by Donya Lynne
"So, what's the problem?" Steve was feeling worse about the situation. There was just something in Dr. Rose's tone.
"None of us can remember treating her. The nurse who took her blood can't remember drawing it, I can't remember examining her, and the nurse doesn't remember entering her data into the chart. It's like she was never here, but we all know she was."
Steve looked at the doctor like he was yanking his chain. "Did she put you up to this?" He laughed unbelievingly. "Did she tell you that if I showed up to pretend you didn't know her?"
"I'm sorry?"
The smile faded from Steve's face and he stared at Dr. Rose for several seconds, looking for any sign that the guy was kidding. "Oh, come on! You can't be serious. You can't just forget a patient."
"I wish I were kidding, Dr. Garrett. None of us know what to make of it. She was here, but we don't remember her."
Deflating, Steve sank back in his chair. How did someone just disappear from the memories of so many people? Had he inadvertently entered an alternate dimension? Was someone going to hop out from behind the desk with a camera and shout You're on Candid Camera? He looked around the office as if Sam would suddenly materialize then glanced back at the doctor.
"Well, thank you for your time. I'll just…" What? What would he do? Go to the next address on his list, that's what. "Thank you, Dr. Rose. I've taken enough of your time." More like you've wasted enough of mine. He stood and shook Dr. Rose's hand and went to the door.
"I'm so sorry about this, Dr. Garrett. We've never had anything like this happen before. I wish I knew how to explain it."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll come back to you in time." Steve still wasn't sure he believed the doctor's story, but what choice did he have? He was wasting time here and had other places to search for her.
"I hope you find her," Dr. Rose said as they reached the double doors to the waiting room.
"Oh, I think I know where to look," Steve said. He had a couple places, actually. Sam would turn up. One way or another, he would get her back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sam collected her things from The Black Garter and packed the masks and costumes that belonged to her in a box while Micah stood guard at the door. The manager had been beside himself when she gave her notice, begging her not to quit. The club needs Scarlet, he had said, grabbing her wrist as he pleaded with her. Micah hadn't liked that and now her manager—ex-manager—nursed a busted lip in his office.
"I like this one," Micah said, picking a club-owned mask off the wall. It was red with slanted eyeholes that made the mask look angry or sinister. Black streaks that looked like claw marks ran up both cheeks and down the forehead.
"That one's not mine," she said. "Sorry."
He sidled up beside her. "I saw you dance once wearing this mask."
Something in the tone of his voice drew her gaze to his and her pulse quickened. "Oh?"
"Mm-hm. I tried to buy a private performance that night, but you were booked up."
"Really? I'm sorry." She turned toward him. "Were you hurt?"
He nodded. "Excruciatingly so."
"But you somehow managed to survive."
He growled and inhaled deeply then leaned down and brushed his lips over her ear as he whispered, "Just barely. Do you want to know what I did when I got home that night?"
Sliding her hands up his chest, she closed her eyes and swayed dreamily toward him. "Yes."
"Take this mask and I'll show you later then." He licked the curve of her ear and she felt the leather mask push gently against her hand.
"That's stealing," she said, taking it.
His hand slid around to the small of her back and his lips worked a spell on her skin until she thought she would explode. "Just take it," he said, pulling away. His gaze burned hers as he backed toward the door.
Suddenly breathless, she looked down at the mask, then back up at Micah, who had turned around and stood sentry once more, his gaze sweeping up and down the hall. With a grin, she tossed the mask in the box with hers. The club wouldn't miss this one mask. They had no one to wear it anymore, anyway. As a matter of fact…Sam snagged a couple more of her favorites from those the club owned and threw them into her box, too.
* * *
Steve couldn't ignore his need for food any longer and ran through a McDonald's drive-thru on his way to the second address on his list. By the time he reached the luxury apartment building with a marble placard that read The Sentinel, the sun was setting. So, okay, maybe it wasn't her pimp that had attacked her, but a John she was likely whoring herself to for her pimp. She certainly had the look of a high-priced call girl who could get clients who could afford to live in a place like this. And how else would she have been able to live off-the-grid for so long doing legitimate work. It only made sense Sam had taken to selling herself to survive.
Unfortunately, the tight-assed security guard wouldn't let him up the elevator. Fuck! He would have to contact David and have him pull some strings with the local police department. That would take more time, but if that's what it took, then he had no choice. Meanwhile, he could check the address labeled home. He probably should have gone there before checking the address for The Sentinel, but he wasn't thinking straight at the moment. Lack of food will do that to a person.
Dialing David as he drove to Sam's home address, he waited for the detective to pick up.
"Yeah, you got her, yet?" David said when he answered.
Steve shook his head. "Not yet, but soon."
"She wasn't at the hospital?"
Steve didn't want to get into that debacle. "No."
"Wow, they sure got her out of there fast."
If he only knew. "Yeah, I know. Hey, I need a favor."
"Anything. You're paying the bills."
"I need you to contact the local police and see if you can pull some strings. That address where she was attacked? Well, it's a luxury high rise and security won't let me up. I'm on my way to her house, but I don't want to wait to see if she's there or not. I don't have a lot of time and if she's not at her home, whoever lives in that apartment might know where I can find her." He was on the last flight out, only a couple hours from now. The sun had already set and he was running out of time. His patience was wearing thin. If he didn't get Sam in the next 30 minutes, he would have to change his flight and bunk down in Chicago for a night. Fuck, he might as well make plans to fly out tomorrow at this rate.
"Okay, I'll get on it."
He hung up and followed the GPS directions into a part of town that made Steve uncomfortable. Abandoned townhomes and row houses with boarded up windows lined the streets. Groups of black people and hoodlums congregated on stoops and stared at his car like it didn't belong, which, of course, it didn't. Steve was better than these lowlifes.
He drove past a block of run-down businesses. One of the buildings had a bright yellow sign with three X's on it and the words Naked Girls blinking in pink neon. Sam lived in this dump of urban shit?
A few more blocks and his GPS indicated that he was there. He shut off the engine and sat back, checking the address on his list. Yep, this was it. God, how low had Sam fallen?
He got out and stepped around a large, pebbled pothole then crossed the street to her building and yanked the weathered, paint-chipped door open and hurried inside. The sooner he got her and left this hellhole, the better. He pounded on her door, double-checking the address again when no one answered. Again, he pounded.
"Hey!" someone shouted from upstairs. "Shut up down there, goddamn it. I'm watching Dog the Bounty Hunter."
Of course you are. "Sorry," he forced himself to say. "Maybe you can help me." He looked up the staircase and saw an obese woman wearing a stained sweatshirt that didn't look like it had been washed in this decade. She had a cigarette hanging from her lips. "Uh, hello, um, does Sam Garrett live here?" He gestured toward her door.
"I think that's her name. Why? You her next customer or her dealer?"
"She does
drugs?" That surprised Steve. Sam didn't seem the type.
"Hell if I know, but no one lookin' like you comes 'round places like this unless they pushin', buyin', or lookin' for a ho. I figure she gots to be one of the above."
"No, I'm her husband." Steve tapped his fingers impatiently. "Have you seen her?"
The lady looked like she was excited to have the chance to gossip. She probably lived off Jerry Springer and Maury.
"I ain't seen her today, but she usually sleeps during the day. She works nights." She grinned wryly and Steve saw she was missing three teeth.
"What do you mean?"
"What you think girls 'round here do when they work nights, Mister? Just wait 'round for a half-hour or so. You're wife," she chuckled like she didn't believe him for a second that he was actually Sam's husband, "will be up soon. And she don't show up, you can always come up and I'll give you what you want. I'll do you real good. Only cost you twenty bucks." She cackled and blew smoke out her nose and turned around and closed her apartment door.
Nice neighbors.
Sam apparently wasn't home or awake, so all he could do was what the woman had suggested. Wait. But the fat lady's words didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it confirmed his suspicions. He'd have to make Sam got tested before he stuck his dick in her again. He didn't want to get AIDS or any other variety of sexually transmitted disease just from fucking his own wife.
Half-expecting to find his rental car stolen or stripped by thieves, he went back outside and found to his surprise his car still intact.
Shit, he needed to piss like an elephant. He hadn't stopped all day and the coffee and large Coke from McDonald's were talking back. Getting behind the wheel of his rental, he rolled down the window and tossed the rest of his Coke out then unzipped his pants and whipped out his dick. He sighed as he pissed in the empty cup then shook out the last drop and opened his door to set the cup on the curb. People in this neighborhood were probably used to finding piss, shit, and vomit littering their sidewalks, anyway. So who cared.
He shut the door and settled into his seat, starting the engine and turning on the heater. It was fucking cold and a couple of houses had cheap, tacky Christmas lights still in their windows. Didn't they realize Christmas had been three weeks ago? Closer to a month, really. These people were probably the types who were too lazy to take down their Christmas lights, leaving them up all year and only turning them on during the holidays.
His dick still hung from his pants and he closed his eyes, thinking about Sam fucking other men. At first he didn't like it then he realized it turned him on. Maybe he could turn her into his own sex slave and command her to fuck his friends while he watched. If she liked sex so much, he could accommodate that. His hand found his hardening cock, stroking it as he imagined Sam bound and gagged, legs splayed wide while his friend from the gym fucked her. Opening his eyes, he looked down at himself, stroking harder. Soon he would have her back, and soon thereafter he would make her his slave. Soon, yes, oh yes.
His toes curled and he quickly grabbed his McDonald's bag, positioning it just in the nick of time in front of his dick. His cum spewed into it as he shuddered. Steve used the leftover McDonald's napkins to wipe himself off, tossed everything in the bag, including his sandwich wrapper and fry box, then crumpled it up and tossed it out the window to join his piss-filled cup. What was a little semen to these people? He was sure that was something else the residents here were used to finding on their sidewalks or even their front porches.
Headlights turned down the street and Steve hunched down as a black Suburban pulled up in front of Sam's building. He peeked over the dashboard just as Sam hopped out of the passenger side. Ah, the harlot returns.
She'd cut her hair. Otherwise, she looked the same. Tall, lean, small tits.
Steve watched her walk around to the driver's side and frowned as a tall, dark-haired man got out and joined her. They exchanged a quick word, she went inside, and he went to the back of the Suburban and pulled out a stack of broken down boxes and a roll of bubble wrap before following her.
* * *
"I don't have much I need," Sam told Micah, opening her closet. "My clothes, my books." She grabbed several shirts and pushed them together, then lifted them as one from the bar and set them on the bed.
"How about anything in the kitchen?"
She turned as he started opening up the cabinets. "Maybe that bamboo bowl. And there's a set of China plates my mom gave me on the top shelf in the last cabinet."
Clothes, books, what else? Well, her computer, of course, and the few CDs she owned. And the stacks of money she had saved under the mattress. Other than that, she didn't need the furniture.
Sam was pulling another bundle of clothes from the closet when someone knocked on her door.
"I bet that's the landlord," she said.
"Probably wants your keys."
"Well, he'll just have to wait until I'm done packing and moved out, won't he?" She smiled innocently at him as she went to the door.
But when she opened it, the person on the other side wasn't her landlord.
"Steve." Her throat constricted around his name, and she was sure her face had turned stark white. How had he found her?
"Hello, Samantha."
* * *
Sam's fear jolted Micah as if it was his own, and in an instant he was by her side, pulling her back. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Sam's husband. Who are you?"
Micah looked at Sam whose fearful gaze turned back to him. "I told you about him. This is Steve."
Ah yes. Steve. The man who enjoyed beating women.
"I know who you are," Micah said. "What do you want?"
"My wife."
"Well, you can't have her." His arm slithered around the front of Sam, easing her behind him.
Steve pulled out his cell. "Well, let's let the authorities settle this then."
He snatched Steve's phone before the other man even knew he had grabbed it, his index finger dialing empty air before he frowned and shot Micah a dirty look. "You asshole."
Steve was beginning to irritate him. And when Micah got irritated, bad shit happened. "Fine, let's ask her. Sam, do you want to go with Steve."
"No," she said without hesitation.
"There you have it." Micah began to close the door, but Steve stopped him, making Micah grin like the guy had just made his day. If he wanted to, he could snap Steve's arm like it was nothing more than a dry branch, but okay, he'd play.
"You're starting to piss me off, Steve."
Sam stepped back around to Micah's side, and he picked up a new feeling from her: Aggression. He could feel her anger and the desire to show Steve a thing or two now that she had a new and improved – and much stronger – body.
"No, Micah," Sam said. "It's okay. Steve has a point. I am his wife, after all."
He saw into her mind and liked what she was thinking.
Moving aside, he gave her space. "Okay, but I'm here if you need me, honey." He crossed his arms and grinned as he took a few steps back.
"How are you Steve?" Sam said, her voice pleasant enough.
"Tired, impatient, ready to get out of this hellhole." Steve's gaze shot to Micah. "Not pleased to find you with another man. What? Is he your pimp?"
Sam laughed and looked over her shoulder at him. "Who? Micah? No, he's not my pimp." She winked at him and he tried not to grin, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat.
She turned back to Steve and looked at his hand and sucked her tongue, making an exaggerated, affectionate sound. "Oh, look. You still wear your wedding ring. How sweet. Here, let me take a look at that." She took Steve's hand and wrapped hers around it, then squeezed. Hard.
Steve grimaced, crying out as he fell to his knees in obvious pain. Micah shot to the door, closing it as Sam dragged him in with her new super powers. He knelt down beside Steve and leered. "How do you like your new wife, Stevie? She's gotten a lot stronger, hasn't she?" He was proud of his mate.
Sam squeezed again and he heard a knuckle pop as Steve jerked and whined like a baby.
"I'm not the same woman you used to beat up," Sam said, finally letting go.
Steve clutched his hand to his body, looking from Sam to Micah and back as he sat up and scooted backward on his ass, putting distance between he and the two of them. "What did you do to her?" Steve looked at Micah.
"That doesn't matter," Micah said, his eyes locking onto Steve's. His fangs extended and he grinned. Micah left him lucid just long enough so he could watch the terror flash in Steve's eyes then he locked him into compulsion.
An hour later, Micah packed the last of Sam's things in the SUV and returned to the apartment.
"What should we do with him?" Sam looked at Steve's hypnotized body sitting on the edge of the bed.
Micah had kept Steve compelled while they had finished packing, and now he stepped in front of him. Sam took his hand and he looked down at her.
"I'm going to remove you from his memory."
"You can do that?"
"Of course."
The effects of an idea crossed her face and she smiled. "What else can you do while you're in there?"
A sardonic quirk turned up the corner of his mouth. "Why? Do you want me to implant a suggestion?"
"Can you?"
"Yes. What did you have in mind?"
"Just one or two things."
Micah turned his attention back to Steve and sneered. "Let's hear them."
The power of suggestion could have a strong influence on a human mind.
* * *
Three days later…
Sabrina pushed Steve back on the bed. He didn't really know why he had invited her over. She made such fake sexual noises, but sex was sex, and she had called earlier saying she wanted to finish their date from the other night. He remembered she had been over, and then he had gone to Chicago—he couldn't remember why—but now he was home and Sabrina's nimble fingers worked open the fly of his slacks and pushed them down.
"Oooooooo, uuunnnhhhh, so good," she squealed.
