by M. S. Parker
Which meant I’d need to speak to a lawyer.
Conversations between a lawyer and their client were privileged, and I doubted the Traylors would hire someone who’d easily break that confidence, but it was a place to start. A family like theirs wouldn’t just want any lawyer, especially not for something this delicate, which meant they probably had the same lawyer or, at least, the same firm, for as many generations back as possible.
That particular lawyer and/or firm would have almost as much stake in things as the Traylors if they had a history of being retained by that family. Losing them would hurt their own bottom line, and that was the last thing any smart lawyer would do.
All right, maybe not any lawyer, but I’d yet to meet one who was a decent person.
I pushed aside that thought before it could go any further.
I just needed to figure out how to find out who their lawyer was. If I’d still been on speaking terms with Bradyn, I might’ve asked him. I would’ve lied about why, but I could’ve gotten the information. That wasn’t possible now, which meant I’d need to get a little more creative.
Stretching my arms over my head, I stood up. My spine and other joints popped, and my muscles groaned. I’d been sitting in the same position for too long. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was after noon. I’d completely lost track of time.
My stomach growled, like it’d suddenly remembered that I’d barely had breakfast and had skipped lunch. Making myself something to eat would give my brain time to work while my body was busy. I’d solved more than one case while cleaning or cooking or exercising, that sort of thing.
I’d taken two bites of my grilled cheese sandwich when it hit me.
Probate.
I didn’t know how long wills had been around, but I figured it had to be ever since there were lawyers. Whenever it’d started didn’t matter. What mattered was that most people – especially most rich people – had lawyers draw up wills for their estates. I didn’t know all the lingo or the process, but what I did know was that probate records could tell me a lot.
I’d used it as a source before. Two years ago, I’d been hired to find the birth father of a co-worker’s girlfriend. I’d ended up using probate records to track him down. I hadn’t thought of it with this investigation, though. After all, I was going so far back in time that the Douglass family hadn’t had property. They’d been property.
The historian I’d contacted to help with my research had found that Camilla Lake, ancestor to Kathie Mae, had been listed as an employee of the Calvert family in an old newspaper article he’d sent me the picture of. I hadn’t looked past that because I’d already had the rest of the Mae family tree from the birth and marriage records I’d found in other ways.
I couldn’t believe I’d missed the most obvious path to the information I needed. If I could find probate documentation that listed the Adams family as property, passed from one generation to the next, it’d help Min’s case.
It might also get me the information I needed about the Traylors family’s knowledge of it. I had the names of Clancy Traylor’s parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, which meant I could get more names of people, of items…and the name of the law firm or lawyer who’d handled the estate.
I hurried back to my laptop and immediately started searching probate records in Savannah, Georgia, for Verne Traylor, Clancy’s father. I’d found his obituary from 2016, when I’d worked on the original family tree, and gotten other names and dates from that. Since only a few years had passed since then, the chances were that the same lawyer who’d handled Verne’s estate would still be the Traylors’s attorney for that sort of stuff.
It didn’t take long for me to find it, but when I did, it was as if all the air in the cabin had been sucked out, leaving me suffocating, vision blurring, darkening, until the world shifted.
The smells.
Tobacco smoke.
Lysol.
Irish Spring.
I gagged. Coughed. Choked. Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t breathe.
The world shifted.
“Please, don’t.” My voice was thin, weak. I wanted to shout at him, but he said I had to be quiet.
“We’ve talked about this, darlin’.” His hands were on me, bunching up my nightgown.
I tried to wear pajama bottoms two weeks ago, but he got mad and said little girls wore nightgowns. I hadn’t seen those PJs since. I think he threw them away, and Mom got mad when I asked for more. She said ladies wore nightgowns. When I asked what she wore, she told me to mind my own business.
“Give me your hand.”
I shook my head, stuffing my fists behind my back. I was gonna be thirteen in two months. A teenager. Almost a grown-up.
“Delia. Give me your hand.”
I made a sound I didn’t like, but he smiled.
I didn’t like his smile. It just made my stomach hurt more.
He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand to him. I closed my eyes, but he told me to open them. He didn’t like it when I didn’t look at him. Sometimes, he made it hurt more if I tried to look away.
“I know you’re gonna be a teenager soon, but you’re always gonna be my little girl, Delia.”
I pressed my lips together, but I wanted to say I wasn’t his little girl. I didn’t care what a piece of paper said. He wasn’t my dad. My dad had been a good person. Art wasn’t a good person.
“Are you gettin’ attitude, darlin’?”
I shook my head. I felt like I was gonna throw up now, and if I did, it’d just make things worse.
“I think you need a little remindin’ of how good girls behave.” His grip on my wrist hurt now. “Good girls are what?”
“Quiet. Polite,” I recited the list automatically. “Smiling. Agreeable.”
He lifted my hand and kissed it. I wanted to pull away, to tell him to stop, but I couldn’t. I must not have hidden my thought good, though, because he gave me a mean look.
“You aren’t thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ bad, are you, darlin’? Like maybe tellin’ someone about our secret?”
I shook my head, new fear spiking through me. “No. No. I won’t tell anyone.”
“That’s good. Why?”
I knew the answer to this one too. “‘Cuz it’ll make Mom mad at me because I’m supposed to obey you like you’re my father.”
“Because I am your father,” he corrected.
I never liked to say that. I didn’t know a lot, but I was old enough to know that fathers didn’t make their daughters do stuff like this. Not good dads.
“Your mom will think you’re lyin’ too, you know.” He put my hand back on his lap. “No one would believe you. And then you’d get in more trouble for lyin’. You know why?”
“Because you’re a lawyer,” I said automatically. “You can make them put me in jail, and I’ll never see Mom or Dara again.”
“Not just me,” he said. “My whole family is lawyers. We’re important people, and you should feel special I chose you.”
I didn’t feel special. I felt dirty and sad and angry. It was worse when he was hurting me, but it never went away completely.
“Now, I think you owe me an apology.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, darlin’. I want a special apology.”
I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering. He’d talked about something really bad – something special – he wanted to do to me, but I’d told him I’d be extra good if he didn’t do it. I didn’t really understand what would happen, but it couldn’t be good if it made him smile that much.
He told me what he was going to do, and it was worse than I thought, and I couldn’t stop from crying, begging him not to make me do it. That just made him mad and tell me I was being a brat. A brat was worse than a bad girl. That meant he had to punish me.
The world shifted.
I screamed.
And screamed.
I couldn’t breathe.
My pill
ow was suffocating me.
No one could hear me.
I was dying.
I was dying, and no one cared.
Screaming.
Dying.
Screaming.
Dying.
The world shifted.
I was on the floor, huddled in the fetal position, my hands over my mouth. My throat hurt, and I thought I might’ve been screaming for real. My body shook, and I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them tighter against my chest. It’d been so long since that night, but it felt like it’d just happened yesterday. I could still feel him…
“No…” I moaned the word. I wanted to close my eyes, but I knew if I did, I’d see him again.
My chest was tight, my heart painfully pounding against my ribs like it was going to come right out of my chest. Everything hurt. Logically, I knew it was me remembering the pain from that night, remembering how I’d had to tell Mom I was sick the next morning because I’d been in too much pain to go to school.
The memory hung in the back of my mind, threatening to overtake me again, to make me relive the entire night. Knowing it was still there only spiked my panic. I could taste it coating the back of my tongue.
I was going to throw up.
The thought of having to either clean up or explain a mess in my cabin was enough to get me to my feet. I staggered, my legs wanting to buckle. I caught myself before I fell, but I wasn’t going to sit down. I needed out. I couldn’t stay here, not with those words still on my laptop. I couldn’t see them again. I’d have to at some point, but not right now.
Check & Sons.
The law firm that Bradyn’s family used was Check & Sons.
The firm Art’s family ran. The firm where he’d gotten his start before moving to Rochester.
The firm that had been responsible for trying to have me tried as an adult and put into an adult prison as a thirteen-year-old.
The world started to go gray around the edges, and I pushed it back. I needed air.
I pushed open the door, breathing in the thick, humid Georgian air. It should’ve made things worse, but it didn’t. The tightness in my chest had nothing to do with what I was breathing.
I closed the door behind me and started toward the barn. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t put on shoes until I was halfway there, and by then, I refused to go back. I knew what I needed to do to get through this. The only thing I could do. The only person who could make me forget, even for just a little while.
I needed Bradyn.
Twelve
Bradyn
When I was done with Starbright, I’d go see Nyx and apologize. I might even grovel. I couldn’t believe I’d fucked up this badly. I wanted to justify it, say that I’d had a right to be suspicious because she really had lied about why she was here.
Except she hadn’t. Not really. She’d said from moment one that she had to keep her client’s confidence. And as soon as she’d found out about the Huxleys being involved, she’d gone to her client for permission to tell them everything.
The worst part of all of this was that I’d known how hard it was for her to trust people, especially men, and she’d put her faith in me only to have me let her down in an awful way. I doubted she’d even accept my apology, but I had to try. At the very least, she deserved to hear me say that I’d been wrong.
I put Starbright in her stall and then used the hose to wash some of the grime off my hands and face. Maybe taking a shower before going to see Nyx was the best way to go. Or maybe I was trying to come up with excuses to put off seeing her because I knew she probably hated me right now.
I was still trying to figure out what to do when I heard footsteps coming toward me. I opened my mouth as I turned, ready to tell Melodee that I wasn’t interested in her increasingly vulgar propositions…then stopped with my mouth hanging open when Nyx appeared.
My surprise lasted only as long as it took me to register her body language. Her face was pale except two flushed spots high on her cheeks. Her mouth was a flat line, and her eyes were wide. The expression in them was one I recognized.
Shit.
She’d either just had a flashback, or one was coming on, and she was trying to fight it.
Concern overpowered everything else I was feeling, and I moved toward her. She crashed into me, and my arms went around her automatically. Her hands locked behind my neck as she pulled me down to meet her. I barely processed her intention before her lips were on mine.
I had a brief moment where all I wanted to do was follow her lead and forget about the things I needed to say, but my conscience refused to let me enjoy the kiss for more than a few seconds before it reminded me that I needed to stop being an asshole.
I held onto her shoulders and took a step back, trying not to compare this to the other night when I’d caught her kissing Isaac, and he backed away because she’d had too much to drink. At least I could say with fair certainty that she was sober. She tasted like coffee, not alcohol.
“Nyx, what are you doing?” I kept my voice as gentle as I could manage.
“Please.” She grabbed the front of my shirt. “I need you.”
My eyes met hers, and I could see the same desperation I felt in her hands. Her body practically vibrated with it. Something had triggered her, and it’d been bad enough for her to come to me despite the things I’d said to her.
I put a hand on the side of her face, my thumb brushing back and forth across her cheek, skin soft against mine. A jolt of desire cut through my worry, and I pushed it back. I would take care of her however she needed, my own desires be damned. I was tempted to apologize before asking what she wanted of me, but if she was willing to look past my behavior because I could give her what she needed right now, I wouldn’t put my own issues on her.
She came first, and then we’d talk.
“Tell me, firebird.” I touched my thumb to the corner of her mouth. “You’re in control.”
She shook her head, her fingers tightening on my shirt. She leaned into me, shoulders shaking. “I-I can’t think. Too much…I just…need…”
I went still, giving myself a few seconds to decide how I should ask the question. It was a delicate dance and one I’d never had to deal with before. Vanilla stuff had always been the usual give-and-take between equal partners, but I’d never been submissive in BDSM until her.
I didn’t want to say anything that might make her think I was pushing her into something she didn’t want, but I also didn’t want to assume that she wanted me to take charge and care for her the way I would a sub…no matter how much I wanted to do exactly that.
“Do you want me to take charge?” My voice was steady, but my heart had started pounding. The previous times we’d had sex had been amazing, and it hadn’t cost me anything to submit to her, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t ever thought about what it’d be like to be the Dominant one with her.
I’d never ask for me, though. Not after learning what she’d been through. I wasn’t that much of a bastard.
“I’m just trying to figure out what you need.” I brushed the back of my knuckles across her cheek. “Talk to me. Do you want me to take charge?”
She hesitated before offering a slow nod. “Please.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take care of you.”
Neither of us talked as I led her to my cabin. As much as I wanted her, that wasn’t my priority. Some people saw being Dominant as controlling and pushing and bossing, but good Doms knew when to push and when to hold back, when to be tough and when to care. The right ways to be tough or caring.
I sat her on the couch. “I’m going to get you something to drink.”
When I took a step away, she grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go.”
I crouched down in front of her. “Listen, little firebird, I’m going to get you some water, and I want you to drink it, all right?”
She nodded and let go of my wrist. I hated the walk to the kitchen, even though I knew water would do her some good. I g
rabbed a bottle from my fridge and took it over to her. I went back to my knees in front of her to put us on the same level.
“Drink.”
She did, taking half the bottle in a single go before handing it back to me. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes had lost some of that haunted look. Not enough, though. I hated seeing her like this.
I reached out slowly, giving her the chance to tell me to stop. She didn’t. My fingers traced down her cheek and then across her jaw until I cupped her chin. Heat grew in her eyes as I ran my thumb along her bottom lip.
“You remember your safe words?”
She nodded.
“Do you still want me to make you forget?”
She nodded again.
I smiled at her. “Then your wish is my command.”
As our mouths came together, my hand moved to curve over the back of her head. She made a soft sound and leaned into me. Her tongue pushed against my lips, and I tugged on her hair, a quick little reprimand, both to remind her that I was in control and to judge how well she’d listen. For a brief second, I thought she’d pull away from me, but instead, she seemed to relax, to respond rather than push.
It was my turn now, and I deepened the kiss. My free hand slid from her knee to her thigh, teasing under the hem of her shorts. My fingers moved back and forth across the soft skin, featherlight touches that made the muscles under my fingers jump and twitch. Her knees parted, making room for me to move closer.
The hand in her hair slid down her spine and then under the back of her shirt to move up again. She shivered, and her teeth scraped my bottom lip. I growled and bit into that soft flesh, hard enough to make her gasp. The time for gentle had passed, and I plundered her mouth until we were both out of air and had to stop. Even then, I didn’t let her go, just moved my lips down her jaw and throat, sucking and biting until her fair skin was marked.
A surge of possessive satisfaction went through me. She was mine, even if only for right now. I frowned. I didn’t like thinking that this would be it, but I’d messed up with her, and I didn’t know if I could fix it. Hell, I didn’t even know if things would’ve gone anywhere with us if we hadn’t argued. Still, I’d try. She’d put herself out there and had been stung. It was my turn to risk being hurt.
