by Aline Hunter
“Candice? What in the—”
Candice didn’t give her the opportunity to finish, forcing Lacey aside and quickly stepping into the house. She shrugged off the large bags across each shoulder and tossed them onto the kitchen table before she hooked a left and started for the kitchen. Lacey closed the door and followed, watching in disbelief as her best friend made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
“Candy!” Rushing into the kitchen, she stopped the door from opening fully, preventing her friend from gaining access to whiskey, rum or vodka. “What is going on?”
“Not now.”
“Yes.” Lacey pressed the palm of her hand against the cabinet, putting her weight into her shoulder. “Right now.”
“Shit.”
Candice spun around and left the kitchen as quickly as she’d entered it. She retrieved one of her bags and headed for the bathroom. Before she could get inside the hallway, Lacey jumped ahead of her and blocked her path.
“What’s wrong?”
Candice stared at her chest, refusing to make eye contact. “I just need a few minutes to pull myself together. I’m going to start with a shower.”
“You’re not doing anything until you tell me what the hell is going on.” Studying Candice’s bowed head, she added, “For the record, you’re really freaking me out.”
“Please.”
Candice’s broken plea was one that turned Lacey’s blood to ice, sending cold chills down her spine. She remembered hearing that same tone on a brisk autumn night and had sworn it was something she never wanted to hear again. She stepped aside without another word and watched Candice walk into the bathroom down the hall and close the door. Within seconds, the sounds of the shower shrilled through the house.
The phone rang and yanked her back to the present. She shook off the unwanted memories, walked to the coffee table and retrieved the phone. She recognized the number and almost let the call go to her answering machine. For hours, she’d waited. Now, when the shit was staining her walls, Michael had decided it was time to give her a call.
“Yes?” she answered in the same manner she felt, exasperated and off kilter.
“Lacey? Is that you?” Michael sounded like he’d been put through the wringer.
“Why don’t you answer that question? You dialed the number.” He didn’t reply, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to knee him in the balls or kick herself in the ass. “Yes.” She confirmed her identity despite her short fuse. “It’s Lacey.”
“What’s wrong?” Concern overcame the fatigue in his voice. “Has something happened?”
“You could say that.” After glancing down the hall, she walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
“Are you going to tell me what?”
She could just picture the annoyed expression on his face. “It’s not looking good for you at the moment.”
“You’re angry.”
“How’d you guess?”
“You told me it was okay to go.”
“I would have seemed like a raging bitch if I said anything else. Besides, I didn’t think it would be so long until I heard from you.”
He sighed into the phone. “I wanted to be alone when we talked, and believe it or not, I haven’t been in a room or a vehicle by myself since I dropped you off.”
She pulled down a filter and the coffee and told herself to count to ten. “So start talking.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Why should I? This is the second time the same woman has come between us.”
“It’s not like that,” he snapped.
Nice. Now he was angry too.
“Really?” She snagged the coffee pot, thrust it under the faucet and flipped the handle. “Then what is it like?”
“I called to let you know that I’m wrapping a few things up and then I’m coming over. I’ll explain when I get there.”
The shower shut off at the exact same moment she finished filling the coffee pot, and Lacey’s decision was made. Michael had left her without a word, as if she would simply wait until he beckoned and come to heel like a good little puppy. While she didn’t mind kink in the bedroom, becoming his doormat was another thing entirely. Since she wasn’t sure what was wrong with Candice—a friend who had never let her down—she was going to take the time to find out.
Until then, the men could take care of themselves.
“Sorry,” she said as she finished pouring the water into the top of the machine and placed the thin glass container in the proper location. “You’ll have to visit some other time. I’ve already got plans.”
“What do you mean you have plans?”
Oh yeah, he was good and pissed. Too bad she didn’t give a shit.
“If you need a translation, I suggest you go ask Aly. I’m sure she can clarify.”
Lacey hung up the phone without another word, waited until the line was disconnected and took it off the hook.
* * * * *
“Son of a bitch!” Michael closed his cell and sagged in the lounge chair on Trevor’s back deck.
Hours had bled, one into the next, becoming an incoherent mash-up of events that he couldn’t piece together. From the moment he’d hit Fantasia he’d been forced to become a mediator, a referee and a voice of reason. Since Conner refused to leave Aly, Trevor had wanted to tear the asshole apart along with Brian. That meant he had to keep the peace.
It hadn’t been easy.
“You should crash in one of the guest rooms and get some sleep.” Shiloh’s soft voice startled him, and he realized he had started to drift off again. “Doc gave Aly something, so she’s out like a light. There isn’t more you can do.”
“I’d still like to know what the hell she was thinking.” He rubbed his eyes, shaking off the tempting arms of sleep.
“She wasn’t. That’s the problem. She had so much pent-up emotional pain that she decided to transfer it to something physical she could control.”
“Conner—”
“Had no idea, just like you had no idea that Aly was into pain when she needed emotional release.”
Michael slumped in the chair. “I saw the scars on her thighs. When I asked about them she said they were from her stepfather. Another lie, I suppose.”
“No, that part wasn’t a lie. The scars just made it easier for her to hide what she did to herself when she couldn’t cope. Cutting is more common than you think.”
Michael glanced up when he saw Trevor walk past the glass doors. Brian wasn’t with him, which meant the other man had remained behind with their new houseguest. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was tangled. Once they’d gotten Aly out of the bathroom Trevor had taken total control of the situation. That meant Michael’d had to babysit Brian and Conner, which hadn’t been enjoyable. The men had exchanged unpleasant barbs and taunts until Michael had forced them to opposite sides of the club. It was a right good thing Vaughn had arrived when he had. As the owner of Fantasia, he didn’t take any shit. Once he’d assessed the situation, he’d called in the club’s private doctor and moved things upstairs.
That was more than fourteen hours ago.
No wonder Lacey was pissed.
Unfortunately, her anger made his all the worse. He’d told her what he was doing and he hadn’t done anything to tarnish the fragile trust developing between them. Still, she continued shutting him down, using something that had transpired without his control against him.
Again.
Determined to go to her despite her warning that she had plans, he was startled when he stumbled as he rose from the chair. Shiloh rushed forward to balance him.
“You need some sleep.”
Shaking his head clear, he said, “I just need a strong cup of coffee. I’ll be fine.”
Shiloh’s soft hands cradled his cheeks, forcing him to look down and into her face. “You’re not going to do your lady friend any favors showing up like this. Go upstairs, get some sleep and drive over when you can think clear
ly.”
Michael glanced at his reflection in the glass doors. He looked like death warmed over. His hair was messy and his dress shirt was speckled with brown bloodstains. His nose was also swollen, his nostrils were caked with flecks of red and the crack in his lip still smarted whenever he attempted to grimace. Glancing down, he flexed his fingers. The knuckles on his right hand were beginning to scab over. As much as he hated to use force, when Brian had lunged at Conner he’d had no choice but to knock some sense into the man with a hefty blow to his jaw. That had led to a nasty tussle, one that left each of them with swollen noses and a few scrapes and bruises.
“I need a shower.”
Shiloh stepped back and wrapped an arm around his waist to assist him to the doors. “Sleep first, Romeo. You can worry about that pretty face of yours later.”
“Sorry, no can do.” He moved away from her as soon as he stepped inside and followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Shiloh exhaled in exasperation but didn’t argue as she rolled her eyes and took off in the direction of the living room. The very vanilla bartender of Fantasia didn’t mince words or try to sway any of them when their minds were made up. It was the primary reason Vaughn kept her on at the club despite the way he felt about her. Shiloh was a woman Vaughn could only admire from afar as she didn’t share his desires or sexual tendencies, but he suffered in silence to keep her around, to dream of what he could never have. Michael had once thought it was a romantic and rather stupid notion on Vaughn’s part.
Oh the fucking irony.
“You should listen to her,” Trevor said as Michael strolled into the kitchen. “You look like shit.”
Michael accepted the coffee Trevor handed him and took a cautious sip. “That’s why I plan to use your shower before I leave.”
“You sure you’re safe to drive?”
“I’ve pulled my share of forty-eight-hour shifts when we’ve been short a driver. I’ll be fine.”
“Why don’t you let me call Lacey to come get you?”
Michael considered lying but decided against it. Trevor had an uncanny ability to tell when someone wasn’t being honest with him. “She’s pissed at me.”
Trevor cocked a brow. “What have you done now?”
“I’ve ditched her twice for another woman. She’s not taking that well.”
“Jealous much?”
The haughty tone was unusual for Trevor but it pissed Michael off just the same. “Do you know when Conner will be dropping by?”
Trevor’s smirk vanished. “I told him he could stop by later this evening after Aly has had an opportunity to rest.”
“It’s not entirely his fault, you know. He’s never been irresponsible. He would have asked about hard limits and set boundaries.”
“None of that matters. Not anymore.” Trevor turned to the counter to retrieve a fresh mug. “Aly’s here now, and this is where she’s going to stay.”
“That might be easier said than done.”
“No, it isn’t.” Trevor abandoned his own caffeine fix and looked Michael in the eye. “If she doesn’t stay she’ll lose access to the club. I’ve already spoken with Vaughn.”
Michael placed his mug on the center island. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You’ll take away the only thing she has to turn to.”
“Which is why she’ll accept my offer to stay here, recover and give Brian and me the opportunity to show her that she belongs with us.”
“That’s your plan?”
“Can you think of a better one?”
After contemplating things in the eerie quiet of the kitchen, Michael shook his head. Aly was a live wire, unbalanced and a danger to herself. With Trevor and Brian she would have the stability and security she so obviously needed. Swiping the mug off the table one last time, he drained the last of his coffee, walked to the counter and placed the cup in the sink.
“You’re sure you’re okay to drive?” Trevor didn’t sound convinced.
“As soon as I get a shower I’ll be good for another hour or so.”
Michael exited the kitchen without saying another word, ready to get cleaned up and on his way to see what he anticipated would be a scorned woman. It was a shame too, because he was equally pissed. Lacey’s reaction had confirmed what he’d suspected, even though he’d managed to delude himself into believing he had to be wrong. She still hadn’t given him what he needed most. The one thing he would demand if they were going to have a chance at any future together.
How he loved and hated the elusive phantom known as faith.
In a way, it was better that he learned the truth now, before he was too invested, while his heart—he hoped—would still be able to mend.
As he climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom, he wondered how in the hell things had gone from pristine crystal to a steaming pile of shit.
Chapter Twelve
Lacey had just placed all the trimmings for a salad on the table when Candice emerged from the bathroom dressed in baggy flannel pants and a camisole. Her hair was loose and her face was free of makeup but otherwise she appeared fine. Although she wasn’t as put together as Lacey was used to, she seemed far more composed and in control, which was a step in the right direction.
“Feel better?”
“Loads.”
They sat at the same time and started piling their plates with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and dressing. As they ate in silence, Lacey combed her brain for a way to pry for answers without pushing her friend too far. Just when she cleared her throat to start, Candice beat her to it.
“Do you remember when we were in college and I started taking a class across town?”
“The one for investigative reporting?” When Candice nodded, Lacey answered, “I remember. You were gone every weekend for six months. I was afraid you’d run off to join a reporter cult or something.”
“Or something.”
Lacey placed her fork on the table and studied the woman, who was obviously at the end of her rope. Candice was picking at her salad, shifting the lettuce from side to side, shaking her head.
“Talk to me.”
Candice took a deep breath and placed her own utensil on the plate. “I lied to you.”
She didn’t say anything, giving her friend time to come clean on her own. Candice reached for her glass of sweet tea, took a long swallow and sat it on the table before she started again.
“A couple of months after all that shit happened with Jason, I was approached by a student in the library. She didn’t say much. She just walked up to my table, placed a card in front of me and said that she’d heard about what happened. I was still resentful, so of course I told her to mind her own fucking business. She didn’t seem fazed. Instead she remained completely calm and told me if I wanted to make sure I was never a victim again, I would call the number she’d given me. Then she walked away.”
“What was on the card?”
Candice shrugged. “A phone number. I mulled over it for about a week before I caved in and called. I was too curious not to. The person who answered was also vague and told me to take down an address. Before she ended the call she invited me to visit the address and warned me it was a one-time deal.”
“Did you go?”
“Yes.”
“Let me make sure I understand you correctly. You went to an unknown address, to meet people you didn’t know, and you had no idea what they wanted.”
Candice nodded and took another sip of her tea. “Looking back, it was a stupid thing to do. But I’m glad I did it, because it allowed me to take back my life.”
“I don’t understand,” Lacey said slowly.
“When I arrived, I discovered the address was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse. Parked right in front was a limousine, and standing beside the rear door was the girl from the library. She told me the person I wanted to talk to was inside the car so I walked over, slid inside and came face-to-face with a woman. She was in her thirties, well-dressed, and would have been stu
nning if it hadn’t been for the scar from her temple to her lip. She told me she knew what occurred on campus and offered me an opportunity to reclaim what I’d lost. When I told her that was impossible she assured me that not only was it possible, but if I was willing to listen and observe I could learn something that could change my life.”
“What did you do?”
“I agreed.”
“You agreed?”
Candice sighed and placed her glass on the table. “You have to understand something. After everything that happened I was a total wreck. There was no adequate way to describe what I was feeling. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, not entirely.” She looked up and met Lacey’s confused stare. “Not even you.”
The honesty hurt, preventing Lacey from responding. Ever since she and Candice had met, at the first student assembly, they’d shared everything with each other.
Or so she’d thought.
“It’s not about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s about something you couldn’t understand, and it’s something I wouldn’t want you to understand.”
She managed to keep her voice neutral. “Then try explaining it to me.”
“I was introduced to other women who had been used, hurt or taken advantage of by men. They shared their stories, asked about mine and allowed me to realize that I never had to be placed in that position again.”
“So it was a support group?”
Candice seemed extremely nervous and uncomfortable. “Not exactly.”
“Then what was it?”
Candice looked Lacey in the eye again, as if steeling herself not to look away when she answered. “They were all Dommes. Female dominants.”
“Say what?”
“You heard me.”
Yes, she had, but her mind didn’t want to accept it. Female dominants. Dommes.
