly blunt instrument was no longer a threat. A powerful dark hand was wrapped around Don’s wrist, another arm over his chest. Wolf was braced behind him. His face was bleeding but he looked as steady and in control as he always did, which helped her be the same.
“Easy, Don. Easy.”
She knew immobilizing a person with PTSD, like this, wasn’t always a good idea, but Wolf had done it to protect her. The least she could do was help diffuse things, especially since it looked like she’d found a way to do it.
After her blurted words, Don was looking less ferocious and even more dazed. He was staring at her as if from a huge distance, but his lips were moving. Veronica.
“Yes, Veronica. Remember, we were going to talk about Season 2, next time you were here? About her and Logan, and Weevil?
Now he mouthed that. Logan. Weevil. The paddle fell out of his fingers. It thunked to the floor. His gaze turned to her hands, holding tight to his arm, and Wolf’s sure grip higher, on his wrist. His face creased, crumpled.
“Oh no,” he said, and the rage in his voice was gone, replaced by defeat. “Oh no…”
“No, no, Don, it’s totally okay,” she said, wanting to soothe. She didn’t know if that was the right thing, but he suddenly looked so…broken. He wanted to pull away, but as she released his arm, she reached toward his jaw. Wolf’s gaze burned into hers over his shoulder, but he gave an imperceptible nod. She was female, something not part of the demons he was fighting in that room. She could help ground him.
This she knew how to do.
“Let me go,” Don said. Wolf shook his head, his much more massive body still flush against his back.
“Take a break. Let her help. You can’t do anything at this moment but accept her comfort.”
“I almost—”
“No, you didn’t,” Ella said. “Wolf was here, every step of the way. Do I look the least bit scared?” There’d been no time to be, which was helpful, because at some point she’d realize just how close he’d come to splitting open her skull. But what that would have done to Don worried her more than anything, particularly since she was safe and sound.
Thanks to Wolf. She had no fear while he was here, and it showed in the steadiness of her voice, her touch on Don’s face, guiding his eyes back to her. She noticed something now she hadn’t at the beginning. There were abrasions on his throat, as if he’d had something cinched around it that had cut, rubbed. It didn’t look fresh enough to have happened in this session.
Her heart tightened into a fist. At her very worst moment, she’d never contemplated…but Don had. He’d been in a well of despair that deep, thinking there was no way out of it.
She let it all go away. Everything about their immediate surroundings, the three of them lying halfway out in the hall. Don poised over her in his underwear, Wolf holding him in an obvious restrained position, security on their way. All of that disappeared as she focused on everything Don was revealing to her in his eyes, his body language.
It was terrible, how lost people could get. How much life could take from them and yet they endured, half a person, broken into so many pieces. She’d learned as long as all those pieces were still inside them, they could be put back together. Maybe not the same way, maybe not as perfect and new, but perfect and new were overrated.
“No thinking,” she said softly. “Just rest. It’s okay.”
“No,” Don said. “It’s not. It doesn’t make sense. It's not the way it's supposed to be. It's just not. Someone needs to fix it, so it makes sense.”
His voice was breaking. He was fully back in the moment with them, but in the moment meant facing his reality, which he obviously saw as bleak as endless rain. He was headed back down into that deep well.
“Come to me,” she said quietly. “Hold me. I need you to hold me, Don. Can you do that?”
His gaze flickered at the word “need,” so she repeated it. “I need you, Don. Please.”
In her peripheral vision she sensed movement. Security. Wolf shook his head, a short, sharp movement. Whoever it was stopped. They were still there, she expected, but he’d kept them out of Don’s field of vision.
Don seemed to be processing what she’d said. She repeated it a couple times, moving her hands to his neck and shoulders, to his chest and around to his sides, gentle pressure, urging him to come down to her. A whole conversation made up of cues was likewise happening between her and Wolf. Eye contact, small gestures. Two of Club Atlantis’s most experienced staff members, helping a guest find his way.
Wolf’s arms loosened, encouraging Don to respond to her pressure. In an abrupt move, he did. Don wrapped his arms tight around her waist, buried his face in her breasts. When he hunched his body in a peculiar way, Ella realized he was trying to curl around her. Or inside her.
Back to the safety of the womb was an instinct older than conscious thought. She struggled to move, to turn herself, and Wolf fortunately recognized the same thing she had. He helped her sit up, adjust Don so the shaking veteran was in her arms, in her lap, turned toward her so his legs bent and pressed into her hip. It coiled him around her as much as possible.
"You’re right," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's not okay, none of it, but this is. You're loved, you're forgiven, you're safe here. You can be weak and still be strong. You’re not alone."
There was no message more important in the whole universe. She knew that firsthand. When she said it to someone like Don, he knew she understood. She could do this, make him feel for a little while he wasn’t alone with it.
As she held him, her gaze went up to Wolf. He was crouched on his heels, his arm under hers around Don’s back, helping her hold his heavier weight, his other hand on Don’s shoulder. It was a posture of additional reassurance, but it also put him where he could intervene on her behalf if Don’s mood changed.
She wanted to lift her hand, touch the bloody spot on his face, make sure he was okay. Tend to him. Because though the cut was bothersome, she worried more about other things she saw in his eyes now, particularly as he watched her hold Don. She saw shadows, and an odd echo of some of what she’d seen in Don’s eyes. Old, unhealed rage and grief, the despair of the lost.
She couldn’t risk touching Wolf in comfort. She was rubbing Don’s upper arm and back in soothing circles, and stopping that for even a moment might change things for the worse. She settled for mouthing Are you okay?
Wolf nodded. He glanced toward the end of the hall where security likely waited. That was fine, but she didn’t think whoever had arrived was needed anymore. Don’s sobs were muffled against her breasts, his breath hot and shaky, his body heavy with exhaustion.
He was okay for the moment. Except for the cut on his face, Wolf was fine, too.
He gestured, and now Wendy came into Ella’s field of vision. Unplanned but fortunate, that a woman agent had responded. Don was winding down, getting himself back together, and didn’t seem to have a problem with Wendy helping him to his feet with Wolf. Ella got up, her legs only a little wobbly, and squeezed Don’s arm.
“If you’re not up for it tonight, we’ll talk later about Veronica. Otherwise, I’ll be in my usual spot.”
He gave her a nod, a weak smile. Then Wolf and Wendy were guiding him back into the room.
Ella expected Wolf would wind down the session now, do aftercare. She picked up the paddle, the weight of the half-inch thick wood heavier than normal in her hands, especially as she imagined it connecting to her face. When she turned to head back to the desk, a dark hand closed over her arm. Wolf had returned to the hallway.
“Ella.”
“Yes, sir.” She made
herself face him, but kept her gaze to the floor. He touched her chin.
“Look at me.”
She did, studying his eyebrow intently as he brushed his fingertips lightly over the spot where the paddle had made contact. Her cheek was sore. Tomorrow she expected there’d be a bruise there, but it could have been a lot worse. “I’m fine,” she said, anticipating him. “Please go help him. He really needs you.”
She needed to get clear, otherwise she would have her hands on his face, then be checking him all over for any other injuries, acting like a complete idiot.
“So does my sub. Or did you forget I’m your Master?”
In these walls. No, she hadn’t. “No, sir. But I’m good, really. This isn’t the first time that I’ve helped calm a situation. The puppy play thing, the way I reacted to that, that wasn’t my normal crisis mode. I’m usually pretty good with them.”
“Well, being hunted by a pack of wild dogs, even the human kind, isn’t a daily thing for you. I assume.”
She managed a half smile and looked down. “No sir.”
“The cut on my face is superficial, Ella. When I clean up the blood, you won’t be able to see it.” He touched her chin again, reminding her to look at him. It was just difficult. She wanted to touch. She closed her hands harder on the paddle.
“Thank you, Ella,” he said. “Even though I was only calling you for towels.”
She blinked. “Oh. I thought…I heard the yelling.”
“Yeah. I thought he was at a lull point. I was wrong.”
“So I caused the problem.”
“No.” He grazed a knuckle along her cheek. “Wendy trusted your judgment. As she should. And though you exercised your usual propensity for finding trouble, in this case, I think you helped, despite that.”
Her cheeks heated at the reproof, despite the dry tone of amusement. “Will he be all right?” she asked.
“He will be for tonight.” Wolf’s gaze hooded. “Sometimes all you can do is day by day.”
“Yeah. That’s true.”
She knew that. But as he gave her another nod and then disappeared inside the room, she wondered how he did.
She heard that Wolf took Don home after the session. Dieter, a security guy who was also a veteran, went with them. He was going to stay with Don until Wolf finished his second session of the night.
She thought of how Wolf had addressed his own issues at the carnival, and was glad Don had someone like Wolf to help him. But when Wolf returned to the club, and she glimpsed his face, she saw that despairing echo underneath the impassivity. Such a session took its own toll on the therapist. The compressed energy around Wolf said he wasn’t in the best headspace himself.
Confirming it, he didn’t engage in conversation with anyone, and disappeared during the down time before his next session. She was working the bar at the time, surrounded by members, so she didn’t know if he’d even seen her. Or wanted to see her. She wanted to go find him, offer him comfort, but she wasn’t sure if that would be construed correctly, and…
Damn it, it was what a friend would do. But were they friends? The kind where she could casually go to him, offer help, without ulterior motives being assigned to it.
Oh, fuck it all. Was she really second-guessing herself like a damn teenager? Enough of this.
Once she wasn’t needed at the bar, she went to look for him, the Master she cared about, to see how she could help. She was responsible for her own feelings; they were hers to risk. She wasn’t going to alter who she was to protect herself or deny him the care he might need. Even the most invincible Dom could use a hand on the shoulder, a hug, or simply a quiet, caring presence after a rough session. She could sit near him, just be there.
The problem was, she couldn’t find him. The truck was still in the parking lot, so he was here. Maybe he was with Anwyn, talking something through. Then she thought about the alley. Though not a heavy smoker, Wolf usually went out there once a night to indulge a cigarette.
As she moved through the back hallways, headed for the side door, she ran into Gus, who had a panful of scraps for the feral cats. Since he looked harassed and busy, Ella put out her hands. “I’ll take the food to them, unless you need the break.”
Gus gladly turned the tray over to her. “Honestly, I usually need the laugh the little furballs provide, but I’m up to my ass in marinating mushrooms. Providing top end snacks here instead of just peanuts on the bar can sometimes be a pain. Our hors d’oeuvres are getting way too popular.”
“Because the chef makes them too tasty.” Ella grinned. “Throw in a couple of cockroaches, and the demand will go down.”
“Yeah, right. I’d be looking for a job.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Gideon was striding by, looking as if he was five minutes late to his destination, but he still took the time to yank Ella’s ponytail in his usual obnoxious big-brother-like way. He fended off her punch, catching her smaller fist and giving it a kiss. “Anwyn doesn’t believe in firing her employees. She believes in concrete shoes and watery graves.”
“Comforting,” Gus said dryly, and nodded his thanks to Ella, retracing his steps back toward the kitchen.
“Where are you headed?” Ella asked Gideon. He grimaced.
“Quarterly risk assessment with the rest of the security team. I think James specifically extended his New Orleans vacation into a sabbatical with his new lady friend to avoid it. Heard you all had some excitement.” He touched the spot on her face, like Wolf had, but Gideon’s touch had a whole different feel to it. A hundred percent friendly concern and sexy protective guy comfort, but nothing complicated that could tie her heart in knots.
“Did Wolf get you into trouble?” he asked. “Want me to beat him up for you?”
The visual of a sparring match between Gideon and Wolf, both shirtless and in jeans, might just carry her through her next masturbation fantasy. Letting the trickle of humor bolster her, Ella smiled. “I’m good, truly. It’s just so sad, what someone like Don is going through.”
“Yeah, it is. Come here. You still look like you need a hug.”
“Maybe you need one, but since you’re a tough guy, you’re just using me as an excuse.”
“Busted. Risk assessment meetings totally trigger me. I may need ice cream and a high body count action flick afterward to recover, but I’ll take the hug now.”
He removed the tray from her hands, set it aside, then pulled her close to hug her tight. Ella let herself enjoy those strong male arms, and tried not to wish so hard they were someone else’s. She’d take what she could get, and Gideon was definitely not sloppy seconds. Gideon cupped the back of her head. “You’re the best thing about this place, after Anwyn herself,” he murmured, surprising her. “Don’t let anyone drag you down, or I will seriously fuck them up. You keep things sparkling.”
The praise warmed her. She tipped her head back enough to give him an amused look. “Sparkling?” she asked.
“Yeah. You keep us seeing the shine on things. Oh, shit, I’m really late now. Are you…”
“Totally good,” she promised, squeezing his hands on her waist and stepping back. “You helped. Thank you.”
He snorted, his gaze on her face. “I’m putting you at the top of the risk assessment list. Risk of breaking all our hearts with those big eyes of yours.”
“You’re so goofy,” she said.
“Yeah, I am.” He touched her cheek. “Find me later. I hear there’s going to be a card game. You know Chantal always cheats.”
“I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“Counting on it.” He was headed onward and called it over his shoulder, making her smile.
It was really okay. She had a family here. She’d find Wolf and help him feel better, give him a hug if he wanted one, and ask for nothing more than that.
She retrieved the pan and exited the side alley door. She waved at the camera, an acknowledgement to whoever was monitoring it.
As she moved out into the alley, calling
“kitty kitty,” feline silhouettes materialized out of the shelters and maze of crate towers Anwyn had arranged for them. They offered a mix of sunning spots and places to get out of the rain.
Ella’s thoughts about having a family at Atlantis made her remember what had happened to Anwyn out here, but not in a dark way.
There were cultures that believed cats were good luck, or spirits that warded off evil. Since, remarkably, the Mistress of Atlantis still came out here regularly to feed the cats, refusing to let the horror of her attack define this spot for her, Ella didn’t have a hard time believing it.
Ella hadn’t been here when it had happened, but had woken up in the middle of the night, thrown a hoodie over her pajamas and borrowed her landlord’s car to race to the club. Her gut had told her something terrible had happened.
After that, Anwyn had changed in some hard to define but impossible to miss way, and Gideon had come to stay with them. But not just him.
Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. The other man in Anwyn’s life had been there for some time. But before that, Ella caught only brief glimpses of the unsmiling, dark-haired male who ghosted the staff hallways in the depths of night. To the inner circle of about a dozen staff members—that Club Atlantis family—James had indicated he was a particular friend of Mistress Anwyn’s and shouldn’t be approached or discussed without invitation. Not even among themselves. Since Anwyn saw the value in the staff keeping one another informed, if she ruled something specific was not to be discussed, even between each other, they took it seriously.
After that terrible night, he’d become a more permanent fixture. Still not seen all that frequently, and he didn’t encourage conversation when he did, but once Ella had come face to face with him in the hallways. Or face to chest, as was the case with her and any male six feet tall or higher.
He’d been dressed all in black. A duster had swirled around him like a movie prop, covering matching jeans, T-shirt, shoes. It wasn’t a fashion statement as much as it was camouflage. When he stepped out into the night, she imagined he instantly became part of the shadows.
