by Brandi Evans
“Liar.” Maddox set the scanner on the counter. “Wanna try that again?”
“Not particularly.” Taking a swig of beer, he hoped his partner wouldn’t dig any further, although expecting a detective not to dig when given a bone was a rather tall order.
“All right, Carter, spill it. You were pumped before your class. What happened? Did one of the Doms act like an asshole?”
Bending at the waist, Maddox rested his forearms against the bar. It was a familiar stance, one he often adopted when they were throwing around ideas and information as they worked cases, except they were usually at one of their places mulling things out over pizza and beer. Never within the confines of Restrained Fantasies.
They’d had one of those exact conversations two nights ago as they’d worked one of their current cases. A young woman named Katlyn was being abused by her husband, and like so many other battered spouses, she refused to testify against her husband. It was a reality which hit Carter way too close to home, which only lit the fire fueling his determination to get Katlyn out of harm’s way ASAP.
If only she’d let them.
He and Maddox had spent countless hours with her, inside and outside the precinct. Most recently, they’d spoken with her in the hospital after doctors had reset a dislocated shoulder. When her shit excuse for a husband had walked in, Maddox had almost pummeled him into next year, not that Carter would have minded save for the fact Maddox would have been in a shit-ton of trouble.
“No, all the Doms were fine,” Carter said finally. “Very attentive.”
“Then what?”
“It’s a long-ass story.” Carter took another sip of beer, determined not to answer any more questions until he’d had the time to decode what he was feeling.
Luckily, the mountain of a man in his peripheral vision drew Carter’s attention. Saved by the boss, as Raven would say.
Carter fought the urge to turn and look for her. Where was she?
Instead, he turned as Brock folded his massive frame onto a barstool beside Carter. “Good class tonight,” Brock said, pointing to Carter’s mug as he pulled out his wallet for the drink-counting dance. “I’m thinking about making it part of the requirements for both new Doms and any Dom looking to join the club. Lots of good stuff.”
“It’s come in very handy for me over the years, both inside and outside of the club.”
“True story,” Maddox added.
Carter chucked another pretzel at his partner.
When Maddox had brought Brock’s drink and scanned his card, he left to attend the woman who’d made her way to the far end of the bar.
Brock took a quick sip. “Do you think you could weed out potentially abusive Doms before anyone gets hurt? Someone who might slip through background checks?”
Carter nodded. Background checks were an excellent first line of defense, but he knew better than most, sometimes, dickweeds fell through the cracks.
Sometimes, the system lets down those who needed it most.
If he could prevent even one sub from being abused by some self-entitled asshole who thought, because his uncle was a state senator, he could get away with beating a woman—
From one heartbeat to the next, thoughts of Emily stabbed him square in the chest, as searing as if it had been the morning after.
He scrubbed a palm over his face. Shit, he didn’t need this. He had enough on his mind as it was, so he forced a change of subject. He couldn’t think about his biggest failure to date.
“Where’s your pretty, little sub tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.
“In my office with her lawyer, and they wanted to be alone, which is never a good sign.”
“Fuck man. I’m sorry.” Viv’s lawyer was a fellow sub named Anne. Nice lady. He’d partnered with her a time or two, but there’d been no spark between them. “I’m guessing your brother’s still giving y’all fits?”
“Like the self-entitled asshat he is. He’s filed another lawsuit against Viv’s design firm. This one for theft of intellectual property or some bullshit.”
Six months earlier, Vivian Michaels had gone from being Brock’s sister-in-law to his lover and sub in a tale several years in the making, and while they were deliriously happy together, Viv’s ex-husband had vowed to make their lives a living hell. And the asshole was giving his threat his all.
“Anne’s confident the lawsuit has no teeth,” Brock continued, “but the constant barrage of lawsuits is really starting to get to Viv. I told her I could take care of this in about fifteen seconds flat, but she made me promise not to commit violence against my brother.”
Carter chuckled. “Smart woman.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice. She amazes me more and more every day.”
Hearing the muscled bad boy talk so affectionately about a sub was still a bit odd. Since Carter had known him, Brock had never collared a sub or held onto one more than a night or two. He simply went through them, never growing attached, but considering his heart had always been with Viv, that made sense. Connecting with someone on more than a physical level was impossible when the heart wasn’t in it, something he knew from experience.
And then the class had happened.
Just like with Emily, his protective instincts had reared their heads and latched onto Raven in a way he hadn’t anticipated, let alone expected. She was hot, yes, but he’d assumed his attraction to her would be superficial, like it had been with all the other subs he’d had over the years. But no, she’d gotten under his skin.
Her troubles.
Her vulnerability.
Her thirst for connection.
Her denial of wanting said connection.
Her distrust of his attention.
Each one spoke of a much more troubled soul than he’d first thought, and stupid him, he’d jumped headlong into the role of protector, trying—no needing to help her. Apparently, damsels in distress were his Achilles’ heel.
A smile tugged at his lips. He could imagine the streak of profanities Raven would hurl in his direction if she heard him refer to her as either a ‘damsel’ or being ‘in distress’.
She was so unlike any other sub, any other woman, he’d ever met, and he refused to let her snarl, or her snark drive him away. She needed help, and he would help her. One way or the other. He wouldn’t let her down like he’d let Emily down.
He wouldn’t fail Raven, too.
Chapter 3
Raven had slept like shit for the past week. Her thoughts constantly bounced from her mother to Carter and then back again. And thinking about either of them was torture, albeit different forms of torture.
The few times she’d managed to drift off, the pair had invaded her dreams too. Carter had been dark and tempting; her mom had been dark and taunting. One particularly fucked-up dream had had Carter flogging her on the St. Andrew’s Cross while her mother had sat in the corner, looking on and telling Raven what a crappy daughter she was.
Raven slammed her work locker closed and pressed her palms to the cold metal surface. Breathe. Breathe. Mother-fucking breathe. But the instruction was about as useful as warding off a tiger attack with a string of yarn.
The bank had called again this morning—so had the company who’d bought her house and the couple whose house she was buying. The future she’d spent the past few years meticulously planning was falling apart, crumbling. She’d been on the verge of finally—finally—getting out of her mother’s abusive shadow. Of getting out on her own, with a house which would be hers and hers alone. A place which didn’t carry the shadows of a lifetime spent with Brenda Malek.
And the kicker, with one phone call, Raven could put her future back on track. And sure, said future wouldn’t be exactly as she’d planned, and there’d likely be a delay in reaching fulfillment. The end goals, however, would be the same. But if she made that call, she’d irrevocably ruin her mother’s life. Again. And damn it, as much as Raven despised the woman who’d given birth to her, she couldn’t be responsible f
or sending her mom to prison for what might be the rest of her life.
As if on cue, her phone rang, and her mom’s personalized ringtone, the ‘wicked witch’ theme from The Wizard of Oz, filled the empty space. Fuck, not again.
Raven double-clicked the sleep/wake button and ended the call but didn’t lower the device. She knew the routine. Since Raven didn’t answer, the call would be followed by a text message in five, four, three, two—
Ding.
Raven read her mom’s message. You changed the locks on my own damn house? How am I supposed to get in?
For the one billionth time, you’re NOT supposed to get in, Raven texted back. That’s why I changed the locks. TO KEEP YOU OUT!!!!
There was a long delay before her mom texted back. Changed the locks? To my own damn house?
Good god. Raven rolled her eyes. She couldn’t keep having this same damn conversation. Was her mom’s brain so rattled by illicit substances she seriously couldn’t remember all this? Or was she purposely being an asshole?
No, Mother, it’s MY house. You signed it over to me, and in return, I paid your legal fees for your last run-in with the law. Or are you too high to remember that far back? What about a week ago? Do you remember what the fuck you stole from me a week ago? Or did you forget that too, Mama?
If only the anger Raven had felt while typing the last part could be relayed through text. Apple really needed to develop a ‘snark’ feature on their next iPhone; she’d abuse the hell out of it.
A good thirty seconds passed, Raven staring at the phone and waiting for her mother to respond. Part of her hoped her mother would apologize. An apology would give Raven something to hold onto, anything which might make Raven feel vindicated for not turning in the woman who gave birth to her.
Her hopes, however, were dashed once again.
I only took what was rightfully mine, Genny! For putting up with your ungrateful ass for twenty-five years!!!
“Bitch!” Phone in hand, Raven slammed her fists against the lockers, the sound of metal meeting flesh, bone, and whatever her phone case was made of exploded through the room and echoed off the walls for what seemed like forever.
Why did she care so much about protecting this damn woman?
Why!
Anger and frustration made Raven’s muscles twitch, and her entire body shook. Why should she sacrifice her future to keep her mother from going to jail when it was only a matter of time before the woman screwed up on her own, mistakes which would all be on her; mistakes Raven would play no part in. But to turn her mom in…
Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. She’d ruined her mother’s life once already. Could she really do it again?
Shit.
As much as she despised the woman, the idea of being directly responsible for another prison sentence was a million razor blades cutting into her skin simultaneously. She was damned if she did, super damned if she didn’t.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She punched the lockers to accent each profanity. An ugly blackness clawed at her insides, desperate to get out, but she pushed it back. She didn’t break down, and she most certainly didn’t cry.
Footfalls fell on the tile floor, followed by the voice of the last person in the world she wanted to see right now. Well, next to last person.
“Raven, are you okay?”
No.
Not Carter.
Please.
Not him.
Not now.
“Of course, you’re not okay,” he said quickly. “Stupid question. Let me rephrase. What’s wrong?”
His voice brimmed with concern, and despite her better judgment, she found herself wanting to turn into the comforting embrace she knew she’d find in his strong arms. To let this frustration free, to take him up on his offer to talk, but if she did, there’d be no going back.
He was already haunting her dreams—not just with sex. His dream-self had tempted her with something far more dangerous and delicious, something she kept telling herself she didn’t need, let alone want.
Intimacy.
She knew it was weird, but she kept dreaming about the moment he’d fixed her lipstick. When he’d taken care of her. It was such an insignificant thing, but she’d never been taken care of before. Not really. She’d pretty much been looking after herself since she was four and someone introduced her mother to meth.
Raven had learned the hard way she could only depend on herself. No one else would ever watch out for her the way she could watch out for herself—but then, there was Carter. Fixing her lipstick.
A shudder ran over her, starting in her core and pushing through every inch of her body; she pushed right back. “Go away, Carter. I can’t deal with you.”
But he didn’t go away. “You’re upset.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” She didn’t turn, didn’t so much as move. Maybe, if she remained perfectly still, he’d get the hint and leave.
Yeah, because she was that lucky.
“Please, Raven. Talk to me. Tell me what’s got you so on edge. You look like you’re about to hulk out and tear the locker room apart.”
Shit. He couldn’t make this easy, could he?
“Please just go,” she pleaded. “I don’t need you to save me.”
“I’m not trying to save you. I’m just offering a friendly shoulder. Nothing more.” He stepped into her, his front fitting against her back, his hands coming to rest over hers where her fists were still pressed against the lockers, mirroring her. “I want to help you. Let me in. A little bit. Please.”
Please?
The single word in his sultry baritone nearly broke her apart.
Standing on an emotional precipice, she didn’t move, didn’t dare speak. She was scared to even breathe.
Silence stretched out between them for what felt like an eternity. The only sounds echoing around the room were their combined breaths. He didn’t push her; he was merely a physical presence in her space, a constant reminder. It was almost as if they were playing chicken. Who’d flinch first?
Not her. She refused to show weakness by flinching. Carter, on the other hand, eventually flinched.
He grazed his lips over the shell of her right ear as he spoke. “I’ve thought about you all week. In case you were wondering. I’ve been waiting for tonight’s class. I couldn’t wait to get back here and see you.”
Goddamnit, he was killing her.
He dipped his head a little more, the heat of his breath playing over her neck. “Your scent’s positively intoxicating. Did you know? A very subtle vanilla. I’m not sure which it’s made me crave more this week, you or sugar cookies. Or possibly you covered in sugar cookies.”
He pressed the softest kiss to her neck before breathing in long and deep. Almost of their own accord, her fingers went lax, and he quickly worked his larger ones between hers, holding her hand in the middle of the tempest raging inside her.
She broke like a damn on a flood-ravaged river, the simple act of someone holding her hand in a time of crisis too much for her damaged psyche to handle.
“Carter.” His name erupted on a sob, seconds before she turned in his arms and buried her face against the comforting plane of his chest.
Balling his T-shirt into her fists and holding on for dear life, she let the tears fall.
Tears for her past.
Tears for her collapsing future.
Tears for the upcoming showdown with her mom.
Tears for the broken heart she knew, without a doubt, lay in her future.
If she’d learned anything about men, it was they only came around when they wanted something, and when they wanted something from a woman, they came bearing flattery. When politeness and flattery failed, they used force. But Carter…
She held him tighter. She wanted to believe he was different, but given her track record, he wouldn’t be. But for one night, she could, at least, pretend he was different.
Carter pressed a kiss to the top of Raven’s head, her harsh, violent sobs b
reaking the otherwise mundane silence of the locker room.
And his heart.
Never in a million years would he have pictured a moment when Raven would be in his arms in full breakdown mode. She was, hands down, the strongest, most independent woman he’d ever met, and yet here she was, falling apart in his arms.
And damn it, he’d never wanted to help her more. Never wanted to hold her closer. Never wanted her more—in all the ways a man could want a woman. What had he gotten himself into?
“I’ve got ya, pet,” he murmured. “I’ve got ya.”
But who had him?
She laughed through her tears. “I really do hate that. Pet. Can’t you come up with something that doesn’t make me feel like an unruly animal you’re trying to console through a bad thunderstorm?”
Grinning, he kissed the top of her head. He could probably think of a new term. His go-to terms of endearment were all variations on pet, little one, and occasionally, love, but given how fast he was falling for her, love was too damn intimate.
“What would you prefer I called you?” he whispered.
She lifted her head and looked at him with red-streaked eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe you could call me Genny.”
His chest tightened—so did his hold on her.
Genny.
Genny Malek was her actual name; he knew because he’d run the background check on her. But she’d never revealed it to anyone else here. She hadn’t lied on her application or anything; she’d merely stated she preferred to go by Raven. He didn’t know why or how she’d come by the name, but it was the name she’d chosen. He’d respected her choice. But knowing she was giving him permission to use her given name…
He didn’t think he’d ever been given a greater gift.
She lifted a shaking hand and traced her thumb over one of his eyebrows. “Furrowed brow. Wide eyes. I surprised you, didn’t I?”
He chuckled, breaking loose some of the emotion smothering him. “Well, someone was paying attention in class, wasn’t she?”
She shrugged playfully. “I only paid attention because the teacher was seriously hot.”
