Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  24

  Matthew

  I knew this was going to upset her. It isn’t that I wanted to go behind her back to set up an appointment with a psychiatrist, but I worried that she’d deny that there was a problem. She would laugh that fake laugh and tell me everything is fine and not to worry. I didn’t anticipate her anger, though. I figured she would be sad, not angry.

  It breaks my heart when she pulls away from me in favor of pacing the room. This is the first time she hasn’t relied on me for comfort. It sucks. At first, her pacing seems like a way to work off excess nervous energy, but after a while, it morphs into something else.

  Rose has her hands buried in her own hair, tugging at the long blonde locks. She’s muttering to herself, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. I try to reach out to her, but she shakes my hands away and keeps up her agitated movements.

  Honestly, I’m tempted to call Dr. Klein and demand he come today. I’m out of my depth here, and that’s not something I admit lightly. Up to this point, I’ve been able to gauge her moods by reading her body language and other physical cues. Years of being a dominant have honed the skill making me able to anticipate her needs before she even realizes what those needs are. With this, I feel totally lost.

  She needs more help than I can provide, and for a dominant like me, that’s a hard pill to swallow. I cross my arms and lean against the wall watching her pace and mutter and tug at her hair. The dom in me wants to roar at her to stop that the only one allowed to give her the sweet bite of pain is me. I’m a patient man when I need to be. I settle in and wait for my opportunity to break through the wall she’s thrown up between us.

  Guilt gnaws away at me as I watch her struggle. It’s one thing to know she suffered horrible abuse; it’s another to see evidence of that abuse and how it’s impacted her. Those images of her tied down while being beaten and raped fucking haunt me. The pictures of her in the shower crying with blood and bruises marring every surface of her skin will never leave me. Picture after picture of my beautiful girl broken and bruised tear away at my sanity. A feral grin curves on my lips as I think of the pain the men in those pictures will feel at my hands.

  When it is apparent that Rose isn’t going to come out of this on her own, I decide it’s time to stop the madness myself.

  “Rose,” I say, using my no-nonsense dom voice. “Come here now.”

  25

  Rose

  I’m snapped out of my haze when Matthew calls out my name. His tone leaving no room for argument. I immediately stop my pacing and face him. He’s got that look… the one I’ve seen other doms give when their submissive is in trouble. Standing tall and proud, exuding power, he makes my knees weak.

  “Come here now, Rose.” He points to the floor in front of him.

  I blink stupidly as my mind tries to catch up with what’s happening right now. His growl of impatience helps move my feet. I stop just out of his reach. I have no idea what to expect. This isn’t my sweet, comforting Matthew, this is Master Bennett, and he is quite obviously displeased with me. I nervously chew my inner cheek. I avert my gaze to the floor, unable to withstand the stern dominance he’s radiating.

  I feel him staring at me. I can see his hand still pointing to the spot just in front of him through my eyelashes. He wants me closer. I’m too discombobulated to move closer. Matthew has been careful to keep this side of himself in check when I’m around, and now his dominant side is out in full force.

  Through sheer force of will, I keep my feet firmly planted in place. This is a test of wills, and I don’t want to lose. I’m not sure why I’m fighting it. I have nothing to gain by resisting Matthew.

  Actually, that’s a lie.

  I can gain knowledge from denying him what he wants. It’s a test of sorts. How will he react when I don’t do the expected? Will he lash out at me? Will he show me he’s a monster just like the others before him? It’s stupid. I already know the answers to those questions. Matthew would never, ever hurt me. And yet, I want to test him. To push the limits and see how far I can go.

  Surprisingly, Matthew gives in first and closes the distance between us. With a finger under my chin, he tips my head up, giving me no choice but to look at him. “You want to play this game, little girl?”

  His voice is rough. Controlled violence. Pent up frustration and need. This darker side of Matthew draws me in. It speaks to my darkness. I shiver when his fist grips my hair, and he crushes his lips to mine.

  Teeth clash. Tongues possess. It’s messy and raw. He tightens his grip on my hair, and I go pliant in his hands. I open for him taking his kiss. Letting him devour my mouth without fighting for more than he’s giving.

  With a groan, he rips his lips from mine and steps away. I stumble a step toward him but freeze when he gives me a hard look. “Kneel,” he commands, pointing again to the floor in front of him.

  My body is buzzing with need, and my mind is a wash of confused anger and lust. I want to be mad that he set up a meeting with Dr. Klein without my permission. Hell, I should be mad that he just kissed the crap out of me and left me hanging. Instead, I just want more. Crave more of this harsher side of my Matthew.

  I kneel at his feet and look up into his conflicted eyes. The dominant and the gentle hero are at war with each other. He sees me as too broken to handle his dominance. He hasn’t said as much, but I know it’s true. What he doesn’t seem to understand is I want both sides of him. I want the sweet man who holds me after a nightmare, and I want the dominant master who commands me.

  I shuffle forward on my knees until I’m pressed against his legs. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Matthew sighs deeply. I jump when his fingers tangle in my hair. He growls at my momentary fear. I whisper another apology and fight back the tears that want to fall. I’ve cried so much these last weeks, and I hate it. I don’t want to be this weak version of myself. I want to find the me that was strong enough to run away from Red House and travel halfway across the country alone.

  “I will never hurt you.” His voice is raw with emotion.

  “I know,” I whisper.

  He gently massages my scalp, and the darkness inside of me gives up its hold on me. Calmness settles over me, and my tense muscles unclench. I wrap myself around his leg, getting as close as possible in this position.

  “Shh… that’s it, sweet girl. I’ve got you now,” he croons.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are, love. I’m the one to blame for this. I should’ve talked to you prior to setting up the appointment with Dr. Klein. You shouldn’t have had to find out about it the way you did.”

  I love him a little more for admitting that he was wrong. His intentions were honorable, but his approach sucked. His apology wipes away the last of my lingering frustration and anger. I know that he didn’t do this to hurt me. I hate myself a little for blowing things so out of proportion. Now that I’m calmer, I realize how irrational I was being. My irrational side has been ruling my reactions for a while now. It’s like the rational part of my brain is there screaming at me to stop, but I’m unable to listen.

  Matthew is right. I need help. I need to talk to someone. “I’ll talk to Dr. Klein.”

  He pulls me to my feet and hugs me to his big warm body. “Thank you, love.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to be there when I speak to the doctor, but I hold back. It’s not fair of me to ask him to look deeper into the darkness that I dwell in than he already has. He’s already got a good enough look at what I’ve been through when Damon brought those damned pictures.

  Matthew kisses the tip of my nose. “Let’s go home.”

  “I thought we were staying here tonight,” I say, confused. Matthew has an important conference call with the managers of his other two clubs tonight and a bunch of other things that he’s been neglecting.

  “Daniels is covering tonight.”

  “Kisten?” I can’t hide my shock.

  Matthew laughs and kisses the top
of my head. “Yep, shocking, I know, but he’s actually great at running things.”

  Kisten has been nothing but nice to me. That is so not the case with everyone else. He’s growly and gruff and just downright grumpy to basically everyone. “It’s because everyone is scared of him, isn’t it?”

  Matthew laughs again. “No, sweetheart. Daniels is all bark and no bite.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. I know for a fact that isn’t true. I’ve seen him scene before. He most definitely bites. “If you say so.”

  26

  Rose

  My meeting with Dr. Klein was a lot more anti-climactic than I thought it would be. He asked a gazillion questions about my moods and what kinds of things triggered different reactions. He prescribed me a new anti-depressant and something to help my anxiety when it gets out of control. He also referred me to Dr. Osborne, who specializes in therapy for victims of sexual assault and other abuse.

  I haven’t met with Dr. Osborne yet… I’m just not ready to rehash everything. Honestly, I don’t see the point. I want to put the past behind me and look to the future. Matthew doesn’t agree. He tried to talk me into seeing her, and I had a meltdown. It wasn’t pretty. He backed off and hasn’t brought it up since.

  I’ve been on the new medication for about ten days. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Well, it’s more apt to say I don’t like the way the medicine makes me not feel. I’m numb all the time. It’s supposed to help keep my moods on an even keel so that I don’t cycle through the gamut of emotions like a bad trip on a rollercoaster. I guess it does do that. I’m on an even keel… it’s just one full of numbness.

  Not only did it zap away the negative emotions, but it has sucked the life out of the good too. I feel like I’m just going through the motions. Wake up, make breakfast, clean up, shower, go to club, come home, sleep… rinse and repeat every day.

  I haven’t cried since Matthew and I argued about me talking to the therapist. It’s not that I’m not upset. I am. My brain is full of all the same torturous anxieties and stresses, but those emotions are trapped inside buried under the suffocating blanket of medication. I want to cry. I feel like crying. I just can’t.

  Worst of all, my anger has been snuffed out. It was an emotion that I hid more often than not. While at Red House, it simmered below the surface. It’s what kept me alive all those years. It’s what saved me from being completely lost. Anger kept the darkness from consuming me. Now, I can’t even drum up annoyance. Without it, I feel vulnerable. Weak.

  Everyone watches me like some kind of science experiment. Always worried. Hannah hovers. Slade looks at me with concern. Kisten’s usual banter has disappeared. And Matthew? He’s the worst of all. He watches my every move, analyzes my every word.

  I do my best to elevate their worries. I smile. I laugh when I’m supposed to laugh, even if it does sound hollow to my own ears. I become the queen of fake it til you make it. Though, I’m starting to lose faith that I’ll ever get to the make it part. Dr. Klein assured me that after a couple weeks, the medication would be in full effect, and I should feel like my old self again, whatever that is.

  The numbness grows every day. It joins with the yawning pit of darkness that lives inside me. Merging into one beast that’s slowly sucking me under.

  I’m standing in the shower watching the water swirl down the drain at my feet. My hair is freshly shampooed, and I can feel the suds dripping down my wet skin. I talk myself through the steps again. Wet, shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse. I blink water droplets out of my lashes, willing my hands to get back to work. The task feels insurmountable.

  Frozen in place, I stare down, watching the water circle the drain like a mini whirlpool. Round and round it goes. I don’t know how long I stand and stare with the water stinging my skin like a million tiny needles. The prickling sensation only adds to the numb feeling that has blanketed me.

  “Rose, sweetheart, we have to leave in thirty.”

  I hear Matthew. I know I should respond, but it seems like a lot of work, so I don’t bother.

  I’m so fixated on watching the water swirl down the drain. Down, down, down into the darkness below my feet that I don’t notice the bathroom door slamming against the wall. I’m so focused on the water escaping that I don’t react when the shower door is wrenched open. I don’t even stop staring when the thousands of bees stop stinging my back. I stare at the drain even after the water stops its spiral into the abyss.

  In fact, I’m still staring now, but I see nothing.

  I am nothing.

  27

  Matthew

  Damn it. What the fuck is taking her so long in the shower? I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper. It’s not Rose that I’m angry at, it’s the fucking situation. Dr. Klein said the new medication should help even out her mood, but so far, the only thing it’s done is suck the life out of my girl.

  Her panic attacks and mood swings are nonexistent, which is good, or it would be if taking those away didn’t also steal away everything else. Oh sure, she laughs when she’s supposed to. She talks and acts like everything is fine, but it’s so far from fucking fine. She can be sitting right beside me but be a million miles away. No matter how many times I try to reach into that void and bring her back, I fail.

  Once again, I’m fucking failing her.

  Since day one, Rose suffered from horrible nightmares. She would wake three or four times a night, drenched in sweat. The first night she slept straight through with no nightmares, I was hopeful. The medicine was working. Despite the fact that for the first time in God knows how long Rose is getting plenty of sleep at night, I’ve found her curled up somewhere sleeping during the day three separate times.

  I thought I was out of my depth before… I laugh at how stupid and naïve I was. Before, I at least knew how to react to her emotions. This, I am completely lost. My Rose needs me, and I’m right here, desperate to help her only I don’t know how. I’ve called several other psychiatrists looking for second, third, fourth, even fifth opinions. They all say the same thing. Give the medicine time to work.

  I’ve given it time, and it’s not fucking working.

  I knock on the bathroom door and shout that we need to leave in thirty minutes. If she responds, I don’t hear her. She’s been so quiet and soft-spoken lately I probably wouldn’t hear her if she does respond.

  My phone rings, distracting me. “Yes,” I bark.

  “Dude, we need to work on your phone etiquette.”

  “Kist, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. What do you need?” I know I shouldn’t snap at him, it’s not his fault that I’m so on edge. I can’t let Rose see my anger at our situation, but Kisten can take it.

  Thankfully, he gets right to the point.

  “Gunner found what we were looking for. He found Red House… or what used to be Red House. It’s a burnt-out husk now. Public records show that there was faulty wiring that started an electrical fire.”

  “What else did he find?”

  “He talked to some neighbors… seems that two nights before the fire, there was one of those big box moving trucks parked at the house. The neighbor said it was odd because they didn’t seem to pack any of their belongings into the truck. It was confirmed in the incident report done by the fire marshal that the house appeared to be occupied, but no one was injured in the fire.”

  I mull over his words for a moment. “If they didn’t move any of their stuff, what did they move?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, boss. If they left everything behind when they left, why the moving truck?”

  “The girls,” I reply flatly. “They used the truck to move the girls.”

  Everything about this situation fucking stinks. I hate that it’s been weeks, and Nelson Grant still fucking evades us. I am going to take joy in making him bleed when he’s found.

  “Exactly what Gunner is thinking. He’s going to work some more of that Kung Fu of his and should be in touch in a few hours with another u
pdate. You heading to the club?”

  “Yeah. Just waiting for Rose to get out of the shower, then we’ll be there.”

  “Alright, later.” Kisten doesn’t wait for a response before disconnecting the call, and he complains about my fucking phone etiquette.

  Rose still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. A quick check of the time says nearly fifteen minutes have passed since I knocked. The shower is still running, she has to have used every drop of hot water by now. What the hell is she doing in there?

  I pound on the door and call out to her. “Rose, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to break this fucking door down.”

  Seconds tick by with no response, and panic grips my heart. I take a step back and kick the door. It crashes open, splintering the frame and slamming into the wall with a bang. I expected the room to be full of steam, but there isn’t even a hint of humidity in the air.

  I hurry to the shower and jerk the door open. Rose is just standing there, staring down at the floor of the shower. She’s covered head to toe in goosebumps and shivering so hard her teeth are chattering.

  “Oh, God, Rosie.” I turn off the water and quickly wrap her in a towel. I dry her off, then quickly carry her to the bedroom. I put her on the bed and wrap her in blankets. I run down the hall screaming for Hannah.

  A few seconds later, she appears on the other side of the living room, breathless. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Rose… I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s unresponsive. Call Dr. Martinez and tell her to get her ass down here now.”

  I haul ass back to my bedroom, stripping off my clothes as I go. I stop short of the bed when I see Rose lying prone on the bed. She’s not moved an inch. I’m not even sure if she blinked because she’s still staring off into space. I’ve seen something similar to this with a submissive who went into a severe case of sub-drop, but this is different.