Devoted

by Tess Oliver

  17

  Maddox

  The drumbeat of the song matches the pounding on the wall. It takes me a second to realize it's my grumpy ass neighbor complaining about the music. I turn it down and walk over to the wall to give it one good thump. My way of telling him to fuck off. With the mood I'm in, I'm ready to tell the whole world to fuck off.

  Clark has frozen me out of everything that has to do with Freestone and, most importantly, with Ten. Silvana, who just weeks before I went undercover was clinging to me like moss on a tree, suddenly finds every excuse to not have time to talk to me. More than once I caught him abruptly turning a different direction in the precinct just to avoid me. Clark had him sign some sort of cyber security thing. Silvana knows I can be just a little too convincing when I'm coaxing information out of him. I've decided to lay off the guy. He's been cool about everything. I don't want to get him in trouble.

  It's actually been nice just being on my own at work. And home, considering my social life is now a vortex of nothingness. A few friends texted to meet for beers but I prefer to sit home alone with my six pack and sulk.

  The fifth beer is finally giving me just enough buzz that I don't want to throw my fist at something. I grab the last slice of cold pizza from my fridge and plop down on the couch with the remote. The apartment is a pigsty since Tiffany moved out. I wonder if she's moved on, found someone new? It would be easy for someone like Tiffany to find a new guy. She had everything to offer. She was smart, pretty, in her own way, humorous and driven. She knew exactly what she wanted. She was one of those women who had her future and life planned right down to the number of kids and block to live on. She was the perfect catch. Just not for me. Tiffany had one major, unfixable flaw. She wasn't Ten.

  I drop back the rest of the fifth beer and toss the empty can on the coffee table. It rolls into the other four and knocks them over. "Strike." I pick up the remote and turn on the television. My phone rings. I push mute on the TV and grab the phone off the coffee table. It's Ten.

  "Hey person I'm not supposed to talk to, what's up?" I toss the remote aside and prop my feet on the coffee table. A sniffle on the other end makes me sit up and drop my feet to the ground. She hasn't done more than sniffle and I'm ready to grab my keys and drive out to the beach. "Ten, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing." She sniffles again. "I just needed to hear your voice."

  My heart slows but my throat tightens. "I still haven't gotten used to the sound of you crying."

  "I know." There's a laugh with a sob. "Apparently I'm that kid now. The one on the playground who cries every time someone cuts in front of them on the slide. All of a sudden, I'm a damn crybaby. I guess years of holding my tears in gave me a twenty-five year supply to use at will."

  "You don't need to apologize for tears, Ten. How did the debriefing go? Or should I ask?"

  "You shouldn't. Mr. Winter is not any drug cult expert. I think he's from IA."

  I sit forward. "No fucking way. Why do you think that?"

  "He's just there to find out what the hell I was doing so long in Lace Underground and why I came out an addict. It's all very lovely and uplifting. My self-esteem is now at rock bottom. It's like spending a day with my dad right after one of my brother's won some big MVP trophy."

  "Shit, Ten. What are you going to do?"

  "I weighed my options. If he is from IA there is really only one route to take. I've got to answer all his questions as honestly as I can. Only problem is, some of it is so hazy in my head, I'm not even sure how to answer."

  I rest against the cushions and put my feet back on the coffee table. My next comment is lodged deep in my chest with the million other questions I have about Freestone. Instead, I just offer an unnecessary opinion. "Freestone's not a good guy, Ten. I know in your mind he's stuck somewhere between good and evil."

  "He let you go," she says quietly. "He could have killed you but he made sure you survived."

  "Yeah, he did. But, Ten, he kept you drugged and he used you. He fucking used you." The last sentence squeezes past the lump in my throat. "I fucking hate him."

  She sighs wistfully. "And yet, I don't feel used. I guess that's because I wasn't really myself. I was a different person. I was Tawny. Everything that happened to me was happening through her eyes. The drug allowed me to let go of myself."

  The beer sits like a lead weight in my stomach. "Not sure if I can hear this, Ten. Like you said, I'm a fucking coward. I can't hear you talk about him like this."

  Another sniffle through the phone. "Who then? You're my best friend, Maddox. Who do I talk to if I can't talk to you?"

  I sit forward to stop the pain in my gut. "I know. Fuck. I want to be there for you, baby. It's just hard."

  A stretch of quiet follows.

  "You've never called me baby before."

  "Is it all right if I call you that?"

  Another pause. "Yeah, I kind of like it. Just don't do it at the station."

  "Good advice."

  Her yawn rolls through the phone. "Shit, all I did was answer questions and I'm so darn tired. I have to go back on Wednesday. If Mr. Winter survived the day. Clark put us up in some little seaside motel. The air conditioner was no better than a fan. Thought the guy was going to keel over from heatstroke."

  "Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

  Another sniffle. "I hate that I have to talk about this with strangers. Dr. Renfrew just sits there with her hands in her lap like a robot, giving the occasional supportive wink to let me know I'm doing all right. Ugh, I fucking hate it." She groans. "Excuse my pity party. I'm just tired and my favorite person has been banished from my life."

  "Fuck 'em. I'll come right now. Just say the word."

  "Oh, this is awkward. I actually meant Silvana."

  "Brat. Now I'm really coming because you need a damn spanking." After years of pretending to be just partners and friends, the dirty talk and flirting is coming pretty naturally. So far it's the only thing that's come easily with this new relationship.

  She mewls into the phone. "As fun as that sounds, I'm far too tired. And you should stay away. If Clark transfers you, I won't have a partner." A second even cuter yawn comes through the phone.

  "Those adorable sounds are not helping me forget about the cancelled spanking."

  She laughs. "Ooh, you know what I'd really like?"

  I'm ready to jump on a list of sexy suggestions. "Tell me and let's see if it can be done long distance through a cell phone. By the way, I have been told I'm very good at phone sex."

  "I'll be the judge of that," she says confidently. "But not tonight. Too tired even for that. Don't laugh and remember I can sense an eye roll through the phone."

  "I will keep my eyes steady."

  "Say my name. Say my name the way Mick Jagger would say it. Like in the song."

  I clear my throat and sing Angie into the phone twice.

  "My mom's right. You do sound really good. Well, I can't keep my eyes open. Sweet dreams, Maddox."

  "Sweet dreams, baby."

  "Hmm, I could get used to hearing that." Her words fade drowsily away and she ends the call.

  18

  Angie

  It's a noise. Just a small one but it's unexpected enough to wake me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I stare into the dark room. The usual silhouettes of furniture and curtains come into focus. I don't move, listening for it again. It would sure be convenient if all the lofty people making decisions about my life would let me have back the weapon that I'm highly trained to use. Everyone keeps asking me about being a prisoner in Freestone's world, yet I've never felt as controlled and shackled as I have since I got out.

  A floor creak in the front room makes me bolt to sitting. I've walked and paced the tiny house enough to know exactly where the creak came from. It's the stretch of floor directly in front of the couch. My heart is racing as I search around the room for something to use as a weapon. My running shoes are about the most lethal thing I can find, which means I'm on my own. />
  Now that I'm fully awake and thinking clearly, relief washes through me as I convince myself it's Maddox. He has a key. He probably couldn't let go of the spanking idea and decided to risk his job for some fun. It was just like him.

  Still a little shaky from the initial scare, I flick on the hallway light and head to the front room.

  "I think you're the one who needs a damn spanking," I say with a laugh. It's cut short with a gasp. I fall back several steps. My body taps the wall behind me. I lean against it for support.

  The hallway light reflects off the blue of his eyes. For the first time, I'm looking at him a hundred percent sober. I still can't find the monster that everyone tells me exists. The alarm drains from my body. I'm not in danger. Kane would never hurt me. I can see it in his face.

  "A spanking, huh?"

  "How did you get in?" I remain pressed against the wall. My legs are still wobbly from the shock.

  Kane glances toward the sliding glass door. "It was easy to open. I thought they'd take better care of you than this. This shack is not even secure."

  "It's not a shack. It's charming. In fact, I'm growing to love this place."

  "Do you own it?"

  "Ha. That's funny. Owning a California beach house on a detective's salary. That's a good one."

  I'm not particularly amazed at how easily we can converse. There was no way to deny that we grew close in the months underground. It's a reality that should haunt me more than it does. I formed a bond with the man I was trying to bring down. And in retrospect, I did just that. I brought him down. Only I'm not feeling particularly victorious. If anything, I feel guilty. Especially knowing what I do now.

  "How did you find me? Or is that a silly question too?"

  He tilts his head. "It goes along with my comment on security. And again, I thought they'd take better care of you."

  "Nah, I'm pretty disposable. Just a smart mouthed cop, who apparently has cost the department a lot of money and I never even handed them the bad guy."

  Kane grins faintly. He has ditched his usual business shirt for a black t-shirt and black jeans. The stern, chiseled expression he wore so often before has been softened. He's more relaxed. The fabric of his shirt strains across his broad shoulders as he reaches for something on the floor. A second of fear shoots through me, thinking he's come to take out his revenge on me. His hand emerges with what appears to be a very expensive bottle of wine. The scars on his arm twitch and slide back and forth as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a corkscrew. The scars look different to me now that I know what they stand for. They look so painful, I can almost feel them just by looking at them.

  I drag my eyes from the scars and force a smile. "Looks like you thought of everything."

  "Not everything. Do you have some glasses in this charming cottage?"

  I walk to the kitchen and am keenly aware that he's watching me. It was always like that with him. I was always hyper aware of the man's presence, of his attention on me.

  I open the cupboard and grab out two juice glasses. "No stemware," I say on the way back to the couch. "Apparently, Uncle Nate is not a wine drinker."

  "Who is Uncle Nate?"

  I shake my head. "Just a friend." It's too early in the conversation to bring up the complex subject of James Maddox. But I have every intention of bringing him up soon. I have a million questions for Kane.

  "It'll taste the same in a juice glass." Kane's bicep tightens, stretching the sleeve of the t-shirt as he easily pops the cork. The wine is fragrant and a lush pink color as it fills the glass. He hands me it and lifts his to clink mine for a toast. "Here's to drinking wine in juice glasses."

  I pause before taking a sip. "I'm not supposed to have any drugs or alcohol."

  "Says who?" He sits back and drapes his arm along the couch, revealing the tattoo of Einstein's quote about reality being an illusion. It's oddly familiar. Every curl of ink, the slant of the letters, they are etched in my mind along with the muscles running down his forearm.

  "It seems I was freed from you and dropped immediately into the control of a team of professionals. So-called experts who all know what's best for me. Not sure when I lost every shred of my independence. Actually, I am sure. It was the second I said yes—to you." My debriefing session has been coming back to me in short, humiliating spurts all day and night.

  "You weren't my prisoner. A prisoner hates their incarceration. I don't think you hated it. Unless you were just a really good actress."

  I take another warming sip. "The expensive stuff is tasty. I wasn't acting." I look plainly at him. "But I was drugged out of my mind."

  He stares at me with that magnetic blue gaze as he drinks his glass of wine. "The nectar is not as strong as you think. Yes, you reacted much more than most, including the unwanted side effects, but its main purpose is to let women push away their inhibitions. It lets them find their true sensual self. It takes away all those norms and protocols and rules they've had drilled into them since they were little girls so they can enjoy themselves."

  I put the glass down. "You need to take your experimental drug off the pedestal. I just went through two months of hell trying to rid my system of your inhibition reducing serum. I enjoyed myself much more than I want to admit. It was an erotic fantasy trip that I'll never forget. Unfortunately. You're the only person I can talk to freely about this, only I'm expected to recount everything that happened to me in Lace Underground. And to complete strangers. The shame is hard to deal with."

  He reaches over and lightly touches the back of my hand. I should flinch and draw it quickly away but I don't. I still find his touch comforting, protective. Even a light touch on the back of my hand. His aftershave, an all too familiar scent, sends a surge of heat through me. But it fades quickly. As perfectly connected and in rhythm as we were sexually, he's not the one. Even during those desperate hours waiting for him to visit me in my room, there was always still a part of me that held onto the one strand connecting me to the real world, my love for Maddox. At least that is what I've been telling myself again and again.

  "Are you happy, Sweet Sin?"

  I can't help but smile at the nickname. In Lace Underground, I practically melted at the sound of his deep voice uttering the two words. Now they seem like part of a movie, part of something that only happened in my imagination.

  "I could be better," I say. "Things are strained between—" I stop and think about how wildly possessive Kane was of me and how it thrilled me to have someone so protective and obsessed, no one else could get near me. So much of what is happening between Maddox and me stems from his hatred toward Kane and, more specifically, Kane's relationship with me. Only now I'm not drugged. My emotions and fierce need to be loved while holding onto my independence make me hate the protectiveness, the jealous obsession.

  Kane waits for me to continue but I choose a different path. "Why did you let him go? You let me believe he was dead. Was it jealousy? Were you punishing me for loving him?"

  "Ah, we're on to my least favorite subject, Detective Maddox." He leans forward. "In that case I need another glass of wine." He pours the drink and sits back with it. "Yes, the ugly snake of jealousy bit me more than once when you were mine. And before you argue against it, please just let me believe in my heart that for those few months you were mine and no one else's."

  I nod mostly because it's more true than false.

  He drinks the wine and places the glass back on the table. "I could have killed him. I hated him from the start and would have liked nothing more than to send him to a watery grave. But I didn't because of his devotion to you. I figured Maddox and I had a lot in common. We both look at you and see the only woman in the world who matters. The only woman worth giving up everything for, life included. So I made sure he had a good scare and faced his own demise for a few minutes before signaling Jason to pick him up."

  "Asshole," I tell him before taking another drink.

  "Yes, unfortunately I am. In my defense, the second I la
id eyes on you through that one way mirror, I knew I was looking at my downfall. I knew I was looking at the one woman who could wipe away all reason. After keeping tight control and security of the Lace Underground, real security not this silly preschool security law enforcement is providing for you, I knew you'd cause me to lose it all. And you did. But I would have done it again."

  "See, that's just stupid. I'm not worth losing a game of Monopoly over, let alone an entire empire."

  He shakes his head as he reaches to touch my face. "One day you'll let yourself see just how much you're worth." He sits back. "And the Lace Underground is gone, but my empire is still doing just fine."

  "But they're after you. There's a whole team of investigators looking for you."

  "Yes. But the mad genius always has a plan."

  I laugh. "Like walking right into this house and making yourself comfortable on the couch?"

  "Adding weight to my assessment of the way they are taking care of you. Any madman can just walk in here and share his expensive wine with you."

  I sip more of the wine. My limbs feel slightly heavy from it. "You're different," I say. "Maybe it's because I'm not dressed in lingerie and leather cuffs and in a drug haze. Or is it because you are no longer tethered to that secret underground club?"

  "A little of both, I think. I was somewhat relieved to fold it up. It served its purpose but I was getting bored. Until you came along, of course."

  "Of course. How is Blake?"

  "For obvious reasons, I stopped contact with everyone except Oscar and Jason. Last I heard, Blake opened a luxury day spa and is loving it."

  "You made that happen for him, didn't you?"

  "Financially but the rest is all his doing." Kane looks my direction. "I'm worried about you, Sweet Sin. You don't look happy." He tilts his head to the side and drags his gaze along my body. I'm dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, a far cry from the skimpy lingerie he's used to seeing me in. Yet he looks with the same appreciative blue spark in his eyes. "At least you're putting back on some of the luscious curves."