She kept her eyes closed as his rough-tipped fingers mapped every bruise, welt, and cut. Front and back. When he finally finished, he wrapped a blanket around her nakedness and pulled her into a hug. He didn’t say I tried to tell you, or I’m sorry. He just held her like a precious, fragile thing.
That’s when she finally admitted to herself that she loved him.
* * *
RONIN and Amery were expected to return home soon—not that her brother had called anyone to share his exact plans. The e-mail he’d sent Knox that said they were staying in Hawaii before they returned to Denver had no specific dates.
The week after her extreme fuckup with Knox had been wrought with challenges. Not for Knox—her screwup had put more people on Team Knox.
Fee had been so pissed off that Shiori worried she’d take a swing at her.
Blue looked at her suspiciously.
Maddox steered clear of her.
Deacon growled and snarled, which she hoped meant he was coming around.
Katie . . . well, she’d been a welcome surprise. She’d gotten teary-eyed when she’d talked about watching the fight. But she said she understood why Shiori had gotten in the ring. Katie didn’t like men telling her that she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—do something either. Then she’d gone off on a tangent about her childhood dog, Pixie, that had nothing to do with anything they’d been discussing, but the story had made Shiori laugh so hard she’d cried. And when the tears became real tears, Katie had just handed her tissue after issue and told her to get it all out.
But things had gotten back to normal for her and Knox. It’d taken a few days. It’d taken a small whipping after Knox kept testing her boundaries. But she would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t tried to use her fuckup to his advantage. Holding firm with him had proved she could, and after that his trust issues weren’t an issue.
So today was a good day. Clear blue skies. Temperate breeze. Sun shining. No wonder Colorado had so many outdoor enthusiasts—the weather was gorgeous.
She had to run a few errands before heading to the dojo. She waited outside her apartment high-rise, going over her to-do list on her phone, when a black Town Car pulled up. When Tom exited the driver’s side, she smiled with relief. She liked him, despite Knox’s claim that Tom eyed her like a juicy slab of steak.
Tom grinned at her and opened the rear door. “Morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I was just thinking the same thing. Made me wish I could just walk where I needed to go today.”
His gaze dropped to her feet. “I wouldn’t recommend it in those shoes.”
The shoes were impractical—Dolce & Gabbana black lace pumps with rhinestone flowers on the toes and four-inch heels—but she had a ridiculous love for them. Right before she climbed into the back, she noticed a dark stain in the middle of the seat.
“Problem?” Tom asked.
“Looks like someone spilled coffee or something else in here.”
Tom leaned inside for a better look. When he straightened up, fury blazed in his eyes. “I apologize. Evidently this car didn’t get cleaned last night. I can call for them to bring us a different car—”
“Not necessary. I’ll just sit on the other side.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll at least cover it up so you don’t have to look at it.”
Shiori skirted the back end of the car and climbed in, happy that she’d seen the stain before she sat on it in her white linen pants.
After Tom draped a blanket over the stain, he slid into the driver’s seat and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are we still on the same itinerary you e-mailed us this morning?”
“Yes. With one addition. There’s an art-supply store I want to stop at.” She rattled off the address and he poked the info into the GPS.
“That’s a ways out. We can either make it our first stop or our last.”
“Last works for me.”
Shiori stared out the window as they zipped down the freeway. Since she’d started teaching nights at Black Arts, she hadn’t attended any events at the Japanese Social Club where she had been a frequent patron upon her arrival in the United States. But she’d always had mixed feelings about the place where she’d introduced Ronin to his now-ex, Naomi, a few years back, which had ended in disaster. After she’d first come to Denver, she’d hung out a fair amount at the club since she hadn’t known anyone in the city besides her brother. She’d met some nice people, but no one indicated they’d like to see her socially outside of the club. Hearing her native language had eased her homesickness. But being there also reminded her Americans were friendlier than her countrymen.
A couple of months ago she’d promised to donate to their fund-raiser for a children’s art center, and since she’d pledged such a large amount, she had to sign the contract in person.
After they pulled up to the clubhouse and Tom opened the door, she said, “This meeting will take fifteen minutes at the most.”
The club director decided to hard sell her on becoming more active in the club—meaning giving more money. She forced a smile and wondered what the guy would say if she admitted she’d traded their culture club for a sex club. By the time she’d extricated herself from his clutches, thirty minutes had passed.
The next two stops were recon for businesses that had applied to be sponsors for Black and Blue Promotions’s next event. After each visit, she jotted down her observations so Katie could follow up.
With the traffic and the distance between her stops, two hours had passed since she’d left the penthouse. But this art store had a different kind of paint she wanted to try. And since her new project would be on much larger canvases, with a vivid red backdrop, she needed several large cans of the base paint.
She managed to keep her art store visit to thirty minutes.
Tom helped her carry the bags out. When he tried to store them in the trunk, she asked him to put them in the backseat so she could look through the books she’d bought.
“Back to your apartment?” Tom asked.
“No. Take me to Black Arts.”
“Not a problem. I apologize about the seat. I’ll make sure you’re not charged for today’s service.”
“Thank you.”
The drive proceeded without incident. Until on the freeway a semi lost control and T-boned the car.
The last thing Shiori remembered was a jarring impact like nothing she’d ever experienced, the sickening crunch of metal, and flashes of red as glass rained down on her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WHERE the hell was Shiori?
Knox knew she ran on her own time frame, but she was more than two hours late. Ronin and Amery were supposed to be back in the next couple of days, and they needed to make sure they had every detail of what’d happened in the past few months nailed down.
Deacon popped into the office and frowned. “I thought Shi-Shi was coming in today.”
“I expected her a while ago. She’s not answering her cell. I’d say that’s not like her, but it’s exactly like her.” She’d mentioned working on a new painting. And after seeing the level of concentrated joy whenever she held a paintbrush in her hand, he suspected she’d lost track of time.
His cell phone rang. Shiori’s name flashed on the screen. “About fucking time.” He answered with, “I hope you’re bringing me something good to eat since you missed our lunch date.”
“Ah, is this Knox?”
He pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled at it. “Who the fuck is this, and why are you on Shiori’s phone?”
“This is Tom. Her driver.”
Why would her driver be calling?
“There’s been an accident.”
His heart stopped. “When?”
“A couple of hours ago. We were on the freeway and a semi hit us.”
Bile churning in his stomach crawled up his throat and threatened to choke h
im. He couldn’t speak.
Deacon stood across from him. “What’s happened?”
Tom said, “She’s in the hospital. Denver Memorial General.”
“Is she okay?” Knox asked.
“I don’t know. They won’t release any information to me,” Tom said. “I managed to get her cell phone after they brought her purse in so they could ID her.”
Jesus fucking Christ. ID her? Like she was . . .
No. No fucking way.
“I figured she’d want you to know,” Tom continued. “Or is there someone else who should be called?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for calling me. I’m on my way now.”
Knox ended the call. Feeling nauseous, he set his forehead on the desk, trying to control his need to roar with rage, punch something, or throw up.
“What the fuck is going on, Knox?”
He slowly raised his head. “Shiori’s been in a car accident.”
Every bit of blood drained from Deacon’s face.
“That was her driver who called. I need to get to the hospital.” He stood. Where were his keys? He panicked. What if he’d left his keys in his truck? He didn’t remember where the hell he’d parked.
Then Deacon was in his face. “Which hospital?”
“Denver Memorial General.”
“Get your coat. I’m driving.”
Knox stared at Deacon. The mean man looked pasty-faced and wide-eyed. Was Deacon’s face just reflecting back what he saw in his?
“Come on. We’ll fill Blue and Maddox in before we go.”
He paid little attention when Deacon spoke to the guys in the training room. His brain started the mantra—I love you. Please be all right. I love you. Please be all right—and he couldn’t get it to stop.
Deacon drove his Mercedes like a madman, but Knox didn’t complain since he needed to get to the damn hospital now.
But Deacon didn’t pull up to the emergency doors and let Knox out. “What the fuck—”
“You are not goin’ in there alone. First off, because you can be a prick when you’re agitated. Second, I can’t sit in the waiting room without goin’ fuckin’ crazy if they take you to her right away. That’s too much to ask of me, man.”
Knox hadn’t ever seen Deacon this freaked-out. “That’s fine. I’m just losing my shit, D.”
“I know. Just keep it together for her.”
Inside the hospital Knox had to wait in line to speak to a receptionist. When he finally made it up to the window, he had to repeat himself because he’d spewed everything so fast. “Shiori Hirano was in a car accident a couple of hours ago. I was told they brought her here.”
“Who are you?”
“Knox Lofgren. Her fiancé.”
She frowned. “It lists Ronin Black as her next of kin.”
“That’s her brother, and he’s been out of the country for months. Shiori probably hasn’t updated her information since we just got engaged two weeks ago.”
It appeared the middle-aged woman was going to brush him off. Then she noticed his bracelet. To most people it looked like a nice chain-link bracelet. But to anyone in the BDSM life, it was a symbol of ownership. Her gaze sharpened. “Did she give you that?”
Knox said, “Yes, ma’am. Two weeks ago.”
She patted his hand. “Have a seat, son, and I’ll tell the staff you’re here. They’ll come out and talk to you as soon as they can.”
“Thank you.”
After they took seats closest to the doors leading to the medical rooms, Deacon said, “What was that about?”
“Shiori gave me the bracelet.”
“Why is that a big deal?”
What did it matter if Deacon knew the truth? “Shiori is a Domme.”
“No shit?” A pause, then, “Don’t know why I’m surprised. She has that whole power thing going on even when she’s not on the mat.”
Knox ran his thumb over the bracelet’s band. “That she does. And that’s what drew me to her.”
“Wait. I know you guys are seeing each other, but that’s part of it too?”
“Yeah. She . . .” Just fucking spit it out. “She’s my Domme. She gave me the bracelet as a reminder of the importance of our relationship.”
Deacon didn’t respond right away. He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “Like a collar?”
“Sort of.”
“Not sure what to say to that besides it’s none of my damn business. Except I’m shocked that you’re submissive.”
“It shocked me too. I didn’t know that’s what I was until I was with her.”
“As long as we’re sitting here, killing time, tell me how that works.”
So much for his “it’s none of my damn business” comment. “She belongs to me as much as I belong to her. It’s the most powerfully intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.”
“Does she make you wear a bow tie and a Speedo when you’re alone? Oh, wow. Does she make you hand-feed her grapes and fan her with palm fronds too?”
His head whipped up, and he saw the humor dancing in Deacon’s eyes. “Fuck you.”
Deacon bumped him with his shoulder. “I couldn’t resist.”
They didn’t say anything for a while. But neither of them were watching people either.
“Excuse me . . . Knox?”
He looked up and saw Tom the driver standing there. His face had bumps, bruises, and cuts. His arm was in a sling. His clothes looked like he’d rolled in the dirt. He was walking hunched over. “Jesus, Tom. Are you okay?”
Deacon pulled a chair over for him.
“Thanks. I’m . . . still a little in shock, to tell you the truth. Any word on Ms. Hirano?”
“Not yet.”
Tom sighed and slumped back in the chair with a wince. “Before you ask, I didn’t see her at all after the accident. I got knocked out because the air bag didn’t deploy.”
Knox saw Deacon clenching and unclenching his fists. He swore he could hear the man grinding his teeth. He returned his attention to Tom. “Do you remember how the accident happened?”
“We were in a construction zone, so I wasn’t driving more than forty-five. The truck was coming down the ramp and he swerved to avoid something. He overcorrected and the truck skidded off the ramp into traffic. We were the unlucky car in its direct path.”
He couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“The truck T-boned us, but the other cars around us managed to avoid hitting us. Or so I’ve heard.” He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, “Thank god for that damn stain.”
“Excuse me?”
Tom looked at Knox with anguished eyes. “When I picked Ms. Hirano up this morning, she noticed a stain on the right rear passenger seat—where she prefers to sit. Rather than having another car sent, she sat on the opposite side. If she’d been sitting there . . . that entire side of the car was caved in and demolished. She would’ve been crushed.”
All the breath left his lungs. His heart dropped into his stomach, and every hair in his body stood on end.
Deacon abruptly got up.
Unraveled Page 40
