by Jane Henry
Some responses were immediate. Elena could’ve wept for joy. As she’d relayed her message, she was careful to leave Salazar’s name out of it. What mattered at this point was making sure The Club and Blake were vindicated. And the beauty of her plan was that Blake couldn’t get mad at her for putting herself at risk, because she never revealed her personal information.
She began to feel hopeful. Her man would be vindicated. Salazar would be put back into his place. And she wouldn’t even get spanked over it.
She grinned, sending a last email just as she heard Nancy in the doorway.
“Elena?”
Elena turned.
“He’s ready to see you, honey. Come with me.”
As a nurse, Elena had seen plenty, and was prepared for the absolute worst when she walked into Blake’s room. Though she’d been told the extent of his injuries, she still didn’t know what to expect. Alex wordlessly came to her side, and the two of them entered Blake’s room together, Nancy holding the door open.
“Company to see you,” she said into the room, then quietly took her leave.
Blake’s face was paler than usual, but his blue eyes were bright. He sat up when Elena and Alex came in the room. He had an IV attached to one hand, and an arm in a cast, a thin blue hospital gown covering his wrapped chest, and his head bandaged. God. Her protective instincts rose and she wanted to kill the people responsible for doing this to her man.
Blake grinned when she walked in. “You look ready to tear someone apart,” he said. “God, I love that look.”
Alex chuckled. “Pretty accurate assessment,” he said. “She’s got her claws out all right.”
Elena frowned, coming to Blake’s side, and leaning in to kiss him.
“Of course I do,” she said. “I’m not some kinda dumbass who was born yesterday. I know who did this, and I’m not happy. I’m sick of this shit.”
Blake looked to Alex and nodded. “Shut the door and fill me in,” he said.
Alex moved to shut the large door, and after it clicked closed, he came and pulled a chair over, indicating for Elena to sit. She shook her head, preferring instead to stand by Blake’s side and hold his hand while Alex sat. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he addressed Blake.
“This morning, the man on Elena was taken out by one of Salazar’s men,” he began. Blake swore, sitting up in bed, but Elena tugged his hand to get him to relax, while Alex continued. “Seems Salazar just wanted to make sure Elena didn’t interfere, since they didn’t harm her. We found Brian today, and he’s fine, has no idea what happened. Was knocked out and cuffed, but otherwise uninjured. But meanwhile Salazar’s man was tagging Elena.”
Elena could feel him stiffen next to her.
“Was?”
“Yeah,” Alex responded. “Left when I picked her up.”
“I’m fine,” Elena protested. “Will you please relax?”
Despite being bandaged and weakened, Blake still managed to fix her with a ferocious look. “Someone pulls this shit and you tell me to relax?”
“Of course I do!” Elena snapped. “You’re not helping anyone by getting all upset. You’ll raise your blood pressure, and I’ll have to medicate you. Now sit back.”
Blake narrowed his eyes and shook his head, but his lips quirked up at the edges.
Alex shook his head and blew out a breath. “Better you than me,” he muttered. Elena rolled her eyes and made an impatient gesture with her hand.
Alex continued. “So you know I’ve got inside intel. Salazar’s direct orders were to take you out, but make it look like an accident.”
Elena’s hair stood on end. Fucking finished? She’d pull the motherfucker apart, limb by limb. She’d tear him apart with her own bare hands. God!
“Elena, sit down,” Blake ordered, indicating a second chair.
“I’m fine,” Elena protested, but Blake pulled her hand, hard, and waved a finger at the chair. “You look like you’re about ready to blow a gasket. Fucking sit,” he growled.
Alex pushed the chair over so it smacked the back of her legs, making her topple into it in a seated position. She glared. Alex and Blake ignored her, and Alex continued.
“My inside man managed to figure out what the plan was, and he couldn’t stop the car accident, but was able to intercept the second man just before it all went down.”
“Why the hell couldn’t he stop the accident?” Elena asked. “What kinda shit undercover agent is he?”
Blake’s hand squeezed hers. She winced, glaring at him. It wasn’t fair an injured guy could still be so strong. “What?” she asked. “I shouldn’t be concerned about you?”
Blake sighed. Alex addressed Elena. “Elena, if our man blows his cover, he’s dead. Got it? Not only that, but we get no inside intel on Salazar. Ever since we got on his radar, things have changed, and we’ve gotta play it safe.”
Alex looked at Blake. “And it looks like Salazar’s grudge goes deeper than we thought. It’s not just about Gary Levitz going after Allie, or me trying to shut down some of Chalo’s dealers. Salazar’s been sitting on this for years. Looks like Marauder and Salazar were tight. That shit’s connected, man. Marauder’s Salazar’s cousin. Black Box was funded out of Salazar’s own pocket, and when Black Box went down and The Club rose to the top, Salazar took it personally.”
Blake swore. “When Salazar went quiet after his henchman attacked Alice, I thought he’d moved on.”
“Apparently not,” Alex said, frowning.
“Marauder. Black Box,” Elena said. “That was Hillary, right? The guy who stalked her?
Blake nodded grimly. “We gave her protection at The Club, but Marauder came after her. Marauder was finally put behind bars, and the negative publicity pretty much guaranteed that Black Box would shut down, but at the time we had no idea how deeply this all ran. Salazar didn’t advertise his affiliation with Black Box, even to his men, but now there’s too much to hide. That’s why Salazar wanted to take down Blake personally, but also make sure to discredit The Club.”
“What are we gonna do?” Elena asked, her lips set in a line of grim determination.
“We?” Blake asked, his eyebrows rising. “You’re not doing shit about this.”
She yanked her hand away from Blake’s and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Too late,” she said.
It seemed as if the air had gone out of the room. Two pairs of flaming eyes bore into hers as the scary badasses stared her down.
“God almighty,” Alex said.
“Spill,” Blake ordered.
Elena shrugged. “Didn’t mention anything about Salazar,” she said. “But, I did activate the local BDSM community, and let them know that The Club has been under attack. I did let them know that the most prominent, well-respected dominant in New England was in a serious car accident, right after his club was the target of a vicious smear campaign, and I implied it was not accidental. I also happened to notify the wider online BDSM community who followed LadyHaven’s blog that MisterHaven had been seriously injured in a car accident shortly after his vehement defense of consensual BDSM. I said it was time more of us stood up to defend you.”
Elena felt tears prick her eyes. The local BDSM community was a fiercely loyal crowd, and she was proud to be among their ranks.
Blake stared at her, his blue eyes still stormy, but contemplative. Alex pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
“Jesus,” he said. “Alice is messaging me. Seems there’s a tweet that’s gone viral about The Club. Not sure what it is yet, but everyone at The Club knows about what happened to you. Alice says The Club has gotten public support on Twitter and Facebook from around the world. People are talking about staging counter-protests. And they’re shutting down all of the haters on social media. Allie says the hashtag #savetheclub is trending, whatever that means.” He put his phone down. “This is huge, Blake.”
Blake worked his jaw, his eyes going from Alex to Elena.
“S
later, give us a minute?” he asked.
Alex got to his feet and nodded. “Yep. I’m gonna call Allie and see what she knows.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Elena faced Blake, her bravado suddenly failing, now that they were alone. Even injured, he was formidable presence.
“I oughta whip your ass,” he began, shaking his head from side to side.
“I’d like to see you try with your arm in a cast, old man,” she said, standing so she was just out of his reach.
“Go ahead,” he said, his eyes twinkling now. “Try to run. You wanna see how fast this old man can move with broken ribs?”
She grinned, pushing her chair away and walking over to him. With his left arm free, he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her down to him. She squealed, but he held tight, crushing her mouth to his with a ferocity that belied his injuries. When he finally released her, his blue eyes bore into hers, heated and possessive.
“I love you, you brat,” he said. “It’s gonna be a full time job keeping you in line, but honey, I’m up for the challenge. This is all gonna be okay, baby.”
She gently ran a hand along the scruff of his beard, cupping his jaw, before leaning in and kissing him again. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “And I’ll tell you this, Blake. If you take me on, you won’t regret it.” She grinned wickedly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He chuckled, making her belly warm and her nose sting.
“MisterHaven tames LanieLove,” she whispered.
His eyes crinkled around the edges. “And they lived happily ever after.”
Epilogue
Regular readers of the this blog will remember that it was two years ago today, on an unusually cold, blustery, gray Saturday in May, that members of this community—dominants and submissives, kink-lovers and quiet practitioners of domestic discipline, those who were regular members of The Club and those who had never set foot in a BDSM club in their entire lives—turned out in force on a quiet Boston street to defend The Club from a band of protesters, and in so doing, reaffirmed every consenting adult’s right to love who, when, where, and HOW we choose.
This is a community that holds its privacy sacrosanct, a fact that many groups have used to keep us shamed and powerless in the past. But on that day, hundreds of people from all walks of life were willing to show their faces, to stand up for their truths and refuse to be ashamed. We stood shoulder to shoulder against a group of protesters who claimed to have our best interests at heart, and showed them by our dedication, by our determination, and by our sheer numbers, that practitioners of safe, sane, and consensual BDSM are neither deviants nor victims. I have never been prouder to be a part of this community.
So, on this anniversary, I want to say… THANK YOU. Thank you to those courageous men and women who assembled with us on Queensborough Street two years ago. Thank you to all of you who could not be with us physically, but were shouting your love and support on social media and on our message boards.
Thank you to all the strong, resilient subs, who know the struggle and the profound beauty of yielding to someone they can trust. Thank you to all the strong, committed, loving dominants who remind us that submission isn’t slavery, but freedom.
And thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who read my poor attempts at encapsulating the reality of this lifestyle, especially those of you who have taken the time to comment, to share your own stories, and to offer your guidance and friendship. When so many of you encouraged me to take over this blog two years ago, I struggled with the idea. The advice and mentorship LadyHaven gave all of us was irreplaceable, after all, and I could never fill her shoes. But with your kind words and constant support (and, it goes without saying, thanks to the unwavering love and support of my family) we have built this blog into a thriving community—a true haven—that LadyHaven would be proud of.
With love,
Haven’s Keeper (aka LanieLove)
“I love it,” Blake told Elena, looking up from the computer screen in Elena’s office and clearing his throat against the sudden lump he found there.
“Yeah?” Her voice was equal parts hope and doubt, and he swiveled around in the desk chair to look at her, a slow toe-to-top perusal.
Her toes, painted a pale pink, peeped out from beneath the hem of the dark green robe—his robe, to be precise—that swathed her from head to toe and was knotted in a bow just above her waist. Her hair, slightly shorter now than it had been two years ago and damp from her shower, still draped around her like a curtain of black silk. And beneath it, her face, so much more familiar and even more beloved than it had been when they’d started together, was absolutely glowing.
“Yeah, baby,” he said, standing and wrapping both arms around her waist. “It’s perfect.”
He felt her sink against him for just a moment, loving the warmth of her, the absolute perfection of her curves, and the rare opportunity of a quiet moment to enjoy both.
He chuckled to himself, as he reflected on Elena’s post and all that had changed in their lives in the past two years. Back then, he’d wanted life to calm down so that he could enjoy his time with Elena. But, to paraphrase the gospel of Mick Jagger, he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted, but had gotten what he needed instead. His life was busier than ever, and he wouldn’t trade one single minute of the chaos.
The Club was thriving after Salazar’s attempt to ruin its reputation. In fact, if it wouldn’t have meant aiding a known criminal, Blake would probably have paid Chalo for all the free publicity that asshole had scored them. They—Blake, along with Matteo and Slay, who had become partners in The Club, LLC, as of last year—had opened a satellite location on the North Shore nearly eleven months ago that was doing so well, they were in talks to open a second satellite location next year on the South Shore, and possibly promote Donnie to manager.
Salazar, damn his sadistic ass, had not done nearly as well in the intervening years. After all the time he’d spent skating by on his drug, kidnapping, extortion, and racketeering charges, it had been Blake’s car accident that had finally, finally sent that asshole to prison, at least for a little while. Not on a conspiracy to commit murder charge, much to Elena’s displeasure, but for fucking perjury.
Seemed Salazar, seeing his opportunity to discredit Blake slipping through his fingers, had moved with haste and without thought when setting up Blake’s accident, and had sent his henchman off driving one of Salazar’s own, personally-owned-and-registered vehicles. Of course, when Blake had lived to tell the tale--and an eye-witness had given a description and plate number of the car that hit him—Chalo had claimed that his car had been stolen days before. Unfortunately for him, a security camera two blocks away from The Club had recorded Salazar stepping out of the vehicle just minutes before the accident occurred. And the State Police hadn’t hesitated to throw the maximum penalty at him—two years in prison for perjury involving a motor vehicle theft.
Blake and his friends had used that time wisely. When the fucker was released from prison in a few more months, Slay and his men had a plan in place to take him down permanently.
But they hadn’t wasted these years thinking too much about Salazar, either.
Matteo and Hillary had gotten married on a Cape Cod beach nearly two years ago, after Matteo had surprised Hillie with a ring at their daughter Francesca’s Christening. They’d moved north of the city, closer to The Club North, which Matteo had overseen from groundbreaking to grand opening, training and mentoring every dungeon master himself. Hillie was still writing—in fact, she’d won some award last year for her books, and Matteo bragged that she was funding their kids’ college educations one sex scene at a time. But since she and Matt had given Frankie a little brother, Nico, a few months ago, Hillary was loving the work-at-home mom thing and the flexibility it brought her.
In fact, Hillary’s commitment to keeping her schedule flexible and prioritizing her family had been a major influence on Tony and Tess’s decision no
t to open a second restaurant, at least not right now. Though Cara was a success and had been for years, it was a labor of love for the two of them. The business had been their biggest priority aside from Nora—Tess’s younger sister, who’d be graduating from college early and with honors in just a few weeks. Now, though, they were ready to step back slightly, and focus on building a family of their own. Tony had popped the question last Christmas, and Tess was going to be a June bride… and Elena had told Blake in strictest confidence a few days ago that they would be wasting no time before trying for their first baby.
Dom and Heidi had been thriving. Dom was some hot-shot at his company, overseeing educational funding for the entire Eastern United States. The financial analysis business Heidi and her friend Paul ran was growing slowly and steadily. Heidi and Dom’s son, Rafael, was six months old now, and last year the family had bought a little vacation place—a tiny cabin set on a sprawling, wooded lot up in the middle of nowhere-Maine, where Heidi and Hillary used to go camping as kids. They’d invited all of their group—Matteo and Hillie’s family; Paul, his boyfriend John, and their dog Clooney; Tony, Tess, and Nora; Blake’s crew; and Slay and Allie’s brood—up for a long weekend last summer. It had been an absolute blast, with kids and dogs running everywhere, impromptu baseball games in the field… and some skinny dipping in the lake, while willing babysitters abounded.
Alice was still working towards the college degree she’d started before her son Charlie was born, while pulling a few shifts here-and-there at The Club, and focusing on her growing family. But she’d recently started volunteering with Elena and Nora down at Centered and felt like she’d found a new calling working with the young women there. Blake wouldn’t be surprised to see her taking a full-time position at Centered someday. Slay had kept up his private security work, along with his work at The Club, and had taken on the role of husband and father nearly as well as he’d taken on the role of Daddy. In the past two years, he and Allie had had two more sons, in addition to Charlie: Alexander Jr. (known as Lex) and Mason. And Slay made no bones about wanting a fourth, if and when his woman was ready. Seemed like Slay had found his calling in populating the world with baby badasses.
