Afterlife

by Joey W. Hill

Page 9

 

  She didn"t strike me as someone on the suicidal edge again, but she needs time to pull herself together, feel like no one knows except a nosy cop in the wrong place at the right time. ”

  “Thanks, Oprah. ” But Jon blew out a breath after another long moment. “I know you"re right. I need to get my mind wrapped around how to handle it. She"s complicated. A lot of layers I don"t yet understand, and you gave me a missing piece I should have taken the time to see before I… Goddamn it, I don"t want her to be alone with this. Fuck. ”

  Leland didn"t bother to suppress a grim smile at the sound of something crashing, perhaps accidentally knocked off a table—or knocked off deliberately—and the stream of curses that followed. Despite the serious circumstances, he wished he had a recorder so he could play this for the other guys of Jon"s team who were used to him being so irritatingly placid under pressure. Now that he figured the woman was in good hands, Leland could enjoy the break from pattern, though he was smart enough not to goad.

  Much.

  “Try some of those „ohms" you do,” he said encouragingly. “You know, that lotus thing, with the fingers all arranged in a circle. ” He chuckled as the phone disconnected with a definitive click, and replaced his own receiver. Damn, it was late, and he"d volunteered to take Ramirez"s early shift tomorrow. Maybe he"d get one of the guys to drop him off at the corner, so he could get some more packaged nachos from Raj. Checking his watch, he thought he could still catch the two a. m. ESPN wrap-up, after all.

  After tonight"s events, he thought he"d be dreaming of the curvy, perfect submissive he"d yet to find. The one who would wear his collar and nothing else to bed.

  He"d curl his large body around her like a protective panther and know she was all his, one hand cupped around her generous breast, the nipple teasing his palm as he nested his cock in the crevice of her soft ass. They"d dream the night away together.

  He hoped Jon was on the way to finding a similar treasure. Something in the serious hazel eyes of the blonde, the set of that pink mouth, the dignified way she"d managed to straighten up at the end, said she might be the kind of pure gold every man sought. That every Master needed.

  Chapter Four

  When she got home that night, Rachel took a thorough shower, knowing it would be her last one for a while. She woke briefly in the early morning to call in a replacement to her PT appointments and yoga classes for the next two days. Since she had two reliable backups who were always looking for extra money, they were eager to take the slots and didn"t ask her many questions, letting her get off the phone as quickly as possible. The relief that she"d be missing Dana"s appointment was tangled with a disappointment that only made her more viciously ashamed of herself.

  For the next day and a half, she buried herself under her covers, left the TV on and slept. So very, very tired, she didn"t care about anything. But she"d been down this road before, and she knew how to manage it. She"d give herself the two days for uninterrupted numbness and self-pity, but on Day Three, she"d make herself get up and resume her life, no matter how impossible that sounded from the dark cocoon of her comforter right now.

  Tears spilled out now and again, as she drifted back in time and sobbed for all the losses that had led to this, as if the pain of what had happened at Club More wasn"t excruciating enough. Every time she thought about it, she cringed, trying to block the humiliation and fear she"d felt. Once, long ago, she"d called her cravings a harmless fantasy. Not only had what she"d experienced from Milo and Natasha been far from harmless, but in truth, the fantasy that had driven her there had been part of the barbs that tore at the fabric of her marriage, helping to unravel it.

  She took aspirin and put compresses on her face, but more often than not, she just slept. She thought about Jon, cried about what he represented. Of all the things she"d have to face on Day Three, he was the one that frightened her most. Maybe she should go ahead and take her full two weeks" vacation. It wasn"t like she was going to use it for anything else. If she could afford it, which she couldn"t, she"d take a whole month. She wished she could get caught in a time vortex like in the movies, where she could sleep for days and days and then wake up at the same date she"d gone under, not having been missed or harassed by anyone who wanted something from her.

  Still deep in that mode, it irritated her intensely when, on the afternoon of Day Two, there was an insistent knocking on her apartment door. She ignored it at first, because she didn"t have friends close enough to visit her at home, and the time of day ruled out any of her working neighbors being home and needing anything. So all that left was the rare door-to-door sales attempt in the apartment complex, and she for sure wasn"t dealing with that today. However, when it continued, became more insistent, she stumbled out of bed, swiping her hair out of her face. Making her way to the door through the living area and kitchen, she peered out the peephole.

  Oh God. No way was she opening the door to him, not looking like this. And why the hell was he here?

  “Rachel. ” No question in his tone. He knew she was there. “Open the door. ”

  “I…I have the flu, Jon. Whatever you need, I"ll help you whenever I get back to class. ” Which was a ludicrous thing to say, since he could hardly be here for some mundane reason. He shouldn"t know her address or anything else about her.

  “You don"t have the flu. Open the door. Now. ”

  He didn"t raise his voice. The words were quiet, smooth, yet there was that note in them she"d never experienced in such a targeted way. This was an undeniable command, and it shot through her chest, sending an unusual tremor through her limbs.

  Definitely not a good idea to answer the door.

  Oh for God"s sake, she was a grown woman. “Jon, I don"t know what this is about, but it"s not appropriate for you to be—”

  “It"s not appropriate for you to be going to some sleazy dive where you could get yourself raped or worse. You"ll open this door right now, and I wouldn"t suggest you make me repeat myself again. ”

  Shock took over, followed by an uncertain spurt of anger, but it was enough to have her unlatching the door and pulling it open, heedless of how she might appear. “How did you—”

  When she opened the door, he was standing almost in the threshold. The recalled violence of nearly thirty-six hours ago was enough to make her step back with a startled cry, her angry words caught in her throat.

  A range of expressions crossed his face. First, he registered her fear. Then his gaze covered the bruise on her cheek, the swollen eye and lip. The one brought a look of gentle caution, the other a flash of fury that he tamped down with obvious effort.

  He took two steps inside. She backed up but gripped the door, dizzy because of the shock of seeing him, and because she"d stumbled out of bed with very little on her stomach. Before she could evade him, he slid an arm around her back to hold her in place. Then he bent to put another under her knees and lifted her off her feet.

  Just like that. Like instead of a woman who hadn"t showered, who had oily, limp hair and was wearing her warmest, thickest flannel pajamas that caught under her heels and flapped over her wrists, she was some fragile, beautiful heroine with flowing hair and silky lingerie. A heroine who could trust him to carry her to safety. She could curl her arms around his shoulders, which seemed broad enough, his lean frame notwithstanding, and bury her face into his shoulder, reassured by his male scent. And not just any male. A male who would protect a woman, who would care for her, no matter what. Who didn"t question or resent that but considered it a duty, a privilege and, beyond that, a deep, abiding desire.

  She was embarrassed that he was seeing her small apartment like this. She usually kept it clean and cleansed, a tranquil space for reading, meditation, regrouping. But the clothes she"d worn to the club were still crumpled beside the coffee table, her purse left there. In the kitchen, dishes piled in the sink and dirty countertops showed the remains of the lackluster meals she"d made. Thoug
h he seemed to take all that in with a quick glance, his steps didn"t falter as he headed for her bedroom, following the easy-to-discern path to it.

  She"d never had a man carry her. Didn"t even remember her deceased father doing that, because the last time it had happened she"d likely been too young to remember it.

  She"d scoffed at the way they did it in the movies, so smooth and easy, even if the woman wasn"t expecting it or resisted, which would, in reality, result in an awkward flurry of limbs, a hitch in his movements to handle her weight. With her yoga muscles, heavy breasts and curvy hips, she was a solid one-thirty, but he"d plucked her off her feet as if she weighed much less. But of course, this was a man who could easily hold his own weight on his arms.

  She"d started shaking again and she didn"t want to fall to pieces. But it was as if her body and mind had been waiting specifically for this. While she was apprehensive, she couldn"t deny pretty much every part of her was glad to have him here. And that was bad.

  Laying her down in the rumpled nest of covers, he planted his very fine backside on the edge of her bed, keeping her hemmed in. He glanced at the side table. “Aspirin and compresses?”

  She shrugged. “It"s the best thing for helping it do what it needs to do. What are you doing here? And how did you…”

  “I came to check on you. Leland and I know one another. He noticed my card in your purse and assumed something about you that I was more than pleased to have him assume. That you"re one of mine. ”

  Digesting the mortifying shock of him knowing Leland Keller took a moment. Then she blinked. “Excuse me?”

  He put a hand on her face, the uninjured side. “Rachel, why did you do this?” When he was little, her son had taken martial arts training. For some reason, at Jon"s direct look, the firmness in the hand on her cheek, she remembered one of Kyle"s instructors. He"d been gentle, careful, intelligent. Yet when he helped the boys spar, there was a concentration in his gaze that suggested it was best not to underestimate the power of a gentle, focused man.