Gale, Avery - Rissa's Recovery [The Shadowdance Club 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)

by Avery Gale

  Tori had only been fifteen when her mother passed away, and the next three years had been the most tortured of her life. Her father was a mean and sadistic drunk, and he managed to stay drunk most of the time. Tori had completed high school a year early despite working two part-time jobs in order to pay the rent on their small apartment and buy food for herself and her father. Donald Paulson rarely worked, and when he did, he simply drank up all the money he earned. About a month before Tori’s eighteenth birthday, he had been driving drunk and passed out in the middle of a six-lane highway, literally in the middle of the highway…without his car. His blood alcohol level had been so high no one knew how he’d even been able to drive that far. And why he’d stopped the car and gotten out to walk down the middle of the road was anyone’s guess, he’d been run over multiple times and hadn’t even made it to the emergency room. Tori had maneuvered interviews with the investigating officers long enough to delay presenting of any age verification documents to authorities until the day she’d become a legal adult. The investigator who’d been pressing for the information was not happy, but had managed to put his anger aside long enough to give her a stern lecture on the importance of education and helped her connect with enough local resources that his conscience had been appeased.

  Shaking her head to bring her focus back to the death trap of a car she was currently trying to ski down a Colorado mountain road, Tori reminded herself that all of that was well in the past and now she was on her way to Climax to meet with an attorney for her great uncle’s estate. She’d been ready to move on when she’d received the letter, and after her phone conversation with the man charged with tracking her down, she was excited to see the ranch she’d inherited from the generous man she’d never met. She pressed a little harder on the gas pedal after glancing at the clock, knowing that if she didn’t get the keys to the house before the attorney’s office closed for the holiday weekend, she’d be stuck looking for accommodations. As she descended into the small town, she wished she could spend more time looking at the view of the valley that lay before her and less time praying she didn’t slide over the edge of the road. She’d never been a huge fan of heights, and this wasn’t exactly her idea of a pleasure drive. When she finally found the attorney’s office along what appeared to be the town’s main street, she parked quickly and made her way to the door only to find the door locked and small sign wishing her a “Happy Thanksgiving” and saying he’d see her next Wednesday. What the holy hell? Wednesday? Who the hell takes off a whole week for Thanksgiving? Determined to find a B & B or small motel, Tori took off walking toward the closest business in town that appeared to be open, the local tavern.

  Stunned, Tori sat outside the small bar and grill on a park bench and stared off into the softly fading light. The bartender had been full of information and none of it good. Tori was shocked to discover that while her uncle had owned a fair number of acres, the home she’d planned to live in had burned to the ground several weeks ago. Mr. Full-of-Sunshine Bartender had also told her that the only B & B within a hundred miles was back up the same road she’d just descended, and that poor excuse for a highway had just been closed to outside traffic unless you had tire chains due to weather conditions. When she’d asked about a motel, it had seemed as though everyone in the entire bar had gone completely silent for a few seconds before what must be the entire population of the tiny burg had erupted in riotous laughter. Tori had no idea what to do. If she tried to sleep in her car, she’d surely freeze to death and she was so far beyond exhausted, both physically and emotionally that she didn’t know if she had the strength to go back inside and ask about any emergency shelters.

  Making her way back outside the busy tavern, Tori sat on a snow-covered bench staring out in to the twilight. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there or how long the tall man, leaning against the post, with his arms crossed over his wide chest, had been watching her with thoughtful eyes shining out from below his Stetson. His shearling jacket suggested he was local and much better prepared for the rapidly falling snow than Tori felt in her thin jacket that had always been plenty for gulf coast winters. Blinking through her tears, she looked up and felt a jolt of electricity that sent fire racing through her entire body and she was sure time had stood completely still. For the next few seconds, she didn’t even have enough functioning brain cells firing to remember to take a breath. While he wasn’t as handsome as some men she’d known, there was something about his presence that rocked her to her core.

  “Hello, darlin’, what’s got you sitting out in the cold looking like you’ve lost your best friend?” While she would have been offended if she’d been approached in such a way back in Houston, for some reason, right at this moment in time it seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. She was so caught up in her racing thoughts, she hadn’t even answered, so he spoke to her again. “Darlin’, you need to focus here. I’m really starting to worry about you.” He’d come closer and knelt in front of her knees and took her bare hands into his gloved ones, when she shuddered at the cold touch, he looked down, and cursing quickly, took off his gloves and stuffed them in his jacket pockets and then covered her freezing fingers with his warm ones.

  Trace couldn’t believe the little snow princess he’d found sitting out in front of the tavern wasn’t an angel. God but she was gorgeous, long, flowing, chestnut-colored hair, huge brown eyes, olive complexion and she smelled like fresh citrus and sage. She’d blinked at him several times when he’d spoken to her but hadn’t answered. He was quickly starting to worry that her distraction was not just emotional but that she was starting to succumb to hypothermia as well. Anyone not accustomed to the cold would feel the effects quickly, the wind was whistling through town like an icy knife slicing through the best winter jackets and the flimsy thing she was wearing was little more than a raincoat. “Do you need medical help? I can call Doc Woods and have him meet us at his office—” He was cut off by her head shaking back and forth. “You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetness. What’s your name, honey?”

  Her voice was so soft and quivered with the cold such that he barely heard her whispered, “Tori, my name is Tori. I’m sorry, I just got some bad news, and I needed to sit for a minute.”

  “Well, I think you should be sitting someplace warmer than this.” He pulled her to her feet and she followed his lead as he walked down the wooden sidewalk. Wow, what kind of town still has wooden sidewalks? Tori had followed her mind’s wandering and hadn’t even realized they’d entered a warm room that smelled of pot roast and apple pie. Blinking in surprise when her brain caught up with her nose, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, sighing in appreciation. God she was so hungry, she hadn’t wanted to stop along the way to eat after she’d heard all the weather reports predicting near-blizzard conditions in the very place she was headed. When she opened her eyes the tall stranger was watching her with a small smile playing over his lips, making him look even more appealing.

  “Well, welcome back, beautiful, where did you go just then?” And while his words sounded almost mocking, his smile let her know he was just teasing.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, it’s just that is smells so wonderful in here and I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was, and it’s so nice and warm, and this jacket just doesn’t seem to be quite enough for this weather, and I have just about had all…well, I’ve just kind of had…” When big tears started trailing down her cherry-red cheeks Trace was sure his heart had been squeezed from the inside. He stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her in to his chest. When he felt her stiffen and then sobs racking her small body, he just scooped her up and headed to the back of the diner. Stella, the older woman who had owned and operated the tiny café for over forty years hustled ahead and opened the door to her small office.

  “I’ll get something warm for y’all and be back in a flash. Take care of her, looks like you found that angel we all knew Nan would send you.” Her words were spoken so quic
kly he didn’t ever get a chance to respond before she’d hurried away.

  Trace sat on the threadbare sofa and rocked the sobbing woman until she finally seemed to have spent all the energy she’d had stored in the tight muscles he could feel below his fingertips as he’d rubbed his hand in soothing circles over her back. Angels weren’t supposed to cry their hearts out, and he wondered what on earth her bad news had been and who the asshat was that had hurt her. He’d known she had been rambling on about a crazy old fart attorney and losing her mama and her long drive and something about a B & B that he’d found amusing. Tiny Climax had guest cabins for rent during the summer, but since there weren’t any ski slopes nearby, there had never been any need of winter accommodations for tourists. After she’d finally settled down, Trace had known the very moment she realized she was sitting in his lap by the way her entire body seemed to go on high alert. “It’s okay, I just wanted to hold you and get you warmed up.” When she started to move away, he tightened his arms around her tiny form. “No, just stay right where you are, you’re safe, and I like the feel of you sitting close. You smell wonderful, too, like fresh citrus and sage and light and clean, and it’s been a long time since a beautiful woman as given me the pleasure of sitting so close. By the way, my name is Trace Bartell, and it’s nice to meet you, Tori.” Trace had not been completely overwhelmed by a woman since losing his beloved Nan. But this pint-sized sprite called to him in a way that he’d almost forgotten was possible. Trace was just opening his mouth to speak again when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot followed by screams. He transferred her to the sofa, and cradling her small face in both his large hands, said, “Stay right here. I’ll be back for you. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me, do you understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer before taking off at a sprint down the hall following the other diner patrons out the front door.

  * * * *

  Rissa startled awake and was confused as to what had roused her until she head a footstep in her small kitchen. Jumping out of the chair and crouching behind her tiny sofa, she heard a soft curse by a distinctly female voice. Rissa peeked around the edge of the solid piece of furniture she was sure had been in the small apartment since FDR had been President, and was shocked to see an obviously very drunk Rachel Sutton emerge from her kitchen. “I know you’re in here, you ignorant slut, you might as well come out and let me shoot you now. I’m tired of waiting on those Russian slave dipwads to come cart your interfering ass out of town. Christ what’s a woman gotta do? Those guys could fuck up a wet dream I tell you. Someone should tie their asses to a St. Andrew’s Cross and work ’em over. Oh yeah, baby, now there’s a fine idea.” She cursed again when she bumped into the end table sending the heavy lamp crashing to the floor. Rissa backed up silently on her hands and knees hoping upon hope that the crash had been loud enough downstairs to have been heard over the bar’s jukebox.

  “Come out come out where ever you are.” Rachel was trying to sing like Glenda the Good Witch beckoning the munchkins out of hiding in The Wizard of Oz. Rissa could only shake her head at the obvious reference to her small stature. Rolling her eyes she thought that it would just about figure that after all she’d been through and survived that she’d be taken out at the hand of a lunatic singing a song calling short people.

  “Oh come on, at least I’m just going to shoot you, those yo-yos are planning to fuck your brains out then sell you to the highest bidder somewhere in the Middle East. Christ, I’m practically doing you a favor.” Rachel’s speech was slurring worse with each thing she said. Rissa had gone white hot with fear but found herself wanting to hear more about Rachel’s involvement.

  Cupping her hands so the sound bounced oddly around the room, Rissa spoke quickly. “Why?”

  Rachel spun around so quickly she lost her balance and dropped her gun when she grabbed for a chair to keep from crashing on to the floor. Rissa lunged for the weapon just as Rachel spotted it and fell on top of Rissa, pinning her small frame to the floor. Rissa was grateful for Rachel’s drunken state, because it meant her coordination was hampered enough that Rissa had been able to scramble out from under the larger woman. But Rachel grabbed one of Rissa’s ankles, startling her enough that she pulled the trigger of the handgun, shattering the front window of the apartment. Both women screamed, and Rissa could hear screams coming from downstairs as well.

  “You stupid bitch, look what you’ve done. Fuck, I only had a few bullets, and you just wasted one of them. Give me that gun, so I can shoot you.” Rissa thought that if she wasn’t scared spitless, she might find the other woman’s drunken rants amusing. Seriously? She thinks I’m going to give her the gun so she can kill me? Just how drunk do you have to be to believe that might become a reality?

  Rissa could hear pounding on the stairs and knew that help was close, and it seemed like she was watching the scene before her played out in slow motion. Rachel had heard the footsteps on the stairway also and had picked up a small statue from the end table intending to throw it at whoever entered the apartment, but Rissa knew with a flash of insight it was going to look like a weapon in her hand rather than just a cheap garage sale statue. Just as the back door of the apartment crashed open, Rachel spun bringing the statue up to hurl it at the intruder, and Rissa screamed, “No!” trying to stop the deputy who had entered from firing the weapon he already had drawn—but it didn’t work, and Rissa watched in horror as Rachel Sutton sank slowly to the ground, her eyes going wide before she dropped unconscious to the floor.

  The officer was followed by about half the population of the small town but the only people Rissa could focus on were the two men leaning over her protectively. Mitch’s voice finally sunk through the haze. “Put the gun down, Clarissa Jean.” When she looked up and blinked, his soft smile told her she was finally safe. Rissa dropped the gun and launched herself in to Mitch Grayson’s embrace. Bryant pressed his chest against her back, hugging her tightly between them, long moments passing before either man could speak.

  Bryant found his voice first. “Rissa, love, my heart stopped dead when we pulled up downstairs and heard a gunshot.” He took a couple of steadying breaths before continuing. “I swear you have just taken ten years off my life, I want you to remember that when we get married—my shortened life span is largely due to this moment in time.” He knew he was rambling, but he felt her muscles relax, so at least his lame attempts at humor were working to diffuse her tension a little.”

  “Baby, I swear to God I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” Leaning closer, Mitch whispered, “And I am going to turn your bare ass so red hot for leaving the mansion without telling us and getting yourself in to this mess…” He hugged her so fiercely she worried he was going to break her ribs before he finally released her.

  Dylan Marshall, the local sheriff, had returned from his honeymoon late last night and had been at the diner when he heard the shot. After helping load Rachel Sutton onto the gurney and into the ambulance, he returned to the small apartment where Rissa’s men were keeping her wrapped in her homemade quilts and themselves. A couple of the bar’s patrons had quickly nailed a piece of plywood over the shattered window but it was still cold enough in the small room to see your breath. Trace Bartell was standing to the side waiting and watching. When he saw Dylan re-enter the apartment he nodded and then left. Dylan had known Trace his entire life and knew his friend had simply stood guard in his stead never mind the room was filled with various citizens and law-enforcement personnel. Smiling to himself, Dylan thanked God yet again for the guiding hand that had led him and the love of his life back to Climax.

  Dylan finally moved to stand in front of Rissa. Looking down at the fragile women cocooned between Mitch and Bry, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d rescued her the last time, but these men would do it better than he’d been able to, and this time she’d make it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rissa sat wrapped in the quilt Granny had made her as a graduation gift but s
till shivered so hard her teeth were chattering. Dylan knelt in front of her, and his soft expression had tears tracking down her cheeks before he even spoke a word to her. “Well, Clarissa Jean, we find ourselves in familiar, yet new territory.” His small smile let her know he was trying to gently tease her and lighten the moment. “Sweetie, we’re going to have to get your statement, but I’d like to do that at my office where you’ll be more comfortable and much warmer, that sound good?” Even though Rissa knew it wasn’t really a question, she appreciated his effort at giving her some control in the situation. She knew that his training as a DEA agent would always serve the residents of Climax well.

  She nodded then reached for his arm, her fingers gripping him tightly. “Dylan…I, well, I just want to say thanks for everything. You have always been so kind and considerate. I’ll just change clothes and get my car and meet you down there in a few minutes.” When she stood up, the only warning she had that she wasn’t going to make it were the black dots that bloomed in her vision just before everything went black.

  Mitch saw her weave and then watched her knees buckle out from under her. Bryant had managed to get his arms around her and kept her from hitting the floor and his softly muttered “Fuck” echoed Mitch’s sentiment. They’d both been so thrown off by her assertion she was driving herself to Dylan’s office that they had almost let their woman collapse right between them.

  Dylan just shook his head “You two better get your shit together and quick or you’re going to blow this—badly. Christ, how did she come to be back in this cold apartment all alone anyway—no. I don’t even want to know. I’m sure you have some lame-assed excuse, and I don’t even want to hear it. Now help your woman get dressed and get some food in her and get her to my office ASAP.” Stomping away, his curses could still be heard as he descended the stairs. Bry looked up at Mitch and smiled, he’d never seen that side of Dylan Marshall. Bryant had only known the Dom at the ShadowDance Club, but the man who had just stomped out of the room was a tender-hearted softie hiding in a gruff exterior. And something told Bryant the sheriff would always hold a soft spot in his heart for Rissa.