A half hour later, Marguerite drove into the nursery. While Noah went into the house to let Lyda know she was here, Gen had approached the open window of Marguerite’s BMW. The 320i was past its prime, but Marguerite refused to get rid of it, citing the fact she wasn’t going to buy a modern BMW that had the same body as any other car on the road. When the engine had reached three hundred thousand miles, Tyler had given her a brand new engine for a Christmas present.
“Hey,” Gen said, glad to see her former boss. She stopped by Tea Leaves at least once a week, and she and Chloe met for lunch frequently, but she was still getting used to the idea that Marguerite had already predicted. She was likely not coming back to Tea Leaves. Last week, Lyda had offered her a job officially—assistant manager, underscoring how quickly Gen was learning the business and earning her Mistress’s trust in her.
“Congratulations on the promotion,” Marguerite said. Gen had of course called Marguerite and Chloe after it happened, so they knew, but it was the first time one of them had seen her in her new capacity.
“Thanks,” Gen said. “I haven’t screwed up badly enough to be fired, yet.”
“You won’t. But my offer still stands, Gen. No matter what happens, you will always have a job with me if you want or need it.”
Unspoken—If this relationship doesn’t work out. Fortunately Gen saw nothing but sincere hope for her in Marguerite’s gaze. With her power of prediction, if Gen had read a warning, she would have been terrified. More terrified than she was already, taking such a large leap into so many unknowns. But her usual caution about such things was something she’d left behind. As nervous as she might be about unknowns, she felt more strongly about backtracking.
Lyda came out of the house, Noah helping her down the stairs before she took over for herself with the cane. Gen spoke to Marguerite, low. “She’s leaning on that less all the time, but she still tries to overdo, M. You can tell when she does, because the ankle gets shaky.”
Marguerite arched a brow. “I’ll take care of her. But I’d advise you not to try to handle a Mistress too much. It tends to piss us off.”
Gen grinned. “Like I didn’t already know that, working for you as long as I have?”
The flash of surprise in Marguerite’s gaze—Gen hadn’t been the type to joke about the Dom/sub dynamics before—was replaced by an amused look. “Careful. I might tell her what you said. And ask to bear witness to the consequences.”
Gen flushed, though the idea of M being at the club when she, Noah and Lyda were there didn’t discomfit her as much as it might have at one time. Inside the Dom/sub world, things tended to get tangled and intertwined, an arousing playground.
Noah helped Lyda into the car. As the two Mistresses drove off, he glanced at her. “Do we know what that’s about?”
“Not a clue.”
A call to Chloe had revealed nothing further about their errand. When Lyda had returned home, she refused to discuss it further. However, whatever she’d been doing had fueled her in other ways, because that night she’d driven both Gen and Noah to sweaty, replete exhaustion. The next day, she took her first short walk without the cane.
Coming back to the present, Gen suspected all these changes she was making to her life—new relationship, new job—were what had stirred that debris from her past. She’d made those insecurities work for her, driving her further education and attempts to improve herself, but whenever change happened, it made her vulnerable to that baggage. But no more. Lyda was right. She was past that.
“I will not tell you what Marguerite and I were doing,” Lyda said. “Fairness has no place in a Mistress-sub relationship. Spill about J. Martin, or I’ll eat my breakfast on your stomach and stab you with my fork.”
When it came to a battle of wills, on most things, Lyda was going to be the victor, because that was the way it worked—the way Gen needed it to be, truth be told. As Noah had said, the why was better explained through emotion than thought.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to keep it to yourself, because it’s a giant secret we’re not supposed to talk about, since J. Martin doesn’t do any public appearances. Tyler and he are good friends. Really good friends. And Tyler also knows Thomas.”
“No shit?” Lyda’s brows rose. “Would J. Martin give me a discount if I met him at Tyler’s?”
Gen gave Lyda a light thwap with the towel. “Geez. You have a one-track mind.”
“Which is why I’m a successful businesswoman,” Lyda said, unperturbed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“If you can get him off by himself, maybe.” Pretty certain. The other thing Gen knew, because she’d met Josh at Marguerite’s wedding, was that he was a submissive. A hot, distracted, entirely appealing submissive, totally in love with and faithful to his Mistress and wife, Lauren. However, if a Mistress like Lyda got him off by himself, the miniscule business acumen he had about the price of his art would be obliterated under the spell of those riveting eyes. “But while his art broker’s around, not a chance. Marcus is more ruthless than even you. And he’s Thomas’ husband.” He was also a Master as formidable as Tyler and beautiful as Lucifer. Even though Marcus was irrevocably gay, he could still make a woman shiver when his gaze turned upon her.
She’d probably share any and all of that with Lyda at some point. Despite her mercenary nature, Lyda could be trusted with a secret. But now Gen’s attention was distracted by something different, out the kitchen window.
A man was walking up to the front of the nursery. The gate was locked at the end of the drive, as it always was on their closed days, so he must have left his car there. Lyda had a separate drive to the house for her personal guests. As Noah came out of the greenhouse, apparently seeing the man’s approach, it was clear he knew who it was. From the rigidity of his stance, the look in his eyes, and the resulting cold spike through Gen’s chest, she guessed pretty quickly herself. Lyda confirmed it, following Gen’s gaze out the window.
“Elias.”
Gen thought the only reason she beat Lyda to the door was her Mistress’s residual limp. She heard Lyda call out to her to wait. She might have listened, but once she came out on the porch, there was no chance of that. As she stepped out, Elias had reached Noah. No words were spoken that she saw. The man punched Noah in the face, hard enough Noah stumbled, went to one knee.
Gen didn’t remember leaving the porch, didn’t remember closing the ground between them. She was just suddenly in between them, with the shovel she’d retrieved on the way clenched in both hands. Noah hadn’t even raised his hands, hadn’t even closed them into fists to defend himself.
Gen didn’t know enough about fighting to use fists, but she knew enough about dirty self-defense tactics from Marguerite to know how useful a heavy blunt object was. She was vaguely aware of a shout as she swung the shovel toward Elias’ head, rage driving every action, muting every rational thought.
She was brought up short, the handle of the shovel caught in a strong, capable hand, another arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back. Noah. Noah had stopped her swing, was pulling her back. Strong enough to stop her, but unwilling to use any of that strength to protect himself.
“Don’t you touch him,” she snarled. Elias had taken a self-preserving step back, had gone white enough to give her a spurt of satisfaction. She had a further impression of streaked brown hair, blue eyes. Elias was handsome, strong-looking, possessing the build of a man who’d probably played sports in high school or college. Ten years older than Noah, maybe. He wore slacks and dress shirt, a tie, as if he was on the way to a business meeting. Or, being Sunday, maybe coming from church, an odd thought for the moment. Hey, I’ll stop by after the service on love-my-neighbor and beat up the submissive kid who pissed me off.
“Gen.” Noah said it urgently enough she hesitated. “No. He has the right.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she snapped at him.
“He’s a grown man who knows what he’s doing,” Elias said. He had a voi
ce like a DJ’s, smooth and deep. She hated it. Hated him. “Move out of the way.”
“Not in this lifetime, you piece of shit.”
But Noah put her on her feet, still holding her firmly, and moved her out from between them. “No,” Gen resisted him. “Noah.”
“This is my choice, Gen.”
The words tore through the rage, ripped into her heart. No. They were past this, weren’t they? She couldn’t accept this, couldn’t allow it to destroy every hopeful thought she’d had about their progress together, the three of them, since Gatlinburg. Lyda wouldn’t take less than all of him. She couldn’t. It didn’t matter what she said about Noah and crossed wires. Gen knew her enough now, knew it would eventually break the link that held Noah to them. And that link was vital to all of them.
“It’s a stupid choice.” She put her hands on his face. “Why can’t you see this isn’t love? I love you. Lyda loves you. Yeah, she might not have said it, but in the way she acts toward you, treats you… Goddamn it, she loves you. And so do I. I won’t stand by and let someone take advantage of you, hurt you like this. Don’t you understand that?”
He tried to move her again. She dug in her heels, gripped his arms to hold him. He’d have to drag her. She clung to rage, because otherwise she’d have to bear the horrible truth that the past few weeks had been a false happiness. The unresolved issue was right here, ignored but never gone, patiently waiting to ambush them all. The wall was still behind his eyes, never gone, just obscured by her idealism, which was once again leading her to heartbreak. Don’t do this to me. To us. To Lyda.
“Can you not understand that you owe it to people who truly love you to love them back? To choose them? There’s no greater gift you can give us, than to lay yourself all out there for that one…or two…specific people, and let them know that your heart and soul is unconditionally theirs. Not just any asshole who comes along.” She was poking a stick right into that rage-trigger, but she didn’t care. The alternative was unthinkable.
“You just said it,” he said, his chin set, gaze dispassionate. “My choice. Please stand aside, Gen. If you have any regard for me, step aside.”
She looked toward the porch. Lyda stood there, leaning on the cane. She had that locked expression Gen knew too well. It cut her heart to ribbons.
“Come here, Gen,” Lyda said, holding out a hand. “Come to me.”
“No.” It was a broken plea. It became even more excruciating when she saw the strain around Lyda’s tight mouth, the terrible knowledge in her eyes. There is a wire crossed in his mind… Those goddamn, fucking crossed wires.
“Fine. Fine.” She thrust away from Noah, turned on him. “You’d sacrifice your life for us, but you won’t fucking choose us. You’d break our hearts rather than do that. That’s worse than letting us die, Noah. But if that’s what your fucked-up brain says to do, then go with him. Don’t wait for Lyda to let you go, because if she does let you go, it’s because you forced her to let you go. She knows she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this by you. Neither of us do.”
He was flinching as if she was hitting him with the shovel now, but she wouldn’t stop. She had two people in her life to protect, one at her back and one at her front. The one at her front needed to hear the truth of it, even if it never sank into his broken mind. The one behind her might deny ever needing Gen’s defense, but Gen had been inside Lyda deeply enough now to know there were parts of their formidable Mistress that were as capable of being hurt and destroyed as anyone else. Especially when she opened herself to love, as she had.
“If he beats you, kills you, that won’t be the real tragedy, Noah. It’s that he’ll eat your soul, because he doesn’t really know what it means to love you. To accept you as who you are. You deserve that, you’re smarter than this. I spent years of my life figuring it out, years I’ll never get back.”
She stepped up to him. She knew his body well enough to jerk the shirt up and reach behind him to find it without searching. Her hand landed on that scar, the one that had bifurcated Yours and unconditionally, and erased the “un”. “Love can be given unconditionally, but the recipient should never accept it that way. They should spend their lives working for it, because that kind of love deserves to be earned. It has to be. You don’t value what you don’t have to earn, even if it’s a gift.”
“Gen.” Lyda’s voice was quiet, firm. “Come here. Be with me.”
Gen stared up into Noah’s face. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Elias. Despairing, she looked over her shoulder. Elias was staring at him, absorbed in Noah’s response. Neither one of them was aware of her anymore. She had no idea who that made her want to hit with the shovel more, Noah or Elias.
Making her feet move was like dragging concrete blocks across the grass, but her heart was the heaviest load of all. She looked toward the only solace capable of keeping her from crumpling. Though Lyda’s face was as smooth and dispassionate as it always was in such moments, that mask was no longer opaque to Gen. Beneath it, she saw Lyda’s understanding, her compassion…the suffering they shared.
Lyda was an island, yes. A strong, remarkable island reserved in expressing her emotions, but she had them. She was just a different language to learn, as Noah was a different language, as Chloe and Marguerite were different languages. And yet all of those languages had a word for love, for tears, for loss, disappointment and pain.
She mounted the stairs. She wanted the men to go. She didn’t want to see what Elias did next or worse, Noah. But she wasn’t to be given that reprieve.
“Again,” Noah said.
She turned to see he now stood where Gen had stood, where he’d stood before Elias had hit him in the face that first time. Elias arched a brow. “Penance?”
Noah said nothing. Elias landed another direct punch in his face and Noah went down again. She saw the spurt of blood from his mouth as he fell to one knee.
Lyda gripped Gen’s arm, held her in place when Gen surged forward. She used enough pressure to push Gen down onto the top stair. “Stop this,” Gen begged her. She gripped Lyda’s leg, hard. “Call the police. Tell Elias to leave. Please.”
Lyda leaned over enough to keep a firm hand on her shoulder. Though she assumed Lyda had heard her, her Mistress kept her attention locked on Noah. When Gen shifted her gaze back toward Noah, she saw he looked toward Lyda when he got up, before he turned back to Elias. Noah spat blood on the ground.
“Again.”
Gen bit back a scream of frustration. Lyda sank down in a porch chair, which allowed her hand to stay on Gen’s shoulder, holding tight, fingers tangled in Gen’s T-shirt collar.
Elias gave him a narrow look. “That’s starting to sound like an order, Noah.”
When Elias hit him this time, Gen heard a bone crunch. She cried out. Noah staggered backward, but this time he didn’t fall. Instead, he shook his head to clear it of the pain and stepped up once more. When he lifted his head, his nose was bleeding. Lyda had her arm banded over Gen’s chest, Gen straining against the hold.
Elias was looking a little uneasy, even if the expression was mixed with an unhealthy dose of satisfaction at his display of power. As Lyda had intimated, Noah was his drug of choice. Gen felt sick.
“Noah.”
Thank God, Lyda spoke. Her tone bore that severe edge Gen knew meant she was at the end of her tolerance. Glancing up, Gen saw her silver eyes had gone to ice. From his startled glance, it was clear Elias realized she’d included him in her displeasure.
The only one who hadn’t changed expression was Noah. Except for the brief, involuntary reaction to pain, he was as dispassionate as Lyda in her most ruthless moment. “Once more,” he said softly. “And then it’s done.”
Though Gen felt like he was speaking to Lyda, he was looking at Elias.
Elias’s jaw tightened. “You’ve asked for punishment before.”
“The punishment should fit the crime. That’s what you always told me.”
“I’ll do one more, and
that’s it. If she’s letting you go, then you come back with me to New Orleans as promised. Tonight. I have plans for that bleeding mouth.”
Noah said nothing. He waited. Despite the power of that last punch, he didn’t even appear to brace himself.
It happened so fast, Gen couldn’t follow it. Elias threw the punch, but it never connected. Instead Noah was holding his fist in a tight grip, having caught it like a pitcher snagging a line drive straight from the mound.
Finally, his expression changed.
Dispassion became all about passion. Lips peeled back from his teeth and he twisted the arm, stomping the back of Elias’s knee as his former Master’s body spun from the force and Noah drove him to his knees. Gen heard a crack and knew she was hearing some portion of Elias’s arm break, his hoarse cry confirming it. Noah followed him down to the ground, landing on one knee behind him, holding his head to the dirt, pressing it there. Keeping him still, immobile. A shudder ran through his body, a quiver of energy that Gen saw translated to his calloused palm, the strength he held there, the force. Noah would crush his head with only the power of what boiled inside of him.
“Noah.”
Lyda’s tone could have pierced a full force gale. Which was what was needed to bring Noah’s head up. As his eyes found her, Gen saw that terrible, deadly rage. “Stop,” their Mistress said. A simple, not-to-be-disobeyed command.
When Lyda squeezed her shoulder, Gen picked up on the cue. “Noah,” she repeated. She put all her feelings into it, everything she’d felt when she’d raged at him before, the same passion for a different purpose. To save him from himself. “Noah.”
As the scale teetered, Noah on the verge of a life-altering decision, Gen clung to the memory of Dot’s words, how he’d never hurt a living being, and prayed for that to win out against the fury, a lifetime of suppressed anger that now pulsed off him like poisonous radiation.
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 46
