The Right Thing

by Allyson Young

  Michael waited until closing, pissing in one of the empty bottles of water he’d drunk, not taking the chance to send Gerald for something to eat in case ’Kenzie showed herself. He saw the Closed sign go up on the door, followed by the two employees exiting. They walked in different directions and he debated sending the driver after the little one, to see if Gerald could convince her to spy for him. Maybe money would mean more than loyalty. The other woman looked like a harder nut to crack, and Michael was an excellent judge of women. Mostly. When his stupid denial wasn’t in the way and his heart wasn’t involved.

  But then the Lees came out, and locked the store. Fuck. McKenzie had gotten by him and now he needed to wait until the next day. Gerald pulled out into traffic at his terse command and he gritted his teeth against what he wanted to scream at the driver, lacking anyone else to vent his frustration on. Realizing she’d likely slipped out the back had him cursing his stupidity. Well, the battle lines were drawn. He was going to prove to be the better strategist. His woman was barely subsisting without him, and he was nothing without her. He went back to his apartment and considered his plan of attack.

  * * * *

  The next morning found him back on the stakeout, only this time in his own car, with his own driver. He had his company’s best private detective along, complete with a badge that would pass most inspections, in case someone thought they should involve the real authorities. Both Jackson and Sanderson were well briefed. He couldn’t stoop low enough if it meant making things up to McKenzie. The Lees arrived shortly before the opening time indicated on the sign, and the husband carefully unlocked the door and ushered his wife inside. The smaller female employee showed up next, and right on the stroke of eight, so did the Amazon. But there was no sign of McKenzie.

  Michael waited as patiently as he could for an hour before throwing the car door open. The irony was not lost on him. Normally possessing all the patience in the world when it came to sensually torturing his woman, but none when it came to retrieving her. He was actually fighting a sense of panic. What if McKenzie had run further? What if he had found his woman only to have lost her again? He sucked in a deep breath and marched into the store.

  “Yes, sir?” Mrs. Lee either thought all white people looked alike, or would make a superb poker player, because it was as if yesterday never happened. Like she didn’t know he’d been the star of the main event the day before. The two other women focused on their handiwork and ignored him. In desperation Michael looked to Mr. Lee who was watching him narrowly from the depths of the store. The smell of chemicals wreathed around them and he worried what it meant for his sub to be breathing in that shit.

  “I would appreciate a moment with McKenzie Blake. It’s vitally important we speak.”

  “She doesn’t work here anymore.”

  Michael pushed down his despair and made himself nod as if he totally understood. “I’d like her address and phone number. Please.” He never said please, not even to McKenzie. And yet, he’d already said it twice in the past two days alone. And he would say it often, over and over, if only someone would fix this.

  “We don’t have it, sir. ’Kenzie has moved on.”

  Nodding again, he heard himself thanking them as if they’d actually done something as he took his leave. The silence behind him was oppressive. McKenzie inspired loyalty. How could he have not known that? He demanded hers and she’d given that impressive trait willingly, gladly. He took it as his due and hadn’t cherished it. He had known that about McKenzie. Just something else he’d tried to ignore in his terror of falling in love with one glorious woman, one wonderful woman to be faithful to, loyal to, forever, or until something happened to destroy that happiness. He was an utter, craven coward, shit in the gutter, spit on the pavement. And McKenzie slipped through his fingers before he had the chance to redeem himself. No, Michael had to own it, never forget it. He drove McKenzie away. Now it was up to him to fix this. The lines were drawn yesterday, the gloves were off today.

  Climbing back in the car he glared the detective into silence. “They said McKenzie quit and moved. I don’t believe them. I think they’re hoping I’ll go away. I want you to put surveillance on this place twenty-four seven.

  “Find out everything you can about those other women who work there. Find a weakness. They have to be paying my woman under the table and if you can’t find anything else we’ll use that. I’ll be in my office.”

  Sanderson clambered out, his cell already in his hand and Michael had Jackson take him to work in the family investment firm. Working without distractions for hours, he caught up on everything he let slide over the past several weeks. The work soothed him, familiar as it was, and re-established his sense of power and control. Michael Webster was centered again, or at least as centered as he could be without McKenzie, and failure was simply not an option, not as close as he had come to triumph. He tried really hard not to worry about McKenzie in the interim. Surely those people were looking after her. That used to be his job, but through foolishness he’d abdicated the coveted position and would willingly fight to attain it again.

  The ringtone dedicated to the private detective sounded on his cell near the end of the regular workday. Sanderson updated him and Michael wrote down the address, telling the man he’d meet him there.

  * * * *

  It was a small house, dwarfed by the ones around it. They all needed tender loving care, the paint peeling, shingles curling. The yards were miniscule and the fences had missing boards, the gaps like so many missing teeth, surrounded by yellowed pickets. Lisa Murphy’s home looked tired, much like the woman. The private detective had determined Lisa’s name and found her address, despite the fact Lisa appeared to live with another woman with a different last name.

  The surfeit of well-worn children’s toys littering the yard might give him the perfect tool he needed to crack this particular nut. Pushing through the leaning gate, wincing at the squeal of the battered hinges Michael strode to the door, the detective right on his heels. It opened before he had a chance to knock.

  “What do you want?” A tall thin woman wearing what appeared to be a gunny sack tied at the waist with a sash somehow blocked the doorway with just her attitude.

  “Is Lisa Murphy here?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Michael Webster. Lisa works with my fiancée.”

  “Lisa doesn’t talk about work.”

  “Mom? Who’s here?” A voice came from somewhere nearby, behind the door.

  “A Mr. Webster. He’s asking about his fiancée. What do you know about that? What did you do?”

  Lisa’s thin, anxious face popped up beside her mother’s shoulder. Pale blue eyes widened, equally pale mouth forming a perfect circle. “Oh no. Why did you come here? You can’t be here!”

  Lisa’s anxiety seemed to spur her mother into action. The old biddy’s mouth set, eyes narrowed into slits. Whatever upset Lisa appeared to be something she wanted to capitalize on. The woman stepped back and gestured for Michael and Sanderson to step inside, pushing Lisa ahead down the hallway as she did so. The house smelled of fried food and sour milk, an altogether noxious combination, but Michael followed Lisa and her mother into a cramped living room, Sanderson hard on his heels. More signs of children were scattered around the room, and Michael could see a little pair of legs protruding from a highchair set akimbo in the adjoining kitchen. The sounds of children conversing were muted, probably the result of the miasma of the miserable woman bearing down on Lisa.

  “What’s Lisa done?” The old lady’s mouth looked like she’d tasted something sour, eyes glinting with anticipation.

  “Nothing, mom! He’s some kind of abusive man. One of the girls I work with used to date him and she ran away.”

  “Humph. Girls bring that kind of thing on themselves.”

  Michael wasn’t about to disabuse good old mom, despite how much the comment pissed him off. McKenzie brought nothing upon her. It was his fucking fault. He manag
ed to reply in a civil tone. “I want to speak to McKenzie and see if she will reconsider our relationship.”

  Lisa’s mouth opened but the older woman forestalled her. “That’s none of our business. If you’re not here about Lisa then you go. I thought she was in trouble again.”

  Sanderson pushed past flashed his badge. “Your daughter will be in trouble if she withholds information about Mr. Webster’s fiancée, ma’am. Ms. Blake took some things that didn’t belong to her when she left.”

  The man was quick. Sanderson knew appealing to the woman’s non-existent heart about a romance would fail, but her all-too-easily-offended twisted morality would be a different story. Clearly Michael’s new found romantic side needed to take a back seat in this instance, but he had thought to appeal to Lisa. “A thief! You’re working with a thief, Lisa? I knew that place wasn’t somewhere appropriate to work. You’ll need to find employment elsewhere.”

  Michael hastened to try and undo some of the damage. He recognized submissive but this was downtrodden and god knew where Lisa would find another job in this economy. He didn’t want to hurt her, and some part deep in his brain marvelled at his compassion. McKenzie had evoked that quality in him, as hard as he worked to deny it.

  “We’ll make sure she doesn’t work with Lisa any longer, Mrs. Murphy. That should fix things.”

  “It might. Lisa, tell the man what he wants to know.”

  Leaving moments later, with an address and knowledge McKenzie would be back at work tomorrow, without needing to bribe anyone, not even for the children’s sake, inspired Michael. That didn’t stop him from shaking Lisa’s hand and pressing a goodly sum into her palm, keeping his body between Lisa’s face and her mother’s assessing eyes. He was going to do only the right thing from here on in, no matter the cost. Lisa’s mother assured him, gimlet eyes scoring her daughter’s feeble efforts to stay aloof, that she would forestall any interference by Lisa on McKenzie’s behalf.

  The detective urged him to wait to confront McKenzie in the morning, when she was on her way to work, explaining it was easier to pick up a person from the street than drag them from a residence, especially a place that could house any number of surprises. Michael didn’t want to listen to his advice, to wait, but it made considerable sense. They made their plans and he had his driver drop Sanderson at his office before going home to prepare things to welcome his recalcitrant sub home. His hands trembled and his heart beat against the walls of his chest in grateful anticipation. He wanted to call everyone he knew, but contented himself with calling only Jenifer, afraid of jinxing things. His cousin’s acerbic attitude actually softened for an instant before she told him not to fuck up this time.

  Chapter Seven

  McKenzie wasn’t quite dressed when Donna pounded on her bedroom door, and she hurried to pull it open.

  “Asshole found out where you live and that you didn’t quit at the Lees yet.”

  McKenzie’s gut clenched as if punched. “But how?”

  “Lisa. He went to her house with some guy Lisa and the old lady thought was a cop, saying you was a thief. Lisa’s mom believed it of course, because she always believes the worst of anyone connected to Lisa and made Lisa tell them where you lived. Lisa said asshole put some money in her hand, actually a lot of it, so that made her think about things.

  “She figured out cops don’t bribe people. It’s the other way around. She figured the badge wasn’t real, so then she felt guilty and called me first thing this morning. It was as soon as she could use the phone without her mom around. She didn’t have a phone number for you. So, c’mon, let’s get it done. A big ass black car is parked just down the block. Let’s give him a surprise.”

  “Did you find somewhere for me to go?” McKenzie shook at the thought of seeing Michael again and fought to control herself. She didn’t care to examine her mixed reaction.

  “I’m still working on it. I know somebody at the shore, although it’s not much of a place. You’ll be okay there and the season’s coming up if you can get through the rest of the winter, waitressing maybe.”

  “Whatever you managed, Donna. Thanks. But how do I get past Michael?” She felt her knees tremble some more and her legs turn rubbery. She didn’t know if she could bear to look at his beloved face again without giving in and throwing herself at his feet. Michael was like a drug she’d gone without for too long and withdrawal was only in the initial stages. She’d been dying without him.

  “We’ll just walk on by and if he gets pushy leave it to me.”

  McKenzie shook her head. “I won’t let you get in the middle of this. I’ll tell him I’ll meet him later for coffee, and if you don’t have those arrangements made by then, maybe you can come with me. I might be strong enough to tell him no if you’re there.”

  “Probably won’t come to that. Now, c’mon.”

  McKenzie wondered at Donna’s assured attitude. But then the other woman somehow always looked confident, even if it came from not giving a shit. Pulling her hoodie on she suddenly, superstitiously, looked around the little room, experiencing a sinking feeling she would never see it again. Going to the dresser McKenzie picked up a little figurine of a cat, something purchased at the open market on a whim after her first ever pay check. It was something that spoke to her. The little china body, all shiny black with topaz eyes and an enigmatic look was her touchstone in the first few weeks. No one needed to tell her why that was so or why she’d chosen it. Tucking the ornament into the hoodie pocket she patted the little bulge. “I’m ready.”

  They made it maybe a hundred feet down the street before Michael’s tall, fit body emerged from the limo, followed by a shorter, stockier figure. McKenzie’s heart pounded and her sex clenched in sympathetic reaction. Perspiration sprang out on her spine and she had to consciously stiffen her knees against falling to them. Donna blew out a breath beside her and they both slowed their forward motion, stopping as one. She borrowed against Donna’s strength, setting her face in as blank a look as she could manage.

  “McKenzie. Please. Come home.”

  Whatever she’d expected it hadn’t been that. Please. Home. No masterful pronouncements, no Dom look. Just a simple request. Heartfelt. Michael looked tired, thinner, his black hair all awry, and the circles under his golden eyes rivalled her own. McKenzie hadn’t processed such details two days prior, as overcome with shock as she’d been. The silence stretched out and she longed to fill it but couldn’t find any words. Michael did instead.

  “Please. I can’t live without you. We can work this out.”

  Oh God, the appeal. Michael sounded so honest, so caring and loving, although he hadn’t actually said it. Like he’d finally figured things out. But what if he just couldn’t find another sub to meet his needs as well as she did? What if he still meant to give her to the twins? She began to shake in earnest, actually vibrating, and Michael reached for her, his face drawn and worried. Donna stepped between them and faced him down.

  “Let McKenzie answer without laying those paws on her, asshole. Don’t you fucking dare try to influence her. Don’t you fucking dare use her feelings against her.”

  McKenzie’s tongue became unglued at Donna’s brazen perception. She cleared her throat and Donna stepped away, leaving ’Kenzie to stare into Michael’s now glowing topaz eyes. He was mesmerizing her again and she blinked to dispel the impression. “I can’t, Michael. I won’t take a chance on destroying us both.”

  His eyes went wide and then narrowed. “Destroying? McKenzie. You could never do that, not unless you don’t come home. Please, sweetheart. I’m asking you. I’m begging you.”

  McKenzie heard the ‘for the last time’ without him needing to say the words. And there was the Dom. He’d asked, no, begged, twice. Twice more than she could ever have imagined. And he wasn’t going to do it again. Michael was going to tell her to come back, make her, and her pussy soaked the crotch of her panties, the anticipation belly cramping. The tension thickened and Donna felt it, no matter if her friend
understood the true inference or not. Donna moved to step forward again and the man with Michael intervened. He moved on Donna, trying to pull her arms behind her, a pair of zip ties dangling from one hand. Donna resisted and yelled loudly. At the sound, the street appeared to fill with large men.

  Michael yanked McKenzie behind him, hurting her wrist as he threw her back against the car in order to square off with two ruddy faced individuals who looked remarkably like Donna. Her friend was now on the ground wrestling the man with the zip ties and shouting that she could handle him. McKenzie shrank into herself and tried not to scream. A door opened behind her and the limo rocked. She tried to pull away from the man who took her by the waist, but he was determined and even bigger than Michael. He lifted her effortlessly, essentially stowing her in the car, head first. The door clunked shut and the child safety locks engaged. She struggled to sit up and look out the window, counted four men dressed in jeans and casual jackets. All four were engaged in pummelling Michael and the man she now recognized as his driver, Jackson. Jackson knew all about her and Michael, and McKenzie was certain the driver never judged her. Jackson liked her and the feeling was mutual.

  ’Kenzie covered her mouth against a scream as Michael went down before the onslaught and a boot caught him in the side. He rolled and was up like a great cat and his fist caught man number one on the side of the face, making the bruiser stagger back.

  Donna now lay face down on the sidewalk, arms secured behind her. She was jerking against the binds like a fish on a line, and the stocky man joined the melee. Three against four evened the odds somewhat, although Donna’s reinforcements seemed to maintain the upper hand and there was considerable blood evident on Michael’s face as well as Jackson’s. The one who subdued Donna hadn’t escaped unscathed either. McKenzie felt for the door handle, knowing it was hopeless, then froze against the sound of sirens. The police had been called and Donna would be in shit. Tears sprang to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She was like the plague. She carried such trouble.