by Jenna Jacob
“Yes, boss.” I smirked.
“Damn straight. I am your boss so don’t start sassing back at me. Just take the damn meds, or else,” Cindy ordered with a mock scowl before she hurried out the door.
“That girl has a whole lot of Domme in her,” Drake laughed. “You should have seen her ordering people around last night when you didn’t come back from dinner. All she needed was a singletail in her hand and a pair of thigh high boots.”
“Yikes. I hope she’s not a Domme.”
“Why not?” Trevor asked.
“Because she and Doctor Brooks have a date Friday night.”
“Master Sam?” Trevor choked.
“Yes.” I nodded, nibbling my bottom lip.
“I’d pay money to see those two butt heads,” Drake chuckled.
I didn’t find the humor in it that Drake did, but then I still wanted to figure out a way to warn Cindy. “I need to ask you two something. How much trouble would I be in if I told Cindy that Sam was in the lifestyle?”
Both Drake and Trevor shot me matching looks of horror. “You can’t do that, Liz. You just can’t.” Drake’s tone was adamant. “If you out Sam, you out the entire club, and every member in it. That includes Ian and James.”
“You’d be labeled a player and a danger to the community,” Trevor explained with a worried expression. “Mika would have to ban you from Genesis. He wouldn’t have any other choice.”
Though I had expected as much, it didn’t keep my heart from sinking to my toes. Caught between allegiance to my best friend, and a duty to protect not only my Doms, but the entire community that had openly embraced me, I was between a rock and a hard spot.
“Aside from what it would do to your reputation, you can’t usurp Sam’s authority. It’s his right and his decision to tell her if and when he’s ready.” Drake sat on the edge of my bed and cupped my chin. “This isn’t your secret to tell, Liz. It’s Sam’s. Who you want to tell about your own submission is up to you, but promise me you’re not going to undermine Sam or sabotage your own standing as Ian’s and James’ sub at the club.”
His gray eyes bore into mine. The repercussions of revealing Sam’s kinky appetite would be huge. Drake was right; it wasn’t my place to disclose Sam’s personal business.
“I promise,” I murmured, feeling like a traitor.
“Good girl.” Drake smiled. “Trevor and I are going to head out, so you can rest. We’ll be back later to check on you.”
“Do you know where James and Ian are?”
“They’re in the waiting room talking to the gang from Genesis. They’ll be back in a little bit.”
I gave Drake a slight nod and closed my eyes as he and Trevor left the room. All alone, anxiety began to swarm like wasps. I knew there was no basis for my insecurities. I’d cared for enough high school and college athletes in the ER to know that the angst humming through my veins was nothing more than a side effect of my head trauma. Countering my disquiet, I tried to focus on my strengths, to keep weakness from taking over. It helped calm the riot within, and I slowly drifted off to sleep.
Deep, familiar voices whispered and fluttered over me. Peeking up beneath my lashes, I watched as James and Ian placed several vases of flowers on the windowsill. The scent of roses and lilac tickled my nose. Blocking out the light once more, I closed my eyes as the light and airy fragrance transported me from the dreary, hospital bed to a rolling field of brightly colored flowers. In my mind’s eye I could see the three of us running through the lush green grass, laughing and kissing. Tumbling to the ground, we’d strip off our clothes before tangling our bodies together to make passionate love in the warm sun.
“I want to go home and snuggle into bed with you two,” I mumbled with a sad pout.
“Soon, little one,” Ian promised. “You need to meet with the orthopedic doctor in the morning to start physical therapy on your shoulder.”
I wrinkled my nose, then sent him a mischievous smile. “I’d rather do other physical things with you two.”
“Not until you’re one-hundred percent well,” James instructed.
“I’m not waiting that long,” I replied defensively. “That could take months. Give me a couple—”
“You’ll wait as long as we tell you to wait, my mouthy little wench,” James warned with a stern glare.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Six weeks later, neither James nor Ian was convinced that I was healthy enough for extracurricular sexual activities. Night after night they tucked me in, surrounding me with their warm, naked bodies—and glorious hard erections pressing into my flesh—without a single, solitary, happy ending. Not only did they treat me like a nun, they logged my physical therapy like a couple of third grade teachers taking attendance. The sexual tension coiled up inside me was all but dripping down my legs and still they refused.
It didn’t matter that on their days off, and sometimes after work, Ian and James took me to dinner, to movies, walks along the lake, and picnics in the park, all the while behaving like perfect gentlemen. I wanted sex. Needed sex. Hot, sweaty, mind-blowing, screaming orgasmic sex.
By the time I had been cleared to go back to work, I assumed my forced celibacy would be lifted. But no, my two steadfast, pig-headed Doms weren’t budging. By my third day at work, I was in a sour, surly mood. Even Cindy’s excitement about another date—the fourth so far—with Sam didn’t so much as elicit a smile from me. I wanted to rail at her, tell her to open her fucking eyes and take a long, hard look at Sam. Instead, I bit my tongue and forced a fake smile that made Cindy bristle.
Placing her hands on her narrow hips, she pinched her lips together. “You’re suffering from an acute case of bitchitis, honey. Do something about it, for all of us. Soon, okay?”
Snatching my purse, I clocked out for dinner. Picking at the bland chicken breast on my plate, I knew Ian and James held back because they wanted to give me more time to heal. The past few weeks hadn’t been easy on them either. They were taking a hell of a lot of showers, not even allowing me to jack them off and give them relief. Enough was enough. It was time for them to take off the kid gloves and stop treating me as if I were a fragile, porcelain doll.
I wanted…no, I needed things to return to normal between us. While I might have been stupid enough to give Ryan the power to drug and kidnap me, it didn’t give that son of a bitch the right to continue wreaking havoc on my life. It was time for me to have a come-to-jesus meeting with my Doms. Convince them that I was ready, willing, and able to do more than simply sleep in our bed. Communicate my needs until I was blue in the face, if that’s what it took.
Clocking in after my break, the air buzzed with a strange vibe in the ER. Something was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Cindy rounded the corner, her lips pinched tightly together as if trying to hold back a laugh.
“What’s going on?”
Without a word, she snagged me by the arm and practically dragged me to the supply closet. Once the door closed behind us, she doubled over and started laughing like a mad woman.
“What is so funny?” I asked. Confusion pinged through me, yet I couldn’t help but grin as Cindy began to snort. “Tell me.”
“I have to warn you,” she gasped then hooted some more. “Oh my god. It’s too twisted for words.”
“Will you just spit it out?” I asked, growing increasingly impatient.
“I can’t tell you. You’ll have to see for yourself. Oh, hell,” she howled. “Just don’t laugh, or we’ll likely be sued, okay?”
“Okay, I won’t laugh. But—”
“I think Trevor’s Daddy finally got his revenge. Come on.” Opening the door, Cindy peeked left then right. Wiping her eyes, she sniffed, lifted her chin and thrust her shoulders back. Making our way down the hall, she leaned and whispered in my ear. “Start in Trauma one and work your way down to number four. I can’t go in with you… I know I’ll flipping lose it.”
“Okay. But…”
“Just go,” she hissed. Sla
pping a hand over her mouth, Cindy turned and rushed back toward the supply closet.
Hurrying down the hall, I was slightly afraid of what I would find. If Drake had taken out his revenge, it couldn’t be good. Stepping into the first trauma room, I stopped in my tracks. Dr. Reynolds arched a brow my way as he bit back a smirk. On the bed sat an irate college kid. His face was red with anger, fear, and probably a whole lot of embarrassment. Part of his head had been shaved. The hair that remained was shaped into a distinct and perfect outline of a penis…complete with testicles. His unique do wasn’t what held me frozen in place, but rather the word: ‘Cocksucker’ etched on his forehead in thick, black ink.
“There’s got to be something you can use to get this off me,” the man groused.
“I’ve already told you, son,” Dr. Reynolds explained as if his patience were taxed. “It’s not ink from a pen or even an indelible marker. That’s tattooed into you and involves several layers of skin. There’s not a damn thing I can do… nothing any of us can do. It’s not going to just wipe off.”
“Don’t tell me that. There has to be something you can do to get it off,” the man begged. “And what about my ass? Did that motherfucker corn hole me or not?”
My eyes grew wide. Had Drake actually tattooed and raped this moron? Turning my shocked attention Reynolds’ way, I bit my lip, waiting for his reply.
“We’re analyzing the sample we took from your sphincter, but I can tell you right now, it’s not blood.”
“So he didn’t rape my ass? Is that what you’re telling me?” the man asked eagerly.
“There’s no evidence of penetration, torn tissue, etcetera, but with the presence of so much lube, I can’t rule it out completely.”
“Oh man,” the kid moaned as his shoulders sagged. “I’m going to find that prick that bought us those drinks and I’m going to—”
“Watch yourself, young man,” Reynolds scolded. “I’m obligated to report any threats you boys make. You’re the four I saw on the news a few weeks back, right?”
“We didn’t do anything to that fucking queer,” the man spat angrily. “He’s nothing but a pansy-assed liar. His faggot boyfriend probably beat him up for giving blowjobs to Catholic school boys.”
Reynolds’ jaw ticked in anger. I had zero sympathy for the asshats. I’d witnessed the physical and emotional devastation the monster sitting before me had unleashed on Trevor and Drake. It took every ounce of strength I had not to step up to the bed and knock the sniveling, spineless bastard to the moon.
“I’m sure,” Reynolds replied dryly.
Counting to ten, I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you got a look at the guy that did this to you?”
“Yes. I did,” the kid sneered.
“What did he look like?”
Steeling myself, I forced an impassive smile as I steeled myself to hear the man give a detailed description of Drake.
“The mother fucker was tall and skinny. Brown, shoulder-length hair, green eyes, and tattoos all over his neck and arms.”
Definitely not Drake. Maybe a friend. Someone who wanted to help out on Trevor’s behalf.
“That crazy bastard bought us a bunch of drinks. I think he slipped us some roofies or something. Next thing we know we’re naked, behind a building at Navy Pier. We come stumbling out and people start pointing and laughing at the shit tattooed all over our faces.”
Were more unique works of tattoo art in the next three rooms? “I see.”
“Oh, you’ll see all right. It’s all over the fucking Internet. Because everyone started pulling out their cell phones and recording us.” He hung his head in shame. “Motherfucking videos have gone viral. My life is ruined.”
“Being a victim isn’t much fun. Is it?” I asked, then turned on my heel and marched out of the room.
While the staff seemed to find humor in the situation, I found it loathsome. Enraged by the same ignorant, redneck mentality that caused my brother to take his own life, I couldn’t muster an ounce of sympathy, let alone a drop of professionalism necessary to treat any of the bastards.
Storming into the next room, I studied homophobe number two. He wore the same penis haircut, but the tattoo adorning his top lip held a more descriptive phrase: ‘Insert Cock Here.’
“What are you looking at, bitch?” he barked.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” I replied in a voice rich with sarcasm.
Heading into trauma room three, I then assumed all four had been shaved with the same dick-cut, but with this ignorant piss-ant, the tattoo artist had gotten a bit more creative. Both cheeks had been inked. The left side touted ‘I Take It’ and the other side proclaimed ‘Up The Ass’. A part of me hoped he had taken it up the ass.
Seething with anger, I looked in on the last prick. As I’d suspected, shaved-cock hair, and this one also had his cheeks tattooed bearing the words: ‘I Suck’ and ‘Big Dicks.’
By the time I’d visually inspected all four I was shaking with rage. Rushing past a group of nurses huddled close together, whispering and grinning, I stormed back to the supply closet.
A myriad of emotions rippled through me like a paper shredder. Pacing the small space, I clenched my fist, needing to hit something…or someone.
I wanted to take Trevor by the hand and parade him past each and every one of those motherfuckers, so he could laugh and point and belittle them. Kick them in the balls and beat them bloody. I wanted Trevor to see how his attackers had been reduced to a bunch of pathetic, whining, little bitches. But most of all, I wanted Ian and James to wrap their arms around me, and calm the seething cyclone swirling inside me.
The door eased open, and Cindy poked her head into the closet. “Are you all right?”
“No. I’m not,” I hissed. “I want to go back into every one of those rooms and shove a scalpel into those little pricks’ hearts. I want to slam them to the floor and beat the shit out of them. I want to knock their teeth out, break their ribs, rupture their spleens, and puncture their lungs, just like they did to Trevor.”
The violent desires rolling off my tongue took me by surprise. I blinked in horror and shook my head.
“Alrighty then,” Cindy replied grimly.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I gasped. “I’ve never wanted to hurt a patient in my life. God, Cindy. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”
She slipped into the room and shut the door behind her, then gathered me into her arms. “Of course you do, Liz. It’s okay. We’ll handle them. I want you to take the rest of the night off.”
“No, I have a job to do,” I argued.
“Not tonight you don’t. I want you to go home, pour yourself a glass of wine, draw a nice hot bubble bath and then cry. Cry for Trevor…cry for Dayne…cry for yourself,” Cindy instructed as she swiped a tear from her cheek.
“I can’t,” I moaned. “That’s giving up. I’ll never give up.”
“It’s not giving up. It’s mourning. Something you started but never finished.”
“I can’t just leave. What if there’s an accident, and you’re slammed with patients? You don’t need me sitting at home sobbing in a bathtub of suds.”
“What I need is my old Liz back.” Cindy’s mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. “I need my happy, carefree, bestie back. Go home and find her for me, okay?”
“I don’t know if I can,” I confessed as my voice cracked.
“Yes, you can. And if you need help, those two men of yours will help. They’ve brought you this far. You’re at the cusp, baby. Pull yourself the rest of the way out…for you, and for us.” Cindy gave me a tight hug, then inched back. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Begrudgingly I clocked out, only to realize after the fact that I didn’t have my car. Heading down to the cafeteria, I pulled out my cell phone.
“You’re taking your dinner break kind of late, aren’t you, sweetheart?” James noted without a hello.
A gentle smile tugged the corners of my mou
th. He still hadn’t learned a lick of phone etiquette. “Actually, I’m off for the rest of the night.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No, not really. Can you or Ian come pick me up and take me home?”
“We’re on our way. Wait inside, okay?”
“I’ll be sitting in the cafeteria.”
“Stay put, gorgeous. We’re on our way.”
I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat in the booth Ian and I had shared. Smirking, I shook my head remembering how bratty I’d been toward him. How he’d threatened to turn me over his knee and spank me then and there. If I’d had a clue how amazing it felt at the time, I would have let him. As I ran my hand over the smooth, Formica surface, it was at this same exact table that I’d made the brave decision to change my life. I’d never been so scared to step outside my comfort zone, and now I’d never been so glad I that I did.
Between thoughts of James and Ian, Cindy’s words spooled through my brain. Had I honestly stopped grieving for Dayne mid-way through the process? I had a feeling she was right, but why? Why had I simply quit trying to heal?
Because you’d have to say your final goodbye to Dayne. It’s time now. It’s time to let him go…all the way.
“Little one?” Ian stroked a finger along my cheek. “What’s going on?”
Peeling the stare from my coffee cup, I gaze up at my Doms: Twin pillars of strength, compassion, understanding, and love. Suddenly I knew what I had to do.
“I need you both to do something for me. Please?”
“Anything,” James replied. Concern was written all over his face.
“I want you to take me to the club, right now. I want you to hurt me.”
“Excuse me?” Ian blinked as his jaw dropped open.
“I need to see if pain will heal me. Like it does Trevor.”
“Whoa. Hold on a second.” James held up his hands and shook his head. “You’re not a pain slut, Liz. You’ve not been introduced to…you’re not at that level yet.”
