by Lynda Aicher
She faltered when she opened the door. Her fists clenched on the knob, the black haze of fear closing around her. She’d have to walk through the entire club to get out. All those people would see her, the ones who’d watched her. Saw the collaring, the paddling, her breakdown.
A true walk of shame. Could she do it?
The gentle touch on her shoulder got her attention. “I’ll take you home, Ms. Reynolds.”
She looked up and finally put a face with the arms that had supported her. Deklan. The man from her condo complex. Jake’s business partner.
“This way. We’ll go out the back.”
For that reason alone, she followed him. She didn’t want to trust him, to trust anyone from this place, but his offer would save her last bit of dignity. She ducked her head and blindly let herself be led through the building before she finally balked as she was being assisted into an SUV.
“Your car will be at your condo in the morning,” he said. He kept his distance, seeming to understand she needed the space. “Please, let me take you home. You’re in no condition to drive.”
He was right. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Instead of answering, she simply got in. That was easier than accepting.
The ride home passed in a blur and it seemed like only minutes later the car was parked before her condo. Her sanctuary. Without saying a word she got out when he opened the door for her. She tried to hide the reflexive wince caused by her tender ass rubbing against the seat.
“Will you be okay?” He sounded like he really cared.
She nodded automatically; she didn’t want his concern. She’d be fine, just as soon as she was away from everything associated with The Den.
Cali stared at the ground and tugged the robe tighter to ward off the chilly December air, even though the cold invaded every pore of her body. Would she ever be warm again? Then her coat was around her and her purse was being placed into her hands. The man had thought of everything.
The trembling in her hands made her fumble as she tried to find her keys. But he was there again, taking the bag from her as he led her to the door. He found the house key, opened the door and stepped aside to allow her to enter.
Finally, she was home. Back to her normal life—not that it would ever be truly normal again. The shaking in her hands traveled through her entire body as she let the safety of her surroundings soak into her. She inhaled and absorbed the clean scent of the cinnamon air freshener, the smell of normalcy almost wiping out the lingering wisps of leather and arousal that clung to her.
She was turning to shut the door when Deklan spoke. “Jake had nothing to do with that man being there tonight.”
She searched his face and swallowed, willing herself to hold back the well of tears threatening to drown her. “How could he not?” she asked, her voice quivering. “He owns the place.”
“He would never hurt anyone like this. None of us would,” Deklan said. “It’s not what The Den is about. Whoever was there who hurt you was a coincidence. Not something planned or targeted.”
Cali looked away and started to close the door. It didn’t really matter anymore. The damage was done and it was her life left in tatters.
“He cares about you, Cali.” Deklan’s words stopped her once again. There was only a crack of space left in the door opening. His face was in shadows, the porch light reflecting behind him. “You are the only one he’s ever collared. That means something to him. It’s not a game or something done lightly. In our world, it’s everything.”
In their world.
But what about her world?
Cali finished closing the door. There was nothing left to say. No answer she could give. She clicked the lock, letting the deadbolt slip into place. If only it was that simple to lock down her heart too. She walked to the kitchen and grabbed the roll of trash bags from under the sink. She shifted into auto-pilot, focusing on her task, because doing something, anything, was better than thinking.
Than feeling.
Upstairs, she sat on the edge of her bed and slipped off the boots she still wore, stuffing them into a plastic bag. In her closet she pushed back her normal clothes and dug out her stash of ‘gifts’ from Jake. Mechanically she pulled out every item and stuffed it into a bag. The clothes, the shoes, the sexy underwear, the toys—everything.
Last, she stripped off the robe, along with the bra and thong, and shoved them into the bags with the rest of the items. Naked, she stared at the two bags full of her shame. Had it been worth it? Would she live to regret this brief lapse of judgment for the rest of her life? More importantly, would she ever get past the pain ripping at her heart?
Choking back a sob, Cali grabbed her own robe off a hook, tugged it on, then snatched up the bags and hauled them downstairs. She paused to slip on her boots then stepped outside. Ignoring the cold penetrating her robe, she carried the bags through the quiet of the night to the large dumpster hidden around the corner of the building.
The lid squeaked in protest as she lifted it, the sound raking against her frayed nerves. The final witness to her actions, it was almost like the inanimate object raised one last condemnation. She tossed both bags into the bin, grunting with the effort, and gently set the lid down, not wanting to hear another accusation from the dented, rusty metal.
Light flakes of snow had started to fall and Cali shivered in the darkness as she hurried back to her condo. Maybe if she just stayed out there, the cold would freeze out the pain. Numb her until she didn’t have to deal with tomorrow.
With Peter.
With Jake.
With the mess she’d made of her life.
But she knew that wouldn’t happen. Short of death, tomorrow would still come. And she wasn’t pathetic enough to wish for death. Whatever the fallout, she would deal with it. Just like she always did.
She lifted her face to the falling flakes of snow, closed her eyes and inhaled. Icy shapes drifted onto her cheeks, her forehead and her eyelids, where they settled and slowly melted into the heat of her skin, the water blending with the tears slipping from her eyes.
Tomorrow she would have consequences to deal with.
But tonight, tonight she would cry.
* * *
Jake stuffed a final pair of socks into his bag and yanked the zipper closed. He didn’t take much, didn’t need much. He slammed the drawer and stalked to the closet, stripping as he went. He blindly grabbed clothes but was aware enough to put on his thermals before pulling on jeans and a fleece.
“Where you going?”
The voice should have startled him, but it didn’t. Of course he couldn’t escape without an interrogation.
“Does it matter?” Jake snapped. He dug through the closet until he found his snow pants and slipped them on over his jeans.
“What about the club?” Seth asked, his deceptively placid tone hiding none of the tension rippling from his stiff posture.
“I don’t care.”
Jake grabbed his riding boots and wool socks and tugged them on. He didn’t give a fuck what happened to the place. The sharp pain of rejection stabbed through him and he squeezed his eyes shut, keeping his back to Seth until he’d forced the emotion down. Unclenching his hands, he stood, picked up his bag and pushed past the other man.
Seth trailed after him into the living area. “I don’t believe that.”
Jake rounded on him. “You think I give a fuck what you believe?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well, I don’t,” he denied before heading to the door. He had to get out of there. Away from them, the club, this life. Fuck.
“You bailing on Cali too?”
The question slammed Jake on the back like a physical force. He spun back to Seth, the rage boiling over. “Fuck you, Mathews. Fuck you. She rejected me. She humiliated me. So fuck if I care about her.”
Seth’s only reaction was a smile, which ratcheted up Jake’s anger.
“You think this is funny? Enjoying my demise, are you?”
/> “No, Jake,” Seth said. “I’m not enjoying this at all. But your reaction is telling.”
Jake didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t need psychoanalysis or judgments. “Whatever.” He turned his back on Seth and stomped to the entry closet.
“You’re running from your dream,” he continued. “When you were so close to having everything.”
“The Den was not my dream,” Jake growled, slamming the closet door with all the force of his rage. “It’s a business. I’m done with it. It’s yours.” He thrust his arms into the lined leather jacket and tucked his helmet under his arm. Fuck dreams. Fuck all of it.
“I was talking about Cali.”
Cali. The pain stabbed him. The torn look of betrayal and hatred that marred her face flashed in his mind and dug like bullets into his gut.
“Can I have her too?”
Like that, Jake was in Seth’s face, his hand curled around the front of the man’s shirt. “No one touches her but me.”
Seth appraised him, his brown eyes nailing Jake with challenge. “You’re leaving. She’s a free agent if you’re not here.”
“The hell she is. She belongs to me.”
“Not if you run.”
Jake shook with the effort to control the impulse to pummel Seth. To punch and rail against the man who’d been his friend forever. He shoved away, pushing Seth back before he acted on his rage. What did it matter anyway?
There was nothing left for him here.
He grabbed his things off the floor, tossed his phone on the end-table and stormed out of the loft. He didn’t care what Seth thought. What anyone thought.
There was no point in caring.
Impatience dug at him as the elevator descended to the garage. He jerked on his gloves, the thick lining encasing his fingers in warmth. The ping of arrival echoed in the small space, signaling escape to Jake. He was out the doors and at his bike seconds later.
With quick, precise movements he strapped his bag to the back of the motorcycle and pulled the helmet over his head, the face shield blocking out the cold and the world. The zipper on his jacket rippled hard and protested in the cold as he tugged it up to his chin.
Gear in place, Jake mounted the bike, pushed the start and cranked on the throttle. The rumble of the engine ricocheted off the concrete walls to roar around him. He hunched low over the gas tank and took off.
Away.
From the pain. The humiliation. The loss.
Her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jake was numb—physically, mentally, emotionally. Frozen stiff from the long, exposed ride through the night. He straightened, his back protesting as he shifted on the seat and shook out his arms in an attempt to bring feeling into his numb appendages. He flexed his hands, the sensation rushing back to his fingers in a flash of burning pinpricks.
It’d been stupid to ride his bike through the night. But then, he had nothing to lose. No reason to be smart.
The sky was still dark, the city silent. Pre-dawn noises were just starting to creak through the sharp morning air. The low rumble of a garbage truck starting its morning route. The clank and groan of a delivery truck making its early drop-off.
Jake lifted his face shield, crisp air biting at his cheeks. The freshness welcomed after the hours of confined, stale air trapped under his helmet. He inhaled, the mixed stench of garbage blending with the distinctive perfume of the Missouri river instantly bringing him home. A menagerie of feelings and memories from his youth crashed through him, despite the fact that he didn’t need or want the reminders of his past.
Yet here he was. Sitting outside of the first BDSM club he’d ever ventured into.
Hell, he hadn’t even thought about where he was going when he’d left Minneapolis. He’d just need to get the hell out. Somehow he’d wound up back where he’d started.
Sioux City, Iowa, wasn’t the hotspot of the Midwest by any definition. Trapped in the middle of the country, the city founded on the mighty Missouri was in many ways a blend of quintessential small town and gritty city living. Jake had been born into the small-town gloss and lived in oblivious splendor until it’d been cruelly yanked away when he was ten years old. He’d been tossed and doused in the dark underside of the city by his twelfth birthday and well on his way to juvenile hall before he was a teen.
He shook off the black thoughts and dismounted from the bike. His legs protested at first, but he ignored their complaints, shoving the cramping pain back with the rest of his issues. Behind the wall of caring. He should probably find a hotel to crash in, but he didn’t want the quiet. Didn’t want the silence that would allow those damn feelings to take hold and torture him some more.
No. He would control that, just like he controlled all things in his life.
All things until Cali.
Fuck. Jake stalked to the club and pounded on back door, knowing someone would be there despite the time. It’d been years since he’d been back, but he still kept in touch with the owner, Doug Smith. The man Jake viewed as his benefactor and the only father figure he’d had after his own father was killed.
“What the fuck do you want?” The burly growl preceded the groan of the door as it swung open with a sharp thrust. A big-chested, stocky man with a bushy mustache and an angry snarl on his leathered face greeted Jake. A snarl that instantly changed to shock upon seeing him. “Well, I’ll be dammed. What the fuck brings you here?”
“Visit,” Jake said. He took in the changes in the man before him. He’d aged, the years showing in the lines around his eyes, the liberal gray covering his long hair and the slight bulge under his tight black shirt—all things that had not been there when Jake left fifteen years earlier.
“Visit, my ass,” the proprietor scoffed. “It’s fucking freezing out here. You coming in or what?” He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and strolled back into the dark recesses of the interior.
Jake grabbed the door before it closed and followed Doug inside. The warmth immediately surrounded him, highlighting just how frozen he was. He shivered as he pulled off his helmet and followed the familiar path down the hallway to Doug’s office. The man was already at the coffee pot perched atop the file cabinet in the corner, pouring the dark brew into two waiting cups.
Jake tugged off his gloves and accepted the steaming mug when it was shoved at him. “Thanks,” he mumbled before he took a sip of the scalding liquid, letting the ambient warmth flow through him from the inside out.
Doug grunted his reply before he took his own mug to his desk and dropped into the worn chair behind it. The springs creaked in protest at the sudden weight and the man sighed. He eyed Jake, his gaze scanning from head to toe before he spoke. “Out for a casual night ride in thirty-degree weather?”
Jake sniffed and took another drink of his coffee. “Yup.” He scanned the messy office. “I see nothing’s changed since I left.”
“Oh, a lot’s changed, Jake.” Doug leaned back in the chair, testing its stability. “You gonna tell me why you’re here?”
“Nope.” Jake absorbed Doug’s scrutiny, keeping his face blank. “Just need a place to hang for a bit. You open to that?”
“You know there’s always a place for you here.”
Jake glanced down, his gratitude surfacing in a surprising flush. “Yeah. I know.” He raised his head to look at the man who’d essentially saved him from a life of jailbait, crime and drugs. “Don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for that.”
The older man waved his hand in dismissal. “You’re not in jail. That’s thanks enough.” He set is mug down and stood. “Now, I’m tired as shit. You need a bed or do you have a pop-up stuffed in the trunk of that bike you rolled in on?”
Jake smiled, his first since the disaster with Cali. “A bed would be great.”
He followed Doug up the back stairs to the small living quarters. The same ones he’d crashed in many a night during his youth. Often on the floor, depending on if Deklan and Seth had been there as well. But the floor wa
s a welcomed exchange from the rancid foster home or back-alley dumpster that had been his alternative.
The scent of tobacco and grease welcomed Jake as he stepped into the cramped living room. This was good. What he needed.
Here he could forget. Go back to the basics and start again. Like he’d done before. Find his pleasure in the simplicity of Dominance without all the other trappings. He’d call that club back and see if the job was still there. He could spend a few weeks with Doug then go where he could submerse himself in the world and forget his mistakes along with all he’d lost.
Forget Cali—her soft smile, impossible courage, gentle touches—and move on.
Even if it killed him to do so.
* * *
Cali stared at the moving images on the screen, willing her mind to follow along, to forget about everything and get lost in the movie. But it wasn’t working. She snuggled deeper into the cocoon of the blanket and blinked back the tears that threatened once again. She wouldn’t cry.
No matter how much she hurt.
She’d been in an almost constant state of dread, fear and worry since she woke up. What little sleep she’d gotten had done nothing to relieve the ache encompassing her body and mind. The hot shower had only washed off the surface discomfort, leaving her internal dishevel blatantly exposed.
And the exposure made her feel the ache of loss simmering under the other emotions. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to feel it, but it was there anyway. Maybe it had all been a game to Jake, part of his job. But to her, everything that happened over the last two months had been very real. She’d stupidly come to trust him more than she’d ever trusted anyone, and he’d betrayed her by bringing Peter to the club. Hurt her and potentially inflicted irreparable damage to her life.
She hated him for that.
But she still missed him. And a part of her still wanted everything he’d given to her. That was the kicker that almost broke her. How depraved was she that her life could be falling apart around her and she was sitting there mourning the loss of being spanked and whipped? Of being tied down and ordered to take whatever her Dom gave to her?
