She looks away as if she doesn’t want to answer, swallows, and then answers quietly, “I didn’t think so when I was writing it. But I think I’d probably blocked out some of the worse details. The dental gag and breath play. Yes.” she admits, her croaky voice even softer and hard to hear. “I didn’t consciously remember it as something that actually happened to me. It’s only just come back.”
Ben and I exchange glances. “Did you include anything else in your book?”
Mia thinks before replying, “The whipping scene?”
I flinch, remembering the silver white scars I saw on her back.
“The character I wrote about, he’s a sadist, Jon, with no respect for any real power exchange.”
I nod. I’ve read the book—the story’s good, but I hadn’t realised the significance at the time. There was no way I could have known she’d been retelling actual incidents, especially as she hadn’t even realised herself.
“I’ll tell Sean what to watch out for,” Ben suggests. I agree with him; it sounds like we’re on the right track sending him out round the clubs.
I put my head on one side, trying to remember the plot. “He has male subs.”
Her head shoots round. She grimaces with pain at the sudden movement. I’m by her side in seconds, handing her the gadget to give her another dose of painkiller. She pushes my hand away, “No more morphine, Jon. I don’t want to go back there.”
I nod, the narcotic can cause hallucinations, and I understand why she’d rather suffer. Even so, it kills me to see her in pain; she closes her eyes for a moment. She opens them again and looks straight at me. Something’s triggered another memory.
“The other man was his sub. He had anal sex with him, whilst...” Her manner is matter of fact, but I know it costs her.
While the other man was raping her. I complete the sentence in my head. I can see Ben doing the same when he turns and takes his leave.
“I’m out of here, mate. I’ll get this followed up.” Ben can hardly speak through his disgust.
Left alone with Mia all I want to say is how sorry I am, but I don’t know where to start. It’s my fucking fault that she’s lying there, pale, wan, and in pain. If I hadn’t been so fucking possessive of her, I’d have had another man in the house looking out for her, but no, I wanted her all to myself. Fucking excellent close protection I provided, sleeping a satiated sleep while her bastard stalker escalated the action and burnt her house to the ground. She’s lost everything, and all because of me. I put my head in my hands and harden my heart, and my resolve. She’s better off without me.
“You look done in,” she says, sympathy clear in her voice. “I want you to hold me, Jon. Can you get on the bed?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” My response is stiff.
“You won’t.” She shifts over so she makes room on the side of her good arm.
“I’m okay here, Mia.”
“Make me feel safe, Jon.”
She’s asking the impossible. How could she ever feel safe with me again? Not unless I played the role I should have been fucking playing all along.
“I’m here to protect you.” I kept my voice cold. “You’ve been hurt because I took my eye off the ball. It won’t happen again
“Shush.” She reaches for my hand and brushes her fingers gently across it.
“Why did you, Mia? Why did you move in front of me?” I have to ask.
“Why did you do it for Nijad?”
“It was my fucking job. It wasn’t the same.”
Her head shakes. “He was your friend, Jon. More than a friend, just like you are to me. It was impulsive, instinctive. I didn’t want you hurt.”
Her hand’s on mine, but I don’t respond in any way. I have to stop this now. “I’m sorry Mia; things should never have gone as far as they did. I was supposed to be doing my job, and I failed. Unless you want me completely off the case, I’ll stay on to provide protection, but our relationship will be purely professional from here on in.
I hear her gasp and feel her distress. I know that I’m a bastard, but also that I have to let her go.
“What about when the stalker’s caught, Jon?”
I decide to play dumb. “I’ll have done my job.”
“And you’ll move on? Just like that? Couldn’t you give us a chance?”
No. I can’t allow someone to have that much power over me. I care god-damn-it. For the first time in my life, I care about a woman, and it hurts so fucking much. Forcing my features to stay neutral, I say the bitter words she has to hear. “I think it’s best we make a clean break. This isn’t going anywhere, Mia. I’m not the kind of guy you need. You care for me, and I’m sorry, I can’t reciprocate in the way you’d like me to. I don’t do relationships. It’s best to put a stop to it now.”
“But you said…”
“I said a lot of things. I got carried away, Mia. I’m sorry. But this is me; it would never work between us. I’m not the right man for you.”
She turns her head away from me and so misses the look of desolation on my face. It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done to walk out of here. But I won’t have her putting herself at risk again. Better she hates me.
“What about the club?”
I’m not expecting that question. “What do you mean?”
“I’d still like access to it.” Her voice that started soft gets a bit stronger. “For my research.”
“Are you suggesting I play with you there?” I still don’t grasp what she’s getting at. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. I can’t be your Dom, Mia. You had to use your safeword, remember?”
“Jon, that wasn’t your fault!” She looks surprised I’d brought that up. “It was another trigger, but you got me through it.” A tear runs from her eye, “It was wonderful.”
I shrug, “I should have stopped before it got that far. But yes, the sex was good, very enjoyable. But sex is sex. You haven’t got any experiences to compare it to.”
She’s staring at me; her mouth falls open as I shock her with my cold statement. Her eyes turn steely. When she starts speaking, I’m not expecting the words. “No, I’m not suggesting I play with you,” she sounds adamant as she adds, “But there are other Doms at the club. And as you say, I could do with the sampling a variety until I find what I like.”
I’m caught. I see red and want to fucking hit something. The thought of anyone touching her causes me such rage I clench my fists trying to control myself. The one good thing is that she’s not looking at me so doesn’t see my reaction. So I come up with the first answer that comes into my head. A cruel response, showing what a motherfucking sonofabitch I am. “You can’t afford the fees, Mia.”
She turns back and looks me straight in the eye. “Then I’ll find another club. One that’s within my price range.” Her eyes narrow, she’s furious, and I don’t blame her. “I took a bullet for you Jon, but all you can fucking think about is yourself. Would you rather he’d killed you and then kidnapped me again? I don’t think he’d have made it quick and clean.
“But oh, no. This has to be about fucking Jon Tharpe. Well, get the fuck out of here you moron! And get someone else to protect me. Or I’ll go to another company. I never want to see your fucking face again!”
I was going to say something, but her eyes narrow, and it’s clear she’s not finished yet. “You’re great in the sack, Jon, but that’s not surprising considering all the women you’ve had. I’m not stupid; I know I’m just another in a long line. I’m grateful for your attentions, but don’t confuse lust with emotions. You were convenient and an easy lay!”
Jesus! She’s got claws. The look on her face sears me. An easy lay? Did she actually just say that to me? Does she fucking mean it? I swallow down the words that would refute her declaration before they can escape my mouth. Isn’t this exactly what I want? To be free of her? She’s just given me an out, enabling me to walk away free of any guilt. And I fucking hate it!
Pulling myself from the chair, I hide my
wince at the pain in my back and the throbbing in my balls. My head’s aching like a bitch, but I’m careful not to let her see the agony I’m in, especially the mental hurt that hits me like a twenty-ton lorry. “I’ll be outside. Until someone relieves me.” I want to reassure her I’ll do my job to keep her safe.
She hides her face from me and doesn’t even watch me go.
I walk to the door, open it, and make a point of closing it noisily, so she knows I’m gone. I take out my phone and text Ben, advising him he needs to get someone else here as soon as possible. Then I stand outside, military style, my legs apart, my hands behind my back, reverting to my early days in the army when I’d stand for hours on guard, my mind, of necessity blank, focusing only on my surroundings and ignoring any discomfort. I’ll guard her with my body. But I don’t know how to guard my heart.
Chapter 23
Mia
Seven years ago
The sun just beginning to rise over the horizon told me it must be early morning; my thoughts confirmed when I heard the electric whirr of a milkman’s van in the distance. Looking around, I recognised the triangle of green grass at the end of the road where that fateful party had been held. Once I had my bearings, I very carefully pulled myself to my feet and started the thankfully short, but painful trek home.
I’d lost my bag; I had no keys, so had to knock on the door of my house, clinging on to the frame so I didn’t fall over. After what seemed like forever the door opened.
“Mum.” I burst into tears; it was hard to stand unaided, but I reached out for her. I needed comfort and kindness and believed she must have been so worried when I hadn’t come home.
But she didn’t move, didn’t pull me to her. Showing no particular relief after I’d been missing for two days, she, just stood there, staring at me, taking in my appearance. Then she hissed, “Get inside, now!” and pulled me roughly into the house uncaring of my injuries. “You don’t want the neighbours to see.” Once through the door she stepped back and took a proper look at me. As she did so, her eyes narrowed in disgust.
“I think I need a doctor,” I told her, my voice breaking as I sobbed. “And the police.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “You’re seeing no one and going nowhere, Mia Fable! Do you want to bring shame down on this house? Do you think I want everyone gossiping about the slut I have for a daughter?” There was no sympathy in her voice at all.
“But I’ve been raped, Mum.” I decided to spell it out for her. “The police need to find the men who did it. And I’m hurt, hurt badly.”
She shook her head, as angry as I’d ever seen her. But all her rage was directed at me, as was all the blame. “You went out looking like a whore, no wonder someone took advantage of you. You’re a dirty girl, a slut; you got everything you deserved. Now get up to your bedroom. And stay there!”
My mouth fell open in horror and dismay, unable to believe she hadn’t the slightest drop of compassion for my plight.
Present day
Jon’s gone. For good. Any chance of a relationship developing between us had been killed stone dead by the words we’d hurled around, verbal arrows designed to hurt their target. With a sob, I wonder how much of what he said was true; not much of what came out of my mouth was. Oh, my God, what have I done? When he said those hurtful things to me, I had to retaliate, couldn’t just lie there and take it. And then it escalated so fast! There can no way to get back from this; there’s no point in trying. Not now, too much has been said. Had he riled me on purpose? Or had he meant what he those words? However much truth those spiteful comments held, they’ve caused irrevocable damage. As they were meant to do.
The pain throbbing through my arm is a distraction, vying with the emotional hurt to take first place. Briefly, I look longingly at the morphine pump beside me but refrain from pressing the button. Although relief from the pain and a drug-induced sleep would be welcome, I want no more hallucinations or dreams.
The clock on the wall lets me know it’s midday, and as I didn’t get much sleep last night, I’m tired as well as woozy from the effects of the anaesthetic and loss of blood, and, I suppose, I’m in shock. You don’t expect to lose your house, and stop a bullet all in one night. And on top of that, I’ve now lost Jon.
I’ve lost everything I own. My house, my lovely little cottage. Ben had told me it’s completely gone, utterly destroyed with only the chimney left standing, but I don’t give a damn about bricks and mortar. Although it’s the house I proudly purchased with the earnings from my writing and was comfortable and cosy, I could never feel secure there again. And the only memories I’d want to keep had been made there had been with Jon, and now I’ll have to try to put those behind me too.
Possessions can be replaced, a new house bought with the insurance money, and the future can take care of itself. I don’t need my cottage, but I need Jon. Oh God, why can’t I get him out of my mind? How can he end it like this? He’s done so much for me, helping me to escape from the self-imposed prison cell I’d locked myself in for so long, showing me how to be a woman, how to enjoy my body without the pain or shame. How can I conceive of moving on?
I won’t cry. I won’t. With great difficulty, I fight to hold back the tears, forcing myself to concentrate on other matters, the practical things I have to do. As well as sorting out the insurance, I have to do something about my work. I’ll need to ring Val and get an extension from the publishers; I won’t be able to use a keyboard with both hands for a few weeks. The bullet didn’t damage anything vital, but my muscles are torn and need to heal. All my work’s backed in the cloud, so once my laptop’s replaced I’ll be up and running again. But what frightens me is that the voices that usually reside in my head are silent; my characters have abandoned me. Will I ever be able to write again? And if I do, would I ever be able to write about relationships and intimacy without thinking of Jon?
Oh, for heaven’s sake! He won’t get out of my head! Perhaps I’ll risk some morphine; it might quieten my thoughts.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and then it opens, and Ben enters the room. His look of sympathy is unwelcome, so I nod a greeting, struggling to keep myself composed, and carefully school my features; glad I’d been strong enough to hold back my tears.
He gives me an intense stare which I return, showing I’m strong enough to take anything he wants to tell me. With a quick shake of his head, he imparts what he’s come to say. “Jon’s off the case.”
“Good,” I reply, sharply, incline my head then lift my chin, hoping I’m conveying satisfaction.
“That’s what you want?” He waits for my confirmation. The doubting look on his face suggests I haven’t fooled him.
“Yes.” I’m proud my voice portrays more strength than I feel.
He continues to study me intently. “He cocked up.”
I’m not sure what to say. Yes, he did, but we could have moved past that if Jon’s guilt hadn't made him turn tail and run. “I don’t blame him. No one could have predicted the stalker was going to get up close and personal.”
“We should’ve been prepared, though. That’s what we’re paid for.” As Ben looks down at the floor, he seems embarrassed on behalf of Grade A.
There’s no answer to that.
“I’ve assigned Ryan and Sean as your protection. They’ll stick with you like glue. When you’re out of here, we’ll see if we need others. We’re going to keep you safe.” His unspoken words came across. Clearly, he’s determined they won’t cock up again.
Opening the door, he waves in the two men in question and makes the introductions. As he does so, I recall I’ve met them before, at the Grade A security offices. It seems a lifetime ago now, was it only last Saturday? Without much interest I examine my new bodyguards, seeing they both look competent. Each must be well over six foot and gifted with more than average good looks which makes me idly wonder whether that’s a requirement to work for Grade A. Ryan’s broad, but with muscle not fat, and has his hair trimmed shor
t in a military cut. He nods at me then takes on a vigilant stance. Sean is slim but appears lithe, strong, and fast. His blond hair is longer, just touching his shoulders, but perfectly styled. I’m a sucker for long hair, and when he turns his megawatt smile on me it should have produced a spark inside me but I have no reaction at all. I manage to say a simple ‘hi’ to verify we’ve been introduced, then Ben opens the door and ushers them back out.
“You’ll be going to a safe house when the hospital discharges you.” Ben resumes speaking almost before his employees leave the room.
I’d been so torn up about Jon, surprisingly I hadn’t given much thought to the fact I’m now homeless. “I could go and stay with Val,” I frown, even as I suggest it. I count her as a friend, but not one I’d feel comfortable imposing on in that way.
Dismissing my suggestion with a wave, he explains, “The safe house is easier to guard. It’s secure and alarmed.”
I huff, unable to stop my sarcastic comment, “So was my house.”
He shrugs, conceding my point, but continues to explain his preferred option. “The safe house has better security; steel shutters can be lowered over the windows, and there’s no access from the garden. Lots of features all designed to keep the bad guys out.”
Moving closer, he takes the chair Jon so recently vacated. “I’ll send Vanessa out to get some clothes for you. She’ll just get you some basics to get you started.” He takes a box out of his pocket and waves it at me. “This is a new phone for you. I’ve put Vanessa’s number in and she’s expecting your call so you can discuss what you want her to get for you.” A grin transforms his face, “I know you ladies are particular when it comes to make-up and such like,” he smirks, “And she’ll want to know whether you want thongs or bikinis, high legs or whatever.”
Though I hadn’t expected it his wry comment forces a laugh to burst from me. Something I didn’t think the misery of the day would allow. “You know a lot about lady’s underwear, Ben!” I’m impressed with the way he’s covering all the basics. It shows how confused my head is. I hadn’t even thought about the fact I only have the smoky, bloody clothes I was brought in with. They’ll never be able to be worn again. I thank him.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 29
