by Cathryn Cade
“I sh-shouldn’t have come here.”
“Whoa, not your fault. Kevin did a great job of hiding who he really is. We should’ve seen that. The other doms here, I’ve known longer. None of them is like that. You can try again when you’re ready.”
She shuddered. “No. No, I don’t—I don’t know if I can ever do this again.”
“Your decision, sweetie,” Dack said in that soothing tone. “Take your time. Don’t try to think through it now.”
Maybe this was all her fault for being so stupid, for wanting a man to dominate her. “You don’t think I’m…warped?” she asked hesitantly. “To want to…you know.”
Dack chuckled, his chest quivering under her cheek. “No, I don’t think you’re warped. You’re a gorgeous, sexy woman.”
That was nice. The certainty in his voice calmed her as well. “If I ever do decide to come back,” she asked, “will you be here?”
“Sure I will,” Dack promised. “I’ll be here for you. Right here. As long as you need me.”
She nodded.
“Trace and Jake too,” he added. “Lot of nice people here, Sara. Here, let’s get this on you.”
He moved enough that someone could tuck a warm, soft blanket around her. She huddled into it gratefully. She wanted to hide in it forever and never come out.
“Now, you want me to call one of the women to come and help you get dressed? Daisy should be here pretty soon.”
“He—he ripped my dress.” She didn’t have anything to wear. She wanted Daisy. Just the thought of her friend’s warm hug made her cry again.
“It’s okay. We’ll get you a robe.”
Time passed in a blur of stop-and-start activity. A friendly blonde in her forties wearing a red vinyl minidress appeared to help Sara put on a warm velour robe.
“Hi, I’m Ruby. You need to use the bathroom? You want a drink or anything else?”
Sara shook her head. Both would require moving, which she didn’t want to do.
Trace came back into the room, his face pale and hard. But though he scanned her thoroughly, he didn’t attempt to move her from where she sat on the bed, Dack on one side, Ruby on the other.
Two burly men in EMT uniforms entered the room. One shone a light in Sara’s eyes, checked her vital signs and asked her a number of questions, including if she wanted to go to the emergency room.
“Your eye doesn’t appear to be damaged inside,” he told her. “But if you want a doctor to check you, I strongly advise going to the emergency room. I’m not a doctor.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t face the thought of sitting in a hospital, waiting to be checked over and then told the same things he was saying.
“Well, if you have any changes in vision or your headache doesn’t let up, you get to a doctor fast,” he said.
“We’ll make sure she does,” Trace assured him. The two exchanged a nod, and the EMTs left the room.
A uniformed policewoman came in as soon as they’d gone. She talked Sara through what had happened and asked her to come down to the police station and file charges.
“Can she do that in the morning?” Dack asked.
“That will be fine.”
He looked down at her. “That work for you, babe?”
Sara nodded, and Dack patted her back. From his place, Trace continued to watch her. She looked away, humiliation rising sickly in her throat. He must think she was an idiot.
Her statement taken, the policewoman left. Mase stuck his head into the room. “Dack, need you out here.”
“You gonna be okay?” Dack asked Sara.
She nodded. “Thanks, Dack.”
“You want me to drive you home?”
“I’ll take her home,” Trace cut in.
“All right. Wait for me, back in a minute.” Dack patted her thigh and slid off the bed, then walked out of the room.
Trace dropped to one knee on the carpet before Sara, his face grave. Sara swiped her wet face with the back of her hand and avoided his gaze, shame crawling through her.
“Do you want me to leave, Trace?” Ruby asked in her soft voice.
“No. Sara,” he said quietly. “Eyes on me.”
She glowered but met his gaze.
“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of here,” he told her in a voice that was not gently persuasive, but hard and absolutely certain. “This was Kevin’s fault, my fault, the club’s fault, not yours. We should’ve gotten rid of that shithead weeks ago. He was on probation. He should’ve been gone.”
“I shouldn’t have come in here with him,” she muttered. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to sue the club or anything.”
He did not look relieved by this. He flinched as if she’d slapped him.
“Not thinking about that. I’m only concerned with you,” he answered. “You made a decision. It was the wrong one, but you couldn’t have known that. You should be able to trust any man or woman here with your safety and well-being.”
“Kevin was a charmer,” Ruby put in in her soft voice. “He fooled a lot of people with that little-boy grin of his. Probably spent his whole life sweet-talking his way out of trouble. Just like my ex.”
Trace’s gaze cut to her, and he nodded. “Thanks, Ruby. Appreciate your insight. Still our responsibility to weed out those who are here for the wrong reasons or refuse to control themselves.”
“Judging from the state of your knuckles, looks like you take your responsibilities seriously,” the woman said approvingly.
Sara looked at Trace’s hands in dull surprise. His knuckles were puffy and red.
“You hit him?”
His face hardened. “Damn straight, sweetheart.”
She sniffled again. “Good. Although I hope you don’t get in trouble.”
He grinned, a wolfish flash of white teeth. “Nah, we just had a problem getting him to leave the club, that’s all. And then he tripped in the parking lot.”
Ruby snorted. “Poor baby. I hope it takes him a long, long time to get medical attention.” She peered into Sara’s face. “You want me to come home with you or call someone for you?”
“I thought Daisy was coming.” She looked at Trace.
Trace shook his head, a shadow moving over his face. “Don’t think so. How about if I take you home and you call Carlie or someone in your family to come over and stay with you?”
“Carlie,” she decided.
His eyes softened. “No family here?”
“There’s just my mom, and I don’t want to upset her.”
His look said he knew what she really meant—she didn’t want to tell her mother where she’d been when she was attacked. But he nodded.
Ruby helped Sara put her dress back on, now held together with a large safety pin. Her panties were ripped beyond repair. She thanked Ruby, let Trace put his jacket on her, much too big but comforting and smelling faintly of him and Polo cologne.
She inhaled it with gratitude—she’d never be able to smell Dior for men again without wanting to hurl.
Chapter Three
Trace drove her home in his Lexus. At her condo, which was across the boulevard from the gym, he had her wait in the small foyer while he turned on lights.
Sara waited dumbly, gazing out the window at the quiet street. She felt as if she was lost in a night landscape that would never end.
Then a small car drove slowly by, a blond man at the wheel. She shrank back against the wall, panic sending her heart racing.
“What’s wrong?” Trace stopped in the entrance from her short hallway. He scanned the room, then crossed to her. “Red, what is it?”
“I think…I just saw Kevin out there,” she managed.
“Shit.” He pulled her into his arms, his extreme gentleness at odds with the savagery of his curse. “Honey, I’m sure his ass is in jail. But listen, I’m gonna call Dack, have him do a drive-by, okay? I don’t want you worrying about anything.”
Trace took over, walking her right into her bedroom where he told her to get some comfy pajamas and
then to take a hot shower while he called Dack. Sara grabbed the first things she found—panties and her faded but comfy Oregon Ducks sweats—and walked into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Bundling her hair into a shower cap, she took the hottest shower she could stand, scrubbing with her soap and washcloth until her skin tingled. She avoided looking too long at the red marks on her wrists.
When she dressed and came back out into her bedroom, Trace stood beside her bed, looking at the large shadow box on the wall, full of old sports ribbons and trophies displayed with her high school track jersey.
“Track, gymnastics and swimming, huh?” He turned with a half smile, although his gaze was grave.
“Yeah, I’ll always be a s-sports star in my mother’s mind.” She reached up to push her tousled hair back. Her hand was shaking so hard she gave up the effort.
He nodded. “Dack’s here. He’s fixing you a hot drink. Here, you get into bed, and we’ll call Carlie.” He indicated her bed, the old Log Cabin quilt turned back to reveal beige sheets and pillowcases.
He waited beside it, clearly expecting her to do as he said. He was being pretty bossy, and in her condo too. But Sara was conscious only of dull relief. She didn’t want to have to think or make decisions now. She wanted to be taken care of. And curling up in bed meant she no longer had to make any pretense of holding it together. Her legs were now shaking harder than her arms, like a newborn foal’s.
She padded across the carpet and crawled onto the bed, sinking back against the pillows he’d piled up for her. Trace leaned over to pull the covers up and tuck them under her arms.
Dack walked in, a steaming mug in his big hand. He handed it off to Trace and went to lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“S-sorry you had to come over too,” she said, cupping her hands around the hot mug Trace gave her. He kept one hand under the mug, gaze on her trembling grip.
“That’s okay,” Dack said gently. “What you’re feeling now is pretty normal, I’d guess. I drove up and down your street, nobody there but neighbors. Also checked with the cops, Kevin is being booked right now. You’re safe.”
Sara nodded jerkily. The steam rising from her mug smelled of rum. She took a drink and nearly choked. It tasted like pure honey, with the added burn of alcohol.
“Guess you found my stash of Rogue dark rum.” What the heck—she took another drink.
“Figured you could use it,” Dack said. “Although, from the dust on the bottle, you’re not much of a drinker.”
“Impulse b-buy,” she admitted. The sugar and alcohol were already curling through her in a soporific glow.
Trace pulled her old rattan chair with the faded cushions close to the bed, his body turned toward her. Sara was very aware of him. Some crazy, frightened part of her wanted to dive into his arms, where she could hide, safe from the jittery fear that dogged her.
“Drink up,” he said, and she did, lifting the mug to her lips until every drop of the hot, soothing toddy was gone. Clutching the warm mug, since she couldn’t very well clutch him. Not after refusing him at the club.
“Good girl.” He took her mug and laid her phone on the quilt on her lap. “Now, call Carlie.”
Dack shifted in the doorway. “Listen, I think I should get back to the club. You two okay?”
He was really asking her, not just Trace. Sara nodded, although she didn’t want to. “I’m fine, if you both need to go.”
Trace frowned at her. “Don’t lie, Sara. You don’t want to be alone, say so.”
She stared at her phone as if it held the secrets of the universe. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He nodded. “All right, then. I’ll stay until we can get Carlie or Daisy over here for you.”
Dack looked at her. “You okay with just Trace? Still being honest, are you gonna be nervous alone with just one of us?”
She looked at Trace, who watched her without expression. For some reason, this reassured her. “I’ll be okay…if you don’t mind staying.”
His face relaxed. “I want to stay, honey.”
Dack held up one hand in a salute. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, Sara. Hope you can sleep.”
“Thanks, Dack.”
He walked out of the room, and a moment later, the front door shut behind him. Sara picked up the phone and flicked through her list of frequent contacts to press Carlie’s phone number.
“You want another drink?” Trace asked, lifting the mug.
“No, thanks.” Her head was swimming as it was.
Carlie’s phone stopped ringing. “Sara?” Her usually warm voice was strangely tense. “What is going on?”
Sara closed her eyes as tears burned at the back of her eyes. “A lot, none of it good. Um, can you come over?” Shit, her voice was quavering like a scared little kid’s. She clenched her jaw against the urge to sob aloud.
“Sara, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m, um, I’m okay,” Sara managed. Trace’s hand settled on her thigh and squeezed gently but firmly through the covers. His touch steadied her. “I-I had a problem.”
“Oh, my God. Tell me.”
Staring at Trace’s large, tanned hand on her leg, Sara gave her an abbreviated version of Kevin’s attack.
“That little turd,” Carlie nearly shrieked. “So that’s what happened. I wish I was there to be with you, but I’m at the coast with my folks. One vehicle—otherwise I’d get in my car and drive back right now. Did he hurt you?”
“No. Just some bruises, that’s all.”
“Where are you? Is someone there with you?”
Sara swiped her face with her sweatshirt sleeve. “I’m at my place. Trace is with me. And Dack was here, but he had to leave.”
That was embarrassing—she’d nearly forgotten to mention Dack’s part in the rescue. Trace was silent, but she had no hope that he hadn’t noticed her slip.
“Okay. Thank God.” Carlie sounded relieved.
“But I thought Daisy would be here by now.” Sara looked at Trace, who shook his head.
“Um,” Carlie said, oddly hesitant. “I’ll try calling her, okay?”
Carlie fussed over Sara for a few more moments, telling her to take some painkillers and go to bed. She made Sara promise to phone her again, at any hour of the night, if she wanted to talk.
“Let me talk to her,” Trace said, holding out his hand. Exhausted, Sara sank back in the pillows and let him take the phone.
“Carlie, it’s Trace,” he said. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Haven’t gotten to that yet. Yeah, I’ll stay with her. And here’s my number if you wanna call me. Yeah, I’m hoping she’ll sleep.”
He recited his phone number, said a few more words, his voice quiet and calm.
Then he set her phone on the bedside table, and looked Sara in the eye. “You sure you don’t want me to call your mom?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “My mom has been sick a lot this last year. She’s finally feeling better. And she needs to not worry about me, okay?”
“You sure there’s not another woman you want to call?”
“No one that I’m comfortable knowing about this.” The thought of one of her colleagues knowing about the attack, wanting to check in with her at school and maybe letting hints fall to other teachers made her cringe.
He clearly didn’t like this, but he shook his head once and gave it up. “Where does it hurt?”
She thought about it. Her knees ached from hitting the floor, her wrists from Kevin grabbing them, and the side of her neck from her dress being yanked off, but the skin wasn’t broken, just sore. “My pride mostly.”
He jerked his chin in acknowledgement. Taking her left hand in his, he carefully pushed up the loose sleeve of her sweatshirt to reveal a livid bruise on her wrist. He swore under his breath, but his fingers remained exquisitely gentle. “Other arm, Red.”
Sara shifted in the bed, wincing as the movement used
muscles that she hadn’t known were sore. Her right wrist was bruised as well, but not as badly. Trace held her hand in his, warm and strong, his thumb rubbing gently over the back of her wrist. “Ribs okay? How about your breasts? Did he grab you there?”
Sara shook her head, although with a shudder of revulsion. He’d been about to, and more.
“Saw you touch your neck. May I look?”
She nodded and let him lift her hair back to examine the abrasion on the side of her neck.
“Where are your painkillers?” he asked. “Your bruises are just gonna hurt worse as the night goes on.” This was true. She hadn’t even thought of taking anything.
She told him which cabinet in the bathroom, and then watched his shadow on the wall in her small bathroom. Funny to see him here. She hadn’t had a man over to the condo for months, and none of them had been in her bedroom.
Not that it was much—the bones of the place were good, but her teaching salary didn’t stretch to include new furniture or knickknacks. Most of what she and Jason had, had come from his parents, and he’d kept it in the divorce. Not that she’d wanted any of it. But what she had now was from IKEA or yard sales, and nothing especially matched.
Trace came back to the bed with a glass of water and tablets in his hand. He gave them to Sara and stood, hands on his lean hips while she took them.
“I need to call Daisy,” she remembered after she’d swallowed the pills.
Trace cocked his head as if considering something. He sat again and leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs.
“Don’t think she’s gonna make it tonight, Red.”
“She’s not?” Sara asked, puzzled. “Did you talk to her? Where is she?” Hurt jabbed at her like a new bruise. If Daisy had been attacked, Sara would have broken every speed limit in Portland Metro getting to her.
Trace took her hand in his big, warm one. “Sara. Look at me.”
When she did, his beautiful eyes held such gentleness she clutched his hand in foreboding. “What?”
“Daisy walked into the club right after you were attacked. According to Mase, she walked through the club looking for Dack. Then came tearing back through like she’d seen a ghost. Mase tried to stop her and explain, but he was waylaid by an insistent customer, and before he could get to her, Daisy tore out of the parking lot. She’s home, because he asked a friend who’s a Beaverton cop to drive by and check on his rounds.”
