by Opal Carew
Anger I’ve been storing since the night Seth Thorne got arrested after beating the ever loving shit out of my brother Theo.
Theo had been so badly beaten, he’d almost died. Cold dread had filled me when I’d looked at my brother, lying in intensive care in the hospital. He’d been barely recognizable, and realizing how close I’d been to Seth, and the things I’d wanted him to do to me?
I’d been filled with a loathing previously unknown in my innocent little world. I will never forget how I felt that night. It was beyond anger, beyond betrayal.
Seth had refused my flirtatious advances, but he’d killed my innocence all the same. And I’ve never fully recovered.
Neither had our family. It’s hard for a marriage to survive one son trying to kill another, especially with each parent on opposite sides. Sam and Dinah separated, then divorced. Theo recovered, but began his own descent into hell.
There was little attention left for me, so I acted out in the only way I could think of, blurring the memories and pain with alcohol, and getting the warmth I missed from home with boys… with so many boys.
Plummeting doesn’t even describe the drop in my grades. I went from a 4.0 GPA to less than a 1.0 which, if you don’t know, pretty much means you’re actively avoiding school. And I was, getting high in the parking lot before blowing Theo’s old football teammates. Sometimes one at a time, but one memorable lunch hour I took on three.
I’d thought that more hands, more mouths might help fill the emptiness inside of me. Instead they just ripped me open, leaving a gaping chasm instead of a hole in their wake.
Even now, six years later, the guilt creeps up with the memories.
Cut it out, Flynn. I’d heard it enough from Dr. Gill over the years—don’t judge yourself by your past. You don’t live there anymore. Grunting out loud, something that’s encouraged here at the gym, I channel that guilt into my body as I hit the bag again and again, spinning and landing a backhand.
Every muscle in my body cries for me to stop, but I keep going. I’ll be limping tomorrow, but today I need the burn. I don’t know why, but today those emotions and memories are haunting me, dogging my every step, my every damn breath.
I hate that even now Seth can make me feel.
The therapy helps. There’s no doubt. I’ve stopped actively looking for ways to destroy myself.
But I still have intense, sweaty dreams about him. Dreams that make me feel raw and hollowed out. I told Dr. Gill about them, and it had helped to hear her thoughts—that maybe it wasn’t actually Seth in my dream. He was just the face for everything I felt and still struggled to work through. I blamed him for so much, so he was my dreaming embodiment of those feelings.
It helped to think that I wasn’t actually still lusting after him, not after all he’d done to my family. It had eased the sense of betrayal I’d always had upon wakening.
But Dr. Gill hadn’t left it there. She’d looked for ways for me to work through the emotions causing the dreams… and she’d made a suggestion that literally had me on the floor. I still can’t get it out of my mind. It is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s insanity. It’s not even an option.
Except that it’s locked itself in my mind and won’t let go. And so it’s the reason I am in the gym pounding away on an invisible opponent.
Letting loose with a guttural yell, I do a front kick on the bag, send it swinging, and nearly end up on my ass.
“Whoa there, Killer. What’d the bag ever do to you?” Thick, scarred hands clasp my shoulders before I can fall, righting me before letting go. I turn to find Tristan, my trainer, and the owner of the gym, grinning at me with that rakish look he always has.
Mmm. He’s sweaty, his blond hair up in wet spikes from running a hand through it, and his ridiculously large arms flex when he moves. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ogle him every time I was at the gym, but I do my best to keep that last layer of resistance.
A darling of the MMA world, he uses his place to train himself and also to mentor up-and-comers in the sport. But we have a shared history, so he lets me in.
And that shared history is Seth. Yeah, so not going there. No matter that his biceps are the size of my head.
“I’m fine,” I scowl, turning to size up the bag again. I don’t like defeat. I want to make this punching bag my bitch.
“Are you sure?” Yeah, hot and sensitive. Perfect combo. Too bad there’s never been more than a flicker of interest between us. “I was watching you; looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Baring my teeth, I wind up and punch the bag again for good measure. “Maybe.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He cocks his head, looking utterly adorable. Damn it. Why can’t I be interested in him? He’d probably provide me with a nice, stable relationship.
He waits for an answer, and I pinch my lips shut. Hell no, I don’t want to talk about it. What am I going to say? Yeah, my therapist had a really fucked-up idea to make me stop having crazy sex dreams about your old drinking buddy Seth?
“I’m good.” I finally give him a small smile, hoping it’s enough to get him to back off. You know, cause I’m the crazy chick who wants the hot man to go away.
Tristan arches an eyebrow, but nods, stepping back. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to it.”
I watch that nice tight ass walk away, thoroughly irritated with my lack of interest. Once he’s gone, I turn back to the bag, but I’m done. My muscles feel like overcooked spaghetti and mentally I’m spent. It’s worked. I’ve left my worries on the floor.
Grabbing my towel, I head to the showers. The women’s locker room is really no more than a closet, since I’m one of maybe four other women who use the gym. At least there is a shower stall, albeit a tiny one. I scrub my cotton candy scented shampoo through my hair, rinsing as I go, then towel off and slide back into my street clothes, worn jeans and a tank top. I still have an afternoon shift to work at the restaurant, five mindless hours during which I have time to decide whether I’m going to go through with the suggestion my therapist gave me. A suggestion I still can’t wrap my mind around.
I can’t lie. The idea is… intriguing. There’s no other reason it would take root in my mind like it has. It also scares the ever loving hell out of me.
I rub at my wrists remembering Seth’s hands around them, that fateful night. Try as I might, I can’t erase that touch, or the way he made me feel. Years of therapy still haven’t exorcised him, my own personal demon.
And I know that’s why Dr. Gill has suggested what she has. So that I can explore that part of me. The part that yearns for those bonds, that needs them in some way… needs the freedom that might be found from losing control.
Oh, to hell with waiting. I already know what I want. There’s no point in lying to myself. I spent enough time doing that shit.
Even knowing what I want, my fingers tremble a bit as I pull out my phone. Scrolling through my contacts, I find Solace, the venue that Dr. Gill researched and recommended.
I’m still trembling as I book an appointment, but I’m aware enough of myself to note than some of it is anticipation.
I’ve made my decision… there’s no turning back now.
Chapter 6
Seth
The ocean air is so salty it stings. I suck in as much as I can as I lean on the railing along the seawall. There’s not much I miss about Galveston—too many dark memories on this island.
But the long boulevard along the ocean? Yeah. That’s got a sweet spot in my memories. The brief period that I lived here, I spent a lot time in this exact spot. Thinking and drinking, trying my best to stay out of trouble.
Which hadn’t lasted long. But that was in the past.
It’s pretty quiet, this time of night. This is fine by me—I’m craving some solitude. Being alone is definitely something I miss—it’s a sorely lacking commodity in New York. Too many people, always something going on. That’s part of the reason I bought my penthouse, a ridiculo
usly huge home for one man.
But a guy learns to guard his solitude like a dragon guards his gold after being shoulder to shoulder in prison for a full year.
The reminder pulls me out of my memories, reminds me of why I’m here. Savoring one deep breath, I head back to the car.
I have an appointment and I don’t want to be late for it. No—I can’t be late for it.
I have very specific needs, ones that help me deal with the demons of the past by regaining control, however momentarily. And being back in Galveston makes me feel about as out of control as I’ve felt since the day I was released from prison and realized that I had nowhere to go.
The Mercedes is a smooth ride, and gives me a twinge of satisfaction as it maneuvers seamlessly through streets that are the same but different. That twinge comes from knowing that I bought it. That I could buy a thousand more.
The scarred, terrified boy no longer exists. He died that night, rather than Theo.
And in his place is someone who made something of himself, against all odds.
My GPS directs me to a warehouse-style building that once housed a large grocery store. Knowing what’s inside now, the image makes me smirk.
It’s Galveston, not New York, so there are no valets to hand my car off to. Not surprised, I drive the Mercedes around back of the building and park. I’m not worried about theft or vandalism. While I’m proud to have been able to buy a Mercedes, I’m also not overly attached to it. It’s a thing. I can always buy another.
The VIP entrance in discreetly marked, accessed by the key card I’ve carried in my wallet since I decided I was coming back to Galveston. There’s a solitary guard standing inside, but he waves me through after a quick once-over.
I’m not wearing a suit right now, but I know I’m a far cry from the sketchy kid I once was.
The venue isn’t anything special—just a bar that tried hard to be classy and slightly overshot the mark. But its reputation is solid, and they’re thorough in vetting their clients. More than that, they are discreet, and this is key.
No one can know that I’m here. No one.
I don’t make it two steps before a tall man dressed all in black leather falls into step beside me. “Seth.” He uses my real name because we’re still in the bar part of the facility—we haven’t yet ventured upstairs.
Well, and he also uses my name because it’s what he used to call me. Like me, the man beside me has grown up—he used to be skinny, dark, maybe even a little on the Goth side. Tristan and I had never cared if he wanted to wear nail polish, so he’d hung around us some, back then.
Seems he grew nearly a foot after high school, filled out some too. Most of his piercings are gone, save for a bar in his eyebrow, but his eyes are still ringed with dark.
I can feel him studying me sidelong, just I am him. After a moment we both crack, and I can’t hold back the smile, offering him a hand for a manly slap.
“Nice to see you, man.” He nods as he slaps my hand. “Mr. Bigshot now, huh?”
“I do okay.” I can’t keep the straight face and wind up grinning. I gesture discreetly with my arm. “Your place, huh?”
He nods enthusiastically, a bit of the kid he once was coming out. “Yeah. Well, mostly. I’m a seventy-five percent owner so far. I’ll be buying out the rest as soon as I can.”
His mouth opens to tell me more, but a woman brushes up against him then—a complete Jessica Rabbit look-alike. Curvy body, red hair. I check her out because, hey, I’m a guy, and feel the slightest bit of interest stir.
I’ve never been able to shake my penchant for redheads.
“Good evening, Sir.” The woman addresses Gavin with clear interest sparking in her eyes. I’m pretty sure that protocol isn’t enforced in this part of the building, but hey, maybe that’s the only name of his that she knows.
“Elsa.” When Gavin looks her over, I can see the change in him—the transfer from high school buddy to a Dominant. It’s fascinating, and I wonder if a similar transformation ever comes over me.
I’m more inclined to think that I’m rigid like that all the time. In fact, I’m sure that I am.
“On your way to an appointment?” It’s interesting to see my skinny old friend pull on that magnetic persona that has this woman’s cheeks flushing.
“Oh, yeah.” Her stare flicks my way, and I note the feminine appreciation in her eyes. Appreciation, but not that cloying sweetness that I’ve come to recognize as a warning sign. No, just carnal interest. “I’m about to get my world rocked.”
“Lovely for you. Shame for both of us.” I arch an eyebrow at her, sensing that she’s fun, and there’s not nearly enough fun in my world. Elsa grins, gives a little wave and turns, heading for the stairs that lead to where the most interesting activities are held. There’s a little swish to her hips, a sauciness that makes me think she’d make a fun partner for the night.
But apparently she’s already occupied. Pity.
Glancing sidelong at Gavin, I find him rolling his eyes at me.
“Now that your gratuitous flirtation is over, I might remind you that you have an appointment as well.” Gavin gestures at the stairs.
“And no one knows I’m here?” I’m confident of the answer, but want to hear it from his mouth.
“No one but me.” His tone is steady, calm. “And to keep an extra level of anonymity since we’re friends, I forwarded your limits checklist and profile, minus your name of course, to my assistant, and had her do the match. It was blind on that end too. I approved the profile and checklist that was chosen, and beyond that, I only know that you have a woman ready and waiting for you, in the scene you have set.”
“Excellent.” Inhaling deeply, I absorb the electricity in the room—energy that comes from the sexual electricity in the air, the anticipation of what is to come.
I start to climb the stairs, but Gavin calls me back. “One last thing. I know that you requested an experienced partner. This woman is new. However, everything else on your lists meshed so well that we truly thought it was the best match.”
This gives me pause; I don’t play with beginners. Ever. I like women who know what they want, know their limits, and want to pushed to the very edge.
But tonight, with the sweet girl I once knew weighing so heavily on my mind…
This could fit into my fantasies very well.
So I nod at Gavin, and begin to ascend the stairs again, this time with a rush of anticipation adding to my level of awareness.
“You’re in room two.” Gavin calls up after me. “Everything will be as you asked.”
Maybe it’s the sense of kinship with Gavin that I hadn’t expected, or maybe it’s the inevitable convergence of memories, the surf crashing into me, each ripple whispering a memory. A tendril of bright panic, something I haven’t felt in years, flickers through me like the lightest lash of a whip.
It would be so easy to lose myself here. To shed the shell of the man I’ve become, to expose the soft white underbelly of the boy I’d been.
At the end, it is that panic that gets me moving again. That’s why I arranged for a guest membership here, to this club—to help me maintain control. Hell, it’s why I looked for control in this manner in the first place.
The only reason I’m in Galveston at all is the same reason I had to leave it. And I need to be on my game, in control, or I could lose it all.
Shaking my head to clear it of these thoughts, I walk down the corridor to room two. Familiar anticipation fills me as I place my hand on the doorknob.
Who will be on the other side? I have a general idea, given my preferences, but still, every woman is different. Their coloring, their shape, the way they respond to me. Beautiful creatures giving me a precious gift, even if it’s never exactly what I want.
What I want, I can never have. So I will take my pleasure where it comes.
Opening the door, I step inside. As per my instructions, the woman is at the window, draped in darkness. Her shadow is a curvy silhouet
te on the wall.
Like me, she’s dressed in black, a simple dress that leaves her legs, arms, and neck bare. It’s the legs that catch my attention first. Slender, but defined with curves of muscle. This one works out hard. It’s a turn-on—I like discipline. More, I like women who look healthy, who take care of their bodies, and by taking care I don’t mean subsisting entirely on salads with cut up chicken on them.
This woman? She looks powerful enough to resist me.
We both know she won’t. At least, not in the end.
I take a step toward her. She turns her head slightly at the noise, and that’s when I notice that she’s a redhead. With only the candlelight flickering in the room, I hadn’t noticed when I first opened the door. My mind flashes to the woman I’d met downstairs—Elsa—and I feel a momentary smug pleasure, thinking that I’d gotten the woman who caught my eye after all.
But this isn’t the same woman. I can see that now. Apart from the difference in attire—Elsa had been poured into red leather—the woman I’d met downstairs had clearly not been a neophyte in this world. Her posture, silhouetted in the window, might have a hint of tension borne from anticipation, but it wouldn’t be what I see here.
This woman? She’s wearing the mask, as I instructed, so she can’t see me, but she’s jerking her head nervously over her should, trying to see me. Trying to gain control. Her entire body is rigid with tension, a tension that goes beyond anticipation.
This is why I don’t play with novices. I’m not a nice man, and I don’t have the patience to break them in with the tenderness that they need. I should leave.
I open my mouth to tell her this won’t happen, though I’m annoyed that I’ll have to go down to the bar, have to go through the motions of flirtation to try to find a different play partner when I prefer to keep it like a transaction.
Finished crossing the room, I lay a gentle touch on her shoulders. She stiffens slightly, and the small movement has her scent rising to my nose.
