by Angel Payne
Ray! Are you all right?
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Thanks to him. Oh God, Ava! He was amazing! He…” Her voice trailed when her cousin frowned. She spun, throat clutching when all she saw were the dents in the dirt from where he’d hunkered next to her.
“Rayna, you need to come back now.”
She opened her eyes at Sally’s firm command. Her vision was still hazy with tears.
“What is it?” Sally reached for her hand. “Can you tell me what you saw?”
For a long moment, she could only shake her head. Emotions rained on her brain, her heart. Shock. Joy. Confusion. Delirium. Absurdity. Clarity.
“No wonder,” she whispered.
“What?” Sally pressed.
“No wonder it’s different with Z. No wonder I’ve felt this way.”
Sally stroked the back of her hand. “Do you need to talk about it?”
She nodded. The action came slowly at first. But by the time she shoved out of the chair, determination powered the move. “Yeah. I do need to talk about it.” She grabbed her purse. “And I know with whom.”
Sally rose, as well. “Rayna, listen. I know you’re excited about this, but sometimes letting these revelations rest a while—”
“I think fifteen years is a pretty good while, Sal.” She beamed a full smile at the woman before pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for not giving up on the hypnosis. Now go home to your man.”
Sally’s answering look was pinched. “Though ‘home’ isn’t on your mind, is it?”
Her smile grew. “Not by a long shot.”
* * * * *
A little under an hour later, after some tenacious web searching, she stood in front of a building in the warehouse labyrinth beyond South Spokane Street. The structure’s few windows were shrouded by black drapes. The door was painted the same color. A faint but steady bass line drifted into the night. The melody behind it was beautiful but did nothing to stop the nerves chasing each other down her spine.
No doubt about it. The determination that had gotten her here was disappearing fast as the stars behind the night mist. If “here” was even the right here. She checked the address on her phone again, not that the warehouse had any corresponding number on it. Yet the GPS pin rested directly on top of the spot in which she stood.
In short, she was either walking into the Bastille, one of Seattle’s naughtiest BDSM dungeons, or a kickin’ rave party with God-knew-what spiked in the punch bowls. In either case, she’d look like an alien and feel even weirder.
Oh, goodie.
She took a deep breath. An expression popped off her lips that she and Sage usually saved for patients with rolling blood veins.
“Suck it up, bang on the sucker, then plunge in, Sergeant.”
She knocked on the big steel door.
Her greeting was answered faster than she thought. Her breath hitched and her nerves stood on end with the expectation of beholding an Igor-type character in the portal, raking her over with bulbous eyes and a lascivious grin.
No sign of Igor. Not by a really long shot.
Her greeter was like a huge slab of granite, only carved more beautifully. The skull-close cut of his black hair cleared the way for her gaze to magnetize to his eyes, their color giving new meaning to the phrase piercing blue. And the grin? That’s where the guy’s inner Igor showed itself. Lascivious only skimmed the look he slid over her.
“Well, hello there.”
“Hi.” Rayna cleared her throat and tried to smile. “I’m sorry to bother you—”
“Let’s make something clear, Little Red Riding Hood. You are no bother at all.”
The man knew how to pick imagery. He opened the door wider with a confidence that was one-hundred-percent Big Bad Wolf. Rayna stood where she was. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to remember the ending of that fairy tale. “I’m, ummm, looking for a place called the Bastille.”
Wolf Man inclined his head. “You’re not looking for it anymore.” He crisscrossed the air with his finger. “X marks the spot, beautiful. Why don’t you come inside? It’s getting cold—”
She shrugged off the hand he cupped on her shoulder. “Who are you?”
The guy laughed. Damn, that made his eyes more gorgeous. And could his dimples get any deeper? “Shit,” he mumbled, “where are my manners?” He pulled one of her hands into both of his and dipped his lips over it. “Max Brickham. Bastille is my castle and I am your servant. Perhaps you’ll return the pleasure of knowing your name now, Miss—”
“In the wrong place.” She swallowed and tried to slide free from his grip. Her resolve deepened when a long male moan punched the air from somewhere in the club. She couldn’t tell if the instigation was pleasure or pain. Did it matter? “Uh, yeah,” she stammered. “That’s me. Wrong place. Really wrong time. I’m so sorry.”
What had she been thinking? Hadn’t Zeke reminded her yesterday, in damn clear terms, what he did with his Saturday nights? Had she really gotten all the way inside the door of this place before that memory slapped her like one of the paddles mounted on the lobby’s wall? Each of the boards had a number on it, along with club members’ signatures that relayed its correspondence to another year the Bastille had been open. There were seven paddles in all. It was weirdly sweet. She wondered if Max put up a Christmas tree each year too, decorated with kinked-out customizations of Hallmark collectibles.
The man chuckled as if the nonsensical image hit him as well. “It’s not that bad, Red. You haven’t dropped your basket…yet.”
Great. Wolfie was on an innuendo roll. Rayna tried pulling from him again. No dice. Though the man’s hands were as big as paws, his hold was that of a practiced paladin. He clamped her fingers tight but stroked her palm with a thumb that was all feathery seduction.
“Th-thank you for your time, Mr. Brickham. It’s been nice to meet you, but I think I’ll just—”
“Tell me your name?” He tugged in his bottom lip with the grin this time. He knew the boyish charm angle, too? She wondered why there wasn’t a woman or ten draped on his arm.
Despite her nerves, Rayna laughed. “Good heavens.”
“We can certainly make time for that. But I need to know your name first.”
“Rayna!”
Max dropped her hand like he’d gotten caught in the cookie jar. The voice clearly wasn’t new for him. It sure as hell wasn’t for Rayna. For a year of her life, when the world was nothing but African jungles and the tribes who would enslave her there, her only friend was the diminutive blond who stopped in her tracks about six feet away, rocking a pair of black stilt heels, pink fishnet stockings, and a rose-hued mini dress with black corset ties up the back. Her face, framed by her glamorously-curled hair, was frozen in a gape.
“Well, well, well.” Max folded his arms as those ocean blues danced with amusement. “You’re a friend of Sage, huh?”
“She’s my best friend, Brick.” Sage broke from her stunned shitless trance and rushed forward. “I’m just wondering what the hell she’s doing here.”
Rayna seized the opportunity to scoot back. “Zeke,” she blurted. “I was looking—well, I was hoping—”
“Zeke?” Max’s brows jumped with new interest. “You know him, too?”
Rayna disregarded that. She looked to Sage. Just saying Z’s name again, along with her friend’s arrival, re-ignited the determination that had gotten her here to begin with. “I need to talk to him, Sage. He’s here, right?”
Sage took her hand. “He is,” she gently confirmed. “But this may not be the right time—”
“Then I’ll wait until it is right.” When her friend winced, she persisted, “Do you know what it took for me to find this place, let alone the personal psych-out just to knock on the door? So do you think I’m here just to ask him about catching the Star Wars marathon downtown next week?”
Max’s jaw dropped. “There’s a Star Wars marathon? And you’re going?”
Sage rolled her ey
es. “Don’t get her started, Brickham. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to the ‘Han gets frozen in carbonite’ scene, word for word?”
Max dropped to a knee and took her hand again. “Marry me.”
Sage rolled her eyes. After yanking Rayna from him, Sage gathered both her hands up. “Listen…Ray…” Her eyes, normally bright as spring, were a somber celadon. “Z could be a while.”
“Because he’s with a submissive?” She smiled a little when Sage gaped. “I know all about it. And I’m still choosing to wait.”
Max growled while getting back to his feet. “Damn that fucker! Back in the country less than three days and he has a waiting line.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Sage pulled her deeper into the club, past a red velvet curtain and into a shallow alcove. “I love you,” she said, “so I say this with love. You don’t want to see Z tonight, Ray. It’s complicated for him right now, and—”
“Sage!”
The bellow came from fifteen feet down the same hallway. Rayna turned with her friend as a familiar face emerged from the shadows: the golden, chiseled features of Garrett Hawkins. “Shit!” Sage exclaimed before rushing to her towering, black-clad fiancé. With equal alacrity, she bowed her head into his chest.
“Sorry, my Sir. I was on my way to get Z’s beer, and—”
“Screw the beer,” Garrett interjected. “That’s why I came to find you. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s gonna need something stronger.”
Rayna swallowed, unable to move again. Garrett’s syllables were rolled in gravel and finished with doom. She’d never heard him sound that way before. Or any of the guys on the squad. They didn’t talk to each other or about each other like that.
An anvil dropped in her stomach. Garrett was worried? About Zeke?
She mentally peeled the glue off her feet and stepped out. “What is it?” she demanded from Garrett. “What’s wrong with Z?”
The guy’s tawny brows descended over his eyes. “Fuck.” He glowered at Sage. “What the hell?”
“Don’t look at me! I only went for beer.”
Garrett hissed and raked a hand through his hair. “Rayna, this isn’t a great time for—”
“She wants to wait,” Sage cut in.
“You can’t wait.” Garrett’s lips flattened. “You don’t want to wait. Rayna—Rayna!”
His yell consumed the hall, even making her ears ring, but she almost told the guy to save his breath. Vocalizing her resolve, then hearing it reiterated from Sage, fused new girders into her resolve to see Zeke, no matter how long it took. What she’d learned in the session with Sally…it was remarkable. Uncontainable. In a way, it was perfect that she was here to tell him about it. This dungeon was no less foreign and daunting than the cave where he’d been her hero for the first time. The thought poured cement into her drive.
Funny thing about cement, though. The stuff took time to harden. And in that period, images were pressed into it that would last a lifetime.
Like the indelible moment of seeing Zeke again.
She turned the corner and came across an area with couches that were centered on a sprawling fireplace. There were a lot of plush blankets and big velvet pillows. If a few bowls of popcorn got thrown into the scene, it would’ve been an idyllic slumber party setting.
With the exception of the naked woman who got carried into the area by Tait Bommer.
They were followed by a person who vaguely reminded her of Zeke—if she could use the term “person” for him right now. The shirtless, sweat-covered creature in front of her was someone that looked like him but barely seemed him at all. His steps were bestial tromps, his breaths were harsh heaves, his body punched forward on giant lunges. He didn’t just occupy the air. He wrestled it from the Universe and claimed it—and wasn’t nice about it, either.
Rayna couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Ohhh, shit,” she whispered. Hell was certainly preparing a place for her right now, because her eyes weren’t the only body part obsessed with him. Every one of the nerve endings between her thighs came alive in bright need, making her clench back a gasp. She watched him cross in front of the fire and fantasized about tackling him right there, in front of everyone.
The tension got worse the next second.
Tait laid the woman on her side along one of the couches. He settled at her feet. There was room for Zeke on the cushions near her head but Z didn’t sit. He kept lapping the circle of ottomans in front of the fire, eating up the space like a dynamite fuse that wouldn’t blow.
Tait threw a questioning look at Garrett. “Let him burn through it,” Garrett murmured to the guy. To Sage and Rayna, he added, “Holy fuck, I hope he burns through it.” A scowl creased his brow. “On the other hand, that means he’s gonna drop hard.”
Rayna looked to Sage. “He’s going to what?”
Sage tugged her closer so she could speak softly. “After an intense Dominance and submission scene, when the adrenalin and endorphins fall, the participants often take a physical or emotional tumble. Sometimes it’s both.” She nodded toward the couch. “Tait’s made sure that Luna’s got a shitload of aftercare: Gatorade, ointment, blankets. It’s Z we’re all worried about.”
Sage’s confession made Rayna gape back at Z. She couldn’t fathom him dropping from anything, especially knowing what he’d been like as far as fifteen years back. But before fifteen minutes ago, she couldn’t imagine confronting the man in this state. His frenetic energy stirred the flames beyond the grate every time he passed.
One thing finally halted him. Luna herself. Her eyes, half-closed and unfocused until now, opened a little wider. She sobbed and reached for Zeke. He crouched to her side in a second, running a long, gentle thumb along her forehead. Even from where she stood, Rayna saw the dark concern in his eyes, the silent questions across his face.
When the woman shifted a little, Rayna understood why.
She stifled another gasp. Luna’s back, butt, and upper thighs were at least twelve shades of red. Dark slashes formed a sadistic crossword puzzle in her alabaster skin, with bruises and whip marks taking the place of consonants and vowels. It was all so ugly, it was beautiful.
But Luna’s face riveted the eye more. By anyone’s ranking, the woman was already stunning, with a full mouth, thick eyelashes, and high cheekbones. She became awe-striking when she opened her huge lavender eyes, tears glittering, and stared at Zeke with open adoration. His reaction wasn’t so gooey. Rayna watched his jaw go taut and his shoulders tighten. Still, he spoke to Luna with measured care.
“You did real good, little girl. You were great.”
“Zeke.” Luna’s sigh was soft as a prayer. Her smile made her look like she’d dragged on the best doobie ever rolled. “Thank you. Oh, God—”
“Ssshh. Rest.”
“But I need to tell you—”
“Rest. I won’t ask again.”
Zeke exchanged a glance with Tait, who nodded reassurance that he’d stay with Luna. That seemed a really good thing, because Z gained his feet again like an untamed animal. He skipped the circuit around the ottomans to stalk down another dark hallway. Rayna rushed to watch his silhouette in that corridor. His arms were coiled, his hands turning to fists. He slammed the wall twice before careening to the opposite side of the hall, yanking open a door and staggering into the room beyond.
Garrett lunged to follow him. Rayna did the same. At the guy’s threatening glare, she squared her shoulders and pointed at Sage. “Save it for her, Hawkins. Do not try to stop me.”
With a dark glower, Garrett stepped back. Rayna sprinted down the hall. By the time she got into the room, Z had sagged against a large steel cage there, gripping its bars like he was already locked inside. The chamber was outfitted like the Taj Mahal in satin drapes and a giant round bed, but it could’ve been the damn Four Seasons and she wouldn’t care. Her only focus was the man she rushed to, pressing herself against his massive, heaving back. When Zeke flinched, she pulled out the
perfect words to whisper. Things a teenage hero had used to soothe her fifteen years ago.
“It’s okay. I just want to help. I’m here and it’s going to be okay.”
A weighted moment passed. Another.
Of all the reactions she finally expected from him, his outraged snarl definitely wasn’t on the list.
Chapter Six
Anger. Confusion. Torment. Guilt. Shit, the guilt. This was what it must feel like to be the goddamn Incredible Hulk, only there was nothing incredible about it. Not a single fucking thing.
Things went even worse when a bird got into the dungeon. Not just any bird. His bird. Z thought he’d imagined it at first, somehow summoned Rayna’s scent and presence through the sheer force of his imagination, considering how many thoughts had been filled with her since the beast had completely taken over.
He tore through his brain, trying to reassemble what had happened. It’d been sometime after he spiraled Luna through her third climax. Her sobs had filled the room as he traced her whip marks with one hand and cupped her mound with the other. He’d crooned his approval and actually meant every note of it, for both her and him. He’d given her what she needed, yet kept his head screwed on straight. The debt had been paid, and Psycho Zsycho was nowhere in sight. Thank fucking God.
Yeah…there. It was that moment, letting those words intrude, that started his supersized mistake. He’d dropped the mental defenses without considering how high his senses were really revved, how it could all sneak up on him in one dumbshit second and fill his imagination with the sole face he was struggling to block from this night he’d been duty-bound to live.
Inside a second, Rayna was everywhere. Blown up in his mind to the size of a goddamn megaplex screen. Not just any picture, either. He saw her gasping into her pillow as he possessed her body with his. He heard her screaming with ecstasy in the orgasm he gave her. And when Luna had moaned, wordlessly begging for more, he’d only heard Rayna’s husky alto beneath the sound.
The same voice that vibrated in the air now, so real and terrifying. With every word, she reminded him of the leash he’d let the monster have—of exactly what he’d done to take Luna to her fourth climax. The strikes. The welts. The lashes. Her sobbing need for all of it. His hunger to give it to her. And the dark, savoring pleasure he’d gotten from every twisted second of it.
