by Jane Henry
Slay looked at him speculatively for a moment, as though seeing more behind Blake’s words than Blake had intended. Then Slay lifted his chin.
“What are you suggesting?” he asked, his voice subdued.
“I’m suggesting… caution. That’s all. For the time being, maybe you and the guys wanna hang with your women at Cara, instead of here. I’m thinking we institute a new rule that employees and their families must park in the employee lot. For the time being, no access to The Club for non-members, including guests. If these assholes are trying to land a punch on us, we wanna minimize the number of available targets.”
Slay nodded. “What’s your timeframe?”
“As long as it takes to make sure this group is harmless, and that their threats are no more than scare tactics,” Blake told him, glancing down to scrawl his signature at the bottom of the payroll sheet. “Which means, as long as it takes you and your team to dig into these guys. And if we find out they’re after something more than an easy scapegoat to gain publicity, we’ll have to make sure the Prophet, uh, sees the light.”
Slay’s face contorted in a grimace. “Jesus. That was awful.”
Blake stood and grinned, before turning around to a tall file cabinet against the wall and opening the drawer. “That was excellent. You’re just pissed you didn’t think of it.”
Slay shook his head, but his mouth twitched. “This is what you do at night, huh? Lie awake, thinking of shitty puns?”
Blake froze, his entire body solid as Slay’s joking taunt penetrated. What would Slay do if he knew just what Blake really did when he was lying awake at night? It would be an end to their easy friendship, that was for damn sure.
Blake made himself move, finding the correct folder and filing the paper in his hand, forced his voice to be light as he turned to Slay and smirked.
“That what you do at night? Lie there wondering what I’m doing? Slay, I’m touched, really. I just wouldn’t want Allie to get the wrong idea, you know?”
Slay’s eyes lit with humor, and his chuckle was a rumble too low to wake the baby. “Peace,” he said, holding out a placating hand. “I shoulda known better than to start shit with you, man.”
Blake snorted. Damn straight.
“All right, call me if you need me,” Slay said. “I’m out of here for the night. Matt’s probably ready to have me arrested for kidnapping, and Allie’s gonna send out a search party. More than one babygirl needs her Daddy.”
Blake chuckled and held out a hand, which Slay shook firmly.
“Drive safely and tell Allie I say hi,” Blake said as he resumed his seat.
He looked up a moment later to find Slay staring at him with uncharacteristic hesitation.
“What’s up?” Blake asked.
“About the other night,” Slay said, “when we were all hanging here at The Club.”
The night he’d had words with Elena by her car. The night the picture of him had been taken. “What about it?”
“You and Elena got into it. She goaded you. She was out of line. It’s been eating at me for days, and I wanted to apologize—”
Blake held up a hand and scowled. “Jesus, Slater! I don’t want an apology from you. She and I are both adults, and we happen to push each other’s buttons.”
Slay nodded. “Yeah, I know you’re right. I think I got in the habit a long time ago of thinking of her like my kid, you know?” He lifted his hand from Frankie’s back to smooth it over his head, then winced. “She’d kill me if she knew I’d said that.”
“Yeah, she would.” And Blake wouldn’t entirely blame her.
Slay grimaced.
“Though, considering you’re still breathing after what you said the other night right in front of her…” Blake goaded.
“What’d I say?” Slay demanded.
“I threatened to spank her, and you volunteered to hold her down!” Blake reminded him.
“Oh, shi… I mean, shoot! Yeah. But that’s only because I knew you wouldn’t,” Slay told him. “When it comes down to it, I trust you with her, you know? You’re pretty much the only single guy in Boston I can say that about.”
Blake nodded, even as he felt his stomach twist with guilt. “That… means a lot,” he choked out.
But as Slay and Frankie departed, Blake wondered whether guilt would be enough to banish Elena from his dreams.
Chapter 4
Elena stretched her arms up over her head, yawning like a kitten just waking from slumber, realizing she felt more well-rested than usual. She listened for a moment as the birds tweeted out her window, enjoying the pleasurable sounds of early spring, before she bolted upright. What time was it? Holy crap, the light out the window was way too bright to be five a.m. She grabbed frantically at her phone on the bedside table, and hit the power button. Her jaw dropped when she looked at the time. 6:45! It wasn't until she was flying out of her bed, blankets askew around her, that she realized she had four messages on her phone from MisterHaven.
MisterHaven: Good morning, sunshine.
Sent at 5:30, the time she was supposed to have gotten up. Then, fifteen minutes later:
MisterHaven: Lanie? You awake yet?
And fifteen minutes after that:
MisterHaven: I'm afraid you may have slept through your alarm. Rise and shine, kiddo!
The latest was sent just three minutes ago.
MisterHaven: Please message me as soon as you get this so I know you're okay.
Groaning out loud, trying to text with one hand while hopping around trying to pull on her scrubs with her other hand, she texted back. Awake. Overslept. Later.
She ran to her bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and slapped toothpaste on a toothbrush while glancing at herself in the mirror. She froze, toothbrush half paused mid-brush. She looked like shit. Her long black hair was straggly and unkempt, bluish circles underscored her eyes, emphasized with smudged mascara from her late night over at Dom and Heidi’s the night before. She’d finally made it to their place for dinner, but had stayed far longer than she should have. The phone on the vanity buzzed obnoxiously as she finished brushing her teeth, ran a brush through her hair, and grabbed at her makeup case. With a sigh, she dabbed on cover-up to hide the dark circles, ran a mascara brush through her lashes, and slid lip gloss across her lips. She shrugged. Marginally better.
Picking up her phone, she saw she had a reply from MisterHaven, but she waited to open it. She'd have a few minutes to catch her breath on the train into work, and she could message him then. With a groan, she shot a text to her charge nurse. Running late. Be there in thirty. She'd be a full half-hour late to start, if she was lucky.
Her reply came back seconds later. I need you ASAP. We have thirty-two week twins, three women in active labor, and two nurses in the OR for a stat C-section.
Elena groaned and yelled out loud to her phone. “Sure, let me just summon my private jet. Dumbass!” She shoved her phone in her bag, raced to the kitchen, grabbed a banana and one of the chocolate protein bars MisterHaven had recommended she grab “in case of emergencies,” and looked longingly at her coffee pot. No time. She'd have to grab a cup of swill at the train station.
Ten minutes later, she was running along Main Street, her hair flying behind her, as she had a train to catch.
“Wait!” she shouted, waving her arm frantically as she could see the outbound train she needed, just on the other side of the entry gate. Her fingers flew through her bag, grabbed her CharlieCard, the monthly pass for the Boston subway system known to locals simply as “the T,” and shoved it into the slot to let her pass through the gates.
“Easy, girl, you're not gonna get anywhere faster by knocking someone over,” said the conductor, but Elena didn't even look at him as the doors to the gate opened and she raced through to the platform. Too late. As she watched, the silver doors slid shut, and she was left bereft as the last outbound train for fifteen minutes pulled away. Her card still held in one hand, her protein bar and banana in the other
, her shoulders slumped, defeated. She closed her eyes briefly, ignoring the stares from the others around her still waiting for the inbound train, as she went to find a vacant bench.
A lump rose in her throat and she rapidly blinked tears away as she found a small bench in a cool, dank corner. In the distance she heard the low, melancholy tunes of a saxophone. It was not uncommon for musicians to perform somewhere in the corridors or platforms of the downtown subway system. They'd toss a baseball cap or empty guitar box in front of them, and play to their hearts’ content, while locals would toss spare change and singles to them. It was a quirky thing she liked about being a local in downtown Boston. It somehow gave character to the well-worn streets. But today, the notes of the sax only seemed to make her want to cry that much more.
She slumped against the bench and pulled out her cell phone, swiping and effectively ignoring the irate messages from her charge nurse, a text from Alex, and a picture of baby Francesca from Hillie. God, was everyone in the world up before she was?
The only one she felt like messaging at all was the one at the very top of her screen.
MisterHaven: I'm sorry you overslept. Message me when you have a quiet minute. Thinking of you.
She blinked back the tears even harder as she responded. I just missed my train. Sitting waiting for the next one that won't come for another FREAKING fifteen minutes, while my manager virtually lambastes me, my head is pounding from lack of coffee, and apparently everyone in the world is awake on time and earlier than me today.
She put her phone down as she angrily tore the peel off the banana and ate half of it in one large bite. She chewed and swallowed furiously, as if it were her breakfast's fault she was late. Next she tore the cellophane off the protein bar and took a large bite, but as she chewed, she moaned out loud. She'd completely forgotten her water bottle, and she forgot how the bar stuck in her mouth like peanut butter. She wrapped the rest of the bar up and stuck it in her pocket, popped the rest of the banana in her mouth, and tossed the peel in a nearby garbage basket.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up hopefully.
MisterHaven: That sucks, sweetheart.
Her lip stuck out and she pouted, nodding to the phone, thinking, “Yes, sir, it does. It really really does!”
Another message popped up.
MisterHaven: Why did you oversleep?
Guilt niggled at her conscience. She swallowed, again wishing she had that bottle of water, as she responded.
LanieLove: I was out late with friends, and had a few drinks. Looks like I set my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m. I do that sometimes like a total spaceshot.
MisterHaven: Don't call yourself names, Lanie. You're not a spaceshot. You had a lot on your mind this week. Tonight, I'll remind you to set your alarm properly. I think it's best you plan on getting to bed a little on the early side. Can you do that, honey?
She swallowed. Why did he care? And why did it feel so nice that he did? Could she possibly be falling for a man she'd never even met?
LanieLove: Thanks, MisterH. I'd like that.
MisterHaven: Now let's talk about how we're going to prevent this from happening again.
The sternness in his tone set her heart to pounding. She bit her lip, and couldn't help but egg him on a little.
LanieLove: Uh oh. Am I in trouble?
God, why was it suddenly thrilling to be on the receiving end of a lecture from him? Weren't people supposed to dislike getting scolded? Yet, her heart pitter-pattered in her chest waiting for his reply.
MisterHaven: If you were mine? Absolutely.
The tempo of her heartbeat accelerated. She took a deep breath before she replied. She was playing with fire and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself.
LanieLove: What would you do if I were yours, MisterH?
MisterHaven: It depends, Lanie. I'd likely give you a bedtime. I'd make sure you were getting enough rest. But if you continued to be late, there would be consequences. You read LadyHaven's blog, sweetheart. What do YOU think I'd do?
Oh, God. She almost dropped her phone. She closed her eyes briefly, arousal pooling in her belly, before she responded.
LanieLove: I seem to recall you having a certain fondness for um, spanking.
MisterHaven: Bingo. This kinda behavior would find you bent over my knee. But I'd try to help you figure out what the root of your tardiness was. What do you think would help you get to bed on time?
The screeching of the approaching train snapped her out of her conversation. God, all she needed was to somehow miss this one and be even later to work. She shoved her phone in her bag and jumped to her feet, as the train pulled up and the doors swung open. It was positively teeming with people, but she managed to push past everyone and find a place where she could stand and hold onto the loop hanging from the metal bars, to brace herself when the train accelerated. When the train began to go, she opened up her phone again and typed one-handed.
Damn. He expected an answer.
LanieLove: You're right. A good spanking would help a LOT of things right about now.
She looked out the window, suddenly wistful, as the pine trees and maples sped past in a blur of green. Her phone didn't buzz for a moment, and when it did, she took a deep breath before she looked at the screen.
Her cheeks flamed, and she closed her eyes as arousal pulsed within her just reading his response. She’d never even seen a picture of him, but somehow conjured up an imagine of a large, stern man with large hands, and piercing blue eyes, who looked remarkably like… nope. She wasn’t gonna go there.
MisterHaven: Agreed.
She sent one final text before she shoved her phone in her bag.
LanieLove: I am at work now. I'll message later. My shift is over at seven. Sound good? You have a good day.
MisterHaven: Sounds great. You, too, honey. Xox
She smiled to herself as she exited the train, but when she stepped out, ready to trot the quarter mile to the hospital, her expression fell. A few well-dressed men and women walked past her with signs. She froze mid-stride as the black and white photograph plastered on the side of the poster board they were carrying caught her attention. She knew that place on the board so well it was like her second home: The Club. Wide-eyed, mouth agape, Elena craned her neck, but could only read a few words. Lechery! Abuse!
She gasped. What the actual fuck was that all about?
But there was no time to ponder, or even worry, as her phone buzzed again. Her boss.
Where ARE you?????
Groaning out loud, she hit the power button on the side of the phone, zipped it in her bag, and began to jog her way to the hospital.
Elena sat upright in her chair at the clinic, the only chair she'd comfortably sat in all day long. She'd been volunteering here for several years, and though it was tiring to volunteer after a full day at the hospital, it was always nice to go from the intensity of the labor and delivery floor, where she hardly had time to pee let alone sit, to the calmer, more peaceful atmosphere of Centered. Unlike the other more medically-oriented women's clinics in downtown Boston, Centered was a non-profit whose goal was to help women find a peaceful sanctuary. They could find a nurse or counselor to talk to them, seek assistance if they were in an abusive situation, or find the medical supplies they sometimes needed. Centered encouraged positivity and wellness, and was a place where self-care was promoted. Elena loved it. It was easier putting in the long hours knowing she was helping others who could really benefit from talking to a trained nurse.
Yesterday, she'd helped a young woman hear the heartbeat of her baby for the very first time, listened to another mother who needed a shoulder to cry on after suffering a miscarriage, and celebrated the engagement of a volunteer who'd gotten a proposal at the Red Sox game the night before. Though her days were busy and her schedule full, she liked knowing how she spent her time had purpose and worth. But now, she straightened in her chair as two women sat in front of her with tear-stained cheeks.
“T
ell me again what you just said,” Elena asked calmly, folding her hands on her lap. Centered was considered a “safe haven,” a place where women could go to report abuse without fear of judgment.
One woman, a thin blonde with high cheekbones and a pointed nose, wiped a tissue across her eyes. Elena watched her warily, as her eyes went to her friend's. The woman's friend sat across from her, wearing a skin-tight pink halter top and equally tight black skirt. Her curly brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she was snapping gum as she patted her friend's knee. Though Centered saw women from all walks of life, there was something not quite right about these two, though she couldn't put her finger on it. She didn't trust them.
“We decided we wanted to go have a little fun,” she said, “try out a few things we really hadn't yet. And we heard that the best place to get some kinky action in Boston was The Club.”
Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat as she feigned ignorance. “Oh?” she said, encouraging the girl to continue.
“Yes,” the blonde nodded, her eyes widening. “After BlackBox closed down, there weren't a lot of places to go, and we heard The Club was classy. So, we went.”
She'd make a note to ask Alex if he'd seen the two, though he saw so many women come in and out of The Club on a daily basis, that it was unlikely he'd be helpful.
Elena nodded, as the blonde continued. “And when we got there, it was fun. We met a few guys, and one dom who said he'd introduce us to some other people. We had a few drinks…” she shrugged, her voice trailing off as she looked at her friend.
The brunette picked up where her friend left off. “Yep. We both had a few drinks. And they must've been drugged by the dom or something, because the next thing you know, we found ourselves in a back room, and we were both stripped and bruised and tied up!”
Elena blinked. No way. This could not be happening. “You think someone drugged you and took advantage of you?” she asked.
The blonde nodded vigorously. “We don't think it. We know it.” She sniffed. “The Club is all about ‘safe, sane, consensual,’ but drugging women and taking advantage of them isn't any of those things!” She frowned. “We thought we were safe there.”
