by Angel Payne
“A few hundred flight manifests and a few miles of security cam tape?” Zeke nodded in satisfaction as he pulled on Max’s shirt. “It’ll put some hair on their chest. Or not.”
Rayna did as they told her, despite feeling naked from the second Sage took her items. Being absent from her phone wasn’t a huge tragedy, except for the seven-part panic switch known as her brothers. She was about to remind Zeke of that minor snag, when he handed his own cell to Garrett and said, “I’ll call when we get there. You still have the sat phone number if you need it, right?”
Garrett nodded. “Check.” He locked hands with Zeke before pulling him close, bumping shoulders in their soldiers’ version of a hug. “Be safe—”
“Or die trying,” Z finished.
“Not an option,” Sage scolded. “For either of you.” She yanked Rayna into a fast but tearful embrace. “It’ll be okay,” her friend whispered into her ear. “We’ll get this straightened out, and I’ll see you in a few days.”
Rayna attempted a smile. She wasn’t sure if she was successful. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. A year and a half ago, she’d been kidnapped by foreign rebels and nearly sold into slavery. Three months ago, a soldier had rescued her from that fate. Forty-eight hours ago, she’d gone to heaven and back in one night with him. Yesterday, she’d never expected to see him again.
None of it felt more insane than this moment. She looked at her legs, still in the sweats she’d pulled on this morning, sliding against the leather of a car worth more than she made in a year. She watched Zeke gun the engine with practiced ease, the driver’s area full of his big body and his graceful strength. She marveled at how he effortlessly maneuvered the Jag through the slumbering city streets and then into the sleepier suburbs, toward a destination only he knew of—and in which she trusted him completely.
Insanity…right? But had she been given a choice? Sure, if going back home tonight in a state of complete dread qualified as a choice. If choosing to watch Zeke—the Zeke who’d saved her from a gang rape in the park those many years ago, the Zeke who’d carried her out of King’s jungle—ride away as a fugitive at Mua’s manipulations was a choice.
No. There was only one choice now. Only one path.
She was going to help him figure out how far Mua’s corruption extended—and after that, they’d take him down again. If that meant she had to face Mua personally, so be it. But God help the bastard if that ever happened, because she wouldn’t hesitate to rid this world of him exactly as she’d ended his brother. Nobody messed with the people she cared about and got away with it.
Chapter Eight
Luna roused from her fog of semiconsciousness, fighting reality as if she were being pulled from a perfect dream. But the stinging stripes that crossed her spine and ass, as well as the blue bruises around her nipples, were the beautiful reminders that it had all been real. That he’d been real.
That he’d been a more perfect Dom than she ever imagined.
“Zeke.” She whispered it against a pillow on one of the couches in Bastille’s sitting room. She’d been here plenty of times to recognize it, even without opening her eyes. Her voice shook like a damn fifteen-year-old after her teen idol had left town, but she didn’t care. This hurt. Sub drop was one thing, but crash and burn was another.
Damn straight it hurts, girl. When you fly to the moon, you have to re-enter the atmosphere somehow. And you’re not wearing much of a space suit, are you?
She shivered and pulled the flannel blanket tighter around her nakedness. She wasn’t expecting the large, warm hand that appeared to help her. It was attached to a formidable forearm, a toned bicep. She looked up into the face of Zeke’s friend, Mr. Huge Feet, and his Byzantine brown eyes. The guy Zeke had recruited as their play room babysitter for the night. He stared at her like the rest of the room didn’t exist, though it was starting to get crowded as other couples drifted in after finishing their kinky fun for the night.
His seriousness was a far cry from the eye roll she’d heard earlier in his voice, back in the living room after Zeke voiced his concern about the scene limits. She’d wanted to do the same thing, except the carpet would’ve been her sole witness. It all worked out. She’d been able to flash the look fifteen minutes later when Z had the nerve to mandate a safe word.
Z had clearly known more than both of them.
Another tremor hit from her fingernails to her toenails. She closed her eyes as flashes filtered back to her from the scene. Every moment leading to the first orgasm returned with brilliant clarity. That was the easy part. She’d been lucid then. That was before Z told her it was only the prelude to his game…and the world had begun to spin. He’d dragged her along peaks and valleys of sensation like a lion toying with its food before splitting it all the way open. He launched her to the heights where only the pain and her screams existed, only to pull her back with his growls and his touch…and her next climax. Then he’d start all over again, stringing her senses higher, clamping and spanking and whipping until her blood sang in her ears and flames licked at her skin. She’d gasped and even tried to scream, but by then her mouth functioned less than her brain.
That was when the lion had let her tumble into the jungle.
She felt a little smile lift her lips from what she could scrape together from memory and store in her soul for the rest of her life.
She’d already climaxed for him three times. Of that much, she was sure. A submissive rarely forgot orgasms that made their knees so weak they were grateful for the bondage that held them up. Her recall was especially vivid because something had changed about Z after that third explosion as well. Something came unhinged, as if he freed a new part of himself along with her. Her body had instantly recognized it. She’d become an aching, writhing mess of sensation, especially as he finished layering sharp little crop bites along the insides of her thighs.
When he’d unlocked the bit gag and replaced it with his three middle fingers, she’d hungrily accepted his invasion. She remembered the musk, sweat, and leather on his skin and how the sinful taste lingered across her tongue. His other hand had still wielded the crop. With dark growls, he had curled the slapper up through her legs, raining ruthless blows directly on her sensitive pussy.
It was all the invitation her mind had needed. The sub space had swallowed her like the damn Amazon. She’d swirled in colors and sounds, plunging deeper into a vast wilderness of sensation and emotion. And yes, Zeke had even gone there with her. His breath was hot on her neck, his snarls echoing in her ears, and his hands…oh God, his hands had kept weaving their untamed magic over her, taking her deeper and deeper into paradise…
Until that wretched safe word had burned her out of the forest. Cinderella.
She blinked as confusion eclipsed the memories. Who’d evoked the damn princess? Not Z. And it sure as hell wasn’t her.
She opened her eyes and glared at Babysitter Man.
“It was you,” she charged.
He frowned. It defined the dip in his top lip even more. “Me what?”
“You called the safe word.” She didn’t hold back the accusation this time.
He reset his face in resolve. “Damn straight I did.”
“Why?” She punched a glower across hers. “Are you new at this, Ron Weasley? Why did Z tap you for this? Do you not recognize sub space when it’s consuming a woman in front of you?”
He shoved his bottom lip out. Damn it, did he pay for his mouth to have dance lessons or something? And why did she even keep noticing?
“Tait,” he finally said. Just that.
“What?”
“As much as I dig Ron—because he gets the hot chick at the end after all—my name is Tait. And I knew exactly where you were at when I dropped the safe word.” He averted his gaze but only for a second. “I didn’t take my eyes off of you during that scene.”
A weighted moment passed. Though his lips stopped dancing, his eyes flashed with strange, deep squalls of conflict. He added lowly, “
I couldn’t.”
Luna squirmed. She didn’t want to feel good about that, even a little. Clinging to her ire was a much better fit with the emptiness at the edges of her heart. “So?”
Tait didn’t back down. But neither did the golden storms in his eyes. “It wasn’t you I was worried about.”
“Z’s been with Max for years. He’s one of the most responsible Doms in the scene.”
“Which was why he asked me to spot tonight. He knew it might go—” He stopped as if fishing for the right word. “Well, where it went.”
“Which was nowhere I didn’t want it to,” Luna retorted.
“Which would have caused you some serious physical damage, Luna.” There were no mysterious lights in his eyes anymore. Only angry darkness. “Perhaps permanently.”
“That was my risk to take, Quidditch boy.”
“No.” He dropped a hard hand atop her knee. “It wasn’t yours anymore, from the second you shot into sub space. There’s a reason why the word ‘safe’ tops the mantra for this lifestyle, sweetness. Zeke made sure I was there, because he knew I wouldn’t forget it.” He released a slow breath. “Because he knew there was a good chance that he would.”
“You’re wrong.” She seethed. “Zeke would never—”
“What?” he cut in. “Permanently hurt you? Maim you?” Faster than she thought a man could move, Tait had leaned in and over her. He braced a knee on the cushion in front of her stomach and a hand at the side of her head. “Do you know what we do for a living, Luna?” He dug his fingers into her scalp and his thumb into her jaw. “Do you know where we go, what we’re asked to do sometimes? And do you know who’s leading the pack most of the time? That’s right. Hooah, Psycho Zsycho. I’d follow the man into hell because I know he’s going to have my six anywhere, any time. And you know why I know that? Because I’ve seen him go to hell inside himself to do it. When he does”—if it was possible, his stare got flooded with more shadows—“well, it’s not a cute little demon, that’s for sure,” he stressed. “It’s a creature he’s had inside him for a very long time. A time filled with a shitload of ugly business.”
For reasons she doubted Tait would ever understand, Luna smiled. “You think I don’t know that? You think because I’m a painter with lavender hair and a great leather wardrobe that I don’t ‘get’ the shit beneath that man’s military posture and dog tags?” She shook her head. “You don’t know anything, Weasley. You don’t know me.”
Jabbing in the Hogwarts angle yielded the effect she wanted. Tait slid away, though she noticed how he took care not to jostle her back and thighs as he did. Damn it, why did he have to be so considerate?
“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter. I would’ve fucked Z up good if he didn’t comply with the stop.”
Her stomach fluttered in a really uncomfortable way. It got worse when she slipped her hand into his, squeezing out a feeble attempt at thanks. He didn’t lift his head, though the look he gave her through his long copper lashes burned deeper than the welts across her back. He didn’t break concentration even when a tray full of drink glasses shattered to the floor, caught by the wrong edge of a new flogger being tried out by a Dom across the room.
Luna gave up a little smile. It felt comfortable to be here like this, with Tait’s sun-warm touch and crooked smile. It almost felt right.
Almost.
There was a significant piece of the scene that blared wrong.
She released a long breath before voicing it.
“He isn’t even in the building anymore, is he?”
Tait’s eyes flickered with conflict again. He finally responded, “No.”
She tried to pull her hand away. He held fast. “Please let go.”
“It’s been a strange night, Luna.”
She fired a dark laugh. “You can say that again.”
“Some bad shit went down outside. Z was in the thick of it.”
“Of course.”
“Hey, it’s the truth. He called me from the road. He was really concerned about you. He wanted you to know—”
“Stop.” She finally got her hand free. A little fury went a long way in the battle of the handclasp department. “Save it.” She closed her eyes again. “I knew what I signed on for tonight, okay? I knew what the deal was. I’m happy. Besides, I’m not a cuddler.”
Like her wise-assery even mattered. Tait wasn’t a stupid guy. He’d fill in the blanks between what she said. Every word she spoke was true, too. She had no right to be irked, miffed, or insulted by Zeke right now. He’d fulfilled his part of their deal to the letter. He’d given her the play session she’d dreamed of for six years and had made it all well worth the wait. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t reciprocate what she felt beyond the dungeon, too.
It wasn’t his fault that she’d hoped tonight would change that.
Tait’s comments, all of them, suddenly repeated in her head. She shot a probing stare back at him. “Did you say ‘on the road?’” At the guy’s nod, she pressed, “Why? Where’s he going?”
Tait’s mouth did that twisty dance thing again. “Like I said, it’s been an odd night.”
She scowled. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Who’s he with?”
Tait meshed his fingers with hers again. “Rayna Chestain.”
The air whooshed from her lungs. She managed a jerking little nod, too, but it was a shitty attempt at hiding how she’d yearned for any other name as his answer.
And how she’d known with sickening dread that it wouldn’t be.
How medic girl had gotten here, let alone seasoned her vanilla to suit Zeke’s palate, wasn’t worth two thoughts to rub together. Yet here those thoughts were, stealing the perfect end to Luna’s perfect night. She was tired. Defeated. And clinging to the hand of a total stranger while the Dom of her dreams drove into the night with his redheaded damsel in distress.
Again.
“Right,” she finally mumbled. “Rayna. Of course.”
“Truth sucks ass sometimes.” Tait ran his thumb over her chafed wrist. “But you don’t deserve less, little flower.”
Irritation flared. Like she needed more of that shit. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not a goddamn flower, that’s why.”
This was the point where he’d finally let her go. Some lovely slam involving the words cold and bitch would spill off his poster-perfect lips before he decided to enjoy his evening with one of the little hotties in mall-bought kink wear who’d been eyeing him from the corner. Something she’d never be. Something she never was. A mold fitter. A submissive who couldn’t please anyone.
She gritted her teeth against the aching heat that pressed in her chest. Shit. Go away; go away. But like a case of violent food poisoning that was coming up the way it went down, she felt the dams of indifference crumbling inside.
“L-Listen,” she stammered, “I appreciate you hanging out with me, Weasley, but I need to—” She swung her feet out, planted them, and then stood. The blanket chafed her back, making her head swim with dizzy pain. She weaved and prepared herself to hit the floor. She was going to lose it. Damn, she was going to—
She didn’t fall. Tait and his really significant chest made sure she didn’t. He wasn’t as broad as Z, but what he lacked in width, he made up in boulder-like density.
“Luna! What the hell?”
Before she could think of a smartass answer to deter him, the persistent dork gathered her, blanket and all, into his arms. She wanted to struggle, but the pressure was building faster now, and his body offered all the strength she no longer had. With pathetic desperation, she wrapped a hand around his neck and squashed her face into his shoulder.
“Get me out of here,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Hang on, flower.” His voice filled her ear with a matching murmur. His long, forceful strides assured that the buzz of the common room fast faded, followed by the creak of a door, two more of his
steps, and the blessed click that sealed them into the privacy of one of the vacated play rooms. A place where she could finally let the dam break and the tears come.
Through every one of them, Tait gave her exactly what she needed in return. Silence.
Chapter Nine
Silence. It wasn’t such a golden thing, especially with Rayna and especially now. The air in the car was thick with all the shit they needed to clear, but Zeke let the muck get worse as he pretended the increasing twists in the road required his complete attention.
The excuse was weak as piss considering the work of art in his control. The five hundred and fifty ponies under the hood worked with powerful precision, making the Jag stick to the turns like silk on damp skin. Thank God for Max and his generosity. The sooner he got Rayna to the cabin, the better. Mua had come too damn close to taking her tonight, a horror that hadn’t happened because of pure dumb luck. He wasn’t going to let the fuckwad have that chance again. Ever.
Mua. There was a name he’d thought permanently deleted off his “Assholes I Need to Worry About” list. Now every other thought was scourged again by the slimebag, his smirk a brazen taunt, his voice a cock punch, his eyes a glaring reminder of the number-one item on his to-do list. To recapture Rayna.
That formed the shit-perfect segue into the crap filling the rest of his thoughts. Irony’s nice little dig. The words Rayna had mumbled before she left the patio, that got him chasing her so he eventually saved her, were still a relentless refrain in his mind. But his efforts at successfully figuring them out were useless, love taps at a door that needed a goddamn boot slam.
Because your boots aren’t the ones for the job, asshat.
He grunted. It was fucking frustrating to have an instinct that was always right.
He slowed the Jag to make the sharp left that would continue them on the Cascades Highway. To their right, the river was immersed in the night’s blackness. To the left, the rain didn’t make the view much better. The few lights that were on at the Buffalo Run Inn and the Marblemount Diner soon faded in the rearview mirror.
