by Chloe Cox
Richie looked like he was about to piss himself. Paul Cigna only looked impatient, like he wanted to get something over with.
“We get it,” Paul said. “What do you want?”
“I want to know why you’ve been stalking Lena Simone Maddox.”
“Ok, first thing,” Paul said, lighting up another cigarette. “I am not a stalker, for Chrissakes. I don’t sit around writing letters and collecting hairbrushes like some lonely freak. I’m a professional.”
Chance’s anger was rising. This man didn’t take what he’d done seriously. Just casually dismissed all the damage he’d done to another human being, like his lack of infatuation somehow made it better. Like any of that mattered to the person he’d hunted.
Chance grabbed the cigarette out of Paul’s mouth. It hissed against his hand as it went out, and Paul’s mouth dropped open.
“Not in the mood,” Chance said. “I don’t care what you call yourself. But if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I swear to God—”
“Jesus, dude,” Paul squeaked. “Richie doesn’t pay me enough for this. It’s his thing, not mine. He paid me to keep it up.”
Chance reeled, and looked back at Richie to find the man actually blubbering. “What? Why?”
With shaking hands, Paul Cigna lit his third cigarette. “He wants the publicity. Wants a new career. Wanted your girl to flip out, do something nuts, keep the story going any way he could.” He shrugged, cigarette glowing. “It’s just a job.”
Chance saw red.
Later, he remembered the smell of the cigarette.
He remembered the feel of Paul Cigna’s bony wrist in his hand as he twisted him around and slammed him into the wall.
He remembered the blue fedora falling into a puddle of foul liquid leaking off in a trail from a pile of garbage bags.
There was Richie Kerns, shouting, and Paul Cigna, begging. There was the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, his breathing echoing in his head, and the knowledge that this man had psychologically tortured Lena with the hope that she’d crack and it would make for good entertainment.
And then there was Lena. Ever-present in his mind.
The Zen of Lena.
What would happen to Lena if he broke this man’s arm, face, whatever?
He let Paul Cigna go.
“You fucking psycho—” the pap said as he stumbled away from Chance, trying to find a scrap of dignity somewhere on the alley floor.
“Don’t,” Chance said, rolling his head from side to side. “Just give me the remaining pictures, and we’ll be done.”
“How about you go fuck yourself?”
“Interesting counteroffer,” Chance said. He was losing his patience. “Let’s see what I can come up with.”
“Hey guys!”
It was Richie Kerns, the idiot with sunglasses hanging from his shirt, holding his hands spread wide like he had a big idea. All of a sudden, the jackass felt empowered. He’d been quietly whimpering against the wall the whole time, and now he had an idea? Chance hadn’t even let himself contemplate Richie Kerns. Or rather, Richie Kerns and Lena. He didn’t trust himself to do that, so being forced to talk to him like a human person wasn’t Chance’s favorite thing to do.
“What?” Chance growled.
“Look, dude? I get it, ok. She’s your girl now, I see how that’s awkward. But you’re not looking at this from the right perspective. You gotta help her see the light, man.”
“Richie, shut up,” muttered Paul.
Chance wondered at what was happening now. It was almost as if Richie’s drug addled brain had just kicked into gear, but wasn’t quite caught up.
“No, it’s cool, I got this. He just doesn’t get it.” Richie smiled at Chance. He probably thought it was charming. “You have to talk to her, man. She’s being so dumb. I mean, come on, right, we all know she’s never going to be a serious actress or whatever, and nobody gives a shit about what she writes. That’s just how it is. She’s hot, and that’s what people want to see, and those pictures made her actually almost famous. She could be making a freaking fortune if she’d only work with me on this!”
“He happens to be right, you know,” Paul said, looking for his matches somewhere on the ground. He’d dropped them when Chance had briefly flirted with the idea of kicking his ass. “He’s an idiot, but he’s right about this. She’s never going to be anything other than what she is. She might as well capitalize on it. But if you’re going to beat someone up for making the suggestion, I would encourage you to go after Richie.”
Richie cursed. “Paul, c’mon, man. Why?”
Chance ran his hand over his head, his mind spinning as things clicked into place. This attitude: this was what Lena thought, too. No faith in her. No one had faith in her, not even Lena. Especially not Lena, not anymore.
Because of people like this.
“How much for the photos?” Chance said. “All of them. Every copy.”
“No, dude, you don’t get it—”
“Richie, shut up,” Paul said. He was smiling in the evil glow from his cigarette. “Mr. Dalton, Richie doesn’t have any pictures. He gave them all to me as part of our deal. You’re willing to pay to for them?”
“Yes.”
“Paul, what the hell? What about me?” Richie complained.
“No one cares, Richie. This has been a bust. And I want to make a profit on this somehow,” Paul said, dropping his cigarette and squishing it like a bug. Chance hated how smug the man was. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Dalton.”
chapter 22
Lena completed her millionth lap of Chance’s roof garden, taking another peek over the side to see if his car was approaching.
Nope. Still not there.
He’d left her another note, but it was, as notes went, pretty terrible. “Be back soon?” Crappy note. Lola had laughed and said that was about as good as he got in the note department.
Lena had used the time to prepare. Or to try to. She was getting more and more irritated that Richie and Paul Cigna had managed to take that bondage scene away from her. As messed up as she’d been, that position…God. She’d been so helpless, so open. Knowing that Chance could do anything he wanted to her in that position, anything at all…
And she hadn’t gotten to enjoy it. And neither had Chance.
It was maybe a minor thing to focus on, given all the crap that had happened already, but for some reason it was the final straw. Lena’s frustration was only compounded by the fact that she was worried. Not just worried about Chance—though, honestly, given his tendency to run around taking on people who hurt her, she was pretty worried—but worried and regretful, over her own behavior.
Lena knew she had been stupid. And neurotic. And all kinds of messed up. It was a fantasy to pretend that she wasn’t already dependent on Chance in some very important ways, that she wasn’t emotionally involved, that he didn’t own a very important part of her. But knowing that it was stupid, that it didn’t make sense, and that it wasn’t helpful did absolutely nothing to stop the feelings of dread and panic that she continually had to fight off when she tried to acknowledge that fact.
The truth was, in Lena’s world, when you depended on someone—when you loved them—that was when everything would fall apart. The only person in her life who hadn’t done that yet was Thea. Lena didn’t know if she’d ever be able to shake that fear, but she did know that she wanted to, for Chance. Chance deserved better.
She had no idea if he really wanted her, or would ever really want her, or what the hell was going on, but she did know that Chance deserved much better, even if he was convinced he couldn’t be with anyone.
Talk about screwed up.
“What a pair,” she said to herself.
“Which pair are we talking about?” Chance said from behind her. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of,” he said, letting his eyes roam, “I would have to agree.”
Lena just stared at him and his grin. Then she laughed, in spite of how an
noyed she was. He could always get her to laugh.
“Where the hell were you?” she demanded. But before he could tell her, she’d launched herself up into his arms, wrapping herself around him in a big kiss.
“Hey, I left a note,” he said.
“Leave better notes. No, seriously, I’m mad at you,” she said. She really was annoyed, and yet just could not keep her hands off of him.
“I went to go take care of the picture situation,” Chance said, setting her down. His face had changed. Darkened. “I’m not ok with those bastards dogging you indefinitely. That is not your life, and you are not under their control. You should be able to make whatever choices you want without being afraid.”
Lena didn’t quite know what to say. On the one hand, something deep inside of her swooned at the idea of Chance standing up for her like that—again. That he’d make it his mission to protect her, to, like, avenge her? Yes, swoon. Many, many swoons. But truly, at the same time? It wasn’t the middle ages, and nothing Chance could do to Paul Cigna or Richie Kerns would help Lena to feel any differently about the things that had already happened.
“Chance,” she said, putting her hand to his face. She loved his skin. “Thank you, but—”
“Wait,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “There’s something I need to tell you. You need to listen first.”
That last sentence—the Dom voice. Would she ever not respond to it? He was like a hypnotist, it was insane. But his eyes weren’t the usual clear, bright, piercing blue. Instead they were mercurial, like they had been when he’d told her their arrangement couldn’t work, and instantly Lena froze.
She struggled to fight down the panic.
“Ok,” she said. Her voice sounded brittle. Chance frowned.
“Sweetheart, it’s not that,” he said gently. “Look at me. Stop worrying. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”
And with that, he kissed her. Soft, warm, sweet. His hand on her cheek, his body close to hers.
Calming.
“You were going to say that taking care of Paul and Richie doesn’t fix everything, weren’t you?” he asked.
How did he do that? Honestly?
“Yes,” she said.
“Yeah, well, believe me, I know all about that,” Chance said, sitting down on one of the couches and pulling Lena onto his lap. “All right, so the thing I wasn’t telling you is this. My first serious girlfriend was a girl named Jennie Sands, and I was a dick to her. Broke her heart, treated her badly. Not on purpose, but man, was I dumb. And then I got offended when people tried to point out that I was being an asshole.”
“So you were being a teenager?”
“Don’t make excuses for me. Nineteen is old enough to know better. Anyway, I broke Jennie’s heart and made her feel like crap, and so she started dating this loser named Sean Morrigan. I didn’t care one way or another, ignored her when she tried to get my attention, continued my general cocky asshole behavior, totally self-absorbed and not thinking about anyone but myself. I enlisted, and when I came back, Jennie was dead.”
Lena had been about to speak, but now she just sat there, staring at Chance with her mouth open. He smiled sadly and held her with those eyes.
“Yeah. Sean Morrigan beat her. Badly. Had been, the whole time I’d been ignoring her. One day he hit her hard enough that she fell back and smacked her head on the corner of a table. Don’t say it’s not my fault,” Chance said, preempting her. “I know there’s no direct line between me treating her like crap and Sean Morrigan being an abusive piece of crap. And I’m not saying that if it hadn’t been for me she wouldn’t have gotten into that situation, and I’m not saying…shit. I just don’t know, do I? It certainly wasn’t her fault. How close is anyone, at their most vulnerable point, to getting into bad situations they wouldn’t get into otherwise?”
Lena traced the line of his jaw with her fingertip, unable to look away. Chance wanted her to see everything.
“That’s actually something I know all about myself,” she said quietly.
“After that, I went off the rails for a while. Like I did in Nigeria. I’ve been in a lot of fights, a lot of physical altercations, every time I see anything that even comes close… It’s like I’ve been trying to make up for not being around when Jennie needed someone. It’s not normal, the feeling I get in those situations,” he said.
“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Lena said. “They aren’t normal situations.”
“You asked me what my number one fear was, remember?”
“Yeah. I only got fear number three.”
Chance smiled, and tucked Lena’s hair behind her ear. “Yeah, well, fear number one is that I’m like those guys, only with a different finish. Just the other side of the same coin.”
Lena thought back to when she’d tried to take control by confronting Paul Cigna, how she’d wondered if, for her, giving up sexual control to Chance was a way of gaining control over her life. She thought she understood about coins and sides. She frowned.
“That’s not you,” she said.
“Don’t argue,” he said, and those sea glass blue eyes flashed. “That’s not something I’d ever ask anyone else to be a part of. Hence not being able to get involved. Except I fucked up, Lena, because I love you anyway.”
Everything.
Just.
Stopped.
Lena felt too many things at once, too many to count or identify, like a flock of fluttering, nervous birds crowding her inside her head, and so she sat there, quiet and still, and tried not to frighten them away.
It didn’t work.
The flock exploded outwards and inwards all at once, whirling her around, tossing her between elation—oh God, so much elation—and disbelief, and confusion—so much confusion—and, as always, sullen and immovable, the dread she carried within her that anyone who loved her would inevitably turn against her.
“Lena,” Chance said, very intently. “Look at me.”
As if she could look anywhere else.
“You don’t have to say anything to that right now. In fact, you’re not allowed to yet. You have to think on it without all this stuff going on. But I’m still going to take care of you. I’m going to protect you. And I’m going to help you as much as I can.”
Lena licked her lips and swallowed, trying to wet her suddenly dry throat, trying not to choke on the immense gratitude she felt for how he’d just let her off the hook. If he’d stormed up there declaring he loved her and demanding something from her in return, she knew that she would have bolted in a complete panic, leaving a Lena-sized hole in the door on her way to find someplace to hide.
As it was she was pulled tight between dread and devotion, and all that was left, loud enough to make itself heard, was how much she wanted him. How much she wanted him to dominate her. How much she wanted that scene she’d been robbed of. That peace.
“I don’t want to think about anyone else when I see a blindfold,” she whispered.
“I know, sweetheart,” Chance said. “That’s why I’m going to give you something else to think about. I’m going to take what’s mine.”
Lena stood in Chance’s bedroom, naked and alone. He’d led her there, ordered her to strip and to wait, and then he’d gone…somewhere. To get things. Toys. Equipment.
Waiting was torture. Waiting let her mind wander. Waiting let her think, over and over again, about what he was going to do.
And she knew it was on purpose. She knew that Chance knew exactly what he was doing. Diabolical, brilliant, beautiful man.
But he didn’t know about the war going on inside of her, between her rational, cynical side and her heart. Her inner cynic was screaming at her to run. Just get the hell out of there before the inevitable happened.
Her heart…
Lena didn’t know. She wanted to be good enough for him. She wanted to be good enough to love him in the way he deserved.
She was just to the point of worrying that these preoccupations, that this anxiety about it
all, would intrude on her thoughts and poison the scene all over again when she heard the door open behind her.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
And this time, knowing that Chance was doing something about the pictures, that voice banished all of those thoughts. Just gone. Lena could grab a hold of that voice and ride the moment.
God, she was grateful. Screw the rest. She’d figure it out later.
She could hear him moving around the room, messing with equipment, making things ready. Something clinked. Metal on metal. Not being able to see, not knowing, was so much worse than simply waiting. It left her mind empty, and so she had to fill it with all sorts of thoughts…
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Lena did, and the feel of the now familiar leather cuffs made her shudder. She wondered if her nipples were peaked. They ached, so they must have been.
And then she felt the blindfold come down. She’d obediently kept her eyes closed, but that was different—she knew she could open them at any time.
Now she was one step closer towards utter helplessness.
So it was that the first sensation on her skin made her gasp, even though it was feather light, just a small, delicate, soft caress, trailing down the front of her body. It tickled. It made her breathing speed up, it put every nerve in her body on high alert.
Then came the sharp sting on her nipple.
Lena squealed.
A flogger? A crop?
Her muscles tensed. She could have sworn her hearing had improved, and her sense of smell—she could smell Chance, that male musk that was only his. But he didn’t speak, he didn’t explain, he didn’t warn. She had no idea what the next sensation would be, or where, or how it would feel.
She was pretty sure she was shaking.
“Oh God,” she cried, half-laughing as the feather came between her legs from behind, darted in and out, gone before she could totally process what had happened.
Then several sharp blows to her ass, one, two, three, each one spiking pain and pleasure to her clit. She could feel her pulse between her legs again, could feel it start to build and swell.
