by Cox, Chloe
Except there was a text from Sonya. His sister.
Ten years with nothing, except when they wanted money, and then the band gets in the papers because of the break-up and his older sister starts texting. Made no goddamn sense. She’d sent him pictures of her vacation, some pictures of her kids—he felt bad about the kids, a little boy and a little girl, about how they might have to grow up given what his family was like, but didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it, and that made him angry. So now every time he got a text from Sonya he could practically feel his blood pressure rise.
This time all she said was, “Just checking in.” Like they had a normal relationship, like they knew each other at all—what the fuck did that mean? There’d already been headlines about a rumored lawsuit, and the timing seemed suspicious. He was already more worried about the lawsuit than he’d ever let on, because it was every Dom’s worst nightmare: hurting a sub. He knew he hadn’t, knew it in a rational sense, and yet the uncertainty, the not knowing, the pacing around, unable to act, like a caged animal…
What if he had er t if hehurt a sub?
The doubt was new to him. The doubt was maybe because that connection with Cate had reminded him of Julia. And now his sister poking her nose in?
Soren shifted his weight, feeling the old familiar adrenaline response, the same thing he had seen flow through Cate not that long ago. Except in him flight or fight always meant fight, and that led to some dumb choices. He was on the defensive, primed for an attack that he knew wasn’t going to come, and he knew it would screw up his night if he let it.
So he thought about Cate instead.
He drove his beloved car hard down Sunset with Molly in the passenger seat and Declan laughing in the back, thinking about nothing but Cate. Letting the lights streak by like liquid, letting Molly’s laughing screams wash over him, letting everything but the memory of Cate’s curves, the softness of her skin, the set of her jaw, let it all fade.
Holy fuck he wanted her.
It was strange to want someone so badly again. So strange that it was starting to get to him, to buzz around in his head. He couldn’t stop replaying certain moments in his mind, couldn’t stop—
“Hey Mr. Serious Face!”
Soren blinked and looked at Molly. She was grinning like a cat.
“No, you can’t drive my car,” Soren said.
“Yet,” Declan added.
“Give me the dirt, Soren.” Molly smiled. “I hear you had an interesting meeting with your brand new lawyer.”
Soren frowned. The gossip in a club like Volare was almost as bad as it was in a band. He was screwed no matter what.
“From who?” he asked.
“Ford says she’s one of us,” Molly went on. She was enjoying this way too much. “Says she’s a sub.”
Soren screeched to a stop at a red light and turned sharply on Molly. “How the hell would Ford know?”
That woman was never fazed.
“Is it any of your business how Ford would know?”
“When was the last time I cared what was and wasn’t my business?” Soren growled. He eyed Declan in the rearview mirror. “Stop laughing, asshole. Are you telling me Ford went after her?”
He’d kill him, friend or no. Not only because Soren thought of Cate as his, even though that was kind of crazy, but because Adra Davis was his friend. Adra had become friends with all of Savage Heart ever since she’d helped bring Molly into their lives by hiring her to write that book, and while no one knew exactlywidknew ex what was going on between Adra and Ford, whatever it was, it wasn’t nothing. If Ford had hit on the one woman Soren wanted and hurt Adra in the process, he’d only discovered a creative way of getting himself killed.
Molly looked indignant. “Do you think any of us would be ok with that?”
“You are a difficult woman,” Soren grumbled.
“He says he has a vibe,” Molly said. “And he says you tried to scare her away and only succeeded in pissing her off. So I like her already.”
“You would,” Soren said.
“Even I have to love a woman who can make you look dumb, bro,” Declan said.
Molly flashed that evil grin again. “I’m trying to decide if you blush, Soren,” she said.
“Hey,” Declan warned. It earned a peal of laughter from Molly and Soren shook his head, knowing he’d just been drawn into the game these two constantly played with each other. It didn’t bother him; it was worth seeing his friends happy. He bet Declan would give Molly exactly what she was asking for later.
And he kept thinking about Cate. And what her skin looked like when she blushed.
Suddenly Soren started to laugh.
The way Cate had turned red and had hopped toward the door with dignity? He’d never seen anything like it. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for one woman to be sexy and silly and still kind of scary all at once, but somehow Cate managed it. If Soren possessed the capacity for embarrassment, he hoped he’d handle it like that. It was endearing as fuck.
He couldn’t wait to see how she blushed under his hand.
He thought about that long enough that it took him a while to notice both Declan and Molly were looking at him funny.
“What?” he demanded.
“You’re laughing,” Molly said.
“So?”
“I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you laugh,” she said. She was looking at him all wide-eyed.
“Come on,” Soren said, frowning. “I have a sense of humor.”
“Not lately,” Declan said. “Sorry, man, it’s true. Since all that drama with Bethany OD’ing and the band breaking up, you’ve been a little dark, dude.”
“Bullshit.”
But Soren shifted in his seat, eyes ahead on the big marquee lights of the club ahead of them, looking for the valet but thinking about how they might be kind of right. He’d always been a reservengChrissakes. He sounded like a frigging robot.
“Soren,” Declan said sharply. “Why are you still beating yourself up over this crap? Bethany even knows it wasn’t your fault. She lied to you about her pill habit, you broke up with her, done. What she did after that, she did for her own reasons. She’s pissed that you think it was your fault.”
Soren pulled in front of the club and brought the car to a stop, locking eyes with Declan in the rearview mirror. The valet stood outside, helplessly confused, while no one in the car moved.
“You seriously trying to convince me I didn’t fuck up when you kicked me out of the band over it?” Soren said.
Declan glowered. “At least I came to my goddamn senses.”
“He just wants you to be happy, Soren,” Molly said. “We both do.”
“Only I wouldn’t say it like a freaking Hallmark card,” Declan added.
Soren cracked a smile. “No one buys your tough-guy act anymore, Dec,” he said. “We all know Molly’s got you under her thumb.”
“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that,” Molly said.
“Oh Jesus, ok, everyone out of the car,” Soren said. “Dec, promise you won’t jump your woman until we get at least one song out on stage, or I will kick your ass.”
“No promises,” Declan grinned. “C’mon, look at her.”
Soren laughed. Those two couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, and Dec could still floor Molly with just a few words. The band was lucky Molly was as awesome as she was or they would have lost a lead singer to this lovey-dovey stuff. At the same time, Soren couldn’t miss the look Declan threw his way, sizing him up. He knew Dec felt a little weird about finding a woman to marry when Soren was still on his own. The two of them had been inseparable for twenty years, and now even Soren himself didn’t know where he fit into the picture. He knew Dec wanted the same happiness for him, and it was just too freaking tragic to watch Declan and Molly try to help him when Soren knew he just wasn’t capable of it.
Once, long ago, with Julia, he’d thought about it. But he was so young then that he probab
ly had no idea what he was thinking, and now he had enough experience to know he just wasn’t built that way. Some people have an infinite capacity for love. Soren wasn’t one of them, and he knew better than to lead a woman on.
At least, he knew better now.
Which was why Cate Kennedy and her freckled curves and her need to be let her inner sub out without any obligations to the man that helped her was absolutely perfect. That, and the way she gasped when he touched her.
Damn.
Soren got out of the car and tossed the keys to the valet, giving the kid a look that said, Ding my car and die. He was just about to crack a joke to lighten the mood when he saw the red Jeep idling at the end of the street.
“Dec, you see that car?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember seeing it outside your house?”
“No.”
“You’re paranoid, Soren,” Molly said, taking Declan’s hand. They were all itching to get into the club, find the music, get on stage. Brian and Gage and Eric were probably already there. Just Soren, who still carried that stress with him.
“Freaking lawsuit,” he muttered.
He almost forgot about it once they got inside. They hadn’t played this club in a long time, but it felt like the old days, before all the publicity and fame became a thing they had to deal with, when they could just be Savage Heart and get laid.
Soren smiled. Many a good time had been had in this club.
He felt even better when he saw the rest of the band, all of them geared up and ready to go. The energy of the place, the crowd, the stage. Fuck. Yes. Soren could feel his blood rising to it, felt his mind rove over it, felt it all come back to the things he wanted to do to Cate—to the way he was sure her legs would feel over his shoulders, the way her muscles would tighten, the way she would shudder—and damn it if he didn’t feel the solo he needed welling up.
“On stage, Dec!” he shouted over the roar as the crowd got to see who they were. “Let’s go!”
They were only halfway through the song when a skinny guy in a button-down shirt with coffee stains and a pair of khakis jumped on stage. Soren laughed, thinking it was one of those viral publicity stunts, something the club was doing, right up until the skinny guy handed him the papers.
“Soren Andersson?”
“What do you think?”
“You’ve been served.”
Soren cursed, trying to reroute all that adrenaline while he tore through the papers. All he needed was a name. He just needed the name, and he might be able to figure out what the hell was going on.
Daniella Collins.
Daniella had worked as a sound tech on one of their tours. Brilliant. Funny. Beautiful. And for a few weeks, she’d been Soren’s sub.
chapt ther 5
Cate stared at her phone and dared it to buzz again.
Dared it.
She had actually been almost happy for a moment, starting her research on Soren by reading the Savage Hearts book. Granted, the happiness had been of the more conflicted variety, given the choice Soren had offered her at their meeting: him, or the case. Submitting to Soren—God, just thinking that felt wild and wonderful and more than a little bit crazy—or leading a case that she knew only she could win, and do it while uncovering her ex-husband’s involvement.
All that said, this was definitely not a book she could read at the office. Way, way too many opportunities to get lost, thinking about Soren. She’d met the man, so she could actually see him doing the things Molly Ward described, and that made for interesting reading. She was grateful Molly hadn’t gone into detail with Soren’s sexual conquests; just the allusions were enough to make Cate feel warm and weak and wholly unprofessional.
Soren’s magnetism just dripped off of the page.
And maybe Cate was biased, given her apparently raging attraction to the man, but in a book that was ostensibly about the story of Savage Heart’s reunion and Molly and Declan’s love, what stood out most for her was actually Soren. Molly and Declan were beyond sweet, but Soren was this ever-present mystery, a proud, silent, dominating man who went through women like…well, like a rock star. And then one of the women fell apart after a break-up, Soren blamed himself, Declan kicked him out, and Soren lost everything he cared about.
But the thing that Cate kept coming back to was this: even when Declan didn’t want him around, Soren still cared about Declan being happy. He still showed up when it mattered. Soren’s intervention got Molly and Declan together in the end.
Cate tried to pretend she was wearing her flinty-eyed lawyer mask while doing this research, but that might have gotten to her, just a teeny tiny bit.
And that Soren was the same Soren that had towered over her in the bar. Who had lifted her to a safe place, shielded her with his body, and then pointed out the iron rings that he would use to…
Jesus.
It was also the same guy who had somehow gotten her to admit that she was a submissive. Maybe. And that she was afraid that meant she’d always seek abuse. Which implied that she had been abused.
So she had been going back and forth between secretly swooning a little bit, getting uncomfortably turned on, and then becoming all together terrified. Just this endless, confusing cycle of craziness, curled up by herself in her favorite lumpy chair, swirling one endless glass of wine, and wondering what the hell she was going to do.
Which was why, when hefonwhy, whr phone buzzed its way across her coffee table, she grabbed for it with a sense of relief. Until she saw who it was.
Jason.
Just a text message this time. One of those incredibly innocent-sounding texts that no third party in their right mind would construe as a threat or an attempt to wound her; he was, after all, a lawyer.
“Out to dinner with Lindsay. Wish you were here.”
Sounded perfectly innocuous, but Cate knew better, and Jason knew that. What that text actually said was, “I’ll be screwing some chick named Lindsay tonight just to show you I can. You’ll never do better than me, and you’re replaceable, and don’t forget it.” Jason had always used infidelity as a kind of cudgel to beat back Cate’s self-esteem whenever she started to stand up for herself. And the truly pathetic thing was that for a long time it had worked.
Jason would cheat and then leave little clues. Sometimes he’d refer to it outright. Sometimes he’d make sure other people saw him. And now he was doing it again as part of a campaign to convince Cate that she couldn’t divorce him—that’s how messed up he was. How messed up they both were, anyway. After all, she’d put up with that—and worse—for six long years. She’d not only put up with it, she’d defended him to herself. She’d come up with reasons why the things Jason did when he started to feel insecure about Cate’s success made sense.
It disgusted her.
It disgusted her that she didn’t recognize all the signs until he’d actually hit her. It wasn’t like she was a stranger to any of this; she’d seen it all before. And yet she’d fallen for it, just the same.
And now Cate was in this uneasy limbo where she’d taken all the steps she could, and yet she wasn’t quite free of him. She was terrified of what Jason would do when he realized she really wasn’t coming back. Of what he would do when he learned she was involved with Club Volare. Jason knew about Cate’s secret life online; the man had a hard drive full of it, had told her about it. Had threatened to make every embarrassing secret public. For the moment, while he was still looking for a new job, Jason needed the semblance of propriety just as much as Cate did, but that didn’t make her feel terribly secure.
Pretty much the last thing she wanted to be thinking about was her time-bomb of an ex-husband, but the truth was, she was sitting here contemplating the idea of taking that risk all over again, of exposing herself to someone, leaving herself vulnerable.
Had she lost her mind?
Yes. The answer was yes. Mind: gone. Because here she was, fantasizing about Soren’s arms all over again. They’d looked like the kind o
f arms that could hold a girl down just right.
Wasn’t that screwed up?
It did not escape her notice that she’d never have to worry about cheating with a man like Soren. You can Clren. Yo’t cheat on something that doesn’t exist, and he’d made it very clear that there wouldn’t be romantic obligations. Or attachments. Or true vulnerability. Or whatever people were calling it these days.
She’d be free.
Except he’s your client. Or he will be, once he signs the retainer agreement.
“Couldn’t it just be easy?” she muttered. “Just once? Easy.”
Her phone answered her by buzzing all over again. She watched it dance across the coffee table in wide-eyed disbelief, sure that it was Jason again with some other creative way to make her feel like crap. She suddenly realized most of the texts she got were from Jason. That couldn’t be a good sign for her future. She’d have to do something about that.
“Ok, dickhead,” she said aloud. She reached for her phone, ready to send some sort of withering response against her better legal judgment, and saw that it was not from her husband.
It was from Ford.
“Soren served again, new plaintiff, former sub,” it said. “Allegations of abuse. Not good.”
Cate read it again. And again. And then again.
Allegations of abuse from a former submissive. It wasn’t really a surprise; it was exactly what she expected Mark Cheedham to come up with when the target was a sexually promiscuous self-professed dominant BDSM practitioner. Cheedham had probably had his investigators looking for plaintiffs for months. And yet it still sent a current of fear coursing through her nervous system, lighting up well-worn pathways, dredging up that familiar feeling that told her to run.
For a second, she was glad she’d never given Soren her phone number. She’d fretted over it not long ago, but now?
This wasn’t something she wanted to handle over text. This was something she needed to see for herself. She ignored her shaking hand and mashed out a question to Ford: “Where is he?”
“Here at Volare.”
Cate didn’t even have to think about it. “The clock’s already started,” she typed out. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
