As If The Whole World Were Watching (The Dom's of The Cage Series Book 6)

by P Nelson

  “Yes, Master.” Because she believed him. In this moment, Calla believed Flynn could move mountains for her.

  “Time for a shower and a quick nap.” Flynn lifted her from his lap and set her on the bed. “Not too long a nap though.” His smile promised wicked acts to come and Calla relaxed into the bed, content to watch Flynn walk over to the bathroom and prepare the shower and bath for them. The separation would feel like an eternity to her. She would tick off the hours and watch Flynn navigate the media circus and the judiciary from afar.

  It set her teeth on edge thinking she couldn’t be in Vancouver in person to help him through the hardest time of his life. Calla did something she had never, ever done before. She cursed Melanie and all the people who were tearing them apart tomorrow morning in her head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Calla blinked a few times and stared at the canopy above her. She didn’t remember coming back down to the main bedroom last night even though she had been determined to stay awake. The need to spend as much conscious time with Flynn pressed against her psyche. Flynn had been just as a determined to fuck her until she couldn’t lift her eyelids. And he won.

  She huffed out a breath and rolled over onto her side. For once in her life not ready to jump out of bed and face the day. Self-diagnosis wasn’t hard. Depression gripped her for the first time in her life. She had been angry, hurt and confused when Flynn broke the training contract between them, but this was different. A sense of longing stole through her and Calla buried her head in the pillow. Right now Flynn and Chamberlain were flying back to Vancouver uncertain of their safety and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

  Another minute passed and Calla forced her body into motion. A routine was what she needed to get through the next few days, weeks, months. Flynn hadn’t discussed her presence during his trial. A process which could take months considering the allegations, levelled against him. Calla might have capitulated last night and given Flynn what he needed. But that didn’t mean she was filled with happiness about it.

  Anger was a fantastic refuge, Calla decided shoving the heavy blankets away from her body. The heavy curtains parted and she sat on the edge of the bed staring at the heavy cream card folded like a tent left on the bedside table. Calla received several of his hand written missives from her master and recognised his writing.

  Her fingers shook when reaching out to pick up the piece of card. The coward inside Calla didn’t want to read the goodbye Flynn left. She was bruised and hollow. But the masochist inside her couldn’t help flicking the card open with trembling fingers and reading the bold script. A tear fell on the ink and Calla worried it might make the ink blurry. She got up and searched for a tissue. In the bathroom she blotted the heavy script until it was dry and read again.

  Calla,

  Fate has separated us once again through no fault of our own. However, I refuse to allow someone else to dictate my life. I have planned for you to travel to Vancouver this morning. It will not be a comfortable journey, but hopefully your presence in the city will go unnoticed by our enemies, keeping you safe.

  Your Master Flynn.

  She re read the note several times before her brain became able to process the words. Flynn left her behind only to arrange separate travel plans for her? Had he known last night of his plans? He did. Bastard.

  Last night he held her, comforted her, knowing the plans changed. She cursed him under her breath even as joy filled her.

  There were no further instructions on the card and Calla stepped out of the bathroom looking for notes he might have left her. She scanned all the table’s surfaces, striding to the heavy curtains over the windows and shoving them aside with purpose. She wasn’t an afterthought. A new determination filled her actions. The sun trying to shine through watery clouds invigorated her. Only the end of this travesty and Melanie and her co conspirators sent to prison might have caused the same affect. Maybe.

  A further search around revealed no new clues to the mystery of when where or how she would be travelling to Vancouver. Calla grabbed the black robe she favoured and pulled it on before her skin became chilly and wondered if it was appropriate to go searching for answers in her housecoat. Everyone knew she wandered up the dungeon dressed like this, but Flynn waited for her somewhere in the house. It felt a little indecent to be only wearing a robe when he wasn’t here.

  Not knowing how much time she had, Calla walked to the dresser and searched for something casual to wear. Calla rummaged around, she found a worn pair of jeans, t-shirt and a knit sweater to go over top. She pulled panties on for good measure. Flynn wasn’t here. She slipped her feet into house slippers and ran for the door just as a knock sounded. Surprised she pulled it open. Ms Emily stood waiting. A silver breakfast tray in her hand. Fitted blue suit encasing her lean frame, iron-grey hair pulled back into a bun without one strand out of place.

  “Good morning.” Calla blinked at her. The truth was she hadn’t thought of their conversation in the living room yesterday. She would never betray Flynn’s confidence by going behind his back. Her nature balked at the deviousness as much as it hated a confrontation. But she would have one.

  “Good morning, Dr Jones. I’ve brought you breakfast. Coffee. I see you’ve already dressed. And you’ve chosen well for the first leg of your journey.” Ms Emily said nothing else to prompt Calla out of the doorway. The woman appeared comfortable standing there. A change from the first day Calla arrived, and she burst in wanting to meet her.

  “Thank you. Please come in.” Calla stepped out of the way, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Master Flynn told me he hadn’t left you detailed instructions. But I was to give them to you myself.” She bustled to the same table set between two chairs they used on the first morning of Calla’s stay. Ms Emily arranged the silver tray and sat down waiting for Calla to join her. Calla needed the coffee and the information. She trod across the room and sat opposite of the woman who remained an enigma. “I might have been bitten by the jealousy bug when you first arrived.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond.” Calla reached for the coffee pot and poured. She would definitely need coffee to get through this conversation.

  “Not in the sense I want to be with Master Flynn in the same way you are.” Ms Emily shook her head, an embarrassed laugh escaping her lips. The action made her appear younger. Calla sipped her coffee and waited. “Flynn and Arthur are sons.” She dropped the formal title for Flynn and Calla stared on fascinated. “You are the first woman to come here to the estate after his divorce. I’d heard the rumours but I don’t get back to town as much as I once did. A part of me liked having my son all to myself.”

  Calla drank half the coffee down and set the mug aside. This conversation needed to happen. Ms Emily was an important person in Flynn’s life and now Calla felt confident of being the most important. If they would live together, they needed to come to an understanding, at least, between them.

  “You are his mother.” Calla began. “I am his wife.” The vows might not have been discussed, and she demanded a collaring ceremony first, but her commitment to him was solid in more ways than just a piece of legal paper could explain. “You’ll remain the woman he comes to for advice and comfort. That will never change. My relationship with Flynn is different and evolving as every day passes. I only ask you give us both some space to find out where we go and how to get there.”

  “Thank you.” Ms Emily’s eyes darted away for a second before returning to Calla. “He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Always has. I worry about him.”

  “Worry unites us.” Calla lifted the corners of her mouth. Her relationship with Ms Emily would be more complicated than Flynn’s actual mother, but would bear more fruit in the years to come.

  “Between the two of us.” Ms Emily sat forward and picked up the coffee pot and refilled Calla’s mug. “It should worry you. I know you’re not a fan of hearty breakfasts, but the next two days will test your patience.” She
handed the mug over and went to work uncovering a plate with fried eggs, toast, home fries and bacon. Calla’s eyes bugged out at the amount of food.

  “It’s that bad?” Was all she said.

  “Yes.” Ms Emily sat back and watched Calla takes a drink of her coffee before tucking into the breakfast she would never eat. “An old commercial fishermen friend of Master Flynn’s will be here in an hour. You’ll spend the day on his vessel and disembark in Prince Rupert this evening where you will meet an associate of Master Linkin’s. You will spend the night in Rupert before you continue your journey.” She held up her hand to forestall the barrage of questions pounding through head. “No. I don’t know where you’re going from there. Master Flynn informed me you were to pack a small bag, a backpack. Only nondescript clothing, something warm and you’ll be spending three nights on the road.”

  “Three nights.” Calla repeated after swallowing a mouthful of eggs and home fries. The food was delicious, but she was filling up fast. Her mind stalled on the only part of her journey where she possessed details. “A fishing boat? I’m not much of a sailor. I told Flynn before we got on the yacht.”

  “And a commercial fishing vessel isn’t the Reliant.” Ms Emily sighed. “You will gird your loins and remember how much you love Master Flynn.” Ms Emily departed after making her dire predictions. Pushing the breakfast tray away, Calla wondered if it had been a good idea to eat so much before getting on a boat that might make her seasick. She picked up her coffee and stared at the growing clouds outside. They were dark and appeared ready to discharge their contents at any minute. Calla’s heart sank.

  “Come on. We have little time.” Ms Emily bustled back into the room. She was carrying two serviceable bags. One a backpack and the other leather tote. She held them both up for Calla’s inspection. “Which one.” Calla nodded at the backpack, standing up from her seat.

  “The backpack if that’s what Flynn recommended.” She chose. The next half an hour passed in a blur. Ms Emily helped her pack several serviceable outfits despite neither of them having any idea where she was going or how she was getting there. Miss Emily dug up a battered baseball cap from somewhere along with a warm fleece and a weatherproof outer shell.

  By the time Calla stood on the dock watching what she thought was a very large fishing boat sidling up to the island, they’d transformed her into another person. Gone was the sophisticated psychologist who relied on her high heels, pencil skirts and blouses to appear professional. The baseball cap covered her perfect bun. While her feet were encased in sturdy leather ankle boots. The backpack slung over her shoulders contained more comfortable tennis shoes in the hopes Calla wouldn’t be sailing on random boats for the entire journey.

  “Good luck, Dr Jones. Take care of Master Flynn.” Ms Emily held out her hand as the boat docked. A man with a weathered tan the high cheekbones speaking of First Nation’s ancestry jumped from the boat to the dock holding a rope. He waved and Calla waved back before turning her attention back to Ms Emily.

  “I’ll do my best.” She pulled the other woman into a quick hug. Calla turned and walked over to the man holding the fishing vessel in place.

  “I’m Calla Jones. Pleased to meet you.” This was the start of her journey back to Flynn. By the looks of the boat, it would be a long one.

  &

  Flynn’s heart squeezed when he left Calla sleeping in their big bed back at the estate. He ensured their separation would not be for long, but he prepared for her curses when they were together again. He hadn’t made their reunion easy for her. At the moment, Flynn could not spare two fleeting seconds thinking about the love of his life.

  The floatplane carrying him and Chamberlain landed in Vancouver Harbour at mid morning. Special prosecutor Alwen had outlined the charges to the press this morning, just as Chamberlain predicted. The two men separated at the wharves. Chamberlain had a mole to find and Flynn had a company to keep together.

  “He’s not as bad as we first thought.” Was Flynn’s response to the scowl on Linkin’s face at the sight of the other man.

  “Speak to Master Keith about your assessment.” Linkin observed. Flynn well knew of the bad blood between The Cage’s resident sadist and the detective who tried to coerce his sub into his investigation.

  “I’ll stay well out of it.” Flynn commented walking next to the man dressed to perfection in a tailored suit, dark glasses in place.

  “In case you’re wondering. Dr Jones is on board the fishing vessel we arranged for her pick up. And our man will be in Rupert in a couple hours. He’ll be waiting for her when she gets into port.” Linkin opened the back passenger door of the car.

  “Good.” Flynn’s shoulders relaxed a little. “And in town?”

  “It’s a shit show. The media camped out everywhere they think you are hiding. Your apartment tower, offices, family mansion on south Granville and the gated house up in West Vancouver are all off limits. The place is crawling with assholes.” He remarked before closing the door. Flynn acknowledged the driver with a nod of his chin in the rear-view mirror and tracked Linkin as he walked around to the other side of the car.

  “Any sign of Melanie?” Flynn asked. He still found it hard to believe his ex wife capable of the things he and Chamberlain had uncovered.

  “She’s going about her routine. A couple of reporters tracked her down, but she didn’t comment on any of their questions.” Linkin settled into the back of the car and fastened his seatbelt. “We’re ready.” The car started and Flynn stared out the windows.

  “Unusual for her. She should be in her element. Melanie’s favourite game is slandering me to anyone who will or will not listen. She’s made a sport of flouting the non disclosure agreement in our divorce settlement.” His tone wasn’t bitter. Flynn no longer held any hurt or anger towards his former wife and sub. She was an object sitting in his way to Calla. An object he would remove.

  “This means our initial theory is correct.” Linkin announced. “Someone or something is controlling her.” Flynn didn’t comment. There was no need. Linkin, Chamberlain and Flynn spent the greater part of yesterday going over different angles. Melanie was a spiteful bitch with no conscious. But she wouldn’t have reached out to Enbridge to get revenge on Flynn. She was too clumsy. This whole plot was delicate and whoever planned it held patience in high esteem.

  Traffic on Vancouver streets was busy this morning. The driver sliding in and out of lanes. The steps of the RCMP building in the downtown core came into view. Reporters smothered the car, flashes flaring, people shouting. Officers dispatched to keep the mob away from the car door created a path for Flynn.

  “The area is as secure as we can make it.” Linkin’s grim face tense. “You hear gun shots? Get down. Either go for the car or the building. Whatever is closest.”

  “And don’t think to disappear into the crowd. The assassin won’t care about human shields.” Linkin instructed him on this. They hadn’t heard a whisper from the assassin who shot and killed The Reverend saving Mistress Thea’s life. Whoever the person was, they were a remarkable shot and had their own agenda. There was no way Linkin could secure every rooftop within such a talented snipers range. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Flynn watched Linkin exit the vehicle. Every movement that of a trained predator. He shouldered reporters out of his way, like brushing flies from his coat. There was no smile. No acknowledgement that he saw any of them. Flynn’s door clicked as Linkin opened it. A sense of calm washed over him. The storm was around him. But it didn’t affect him. Flynn thought of Calla taking his whip last night. She had been fucking perfect. Every stroke against her delicate skin pure magic.

  Linkin strode in front of Flynn, gaze everywhere. People shouted questions at Flynn. He let them bounce away. Salacious allegations about his sex life dominated the assault, but Flynn was above it all. He thought of Calla wearing the collar he planned to have made for her. Several tiers of perfect diamonds encircling her throat. To remind her every time she breathed
of her master.

  They made the door and a uniformed Mountie open it without hesitation. They expected him. The entrance to the RCMP Federal building was quiet compared to the circus outside.

  “You did well.” Linkin commented staring back out at the crowd.

  “Easy enough to ignore them now.” Flynn knew the pressure of such intense scrutiny would wear him down like anyone else. But he held a secret weapon, and she was on her way. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

  &

  “Arthur, you did fine.” Flynn held a glass of scotch old enough to be his great grandfather and glanced at the screen of his laptop where Arthur’s haggard face stared back at him. “Really. You said everything that needed to be said. You preserved the continuity of leadership of the company and Banroch Industries stance on the charges.”

  “Which is bull shit.” Arthur wiped his face with a hand. The action one of his brother’s tells from when they were kids. “Did you have any idea what would happen?”

  “Yes. And if you listened to your board, you would have known too.” Flynn admonished. Arthur’s stricken face this afternoon when Flynn met him at the offices of his lawyers told him so much. Shock, outrage and petrified at the thought of having to run Banroch Industries without Flynn’s guidance. There were no restrictions on Flynn’s involvement in the day to day running of Banroch. Not that he was stepping back into his old role. But Arthur needed him. And after spending a week bonding with Calla learning a little about him, he possessed a handful more patience for his younger brother.

  “They all hate me. They hate me because I’m not you.” Arthur whined.

  “The board hates everyone Arthur.” Flynn flicked his gaze to the nightscape outside. His own reflection stared back at him, the lights of Whistler/ Blackcomb in the distance. This wasn’t his mountain bolthole. It belonged to Linkin and Martin. But Linkin had donated the space as a hideout. “Stop thinking like they’re individual people.”