Picture Her Bound-epub

by Sidney Bristol

  “You mean another cop introduced you to kink?” He leaned away from her, his face a combination of disbelief and humor.

  “Yeah.” She chuckled and snuggled in deeper to the pillows.

  “Did kink help you?” he asked, the question she didn’t want to answer floating under the surface.

  Faces, memories she wanted to forget, flashed in her mind. There was no way these past demons would leave her be. She had to live with them, and kink had given her a way to work through it. In the beginning, within the confines of bondage and the ways her Dominants pushed her, she was able to express emotions she otherwise would have kept hidden. They’d accepted her baggage, the marks left on her soul, and she’d moved beyond that phase. Now kink had grown to fit her life, a fun, pleasurable pastime, instead of being a persistent need.

  “Yeah. It did. What about you?”

  It was the conversation every kinkster in the BDSM community had at one point, sort of like the basic getting-to-know-you. The reasons people dove in were different, but ultimately they were all a bunch of sexual adventurers, willing to try something new.

  “It’s always been who I was, bébé.” And, for some people, it was that simple.

  She rested her head on his chest, the sense of completeness swaddling her, wrapping around them.

  Chapter Four

  Odalia stepped over the threshold of the Midnight Ink tattoo shop and inhaled the unique aroma of ink, lemon-scented cleaner and the human element. The buzz of several tattoo machines and the sounds of hard rock washed over her, calling to her, Come, sit, feel my needle.

  “Hey, cop lady,” the shop manager, Sassy, called out. She peered over the desk. “Did you bring my lover boy? Hey, Creature.”

  “I think you’re happier to see my dog than you are me.”

  Jacques’ hand at the small of her back urged her forward. She let Creature lead her to the front desk while Jacques took up a position by the shop windows.

  Creature strained against the leash as Sassy sashayed around the desk and went to a knee, the hem of her denim skirt riding up to reveal the lace band of her stockings. The bangles on her arms chimed as she scratched the attention-whore of a dog all over, speaking gibberish to him.

  “You look like you could use a cup of coffee. Late night?” Sassy’s grin threatened to split her face as she winked.

  “Two, one for each hand, if you have any around.” Odalia rested her hip against the desk and nodded to one of the other artists striding by. She’d spent hours in here getting tattooed. The shop felt like another home.

  “You into the dark chocolate now?” Sassy glanced meaningfully at Jacques, clearly not discussing coffee anymore. “I like mine with a scoop of ice cream. That voice, it could melt things,” Sassy whispered as she straightened.

  “I’ve always had a thing for dark chocolate. That’s nothing new.” Odalia’s nerves were wrung tight, twisted all in knots around the man. What was it about him? He wasn’t the first black man she’d been with, but when she looked at him, she didn’t see his job, skin color or lineage—she saw the man who made her breathless, nervous and empowered.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Rosie Gallagher, one of the shop artists and Odalia’s friend, yelled over the din. Her gaze skipped over Odalia and landed on Jacques. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

  Shit.

  “I’ll get that coffee. Creature, want to come with me?” Sassy took the leash from Odalia, and they trotted off together, hopefully for that coffee.

  “Hey.” Odalia turned to the pint-sized woman and smiled. Rosie was one of the rare women she could call a friend in all walks of her life. Odalia credited the artist with introducing her to the dungeon scene at the Bastille.

  “Jacques?” Rosie pitched her voice low, peering around Odalia with one brow raised.

  “Uh…yeah.” Heat rose on her cheeks. Of course Rosie would recognize him. They were all card-carrying dungeon members.

  Rosie’s brows nearly disappeared under her bangs. “I like. When did this happen?”

  “I’m not even sure it’s happening.” She rolled her eyes, savoring the giddy, nervous sensations. It was a welcome distraction from everything else. Odalia dug an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over. “I got the royalty check in from the magazine.”

  “You must like him if you’re avoiding the topic.” Rosie pocketed the envelope without glancing at it.

  “When do you have time to do that voodoo love charm tattoo?” Odalia asked, ignoring the statement. She wasn’t ready to name this thing between her and Jacques. Spending the night in his arms again had done things to her, deep in her chest. Things she couldn’t bring herself to talk about yet.

  “Someone’s got a crush,” Rosie said in a sing-song voice.

  “I’m done talking to you.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You guys going to Bastille?”

  “Don’t know,” Odalia replied.

  Rosie snorted and gave her a don’t-shit-me grin. Odalia glared, but there was no heat there. She wanted this thing with Jacques to work, but she couldn’t pin all her hopes on him, not until he said something. It wasn’t as though she was hiding anything from him.

  Sassy strode through the shop, two steaming cups of her amazing coffee in hand, followed by Creature.

  “Here you are, two wake-me-ups. Don’t hog them.” Sassy winked again.

  “You guys going to hang out for a bit?” Rosie asked.

  “No, bounty hunter stuff to do.” Odalia sipped the coffee and sighed. Perfect.

  “Sounds exciting. Are there handcuffs involved?” Rosie’s brow arched.

  “Shut up. I’ll see you.”

  Odalia crossed to Jacques’ side and offered him a cup of coffee. His gaze was too intent on the street to be people-watching.

  “What is it?” she murmured.

  “Blue car’s following us. I think it’s the same one from yesterday, but the plates are different.” He sipped the coffee and nodded toward the door. “Let’s see if it’s us they’re after.”

  Odalia didn’t like the idea of being bait. It was like allowing herself to be a victim, but sometimes you had to stick your neck out there.

  “Let’s do this.”

  * *

  Jacques paused in front of a shop displaying antique silver pieces and a large mirror. The blue sedan had moved closer, again. Each time they walked another block, the car followed but kept at least twenty or thirty yards between them.

  “I hate this,” Odalia muttered.

  He resisted the urge to chuckle. She was all action and energy. If it weren’t directed at a crooked cop, he’d be enchanted by it.

  “Tell me about yourself.” He took her hand, now free from the coffee cups they’d discarded a block back, and threaded their fingers together. It felt right, this organic connection lacing them together.

  Odalia blinked at him a few times, her brow furrowed. “What to tell… born and raised in New Orleans. I’m a cop. End of story.”

  Jacques snorted. “Unlikely, bébé.”

  He could almost hear her teeth grinding together.

  “Fine, I was born here, Mom left Dad and me when I was a little girl, and I grew up with him working night shifts, odd jobs and taking charity when we could get it. I got through school, wasn’t doing much with myself,” she took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something, “and then Katrina happened. Dad died. It was the worst time in my life, trapped in our house with my dad needing to be rescued, and we couldn’t get out.”

  Jacques stopped walking and pulled them into a sheltered doorway, out of the foot traffic. He’d expected some rough knocks in her past, but he remembered paddling from house to house searching for people. How many scenes like hers had he stumbled across?

  Was this also the source of the darkness he’d sensed from her last night? There was a story there he doubted she was ready to tell him, and he wouldn’t press her. In her own time, if he was lucky, she’d trust him with it.

  Oda
lia shook her head and scratched Creature. “I know the police get shit on a lot for what happened after Katrina, but they did right by us, and I joined the academy first chance I got.” She tipped her head back and stared him in the eye. “Anything else?”

  You’re amazing, strong, courageous, beautiful. The string of words rattled off in his head, and what he wouldn’t give for a camera to capture the raw emotion on her face. The stark honesty.

  He dipped his head and brushed his lips across hers.

  Did she know how inspiring she was?

  “Where’s the car?” she whispered against his lips.

  He grinned and glanced past her. Smart, bébé. “Still a block and a half back. I’m thinking there’s a café down the street. I’m going to go out the back. You keep walking. I’ll circle around and try to come at him from behind.”

  “Let’s go.” She turned and, hand-in-hand, they strolled down the street.

  He stared down at her dark head for a moment, still a little in awe of her resilience. It stirred more than just desire in his chest. Respect. He wanted her to know more about him as well, and not just the pretty parts. She should be aware of his baggage. He didn’t come with the best connections.

  “My parents are residents of the state pen. Last I heard, my older brother was petitioning for a room there on grounds of running drugs up the bayou, and my sister is trying to single-handedly populate Louisiana. I was raised by my mamère. She kept me out of trouble, pointed me toward schooling and doing right.” His story wasn’t as painful as Odalia’s. Sure, his family history was tarnished, but he’d known what his family was from a young age and stayed away from it.

  “She sounds like a good woman.”

  “Mamère was. She helped people until the day she died.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. She had a long, happy life and passed in her sleep, surrounded by the family she chose.” He could still remember the hymns sung on the porch as her last breath left her body. It was as if he could see the light snuffed out, her soul traveling to the great beyond. He missed her, but her spirit was with him.

  “I never knew my grandparents.” Odalia glanced up at him.

  They were two lost souls.

  “Ready?” she asked him.

  For her? Never, but he wasn’t about to let go of a good thing.

  Oh wait—

  The café waited at the end of the block.

  “When you are,” he replied.

  They picked up the pace, weaving through people, led by Creature. He was glad she had the dog for extra protection. Chances were she was packing some heat as well, as was he. There were some things that were the same, regardless if you were a cop or a bounty hunter.

  At the threshold of the café, Jacques wrapped an arm around her and pulled Odalia up against his chest. He dug a hand into her hair and took her mouth in a savage kiss. She clenched the front of his shirt, lifting up on tiptoe to get closer.

  He broke away from her before he lost it and shoved her up against the nearest car to fuck in public. With one last glance at her kiss-swollen lips, he ducked into the building.

  The café had two walls of windows and was busy for a Saturday. He dug his bounty hunter badge out of his pocket and strode straight into the kitchen.

  A chef turned toward him, brandishing a spatula. “You can’t—”

  Jacques flashed his badge. “In pursuit of a criminal. Back door?”

  The chef pointed toward the marked exit. Jacques hurried through the kitchen and slipped out the door into an alley. He sprinted as fast as he could down the block, his boots hammering the damp pavement, cool, humid air burning his lungs.

  If Odalia continued at the same pace down the street, he had five minutes from the time they’d parted to circle behind where the car would be. That was also five minutes where anything could go wrong.

  The alley let out on a side street. He skidded to a stop, peering at the main street beyond.

  No car.

  That didn’t mean it had moved yet.

  He crept toward the street, keeping his back against the wall.

  The blue sedan rolled past his position, the driver’s side window down and a black male in the driver’s seat. The jacket collar was turned up, and he wore a baseball hat pulled low, obscuring his features.

  Jacques stalked toward the car as it eased past him. He rounded the corner in time to catch the brake lights flicker on and pull into a metered spot.

  He wanted to run toward the culprit, yank him out of the car and beat his ass, but he was too far away. Going with the foot traffic, he watched the blue sedan.

  Odalia meandered down the next block, pausing to study another storefront while Creature wound around her legs.

  The man in the car glanced to the right then left, surveying the field. His gaze snagged on Jacques’ in the driver’s side mirror, and the car’s engine revved.

  Jacques broke into a run and flung himself at the door as the car peeled out onto the street, cutting off a truck and veering around pedestrians.

  Adrenaline pounded in his veins, useless and wasted.

  “Fuck.” He fisted his hands and gritted his teeth.

  So close.

  But now they had another license plate and a face.

  I’m going to find you, capon, and when I do, you’ll wish the gators got you first.

  * * * * *

  Odalia paced the office of Bayou Hunters, back and forth, Creature curled in the corner watching her. How was it Jacques rated an actual office, and she, a police officer, had only a desk at the station?

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Jacques drawled into the receiver. He had his feet propped on the desk and the phone in his lap.

  She held her breath. Did he have a lead?

  The office Jacques shared with his team of bounty hunters was quiet. They were alone in the building, though they’d passed two men on their way out. Most were taking vacation time, and those few still working were swamped. Jacques had never mentioned which category he was supposed to be in, but she could guess that, if it weren’t for her, he’d be collecting a few bounties. A pang of guilt shot through her. She wasn’t just costing him time, but money too.

  “Thanks for your trouble. I appreciate it.” He set the receiver into the cradle and placed the telephone on the desk.

  “Well?”

  “Car is registered to a Ms. Williams, who is a resident of our fine city jail. Her car, a blue Ford Escort, is supposed to be in impound. That second set of plates is registered to a Mr. Fox, who was booked on a DUI Christmas Eve and had his car impounded.”

  “Fuck,” she spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Who would do this? Who hated her this much?

  “Can you think of anyone at all you’ve had a beef with?” He steepled his fingers, studying her. “Anyone you’ve been with?”

  She shrugged. “I dated another cop a few months ago, maybe in October? It was for a hot minute. We don’t even talk anymore.” Besides, Chuck never hurt for companionship, not that she could tell. “Let me call my old partner.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Mathieu Mouton.” She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial.

  Jacques’ brows crawled up his forehead. No wonder. She could guess at some of the assumptions running through his head. Mathieu was another black officer and kinky, but they’d never dated.

  “Ça viens?” Mathieu rumbled after one ring.

  “Got a question for you.”

  “Happy holidays to you too. Where have you been?” She could picture Mathieu pacing his tiny apartment.

  Odalia’s guilt redoubled. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You didn’t come to Christmas Eve.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know. Stuff happened.”

  “With the bounty hunter?” Displeasure tinged his tone. Mathieu had been sour on relationships since his disaster of a marriage ended. He was also Odalia’s safe call in the event she decided to meet up with
another kinky person for some consensual fun. He knew all her secrets.

  “Kind of.” She breezed through the details, hanging her head.

  “Damn, rookie, you sure know how to get in a pickle. I told you this modeling was a bad idea.”

  Odalia sucked in a deep breath. Modeling brought in extra cash, which she was hoarding to buy the property where Dad’s old place had once stood. Build her own house. Have a life that she created.

  “I know. Heard anything?” she asked.

  “Chuck’s been bitching about you since you split. Sugar, I told you not to go there. Every female officer he’s chased has complained about him.”

  “It was like three dates,” she snapped.

  Jacques stood, the chair screeching to high heaven, and paced around the desk. At five foot eight, Odalia could stand toe-to-toe with most men, but Jacques was a force bigger than her.

  “With some men, all it takes is a glance. I don’t like this. Let me see what Chuck is up to. I’ll call you back. Tell that sorry SOB to keep both eyes on you.”

  Jacques snorted, as if he could hear the other end of the call. Was her volume up that loud?

  “’Kay,” she replied.

  Odalia pocketed the phone and tipped her chin up, gazing into Jacques’ eyes. “You heard that?”

  “Most of it. You can tell Mouton when you see him that when he can hit a squirrel on a gator with a BB gun he can tell me what to do.” The distasteful twist of his lips and slight tinge of anger made Odalia wonder what was between the two men.