by Rachel Clark
“Nothing in this house belongs to her,” he says dismissively. “Now get out.”
“Nothing?” I ask in a small voice. I really want to stand up to John, but this is the kind of annoyance that led to days I’m trying hard not to think about.
“What did you expect, Karly? You never did a day’s work in your life.”
“That’s not true,” I say, shaking my head. My newspaper articles and weekly variety column brought in a little bit of money, but it had been John’s insistence that I give priority to making a home that had left me without a real job.
“You know that’s not true,” Casey says, sounding angry. “My sister ran herself ragged making certain everything was perfect for you. If I’d realized she did it out of fear I would have dragged her out of this marriage a long time ago.”
“And where would you have gone, little whore?” John asks dismissively. “Last time you were here, it was you needing my hospitality. I should have thrown you out when I had the chance.” He grins at whatever expression those words put on my sister’s face. From behind Grant and Bryce I can’t see much of anything as John takes a couple more steps down the staircase. “You were always dragging Karly down, distracting her from what was important with your slutty behavior. You started the argument we had that night. You do realize your sister getting hurt is entirely your fault, don’t you?” He smirks at Chris as the man steps in front of my sister to protect her from my husband’s unfair attack.
“Enough,” I say, trying to step through the tiny gap between Grant’s and Bryce’s huge bodies. Every man in the room seems surprised by my reaction, and I suppose I can’t blame them. All they’ve seen from me for the past four weeks is the invalid who got beat up and the delusional woman who accused others of abhorrent behavior but couldn’t see the truth about her own husband. I’ve always been confident in every aspect of my life. It’s only been John who’s been able to hold me down.
It’s about time I took myself back from this disastrous marriage.
I take a deep breath, trying not to wince at the ache I still feel in my ribs, and place my hands on my hips as my annoyance at this man grows.
“John, you know as well as I do that the law in this state will award me with half of everything. You can argue until you’re blue in the face, but the simple fact is, paid employment or not, I have a right to half of the assets accumulated during our marriage.”
We’d bought the land together and paid it off before building the house. The house is mortgaged to the hilt, but once it’s sold we should both walk away with money in our bank accounts. I’m not willing to argue the little stuff. I don’t care who gets the CD collection or the furniture, and judging by the empty shelves my commemorative plate collection is no more so that’s not even an issue. But I do want to have a few dollars in my bank account so I can get back on my feet.
My husband gives me a deceptively friendly grin. “Well, look who grew a backbone? It won’t do you much good,” he says as he moves down the stairs, turns, and steps into the kitchen. He’s back in a moment, two halves of my laptop in his hands. “It fell.” The shrug is obviously feigned, but it’s the laugh that sends fear spiraling through me. It’s the same laugh he used the day he sliced my stomach with the chef’s knife. The cold look in his eyes as he’d pinned me to the ground, proving to me that I had no power, and then slid the knife over my skin deep enough to cut but not kill still haunts me. How foolish have I been to have stayed with this man? How did I let fear dictate my actions? Was I so caught up in the idea of having a happy marriage that I compromised everything I’ve ever believed just to try and make it look like we were succeeding?
Bile rises in my throat as I realize how much worse things would have been this time around if Bryce hadn’t intervened. I probably would have recovered physically without medical intervention, albeit far more slowly, but the emotional scars and fear of this man would have lasted the rest of my life.
I send a prayer of thanks to whatever deity sent Bryce to me that day as I step past my husband and start to walk up the stairs. I’m getting the things I came for, and then I plan to never, ever step foot in this house again.
“You were a lousy fuck anyway,” John throws at me. I feel everyone else bristle at the insult. I’ve never enjoyed sex all that much, so in my mind it’s not much of a slur.
I shrug carelessly instead. “Fear will do that to a woman.”
Feeling somehow more confident at having deflected his malicious words, I practically march up the stairs and into the bedroom I once shared with John. The room is an absolute mess. Every piece of clothing, all of my lingerie, every single thing that could be considered as mine is damaged beyond repair. Like my laptop, it seems John has gone through the entire house and destroyed everything that I might want.
Grant wraps his arms around me, cradling my back against his front, his body cocooning me with his warmth.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says in a confident voice. “It’s all ancient history. You don’t need anything from this room.”
“Only one thing,” I say quietly as I move out of his embrace and step into the disaster zone that had once been my closet filled with fashionable clothes. I’d disliked the excessive cost of many of the outfits, but as with everything else in our life together, John had dictated what I’d worn. Many had been designer labels, and I’d actually had a vague plan to donate most to charity, but every piece is damaged beyond repair.
When I find the dressing table resting on its side, the fear and guilt that I may have lost it brings tears to my eyes.
“What are you looking for?” Bryce asks quietly as he reaches for my hand.
“My grandmother’s locket,” I say on a shaking voice. If John found it, he would have destroyed it. Bryce sets the dressing table back onto its feet and then helps me to pry open the drawer. Thankfully, my grandmother’s locket is still in the envelope I taped to the back of the drawer more than two years ago. When I’d put it there my only thought had been to hide it from thieves, but now I can see that I’d actually being trying to keep it from my husband. If he’d known I cared about it, he would have found a way to use it against me. Why else would I not have put it in the wall safe with the rest of our valuables? I clench the tarnished silver oval tightly in my hand as I try desperately to hold on to my tears.
Bryce and Grant give me a moment as I finally accept that this is the end of my marriage.
“Ready to go?” my sister asks from the doorway to the closet.
“Yes,” I answer decisively.
I tried to make the best of my marriage, but I should have walked away two years ago. I should have shown someone my injuries and asked for help. I should have found the courage to leave sooner.
I’m done here, and I’m not coming back.
* * * *
Bryce could sense how difficult this was for Karly, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of her. He glanced at his brother and saw his own emotions reflected on Grant’s face. They’d come here during the day, expecting Karly’s soon-to-be ex-husband to be at work so that they could avoid a confrontation.
But instead the bastard had not only been here, but had managed to get in a few verbal punches as well. Rather than cower, Karly had held her head high, stood up to the coward she’d married, ignored all of his insults, and shown the determination Bryce had seen when she’d yelled at him in the hospital corridor seven months ago. Karly was a survivor. She’d get through this. Even without their support, he suspected she would have found a way out of this marriage this time around. The woman he knew wouldn’t have put up with living in fear any longer.
She had a chance now to live life on her terms, and Bryce and Grant had every intention of being there to watch her take it.
Chapter Seven
The first thing I do when I step in the door is take off my shoes. I’ve never worn a pair as uncomfortable as these, but even that doesn’t detract from my good mood. It took me nearly three months to find employment, bu
t after only seven months on the job I’ve been offered a promotion and I can’t wait to share the good news with Grant and Bryce…oh, yes, and my sister.
It’s strange how two men in the BDSM lifestyle could somehow become the best friends I’ve ever had.
I’m still contemplating the rapid changes in my life when I almost walk into the back of some very broad shoulders. “Oh, sorry, Chris,” I say as I step around him and he breaks the kiss he was sharing with my sister.
“Karly,” my sister says excitedly. “Perfect timing. I get to share my news with you first.”
“What news?” I ask, my grin as wide as hers. I love good news. I especially love it when we both have great news.
Casey settles into her boyfriend’s strong arms, glances up at him, and then says, “Chris has asked me to wear his collar.”
“Huh?”
It’s been a while since I did my research on BDSM—and since moving in with Grant and Bryce I’ve tried to avoid the subject entirely—but all I can think about is the big, black, iron-studded dog collars from the pet shop.
“Um…congratulations?” I say in a kind of questioning way. I’m trying to be supportive here—and Chris has proven over and over that he’s a great guy who will protect my sister, not hurt her—but I’m really not sure what the correct response is. Did Casey explain this to me one day when I hadn’t been listening? When she’d been ill after the heart attack, I pretty much blocked out everything she’d said about the BDSM lifestyle she led. At the time I’d considered her hopelessly brainwashed.
Rather ironic considering the denial I’d been living with at the time.
Chris gives me a sympathetic smile, apparently reading my reaction more clearly than my sister. “I also gave her an engagement ring,” he says, lifting Casey’s hand to show me the tasteful piece of jewelry. “I’ve ordered a collar to match.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” I say as I hug my sister. “Have you set a date yet?”
“We were thinking next week,” my sister says with a smug grin.
“Next week! You can’t possibly expect to get a wedding organized so quickly. Surely you must be joking.”
“Will you be my bridesmaid?” Casey asks with a wide smile ignoring my concerns. Traditionally speaking I should probably be called the matron of honor since I am actually married, but my divorce is due to be official in a few weeks, so it’s not something I want to argue about.
“Of course,” I say with a wide smile. Despite my own disastrous marriage, I’m very happy for my younger sister.
“Perfect,” she says happily, but Chris looks a little bit concerned.
“Karly, the wedding will be at the registry office, but the actual ceremony—the collaring—will be at the club. Will you be okay with that?”
“I…um…” I swallow hard and try to downplay the fear I’m feeling. I know the sort of things that happen at the club. I don’t know if I ever want to witness them. I still find the idea of Doms beating on their subs completely abhorrent.
“Why don’t you come to the club with us tonight?” Casey asks excitedly.
“Tonight? I…um…”
“She’ll be there,” Grant says arrogantly as he comes into the room. “Bryce and I will escort her tonight, show her around, explain everything that needs explaining.”
“That’s going to be a whole lot of explaining,” I say, feeling a little bit irritated that he would make the decision for me. I want to do this for my sister, and I really can’t deny the thrill of being escorted by two men who’ve become very dear to me, but I…Bryce comes into the room, presses a friendly hello kiss to my forehead, and cuddles me close. Why was I arguing again?
“We’ll take care of her,” he assures my sister. Casey smiles so widely I can’t deny her anything. I nod, but I’m not really ready for the squeal as she launches herself at me, grabs my hand, and tries to drag me to the stairs.
“We need to find something great for you to wear.”
“Um…thank you, but no. I’ll wear my own clothes.” I look to Bryce and Grant for help, but they’re both just smiling indulgently. Fortunately it’s my soon-to-be brother-in-law who saves me from my sister’s enthusiasm.
“Relax, little sub, or it might be a very long time before I let you orgasm tonight.”
My sister grins unrepentantly. “Yes, Sir,” she says in a voice that holds more humor than respect. The swat Chris gives her bottom is as playful as always, and suddenly I find myself wondering if their relationship is like this inside the club.
As soon as we walk into my bedroom, my sister’s enthusiasm bubbles over once more. “I’m so glad you’re coming to the club. Honestly, it’s nothing like you think it is. I’m sure you’re going to have an amazing time.” She heads over to my embarrassingly limited closet and grabs the shortest skirt she can find. It was one of those “it was on the sales table and seemed like a good idea at the time” buys. I’ve never actually worn it. My sister holds it up to my waist and frowns. “It’s a bit too long, but it should be okay. I’ve probably got time to hem it.”
“I think it’s just fine the way it is,” I say, snatching the skirt back from her. My sister huffs in disappointment, but her thoughts are soon diverted.
“You need a sexy top though.” She quickly shuffles through my lingerie drawer but stuffs it all back in without choosing any of it. “I think I have a corset that’ll fit you.” She grabs my hand and drags me into her room. Amused to see this side of her again—I’d forgotten she can be this bouncy—I follow along, content to indulge her when she’s this happy. “Hey, maybe Grant and Bryce will give you a taste of what it’s like. I mean, you know, nothing too heavy, but something that might give you an experience that you enjoy.”
I’m pretty sure that’s never going to happen, but I don’t have the heart to burst her bubble.
“Maybe,” I mumble without really committing to anything.
“Really?” she asks with a bright smile. I want to roll my eyes and say “no, not really,” but Casey seems so genuinely sure that I would enjoy what she enjoys that I can’t find it in me to disagree out loud.
“Does Chris really withhold your orgasms?” I ask curiously.
My sister laughs. “All the time.” She shivers theatrically. “But they’re always worth waiting for.”
“Really?” I ask with a sigh. Technically I could say my ex withheld my orgasms, too. Unfortunately, unlike Casey who now seems lost in a world of her own as she considers her night ahead, there had been no reward for me at the end. John’s idea of good sex had been to climb over me, satisfy himself, and then roll over and snore. If I’d wanted any feeling of completion I’d used my own hand after he’d fallen asleep. I’d found sex so boring that most nights I hadn’t even bothered.
It was kind of strange now to realize that I’d just assumed it was that way for everyone. If Casey hadn’t been severely injured during a BDSM scene I might never have known there was a whole world of men out there who offered something different.
My thoughts stray to the two men currently talking quietly in the hallway downstairs. In the eleven months I’ve been here I don’t once remember either of them having a girlfriend, or even a date. “Do Bryce and Grant have sex with the submissives at the club?” I ask in a breathless whisper.
Casey gives me an assessing look, glances out the door, apparently checking if the men are in earshot and answers with a grin, “Not since they met you.”
* * * *
Little minx. Grant rubbed his forehead tiredly. Casey had looked straight at him, pretended he wasn’t there, and said the one thing he expected would make Karly run. Not since they met you. But instead of freaking out, the woman he’d spent the last year falling for stood her ground and denied the coincidence.
“You’re obviously mistaken,” she said with a voice he would swear was tinged with disappointment. “They’re two amazing guys. There’s no way they don’t both have a mile-long line of subs willing to play with them.”
“Oh, they have the lines,” Casey said with a soft giggle. He’d be speaking to her Dom about her bratty behavior—as soon as he eavesdropped a little more. “But neither of them have played with a sub since they met you.”
Grant smiled at the memory of all the times that the three of them—him, Karly, and Bryce—had enjoyed a quiet night in over the past year. Their friendship had grown really comfortable, and both he and Bryce liked it that way. They wanted more, of course, but since the woman was still recovering from a disastrous marriage, they were willing to wait.
“Have I been cramping their style? Monopolizing their time?” Karly asked anxiously. “I feel like I need to apologize, but saying something seems like a rather embarrassing idea. What would I say? Ugh, sorry, guys, didn’t mean to get in your way. Please go out and spank some poor woman.”
He could almost imagine Casey rolling her eyes. “Any woman they chose to spank would love every moment—you included.”
Karly seemed lost for words, and Grant decided enough was enough. He stepped into Casey’s bedroom just as she held up the most amazing corset for Karly to consider. It was a confection of lace that would hug every beautiful curve Karly owned and would highlight her breasts and nipples perfectly. He felt his cock harden just at the thought of her wearing it for him.
“I can’t wear that,” she exclaimed before she realized Grant stood behind her.
“Pity,” he said close to her ear, pleased to notice that she no longer skittered away like she’d done in the early months when someone had come up behind her. “It would look amazing on you.” He deliberately placed a hand on her hip, needing to touch her as he turned his attention to her mischievous sister. “I think I hear your Dom calling.”
“No you don’t,” she said with a bright, smart-ass smile.
“Go now, or I’ll paddle your ass myself.”
