by Livia Grant
He kissed her, because he didn’t care if she was perfect. She was perfect for him.
She was a woman worth having.
She was… shameless.
Epilogue
It was almost five in the morning when Hadlee’s cellphone rang. Entwined together, with less than three hours of sleep behind them, Garreth vaulted out of bed like a bleary-eyed EMT who was also a volunteer first responder for the firehouse just down street. He grabbed his pants with one hand and the wrong phone with the other.
“I’m up,” he said shortly. “Be there in five.”
Except, there was no response from the other end apart from a soft hitch of breath. Usually when he was being called to an emergency, someone rattled off an address and a truck number, and then they took off, leaving him to follow after. That was when Hadlee stirred beneath the blankets beside him, lifting her head from the pillow and rubbing at her eyes, and Garreth noticed his cellphone was still on the nightstand. He had the wrong one.
“Who is it?” she mumbled, even as Garreth pulled the phone away from his ear and Checked at the caller-ID. He knew that number. It was number attached to Hadlee’s first cellphone. The one she’d left at Ethen’s house the night she’d left him.
His gut went cold, then all the rest of him flared hot. He put the phone back to his ear and it was right at the tip of his tongue to seethe out, ‘Hello, Ethen. Yeah, it’s me. And yeah, I fucked her all night long. It was good. She’s the best. Now, lose her number, jackass, because the last thing you’re ever going to want is me showing up at your door,’ only he never got the chance to say any of it.
“H-Hadlee?” a woman’s voice timidly whispered.
“Hang on.” Dropping his pants, Garreth swiveled on the mattress. He shook Hadlee until she opened her eyes again, showing her the Caller ID before putting it on speaker.
“Who is it?” Hadlee said again, still half asleep.
“Hadlee?” the caller whispered.
Sitting upright, Hadlee stared at the phone. “Kitty?”
“I’ve left him.” At once the shaky voice on the other end of the phone broke down in ragged, gasping sobs. “I don’t have anything, not even my shoes. Please, can you come get me?”
Hadlee rolled onto her knees, her eyes huge as they locked with Garreth’s. “Where are you?”
“At a payphone.” For a few seconds, only the sound of her breathing could be heard as she took stock of her surroundings. “I think I’m at a gas station, but I don’t think it’s open anymore. The pumps are gone. It looks abandoned.”
“I know exactly where you are,” Garreth said, amazed that he could sound as calm as he did. “Hang tight. We’re on our way.”
“Who is that?” the woman, Kitty, whispered.
“Garreth from Black Light,” Hadlee said. “It’s okay. You can trust him. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”
“Hurry,” Kitty begged, breaking down once more. “He’ll be up any minute and when he finds me gone…” A soft beep interrupted her.
“What is that?” Hadlee asked, but Garreth was afraid he already knew.
“Your phone,” Kitty said, confirming his suspicion. “I barely had time to put a charge on it. It’s almost out of power.”
“Hang up,” Garreth told her, one of the hardest orders he’d ever given. “Save what battery power you have left. If Ethen finds you before we do, use it to call 9-1-1, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, but he could hear it in her voice. She wouldn’t call anyone else. If Ethen got to her first, they’d know it not because of the flashing red and blue lights, but because she’d be gone by the time they got there.
The line went dead before he could tell her to huddle in the bottom of the phonebooth and wrap as much paper from the phonebook around her as she could. It was a twenty-minute drive to that particular gas station; fifteen if he broke the speed limit the entire way and he already knew he was going to. Because it was freezing temperatures out there tonight, and because this had to stop. Ethen had to stop. If no one else was willing to, then Garreth would find a way to do it.
Hopefully, before Ethen killed someone.
To be continued, Summer 2018…
About the Author
Fortunate enough to live with my Daddy Dom, I am a Little, a coffee whore, pain slut, administrator at two of my local BDSM dungeons, resident of the wilds of freakin’ Kansas (still don’t know how I ended up here) and submissive to the love of my life. An International and USA Bestselling Author, I have penned more than 120 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series.
CONNECT WITH ME
Visit Maren Smith’s blog here: http://badgirlscorner.blog
Friend me on Facebook here: http://facebook.com/Maren.Smith.10
Follow me on Twitter: @authmarensmith
Friend me on Instagram: maren_smith
Follow on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/maren-smith
Visit me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/authormarensmith
Edge
A Black Light: Roulette Redux Novella
By
Alta Hensley
Chapter 1
My hands shook as I held the papers. I hated that shortcoming about me. So visible and so transparent. With every tremble, it was as if my fingers were my own Scarlett Letter of weakness. It was the lack of control. Control that I desperately wanted to regain in my life.
Control toward which I had at least started in the right direction, by making the tough decision and following through. My battered feet were marching down the rocky road of recovery.
I had divorced his ass.
Yes, I’d finally signed the papers and everything was final. I was no longer the wife of Senator Mark Stanton. I was finally Melinda York again. Was I the one who had wanted the divorce? Technically, yes. I was the one who hired an attorney and filed first, but it was Mark who had asked for a divorce in his own fucked up way that completely shattered my heart. Bastard cheated on me. Asshole chose another piece of ass, even though I had given that man everything I had in me. I truly had given it my all. Even my soul. In fact, I had given that man the woman I once was so he could crush her into a million pieces.
As the hefty weight of reality rested in my hands, I stared down at the divorce papers and knew it was time. Time for me to move on. Time for me to try to forget this past year… not even a full year. Yes, barely a year. The jackass couldn’t even stay loyal long enough to reach our one year anniversary.
Barely a year of me playing the perfect dutiful wife.
Barely a year of turning a blind eye to the man’s continuous indiscretions and the shitty way he treated me.
Barely a year of having the woman I once was destroyed with one abusive comment after the other.
Did the man hit me? No. But he abused me far worse than any punch to the face could possible achieve.
Barely a year of handing over control in a pretty package tied with a cruel black bow.
But not anymore.
Smirking, I tossed the papers on the kitchen table and made my way to the front door. Mark would be livid if he saw the way I was dressed and if he knew where I was going. He would explode and call me sick and demented. He would stare at me in my black mini dress accentuated with black thigh high fishnet stockings held up with a garter belt and call me fat. He’d call me a whore. He would look at my black pumps and tell me that I should wear flats because I would be too tall, and no man wanted a woman taller than them. But it wasn’t my fault that Mark Stanton was a fat and short fucker.
I laughed to myself, the tiny giggle echoing off the white, nearly bare walls and the large expanse of marble floor of my entryway. I admired my appearance in the mirror that hung over the small side table that held the keys to my car and my purse. Oh yes, Mark would have hated everything about how I looked for the night. My brown hair ran long over my shoulders to the middle of my back. A proper senator’s wife should always look respectable. I had been lectu
red time and time again. To please my husband, I had been expected to have my hair in a bun or a chignon, tiny studs in the ears, flats, a business suit-type dress, and never black unless attending a funeral. Mark preferred me in cream, gray, or tan. Not black.
Well, fuck Mark, and fuck being a proper senator’s wife. Those days were over.
Tonight, I would be Melinda York again—the strong, independent, sexy, and powerful woman who had disappeared under the guise of making a messed up marriage work. Or at least I would try to find that lost woman again. I missed that woman. I craved to have her back.
Picking up my keys, I noticed my hands still shook. I knew this would be hard. That first step into the club would be a challenge after being away for almost a year. But as much as I missed the woman I once was, I missed Black Light nearly as much. I missed what Black Light—and Overtime before that—meant, what it allowed me to do, and who it allowed me to be. That secret and seductive BDSM club in the heart of D.C. allowed me to be the powerful woman I always was, and gave me the setting and tools to willingly submit… to someone who earned my submission.
I realized the day I had asked for a divorce that I had made one of the biggest mistakes of my life in marrying Mark. I had left the one man who had earned the greatest gift I knew how to give. Dean Casey. He had been my dom. My lover. My everything. Submitting wasn’t something I did easily or took lightly, but with Dean, I had. I had surrendered body, mind and soul.
But I’d left him; I’d left it all, and for what? To live the dream of my father because of my fucked up need to always please. He’d wanted me to marry Mark so badly. It was the path he had chosen for me. But that path was so twisted, bumpy, and full of pits of despair. What would my father say now if he saw me?
But tonight was the beginning of me choosing a different path. I had to. I had nothing left. No husband. No love. No job. No prospects for the future. Tonight would be my own personal welcome back party. I had to start somewhere. I had to open the door to change. Hopefully, I would be able to find the broken pieces of the woman I once was and put them back together.
Chapter 2
As I entered the club, I inhaled the distant smell of sensual memories. I glanced at all the instruments of deliciously wicked play scattered around as sentiment filled my throat. Past memories I had tried to force away were of this place. I instantly knew I had made the right decision in deciding to attend the Valentine’s event and dipping my feet back into the BDSM pool. As a single woman, I loved going to Overtime—and had played there often—but Black Light had felt like my second home. It had become my utopia, my sanctuary, my escape from owning and running a stressful and busy public relations firm. The hidden hot spot had been a safe place so I could let go of all the daily pressures of life.
I stopped in the middle of the room and slowly spun in a circle, taking it all in. The club had shielded me in some dark times when I’d felt my most lost. It had protected me. Allowed me to be free and open with my wants and desires. I smiled at the flood of emotions the memories brought to me. Black Light had also been the backdrop to amazing sex, dark and taboo play, and even a peek of what could have been love. If I had allowed it… but no. I had chosen the life of convention. For the fake and miserable. Blinking back tears, I walked over to the bar and traced my hand along the slick glass as I forced away the painful thoughts of failure.
“So, I guess the rumors I heard when I arrived tonight are true.” The deep husky voice sliced the air of the room like a dagger.
Startled, I turned to find a man with broad shoulders standing behind me. His dominant stance appeared to fill the entire space of the room. The lights shone from behind, casting his body in silhouette. Months had gone by with zero contact, but I still recognized the raspy, low voice. Even now, I remembered how one shoulder always slouched slightly lower than the other as his thumbs rested on the pockets of his expensive black slacks.
Of course he would come tonight. I’d known he would. I struggled for breath as the air seemed to be knocked out of me. There I was, in the same room with him, after so much wasted time. The same man who had captured my heart but had no idea just how much. The same man I’d never thought I’d see again, yet also the same man I so desperately missed. Dean Casey… my first real dom, and a man who had mastered far more than my body, but sadly it had taken me too long to realize that fact.
My heart beat wildly in my chest, but I willed myself to keep cool. “Depends on what those rumors are.”
He took a step toward the bar I stood leaning against, stopping before I could see the color of his eyes—a dark blue I remembered I could get lost in. Even if there had been shadows concealing the fine details of his face, I would always know the man still possessed the power. The power to make me weak-kneed with just one look.
He stared into my eyes for a moment before I darted them to the ground. “So, you’re actually back? You plan on becoming a member again permanently?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve missed this place. I’ve missed the way I felt coming here.”
A warm smile washed over his face. “I’m glad to hear it.” He paused for a moment, staring at me with such intensity. “So being a Senator’s wife wasn’t all you hoped?”
He didn’t seem mad. I’d feared he’d be furious that I had left and felt I had the right to return. I was grateful for the fact that he wasn’t screaming or demanding I leave. But though he wasn’t showing any signs of anger, I couldn’t quite read how he felt about seeing me again in what used to be our stomping ground.
I countered his step by moving toward a stool and perched the edge of my ass on the seat. “We filed for divorce,” I blurted, not being able to say it with any more finesse. “So, I guess you could say being a Senator’s wife was an epic fail.”
He shook his head and sighed. “We all make epic fails.”
“Not like this. A marriage that doesn’t even last a year. Who does that?”
“You.” He smiled, which instantly soothed the sting in my soul that occurred by bringing up my colossal mistake. “And tons of others. You aren’t the first person to end a marriage. Are you at least happy about the divorce?”
I ran my hand along the slick surface of the bar, desperate to avoid eye contact. I didn’t know why, but looking Dean square in the eyes scared me. “I’m happy for the divorce, but not sure I can say that I’m happy in general. But I guess that will come with time. Or so they say. I gave up a lot, and now I have to figure out how to get it all back.”
Silence sat between us. The only noise other than the background music was the low hum of conversation as the club filled with patrons entering the room for the night’s event. The laughs of other attendees nearby caused him to glance at the group. “And you think tonight is a wise choice for you?”
I raised my chin and nodded, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Well, it can’t be any worse than the choices I’ve been making as of late. And I’ve missed this place. Missed a lot of things.” I didn’t want to confess how desperately I had missed him. For all I knew, Dean could have hated the fact that I had returned to Black Light. It was his now… I had given up my claim of the place the minute I’d said ‘I do’ to an asshole, and definitely the minute I had shut Dean out and left without any real explanation other than I was getting married out of nowhere.
I positioned myself on the stool a little more securely, suddenly feeling small in such a massive space, and studied the club. My eyes burned with unwanted tears as I noticed the areas Dean and I had liked to play in most.
I swallowed back the pain, not wanting him to see how, even today, the past memories of the man he was and how he had made me feel still had an effect on me. “I couldn’t stay home tonight,” I said, my voice cracking. “Licking my wounds and wishing I had done things differently.”
“Like what? What do you wish you had done differently?”
Never given up on you! is what I wanted to say.
“Stopped attending the Black Light function
s for one. Selling my business for another,” I admitted honestly.
“I wondered why you did such a crazy thing. You built that business from nothing. It was yours. I saw how much energy, time, and devotion you put into that place. Why shut it down? You didn’t even bother to try to sell it. Why do that?” Dean asked.
I shrugged, avoiding his stare. “I thought I was ready for a change. To be that proper grown up I was raised to believe I wanted to be. Every girl’s dream is to have that big wedding, a man who can provide security, a future of stability. And as you know in D.C., becoming a senator’s wife was a respectable dream. I didn’t feel I could do both. Running the agency took too much of me, and even selling it would have been too much. I had to focus on the life I was creating.”
“And that was your dream?”
“I thought so. But it was nothing but a fucking nightmare,” I confessed as a lump in the back of my throat formed. “It was someone else’s dream. Not mine. I know that now.”
“You were one of the best publicists in D.C. You gave my company, and me, a run for our money back then,” Dean said. “You should have never let that business go, but a part of me is glad you did.” He smirked, which forced me to smile.
“Well, you’re welcome. Glad I removed your competition for you,” I said.
He chuckled. “You sure did. But I would have beat you anyway if you had kept it. It was simply a matter of time.” I could tell he was teasing with the way his eyes sparkled as thin laugh lines formed.
“Ha! You wish.”
With a few more steps, this time Dean made it all the way to where I sat. I casually looked around, attempting to not seem bothered by the close proximity to a man I had once been as intimate as you could be with. I didn’t want him to look into my eyes too closely. He could always read them. With one glimpse, he had the ability to know my entire story, my entire truth, and all my secrets.
